“Stay, stay, Philanax,” said she, “do not defile thy honest mouth with

those dishonourable speeches thou art about to utter against a woman,

now most wretched, lately thy mistress. Let either the remembrance how

great she was move thy heart to some reverence, or the seeing how low

she is, stir in thee some pity. It may be truth doth make thee deal

untruly, and love of justice frames injustice in thee, do not

therefore, neither shalt thou need, tread upon my desolate ruins. Thou

shalt have what thou seekest; and yet shalt not be oppressor of her,

who cannot choose but love thee for thy singular faith to thy master.

I do not speak this to procure mercy, or to prolong my life, no, no, I

say unto you I will not live, but I am only loth, my death should be

engrieved with any wrong thou shouldst do unto me. I have been too

painful a judge over myself to desire pardon in others’ judgment. I

have been too cruel an executioner of my own soul to desire that

execution of justice should be staid for me. Alas, they that know how

sorrow can rend the spirits, they that know what fiery hells are

contained in a self-condemning mind, need not fear that fear can keep

such an one from desiring to be separated from that which nothing but

death can separate. I therefore say to thee, O just judge, that I, and

only I, was the worker of Basilius’s death. They were these hands that

gave unto him the poisonous potion that hath brought death to him, and

loss to Arcadia; it was I, and none but I, that hastened his aged

years to an unnatural end, and that have made all his people orphans

of their royal father. I am the subject that have killed my prince, I

am the wife that have murdered my husband, I am a degenerate woman, an

undoer of this country, a shame of my children. What wouldst thou have

said more, O Philanax! and all this I grant, there resteth then

nothing else to say but that I desire you, you will appoint quickly

some to rid me of my life, rather than these hands, which else are

destined unto it, and that indeed it may be done with such speed as I

may not long die in this life, which I have in so great horror.” With

that she crossed her arms, and sat down upon the ground, attending the

judge’s answer. But a great while it was, before anybody could be

heard speak, the whole people concurring in a lamentable cry, so much

had Gynecia’s words and behaviour stirred their hearts to a doleful

compassion, neither in troth could most of them in their judgments

tell whether they should be more sorry for her fault, or her misery;

for the loss of her estate, or loss of her virtue. But most were most

moved with that which was under their eyes, the sense most subject to

pity. But at length the reverent awe they stood in of Euarchus brought

them to a silent waiting his determination, who, having well

considered the abomination of the fact, attending more the manifest

proof of so horrible a trespass, {603} confessed by herself, and

proved by others, than anything relenting to those tragical phrases of

hers, apter to stir a vulgar pity than his mind, which hated evil in

what colours soever he found it, having considered a while with the

principal men of the country, and demanded their allowance, he

definitively gave this sentence: “That whereas, both in private and

public respects, this woman had most heinously offended, in private,

because marriage being the most holy conjunction that falls to

mankind, out of which all families, and so consequently all societies

do proceed, which not only by community of goods, but community of

children, is to knit the minds in a most perfect union, which whoso

breaks, dissolves all humanity, no man living free from the danger of

so near a neighbour, she had not only broken it, but broken it with

death, and the most pretended death that might be: in public respect,

the princes’ persons, being in all monarchal governments the very knot

of the people’s welfare, and light of all her doings, to which they

are not only in conscience, but in necessity bound to be loyal, she

had traitorously empoisoned him, neither regarding her country’s

profit, her own duty, nor the rigour of the laws. That therefore, as

well for the due satisfaction to eternal justice, and accomplishment

of the Arcadian statutes, as for the everlasting example to all wives

and subjects, she should presently be conveyed to close prison, and

there kept with such food as might serve to sustain her life, until

the day of her husband’s burial, at which time she should be buried

quick, in the same tomb with him: that so his murder might be a murder

to herself, and she forced to keep company with the body from which

she had made so detestable a severance; and lastly, death might

redress their disjoined conjunction of marriage.” His judgment was

received of the whole assembly, as not with disliking, so with great

astonishment, the greatness of the matter and person as it were

overpressing the might of their conceits. But when they did set it to

the beam, with the monstrousness of her ugly misdeed, they could not

but yield in their hearts, there was no over-balancing. As for

Gynecia, who had already settled her thoughts, not only to look but

long for this event, having, in this time of her vexation, found a

sweetness in the rest she hoped by death, with a countenance

witnessing she had before-hand so passed through all the degrees of

sorrow, that she had no new look to figure forth any more, rose up,

and offered forth her fair hands to be bound or led as they would,

being indeed troubled with no part of this judgment, but that her

death was as she thought long delayed. They that were appointed for

it, conveyed her to the place she was in before, where the guard was

relieved, and the number increased to keep her more sure for the time

of her execution: none of them all that led her, though most {604} of

them were such whose hearts had been long hardened with the often

exercising such offices, being able to bar tears from their eyes, and

other manifest tokens of compassionate sorrow. So goodly a virtue is a

resolute constancy, that even in evil deservers, it seems that party

might have been notably well deserving. Thus the excellent lady

Gynecia, having passed five and thirty years of her age, even to the

admiration of a beautiful mind and body, and having not in her own

knowledge ever spotted her soul with any wilful vice, but her

immoderate love of Zelmane, was brought first by that ill-answered

passion, and then by the despairing conceit she took of the judgment

of God in her husband’s death and her own fortune, purposely to

overthrow herself, and confirm by a wrong confession, that abominable

shame, which with her wisdom, joined to the truth, perhaps she might

have repelled.

Then did Euarchus ask Philanax, whether it were he that would charge

the two young prisoners, or that some other should do it, and he sit,

according to his estate, as an assistant in the judgment. Philanax

told him as before he had done, that he thought no man could say

manifest the naughtiness of those two young men with so much either

truth or zeal as himself, and therefore he desired he might do this

last service to his faithfully beloved master, as to prosecute the

traitorous causers of his death and dishonour, which being done, for

his part he meant to give up all dealing in public affairs, since that

man was gone who had made him love them. Philanax thus being ready to

speak, the two princes were commanded to tell their names, who

answered, according to their agreements, that they were Daiphantus of

Lycia, and Palladius Prince of Iberia. Which when they had said, they

demanded to know by what authority they could judge of them, since

they were not only foreigners, and so not born under their laws, but

absolute princes, and therefore not to be touched by laws. But answer

was presently made them that Arcadian laws were to have their force

upon any found in Arcadia: since strangers have scope to know the

customs of a country, before they put themselves in it: and when they

once are entered, they must know that what by many was made must not

for one be broken. And so much less for a stranger, as he is to look

for no privilege in that place, to which in time of need his service

is not to be expected. As for their being princes, whether they were

so or no, the belief stood in their own words, which they had so

diversly falsified, as they did not deserve belief. But whatsoever

they were, Arcadia was to acknowledge them but as private men, since

they were neither by magistracy nor alliance to the princely blood, to

claim anything in that region. Therefore if they had offended, which

now by the plaintiff and their defence was to be judged, against the

laws of nations, by {605} the laws of nations they were to be

chastised: if against the peculiar ordinances of the province, those

peculiar ordinances were to lay hold of them.

The princes stood a while upon that, demanding leisure to give perfect

knowledge of their greatness; but when they were answered, that in a

case of the prince’s death, the law of that country had ever been that

immediate trial should be had, they were forced to yield, resolved

that in those names they would as much as they could cover the shame

of their royal parentage, and keep as long as might be, if evil were

determined against them, the evil news from their careful kinsfolks,

wherein the chief man they considered was Euarchus: whom the strange

and secret working of justice had brought to be the judge over them.

In such a shadow, or rather pit of darkness, the wormish mankind

lives, that neither they know how to foresee, nor what to fear, and

are but like tennis balls, tossed by the racket of the higher powers.

Thus both sides ready, it was determined, because their cases were

separated, first Philanax should be heard against Pyrocles, whom they

termed Daiphantus, and that heard, the other’s cause should follow,

and so receive together such judgment as they should be found to have

deserved.

