Part III.

_Octavio_, the brave, the generous, and the amorous, having left

_Sylvia_ absolutely resolved to give herself to that doting fond

lover, or rather to sacrifice herself to her revenge, that

unconsidering unfortunate, whose passion had exposed him to all the

unreasonable effects of it, returned to his own house, wholly

transported with his happy success. He thinks on nothing but vast

coming joys: nor did one kind thought direct him back to the evil

consequences of what he so hastily pursued; he reflects not on her

circumstances but her charms, not on the infamy he should espouse with

_Sylvia_, but on those ravishing pleasures she was capable of giving

him: he regards not the reproaches of his friends; but wholly

abandoned to love and youthful imaginations, gives a loose to young

desire and fancy that deludes him with a thousand soft ideas: he

reflects not, that his gentle and easy temper was most unfit to join

with that of _Sylvia_, which was the most haughty and humorous in

nature; for though she had all the charms of youth and beauty that are

conquering in her sex, all the wit and insinuation that even surpasses

youth and beauty; yet to render her character impartially, she had

also abundance of disagreeing qualities mixed with her perfections.

She was imperious and proud even to insolence; vain and conceited even

to folly; she knew her virtues and her graces too well, and her vices

too little; she was very opinionated and obstinate, hard to be

convinced of the falsest argument, but very positive in her fancied

judgement: abounding in her own sense, and very critical on that of

others: censorious, and too apt to charge others with those crimes to

which she was herself addicted, or had been guilty of: amorously

inclined, and indiscreet in the management of her amours, and constant

rather from pride and shame than inclination; fond of catching at

every trifling conquest, and loving the triumph, though she hated the

slave. Yet she had virtues too that balanced her vices, among which we

must allow her to have loved _Philander_ with a passion, that nothing

but his ingratitude could have decayed in her heart, nor was it

lessened but by a force that gave her a thousand tortures, racks and

pangs, which had almost cost her her less valued life; for being of a

temper nice in love, and very fiery, apt to fly into rages at every

accident that did but touch that tenderest part, her heart, she

suffered a world of violence, and extremity of rage and grief by

turns, at this affront and inconstancy of _Philander_. Nevertheless

she was now so discreet, or rather cunning, to dissemble her

resentment the best she could to her generous lover, for whom she had

more inclination than she yet had leisure to perceive, and which she

now attributes wholly to her revenge; and considering _Octavio_ as the

most proper instrument for that, she fancies what was indeed a growing

tenderness from the sense of his merit, to be the effects of that

revenge she so much thirsted after; and though without she dissembled

a calm, within she was all fury and disorder, all storm and

distraction: she went to bed racked with a thousand thoughts of

despairing love: sometimes all the softness of _Philander_ in their

happy enjoyments came in view, and made her sometimes weep, and

sometimes faint with the dear loved remembrance; sometimes his late

enjoyments with _Calista_, and then she raved and burnt with frantic

rage: but oh! at last she found her hope was gone, and wisely fell to

argue with her soul. She knew love would not long subsist on the thin

diet of despair, and resolving he was never to be retrieved who once

had ceased to love, she strove to bend her soul to useful reason, and

thinks on all _Octavio_’. obligations, his vows, his assiduity, his

beauty, his youth, his fortune, and his generous offer, and with the

aid of pride resolves to unfix her heart, and give it better treatment

in his bosom: to cease at least to love the false _Philander_, if she

could never force her soul to hate him: and though this was not so

soon done as thought on, in a heart so prepossesed as that of

_Sylvia_’., yet there is some hope of a recovery, when a woman in that

extremity will but think of listening to love from any new adorer, and

having once resolved to pursue the fugitive no more with the natural

artillery of their sighs and tears, reproaches and complaints, they

have recourse to every thing that may soonest chase from the heart

those thoughts that oppress it: for nature is not inclined to hurt

itself; and there are but very few who find it necessary to die of the

disease of love. Of this sort was our _Sylvia_, though to give her her

due, never any person who did not indeed die, ever languished under

the torments of love, as did that charming and afflicted maid.

While _Sylvia_ remained in these eternal inquietudes, _Antonet_,

having quitted her chamber, takes this opportunity to go to that of

_Brilliard_, whom she had not visited in two days before, being

extremely troubled at his design, which she now found he had on her

lady; she had a mind to vent her spleen, and as the proverb says,

’.all Whore first’. _Brilliard_ longed as much to see her to rail at

her for being privy to _Octavio_’. approach to _Sylvia_’. bed (as he

thought she imagined) and not giving him an account of it, as she used

to do of all the secrets of her lady. She finds him alone in her

chamber, recovered from all but the torments of his unhappy

disappointment. She approached him with all the anger her sort of

passion could inspire (for love in a mean unthinking soul, is not that

glorious thing it is in the brave;) however she had enough to serve

her pleasure; for _Brilliard_ was young and handsome, and both being

bent on railing without knowing each other’s intentions, they both

equally flew into high words, he upbraiding her with her infidelity,

and she him with his. ‘Are not you,’ said he (growing more calm) ‘the

falsest of your tribe, to keep a secret from me that so much concerned

me? Is it for this I have refused the addresses of burgomasters’ wives

and daughters, where I could have made my fortune and my satisfaction,

to keep myself entirely for a thing that betrays me, and keeps every

secret of her heart from me? False and forsworn, I will be fool no

more.’ ‘It is well, sir,’ (replied _Antonet_) ‘that you having been

the most perfidious man alive, should accuse me who am innocent: come,

come sir, you have not carried matters so swimmingly, but I could

easily dive into the other night’s intrigue and secret.’ ‘What secret

thou false one? Thou art all over secret; a very hopeful bawd at

eighteen----go, I hate ye----’ At this she wept, and he pursued his

railing to out-noise her, ‘You thought, because your deed were done in

darkness, they were concealed from a lover’s eye; no, thou young

viper, I saw, I heard, and felt, and satisfied every sense of this thy

falsehood, when _Octavio_ was conducted to _Sylvia_’. bed by thee.’

’.ut what,’ said she, ‘if instead of _Octavio_ I conducted the

perfidious traitor to love, _Brilliard_? Who then was false and

perjured?’ At this he blushed extremely, which was too visible on his

fair face. She being now confirmed she had the better of him,

continued--’Let thy confusion,’ said she with scorn, ‘witness the

truth of what I say, and I have been but too well acquainted with that

body of yours,’ weeping as she spoke, ‘to mistake it for that of

_Octavio_.’ ‘Softly, dear _Antonet_,’ replied he----’nay, now your

tears have calmed me’. and taking her in his arms, sought to appease

her by all the arguments of seeming love and tenderness; while she,

yet wholly unsatisfied in that cheat of his of going to Sylvia’s bed,

remained still pouting and very frumpish. But he that had but one

argument left, that on all occasions served to convince her, had at

last recourse to that, which put her in good humour, and hanging on

his neck, she kindly chid him for putting such a trick upon her lady.

He told her, and confirmed it with an oath, that he did it but to try

how far she was just to his friend and lord, and not any desire he had

for a beauty that was too much of his own complexion to charm him; it

was only the brunette and the black, such as herself, that could move

him to desire; thus he shams her into perfect peace. ‘And why,’ said

she, ‘were you not satisfied that she was false, as well from the

assignation, as the trial?’ ‘Oh no,’ said he, ‘you women have a

thousand arts of gibing, and no man ought to believe you, but put you

to the trial.’ ‘Well,’ said she, ‘when I had brought you to the bed,

when you found her arms stretched out to receive you, why did you not

retire like an honest man, and leave her to herself?’ ‘Oh fie,’ said

he, ‘that had not been to have acted _Octavio_ to the life, but would

have made a discovery.’ ‘Ah,’ said she, ‘that was your aim to have

acted _Octavio_ to the life, I believe, and not to discover my lady’s

constancy to your lord; but I suppose you have been sworn at the Butt

of _Heidleburgh_, never to kiss the maid, when you can kiss the

mistress.’ But he renewing his caresses and asseverations of love to

her, she suffered herself to be convinced of all he had a mind to have

her believe. After this she could not contain any secret from him, but

told him she had something to say to him, which if he knew, would

convince him she had all the passion in the world for him: he presses

eagerly to know, and she pursues to tell him, it is as much as her

life is worth to discover it, and that she lies under the obligation

of an oath not to tell it; but kisses and rhetoric prevail, and she

cries--’What will you say now, if my lady may marry one of the

greatest and most considerable persons in all this country?’ ‘I should

not wonder at her conquest,’ (replied _Brilliard_) ‘but I should

wonder if she should marry.’ ‘Then cease your wonder,’ replied she,

’.or she is to-morrow to be married to Count _Octavio_, whom she is to

meet at nine in the morning to that end, at a little village a league

from this place.’ She spoke, and he believes; and finds it true by the

raging of his blood, which he could not conceal from _Antonet_, and

for which he feigns a thousand excuses to the amorous maid, and

charges his concern on that for his lord: at last (after some more

discourse on that subject) he pretends to grow sleepy, and hastens her

to her chamber; and locking the door after her, he began to reflect on

what she had said, and grew to all the torment of rage and jealousy,

and all the despairs of a passionate lover: and though this hope was

not extreme before, yet as lovers do, he found, or fancied a

probability (from his lord’s inconstancy, and his own right of

marriage) that the necessity she might chance to be in of his

friendship and assistance in a strange country, might some happy

moment or other render him the blessing he so long had waited for from

_Sylvia_; for he ever designed, when either his lord left her, grew

cold, or should happen to die, to put in his claim of husband. And the

soft familiar way, with which she eternally lived with him, encouraged

this hope and design; nay, she had often made him advances to that

happy expectation. But this fatal blow had driven him from all his

fancied joys, to the most wretched estate of a desperate lover. He

traverses his chamber, wounded with a thousand different thoughts,

mixed with those of preventing this union the next morning. Sometimes

he resolves to fight _Octavio_, for his birth might pretend to it, and

he wanted no courage; but he is afraid of being overcome by that

gallant man, and either losing his hopes with his life, or if he

killed _Octavio_, to be forced from his happiness, or die an

ignominious death: sometimes he resolves to own _Sylvia_ for his wife,

but then he fears the rage of that dear object of his soul, which he

dreads more than death itself: so that tossed from one extreme to

another, from one resolution to a hundred, he was not able to fix upon

any thing. In this perplexity he remained till day appeared, that day

must advance with his undoing, while _Sylvia_ and _Antonet_ were

preparing for the design concluded on the last night. This he heard,

and every minute that approached gave him new torments, so that now he

would have given himself to the Prince of Darkness for a kind

disappointment: he was often ready to go and throw himself at her

feet, and plead against her enterprise in hand, and to urge the

unlawfulness of a double marriage, ready to make vows for the fidelity

of _Philander_, though before so much against his own interest, and to

tell her all those letters from him were forged: he thought on all

things, but nothing remained with him, but despair of every thing. At

last the devil and his own subtlety put him upon a prevention, though

base, yet the most likely to succeed, in his opinion.

