A1r Ann Morris her Book: The Lord of Heavon upon her Look But when her paſsing bell doth towll The Lord of Heavon receive her sowll Amon 17231723 Roger Jones his book 17251725 A1v A2r
A pair of columns form the left and right margins of the page. The two support a curving, ornamented archway for which a large elliptical frame serves as the center of the arch. The title and author of the piece appear within this frame. Directly below the frame appear a two-storied building with three windows on the second floor, in each of which appears a stylized figure. Rolling hills with interspersed farm and forest land spread out from this building and a roadway winds down to a second two-story edifice of which the second floor consists of a trio of domed towers topped with a spire. A second frame rests below this building and holds the publication information for the work. The engraver’s name Sime Paſsus ſculp. rests below and to the left of this second frame, and the date 16211621 appears at the base of the right hand column.

Sime Paſsus ſculp.

of Mountgomeries

Written by the right honorable the Lady
Mary Wroath. Daughter to the right Noble Robert
Earle of Leiceſter
And Neece to the ever famous, and renowned
Sr. Phillips Sidney knight. And to
ye moſt exelēent Lady Mary Countesse of
late deceaſed.

Printed for John Marriott
and John Grismand And
are to bee ſould at theire ſhop
pes in St Dunstons Church 16211621
yard in Fleetſtreet and in
Poules Ally at signe of
the Gunn.

B1r 1

The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania.

The First Booke.

When the Spring began to appeare like the welcome meſſenger of Summer, one ſweet (and in that more ſweet) morning, after Aurora had called all carefull eyes to attend the day, forth came the faire Shepherdeſse Urania (faire indeed; yet that farre too meane a title for her, who for beautie deſerv’d the higheſt ſtile could be given by beſt knowing Judgements). Into the Meade ſhe came, where uſually ſhee drave her flocks to feede, whoſe leaping and wantonneſse ſhewed they were proud of ſuch a Guide: But ſhe, whoſe ſad thoughts led her to another manner of ſpending her time, made her ſoone leave them, and follow her late begun cuſtome; which was (while they delighted themſelves) to ſit under ſome ſhade, bewailing her miſfortune; while they fed, to feed upon her owne ſorrow and teares, which at this time ſhe began againe to ſummon, ſitting downe under the ſhade of a well-ſpread Beech; the ground (then bleſt) and the tree with full, and fine leaved branches, growing proud to beare, and ſhadow ſuch perfections. But ſhe regarding nothing, in compariſon of her woe, thus proceeded in her griefe: Alas Urania, ſaid ſhe, (the true ſervant to misfortune); of any miſerie that can befall woman, is not this the moſt and greateſt which thou art falne into? Can there be any neare the unhappineſſe of being ignorant, and that in the higheſt kind, not being certaine of mine owne eſtate or birth? Why was I not ſtil continued in the beleefe I was, as I appeare, a Shepherdes, and Daughter to a Shepherd? My ambition then went no higher then this eſtate, now flies it to a knowledge; then was I contented, now perplexed. O ignorance, can thy dulneſſe yet procure ſo ſharpe a paine? and that ſuch a thought as makes me now aſpire unto knowledge? How did I joy in this poore life being quiet? bleſt in the love of thoſe I tooke for parents, but now by them I know the contrary, and by that knowledge, not to know my ſelfe. Miſerable Urania worſe art thou now then theſe thy Lambs; for they know their dams, while thou doſt live unknowne of any. By this were others come into that Meade with their flocks: but ſhee eſteeming her ſorrowing thoughts her beſt, and choyceſt companie, left that place, taking a little path B which B1v 2 which brought her to the further ſide of the plaine, to the foote of the rocks, ſpeaking as ſhe went theſe lines, her eies fixt upon the ground, her very ſoule turn’d into mourning.

Unſeene, unknowne, I here alone complaine To Rocks, to Hills, to Meadowes, and to Springs, Which can no helpe returne to eaſe my paine, But back my ſorrowes the ſad Eccho brings. Thus ſtill encreaſing are my woes to me, Doubly reſounded by that monefull voice, Which ſeemes to ſecond me in miſerie, And anſwere gives like friend of mine owne choice. Thus onely ſhe doth my companion prove, The others ſilently doe offer eaſe: But thoſe that grieve, a grieving note doe love; Pleaſures to dying eies bring but diſeaſe: And such am I, who daily ending live, Wayling a ſtate which can no comfort give.

In this paſsion ſhe went on, till ſhe came to the foote of a great rocke, ſhee thinking of nothing leſſe then eaſe, ſought how ſhe might aſcend it; hoping there to paſſe away her time more peaceably with lonelineſſe, though not to find leaſt reſpit from her ſorrow, which ſo deerely ſhe did value, as by no meanes ſhe would impart it to any. The way was hard, though by ſome windings making the aſcent pleaſing. Having attained the top, ſhe ſaw under ſome hollow trees the entrie into the rocke: ſhe fearing nothing but the continuance of her ignorance, went in; where ſhee found a pretty roome, as if that stonie place had yet in pitie, given leave for ſuch perfections to come into the heart as chiefeſt, and moſt beloved place, becauſe moſt loving. The place was not unlike the ancient (or the deſcriptions of ancient) Hermitages, inſtead of hangings, covered and lined with Ivie, diſdaining ought els ſhould come there, that being in ſuch perfection. This richneſſe in Natures plentie made her ſtay to behold it, and almoſt grudge the pleaſant fulnes of content that place might have, if ſenſible, while ſhe muſt know to taſte of torments. As ſhe was thus in paſsion mixt with paine, throwing her eies as wildly as timerous Lovers do for feare of diſcoverie, ſhe perceived a little Light, and ſuch a one, as a chinke doth oft diſcover to our ſights. She curious to ſee what this was, with her delicate hands put the naturall ornament aſide, diſcerning a little doore, which ſhe putting from her, paſsed through it into another roome, like the firſt in all proportion; but in the midſt there was a ſquare ſtone, like to a prettie table, and on it a wax-candle burning; and by that a paper, which had ſuffered it ſelfe patiently to receive the diſcovering of ſo much of it, as preſented this Sonnet (as it ſeemed newly written) to her ſight.

He all alone in ſilence might I mourne: But how can ſilence be where ſorrowes flow? Sigh’s with complaints have poorer paines out-worne; But broken hearts can only true griefe ſhow. Drops B2r 3 Drops of my deareſt bloud ſhall let Love know Such teares for her I ſhed, yet ſtill do burne, As no ſpring can quench leaſt part of my woe, Till this live earth, againe to earth doe turne. Hatefull all thought of comfort is to me, Deſpiſed day, let me ſtill night poſseſſe; Let me all torments feele in their exceſſe, And but this light allow my ſtate to ſee. Which ſtill doth waſt, and waſting as this light, Are my sad dayes unto eternall night.