But Philanax that was even short-breathed at the first, with the

extreme vehemency he had to speak against them, stroking once or twice

his forehead, and wiping his eyes, which either wept, or he would at

that time have them seem to weep, looking first upon Pyrocles, as if

he had proclaimed all hatefulness against him, humbly turning to

Euarchus, who with quiet gravity showed great attention, he thus began

his oration: “That which all men, who take upon them to accuse

another, are wont to desire, most worthy protector, to have many

proofs of faults in them they seek to have condemned, that is to me in

this present action my greatest cumber and annoyance. For the number

is so great, and the quality so monstrous of the enormities this

wretched young man hath committed, that neither I in myself can tell

where to begin, my thoughts being confused with the horrible multitude

of them, neither do I think your virtuous ears will be able to endure

the report, but will rather imagine you hear some tragedy invented of

the extremity of wickedness, than a just recital of a wickedness

indeed committed: for such is the disposition of the most sincere

judgments, that as they can believe mean faults, and such as man’s

nature may slide into, so when they pass to a certain degree, nay,

when they pass all degrees of unspeakable naughtiness, then find they

in themselves a hardness to give credit that human creatures can so

from all humanity be transformed. But in myself the strength of my

faith to my dead master will help the weakness of my memory; in {606}

you, your excellent love of justice will force you to vouchsafe

attention: and as for the matter, it is so manifest, so pitiful

evidences lie before your eyes of it, that I shall need to be but a

brief recounter, and no rhetorical enlarger of this most harmful

mischief. I will therefore, in as few words as so huge a trespass can

be obtained, deliver unto you the sum of this miserable fact: leaving

out a great number of particular tokens of his naughtiness, and only

touching the essential points of this doleful case. This man, whom to

begin withal I know not how to name, since being come into this

country, unaccompanied like a lost pilgrim, from a man grew a woman,

from a woman a ravisher of women, thence a prisoner, and now a prince:

but this Zelmane, this Daiphantus, this what you will, for any shape

or title he can take upon him, that hath no restraint of shame, having

understood the solitary life my late master lived, and considering how

open he had laid himself to any traitorous attempt, for the first mask

of his falsehood, disguised himself like a woman, which being the more

simple and hurtless sex, might easier hide his subtle harmfulness. And

presenting himself to my master, the most courteous prince that lived,

was received of him with so great graciousness that might have bound

not only any grateful mind, but might have mollified any enemy’s

rancour. But this venomous serpent, admitted thus into his bosom, as

contagion will easily find a fit body for it, so had he quickly fallen

into so near acquaintance with this naughty woman, whom even now you

have most justly condemned, that this was her right hand, she saw with

no eyes but his, nor seemed to have any life but in him, so glad she

was to find one more cunning than herself in covering wickedness with

a modest veil. What is to be thought passed betwixt two such virtuous

creatures, whereof the one hath confessed murder, and the other rape,

I leave to your wise consideration. For my heart hastens to the

miserable point of Basilius’s murder, for the executing of which with

more facility, this young nymph of Diana’s bringing up, feigned

certain rites she had to perform, so furious an impiety had carried

him from all remembrance of goodness that he did not only not fear the

gods, as the beholders and punishers of so ungodly a villainy, but did

blasphemously use their sacred holy name as a minister unto it. And

forsooth a cave hereby was chosen for the temple of his devotions, a

cave of such darkness, as did prognosticate he meant to please the

infernal powers; for there this accursed caitiff, upon the altar of

falsehood, sacrificed the life of the virtuous Basilius. By what means

he trained him thither, alas I know not, for if I might have known it,

either my life had accompanied my master, or this fellow’s death had

preserved him. But this may suffice that in {607} the mouth of this

cave, where this traitor had his lodging and chapel, when already

master shepherd, his companion, had conveyed away the undoubted

inheritrix of this country, was Gynecia found by the dead corpse of

her husband, newly empoisoned, apparelled in the garments of the young

lady, and ready no question to have fled to some place, according to

their consort, but that she was by certain honest shepherds arrested:

while in the meantime, because there should be left no revenger of

this bloody mischief, this noble Amazon was violently gotten into the

chamber of the Lady Philoclea, where by the mingling, as much as in

him lay, of her shame with his misdeed, he might enforce her to be

accessory to her father’s death, and under the countenance of her and

her sister, against whom they knew we would not rebel, seize as it

were with one grip into their treacherous hands, the regiment of this

mighty province. But the Almighty Eye prevented him of the end of his

mischief, by using a villain Dametas’s hand to inclose him in there,

where with as much fortification as in a house could be made, he

thought himself in most security. Thus see you most just judge, a

short and simple story of the infamous misery fallen upon this

country; indeed infamous, since by an effeminate man we should suffer

a greater overthrow than our mightiest enemies have been ever able to

lay upon us. And that all this, which I have said is most manifest, as

well of the murdering of Basilius, as the ravishing of Philoclea, for

those two parts I establish of my accusation, who is of so incredulous

a mind, or rather who will so stop his eyes from seeing a thing

clearer than the light, as not to hold for assured so palpable a

matter? For to begin with his most cruel misdeed, is it to be imagined

that Gynecia, a woman though wicked, yet witty, would have attempted

and achieved an enterprise, no less hazardous than horrible, without

having some counsellor in the beginning, and some comforter in the

performing? had she, who showed her thoughts were so over-ruled with

some strange desire, as in despite of God, nature, and womanhood, to

execute that in deeds, which in words we cannot hear without

trembling? Had she, I say, no practice to lead her unto it? or had she

a practice without conspiracy? or could she conspire without somebody

to conspire with? and if one were, who so likely as this, to whom she

communicated I am sure her mind, the world thinks her body? neither

let her words, taking the whole fault upon herself, be herein anything

available. For to those persons who have vomited out of their souls

all remnants of goodness, there rests a certain pride in evil, and

having else no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be constant in

iniquity, and that, God knows, must be held out to the last gasp,

without {608} revealing their accomplices; as thinking great courage

is declared in being neither afraid of the heavens, nor ashamed of the

world. But let Gynecia’s action die with herself, what can all the

earth answer for his coming hither? Why alone, if he be a prince? How

so richly jewelled if he be not a prince? Why then a woman if now a

man? Why now Daiphantus, if then Zelmane? Was all this play for

nothing, or if it had an end, what end but the end of my dear master?