He knew there were many factions in _Holland_, and that the _States_

themselves were divided in their interests, and a thousand jealousies

and fears were eternally spread amongst the rabble; there were cabals

for every interest, that of the _French_ so prevailing, that of the

_English_, and that of the illustrious _Orange_, and others for the

_States_; so that it was not a difficulty to move any mischief, and

pass it off among the crowd for dangerous consequences. _Brilliard_

knew each division, and which way they were inclined; he knew

_Octavio_ was not so well with the _States_ as not to be easily

rendered worse; for he was so entirely a creature and favourite of the

Prince, that they conceived abundance of jealousies of him which they

durst not own. _Brilliard_ besides knew a great man, who having a

pique to _Octavio_, might the sooner be brought to receive any ill

character of him: to this sullen magistrate he applies himself, and

deluding the credulous busy old man with a thousand circumstantial

lies, he discovers to him, that _Octavio_ held a correspondence with

the _French_ King to betray the State; and that he caballed to that

end with some who were looked upon as _French_ rebels, but indeed were

no other than spies to _France_. This coming from a man of that party,

and whose lord was a _French_ rebel, gained a perfect credit with the

old Sir _Politic_; so that immediately hasting to the state-house, he

lays this weighty affair before them, who soon found it reasonable, if

not true, at least they feared, and sent out a warrant for the speedy

apprehending him; but coming to his house, though early, they found

him gone, and being informed which way he took, the messenger pursued

him, and found his coach at the door of a _cabaret_, too obscure for

his quality, which made them apprehend this was some place of

rendezvous where he possibly met with his traitorous associators: they

send in, and cunningly inquire who he waited for, or who was with him,

and they understood he stayed for some gentleman of the _French_

nation; for he had ordered _Sylvia_ to come in man’s clothes that she

might not be known; and had given order below, that if two _French_

gentlemen came they should be brought to him. This information made

the scandal as clear as day, and the messenger no longer doubted of

the reasonableness of his warrant, though he was loath to serve it on

a person whose father he had served so many years. He waits at some

distance from the house unseen, though he could take a view of all; he

saw _Octavio_ come often out into the balcony, and look with longing

eyes towards the road that leads to the town; he saw him all rich and

gay as a young bridegroom, lovely and young as the morning that

flattered him with so fair and happy a day; at last he saw two

gentlemen alight at the door, and giving their horses to a page to

walk the while, they ran up into the chamber where _Octavio_ was

waiting, who had already sent his page to prepare the priest in the

village-church to marry them. You may imagine, with what love and joy

the ravished youth approached the idol of his soul, and she, who

beholds him in more beauty than ever yet she thought he had appeared,

pleased with all things he had on, with the gay morning, the flowery

field, the air, the little journey, and a thousand diverting things,

made no resistance to those fond embraces that pressed her a thousand

times with silent transport, and falling tears of eager love and

pleasure; but even in that moment of content, she forgot _Philander_,

and received all the satisfaction so soft a lover could dispense:

while they were mutually thus exchanging looks, and almost hearts, the

messenger came into the room, and as civilly as possible told

_Octavio_ he had a warrant for him, to secure him as a traitor to the

State, and a spy for _France_. You need not be told the surprise and

astonishment he was in; however he obeyed. The messenger turning to

_Sylvia_, cried, ‘Sir, though I can hardly credit this crime that is

charged to my lord, yet the finding him here with two _French_

gentlemen, gives me some more fears that there may be something in it;

and it would do well if you would deliver yourselves into my hands for

the farther clearing this gentleman.’ This foolish grave speech of the

messenger had like to have put _Octavio_ into a loud laughter, he

addressing himself to two women for two men: but _Sylvia_ replied,

’.ir, I hope you do not take us for so little friends to the gallant

_Octavio_, to abandon him in this misfortune; no, we will share it

with him, be it what it will.’ To this the generous lover blushing

with kind surprise, bowed, and kissing her hand with transport, called

her his charming friend; and so all three being guarded back in

_Octavio_’. coach they return to the town, and to the house of the

messenger, which made a great noise all over, that _Octavio_ was taken

with two _French_ Jesuits plotting to fire _Amsterdam_, and a thousand

things equally ridiculous. They were all three lodged together in one

house, that of the messenger, which was very fine, and fit to

entertain any persons of quality; while _Brilliard_, who did not like

that part of the project, bethought him of a thousand ways how to free

her from thence; for he designed, as soon as _Octavio_ should be

taken, to have got her to have quitted the town under pretence of

being taken upon suspicion of holding correspondence with him, because

they were _French_; but her delivering herself up had not only undone

all his design, but had made it unsafe for him to stay. While he was

thus bethinking himself what he should do, _Octavio_’. uncle, who was

one of the _States_, extremely affronted at the indignity put upon his

nephew and his sole heir, the darling of his heart and eyes, commands

that this informer may be secured; and accordingly _Brilliard_ was

taken into custody, who giving himself over for a lost man, resolves

to put himself upon _Octavio_’. mercy, by telling him the motives that

induced him to this violent and ungenerous course. It was some days

before the Council thought fit to call for _Octavio_, to hear what he

had to say for himself; in the mean time, he having not had permission

yet to see _Sylvia_; and being extremely desirous of that happiness,

he bethought himself that the messenger, having been in his father’s

service, might have so much respect for the son, as to allow him to

speak to that fair charmer, provided he might be a witness to what he

should say: he sends for him, and demanded of him where those two fair

prisoners were lodged who came with him in the morning; he told him,

in a very good apartment on the same floor, and that they were very

well accommodated, and seemed to have no other trouble but what they

suffered for him. ‘I hope, my Lord,’ added he--’your confinement will

not be long; for I hear there is a person taken up, who has confessed

he did it for a revenge on you.’ At this _Octavio_ was very well

pleased, and asked him who it was? And he told him a _French_

gentleman belonging to the Count _Philander_, who about six months ago

was obliged to quit the town as an enemy to _France_. He soon knew it

to be _Brilliard_, and comparing this action with some others of his

lately committed, he no longer doubts it the effects of his jealousy.

He asked the messenger, if it were impossible to gain so much favour

of him, as to let him visit those two _French_ gentlemen, he being by

while he was with them: the keeper soon granted his request, and

replied--There was no hazard he would not run to serve him; and

immediately putting back the hangings, with one of those keys he had

in his hand, he opened a door in his chamber that led into a gallery

of fine pictures, and from thence they passed into the apartment of

_Sylvia_: as soon as he came in he threw himself at her feet, and she

received him, and took him up into her arms with all the transports of

joy a soul (more than ever possessed with love for him) could

conceive; and though they all appeared of the masculine sex, the

messenger soon perceived his error, and begged a thousand pardons.

_Octavio_ makes haste to tell her his opinion of the cause of all this

trouble to both; and she easily believed, when she heard _Brilliard_

was taken, that it was as he imagined; for he had been found too often

faulty not to be suspected now. This thought brought a great calm to

both their spirits, and almost reduced them to the first soft

tranquillity, with which they began the day: for he protested his

innocence a thousand times, which was wholly needless, for the

generous maid believed, before he spoke, he could not be guilty of the

sin of treachery. He renews his vows to her of eternal love, and that

he would perform what they were so unluckily prevented from doing this

morning; and that though possibly by this unhappy adventure, his

design might have taken air, and have arrived to the knowledge of his

uncle, yet in spite of all opposition of friends, or the malice of

_Brilliard_, he would pursue his glorious design of marrying her,

though he were forced for it to wander in the farthest parts of the

earth with his lovely prize. He begs she will not disesteem him for

this scandal on his fame; for he was all love, all soft desire, and

had no other design, than that of making himself master of that

greatest treasure in the world; that of the possessing, the most

charming, the all-ravishing _Sylvia_: in return, she paid him all the

vows that could secure an infidel in love, she made him all the

endearing advances a heart could wish, wholly given up to tender

passion, insomuch that he believes, and is the gayest man that ever

was blest by love. And the messenger, who was present all this while,

found that this caballing with the _French_ spies, was only an

innocent design to give himself away to a fine young lady: and

therefore gave them all the freedom they desired, and which they made

use of to the most advantage love could direct or youth inspire.

This suffering with _Octavio_ begot a pity and compassion in the heart

of _Sylvia_, and that grew up to love; for he had all the charms that

could inspire, and every hour was adding new fire to her heart, which

at last burnt into a flame; such power has mighty obligation on a

heart that has any grateful sentiments! and yet, when she was absent

a-nights from _Octavio_, and thought on _Philander_’., passion for

_Calista_, she would rage and rave, and find the effects of wondrous

love, and wondrous pride, and be even ready to make vows against

_Octavio_: but those were fits that seldomer seized her now, and every

fit was like a departing ague, still weaker than the former, and at

the sight of _Octavio_ all would vanish, her blushes would rise and

discover the soft thoughts her heart conceived for the approaching

lover; and she soon found that vulgar error, of the impossibility of

loving more than once. It was four days they thus remained without

being called to the Council, and every day brought its new joys along

with it. They were never asunder, never interrupted with any visit,

but one for a few moments in a day by _Octavio_’. uncle, and then he

would go into his own apartment to receive him: he offered to bail him

out; but _Octavio_, who had found more real joy there, than in any

part of the earth besides, evaded the obligation, by telling his

uncle, he would be obliged to nothing but his innocence for his

liberty: so would get rid of the fond old gentleman, who never knew a

passion but for his darling nephew, and returned with as much joy to

the lodgings of _Sylvia_, as if he had been absent a week, which is an

age to a lover; there they sometimes would play at cards, where he

would lose considerable sums to her, or at hazard, or be studying what

they should do next to pass the hours most to her content; not but he

had rather have lain eternally at her feet, gazing, doting, and saying

a thousand fond things, which at every view he took were conceived in

his soul: and though but this last minute he had finished, saying all

that love could dictate, he found his heart oppressed with a vast

store of new softness, which he languished to unload in her ravishing

bosom. But she, who was not arrived to his pitch of loving, diverts

his softer hours with play sometimes, and otherwhile with making him

follow her into the gallery, which was adorned with pleasant pictures,

all of _Hempskerk_’. hand, which afforded great variety of objects

very droll and antique, _Octavio_ finding something to say of every

one that might be of advantage to his own heart; for whatever argument

was in dispute, he would be sure to bring it home to the passion he

had for _Sylvia_; it should end in love, however remotely begun: so

strange an art has love to turn all things to the advantage of a

lover!

It was thus they passed their time, and nothing was wanting that

lavish experience could procure, and every minute he advances to new

freedoms, and unspeakable delights, but still such as might hitherto

be allowed with honour; he sighs and wishes, he languishes and dies

for more, but dares not utter the meaning of one motion of breath; for

he loved so very much, that every look from those fair eyes charmed

him, awed him to a respect that robbed him of many happy moments, a

bolder lover would have turned to his advantage, and he treated her as

if she had been an unspotted maid; with caution of offending, he had

forgot that general rule, that where the sacred laws of honour are

once invaded, love makes the easier conquest.