Alas Urania (ſigh’d ſhe)! How well doe theſe words, this place, and all agree with thy fortune? ſure poore ſoule thou wert heere appointed to ſpend thy daies, and theſe roomes ordain’d to keepe thy tortures in; none being aſſuredly ſo matchleſly unfortunate. Turning from the table, ſhe diſcerned in the roome a bed of boughes, and on it a man lying, deprived of outward ſenſe, as ſhe thought, and of life, as ſhe at first did feare, which ſtrake her into a great amazement: yet having a brave ſpirit, though ſhadowed under a meane habit, ſhe ſtept unto him, whom ſhe found not dead, but laid upon his back, his head a little to her wards, his armes foulded on his breſt, haire long, and beard diſordered, manifeſting all care; but care it ſelfe had left him: curiouſneſſe thus farre affoorded him, as to bee perfectly diſcerned the moſt exact peece of miſerie; Apparrell hee had ſutable to the habitation, which was a long gray robe. This grievefull ſpectacle did much amaze the ſweet and tender-hearted Shepherdeſſe; eſpecially, when ſhe perceived (as ſhe might by the helpe of the candle) the teares which diſtilled from his eyes; who ſeeming the image of death, yet had this ſigne of worldly ſorrow, the drops falling in that abundance, as if there were a kind ſtrife among them, to rid their Maſter firſt of that burdenous carriage; or elſe meaning to make a floud, and ſo drowne their wofull Patient in his owne ſorrow, who yet lay ſtill, but then fetching a deepe groane from the profoundeſt part of his ſoule, he ſaid. Miſerable Periſſus, canſt thou thus live, knowing ſhe that gave thee life is gone? Gone, O me! and with her all my joy departed. Wilt thou (unbleſſed creature) lie here complaining for her death, and know ſhe died for thee? Let truth and ſhame make thee doe ſomething worthy of ſuch a Love, ending thy daies like thy ſelfe, and one fit to be her Servant. But that I muſt not doe: then thus remaine and foſter ſtormes, ſtill to torment thy wretched ſoule withall, ſince all are little, and too too little for ſuch a loſse. O deere Limena, loving Limena, worthy Limena, and more rare, conſtant Limena: perfections delicately faign’d to be in women were verified in thee, was ſuch worthineſſe framed onely to be wondred at by the beſt, but given as a prey to baſe and unworthy jealouſie? When were all worthy parts joyn’d in one, but in thee (my beſt Limena)? yet all theſe growne ſubject to a creature ignorant of all but ill, like unto a Foole, who in a darke Cave, that hath but one way to get out, having a candle, but not the B2 vnder- B2v 4 underſtanding what good it doth him, puts it out: this ignorant wretch not being able to comprehend thy vertues, did ſo by thee in thy murder, putting out the worlds light, and mens admiration: Limena, Limena, O my Limena. With that he fell from complaining into ſuch a paſsion, as weeping and crying were never in ſo wofull a perfection, as now in him; which brought as deſerved a compaſsion from the excellent Shepherdeſſe, who already had her heart ſo tempered with griefe, as that it was apt to take any impreſsion that it would come to ſeale withall. Yet taking a brave courage to her, ſhee ſtept unto him, kneeling downe by his ſide, and gently pulling him by the arme, ſhe thus ſpake. Sir (ſaid ſhe) having heard ſome part of your ſorrowes, they have not only made me truly pitie you, but wonder at you; ſince if you have loſt ſo great a treaſure, you ſhould not lie thus leaving her and your love unrevenged, ſuffering her murderers to live, while you lie here complaining; and if ſuch perfections be dead in her, why make you not the Phœnix of your deeds live againe, as to new life rais’d out of the revenge you ſhould take on them? then were her end ſatisfied, and you deſervedly accounted worthie of her favour, if ſhee were ſo worthie as you ſay. If ſhee were? O God (cri’d out Periſsus), what diveliſh ſpirit art thou, that thus doſt come to torture me? But now I ſee you are a woman; and therefore not much to be marked, and leſſe reſiſted: but if you know charitie, I pray now practiſe it, and leave me who am afflicted ſufficiently without your companie; or if you will ſtay, diſcourſe not to me. Neither of theſe will I doe (ſaid ſhe). If you be then (ſaid he) ſome furie of purpoſe ſent to vex me, uſe your force to the uttermoſt in martyring me; for never was there a fitter ſubject, then the heart of poore Periſsus is. I am no furie (repli’d the divine Urania), nor hither come to trouble you, but by accident lighted on this place; my cruell hap being ſuch, as onely the like can give me content, while the ſolitarineſſe of this like cave might give me quiet, though not eaſe, ſeeking for ſuch a one, I happened hither; and this is the true cauſe of my being here, though now I would uſe it to a better end if I might. Wherefore favour me with the knowledge of your griefe; which heard, it may be I ſhall give you ſome counſell, and comfort in your ſorrow. Curſed may I bee (cri’d he) if ever I take comfort, having ſuch cauſe of mourning: but becauſe you are, or ſeeme to be afflicted, I will not refuſe to ſatisfie your demaund, but tell you the ſaddeſt ſtorie that ever was rehearſed by dying man to living woman, and ſuch a one, as I feare will faſten too much ſadneſſe in you; yet ſhould I denie it, I were too blame, being ſo well knowne to theſe ſenſeleſse places; as were they ſenſible of ſorrow, they would condole, or elſe amaſed at ſuch crueltie, ſtand dumbe as they doe, to find that man ſhould be ſo inhumane.