Shall we doubt so many secret conferences with Gynecia, such feigned

favour to the over-soon beguiled Basilius, a cave made a lodging, and

the same lodging made a temple of his religion, lastly, such changes

and traverses, as a quiet poet could scarce fill a poem withal, were

directed to any less scope than to this monstrous murderer? O snaky

ambition, which can wind thyself in so many figures, to slide thither

thou desirest to come! O corrupted reason of mankind, that can yield

to deform thyself with so filthy desires? and O hopeless be those

minds whom so unnatural desires do not with their own ugliness

sufficiently terrify! But yet even of favour let us grant him thus

much more, as to fancy that in these foretold things, fortune might be

a great actor, perchance to an evil end, yet to a less evil end all

these entangled devices were intended. But I beseech your ladyship, my

Lady Daiphantus, tell me what excuse can you find for the changing

your lodging with the queen that very instant she was to finish her

execrable practice? how can you cloak the lending of your cloak unto

her. Was all that by chance too? Had the stars sent such an influence

unto you, as you should be just weary of your lodging and garments

when our prince was destined to the slaughter? What say you to this, O

shameful and shameless creature? fit indeed to be the dishonour of

both sexes. But alas! I spend too many words in so manifest and so

miserable a matter. They must be four wild horses, which according to

our laws are the executioners of men which murder our prince, which

must decide this question with you. Yet see so far had my zeal to my

beloved prince transported me that I had almost forgotten my second

part, and his second abomination, I mean his violence offered to the

Lady Philoclea: wherewith as if it had well become his womanhood, he

came braving to the judgment-seat: indeed our laws appoint not so

cruel a death, although death too, for this fact as for the other. But

whosoever well weighs it shall find it sprung out of the same fountain

of mischievous naughtiness, the killing of the father, dishonouring

the mother, and ravishing the child. Alas, could not so many benefits

received of my prince, the justice of nature, the sign of hospitality

be a bridle to thy lust, if not to thy cruelty? or if thou hadst, as

surely thou hast, a heart recompensing goodness with hatred, could not

his death, which is {609} the last of revenges, satisfy thy malice,

but thou must heap upon it the shame of his daughter? Were thy eyes so

stony, thy breast so tigerish, that the sweet and beautiful shows of

Philoclea’s virtue did not astonish thee? O woeful Arcadia, to whom

the name of this mankind courtesan shall ever be remembered as a

procurer of thy greatest loss! But too far I find my passion, yet

honest passion hath guided me; the cause is every way too, too much

unanswerable. It resteth in you, O excellent protector, to pronounce

judgment, which if there be hope that such a young man may prove

profitable to the world, who in the first exercise of his own

determination, far passed the arrantest strumpet in luxuriousness, the

cunningest forger in falsehood, a player in disguising, a tiger in

cruelty, a dragon in ungratefulness, let him be preserved like a jewel

to do greater mischief. If his youth be not more defiled with

treachery than the eldest man’s age, let, I say, his youth be some

cause of compassion. If he have not every way sought the overthrow of

human society, if he have done anything like a prince, let his naming

himself a prince breed a reverence of his base wickedness. If he have

not broken all the laws of hospitality, and broken them in the most

detestable degree that can be, let his being a guest be a sacred

protection of his more than savage doings: or if his whorish beauty,

have not been as the high way of his wickedness, let the picture drawn

upon so poisonous a wood, be reserved to show how greatly colours can

please us. But if it is as it is, what should I say more, a very

spirit of hellish naughtiness; if his act be to be punished, and his

defiled person not to be pitied, then restore unto us our prince by

duly punishing his murderers, for then we shall think him and his name

to live when we shall see his killers to die. Restore to the excellent

Philoclea her honour, by taking out of the world her dishonour, and

think that at this day, in this matter, are the eyes of the world upon

you, whether anything can sway your mind from a true administration of

justice. Alas! though I have much more to say, I can say no more, for

my tears and sighs interrupt my speech, and force me to give myself

over to my private sorrow.”

Thus when Philanax had uttered the uttermost of his malice, he made

sorrow the cause of his conclusion. But while Philanax was in the

course of his speech, and did with such bitter reproaches defame the

princely Pyrocles, it was well to be seen, his heart was unused to

bear such injuries, and his thoughts such as could arm themselves

better against anything than shame. For sometimes blushing, his blood

with divers motions coming and going, sometimes closing his eyes, and

laying his hand over them, sometimes giving such a look to Philanax,

as might show he assured himself he durst not so have spoken if they

had been {610} in an indifferent place: with some impatiency he bare

the length of his oration; which being ended, with as much modest

humbleness to the judge, as despiteful scorn to the accuser, with

words to this purpose he defended his honour.

“My accuser’s tale may well bear witness with me, most rightful judge,

in how hard a case, and environed with how many troubles, I may esteem

myself. For if he who shows his tongue is not unacquainted with

railing, was in an agony in the beginning of his speech with the

multitude of the matters he had to lay unto me, wherein

notwithstanding the most evil could fall unto him was that he should

not do so much evil as he would, how cumbered do you think may I

acknowledge myself, who, in things no less importing than my life,

must be mine own advocate, without leisure to answer, or foreknowledge

what should be objected? in things, I say, promoted with so cunning

confusion, as having mingled truths with falsehoods, surmises with

certainties, causes of no moment with matters capital, scolding with

complaining, I can absolutely neither grant nor deny, neither can I

tell whether I come hither to be judged, or before judgment to be

punished, being compelled to hear such unworthy words, far more

grievous than any death unto me. But since the form of this government

allows such tongue-liberty unto him, I will pick as well as I can out

of his invective speech those few points which may seem of some

purpose in the touching of me, hoping that by your easy hearing of me,

you will show that though you hate evil, yet you wish men may prove

themselves not evil; so in that he hath said, you will not weigh so

much what he hath said as what he hath proved, remembering that truth

is simple and naked, and that if he had guided himself under that

banner, he needed not out of the way have sought so vile and false

disgracing of me, enough to make the untruest accusation believed. I

will therefore, using truth as my best eloquence, repeat unto you as

much as I know in this matter, and then, by the only clearness of the

discourse, your wisdom I know will find the difference between

cavilling supposition, and direct declaration. This Prince Palladius

and I being inflamed with love, a passion far more easily reprehended

than refrained, to the two peerless daughters of Basilius, and

understanding how he had secluded himself from the world, that, like

princes, there was no access unto him, we disguised ourselves, in such

forms as might soonest bring us to the revealing our affections. The

Prince Palladius had such event of his doings that, with Pamela’s

consent, he was to convey her out of the thraldom she lived in, to

receive the subjection of a greater people than her own, until her

father’s consent might be obtained. My fortune was more hard, for I

bare no more love to the chaste {611} Philoclea, than Basilius,

deceived in my sex, showed to me, insomuch that by his importunacy, I

could have no time to obtain the like favour of the pure Philoclea,

till this policy I found, taking under colour of some devotions, my

lodging, to draw Basilius thither, with hope to enjoy me; which

likewise I revealed to the queen, that she might keep my place, and so

make her husband see his error. While I in the meantime, being

delivered of them both, and having locked so the doors as I hoped, if

the immaculate Philoclea would condescend to go with me, there should

be none to hinder our going, I was made prisoner there, I know not by

what means, when being repelled by her divine virtue, I would fainest

have escaped. Here you have the thread to guide you in the labyrinth,

this man of his tongue, had made so monstrous. Here you see the true

discourse, which he mountebank-fashion doth make so wide a mouth over.

Here may you conceive the reason why the queen had my garment, because

in her going to the cave, in the moon-shine night, she might be taken

for me, which he useth as the knot of all his wise assertions: so that

as this double-minded fellow’s accusation was double, double likewise

my answer must perforce be, to the murder of Basilius, and violence

offered to the inviolate Philoclea. For the first, O heavenly gods,

who would have thought any mouth could have been found so mercenary as

to have opened so slight proofs of so horrible matters! His first

argument is a question, who would imagine that Gynecia would

accomplish such an act, without some accessories? and if any, who but

I? truly I am so far from imagining anything, that till I saw these

mourning tokens, and heard Gynecia’s confession, I never imagined the

king was dead. And for my part so vehemently, and more like the manner

of passionate than guilty folk, I see the queen persecute herself,

that I think condemnation may go too hastily over her, considering the

unlikelihood, if not impossibility, her wisdom and virtue so long

nourished, should in one moment throw down itself to the uttermost end

of wickedness. But whatsoever she hath done, which, as I say, I never

believed, yet how unjustly should that aggravate my fault? she found

abroad, I within doors, for as for the wearing my garment I have told

you the cause, she seeking, as you say, to escape, I locking myself in

a house: without perchance the conspiracy of one poor stranger, might

greatly enable her attempt, or the fortification of the lodge, as the

trim man alleged, might make me hope to resist all Arcadia. And see

how treacherously he seeks to draw from me my chiefest clearing, by

preventing the credit of her words, wherewith she had wholly taken the

fault upon herself. An honest and impartial examiner: her words may

condemn her, but may not absolve me. Thus, {612} void of all probable

allegation, the craven crows upon my affliction, not leaving out any

evil that ever he hath felt in his own soul, to charge my youth

withal. But who can look for a sweet breath out of such a stomach? or

for honey from so filthy a spider? What should I say more? if in so

inhuman a matter, which he himself confesseth, sincerest judgments are

lothest to believe, and in the severest laws proofs clearer than the

sun are required, his reasons are only the scum of a base malice, my

answers most manifest, shining in their own truth, there remain any

doubt of it, because it stands betwixt his affirming and my denial, I

offer, nay I desire, and humbly desire I may be granted the trial by

combat, wherein let him be armed, and me in my shirt, I doubt not

justice will be my shield, and his heart will show itself as faint as

it is false.

“Now come I to the second part of my offence towards the young lady,

which, howsoever you term it, so far forth as I have told you, I

confess, and for her sake heartily lament. But if herein I offered

force to her, love offered more force to me. Let her beauty be

compared to my years, and such effects will be found no miracles. But

since it is thus as it is, and that justice teacheth us not to love

punishment, but to fly to it for necessity: the salve of her honour, I

mean as the world will take it, for else in truth it is most

untouched, must be my marriage and not my death, since the one stops

all mouths, the other becomes a doubtful fable. This matter requires

no more words, and your experience, I hope, in these cases shall need

no more; for myself methinks I have showed already too much love of my

life to bestow so many. But certainly it hath been love of truth,

which could not bear so unworthy falsehood, and love of justice that

would brook no wrong to myself nor other, and makes me now, even in

that respect to desire you to be moved rather with pity at a just

cause of tears, than with the bloody tears this crocodile spends, who

weeps to procure death, and not to lament death. It will be no honour

to Basilius’s tomb to have guiltless blood sprinkled upon it, and much

more may a judge over-weigh himself in cruelty than in clemency. It is

hard, but it is excellent where it is found, a right knowledge when

correction is necessary, when grace doth more avail. For mine own

respect, if I thought in wisdom I had deserved death, I would not

desire life: for I know nature will condemn me to die though you do

not; and longer I would not wish to draw this breath, than I may keep

myself unspotted of any horrible crime; only I cannot, nor ever will

deny the love of Philoclea, whose violence wrought violent effects in

me.”