All this while you may imagine _Brilliard_ endured no little torment;

he could not on the one side, determine what the _States_ would do

with him, when once they should find him a false accuser of so great a

man; and on the other side, he suffered a thousand pains and

jealousies from love; he knew too well the charms and power of

_Octavio_, and what effects importunity and opportunity have on the

temper of feeble woman: he found the _States_ did not make so

considerable a matter of his being impeached, as to confine him

strictly, and he dies with the fears of those happy moments he might

possibly enjoy with _Sylvia_, where there might be no spies about her

to give him any kind intelligence; and all that could afford him any

glimpse of consolation, was, that while they were thus confined, he

was out of fear of their being married. _Octavio_’. uncle this while

was not idle, but taking it for a high indignity his nephew should

remain so long without being heard, he moved it to the Council, and

accordingly they sent for him to the state-house the next morning,

where _Brilliard_ was brought to confront him; whom, as soon as

_Octavio_ saw, with a scornful smile, he cried,--’It is well,

_Brilliard_, that you, who durst not fight me fairly, should find out

this nobler way of ridding yourself of a rival: I am glad at least

that I have no more honourable a witness against me.’ _Brilliard_, who

never before wanted assurance, at this reproach was wholly confounded;

for it was not from any villainy in his nature, but the absolute

effects of mad and desperate passion, which put him on the only remedy

that could relieve him; and looking on _Octavio_ with modest blushes,

that half pleaded for him, he cried--’Yes, my lord, I am your accuser,

and come to charge your innocence with the greatest of crimes, and you

ought to thank me for my accusation; when you shall know it is regard

to my own honour, violent love for _Sylvia_, and extreme respect to

your lordship, has made me thus saucy with your unspotted fame.’

’.ow,’ replied _Octavio_, ‘shall I thank you for accusing me with a

plot upon the State?’ ‘Yes, my lord,’ replied _Brilliard_; ‘and yet

you had a plot to betray the State, and by so new a way, as could be

found out by none but so great and brave a man’--’Heavens,’ replied

_Octavio_, enraged, ‘this is an impudence, that nothing but a traitor

to his own king, and one bred up in plots and mischiefs, could have

invented: I betray my own country?’--’Yes, my lord,’ cried he (more

briskly than before, seeing _Octavio_ colour so at him) ‘to all the

looseness of unthinking youth, to all the breach of laws both human

and divine; if all the youth should follow your example, you would

betray posterity itself, and only mad confusion would abound. In

short, my lord, that lady who was taken with you by the messenger, was

my wife.’ And going towards _Sylvia_, who was struck as with a

thunder-bolt, he seized her hand, and cried,--while all stood gazing

on--This lady, sir, I mean----she is my wife, my lawful married wife.’

At this _Sylvia_ could no longer hold her patience within its bounds,

but with that other hand he had left her, she struck him a box on the

ear, that almost staggered him, coming unawares; and as she struck,

she cried aloud, ‘Thou liest, base villain----and I will be revenged;’

and flinging herself out of his hand, she got on the other side of

_Octavio_, while the whole company remained confounded at what they

saw and heard. ‘How,’ cried out old _Sebastian_, uncle to _Octavio_,

’. woman, this? By my troth, sweet lady, (if you be one) methought you

were a very pretty fellow.’ And turning to _Brilliard_, he

cried,--’Why, what sir, then it seems all this noise of betraying the

State was but a cuckold’s dream. Hah! and this wonderful and dangerous

plot, was but one upon your wife, sir; hah,----was it so? Marry, sir,

at this rate, I rather think it is you have a design of betraying the

State----you cuckoldy knaves, that bring your handsome wives to seduce

our young senators from their sobriety and wits.’ ‘Are these the

recompenses,’ replied _Brilliard_, ‘you give the injured, and in lieu

of restoring me my right, am I reproached with the most scandalous

infamy that can befall a man?’ ‘Well, sir,’ replied _Sebastian_, ‘is

this all you have to charge this gentleman with?’ At which he bowed,

and was silent----and _Sebastian_ continued--’If your wife, sir, have

a mind to my nephew, or he to her, it should have been your care to

have forbid it, or prevented it, by keeping her under lock and key, if

no other way to be secured; and, sir, we do not sit here to relieve

fools and cuckolds; if your lady will be civil to my nephew, what is

that to us: let her speak for herself: what say you, madam?’--’I say,’

replied _Sylvia_, ‘that this fellow is mad and raves, that he is my

vassal, my servant, my slave; but, after this, unworthy of the meanest

of these titles.’ This she spoke with a disdain that sufficiently

shewed the pride and anger of her soul----’La you, sir,’ replied

_Sebastian_, ‘you are discharged your lady’s service; it is a plain

case she has more mind to the young Count than the husband, and we

cannot compel people to be honest against their inclinations.’ And

coming down from the seat where he sat, he embraced _Octavio_ a

hundred times, and told the board, he was extremely glad they found

the mighty plot, but a vagary of youth, and the spleen of a jealous

husband or lover, or whatsoever other malicious thing; and desired the

angry man might be discharged, since he had so just a provocation as

the loss of a mistress. So all laughing at the jest, that had made so

great a noise among the grave and wise, they freed them all: and

_Sebastian_ advised his nephew, that the next cuckold he made, he

would make a friend of him first, that he might hear of no more

complaints against him. But _Octavio_ very gravely replied; ‘Sir, you

have infinitely mistaken the character of this lady, she is a person

of too great quality for this raillery; at more leisure you shall have

her story.’ While he was speaking this, and their discharges were

making, _Sylvia_ confounded with shame, indignation, and anger, goes

out, and taking _Octavio_’. coach that stood at the gate, went

directly to his house; for she resolved to go no more where

_Brilliard_ was. After this, _Sebastian_ fell seriously to good

advice, and earnestly besought his darling to leave off those wild

extravagancies that had so long made so great a discourse all the

province over, where nothing but his splendid amours, treats, balls,

and magnificences of love, was the business of the town, and that he

had forborne to tell him of it, and had hitherto justified his

actions, though they had not deserved it; and he doubted this was the

lady to whom for these six or eight months he heard he had so entirely

dedicated himself. He desires him to quit this lady, or if he will

pursue his love, to do it discreetly, to love some unmarried woman,

and not injure his neighbours; to all which he blushed and bowed, and

silently seemed to thank him for his grave counsel. And _Brilliard_

having received his discharge, and advice how he provoked the

displeasure of the _States_ any more, by accusing of great persons, he

was ordered to ask _Octavio_’. pardon; but, in lieu of that, he came

up to him, and challenged him to fight him for the injustice he had

done him, in taking from him his wife; for he was sure he was undone

in her favour, and that thought made him mad enough to put himself on

this second extravagancy: however, this was not so silently managed

but _Sebastian_ perceived it, and was so enraged at the young fellow

for his second insolence, that he was again confined, and sent back to

prison, where he swore he should suffer the utmost of the law; and the

Council breaking up, every one departed to his own home. But never was

man ravished with excess of joy as _Octavio_ was, to find _Sylvia_

meet him with extended arms on the stair-case, whom he did not imagine

to have found there, nor knew he how he stood in the heart of the

charmer of his own, since the affront she had received in the court

from those that however did not know her; for they did not imagine

this was that lady, sister to _Philander_, of whose beauty they had

heard so much, and her face being turned from the light, the old

gentleman did not so much consider or see it. _Sylvia_ came into his

house the back way, through the stables and garden, and had the good

fortune to be seen by none of his family but the coachman, who brought

her home, whom she conjured not to speak of it to the rest of his

servants: and unseen of any body she got into his apartment, for often

she had been there at treats and balls with _Philander_. She was

alone; for _Antonet_ stayed to see what became of her false lover,

and, after he was seized again, retired to her lodging the most

disconsolate woman in the world, for having lost her hopes of

_Brilliard_, to whom she had engaged all that honour she had. But when

she missed her lady there, she accused herself with all the falsehood

in the world, and fell to repent her treachery. She sends the page to

inquire at _Octavio_’. house, but no body there could give him any

intelligence; so that the poor amorous youth returning without hope,

endured all the pain of a hopeless lover; for _Octavio_ had anew

charmed his coachman: and calling up an ancient woman who was his

house-keeper, who had been his nurse, he acquainted her with the short

history of his passion for _Sylvia_, and ordered her to give her

attendance on the treasure of his life; he bid her prepare all things

as magnificent as she could in that apartment he designed her, which

was very rich and gay, and towards a fine garden. The hangings and

beds all glorious, and fitter for a monarch than a subject; the finest

pictures the world afforded, flowers in-laid with silver and ivory,

gilded roofs, carved wainscot, tables of plate, with all the rest of

the movables in the chambers of the same, all of great value, and all

was perfumed like an altar, or the marriage bed of some young king.

Here _Sylvia_ was designed to lodge, and hither _Octavio_ conducted

her; and setting her on a couch while the supper was getting ready, he

sits himself down by her, and his heart being ready to burst with

grief, at the thought of the claim which was laid to her by

_Brilliard_, he silently views her, while tears were ready to break

from his fixed eyes, and sighs stopped what he would fain have spoke;

while she (wholly confounded with shame, guilt, and disappointment,

for she could not imagine that _Brilliard_ could have had the

impudence to have claimed her for a wife) fixed her fair eyes to the

earth, and durst not behold the languishing _Octavio_. They remained

thus a long time silent, she not daring to defend herself from a

crime, of which she knew too well she was guilty, nor he daring to ask

her a question to which the answer might prove so fatal; he fears to

know what he dies to be satisfied in, and she fears to discover too

late a secret, which was the only one she had concealed from him.

_Octavio_ runs over in his mind a thousand thoughts that perplex him,

of the probability of her being married; he considers how often he had

found her with that happy young man, who more freely entertained her

than servants use to do. He now considers how he had seen them once on

a bed together, when _Sylvia_ was in the disorder of a yielding

mistress, and _Brilliard_ of a ravished lover; he considers how he has

found them alone at cards and dice, and often entertaining her with

freedoms of a husband, and how he wholly managed her affairs,

commanded her servants like their proper master, and was in full

authority of all. These, and a thousand more circumstances, confirm

_Octavio_ in all his fears: a thousand times she is about to speak,

but either fear to lose _Octavio_ by clear confession, or to run

herself into farther error by denying the matter of fact, stops her

words, and she only blushes and sighs at what she dares not tell; and

if by chance their speaking eyes meet, they would both decline them

hastily again, as afraid to find there what their language could not

confess. Sometimes he would press her hand and sigh.--’Ah, _Sylvia_,

you have undone my quiet’. to which she would return no answer, but

sigh, and now rising from the couch, she walked about the chamber as

sad and silent as death, attending when he should have advanced in

speaking to her, though she dreads the voice she wishes to hear, and

he waits for her reply, though the mouth that he adores should deliver

poison and daggers to his heart. While thus they remained in the most

silent and sad entertainment (that ever was between lovers that had so

much to say) the page, which _Octavio_ only trusts to wait, brought

him this letter.

BRILLIARD _to_ OCTAVIO.