Then faire Shepherdeſſe, heare my ſelfe ſay my name is Periſſus, Nephew I am to the King of Sicilie, a place fruitfull and plentifull of all things, onely niggardly of good nature to a great man in that Country, whom I am ſure you have heard me blame in my complaints. Heire I am as yet to this King mine Uncle; and truly may I ſay so, for a more unfortunate Prince never lived, ſo as I inherit his croſſes, howſoever I ſhall B3r 5 ſhall his eſtate. There was in this Country (as the only bleſsing it enjoyed) a Lady, or rather a Goddeſſe for incomparable beautie, and matchles vertues, called Limena, daughter to a Duke, but Princeſſe of all hearts: this ſtarre comming to the Court to honour it with ſuch light, it was in that my bleſſed deſtinie to ſee her, and be made her ſervant, or better to ſay, a ſlave to her perfections; thus long was I happie, but now begins the tragedie: for warres falling out betweene the people and the Gentlemen, the King was by the people (imagining he tooke the other part) brought into ſome danger, and so great an one, as rudenes joynd with ill nature could bring him into, being at laſt beſieged in a ſtrong hold of his, all of us his ſervants, and gentle ſubjects, ſtriving for his good and ſafetie; in this time nothing appearing but danger, and but wiſe force to preſerve mens lives and eſtates unto them, every one taking the beſt meanes to attaine unto their good deſires. The Duke (father to the beſt, and trueſt beauty) would yet beſtow that upon a great Lord in the Country, truly for powerfull command and meanes, a fit match for any, but the wonder of women, ſince none could without much flatterie to himſelfe, thinke he might aſpire to the bleſsing of being accounted worthie to be her ſervant, much leſſe her husband. Shee ſeeing it was her fathers will, eſteeming obedience beyond all paſsions, how worthily ſoever ſuffered, moſt dutifully, though unwillingly, ſaid, ſhe would obey; her tongue faintly delivering, what her heart ſo much deteſted; loathing almoſt it ſelfe, for conſenting in ſhew to that which was moſt contrarie to it ſelfe; yet thus it was concluded, and with as much ſpeed as any man would make to an eternall happines. While of this, and ſo my miſfortune, I remained ignorant, till one day the warres being a little ceaſed, though not ended, the ſiege ſtill continuing, I ſtole from mine uncle to ſee my heart, which ſhe kept ſafe with her: but when I came thither, I found, or fear’d I found no roome for it. She who had it, being in the power of mine enemie (for ſo I accounted him, when he enjoyed my loſſe, my hopes being fruſtrate, my joyes loſt and ſpoild, I grew from my ſelfe, my ſences failed me, a trembling poſſeſsing my whole bodie, ſo as this diſtemper was marked, and pittied of all: but what did comfort me, was, that ſhe did ſeeme to pitty me. Then did I bleſſe my torments, that had procured me ſuch a favour. There were none, but carefully ſought my health, eſpecially her husband, whoſe diligence was as tedious, as his wives was my onely joy. Griev’d I was to ſtay and ſee my miſerie, yet ſad I was to goe from ſeeing her, who gave me (though a barr’d) delight in beholding her: but knowing paſsion the greater Lord over my ſtrength, I tooke my leave, pretending buſines, having onely taken the opportunitie that way afforded me to viſite them, paſsing ſo neare by them; they all ſeemed ſorry for my going, and Limena indeed was ſo; then by unus’d pathes I got backe to the King, often, as I rode, looking to that place where I left my ſoule priſoner. When I had been a while at home, remembring, or rather never letting the beautie of Limena be abſent from me, I ſay remembring her, and my everlaſting wretched ſtate in miſsing her; calling my miſchiefe by his gaine to account, I found ſo much cauſe to lament, as in ſhort time I was but mournefull ſorrow; my friends B3 grieu’d B3v 6 griev’d, and generally all did ſhew diſpleaſure for me, only my ſelfe found nothing but cauſe to proceed in this diſpaire, love having truly changed me to that moſt low, and ſtill unluckie fate. Buſineſſe of State I neglected, going about as in a dreame, led by the cruelleſt of helliſh ſpirits, Deſpaire, till I was awaked by a command to goe and leade ſome troops which were gathered by the Kings friends together comming to raiſe the ſiege, yet deſiring me to be their head. I went, and thus farre willingly, having ſo much hope left me, as to thinke I might by this meanes conclude my afflictions with my end; yet firſt I reſolved to write unto her, that ſhe might know, ſhe had ſo unbleſt a creature to her Servant. When I had written my letter with ſhaking hands, and yet a more ſhaking heart, I gave it to a Page of mine, who was newly come unto mee, and never had been ſeene in her Fathers houſe, giving him beſides directions how to carrie himſelfe, which he diſcreetly did obſerve, and found as fit an opportunitie as could be wiſht: for her husband being gone to ſee an ancient houſe of his, ſhe walked alone into a little Grove below the place of her abiding; he perceiving her, knew ſtraight it was ſhe; wherefore he followed her, having before hid himſelfe in the uppermoſt part of the thicket, expecting occaſion whereby to performe his Maſters commaund. He then ſeeing it offered, would not neglect it, though ſomewhat timerouſly, eſteeming her for her excellencies rather ſome Goddeſſe of thoſe Woods, then an earthly Creature: but remembring the infinite (yet not ſufficient) praiſes I had given her, concluded, it could be none other then Limena; ſo as comming to her, he on his knees delivered the letter, ſaying theſe words; The wofull Periſſus his Lord and Maſter preſented that, with his ſervice to her. This (though but little) was more then I could have ſaid, if in his place: For Lord, how was I afflicted with millions of doubts how it might be delivered; then, whether ſhe would accept of it; and moſt, what ſhe would conceive of my boldneſſe, quaking when I gave it him, knowing how wretched a creature I muſt bee, if it offended her, yet wiſhing I might have had the papers place once more to have been toucht by her, though, if it brought diſlike, for that to have ſuffered martyrdome. But ſhe for my happineſſe tooke it, and with a pretty bluſh read it, which ſince I perceiv’d did ſpring from love, yet bluſht to ſee it ſelfe ſo lively in her cheekes. When ſhe had read it, Good youth (said she) commend me to your Lord: but for his letter, ſay, It needs no anſwer till he come himſelfe, and fetch one. With this he return’d, and ſo with much comfort to me, hope being glad to build on any ſmall ground, how much more then on ſo likely a poſsibility. I then, Hopes ſervant, as before onely ſlave to Deſpaire, made all haſte I could to ſee her, having good and welcome meanes affoorded me, being able with convenience to take her Fathers house in my way to the new-rais’d Army. Thither I came, which though in a wild Foreſt, yet it was pretended, I left the great roads for my better ſafetie. Thus was a colour ſet upon my love, which but for her ſervice, and ſo the ſafelier to ſerve her, would ſuffer any gloſſe but truth in affection. Being there ariv’d, I was extreamely welcomed of all: her Father, a grave and wiſe man, diſcourſed with mee of buſineſſe of State: after him, and ſo all ſupper time, her husband diſcourſed of hunting, an exerciſe fit for ſuch a creature. Neither of theſe brought my Miſtris from a grave, and almoſtmoſt B4r 7 moſt ſad countenance, which made me ſomewhat feare, knowing her underſtanding and experience, able and ſufficient to judge, or adviſe in any matter we could diſcourſe of: but modeſtie in her caus’d it, onely loving knowledge, to be able to diſcerne mens underſtandings by their arguments, but no way to ſhew it by her owne ſpeech. This (and withall feare of diſcovering ſome paſsions, which ſhe, though excelling in wit and judgement; yet could not governe, at leaſt, guiltines forc’d her to thinke ſo) was the reaſon ſhe held her gravitie; yet after ſhe grew more merry. And I finding a fit time by her husbands going out of the chamber, with ſome companie that was there, humbly deſired an anſwere of my letter. She bluſhing, and as if aſhamed ſo much innocent vertue ſhould be diſcovered with my Lover-like importunitie in her, though ſtrong in conſtancie; yet womans affection gain’d ſo much by lookes, and ſweet though-fearing words, as I was reſolved, and aſſured of her love, which made me proud of ſuch