With that he finished his speech, casting up his eyes to the judge,

and crossing his hands, which he held in their length before him

declaring a resolute patience in whatsoever should be done {613} with

him. Philanax, like a watchful adversary, curiously marked all that he

said, saving that in the beginning he was interrupted by two letters

which were brought him from the Princess Pamela, and the Lady

Philoclea, who having all that night considered and bewailed their

estate, careful for their mother likewise, of whom they could never

think so much evil, but considering with themselves that she assuredly

should have so due trial by the laws, as either she should not need

their help, or should be past their help; they looked to that which

nearliest touched them, and each wrote in this sort for him, in whom

their lives’ joy consisted.

The humble hearted Philoclea wrote much after this manner:

My Lords, what you will determine of me, it is to me uncertain, but

what I have determined of myself, I am most certain, which is no

longer to enjoy my life, than I may enjoy him for my husband, whom the

heavens for my highest glory have bestowed upon me. Those that judge

him, let them execute me. Let my throat satisfy their hunger of

murder. For alas what hath he done, that had not its original in me?

Look upon him I beseech you with indifferency, and see whether in

those eyes all virtue shines not. See whether that face could hide a

murder. Take leisure to know him, and then yourselves will say, it

hath been too great an inhumanity to suspect such excellency. Are the

gods think you deceived in their workmanship? artificers will not use

marble but to noble uses. Should those powers be so overshot, as to

frame so precious an image of their own, but to honourable purposes? O

speak with him, O hear him, O know him, and become not the putters-out

of the world’s light. Hope you to joy my father’s soul with hurting

him he loved above all the world? shall a wrong suspicion make you

forget the certain knowledge of those benefits this house hath

received by him? Alas, alas, let not Arcadia for his loss be accursed

of the whole earth and of all posterity. He is a great prince, I speak

unto you that which I know, for I have seen most evident testimonies.

Why should you hinder my advancement? who if I have passed my

childhood hurtless to any of you, if I have refused nobody to do what

good I could, if I have often mitigated my father’s anger, ever sought

to maintain his favour towards you, nay, if I have held you all as

fathers and brothers unto me, rob me not of more than my life comes

unto. Tear not that which is inseparably joined to my soul; but if he

rest misliked of you, which, O God, how can it be, yet give him to me,

let me have him, you know I pretend no right to your state. Therefore

it is but a private petition I make unto you. Or if you be

hard-heartedly bent to appoint otherwise, which, oh, sooner let me die

than know, then, to end as I began, let me by you be ordered to the

same end: without, for more cruelty, you mean to force Philoclea to

use her own hands to kill one of your king’s children.

{614}

Pamela’s letter, which she meant to send to the general assembly of

the Arcadian nobility, for so closely they were kept, as they were

utterly ignorant of the new taken orders, was thus framed:

In such a state, my Lord, you have placed me that I can neither

write nor be silent; for how can I be silent, since you have left me

nothing but my solitary words to testify my misery? and how should I

write, for as for speech I have none but my jailor that can hear me,

who neither can resolve what to write, nor to whom to write? What to

write is hard for me to say, as what I may not write, so little hope

have I of any success, and so much hath no injury been left undone to

me-wards. To whom to write, where may I learn, since yet I wot not how

to entitle you? shall I call you my sovereigns? set down your laws

that I may do you homage. Shall I fall lower, and name you my fellows?

show me, I beseech you, the lord and master over us. But shall

Basilius’s heir name herself your princess? alas I am your prisoner.

But whatsoever I be, or whatsoever you be, O all you beholders of

these doleful lines, this do I signify unto you, and signify it with a

heart that ever shall remain in that opinion, the good or evil you do

to the excellent prince who was taken with me, and after by force from

me, I will ever impute it as either way done to mine own person. He is

a prince, and worthy to be my husband, and so is he my husband by me

worthily chosen. Believe it, believe it, either you shall be traitors

for murdering of me, or if you let me live the murderers of him shall

smart as traitors. For what do you think I can think? am I so

childish, as not to see wherein you touch him you condemn me? can his

shame be without my reproach? no, nor shall be, since nothing he hath

done that I will not avow. Is this the comfort you bring me in my

father’s death, to make me fuller of shame than sorrow? would you do

this if it were not with full intention to prevent my power with

slaughter? and so do I pray you it is high time for me to be weary of

my life too long led, since you are weary of me, before you have me. I

say again, I say it indefinitely unto you, I will not live without

him, if it be not to revenge him: either do justly in saving both, or

wisely in killing both. If I be your princess, I command his

preservation; if but a private person, then are we both to suffer. I

take all truth to witness he hath done no fault but in going with me.

Therefore to conclude, in judging him you judge me, neither conceive

with yourselves, the matter you treat of is the life of a stranger,

though even in that name he deserved pity; nor of a shepherd, to which

estate love of me made such a prince descend: but determine most

assuredly, the life that is in question is of Pamela, Basilius’s

daughter.

Many blots had the tears of these sweet ladies made in their letters,

which many times they had altered, many times torn, and written anew,

ever thinking something either wanted, or was too much, or would

offend, or, which is worst, would breed denial: {615} but at last, the

day warned them to dispatch, which they accordingly did, and calling

one of their guard, for nobody else was suffered to come near them,

with great entreaty, they requested him that he would present them to

the principal noblemen and gentlemen together. For they had more

confidence in the numbers’ favour, than in any one, upon whom they

would not lay the lives they held so precious. But the fellow trusted

to Philanax, who had placed him there, delivered them both to him,

what time Pyrocles began to speak, which he suddenly opened, and

seeing to what they tended, by the first words, was so far from

publishing them, whereby he feared in Euarchus’s just mind, either the

princesses might be endangered, or the prisoners preserved, of which

choice he knew not which to think the worst, that he would not himself

read them over, doubting his own heart might be mollified, so bent

upon revenge. Therefore utterly suppressing them, he lent a spiteful

ear to Pyrocles, and as soon as he had ended, with a very willing

heart desired Euarchus he might accept the combat: although it would

have framed but evil with him: Pyrocles having never found any match

near him besides Musidorus. But Euarchus made answer, since bodily

strength is but a servant to the mind, it were very barbarous and

preposterous that force should be made judge over reason. Then would

he also have replied in words unto him, but Euarchus who knew what

they could say was already said, taking their arguments into his mind,

commanded him to proceed against the other prisoner, and that then he

would sentence them both together.

Philanax nothing the milder for Pyrocles’s purging himself, but

rather, according to the nature of arguing, especially when it is

bitter, so much more vehement, entered thus into his speech against

Musidorus, being so overgone with rage, that he forgot in this oration

his precise method of oratory. “Behold, most noble protector, to what

a state Arcadia is come, since such manner of men may challenge in

combat the faithfullest of the nobility, and having merited the

shamefullest of all deaths dare name in marriage the princesses of

this country. Certainly my masters, I must say, you were much out of

taste if you had not rather enjoy such ladies than be hanged. But the

one you have as much deserved, as you have dishonoured the other. But

now my speech must be directed to you, good master Dorus, who, with

Pallas’s help perdy, are lately grown Palladius. Too much this sacred

seat of justice grants unto such a fugitive bondslave, who, instead of

these examinations, should be made confess with a whip, that which a

halter should punish. Are not you he, Sir, whose sheephook was

prepared to be our sceptre; in whom lay the knot of all this tragedy?

or else perchance, they that should gain little by it {616} were

dealers in the murder, you only that had provided the fruits for

yourself, knew nothing of it; knew nothing! Hath thy companion here

infected thee with such impudency, as even in the face of the world to

deny that which all the world perceiveth? The other pleads ignorance,

and you, I doubt not, will allege absence. But he was ignorant when he

was hard by, and you had framed your absence, just against the time

the act should be committed, so fit a lieutenant he knew he had left

of his wickedness, that for himself his safest mean, was to convey

away the lady of us all, who once out of the country, he knew we would

come with olive branches of intercession unto her, and fall at his

feet to beseech him to leave keeping of sheep, and vouchsafe the

tyrannizing over us: for to think they are princes, as they say,

although in our laws it behoveth them nothing, I see at all no reason.