_My Lord_,

I am too sensible of my many high offences to your lordship, and have

as much penitence for my sin committed towards you as it is possible

to conceive; but when I implore a pardon from a lover, who by his own

passion may guess at the violent effects of my despairing flame, I am

yet so vain to hope it. _Antonet_ gave me the intelligence of your

design, and raised me up to a madness that hurried me to that

barbarity against your unspotted honour. I own the baseness of the

fact, but lovers are not, my lord, always guided by rules of justice

and reason; or, if I had, I should have killed the fair adulteress

that drew you to your undoing, and who merits more your hate than your

regard; and who having first violated her marriage-vow to me with

_Philander_, would sacrifice us both to you, and at the same time

betray you to a marriage that cannot but prove fatal to you, as it is

most unlawful in her; so that, my lord, if I have injured you, I have

at the same time saved you from a sin and ruin, and humbly implore

that you will suffer the good I have rendered you in the last, to

atone for the ill I did you in the first. If I have accused you of a

design against the State, it was to save you from that of the too

subtle and too charming _Sylvia_, which none but myself could have

snatched you from. It is true, I might have acted something more

worthy of my birth and education; but, my lord, I knew the power of

_Sylvia_; and if I should have sent you the knowledge of this, when I

sent the warrant for the security of your person, the haughty creature

would have prevailed above all my truths with the eloquence of love,

and you had yielded and been betrayed worse by her, than by the most

ungenerous measures I took to prevent it. Suffer this reason, my lord,

to plead for me in that heart where _Sylvia_ reigns, and shews how

powerful she is every where. Pardon all the faults of a most

unfortunate man undone by love, and by your own, guess what his

passion would put him on, who aims or wishes at least for the entire

possession of _Sylvia_, though it was never absolutely hoped by the

most unfortunate

BRILLIARD.

At the beginning of this letter _Octavio_ hoped it contained the

confession of his fault in claiming _Sylvia_; he hoped he would have

owned it done in order to his service to his lord, or his love to

_Sylvia_, or any thing but what it really was; but when he read

on--and found that he yet confirmed his claim, he yielded to all the

grief that could sink a heart over-burdened with violent love; he

fell down on the couch where he was sat, and only calling _Sylvia_

with a dying groan, he held out his hand, in which the letter

remained, and looked on her with eyes that languished with death,

love, and despair; while she, who already feared from whom it came,

received it with disdain, shame, and confusion: and _Octavio_

recovering a little--cried in a faint voice--’See charming, cruel

fair--see how much my soul adores you, when even this--cannot

extinguish one spark of the flame you have kindled in my soul.’ At

this she blushed, and bowed with a graceful modesty that was like to

have given the lie to all the accusations against her: she reads the

letter, while he greedily fixes his eyes upon her face as she reads,

observing with curious search every motion there, all killing and

adorable. He saw her blushes sometimes rise, then sink again to their

proper fountain, her heart; there swell and rise, and beat against her

breast that had no other covering than a thin shirt, for all her bosom

was open, and betrayed the nimble motion of her heart. Her eyes

sometimes would sparkle with disdain, and glow upon the fatal

tell-tale lines, and sometimes languish with excess of grief: but

having concluded the letter, she laid it on the table, and began again

to traverse the room, her head declined, and her arms a-cross her

bosom, _Octavio_ made too true an interpretation of this silence and

calm in _Sylvia_, and no longer doubted his fate. He fixes his eyes

eternally upon her, while she considers what she shall say to that

afflicted lover; she considers _Philander_ lost, or if he ever

returns, it is not to love; to that he was for ever gone; for too well

she knew no arts, obligations, or industry, could retrieve a flying

_Cupid_: she found, if even that could return, his whole fortune was

so exhausted he could not support her; and that she was of a nature so

haughty and impatient of injuries, that she could never forgive him

those affronts he had done her honour first, and now her love; she

resolves no law or force shall submit her to _Brilliard_; she finds

this fallacy she had put on _Octavio_, has ruined her credit in his

esteem, at least she justly fears it; so that believing herself

abandoned by all in a strange country, she fell to weeping her fate,

and the tears wet the floor as she walked: at which sight so melting

_Octavio_ starts from the couch, and catching her in his trembling

arms, he cried, ‘Be false, be cruel, and deceitful; yet still I must,

I am compelled to adore you----’ This being spoken in so hearty and

resolved a tone, from a man of whose heart she was so sure, and knew

to be generous, gave her a little courage--and like sinking men she

catches at all that presents her any hope of escaping. She resolves by

discovering the whole truth to save that last stake, his heart, though

she could pretend to no more; and taking the fainting lover by the

hand, she leads him to the couch: ‘Well,’ said she, ‘_Octavio_, you

are too generous to be imposed on in any thing, and therefore I will

tell you my heart without reserve as absolutely as to heaven itself,

if I were interceding my last peace there.’ She begged a thousand

pardons of him for having concealed any part of her story from him,

but she could no longer be guilty of that crime, to a man for whom she

had so perfect a passion; and as she spoke she embraced him with an

irresistible softness that wholly charmed him: she reconciles him with

every touch, and sighs on his bosom a thousand grateful vows and

excuses for her fault, while he weeps his love, and almost expires in

her arms; she is not able to see his passion and his grief, and tells

him she will do all things for his repose. ‘Ah, _Sylvia_’ sighed

he,’.alk not of my repose, when you confess yourself wife to one and

mistress to another, in either of which I have alas no part: ah, what

is reserved for the unfortunate _Octavio_, when two happy lovers

divide the treasure of his soul? Yet tell me truth, because it will

look like love; shew me that excellent virtue so rarely found in all

your fickle sex. O! tell me truth, and let me know how much my heart

can bear before it break with love; and yet, perhaps, to hear thee

speak to me, with that insinuating dear voice of thine, may save me

from the terror of thy words; and though each make a wound, their very

accents have a balm to heal! O quickly pour it then into my listening

soul, and I will be silent as over-ravished lovers, whom joys have

charmed to tender sighs and pantings.’ At this, embracing her anew, he

let fall a shower of tears upon her bosom, and sighing, cried--’Now I

attend thy story’. she then began anew the repetition of the loves

between herself and _Philander_, which she slightly ran over, because

he had already heard every circumstance of it, both from herself and

_Philander_; till she arrived to that part of it where she left

_Bellfont_, her father’s house: ‘Thus far,’ said she, ‘you have had a

faithful relation; and I was no sooner missed by my parents, but you

may imagine the diligent search that would be made, both by

_Foscario_, whom I was to have married the next day, and my tender

parents; but all search, all _hue-and-cries_ were vain; at last, they

put me into the weekly _Gazette_, describing me to the very features

of my face, my hair, my breast, my stature, youth, and beauty,

omitting nothing that might render me apparent to all that should see

me, offering vast sums to any that should give intelligence of such a

lost maid of quality. _Philander_, who understood too well the nature

of the common people, and that they would betray their very fathers

for such a proffered sum, durst trust me no longer to their mercy: his

affairs were so involved with those of _Cesario_, he could not leave

_Paris_; for they every moment expected the people should rise against

their king, and those glorious chiefs of the faction were obliged to

wait and watch the motions of the dirty crowd. Nor durst he trust me

in any place from him; for he could not live a day without me’. (at

that thought she sighed, and then went on); ‘so that I was obliged to

remain obscurely lodged in _Paris_, where now I durst no longer trust

myself, though disguised in as many shapes as I was obliged to have

lodgings. At last we were betrayed, and had only the short notice

given us to yield, or secure ourselves from the hand of justice by the

next morning, when they designed to surprise us. To escape we found

almost impossible, and very hazardous to attempt it; so that

_Philander_, who was raving with fears, called myself and this young

gentleman, _Brilliard_ (then Master of his Horse) and one that had

served us faithfully through the whole course of our lives, to

council: many things were in vain debated, but at last this hard shift

was found out of marrying me to _Brilliard_, for to _Philander_ it was

impossible; so that no authority of a father could take me from the

husband. I was at first extremely unwilling, but when _Philander_ told

me it was to be only a mock-marriage, to secure me to himself, I was

reconciled to it, and more when I found the infinite submission of the

young man, who vowed he would never look up to me with the eyes of a

lover or husband, but in obedience to his lord did it to preserve me

entirely for him; nay farther, to secure my future fear, he confessed

to me he was already married to a gentlewoman by whom he had two

children.’ ‘Oh!----tell me true, my _Sylvia_, was he married to

another!’ cried out the overjoyed lover. ‘Yes, on my life,’ replied

_Sylvia_; ‘for when it was proved in court that I was married to

_Brilliard_ (as at last I was, and innocently bedded) this lady came

and brought her children to me, and falling at my feet, wept and

implored I would not own her husband, for only she had right to him;

we all were forced to discover to her the truth of the matter, and

that he had only married me to secure me from the rage of my parents,

that if he were her husband she was still as entirely possessed of him

as ever, and that he had advanced her fortune in what he had done, for

she should have him restored with those advantages that should make

her life, and that of her children more comfortable; and _Philander_

making both her and the children considerable presents, sent her away

very well satisfied. After this, before people, we used him to a

thousand freedoms, but when alone, he retained his respect entire;

however, this used him to something more familiarity than formerly,

and he grew to be more a companion than a servant, as indeed we

desired he should, and of late have found him more presumptuous than

usual. And thus much more, I must confess, I have reason to believe

him a most passionate lover, and have lately found he had designs upon

me, as you well know.

’.udge now, oh dear _Octavio_, how unfortunate I am; yet judge too,

whether I ought to esteem this a marriage, or him a husband?’ ‘No,’

replied _Octavio_, more briskly than before, ‘nor can he by the laws

of God or man pretend to such a blessing, and you may be divorced.’

Pleased with this thought, he soon assumed his native temper of joy

and softness, and making a thousand new vows that he would perform all

he had sworn on his part, and imploring and pressing her to renew

those she had made to him, she obeys him; she makes a thousand

grateful returns, and they pass the evening the most happily that ever

lovers did. By this time supper was served up, noble and handsome, and

after supper, he led her to his closet, where he presented her with

jewels and other rarities of great value, and omitted nothing that

might oblige an avaricious designing woman, if _Sylvia_ had been such;

nor any thing that might beget love and gratitude in the most

insensible heart: and all he did, and all he gave, was with a peculiar

grace, in which there lies as great an obligation as in the gift

itself: the handsome way of giving being an art so rarely known, even

to the most generous. In these happy and glorious moments of love,

wherein the lover omitted nothing that could please, _Philander_ was

almost forgotten; for it is natural for love to beget love, and

inconstancy its likeness or disdain: and we must conclude _Sylvia_ a

maid wholly insensible, if she had not been touched with tenderness,

and even love itself, at all these extravagant marks of passion in

_Octavio_; and it must be confessed she was of a nature soft and apt

for impression; she was, in a word, a woman. She had her vanities and

her little foiblesses, and loved to see adorers at her feet,

especially those in whom all things, all graces, charms of youth, wit

and fortune agreed to form for love and conquest: she naturally loved

power and dominion, and it was her maxim, that never any woman was

displeased to find she could beget desire.

It was thus they lived with uninterrupted joys, no spies to pry upon

their actions, no false friends to censure their real pleasures, no

rivals to poison their true content, no parents to give bounds or

grave rules to the destruction of nobler lavish love; but all the day

was passed in new delights, and every day produced a thousand

pleasures; and even the thoughts of revenge were no more remembered on

either side; it lessened in _Sylvia_’. heart as love advanced there,

and her resentment against _Philander_ was lost in her growing passion

for _Octavio_: and sure if any woman had excuses for loving and

inconstancy, the most wise and prudent must allow them now to

_Sylvia_; and if she had reason for loving it was now, for what she

paid the most deserving of his sex, and whom she managed with that art

of loving (if there be art in love) that she gained every minute upon

his heart, and he became more and more her slave, the more he found he

was beloved: in spite of all _Brilliard_’. pretension he would have

married her, but durst not do it while he remained in _Holland_,

because of the noise _Brilliard_’. claim had made, and he feared the

displeasure of his uncle; but waited for a more happy time, when he

could settle his affairs so as to remove her into _Flanders_, though

he could not tell how to accomplish that without ruining his interest:

these thoughts alone took up his time whenever he was absent from

_Sylvia_, and would often give him abundance of trouble; for he was

given over to his wish of possessing of _Sylvia_, and could not live

without her; he loved too much, and thought and considered too little.