a treaſure, begin to diſpoſe part of it to my benefit, for looking about, and ſeeing every ones eyes carried their owne waies, I kiſt her; ſhe, not offended, yet ſaid; Let not my freedome make you diſpoſe otherwiſe then virtuouſly of me: I vowed more then that libertie I would not aske, which I know, if I had offered, her vertue would have refuſed, nor truly would my deere and worthy affection permit mee to demaund, and this held our loves more firme, when tied by vertue. But not to hold you long with this (which yet to me is ſome eaſe for the preſent, although the bitterer the concluſion is that followes). We had as many ſuch meetings as true, or fained meanes could compaſſe us, till our miſerie was ſuch, as this wild man her husband (whether out of true conſideration of his great unworthines, or proceeding from his froward diſpoſition, I know not) grew jealous (an humour following base minds as readily, as thunder doth the lightning, then had he raſhnes to accompany the other, which fram’d a determinatiōon, which was ſoone altered frōom that name by performance, that ſhe ſhould ſtay no longer with her father, but go with him to his own houſe; this I had notice of, but all that we could doe, could not hinder the accompliſhing his will, and ſave her honour, which to me, more deere then mine owne Life was eſteemed. But the night before her going I came thither, where I found the accuſtomed entertainement, he uſing me with al ſhew of reſpect, which in that kind I embraced; our hearts being as farre from meaning truth in giving or accepting, as truth is from bare complement, but greatneſſe in me made him uſe it; and care in me (of my better ſelfe) receive it; my heart ſwelling with hate and ſcorne, even almoſt to breaking, when I did ſee him. That night I ſaw her, and but ſpake to her, ſo curiouſly her husband watched us, yet could he not keepe our eies, but by them we did deliver our ſoules, he onely able to keepe her daintie body in his wicked priſon. The next day they went, and ſo went all worth with this odd man to have her delicacy kept like a Diamond in a rotten box: yet ſhe conſidering it to be to no purpoſe to contend, where ſhe was miſerably bound to obey, obſerved him, as well as ſhe could bring her ſpirit to conſent to; yet did he begin for her welcome to grow curſt to her; with her Servants he firſt began, finding, or better to ſay, framing occaſions to be rid of them all, placing of his owne about her, which ſhe ſuffered, onely contenting her ſelfe with the memorie of our Loves: yet wanting the true content which was in our converſation, ſhee grew B4v 8 grew ſad, and keeping much within, grew pale, her roſie cheekes and lippes changing to wanneſſe: but this was all the change, her noble heart free from ſuch a ſinne. This was but part of her affliction, ſtill vexing her ſweete diſpoſition, with ſpeaking ſlightly of me, and then telling her of her love to me; which brought her to that paſse, as at laſt I was not named, but ſhe would bluſh; then would he revile her, and vilely uſe her: but ſhe patiently, and ſilently bare all, not ſuffering me to have notice of it, leſt it might, as it ſhould have done, move mee to revenge her wrong for my ſake endured. Thus it reſted, ſhe reſtleſly bearing all the ills that froward Nature (mixt with peeviſh and ſpitefull jealouſie) could afflict upon the pureſt mind; uſing no other meanes, but gentle and mild perſwaſions, which wrought no more in him, but that ſtill his madneſſe increaſed. Now was his houſe not farre from the way which I muſt paſſe betweene the Campe, and the great Citie of Siracuſa, being one of the chiefe of that kingdome; and which at that time had yeelded it ſelfe againe unto the King. I hearing Philargus (for ſo was this unworthie man called) was at his houſe, with his truly vertuous wife, whom my ſoule longed to ſee, I reſolved to lodge there that night, not (alas) miſtruſting the misfortune, but coveting to ſee her, whom more then my heart I loved, or lov’d my heart the better for being hers. So I went thither, where I was by him exceedingly well welcom’d in outward ſhew, though his meaning was contrary, which I ſhould have found, had his diveliſh plots bin readie, Jealouſie having now blinded him to all good nature or judgement. She poore Lady (poore onely in this fortune) ſad and griev’d, all her ſmiles turn’d into ſighes, and thinkings, which made me feare, and wonder, wondring at the change of her beauty, which yet in palenes ſhew’d excellency; and feare I did, leſt my abſence had offēended her, but I was deceiv’d, while I leſt thought of the true cauſe, or could imagine ſuch villanie plotted againſt ſo rare perfections. Deſirous to know the cauſe, I remain’d almoſt impatient, not venturing to ſpeake to her before her husband, for hurting her: but he going out of the roome, after wee had ſupped, either to cover the flames which were ready to breake out in huge fires of his miſtruſt, or to have the company fitter for him, affecting ſtil to be chiefe, his abſence, howſoever, gave me opportunitie to demaund the reaſon of her ſtrangeneſſe: She ſigh’d to heare mee call it ſo, and with teares told me the reaſon, concluding; and thus doe you ſee my Lord (ſaid ſhe) the torments I ſuffer for your love; yet do you more torture me with doubting me, who have no happines left me, but the knowledge of my faith to you, all afflictions being welcome to me, which for your ſake I ſuffer. Betweene rage and paine I remain’d amazed, till ſhee, taking mee by the hand, brought mee more wofully to my ſelfe with theſe words. And yet am I brought to a greater miſchiefe; with that fixing her weeping eyes upon mine, which affectionately anſwered hers with lookes and teares. I muſt my Lord (ſaid ſhe) intreate you to refraine this place, ſince none can tell what danger may proceed from mad, and unbridled jealouſie; Refraine your ſight? Commaund me then to die (ſaid I). Have I deſerv’d to be thus puniſh’d? Shall his brutiſhnes undoe my bleſsings? yet this place I will, ſince you will have it ſo, hoping you will find ſome meanes to let me know Philargus houſe is not in all places. That I will doe, or die (ſaid ſhe). Miſerable wretch (cry’d I), art thou borne to ſuch fortune, as to haue C1r 9 have this Lady love thee, and her unmatched goodnes to ſuffer for one ſo worthleſſe as thy ſelfe? No, no, my Lord (ſaid ſhe) in this you wrong me, and that judgement which heretofore you ſaid was in me, ſince if you were unworthy then, my choice was unperfect: but you are worthie, and I worthily choſe you; I lov’d you, and conſtantly lov’d you, and in this doe I beſt allow of my owne judgement. I hope that love is not cleane gone (cri’d I), (my ſpeech by love directed to ſay thus), nor will you forget me, though from our moſt deſired meetings, we muſt be barred. My love, my Lord (ſaid ſhe) had, and hath too ſure a ground to know remove, I too truly lov’d, and doe love you, ever to forget it, or to let it have leaſt ſhadow of leſſening, though vailed in abſence, but rather (if increaſe can be where all is already poſſeſt) it ſhall increaſe; Love living beſt where deſert, and ſufferance joyne together; and for witnes of it, take this (ſaid ſhe, beſtowing her picture upon me, which is all the Limenas I ſhall now enjoy, or ever did, more then her lov’d, and beſt beloved ſight. The caſe was blew, commanding me withall to love that color, both becauſe it was hers, and becauſe it ſelf betokened truth. By this time her husband was come, who told us, ’twas time to goe reſt. We obay’d: and this was the laſt time that ever I ſaw my deere, and moſt worthily accounted deere Limena: for the next morning I was by day to be at the Citie, and ſo from thence to returne to the Campe. Thus tooke I my leave, and my laſt leave of vertuous Limena, whoſe ſad face, but ſadder ſoule foretold our following harme, and ſucceeding ruine. For within few dayes after my returne to the Camp, there came a Meſſenger early in the morning, and (O too early for my fortune) whom I ſtrait knew to be Limenas faithfull Servant. At firſt, it brought joy to me, ſeeing a letter in his hand; but ſoone was that turn’d to as much mourning, curſing my hands that tooke it, and eyes that read ſo lamentable a letter; the contents (nay that it ſelfe) being this, and the verie ſame my Miſtris ſent, and wo is me, the laſt ſhe ere can ſend. Urania read it, while he with teares and groanes gave the true period to it. The Letter ſaid thus.