These jewels certainly with their disguising slights, they have

pilfered in their vagabonding race. And think you such princes should

be so long without some followers after them? Truly if they be

princes, it manifestly shows their virtues such, as all their subjects

are glad to be rid of them. But be they as they are, for we are to

consider the matter and not the men, Basilius’s murder hath been the

cause of their coming, Basilius’s murder they have most treacherously

brought to pass; yet that I doubt not, you will deny as well as your

fellow. But how will you deny the stealing away the princess of this

province, which is no less than treason? so notably hath the justice

of the gods provided for the punishing of these malefactors, as if it

were possible, men would not believe the certain evidences of their

principal mischief, yet have they discovered themselves sufficiently

for their most just overthrow. I say therefore, to omit my chief

matter of the king’s death, this wolfish shepherd, this counterfeit

prince, hath traitorously, contrary to his allegiance, having made

himself a servant and subject, attempted the depriving this country of

our natural princess, and therefore by all right must receive the

punishment of traitors. This matter is so assured as he himself will

not deny it, being taken and brought back in the fact. This matter is

so odious in nature, so shameful to the world, so contrary to all

laws, so hurtful to us, so false in him, as if I should stand further

in declaring or defacing it, I should either show great doubts in your

wisdom, or in your justice. Therefore I will transfer my care upon

you, and attend, to my learning and comfort, the eternal example you

will leave to all mankind, of disguisers, falsifiers, adulterers,

ravishers, murderers and traitors.”

Musidorus, while Philanax was speaking against his cousin and him, had

looked round about him, to see whether by any means he might come to

have caught him in his arms, and have killed {617} him, so much had

his disgracing words filled his breast with rage. But perceiving

himself so guarded as he should rather show a passionate act, than

perform his revenge, his hand trembling with desire to strike, and all

the veins in his face swelling, casting his eyes over the judgment

seat: “O gods,” said he, “and have you spared my life to bear these

injuries of such a drivel! Is this the justice of this place, to have

such men as we are, submitted not only to apparent falsehood, but most

shameful reviling? But mark I pray you the ungratefulness of the

wretch, how utterly he hath forgotten the benefits both he and all

this country hath received of us. For if ever men may remember their

own noble deeds, it is then when their just defence, and others’

unjust unkindness doth require it. I omit our services done to

Basilius in the late war with Amphialus, importing no less than his

daughters’ lives, and his state’s preservation. Were not we the men

who killed the wild beasts which otherwise had killed the princesses

if we had not succoured them? Consider if it please you where had been

Daiphantus’s rape, or my treason, if the sweet beauties of the earth

had then been devoured? either think them now dead, or remember they

live by us. And yet full often this telltale can acknowledge the loss

they should have by their taking away while maliciously he overpasseth

who were their preservers: neither let this be spoken of me, as if I

meant to balance this evil with that good, for I must confess that

saving of such creatures was rewarded in the act itself, but only to

manifest the partial jangling of this vile pickthank. But if we be

traitors, where was your fidelity, O only tongue-valiant gentleman,

when not only the young princess, but the king himself was defended

from uttermost peril, partly by me, but principally by this excellent

young man’s both wisdom and valour? Were we that made ourselves

against hundreds of armed men, openly the shields of his life, like

secretly to be his impoisoners? Did we then show his life to be dearer

to us than our own, because we might after rob him of his life to die

shamefully? Truly, truly, master orator, whosoever hath hired you to

be so busy in their matters, who keep honester servants than yourself,

he should have bid you in so many railings, bring some excuse for

yourself, why in the greatest need of your prince, to whom you pretend

a miraculous goodwill, you were not then as forward to do like a man

yourself, or at least to accuse them that were slack in that service:

but commonly they use their feet for their defence, whose tongue is

their weapon. Certainly a very simple subtlety it had been in us to

repose our lives in the daughters when we had killed the father. But

as this gentleman thinks to win the reputation of a copious talker by

leaving nothing unsaid which a filthy mind can imagine, so think I, or

else all {618} words are vain, that to wise men’s judgment our

clearness in the King’s death is sufficiently notorious. But at length

when the merchant hath set out his gilded baggage, lastly, he comes to

some stuff of importance, and saith, I conveyed away the princess of

this country. And is she indeed your princess? I pray you then whom

should I wait on else but her that was my mistress by my professed

vow, and princess over me while I lived in this soil? Ask her why she

went, ask not me while I served her. Since accounting me as a prince,

you have not to do with me: taking me as her servant, then take withal

that I must obey her. But you will say I persuaded her to fly away;

certainly I will for no death deny it, knowing to what honour I should

bring her from the thraldom by such fellow’s counsel as you, she was

kept in. Shall persuasion to a prince grow treason to a prince? It

might be error in me, but falsehood it could not be, since I made

myself partaker of whatsoever I wished her unto. Who will ever counsel

his king, if his counsel be judged by the event, and if it be not

found wise, shall therefore be thought wicked? But if I be a traitor,

I hope you will grant me a correlative, to whom I shall be the

traitor. For the princess against whom the treasons are considered, I

am sure will avow my faithfulness, without you will say that I am a

traitor to her because I left the country? and a traitor to the

country because I went with her. Here do I leave out my just excuses

of love’s force, which as thy narrow heart hath never had noble room

enough in it to receive, so yet those manlike courages, that by

experience know how subject the virtuous minds are to love a most

virtuous creature, witnessed to be such by the most excellent gifts of

nature, will deem it a venial trespass to seek the satisfaction of

honourable desires, honourable even in the curiousest points of

honour, whereout there can no disgrace nor disparagement come unto

her. Therefore, O judge, who I hope dost know what it is to be a

judge, that your end is to preserve and not to destroy mankind, that

laws are not made like lime twigs or nets, to catch everything that

toucheth them, but rather like sea-marks, to avoid the shipwreck of

ignorant passengers, since that our doing in the extremest

interpretation is but a human error, and that of it you may make a

profitable event, we being of such estate as their parents would not

have misliked the affinity, you will not I trust at the persuasion of

this babbler, burn your house to make it clean, but like a wise father

turn even the fault of your children to any good that may come of it:

since that is the fruit of wisdom and end of all judgments.”

While this matter was thus handling, a silent and as it were

astonished attention, possessed all the people. A kindly compassion

moved the noble gentleman Sympathus, but as for Kalander, {619}

everything was spoken either by or for his own dear guests, moved an

affect in him: sometimes tears, sometimes hopeful looks, sometimes

whispering persuasions in their ears that stood by him, to seek the

saving the two young princes. But the general multitude waited the

judgment of Euarchus, who showed in his face no motions, either at the

one’s or other’s speech, letting pass the flowers of rhetoric and only

marking whither their reasons tended; having made the question to be

asked of Gynecia, who continued to take the whole fault upon herself,

and having called Dametas with Miso and Mopsa, who by Philanax’s order

had been held in most cruel prison, to make a full declaration how

much they knew of these past matters, and then gathering as assured

satisfaction to his own mind as in that case he could, not needing to

take leisure for that, whereof a long practice had bred a

well-grounded habit in him, with a voice and gesture directed to the

universal assembly, in this form pronounced sentence.

“This weighty matter, whereof presently we are to determine, doth at

the first consideration yield to important doubts. The first whether

these men be to be judged; the second how they are to be judged. The

first doubt ariseth because they give themselves out for princes

absolute, a sacred name, and to which any violence seems to be an

impiety. For how can any laws, which are the bonds of all human

society, be observed if the law-givers and law-rulers, be not held in

an untouched admiration? but hereto, although already they have been

sufficiently answered, yet thus much again will I repeat unto you.

That whatsoever they be or be not, here they be no princes, since

betwixt prince and subject there is as necessary a relation, as

between father and son; and as there is no man a father but to his

child, so is not a prince a prince but to his own subjects. Therefore

is not this place to acknowledge in them any principality, without it

should at the same time, by a secret consent, confess subjection. Yet

hereto may be objected, that the universal civility, the law of

nations, all mankind being as it were co-inhabiters, or world-citizens

together, hath ever required public persons should be of all parties

especially regarded, since not only in peace but in war, not only

princes, but heralds and trumpeters, are with great reason exempted

from injuries. This point is true, but yet so true, as they that will

receive the benefit of a custom, must not be the first to break it,

for then can they not complain, if they be not helped by that which

they themselves hurt. If a prince do acts of hostility without

denouncing war, if he breaks his oath of amity, or innumerable such

other things contrary to the law of arms, he must take heed how he

fall into their hands whom he so wrongeth, for then is courtesy the

best custom he can claim; much more these men, who have {620} not only

left to do like princes, but to be like princes, not only entered into

Arcadia, and so into the Arcadian orders, but into domestical

services, and so, by making themselves private, deprived themselves of

respect due to their public calling. For no proportion it were of

justice that a man might make himself no prince when he would do evil,

and might anew create himself a prince when he would not suffer evil.