These were his eternal entertainments when from the lovely object of

his desire, which was as seldom as possible; for they were both

unwilling to part, though decency and rest required it, a thousand

soft things would hinder him, and make her willing to retain him, and

though they were to meet again next morning, they grudge themselves

the parting hours, and the repose of nature. He longs and languishes

for the blessed moment that shall give him to the arms of the

ravishing _Sylvia_, and she finds but too much yielding on her part in

some of those silent lone hours, when love was most prevailing, and

feeble mortals most apt to be overcome by that insinuating god; so

that though _Octavio_ could not ask what he sighed and died for,

though for the safety of his life, for any favours; and though, on the

other side, _Sylvia_ resolved she would not grant, no, though mutual

vows had passed, though love within pleaded, and almost irresistible

beauties and inducements without, though all the powers of love, of

silence, night and opportunity, though on the very point a thousand

times of yielding, she had resisted all: but oh! one night; let it not

rise up in judgement against her, ye bashful modest maids, who never

yet tried any powerful minute; nor ye chaste wives, who give no

opportunities; one night----they lost themselves in dalliance, forgot

how very near they were to yielding, and with imperfect transports

found themselves half dead with love, clasped in each other’s arms,

betrayed by soft degrees of joy to all they wished. It would be too

amorous to tell you more; to tell you all that night, that happy night

produced; let it suffice that _Sylvia_ yielded all, and made _Octavio_

happier than a god. At first, he found her weeping in his arms, raving

on what she had inconsiderately done, and with her soft reproaches

chiding her ravished lover, who lay sighing by; unable to reply any

other way, he held her fast in those arms that trembled yet, with love

and new-past joy; he found a pleasure even in her railing, with a

tenderness that spoke more love than any other language love could

speak. Betwixt his sighs he pleads his right of love, and the

authority of his solemn vows; he tells her that the marriage-ceremony

was but contrived to satisfy the ignorant, and to proclaim his title

to the crowd, but vows and contracts were the same to heaven: he

speaks----and she believes; and well she might; for all he spoke was

honourable truth. He knew no guile, but uttered all his soul, and all

that soul was honest, just and brave; thus by degrees he brought her

to a calm.

In this soft rencounter, he had discovered a thousand new charms in

_Sylvia_, and contrary to those men whose end of love is lust (which

extinguish together) _Octavio_ found increase of tenderness from every

bliss she gave; and grew at last so fond--so doting on the still more

charming maid, that he neglected all his interest, his business in the

State, and what he owed his uncle, and his friends, and became the

common theme over all the United Provinces, for his wantonness and

luxury, as they were pleased to call it, and living so contrary to the

humour of those more sordid and slovenly men of quality, which make up

the nobility of that parcel of the world. For while thus he lived

retired, scarce visiting any one, or permitting any one to visit him,

they charge him with a thousand crimes of having given himself over to

effeminacy; as indeed he grew too lazy in her arms; neglecting glory,

arms, and power, for the more real joys of life; while she even rifles

him with extravagancy; and grows so bold and hardy, that regarding not

the humours of the stingy censorious nation, his interest, or her own

fame, she is seen every day in his coaches, going to take the air out

of town; puts him upon balls, and vast expensive treats; devises new

projects and ways of diversion, till some of the more busy

impertinents of the town made a public complaint to his uncle, and the

rest of the _States_, urging he was a scandal to the reverend and

honourable society. On which it was decreed, that he should either

lose that honour, or take up, and live more according to the gravity

and authority of a senator: this incensed _Sebastian_, both against

the _States_ and his nephew; for though he had often reproved and

counselled him; yet he scorned his darling should be schooled by his

equals in power. So that resolving either to discard him, or draw him

from the love of this woman; he one morning goes to his nephew’s

house, and sending him up word by his page he would speak to him, he

was conducted to his chamber, where he found him in his night-gown: he

began to upbraid him, first, with his want of respect and duty to him,

and next, of his affairs, neglecting to give his attendance on the

public: he tells him he is become a scandal to the commonwealth, and

that he lived a lewd life with another man’s wife: he tells him he has

all her story, and she was not only a wife, but a scandalous mistress

too to _Philander_. ‘She boasts,’ says he, ‘of honourable birth; but

what is that, when her conduct is infamous? In short, sir,’ continued

he, ‘your life is obnoxious to the whole province: why what,

sir----cannot honest men’s daughters’ (cried he more angrily) ‘serve

your turn, but you must crack a Commandment? Why, this is flat

adultery: a little fornication in a civil way might have been allowed,

but this is stark naught. In fine, sir, quit me this woman, and quit

her presently; or, in the first place, I renounce thee, cast thee from

me as a stranger, and will leave thee to ruin, and the incensed

_States_. A little pleasure--a little recreation, I can allow: a layer

of love, and a layer of business--But to neglect the nation for a

wench, is flat treason against the State; and I wish there were a law

against all such unreasonable whore-masters--that are statesmen--for

the rest it is no great matter. Therefore, in a word, sir, leave me

off this mistress of yours, or we will secure her yet for a _French_

spy, that comes to debauch our commonwealth’s men----The _States_ can

do it, sir, they can----’ Hitherto _Octavio_ received all with a blush

and bow, in sign of obedience; but when his uncle told him the

_States_ would send away his mistress; no longer able to contain his

rage, he broke out into all the violence imaginable against them, and

swore he would not now forgo _Sylvia_ to be monarch over all the nasty

provinces, and it was a greater glory to be a slave at her feet. ‘Go,

tell your _States_,’ cried he,--’they are a company of cynical fops,

born to moil on in sordid business, who never were worthy to

understand so great a happiness of life as that of nobler love. Tell

them, I scorn the dull gravity of those asses of the commonwealth, fit

only to bear the dirty load of State-affairs, and die old busy fools.’

The uncle, who little expected such a return from him who used to be

all obedience, began more gently to persuade him with more solid

reason, but could get no other answer from him, than that what he

commanded he should find it difficult to disobey; and so for that time

they parted. Some days after (he never coming so much as near their

Councils) they sent for him to answer the contempt: he came, and

received abundance of hard reproaches, and finding they were resolved

to degrade him, he presently rallied them in answer to all they said;

nor could all the cautions of his friends persuade him to any

submission, after receiving so rough and ill-bred a treatment as they

gave him: and impatient to return to _Sylvia_, where all his joys were

centred, he was with much ado persuaded to stay and hear the

resolution of the Council, which was to take from him those honours he

held amongst them; at which he cocked and smiled, and told them he

received what he was much more proud of, than of those useless trifles

they called honours, and wishes they might treat all that served them

at that ungrateful rate: for he that had received a hundred wounds,

and lost a stream of blood for their security, shall, if he kiss their

wives against their wills, be banished like a coward: so hasting from

the Council, he got into his coach and went to _Sylvia_.

This incensed the old gentlemen to a high degree, and they carried it

against the younger party (because more in number) that this _French_

lady, who was for high-treason, as they called it, forced to fly

_France_, should be no longer protected in _Holland_. And in order to

her removal, or rather their revenge on _Octavio_, they sent out their

warrant to apprehend her; and either to send her as an enemy to

_France_, or force her to some other part of the world. For a day or

two _Sebastian_’. interest prevailed for the stopping the warrant,

believing he should be able to bring his nephew to some submission;

which when he found in vain, he betook himself to his chamber, and

refused any visits or diversions: by this time, _Octavio_’. rallying

the _States_ was become the jest of the town, and all the sparks

laughed at them as they passed, and lampooned them to damnable _Dutch_

tunes, which so highly incensed them, that they sent immediately, and

served the warrant on _Sylvia_, whom they surprised in _Octavio_’.

coach as she was coming from taking the air. You may imagine what an

agony of trouble and grief our generous and surprised lover was in: it

was in vain to make resistance, and he who before would not have

submitted to have saved his life, to the _States_, now for the

preservation of one moment’s content to _Sylvia_, was ready to go and

fall at their feet, kiss their shoes, and implore their pity. He first

accompanies her to the house of the messenger, where he only is

permitted to behold her with eyes of dying love, and unable to say any

thing to her, left her with such gifts, and charge to the messenger’s

care, as might oblige him to treat her well; while _Sylvia_ less

surprised, bid him, at going from her, not to afflict himself for any

thing she suffered; she found it was the malice of the peevish old

magistrates, and that the most they could do to her, was to send her

from him. This last she spoke with a sigh, that pierced his heart more

sensibly than ever any thing yet had done; and he only replied (with a

sigh) ‘No, _Sylvia_, no rigid power on earth shall ever be able to

deprive you of my eternal adoration, or to separate me one moment from

_Sylvia_, after she is compelled to leave this ungrateful place; and

whose departure I will hasten all that I can, since the land is not

worthy of so great a blessing.’ So leaving her for a little space, he

hasted to his uncle, whom he found very much discontented: he throws

himself at his feet, and assails him with all the moving eloquence of

sighs and tears; in vain was all, in vain alas he pleads. From this he

flies to rage--and says all a distracted lover could pour forth to

ease a tortured heart; what divinity did he not provoke? Wholly

regardless even of heaven and man, he made a public confession of his

passion, denied her being married to _Brilliard_, and weeps as he

protests her innocence: he kneels again, implores and begs anew, and

made the movingest moan that ever touched a heart, but could receive

no other return but threats and frowns: the old gentleman had never

been in love since he was born, no not enough to marry, but bore an

unaccountable hate to the whole sex, and therefore was pitiless to all

he could say on the score of love; though he endeavours to soften him

by a thousand things more dear to him. ‘For my sake, sir,’ said he,

’.f ever my lost plea were grateful to you, when all your joy was in

the young _Octavio_; release, release the charming _Sylvia_; regard

her tender youth, her blooming beauty, her timorous helpless sex, her

noble quality, and save her from rude assaults of power----Oh save the

lovely maid!’ Thus he uttered with interrupting sighs and tears, which

fell upon the floor as he pursued the obdurate on his knees: at last

pity touched his heart, and he said--’Spare, sir, the character of

your enchanting _Circe_; for I have heard too much of her, and what

mischief she has bred in _France_, abandoning her honour, betraying a

virtuous sister, defaming her noble parents, and ruining an

illustrious young nobleman, who was both her brother and her lover.

This, sir, in short, is the character of your beauteous innocent.’

’.las, sir,’ replied _Octavio_, ‘you never saw this maid; or if you

had, you would not be so cruel.’ ‘Go to, sir,’ replied the old

gentleman, ‘I am not so soon softened at the sight of beauty.’ ‘But do

but see her, sir,’ replied _Octavio_, ‘and then perhaps you will be

charmed like me----’ ‘You are a fop, sir,’ replied _Sebastian_, ‘and

if you would have me allow any favour to your enchanting lady, you

must promise me first to abandon her, and marry the widow of Monsieur

---- who is vastly rich, and whom I have so often recommended to you;

she loves you too, and though she be not fair, she has the best

fortune of any lady in the _Netherlands_. On these terms, sir, I am

for a reconciliation with you, and will immediately go and deliver the

fair prisoner; and she shall have her liberty to go or stay, or do

what she please--and now, sir, you know my will and

pleasure’--_Octavio_ found it in vain to pursue him any farther with his

petitions; only replied, it was wondrous hard and cruel. To which

the old one replied; ‘It is what must be done; I have resolved it, or

my estate, in value above two hundred thousand pounds, shall be

disposed of to your sister, the Countess of _Clarinau_:’ and this he

ended with an execration on himself if he did not do; and he was a man

that always was just to his word.