My onely Lord, thinke not this, or the manner ſtrange I now ſend, knowing already ſome part of the undeſerved courſe taken with me, only pitie her, who for your ſake ſuffers patiently; accept theſe my last lines, and with them the ſincereſt love that ever woman gave to man. I have not time to ſpeake what I would, therefore let this ſatisfie you, that the many threatnings I have heard, are come in ſome kind to end: for I muſt preſently die, and for you; which death is moſt welcome, ſince for you I muſt have it, and more pleaſing then life without you. Grant me then theſe laſt requeſts, which even by your love I conjure you not to denie me, that you love my poore memory; and as you will love that, or ever loved me, revenge not my death on my murtherer, who, how unworthy ſoever hee was, or is, yet hee is my Husband. This is all, and this grant, as I will faithfully die Yours.

Alas, faire Shepherdeſſe (ſaid he), is this a letter without much ſorrow to be read? and is not this a creature of all others to be belov’d? Never let him breath, that will not heartily, and moſt heartily lament ſuch a misfortune. Tis C true, C1v 10 true, ſaid Urania, reaſon and worth being companions: but yet I heare not the certaintie or manner of her death, then will I not faile to lament with you. Alas, ſaid hee, heare it of mee, onely fit to tell that ſtorie. After my departure from his houſe to the Citie, and ſo to the Campe, the jealous wretch finding my Ladie retired into a Cabinet ſhe had, where ſhe uſed to paſſe away ſome part of her unpleaſant life: comming in, he ſhut the dore, drawing his ſword, and looking with as much furie, as jealous ſpite could with rage demonſtrate; his breath ſhort, his ſword he held in his hand, his eyes ſparkling as thicke and faſt, as an unperfectly kindled fire with much blowing gives to the Blower, his tongue ſtammeringly with rage bringing foorth theſe words; thou haſt wrong’d mee, vild creature; I ſay thou haſt wronged mee: ſhee who was compounded of vertue, and her ſpirit, ſeeing his wild and diſtracted countenance gueſt the worſt, wherfore mildely ſhee gave this anſwere. Philargus, ſaide ſhee, I knowe in mine owne heart I have not wrong’d you, and God knowes I have not wrong’d my ſelfe: theſe ſpeeches, ſaid he, are but the followers of your continued ill, and falſe living; but thinke no longer to deceive me, nor couſen your ſelfe with the hope of being able, for in both you ſhall finde as much want, as I doe of your faith to me; but if you will ſpeake confeſſe the truth: O me, the truth, that you have ſhamed your ſelfe in my diſhonour, ſay you have wrong’d me, giving your honour, and mine to the looſe, and wanton pleaſure of Periſſus; was I not great enough, amiable, delicate enough, but for laſciviouſneſſe you muſt ſeeke, and woo him? Yet Limena I did thus deſerve you, that once better then my ſelfe I lov’d you, which affection lives in the extremitie ſtill, but hath chang’d the nature, being now as full of hate, as then abounding in love, which ſhall inſtantly be manifeſted, if you conſent not to my will, which is, that without diſſembling ſpeeches, or flattring finenes you confeſſe your ſhamefull love to the robber of my bliſſe: you may denie it, for how eaſie is it to be faultie in words, when in the truth of truth you are ſo faultie? but take heede, unfainedly anſwere, or here I vow to ſacrifice your blood to your wanton love; My Lord, ſaid ſhe, threatnings are but meanes to ſtrengthen free and pure hearts againſt the threatners, and this hath your words wrought in me, in whom it were a fooliſh baſeneſse for feare of your ſword, or breath to confeſſe what you demaund, if it were true farre more did I deſerve eternall puniſhment, if I would belye him, and my ſelfe for dread of a bare threatning; ſince ſure, that ſword, were it not for danger to it ſelfe, would, if any nobleneſſe were in it, or his maſter, chooſe rather to dye it ſelfe in the blood of a man, then be ſeene in the wranglings betweene us: yet doe I not denie my love to Periſſus in all noble, and worthy affection, being I thinke nurſt with me, for ſo long have I borne this reſpective love to him, as I knowe no part of my memory can tell me the beginning. Thus partly you have your will in aſſurance, that that unſeperable love I beare him, was before I knewe you, or perfectly my ſelfe, and ſhall be while I am, yet alwayes thus in a vertuous, and religious faſhion. O God, cry’d out Philargus what doe I heare? or what can you ſtile vertuous and religious, ſince it is to one beſides your husband? hath ſhame poſſeſt you? and excellent modeſty abandoned you? you have in part ſatisfied me indeed, but thus to ſee, that I have juſt C2r 11 juſt occaſion to ſeeke ſatisfaction for this injury: wherefore, reſolve inſtantly to die, or obey me, write a letter ſtraight before mine eyes unto him, conjure him with thoſe ſweete charmes which have undone mine honour, and content to come unto you: Let me truely knowe his anſwere, and be ſecret, or I vow thou ſhalt not many minutes outlive the refuſall. Shee, ſweeteſt ſoule, brought into this danger, (like one being betweene a flaming fire, and a ſwallowing gulfe, muſt venture into one, or ſtanding ſtill, periſh by one) ſtood a while not amazed, for her ſpirit ſcorned ſo low a paſsion; but judicially conſidering with her ſelfe what might be good in ſo much ill; ſhe with modeſt conſtancy, and conſtant determination, made this anſwer. This wretched, and unfortunate body, is I confeſſe in your hands, to diſpoſe of to death if you will; but yet it is not unbleſt with ſuch a mind as will ſuffer it to end with any ſuch ſtaine, as ſo wicked a plott, and miſerable conſent might purchaſe: nor will I blott my fathers houſe with Treaſon, Treaſon? Nay, the worſt of Treaſons, to be a Traytor to my friend. Wherefore my Lord pardon me, for I will with more willingneſſe die, then execute your minde, and more happily ſhall I end, ſaving him innocent from ill, delivering my ſoule pure, and I unſpotted of the crime you tax me of, or a thought of ſuch diſhonour to my ſelfe; I might have ſaide to you, but that this cruell courſe makes me thus part my honour from you; yet can you not part infamy, and reproach from you, nor me, ſaid he: Prepare then quickly, this ſhall be your laſt; My Lord ſaid ſhee, behold before your eyes the moſt diſtreſs’d of women, who if you will thus murder, is here ready: then untying a daintie embrodered waſt coate; ſee here, ſaid ſhe, the breaſt, (and a moſt heavenly breaſt it was) which you ſo dearely loved, or made me thinke ſo, calling it pureſt warme ſnow; yet never was the colour purer then my love to you, but now ’tis ready to receive that ſtroake, ſhall bring my heart blood, cheriſh’d by you once, to dye it, in revenge of this my wrong revenge; nay, ſuch revenge will my death have, as though by you I die, I pittie your enſuing overthrow.