Thus therefore by all laws of nature and nations, and especially by

their own putting themselves out of the sanctuary of them, these young

men cannot in justice avoid the judgment, but, like private men, must

have their doings either cleared, excused, or condemned. There resteth

then the second point, how to judge well. And that must undoubtedly be

done, not by a free discourse of reason and skill of philosophy, but

must be tied to the laws of Greece, and municipal statutes of this

kingdom. For although out of them these came, and to them must indeed

refer their offspring, yet because philosophical discourses stand in

the general consideration of things, they leave to every man a scope

of his own interpretation: where the laws applying themselves to the

necessary use, fold us within assured bounds: which once broken, man’s

nature infinitely rangeth. Judged therefore they must be, and by your

laws judged. Now the action offereth itself to due balance, betwixt

the accuser’s twofold accusation, and their answer accordingly

applied. The questions being, the one of a fact simply, the other of

the quality of a fact. To the first they use direct denial; to the

second, qualification and excuse. They deny the murder of the King;

and against mighty presumptions bring forth some probable answers,

which they do principally fortify with the Queen’s acknowledging

herself only culpable. Certainly as in equality of conjectures, we are

not to take hold of the worse, but rather to be glad we may find any

hope that mankind is not grown monstrous, being undoubtedly less evil

a guilty man should escape, than a guiltless perish, so if in the rest

they be spotless, then is this no further to be remembered. But if

they have aggravated these suspicions with new evils, then are those

suspicions so far to show themselves, as to cause the other points to

be thoroughly examined, and with less favour weighed, since this no

man can deny they have been accidental, if not principal causes of the

king’s death. Now then we are to determine of the other matters, which

are laid to them, wherein they do not deny the fact, but deny, or at

least diminish the fault: but first I may remember, though it were not

first alleged by them, the services they had before done, truly

honourable, and worthy of great reward, but not worthy to countervail

a following wickedness. Reward is proper to well doing, punishment to

evil doing, which must not be {621} confounded, no more than good and

evil are to be mingled. Therefore hath it been determined in all

wisdoms, that no man because he hath done well before should have his

present evil spared, but rather so much the more punished, as having

showed he knew how to be good, yet would against his knowledge be

naught. The fact is then nakedly without passion or partiality to be

viewed: wherein without all question they are equally culpable. For

though he that terms himself Daiphantus, were sooner disappointed of

his purpose of conveying away the Lady Philoclea, than he that

persuaded the Princess Pamela to fly her country, and accompanied her

in it: yet seeing in causes of this nature, the will by the rules of

justice standeth for the deed, they are both alike to be found guilty,

and guilty of heinous ravishment. For though they ravished them not

from themselves, yet they ravished them from him that owned them,

which was their father. An act punished by all the Grecian laws, by

the loss of the head, as a most execrable theft. For if they must die,

who steal from us our goods, how much more they who steal from us that

for which we gather our goods? And if our laws have it so in private

persons, much more forcibly are they to be in princes’ children, where

one steals as it were the whole state and well-being of that people,

being tied by the secret of a long use, to be governed by none but the

next of that blood. Neither let any man marvel, our ancestors have

been so severe in these cases, since the example of the Phoenician

Europa, but especially of Grecian Helen, hath taught them, what

destroying fires have grown of such sparkles. And although Helen was a

wife, and this but a child, that booteth not, since the principal

cause of marrying wives is that we may have children of our own. But

now let us see how these young men, truly for their persons worthy of

pity, if they had rightly pitied themselves, do go about to mitigate

the vehemency of their errors. Some of their excuses are common to

both, some peculiar only to him that was the shepherd. Both remember

the force of love, and as it were the mending up of the matter by

their marriage. If that unbridled desire, which is entitled love,

might purge such a sickness as this, surely we should have many loving

excuses of hateful mischief. Nay rather, no mischief should be

committed that should not be veiled under the name of love. For as

well he that steals might allege the love of money; he that murders,

the love of revenge; he that rebels, the love of greatness, as the

adulterer the love of a woman. Since they do in all speeches affirm

they love that, which an ill-governed passion maketh them to follow:

but love may have no such privilege. That sweet and heavenly uniting

of the minds, which properly is called love, hath no other knot but

virtue, and therefore if it {622} be a right love, it can never slide

into any action that is not virtuous. The other, and indeed more

effectual reason is, that they may be married unto them, and so

honourably redress the dishonour of them whom this matter seemeth most

to touch. Surely if the question were, what were convenient for the

parties, and not what is just in the never changing justice, there

might be much said in it. But herein we must consider that the laws

look how to prevent by due examples that such things be not done, and

not how to salve such things when they are done. For if the governors

of justice shall take such a scope, as to measure the foot of the law

by the show of conveniency, and measure that conveniency not by the

public society, but by that which is fittest for them which offend:

young men, strong men, and rich men, shall ever find private

conveniences how to palliate such committed disorders, as to the

public shall not only be inconvenient, but pestilent. The marriage

perchance might be fit for them, but very unfit were it to the state,

to allow a pattern of such procurations of marriage. And thus much do

they both allege. Further goes he that went with the princess Pamela,

and requireth the benefit of a counsellor, who hath place of free

persuasion, and the reasonable excuse of a servant, that did but wait

of his mistress. Without all question, as counsellors have great cause

to take heed how they advise anything, directly opposite to the form

of that present government, especially when they do it singly without

public allowance: yet so is the case much more apparent, since neither

she was an effectual princess, her father being then alive, and though

he had been dead, she not come to the years of authority, nor he her

servant in such manner to obey her, but by his own preferment first

belonging to Dametas, and then to the king; and therefore if not by

Arcadian laws, yet by household orders, bound to have done nothing

without his agreement. Thus therefore since the deeds accomplished by

these two are both abominable and inexcusable, I do in the behalf of

justice, and by the force of Arcadian laws pronounce that Daiphantus

should be thrown out of a high tower to receive his death by his fall,

Palladius shall be beheaded; the time before the sun set; the place,

in Mantinea; the executioner, Dametas, which office he shall execute

all the days of his life for his beastly forgetting the careful duty

he owed to his charge.”

This said, he turned himself to Philanax, and two of the other

noblemen, commanding them to see the judgment presently performed.

Philanax more greedy than any hunter of his prey, went straight to lay

hold of the excellent prisoners, who, casting a farewell look one upon

the other, represented in their faces as much unappalled constancy as

the most excellent courage can {623} deliver in outward graces. Yet if

at all there were any show of change in them, it was that Pyrocles was

somewhat nearer to bashfulness, and Musidorus to anger, both

over-ruled by reason and resolution. But as with great number of armed

men, Philanax was descending unto them, and that Musidorus was

beginning to say something in Pyrocles’s behalf, behold Kalander, that

with arms cast abroad, and open mouth, came crying to Euarchus,

holding a stranger in his hand that cried much more than he, desiring

they might be heard speak before the prisoners were removed, even the

noble gentleman Sympathus aided them in it, and taking such as he

could command, stopped Philanax, betwixt entreaty and force, from

carrying away the princes until it were heard what new matters these

men did bring. So again mounting to the tribunal, they hearkened to

the stranger’s vehement speech, or rather a passionate exclaiming. It

was indeed Kalodulus, the faithful servant of Musidorus, to whom his

master, when in despite of his best-grounded determinations he first

became a slave to affection, had sent the shepherd Menalcas to be

arrested, by the help of whose raiment in the meantime he advanced

himself to that estate which he accounted most high, because it might

be serviceable to that fancy which he had placed most high in his

mind. For Menalcas having faithfully performed his errand, was

faithfully imprisoned by Kalodulus. But as Kalodulus performed the

first part of his duty in doing the commandment of his prince, so was

he with abundance of sincere loyalty extremely perplexed, when he

understood of Menalcas the strange disguising of his beloved master.