Much more to this ungrateful effect he spoke, and _Octavio_ had

recourse to all the dissimulation his generous soul was capable of;

and it was the first base thing, and sure the last that ever he was

guilty of. He promises his uncle to obey all his commands and

injunctions, since he would have it so; and only begged he might be

permitted but one visit, to take his last leave of her. This was at

first refused, but at last, provided he might hear what he said to

her, he would suffer him to go: ‘For,’ said the crafty old man, (who

knew too well the cunning of youth,) ‘I will have no tricks put upon

me; I will not be outwitted by a young knave:’ this was the worst part

of all; he knew, if he alone could speak with her, they might have

contrived, by handsome agreeing flattery, to have accomplished their

design; which was, first, by the authority of the old gentleman to

have freed her from confinement; and next, to have settled his affairs

in the best posture he could, and without valuing his uncle’s fortune,

his own being greater, he resolved to go with her into _Flanders_ or

_Italy_; but his going with him to visit her would prevent whatever

they might resolve: but since the liberty of _Sylvia_ was first to be

considered, he resolves, since it must be so and leaves the rest to

time and his good fortune. ‘Well then, sir,’ said _Octavio_, ‘since

you have resolved yourself, to be a witness of those melancholy

things, I shall possibly say to her, let us haste to end the great

affair’--’Hang it,’ cried _Sebastian_, ‘if I go I shall abuse the

young hussy, or commit some indecency that will not be suitable to

good manners----’ ‘I hope you will, sir’----replied _Octavio_----’Whip

them, whip them,’ replied the uncle, ‘I hate the young cozening

baggages, that wander about the world undoing young and extravagant

coxcombs; gots so they are naught, stark naught----Be sure dispatch as

soon as you can; and--do you hear--let’s have no whining.’ _Octavio_,

overjoyed he should have her released to-night, promised lavishly all

he was urged to: and his coach being at the gate, they both went

immediately to the house of the messenger; all the way the old

gentleman did nothing but rail against the vices of the age, and the

sins of villainous youth; the snares of beauty, and the danger of

witty women; and of how ill consequences these were to a commonwealth.

He said, if he were to make laws he would confine all young women to

monasteries, where they should never see man till forty, and then come

out and marry for generation-sake, no more: for his part, he had never

seen the beauty that yet could inspire him with that silly thing

called love; and wondered what the devil ailed all the young fellows

of this age, that they talked of nothing else. At this rate they

discoursed till they arrived at the prison, and calling for the

messenger, he conducted them both to the chamber of the fair prisoner,

who was laid on a couch, near which stood a table with two candles,

which gave a great light to that part of the room, and made _Sylvia_

appear more fair than ever, if possible. She had not that day been

dressed but in a rich night-gown, and cornets of the most advantageous

fashion. At his approach she blushed (with a secret joy, which never

had possessed her soul for him before) and spread a thousand beauties

round her fair face. She was leaping with a transported pleasure to

his arms, when she perceived an old grave person follow him into the

room; at which she reassumed a strangeness, a melancholy languishment,

which charmed no less than her gaiety. She approaches them with a

modest grace in her beautiful eyes; and by the reception _Octavio_

gave her, she found that reverend person was his uncle, or at least

somebody of authority; and therefore assuming a gravity unusual, she

received them with all the ceremony due to their quality: and first,

she addressed herself to the old gentleman, who stood gazing at her,

without motion; at which she was a little out of countenance. When

_Octavio_ perceiving it, approached his uncle and cried, ‘Sir, this is

the lady----’ _Sebastian_, starting as from a dream, cried--’Pardon

me, madam, I am a fellow whom age hath rendered less ceremonious than

youth: I have never yet been so happy as to have been used to a fair

lady. Women never took up one minute of my more precious time, but I

have been a satyr upon the whole sex; and, if my treatment of you be

rougher than your birth and beauty merits, I beseech you----fair

creature, pardon it, since I come in order to do you service.’ ‘Sir,’

replied _Sylvia_, (blushing with anger at the presence of a man who

had contributed to the having brought her to that place) ‘I cannot but

wonder at this sudden change of goodness, in a person to whom I am

indebted for part of my misfortune, and which I shall no longer esteem

as such, since it has occasioned me a happiness, and an honour, to

which I could no other way have arrived.’ This last she spoke with her

usual insinuating charms; the little affectation of the voice

sweetened to all the tenderness it was possible to put on, and so easy

and natural to _Sylvia_: and if before the old gentleman were seized

with some unusual pleasure, which before he never felt about his icy

and insensible heart, and which now began to thaw at the fire of her

eyes----I say, if before he were surprised with looking, what was he

when she spoke--with a voice so soft, and an air so bewitching? He was

all eyes and ears, and had use of no other sense but what informed

those. He gazes upon her, as if he waited and listened what she would

farther say, and she stood waiting for his reply, till ashamed, she

turned her eyes into her bosom, and knew not how to proceed. _Octavio_

views both by turns, and knows not how to begin the discourse again,

it being his uncle’s cue to speak: but finding him altogether mute--he

steps to him, and gently pulled him by the sleeve--but finds no motion

in him; he speaks to him, but in vain; for he could hear nothing but

_Sylvia_’. charming voice, nor saw nothing but her lovely face, nor

attended any thing but when she would speak again, and look that way.

At this _Octavio_ smiled, and taking his adorable by the hand, he led

her nearer her admiring adversary; whom she approached with modesty

and sweetness in her eyes, that the old fellow, having never before

beheld the like vision, was wholly vanquished, and his old heart burnt

in the socket, which being his last blaze made the greater fire. ‘Fine

lady,’ cried he--’or rather fine angel, how is it I shall expiate for

a barbarity that nothing could be guilty of but the brute, who had not

learned humanity from your eyes: what atonement can I make for my sin;

and how shall I be punished?’ ‘Sir,’ replied _Sylvia_, ‘if I can merit

your esteem and assistance, to deliver me from this cruel confinement,

I shall think of what is past as a joy, since it renders me worthy of

your pity and compassion.’ ‘To answer you, madam, were to hold you

under this unworthy roof too long; therefore let me convince you of my

service, by leading you to a place more fit for so fair a person.’ And

calling for the messenger, he asked him if he would take his bail for

his fair prisoner? Who replied, ‘Your lordship may command all

things:’ so throwing him a little purse, about thirty pounds in gold,

he bid him drink the lady’s health; and without more ceremony or talk,

led her to the coach; and never so much as asking her whether she

would go, insensibly carries her, where he had a mind to have her, to

his own house. This was a little affliction to _Octavio_, who

nevertheless durst not say any thing to his uncle, nor so much as ask

him the reason why: but being arrived all thither, he conducts her to

a very fair apartment, and bid her there command that world he could

command for her: he gave her there a very magnificent supper, and all

three supped together. _Octavio_ could not imagine that his uncle, who

was a single man, and a grave senator, one famed for a womanhater, a

great railer at the vices of young men, should keep a fair, young,

single woman in his house: but it growing late, and no preparation for

her departing, she took the courage to say--’Sir, I am so extremely

obliged to you, and have received so great a favour from you, that I

cannot flatter myself it is for any virtue in me, or merely out of

compassion to my sex, that you have done this; but for some body’s

sake, to whom I am more engaged than I am aware of; and when you

passed your parole for my liberty, I am not so vain to think it was

for my sake; therefore pray inform me, sir, how I can pay this debt,

and to whom; and who it is you require should be bound for me, to save

you harmless.’ ‘Madam,’ cried _Sebastian_, ‘though there need no

greater security than your own innocence, yet lest that innocence

should not be sufficient to guard you from the outrage of a people

approaching to savages, I beg, for your own security, not mine, that

you will make this house your sanctuary; my power can save you from

impending harms; and all that I call mine, you shall command.’ At this

she blushing bowed, but durst not make reply to contradict him: she

knew, at least, that there she was safe and well, from fear of the

tyranny of the rest, or any other apprehension. It is true, she found,

by the shyness of _Octavio_ towards her before his uncle, that she was

to manage her amour with him by stealth, till they could contrive

matters more to their advantage: she therefore finding she should want

nothing, but as much of _Octavio_’. conversation as she desired, she

begged he would give her leave to write a note to her page, who was a

faithful, sober youth, to bring her jewels and what things she had of

value to her, which he did, and received those and her servants

together; but _Antonet_ had like to have lost her place, but that

_Octavio_ pleaded for her, and she herself confessing it was love to

the false _Brilliard_ that made her do that foolish thing (in which

she vowed she thought no harm, though it was like to have cost her so

dear) she was again received into favour: so that for some days

_Sylvia_ found herself very much at her ease with the old gentleman,

and had no want of any thing but _Octavio_’. company: but she had the

pleasure to find, by his eyes and sighs, he wanted hers more: he died

every day, and his fair face faded like falling roses: still she was

gay; for if she had it not about her, she assumed it to keep him in

heart: she was not displeased to see the old man on fire too, and

fancied some diversion from the intrigue. But he concealed his passion

all he could, both to hide it from his nephew, and because he knew not

what he ailed. A strange change he found, a wondrous disorder in

nature, but could not give a name to it, nor sigh aloud for fear he

should be heard, and lose his reputation; especially for this woman,

on whom he had railed so lavishly. One day therefore, after a night of

torment, very incommode to his age, he takes _Octavio_ into the garden

alone, telling him he had a great secret to impart to him. _Octavio_

guessing what it might be, put his heart in as good order as he could

to receive it. He at least knew the worst was but for him at last to

steal _Sylvia_ from him, if he should be weak enough to dote on the

young charmer, and therefore resolved to hear with patience. But if he

were prepared to attend, the other was not prepared to begin, and so

both walked many silent turns about the garden. _Sebastian_ had a mind

to ask a thousand questions of his nephew, who he found, maugre all

his vows of deserting _Sylvia_, had no power of doing it: he had a

mind to urge him to marry the widow, but durst not now press it,

though he used to do so, lest he should take it for jealousy in him;

nor durst he now forbid him seeing her, lest he should betray the

secrets of his soul: he began every moment to love him less, as he

loved _Sylvia_ more, and beholds him as an enemy to his repose, nay

his very life. At last the old man (who thought if he brought his

nephew forth under pretence of a secret, and said nothing to him, it

would have looked ill) began to speak. ‘_Octavio_,’ said he, ‘I have

hitherto found you so just in all you have said, that it were a sin to

doubt you in what relates to _Sylvia_. You have told me she is nobly

born; and you have with infinite imprecations convinced me she is

virtuous; and lastly, you have sworn she was not married’----At this

he sighed and paused, and left _Octavio_ trembling with fear of the

result: a thousand times he was like to have denied all, but durst not

defame the most sacred idol of his soul: sometimes he thought his

uncle would be generous, and think it fit to give him _Sylvia_; but

that thought was too seraphic to remain a moment in his heart. ‘Sir,’

replied _Octavio_, ‘I own I said so of _Sylvia_, and hope no action

she has committed since she had a protection under your roof has

contradicted any thing I said. ‘No,’ said _Sebastian_, sighing--and

pausing, as loath to speak more: ‘Sir,’ said _Octavio_, ‘I suppose

this is not the secret you had to impart to me, for which you separate

me to this lonely walk; fear not to trust me with it, whatever it be;

for I am so entirely your own, that I will grant, submit, prostrate

myself, and give up all my will, power, and faculties to your interest

or designs.’ This encouraged the old lover, who replied--’Tell me one

truth, _Octavio_, which I require of you, and I will desire no

more----have not you had the possession of this fair maid? You

apprehend me.’ Now it was that he feared what design the amorous old

gentleman had in his head and heart; and was at a loss what to say,

whether to give him some jealousy that he had known and possessed her,

and so prevent his designs on her; or by saying he had not, to leave

her defenceless to his love. But on second thoughts, he could not

resolve to say any thing to the disadvantage of _Sylvia_, though to

save his own life; and therefore assured his uncle, he never durst

assume the boldness to ask so rude a question of a woman of quality:

and much more he spoke to that purpose to convince him: that it is

true, he would have married her, if he could have gained his consent;

maugre all the scandal that the malicious world had thrown upon her.