Whether theſe words, or that ſight (which not to be ſeene without adoring) wrought moſt I knowe not, but both together ſo well prevaile as hee ſtood in a ſtrange kind of faſhion, which ſhe (who now was to act her part for life, or death) tooke advantage of, and this your cruelty will more appeare whēen it is knowne you gave no time for conſideration, or repentance, ſaid she; you deſerve no ſuch favor from me, ſaid he, but rather that I ſhould with out giving care to that bewitching tongue have reveng’d my harme, but ſince I have committed this firſt, like faultie men, I muſt fall into another: Charity, but in no deſert of yours, procures this favour for you: two dayes I give you, at the end of which be ſure to content me with your anſwere, or content your ſelfe with preſent death. The joy ſhe at this conceived, was as if aſſured life had beene given her, wherefore humbly thanking him, ſhe promiſed to ſatisfie him ſo fully at that time, as he ſhould (ſhe hop’d) be pleaſed with it. Away hee went leaving her to her buſie thoughts, yet ſomewhat comforted, ſince ſo ſhee might acquaint mee with her afflictions, for which cauſe grieving that I ſhould be ignorant of the true meanes to her end, ſhe ſo prettily gain’d that little time for the rareſt lampe of excellent life to endure. Then called ſhe a faithfull ſervant of hers, and the ſame who brought me C2 the C2v 12 the dolefull letter: Firſt, ſhe conjured him by the faith hee bare her, to obey what ſhee commaunded, and to bee ſecret; then related ſhee this ſoule rendring ſtorie to him, which ſhee injoyn’d him truly to diſcover to mee, by his helpe getting pen and paper, and having written that dolorous, yet ſweete, becauſe loving letter, ſent him to mee that day ſhee was to give her anſwere, which ſhee aſſured him ſhould bee a direct refuſall, eſteeming death more pleaſing and noble, then to betray me, who (for my now griefe mixt with that bleſsing) ſhee inricht with her incomparable affection, giving him charge to deliver it to mine owne hands, and beſides, to ſtay with mee, aſſuring him I would moſt kindly intreat him for her ſake, which ſhee might truly warrant him, being Commandreſſe of my ſoule. Hee found mee in my Tent, ready to goe forth; with a wan and ſad countenance hee gave that and my death together; then telling the lamentable ſtorie I now delivered you. With flouds of teares, and ſtormes of ſighes hee concluded: And by this, is the rareſt peece of woman-kinde deſtroyed. Had I growne into an ordinary paſsion like his of weeping, ſobbing, or crying, it had not been fit for the exceſsive loſſe I was falne into; wherefore like a true Caſt-away of fortune, I was at that inſtant metamorphoſed into miſerie it ſelfe, no other thing being able to equall mee, no more then any, except the owne fellow to a cockle ſhell, can fit the other. This change yet in mee, which to my ſelfe was ſo ſudden as I felt it not, was ſo marked by my friends, and by all admired, as thoſe who feared the leaſt, doubted my end; which would it then had happened, ſince, if ſo the earth no longer had borne ſuch a wretch, this ſad place been moleſted with a gueſt perpetually filling it; and theſe places neere, with my unceaſing complaints. Deſpaire having left mee no more ground for hope but this, that ere long I ſhall eaſe them all, death proving mercifull unto mee, in delivering this griefe-full body to the reſt of a deſired grave. My Lord Periſſus (ſaid Urania), how idle, and unprofitable indeed are theſe courſes, ſince if ſhee bee dead, what good can they bring to her? and not being certaine of her death, how unfit are they for ſo brave a Prince, who will as it were, by will without reaſon wilfully loſe himſelfe? will not any till the contrarie bee knowne, as properly hope as vainely deſpaire? and can it bee imagined her husband (who, paſsion of love did in his furie ſo much temper) ſhould have ſo cruell a hand, guided by ſo ſavage a heart, or ſeene by ſo pitileſſe eyes, as to be able to murder ſo ſweet a beauty? No my Lord, I cannot beleeve but ſhe is living, and that you ſhal find it ſo, if unreaſonable ſtubborne reſolution bar you not, and ſo hinder you from the eternall happineſſe you might enjoy. Only rare Shepherdeſſe (ſaid the love-kill’d Periſsus), how comfortable might theſe ſpeeches bee to one, who were able to receive them, or had a heart could let in one ſigne of joy? but to me they are rather bitter, ſince they but cheriſh mee the longer to live in deſpairefull miſerie. No, ſhee is dead, and with her is all vertue, and beauteous conſtancy gone. She is dead: for how can goodneſſe or pitie be expected from him, who know nothing more, then deſire of ill and crueltie? Thou art dead, and with thee all my joyes departed, all faith, love and worth are dead: to enjoy ſome part of which, in ſhort time I will bee with thee, that though in life wee were kept aſunder, in death we C3r 13 we may bee joyn’d together, till which happie hower I will thus ſtill lament thy loſſe. If you bee reſolv’d (ſaid the daintie Urania), folly it were to offer to perſwade you from ſo reſolute a determination; yet being ſo brave a Prince, ſtored with all vertuous parts, diſcretion and judgement, mee thinks, ſhould not ſuffer you to burie them in the poore grave of Loves paſsion, the pooreſt of all other: theſe invite mee, as from your ſelfe, to ſpeake to your ſelfe; Leave theſe teares, and woman-like complaints, no way befitting the valiant Periſſus, but like a brave Prince, if you know ſhee bee dead, revenge her death on her murderers; and after, if you will celebrate her funeralls with your owne life giving, that will bee a famous act: ſo may you gaine perpetuall glorie, and repay the honor to her dead, which could not bee but touched by her untimely end. Her honour toucht, and toucht for mee? O immortal God (cride he), thou wilt not (I hope) let a ſlave live ſhould touch on ſuch a thought, nor me to live after it were borne, if not to ſacrifice my bloud to waſh away the ſtaine. But I pray you ſince you undertake thus to adviſe mee, how can I doe this, and yet obey my Limena’s commaund, in not revenging her death? Why that (replide the discreet Urania) proceeded whollie from the love ſhee bare you, which rather is another motive to ſtirre you, if you conſider it, ſince the danger ſhee apprehended you would runne into, to right ſo delicate, yet unhappilie, injured a Ladie, and for you injured, forced her to uſe her authoritie for your ſafetie. But let not that prevaile, nor hinder a deadlie revenge for ſo deteſtable a fact. Thus ſhall you approove your ſelfe, a brave and worthie Lover, deſerving her, who beſt deſerv’d: but let it never be ſaid, Periſſus ended unrevenged of Philargus, and concluded his dayes like a Fly in a corner. Theſe wordes wrought ſo farre in the noble heart of Periſſus, as riſing from his leavie Cabine, then thus ſaid hee: Is Periſſus the ſecond time conquerd? I muſt obey that reaſon which abounds in you; and to you, ſhall the glory of this attempt belong: now will I againe put on thoſe habites which of late I abandoned, you having gaind the victorie over my vowe. But I beſeech you, tell mee who my Counſellor is, for too much judgement I finde in you, to be directly, as you ſeeme, a meere Shepherdeſſe, nor is that beauty ſutable to that apparell. My name, ſaid ſhee, is Urania, my bringing up hath been under an old Man, and his wife, who, till lately, I tooke for my Father and Mother but they telling me the contrary, and the manner of their finding me, makes mee find I am loſt, and ſo in truth, is much of my content, not being able to know any more of my ſelfe: I delighted before to tend a little Flocke, the old paire put into my handes, now am I troubled how to rule mine owne thoughts. This doe I well credit, ſaid Periſſus, for more like a Princeſſe, then a Shepherdeſſe doe you appeare, and ſo much doe I reverence your wiſedome, as next unto Limena, I will ſtill moſt honor you: and therefore, faire Urania, (for ſo I hope you will give mee leave to call you), I vow before heaven and you, that I will never leave off my Armes, untill I have found Philargus, and on him reveng’d my Ladies death, and then to her love and memory, offer up my afflicted life: but firſt ſhall you have notice of the ſucceſſe, which if C3 good C3v 14 good, ſhall bee attributed to you; if ill, but to the continuance of my ill deſtinie. But if your fortune call you hence before you ſhall be found by them, I will imploy (ſince the world hath not a place can keepe the beautie of Urania hidden, if ſeene, then will it not bee adored), they ſhall not leave, till they have found you; nor will you ſcorne that name from mee, who ſhall now leave you the incomparable Urania. With