For as the acts he and his cousin Pyrocles had done in Asia, had

filled all the ears of the Thessalonians and Macedonians with no less

joy than admiration: so was the fear of their loss no less grievous

unto them, when by the noise of report they understood of their lonely

committing themselves to the sea, the issue of which they had no way

learned. But now that by Menalcas he perceived where he was, guessing

the like of Pyrocles, comparing the unusedness of this act with the

unripeness of their age, seeing in general conjecture they could do it

for nothing that might not fall out dangerous, he was somewhile

troubled with himself what to do, betwixt doubt of their hurt, and

doubt of their displeasure. Often he was minded, as his safest and

honestest way, to reveal it to King Euarchus, that both his authority

might prevent any damage to them, and under his wings he himself might

remain safe. But considering a journey to Byzantium, whereas yet he

supposed Euarchus lay, would require more time than he was willing to

remain doubtful of his prince’s estate, he resolved at length to write

the matter to Euarchus, and himself the while to go into Arcadia:

uncertain what to do when he came thither, but determined to do his

best service to his dear master, {624} if by any good fortune he might

find him. And so it happened, that being even this day come to

Mantinea, and as warily and attentively as he could, giving ear to all

reports, in hope to hear something of them he sought, he straight

received a strange rumour of these things, but so uncertainly, as

popular reports carry so rare accidents. But this by all men he was

willed, to seek out Kalander a great gentleman of that country, who

would soonest satisfy him of all occurrents. Thus instructed he came

even about the midst of Euarchus’s judgment to the desert, where

seeing great multitudes, and hearing unknown names of Palladius and

Daiphantus, and not able to press to the place where Euarchus sat, he

enquired for Kalander, and was soon brought unto him, partly because

he was generally known unto all men, and partly because he had

withdrawn himself from the press, when he perceived by Euarchus’s

words whither they tended, being not able to endure his guests’

condemnation. He requireth forthwith of Kalander the cause of the

assembly; and whether the same were true of Euarchus’s presence: who

with many tears made a doleful recital unto him, both of the Amazon

and shepherd, setting forth their natural graces, and lamenting their

pitiful undoing. But this description made Kalodulus immediately know

the shepherd was his duke, and so judging the other to be Pyrocles,

and speedily communicating it to Kalander, who he saw did favour their

case, they break the press with astonishing every man with their

cries. And being come to Euarchus, Kalodulus fell at his feet, telling

him those he had judged, were his own son and nephew, the one the

comfort of Macedon, the other the only stay of Thessalia. With many

such like words; but as from a man that assured himself in that matter

he should need small speech, while Kalander made it known to all men

what the prisoners were to whom he cried they should salute their

father, and joy in the good hap the gods had sent them, who were no

less glad, than all the people amazed at the strange event of these

matters. Even Philanax’s own revengeful heart was mollified when he

saw from divers parts of the world so near kinsmen should meet in such

a necessity. And withal the fame of Pyrocles and Musidorus greatly

drew him to a compassionate conceit, and had already unclothed his

face of all show of malice.

But Euarchus staid a good while upon himself, like a valiant man that

should receive a notable encounter, being vehemently stricken with the

fatherly love of so excellent children, and studying with his best

reason what his office required: at length with such a kind of

gravity, as was near to sorrow, he thus uttered his mind: “I take

witness of the immortal gods,” said he, “O Arcadians that what this

day I have said, hath been out of my {625} assured persuasion, what

justice itself and your just laws require. Though strangers then to

me, I had no desire to hurt them, but leaving aside all considerations

of the persons, I weighed the matter which you committed into my hands

with my most impartial and farthest reach of reason. And thereout have

condemned them to lose their lives, contaminated with so many foul

breaches of hospitality, civility, and virtue. Now, contrary to all

expectations, I find them to be my only son and nephew, such upon whom

you see what gifts nature hath bestowed: such who have so to the

wonder of the world heretofore behaved themselves as might give just

cause to the greatest hopes that in an excellent youth may be

conceived. Lastly, in few words, such in whom I placed all my mortal

joys, and thought myself now near my grave, to recover a new life. But

alas! shall justice halt? or shall she wink in one’s cause, which had

lynx’s eyes in another’s; or rather shall all private respects give

place to that holy name? Be it so, be it so, let my grey hairs be laid

in the dust with sorrow, let the small remnant of my life be an inward

and outward desolation, and to the world a gazing flock of wretched

misery, but never, never let sacred righteousness fall; it is

immortal, and immortally ought to be preserved. If rightly I have

judged, then rightly I have judged mine own children, unless the name

of a child should have force to change the never changing justice. No,

no, Pyrocles, and Musidorus, I prefer you much before my life, but I

prefer justice as far before you: While you did like yourselves, my

body should willingly have been your shield, but I cannot keep you

from the effects of your own doing: nay, I cannot in this case

acknowledge you for mine, for never had I shepherd to my nephew, nor

ever had woman to my son; your vices have degraded you from being

princes, and have disannulled your birthright. Therefore if there be

anything left in you of princely virtue, show it in constant suffering

that your unprincely dealing hath purchased unto you. For my part I

must tell you, you have forced a father to rob himself of his

children. Do you therefore, O Philanax, and you my other lords of this

country, see the judgment be rightly performed in time, place, and

manner, as before appointed.”

With that though he would have refrained them, a man might perceive

the tears drop down his long white beard. Which moved not only

Kalodulus and Kalander to roaring lamentations, but all the assembly

dolefully to record that pitiful spectacle. Philanax himself could not

abstain from great shows of pitying sorrow, and manifest withdrawing

from performing the King’s commandment. But Musidorus having the hope

of his safety, and recovering of the Princess Pamela, which made him

most desirous to live so {626} suddenly dashed, but especially moved

for his dear Pyrocles, for whom he was ever resolved his last speech

should be, and stirred up with rage of unkindness, he thus spoke:

“Enjoy thy bloody conquest, tyrannical Euarchus,” said he, “for

neither is convenient the title of a king to a murderer, nor the

remembrance of kindred to a destroyer of his kindred. Go home and

glory that it hath been in thy power, shamefully to kill Musidorus.

Let thy flattering orators dedicate crowns of laurel unto thee, that

the first of thy race thou hast overthrown a prince of Thessalia. But

for me, I hope the Thessalians are not so degenerate from their

ancestors but that they will revenge my injury and their loss upon

thee. I hope my death is no more unjust to me than it shall be bitter

to thee; howsoever it be, my death shall triumph over thy cruelty;

neither as now would I live to make my life beholden unto thee. But if

thy cruelty hath not so blinded thine eyes, that thou canst not see

thine own hurt, if thy heart be not so devilish, as thou hast no power

but to torment thyself, then look upon this young Pyrocles with a

manly eye, if not with a pitiful; give not occasion to the whole earth

to say: ‘See how the gods have made the tyrant tear his own bowels!’

Examine the eyes and voices of all this people; and what all men see,

be not blind in thine own cause. Look, I say look upon him, in whom

the most curious searcher is able to find no fault but that he is thy

son. Believe it, thy own subjects will detest thee for robbing them of

such a prince, in whom they have right as well as thyself.”

Some more words to that purpose he would have spoken, but Pyrocles,

who often had called to him, did now fully interrupt him, desiring him

not to do him the wrong to give his father ill words before him,

willing him to consider it was their own fault and not his injustice;

and withal, to remember their resolution of well suffering all

accidents, which this impatiency did seem to vary from: and then

kneeling down with all humbleness, he took the speech in this order to

Euarchus: “If my daily prayers to the almighty gods had so far

prevailed as to have granted me the end whereto I have directed my

actions, I should rather have been now a comfort to your mind than an

example of your justice; rather a preserver of your memory by my life

than a monument of your judgment by my death. But since it hath

pleased their unsearchable wisdoms to overthrow all the desires I had

to serve you and make me become a shame unto you; since the last

obedience I can show you is to die, vouchsafe yet, O Father, if my

fault have not made me altogether unworthy so to term you, vouchsafe I

say to let the few and last words your son shall ever speak, not be

tedious unto you. And if the remembrance of my {627} virtuous mother,

who once was dear unto you, may bear any sway with you, if the name of

Pyrocles have at any time been pleasant, let one request of mine,

which shall not be for mine own life, be graciously accepted of you.