But since he was positive in his command for the widow, he would bend

his mind to obedience. ‘In that,’ replied _Sebastian_, ‘you are wise,

and I am glad all your youthful fires are blown over; and having once

fixed you in the world as I design, I have resolved on an affair----’

At this again he paused----’I am,’ says he, ‘in love--I think it is

love, or that which you call so: I cannot eat, nor sleep, nor even

pray, but this fair stranger interposes; or, if by chance I slumber,

all my dreams are of her, I see her, I touch her, I embrace her, and

find a pleasure, even then, that all my waking thoughts could never

procure me. If I go to the state-house, I mind nothing there, my

heart’s at home with the young gentlewoman; or the change, or

wheresoever I go, my restless thoughts present her still before me:

and prithee tell me, is not this love, _Octavio_? ‘It may arrive to

love,’ replied the blushing youth, ‘if you would fondly give way to

it: but you are wise and grave, should hate all women, sir, till about

forty, and then for generation only: you are above the follies of vain

youth. And let me tell you, sir, without offending, already you are

charged with a thousand little vanities, unsuitable to your years, and

the character you have had, and the figure you have made in the world.

I heard a lampoon on you the other day,--(Pardon my freedom, sir,) for

keeping a beauty in your house, who they are pleased to say was my

mistress before.’ And pulling out a lampoon, which his page had before

given him, he gave it his uncle. But instead of making him resolve to

quit _Sylvia_, it only served to incense him against _Octavio_; he

railed at all wits, and swore there was not a more dangerous enemy to

a civil, sober commonwealth: that a poet was to be banished as a spy,

or hanged as a traitor: that it ought to be as much against the law to

let them live, as to shoot with white powder; and that to write

lampoons should be put into the statute against stabbing. And could he

find the rogue that had the wit to write that, he would make him a

warning to all the race of that damnable vermin; what! to abuse a

magistrate, one of the _States_, a very monarch of the commonwealth!--

It was abominable, and not to be borne,--and looking on his nephew--and

considering his face a while, he cried--’I fancy, sir, by your

physiognomy, that you yourself have a hand in this libel:’ at which

Octavio blushed, which he taking for guilt, flew out into terrible

anger against him, not suffering him to speak for himself, or clear

his innocence. And as he was going in this rage from him, having

forbidden him ever to set his foot within his doors, he told

him,--’If,’ said he, ‘the scandalous town, from your instructions, have

such thoughts of me, I will convince it by marrying this fair

stranger the first thing I do: I cannot doubt but to find a welcome,

since she is a banished woman, without friends or protection; and

especially, when she shall see how civilly you have handled her

here, in your doggerel ballad: I will teach you to be a wit, sir; and

so your humble servant.’--And leaving him almost wild with his

fears, he went directly to _Sylvia_, where he told her his nephew was

going to make up the match between himself and madam the widow of ----

and that he had made a scandalous lampoon on her fair self. He forgot

nothing that might make her hate the amiable young nobleman, whom she

knew too well to believe that any thing of this was other than the

effects of his own growing passion for her. For though she saw

_Octavio_ every day, in this time she had remained at his uncle’s, yet

the old lover so watched their very looks, that it was impossible

almost to tell one another’s heart by the glance there. But _Octavio_

had once in this time conveyed a letter to her, which having

opportunity to do, he put it into her comb-box, when he was with his

uncle one day in her dressing-room; for she durst not trust her page,

and less _Antonet_, who had before betrayed them: and having for

_Sylvia_’. release so solemnly sworn to his uncle, (to which vows he

took religious care to keep him,) he had so perfect an awe upon his

spirits from every look and command of his uncle’s, he took infinite

heed how he gave him any umbrage by any action of his; and the rather,

because he hoped when time should serve, to bring about his business

of stealing _Sylvia_ from him; for she was kept and guarded like a

mighty heiress; so that by this prudent management on both sides, they

heightened the growing love in every heart. In that billet, which he

dropped in her comb-box, he did not only make ten thousand vows of

eternal passion and faith, and beg the same assurance of her again;

but told her he was secured (so well he thought of her) from fears of

his uncle’s addresses to her, and begged she would not let them

perplex her, but rather serve her for her diversion; that she should

from time to time write him all he said to her, and how he treated her

when alone; and that since the old lover was so watchful, she should

not trust her letters with any body; but as she walked into the

garden, she should in passing through the hall, put her letter in at

the broken glass of an old sedan that stood there, and had stood for

several years; and that his own page, whom he could trust, should,

when he came with him to his uncle’s, take it from thence. Thus every

day they writ, and received the dearest returns in the world; where

all the satisfaction that vows oft repeated could give, was rendered

each other; with an account from _Sylvia_ that was very pleasant, of

all the passion of the doting old _Sebastian_, the presents he made

her, the fantastic youth he would assume, and unusual manner of his

love, which was a great diversion to both; and this difficulty of

speaking to _Sylvia_, and entertaining her with love, though it had

its pains, had its infinite pleasure too; it increased their love on

both sides, and all their wishes. But now by this last banishment from

the house where she was, to lose that only pleasure of beholding the

adorable maid, gave him all the pains, without the hope of one

pleasure; and he began to fear he should have a world of difficulty to

secure the dear object of his continual thoughts: he found no way to

send to her, and dreads all his malicious uncle and rival may say to

his disadvantage: he dreads even that infinite tenderness and esteem

he had for the good old man, who had been so fond a parent to him;

lest even that should make him unwilling to use that extremity against

him in regaining _Sylvia_, which he could use to any other man. Oh,

how he curses the fatal hour that ever he implored his aid for her

release; and having overcome all difficulties, even that of his fears

of _Philander_, (from whom they had received no letter in two months)

and that of _Sylvia’s_ disdain, and had established himself in her

soul and her arms; he should, by employing his uncle’s authority for

_Sylvia’s_ service, be so unfortunate to involve them into new dangers

and difficulties, of which he could foresee no other end, than that

which must be fatal to some of them. But he believed half his torture

would be eased, could he but write to _Sylvia_, for see her he could

not hope: he bethought himself of a way at last.

His uncle had belonging to his house the most fine garden of any in

that province, where those things are not much esteemed; in which the

old gentleman took wonderful delight, and kept a gardener and his

family in a little house at the farther end of the garden, on purpose

to look to it and dress it. This man had a very great veneration for

_Octavio_, whom he called his young lord. Sure of the fidelity of this

gardener, when it was dark enough to conceal him, he wrapped himself

in his cloak, and got him thither by a back way, where with presents,

he soon won those to his interest, who would before have been

commanded by him in any service. He had a little clean room, and some

little _French_ novels which he brought; and there he was as well

concealed as if he had been in the _Indies_; he left word at home,

that he was gone out of the town. He knew well enough that _Sylvia_’.,

lodgings looked that way; and when it was dark enough, he walked under

her window, till he saw a candle lighted in _Sylvia_’. bed-chamber,

which was as great a joy to him as the star that guides the traveller,

or wandering seaman, or the lamp at _Sestos_, that guided the ravished

lover over the _Hellespont_. And by that time he could imagine all in

bed, he made a little noise with a key on the pummel of his sword; but

whether _Sylvia_ heard it or not, I cannot tell, but she anon came to

the window, and putting up the sash, leaned on her arms and looked

into the garden. Oh! Who but he himself that loved so well as

_Octavio_, can express the transports he was in, at the sight? Which,

more from the sight within than that without, he saw was the lovely

_Sylvia_; whom calling softly by her name, answered him, as if she

knew the welcome voice, and cried--’Who is there, _Octavio_? She was

soon answered you may imagine. And they began the most endearing

conversation that ever love could dictate. He complains on his fate

that sets them at that distance, and she pities him. He makes a

thousand doubts, and she undeceives them all. He fears, and she

convinces his error, and is impatient at his suspicions. She will not

endure him to question a heart that has given him so many proofs of

its tenderness and gratitude; she tells him her own wishes, how soft

and fervent they are; and assures him, he is extremely obliged to

her----’Since for you--my charming friend,’ said she to _Octavio_, ‘I

have refused this night to marry your uncle; have a care,’ said she,

smiling, ‘how you treat me, lest I revenge myself on you; become your

aunt, and bring heirs to the estate you have a right to: the writings

of all which I have now in my chamber, and which were but just now

laid at my feet, and which I cannot yet get him to receive back. And

to oblige me to a compliance, has told me how you have deceived me, by

giving yourself to another, and exposing me in lampoons.’--To this

_Octavio_ would have replied, but she assured him she needed no

argument to convince her of the falsehood of all. He sighs, and told

her, all she said, though dear and charming, was not sufficient to

ease his heart; for he foresaw a world of hazard to get her from

thence, and mischiefs if she remained; insomuch that he caused the

tears to flow from the fair eyes of _Sylvia_, with her reflections on

her rigid fortune. And she cried, ‘Oh, my _Octavio_! What strange fate

or stars ruled my birth, that I should be born to the ruin of what I

love, or those that love me!’ At this rate they passed the night,

sometimes more soft, sometimes encouraging one another; but the last

result was to contrive the means of escaping. He fancied she might

easily do it by the garden from the window: but that he was not sure

he could trust the gardener so far, who in all things would serve him,

in which his lord and master was not injured; and he, amongst the rest

of the servants, had orders not to suffer _Sylvia_ out of the garden,

for which reason he kept a guard on that back-door. Some way must be

found out which yet was not, and was left to time. He told her whence

he was, and that he would not stir from thence, till he was secured of

her flight: and day coming on, though loath, yet for fear of eyes and

ears that might spy upon them, he retired to his little lodging, and

_Sylvia_ to bed; after giving and receiving a thousand vows and

farewells. The next night he came to the same place, but instead of

entertaining her--he only saw her softly put up the sash a little, and

throw something white out of the window and retire. He was wondering

at the meaning, but taking up what was thrown down, he found and smelt

it was _Sylvia_’. handkerchief, in which was tied up a billet: he went

to his little lodging, and read it.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

Go from my window, my adorable friend, and be not afflicted that I do

not entertain you as I had the joy to do last night; for both our

voices were heard by some one that lodges below; and though your uncle

could not tell me any part of our conversation, yet he heard I talked

to some body: I have persuaded him the fellow dreamed who gave him

this intelligence, and he is almost satisfied he did so; however,

hazard not thy dear-self any more so, but let me lose for a while the

greatest happiness this earth can afford me, (in the circumstances of

our fortunes) rather than expose what is dearer to me than life or

honour: pity the fate I was born to, and expect all things from

_Your_ SYLVIA.