theſe words they went out of the Cave, hee ſtraight going to a large Holly tree (the place rich with trees of that kind), on which at his comming to that melancholy abiding, hee had hung his Armor, meaning that ſhould there remaine in memorie of him, and as a monument after his death, to the end, that whoſoever did finde his bodie, might by that ſee, hee was no meane man, though ſubject to fortune. Them hee tooke downe and arm’d himſelfe, but while hee was arming, Urania entreated him to doe one thing more for her, which was to tell her how he came to that place. And that was ill forgot moſt faire Urania (ſaid hee): then know that as ſoone as I had received that letter ſo full of ſorrow, and heard all that miſerable relation, I was forced, notwithſtanding the vow I had to my ſelfe made (of this ſolitary courſe you have relieved mee from) to goe againſt the Enemie, who with new forces, and under a new Leader, were come within ſight of our Army: I thinking all miſchiefes did then conſpire together againſt mee, with an inraged furie went towards them, hoping (and that onely hope was left mee) in that encounter to ende my life, and care together in the battaile, yet not ſlightly to part with it, in my ſoule wiſhing everie one I had to deale withall had been Philargus. This wiſh after made mee doe things beyond my ſelfe, forcing not only our company and party to admire me, but alſo the contrary to bee diſcouraged, ſo as wee got the day, and not onely that, but an end of the warres: for the chiefe Traytors being either kild or taken, the reſt that outliv’d the bloudy ſlaughter, yeelded themſelves to mercie, whom in my Uncles name I pardoned, on condition that inſtantly they disbanded, and everie one retire to his owne home. This done, and my Uncle quietly ſetled in his ſeate, in the midſt of thoſe triumphs which were for this happy Victorie, I ſtole away, leaving a letter with my new Servant, directed to the King, wherein I humbly asked pardon for my private departure, and with all the intreates that I could frame, perſwaded him to entertaine that ſervant of mine, and to accept of him as recommended by mee, and accordingly to eſteeme of him. Then tooke I my way firſt to her Fathers, to know the manner and certaintie, where I found unſpeakable mourning and ſadneſſe, her Mother readie to die with her, as if ſhee had brought her forth to bee ſtill as her life, that though two, yet like thoſe eyes, that one being ſtruck in a certaine part of it, the other unhurt doth loſe likewiſe the ſight: ſo ſhe having loſt her, loſt likewiſe all comfort with her; the ſervants mourn’d, and made pitifull lamentations: I was ſorry for them, yet gratefully tooke their mourning: for mee thought it was for mee, none being able to grieve ſufficiently, but my ſelfe for her loſſe. When her Mother ſaw me, who ever ſhe well lov’d, ſhe cry’d out theſe words: O my Lord, ſee here the miſerable Woman depriv’d of all joy, having loſt my Limena, your C4r 15 your reſpected friend. Full well do I now remember your words, when with gentle and mild perſwaſions, you would have had us ſtay her going from this place unto his houſe. Would we had then fear’d, or beleev’d: then had ſhe bin ſafe, whereas now ſhe is murdred. Murdred (cried I), O ſpeak againe, but withall how? Her husband, ſaid ſhe, led her forth, where in a Wood, thicke enough to ſhade all light of pitie from him, hee killed her, and then burnt her, her clothes found in the Wood beſmeard with blood, and hard by them the remnant of a great fire; they with ſuch ſtore of teares, as had been able to waſh them cleane, and quench the fier, were brought to the houſe by thoſe, who went to ſeeke her, ſeeing her long ſtay; not miſtruſting harme, but that they had forgotten themſelves. The reſt ſeeing this dolefull ſpectacle, rent their haire, and gave all teſtimony of true ſorrow: then came theſe newes to us; how welcom, judge you, who I ſee feele ſorrow with us: her father & brothers arm’d themſelves, and are gone in ſearch of him, who was ſeene with all ſpeed to paſſe towards the Sea. Thus heare you the Daughters misfortune, which muſt be followed by the mothers death: and God ſend, that as ſoone as I wiſh, my Lord and Sonnes may meet with that ungrateful wretch to revenge my miſerable childs loſſe. This being done, ſhe ſwounded in my armes, my ſelfe being ſtill in my transformed eſtate, helpt her as much as I could, then delivering her to her ſervants, I tooke my leave, buying this armour to goe unknowne, till I could find a place ſad enough to paſſe away my mournefull howres in. Many countries I went thorow, and left (for all were too pleaſant for my ſorrow), till at laſt I lighted on this happie one, ſince in it I have received as much comfort by your kind and wiſe counſell, as is poſsible for my perplexed heart to entertaine. By this time hee was fully armed, which made the ſweet Urania admire him; and if more pitie had lodg’d in her then before, ſhe had affoorded him; his goodly perſonage and dolefull lookes ſo ill agreeing, had purchaſed; for ſhe did pitie him ſo much, as this had almoſt brought the end of ſome kind of pitie, or pitie in ſome kind love: but ſhe was ordain’d for another, ſo as this prov’d onely a fine beginning to make her heart tender againſt the others comming. Now was he ready to depart, wherefore they came downe from the rock, when being at the bottome they met a young ſhepherd, whoſe heart Urania had (although againſt her will) conquered. This Lad ſhee entreated to conduct Periſſus to the next town, which he moſt willingly conſented to, thinking himſelfe that day moſt happy when ſhe vouchſafed to command him; withall ſhe injoyned him, not to leave him, till he ſaw him ſhipt, which hee perform’d, comming againe to her to receive thanks more welcome to him, then if a fine new flock had bin beſtowed on him. Periſſus gone, Urania for that night drave her flock homeward, giving a kind looke unto the rocke as ſhe return’d, promiſing often to viſit it for brave Periſſus ſake, and to make it her retiring place, there to paſſe ſome of her melancholy howres in. The next morning as ſoone as light did appeare, or ſhe could ſee light (which ſooner ſhe might doe then any, her eyes making day, before day elſe was ſeene) with her flocke ſhe betooke her ſelfe to the meadow, where ſhe thought to have met ſome of her companions, but being early, her thoughts having kept more carefull watch over her eies, thought it ſelfe growne peremptorie with ſuch authority. She found none come, wherefore leaving the flocke to the charge of a young Lad of hers C4v 16 hers, tooke her way towards the rocke, her mind faſter going then her feete, buſied ſtill, like one holding the Compaſſe, when he makes a circle, turnes it round in his owne center: ſo did ſhee, her thoughts incircled in the ignorance of her being. From this ſhe was a little mov’d by the comming of a pretie Lambe towards her, who with pitifull cries, and bleatings, demanded her helpe, or ſhe with tender gentlenes imagined ſo; wherefore ſhe tooke it up, and looking round about if ſhe could ſee the dam, perceiving none, wandred a little amongſt buſhes and rude places, till ſhe grew ſomething wearie, when ſitting downe ſhe thus began to ſpeake: Poor Lambe, ſaid ſhe, what moane thou mak’ſt for loſſe of thy deare dam? what torments do I then ſuffer, which never knew my mother? thy miſſe is gobscured2-3 characterst, yet thou a beaſt may’ſt be brought up, and ſoone contented having food; but what food can bee given me, who feede on nothing but Deſpaire, can that ſuſtaine me? No, want of knowledge ſtarves me, while other things are plentifull. Poore innocent thing; how doth thy wailing ſute with mine? Alas, I pitie thee, my ſelfe in ſome kind wanting ſuch a pitie. Then ſhee did heare a noiſe in the buſhes, looking what it ſhould be, ſhe ſaw a fierce ſhe-wolfe come furiouſly towards her: ſhe, who (though a ſpirit matchleſſe lived in her) perceiving her, wiſhed the beaſt further, yet taking her wonted ſtrength of heart, and vertuous thoughts together, ſhe thus ſaid; O heaven defend me miſerable creature if thou pleaſe; if not, grant me this bleſsing, that I ſhall here end, not knowing any parents to ſorrow for me, ſo thoſe parents (if living) may never know my loſſe, leſt they doe grieve for me. As ſhee thus religiouſly gave her thoughts, and her laſt, as ſhee thought to the higheſt, the beaſt running towards her of the ſudden ſtood ſtill; one might imagine, ſeeing ſuch a heavenly creature, did amaſe her, and threaten for medling with her: but ſuch conceits were vaine, ſince beaſts will keepe their owne natures, the true reaſon being, as ſoone appear’d, the haſty running of two youths, who with ſharpe