What you owe to justice is performed in my death: A father to have

executed his only son, will leave a sufficient example for a greater

crime than this. My blood will satisfy the highest point of equity, my

blood will satisfy the hardest hearted in this country. O save the

life of this prince; that is the only all I will with my last breath

demand of you. With what face will you look upon your sister, when in

reward of nourishing me in your greatest need, you take away, and in

such sort take away that which is more dear to her than all the world,

and is the only comfort wherewith she nourisheth her old age? O give

not such an occasion to the noble Thessalians, for ever to curse the

match that their prince did make with the Macedonian blood. By my loss

there follows no public loss, for you are to hold the seat, and to

provide yourself perchance of a worthier successor. But how can you or

all the earth recompense that damage that poor Thessalia shall

sustain? Who sending out, whom otherwise they would no more have

spared than their own eyes, their prince to you, and your requesting

to have him, by you he should thus dishonourably be extinguished. Set

before you, I beseech you, the face of that miserable people, when no

sooner shall the news come that you have met your nephew, but withal

they shall hear that you have beheaded him. How many tears they shall

spend, how many complaints they shall make, so many just execrations

will light upon you. And take heed, O Father, for since my death

answers my fault, while I live I will call upon that dear name, lest

seeking too precise a course of justice, you be not thought most

unjust in weakening your neighbours’ mighty estate by taking away

their only pillar. In me, in me this matter began, in me let it

receive his ending. Assure yourself no man will doubt your severe

observing the laws, when it shall be known Euarchus hath killed

Pyrocles. But the time of my ever farewell approaches: if you do think

my death sufficient for my fault, and do not desire to make my death

more miserable than death, let these dying words of him that was once

your son, pierce your ears. Let Musidorus live, and Pyrocles shall

live in him, and you shall not want a child.”

“A child,” cried out Musidorus, “to him that kills Pyrocles?” With

that he fell again to entreat for Pyrocles, and Pyrocles as fast for

Musidorus, each employing his wit how to show himself most worthy to

die, to such an admiration of all the beholders, that most of them

examining the matter by their own passions, thought Euarchus, as often

extraordinary excellencies, not being rightly {628} conceived, do

rather offend than please, an obstinate hearted man, and such an one,

who being pitiless, his dominion must needs be insupportable. But

Euarchus that felt his own misery more than they, and yet loved

goodness more than himself, with such a sad assured behaviour as Cato

killed himself withal, when he had heard the uttermost of that their

speech tended unto, he commanded again they should be carried away,

rising up from the seat, which he would much rather have wished should

have been his grave, and looking who would take the charge, whereto

every one was exceeding backward.

But as this pitiful matter was entering into, those that were next the

Duke’s body, might hear from under the velvet, wherewith he was

covered, a great voice of groaning. Whereat every man astonished, and

their spirits appalled with these former miseries, apt to take any

strange conceit, when they might perfectly perceive the body stir,

then some began to fear spirits, some to look for a miracle, most to

imagine they knew not what. But Philanax and Kalander, whose eyes

honest love, though to divers parties, held most attentive, leaped to

the table, and putting off the velvet cover, might plainly discern,

with as much wonder as gladness, that the Duke lived. For so it was,

that the drink he received was neither as Gynecia first imagined, a

love-potion, nor, as it was after thought, a deadly poison, but a

drink made by notable art, and as it was thought not without natural

magic, to procure for thirty hours such a deadly sleep, as should

oppress all show of life. The cause of the making of this drink had

first been that a princess of Cyprus, grandmother to Gynecia, being

notably learned, and yet not able with all her learning to answer the

objections of Cupid, did furiously love a young nobleman of her

father’s court, who fearing the king’s rage, and not once daring

either to attempt or accept so high a place, she made that sleeping

drink, and found means by a trusty servant of hers, who of purpose

invited him to his chamber, to procure him that suspected no such

thing, to receive it. Which done, he, no way able to resist, was

secretly carried by him into a pleasant chamber, in the midst of a

garden she had of purpose provided for this enterprise, where that

space of time, pleasing herself with seeing and cherishing of him,

when the time came of the drink’s end of working, and he more

astonished than if he had fallen from the clouds, she bade him choose

either then to marry her, and to promise to fly away with her in a

bark she had made ready, or else she would presently cry out, and show

in what place he was, with oath he was come thither to ravish her. The

nobleman in these straights, her beauty prevailed, he married her, and

escaped the realm with her. And after many strange adventures, were

reconciled to the king her {629} father, after whose death they

reigned. But she gratefully remembering the service that drink had

done her, preserved in a bottle, made by singular art long to keep it

without perishing, great quantity of it, with the foretold

inscription, which wrongly interpreted by her daughter-in-law, the

Queen of Cyprus, was given by her to Gynecia at the time of her

marriage; and the drink finding an old body of Basilius, had kept him

some hours longer in the trance than it would have done a younger. But

a while it was before the good Basilius could come again to himself:

in which time Euarchus more glad than of the whole world’s monarchy to

be rid of his miserable magistracy, which even in justice he was now

to surrender to the lawful prince of that country, came from the

throne unto him, and there with much ado made him understand how these

intricate matters had fallen out. Many garboils passed through his

fancy before he could be persuaded Zelmane was other than a woman. At

length remembering the oracle, which now indeed was accomplished, not

as before he had imagined, considering all had fallen out by the

highest providence, and withal weighing in all these matters his own

fault had been the greatest; the first thing he did was with all

honourable pomp to send for Gynecia, who, poor lady, thought she was

leading forth to her lively burial, and, when she came, to recount

before all the people, the excellent virtue was in her, which she had

not only maintained all her life most unspotted, but now was content

so miserably to die, to follow her husband. He told them how she had

warned him to take heed of that drink: and so with all the exaltings

of her that might be, publicly desired her pardon for those errors he

had committed. And so kissing her, left her to receive the most

honourable fame of any princess throughout the world, all men

thinking, saving only Pyrocles and Philoclea, who never betrayed her,

that she was the perfect mirror of all wifely love. Which though in

that point undeserved, she did in the remnant of her life duly

purchase, with observing all duty and faith to the example and glory

of Greece: so uncertain are mortal judgments, the same person most

infamous, and most famous, and neither justly. Then with princely

entertainment to Euarchus, and many kind words to Pyrocles, whom still

he dearly loved, though in a more virtuous kind, the marriage was

concluded, to the inestimable joy of Euarchus, towards whom now

Musidorus acknowledged his fault, betwixt the peerless princes and

princesses. Philanax for his singular faith ever held dear of Basilius

while he lived, and no less of Musidorus, who was to inherit that

kingdom, and therein confirmed to him and his the second place in that

province, with great increase of his living to maintain it. With like

proportion he used to Kalodulus in Thessalia: highly {630} honouring

Kalander while he lived, and after his death continuing in the same

measure to love and advance his son Clitophon. But as for Sympathus,

Pyrocles, to whom his father in his own time gave the whole kingdom of

Thrace, held him always about him, giving him in pure gift the great

city of Abdera. But the solemnities of these marriages, with the

Arcadian pastorals, full of many comical adventures happening to those

rural lovers; the strange stories of Artaxia and Plexirtus, Erona and

Plangus, Helen and Amphialus, with the wonderful chances that befell

them; the shepherdish loves of Menalcas with Kalodulus’s daughter; the

poor hopes of the poor Philisides in the pursuit of his affections;

the strange continuance of Claius and Strephon’s desire; lastly, the

son of Pyrocles, named Pyrophilus, and Melidora, the fair daughter of

Pamela by Musidorus, who even at their birth entered into admirable

fortunes; may awake some other spirit to exercise his pen in that

wherewith mine is already dulled.

[End of Book V]

A SIXTH BOOK TO THE COUNTESS OF

PEMBROKE’S ARCADIA

{631}

By R.B., of Lincoln’s-Inn, Esq.

{632}

TO THE READER

To strive to lessen the greatness of the attempt, were to take away

the glory of the action. To add to Sir Philip Sidney, I know is

rashness; a fault pardonable in me, if custom might as well excuse the

offence, as youth may prescribe in offending in this kind. That he

should undergo that burthen, whose mother-tongue differs as much from

this language, as Irish from English, augments the danger of the

enterprise, and gives your expectation, perhaps, an assurance what the

event must be. Yet, let no man judge wrongfully of my endeavours: I

have added a limb to Apelles’s picture; but my mind never entertained

such vain hopes, to think it of perfection sufficient to delude the

eyes of the most vulgar, with the likeness in the workmanship. No, no,

I do not follow Pythagoras’s opinion of transmigration: I am well

assured divine Sidney’s soul is not infused into me, whose judgment

was only able to finish what his invention was only worthy to

undertake. For this, courteous reader, let it suffice I place Sir

Philip Sidney’s desert (even in mine own esteem) as far beyond my

endeavours, as the most fault-finding censor can imagine this essay of

mine to come short of his Arcadia. Vale.

R. B.

ARCADIA