_I will wait at the window for your answer, and let you down a

ribband, by which I will draw it up: but as you love me do not speak._

He had no sooner read this, but he went to write an answer, which was

this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Complain not, thou goddess of my vows, on the fate thou wert born to

procure to all mankind; but thank heaven for having received ten

thousand charms that can recompense all the injuries you so

unwillingly do us: and who would not implore his ruin from all the

angry powers, if in return they would give him so glorious a reward?

Who would not be undone to all the trifling honours of the mistaken

world, to find himself, in lieu of all, possessed of the ravishing

_Sylvia_? But oh! Where is that presumptuous man, that can at the

price of all lay claim to so vast a blessing? Alas, my _Sylvia_, even

while I dare call you mine, I am not that hoping slave; no, not after

all the valued dear things you have said and vowed to me last night in

the garden, welcome to my soul as life after a sentence of death, or

heaven after life is ended. But, oh _Sylvia_! all this, even all you

uttered from your dear mouth is not sufficient to support me: alas, I

die for _Sylvia_! I am not able to bear the cruel absence longer,

therefore without delay assist me to contrive your escape, or I shall

die, and leave you to the ravage of his love who holds thee from me;

the very thoughts of that is worse than death. I die, alas, I die, for

an entire possession of thee: oh let me grasp my treasure, let me

engross it all, here in my longing arms. I can no longer languish at

this distance from my cruel joy, my life, my soul! But oh I rave, and

while I should be speaking a thousand useful things, I am telling you

my pain, a pain that you may guess; and confounding myself between

those and their remedies, am able to fix on nothing. Help me to think,

oh my dear charming creature, help me to think how I shall bear thee

off! Take your own measures, flatter him with love, soothe him to

faith and confidence, and then--oh pardon me, if there be baseness in

the action--then--cozen him--deceive him--any thing--for he deserves

it all, that thinks that lovely body was formed for his embraces, whom

age has rendered fitter for a grave. Form any plots, use every

stratagem to save the life of

_Your_ OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

He wrote this in haste and disorder, as you may plainly see by the

style, and went to the window with it, where he found _Sylvia_ leaning

expecting him: the sashes were up, and he tossed it in the

handkerchief into her window: she read it, and wrote an answer back as

soft as love could form, to send him pleased to bed; wherein she

commanded him to hope all things from her wit and industrious love.

This had partly the effects she wished, and after kissing his hand,

and throwing it up towards _Sylvia_, they parted as silent as the

night from day, which was now just dividing--so long they stayed,

though but to look at each other; so that all the morning was passed

in bed to make the day seem shorter, which was too tedious to both:

this pleasure he had after noon, towards the evening, that when

_Sylvia_ walked, as she always did in the garden, he could see her

through the glass of his window, but durst not open it; for the old

gentleman was ever with her. In this time _Octavio_ failed not however

to essay the good nature of the gardener in order to _Sylvia_’.

flight, but found there was no dealing with him in this affair; and

therefore durst not come right down to the point: the next night he

came under the beloved window again, and found the sacred object of

his wishes leaning in the window expecting him: to whom, as soon as

she heard his tread on the gravel, she threw down a handkerchief

again, which he took up, and tossed his own with a soft complaining

letter to entertain her till his return; for he hasted to read hers,

and swept the garden as he passed as swift as wind; so impatient he

was to see the inside--which he found thus:

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I beg, my charming friend, you will be assured of all I have promised

you; and to believe that but for the pleasure of those dear billets I

receive from you, I could as little support this cruel confinement as

you my absence. I have but one game to play, and I beseech you not to

be surprised at it, it is to promise to marry _Sebastian_: he is

eternally at my feet, and either I must give him my vow to become his

wife, or give him hope of other favours. I am so entirely yours, that

I will be guided by you, which I shall flatter him in to gain my

liberty; for if I grant either, he has proposed to carry me to his

country-house, two leagues from the town, and there consummate

whatever I design to bless him with; and this is it that has wrought

my consent, that we being to go alone, only my own servants, you may

easily take me thence by force upon the road, or after our arrival,

where he will not guard me perhaps so strictly as he does here: for

that, I leave it to your conduct, and expect your answer to your

impatient

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

He immediately sat down, and wrote this:

* * * * *

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Have a care, my charming fair, how you play with vows; and however you

are forced, for that religious end of saving your honour, to deceive

the poor old lover, whom, by heaven I pity; yet rather let me die than

know you can be guilty of vow-breach, though made in jest. I am well

pleased at the glimpse of hope you give me, that I shall see you at

his _villa_; and doubt not but to find a way to secure you to myself:

say any thing, promise to sacrifice all to his desire; but oh, do not

give away thy dear, thy precious self by vow, to any but the

languishing

OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

After he had wrote this, he hasted, and throws it into her window, and

returned to bed without seeing her, which was no small affliction to

his soul: he had an ill night of it, and fancied a thousand tormenting

things; that the old gentleman might then be with her; and if alone,

what might he not persuade, by force of rich presents, of which his

uncle was well stored; and so he guessed, and as he guessed it proved,

as by his next night’s letter he was informed, that the old lover no

sooner saw _Sylvia_ retire, but having in mind to try his fortune in

some critical minute--for such a minute he had heard there was that

favoured lovers; but he goes to his closet, and taking out some jewels

of great value, to make himself the more welcome, he goes directly to

_Sylvia_’. chamber, and entered just as she had taken up _Octavio_’.

letter, and clapped it in her bosom as she heard some body at the

door; but was not in a little confusion, when she saw who it was,

which she excused, by telling him she was surprised to find herself

with a man in her chamber. That there he fell to pleading his cause of

love, and offered her again to settle his estate upon her, and

implored she would be his wife. After a thousand faint denials, she

told him she could not possibly receive that honour, but if she could,

she would have looked upon it as a great favour from heaven; at that

he was thunder-struck, and looked as ghastly as if his mother’s ghost

had frightened him; and after much debate, love and grief on his side,

design and dissimulation on hers, she gave him hopes that atoned for

all she had before said; insomuch that, before they parted, an

absolute bargain was struck up, and he was to settle part of his

estate upon her, as also that _villa_, to which he had resolved in two

days to carry her; in earnest of this, he presents her with a necklace

of pearl of good value, and other jewels, which was the best rhetoric

he had yet spoke to her; and now she had appeared the most complaisant

lady in the world, she suffers him to talk wantonly to her, nay, even

to kiss her, and rub his grizzly beard on her divine face, grasp her

hands, and touch her breast; a blessing he had never before arrived

to, above the quality of his own servant-maid. To all which she makes

the best resistance she can, under the circumstances of one who was to

deceive well; and while she loathes, she seems well pleased, while the

gay jewels sparkled in her eyes, and _Octavio_ in her heart; so fond

is youth of vanities, and to purchase an addition of beauty at any

price. Thus with her pretty flatteries she wrought upon his soul, and

smiled and looked him into faith; loath to depart, she sends him

pleased away, and having her heart the more inclined to _Octavio_, by

being persecuted with his uncle’s love, (for by comparison she finds

the mighty difference) she sets herself to write him the account of

what I have related; this night’s adventure, and agreement between his

uncle and herself. She tells him that to-morrow, (for now it was

almost day,) she had promised him to go to his _villa_: she tells him

at what rate she has purchased the blessing expected; and lastly,

leaves the management of the rest to him, who needs not to be

instructed. This letter he received the next night at the old place,

and _Sylvia_ with it lets down a velvet night-bag, which contained all

the jewels and things of value she had received of himself, his uncle,

or any other: after which he retired, and was pretty well at ease,

with the imagination he should ‘ere long be made happy in the

possession of _Sylvia_: in order to it, the next morning he was early

up, and dressing himself in a great coarse campaign-coat of the

gardener’s, putting up his hair as well as he could, under a country

hat, he got on a horse that suited his habit, and rides to the

_villa_, whither they were to come, and which he knew perfectly well

every room of; for there our hero was born. He went to a little

_cabaret_ in the village, from whence he could survey all the great

house, and see every body that passed in and out: he remained fixed at

the window, filled with a thousand agitations; this he had resolved,

not to set upon the old man as a thief, or robber; nor could he find

in his heart or nature, to injure him, though but in a little

affrighting him, who had given him so many anxious hours, and who had

been so unjust to desire that blessing himself he would not allow him;

and to believe that virtue in himself, which he exclaims against as so

great a vice in his nephew; nevertheless he resolved to deceive him,

to save his own life. And he wanted that nice part of generosity, as

to satisfy a little unnecessary lust in an old man, to ruin the

eternal content of a young one, so nearly allied to his soul, as was

his own dear proper person. While he was thus considering, he saw his

uncle’s coach coming, and _Sylvia_ with that doting lover in it, who

was that day dressed in all the fopperies of youth, and every thing

was young and gay about him but his person; that was winter itself,

disguised in artificial spring; and he was altogether a mere

contradiction: but who can guess the disorders and pantings of

_Octavio_’. heart at the sight? And though he had resolved before, he

would not to save his life, lay violent hands upon his old parent; yet

at their approach, at their presenting themselves together before his

eyes as two lovers, going to betray him to all the miseries, pangs and

confusions of love; going to possess--her, the dear object and certain

life of his soul, and he the parent of him, to whom she had disposed

of herself, so entirely already, he was provoked to break from all his

resolutions, and with one of those pistols he had in his pockets, to

have sent unerring death to his old amorous heart; but that thought

was no sooner born than stifled in his soul, where it met with all the

sense of gratitude, that ever could present the tender love and dear

care of a parent there; and the coach passing into the gate put him

upon new designs, and before they were finished he saw _Sylvia_’. page

coming from the house, after seeing his lady to her apartment, and

being shewed his own, where he laid his valise and riding things, and

was now come out to look about a country, where he had never been

before. _Octavio_ goes down and meets him, and ventures to make

himself known to him: and so infinitely glad was the youth to have an

opportunity to serve him, that he vowed he would not only do it with

his life, on occasion, but believed he could do it effectually, since

the old gentleman had no sort of jealousy now; especially, since they

had so prudently managed matters in this time of his lady’s remaining

at _Sebastian_’. house. ‘So that, sir, it will not be difficult,’ says

the generous boy, ‘for me to convey you to my lodging, when it is

dark.’ He told him his lady cast many a longing look out towards the

road, as she passed, ‘for you, I am sure, my lord;--for she had told

both myself and _Antonet_ of her design before, lest our surprise or

resistance should prevent any force you might use on the road, to take

her from my lord _Sebastian_: she sighed, and looked on me as she

alighted, with eyes, my lord, that told me her grief, for your

disappointment.’