ſpeares, ſoone gave concluſion to the ſuppoſed danger, killing the wolfe as ſhee ſtood hearkning to the noiſe they made. But they not ſeeing Urania, who on her knees was praiſing God, ſaid one to another, Alas, have we haſted to kill this beaſt, which now is not for our turne, little helpe can this give to our ſicke father. Urania then looked up, hearing humane voices, which ſhe ſo little expected, as onely death was that ſhe looked for: but then perceived ſhe two young men, whoſe age might be judged to bee ſome ſeventeene yeares; faces of that ſweetneſſe, as Venus love could but compare with them, their haire which never had been cut, hung long, yet longer much it muſt have been, had not the daintie naturall curling ſomewhat ſhortned it, which as the wind mov’d, the curles ſo pretily plaid, as the Sunne-beames in the water; their apparrell Goates skinnes cut into no faſhion, but made faſt about them in that ſort, as one might ſee by their ſight they were wild; yet that wildneſſe was govern’d by modeſty, their skinne moſt bare, as armes and leggs, and one ſhoulder, with part of their thighes; but ſo white was their skinne, as ſeem’d the Sunne in love with it, would not hurt, nor the buſhes ſo much as ſcratch; on their feete they had a kind of ſhooes, which came up to the anckle. Thus they were before the Prime of Shepherdeſſes, who comming to them, and ſaluting them, they ſtept back in wonder to ſee that beautie, which yet in the maſculine they came neere to, then laying admiration ſo farre D1r 17 farre a part, as to keepe themſelves ſafe from rudeneſſe in ſome kind, one of them began: Divine creature, pardon this our boldneſſe, which hath brought us thus rudely to your preſence, if we have offended, let our humilitie in ſorrow excuſe us; or if this beaſt we have kild was favour’d by you, take us who are rude men, to ſerve you in that ſtead: in the meane time accept our petition to bee forgiven our fault. Urania, who had before in their out-ſides ſeene enough to be wondred at, hearing their ſpeech, bred more admiration, ſhe anſwered them; Your beauties mixt with ſo much mildneſſe and ſweetneſse, might pleade for you, if you had offended, which I ſaw not: but in having given too much reſpect to me, the moſt miſerable of women; nor any rudenes ſee I, but in that beaſt which you have ſo manfully deſtroy’d: if your habits ſhew wildneſse, your ſpeech takes away that error; nor have you committed any fault, if not in ſaving mee to live to greater miſeries. The young men then bluſhing, humbly thanking her, were taking their leaves, when ſhe curteouſly deſired them, that ſince they had reſcued her, ſhe might know the men that ſaved her, and the adventure brought them thither. They answered; Withall their hearts they would ſatisfie her demand, but for that time deſired to be excuſed, ſince they were ſent by their old weake father to get ſome food for him, which when they had done, they would returne to her. She hearing this; Alas (ſaid ſhe), ſhal you who have kept me out of the throat of a ravening wolfe, want what I may helpe you to? Goe to your father, I will accompanie you; this Lambe ſhall feed him, at this time ſent of purpoſe without doubt, to cheriſh ſo good and bleſt a man, as is father to two ſuch ſonnes: and then may I know your ſtorie and his together. They happy to ſee ſo fit a diſh for his age, on their knees would have thanked her, but ſhe hindred them; and ſo together they went towards the place where hee remain’d, which was in a Cave under a great rock neere to the ſea; when they ariv’d at the place, the elder of the two went in, telling the old man of the faire ſhepherdeſſes cōomming, and her kindnes to him. Wherfore he ſent out a yong maid, who was cloth’d in plaine (but neat) apparrell: of ſuch beautie, as who had ſeene her alone, would have thought her incomparable, but Urania excelled her; meeting of her, knowing by the youth ſhe was his ſiſter, moſt ſweetly ſaluted her, taking her by the hand, went in, where they found the old man ſo feeble, as he had but his tongue left to ſerve himſelfe or them withall: and well did it then ſerve him for the good of the young men, thus beginning to Urania: Admired Shepherdes, and moſt worthy to bee ſo; ſince the inward beauty of your mind ſo much excells the peereles excellency of your outward perfections, as vertue excels beauty, ſee here a poore ſigne of greatnes, overwhelm’d with misfortune, and be as you are, all excelling, a happy meanes to aide an els deſtroi’d hope of riſing; ſit down here, and grudge not me that honor; for before the ſtory be ended, you wil ſee more reaſon to pity thēen ſcorn, and you my ſons & daughter come neere, for now ſhal you know that, which I have til this preſent kept from you, for feare I ſhuld not els have held you in this poore, but quiet living. They being ready to ſit, & heare the ſtory, a mans voice made thēem ſtay, & Urania intreated (as in leſſe danger if ſeene then the other) to go forth, ſhe perceiv’d a gentlemāan of that delicacy for a māan, as ſhe was? ſtruck with wōonder; his ſweetnes & fairnes ſuch, as the rareſt painters muſt confes thēemſelves unable to coūunterfeit ſuch perfections, & ſo exquiſit proportion. D He D1v 18 He had a mantle richly embroidered with pearle and gold, the colour of that and his other apparrell being watchet ſuitably imbrodered, his haire faire and ſhining, ſo young he was, as hee had but the ſigne of a beard; Armes he had none, ſave a ſword to defend himſelfe, or offend his enemies, hee came ſoftly and ſadly on towards the rocke, but his eyes to the ſeaward: ſhe beholding him, ſaid; O ſweet Iland, how mai’ſt thou indeed boaſt thy ſelf for being the harbour of all excellent perſons. He whoſe mind was diſtant from him, held his eyes and thoughts as at firſt fixt, beſeeching the ſea, if ſhee had Amphilanthus in her power, ſhee would be pitifull unto him: after hee had concluded theſe words, he (whoſe ſoule was abſent from him) lookt towards the Iland, when his eyes were ſoone called to admire, and admiringly behold the rare Shepherdeſſe, who in the ſame kind of wonder lookt on him. He raviſhed with the ſight, ſcarce able to thinke her an earthly creature, ſtood gazing on her. She who poore ſoule had with the ſight of Periſſus, given leave for love to make a breach into her heart, the more eaſily after to come in and conquer, was in ſo great a paſsion, as they ſeem’d like two Maſter-pieces, fram’d to demonſtrate the beſt, and choiſeſt skill of art, at laſt (as men have the ſtronger and bolder ſpirits) he went unto her, not removing his eyes in the leaſt from hers, and with a brave, but civill manner thus ſpake unto her. If you be, as you ſeeme an incomparable Shepherdeſse, let me bee ſo much favour’d of you, as to be permitted to aske ſome queſtions: but if you be a heavenly perſon as your rareneſse makes me inagine, let me know, that by the humble acknowledging my fault, I may gaine pardon. Alas Sir, ſaid Urania, ſo farre am I from a heavenly creature, as I eſteeme my ſelfe the moſt miſerable on earth; wherefore if any ſervice I can doe may pleaſure you, I beſeech you command me, ſo may I receive ſome happineſſe, which I ſhall obtaine in obeying you. What I will demaund, ſaid he, ſhall be ſuch things as you may eaſily grant, and by that make me your ſervant. I deſire to know what this place is but moſt what you are: for never can I beleeve you are as you ſeeme, unleſse for the greater wonder all excellencie, ſhould be masked under this Shepherdeſse attire. For the perfections in me, as you call them, ſaid Urania, were they not made perfect by ſo excellent a Speaker, would be of no more value, then the eſtimation I make of my poore beautie; touching your demaunds, I will as well as I can ſatisfie you in them. This Iland is called Pantalaria, govern’d by an ancient worthie Lord called Pantalerius, who having receiv’d ſome diſcontent in his owne Countrie, with his family, and ſome others that lov’d and ſerv’d him, came hither, finding this place unpoſſeſt, and ſo nam’d it after his owne name, having ever ſince in great quiet and pleaſure remained here; himſelfe and all the reſt taking the manner and life of ſhepheards upon them, ſo as now this place is of all theſe parts moſt famous for thoſe kind of people. For my ſelfe I can ſay nothing, but that my name is Urania, an old man and his wife having bred me up as their owne, till within theſe few daies they told me that, which now more afflicts me, then the povertie of my eſtate did before trouble me, making me ſo ignorant of my ſelfe as I know no parents. For they told me, that I was by them found hard by the ſea-ſide, not farre from theſe rocks, laid in a cradle with very rich clothes about me, a purſe of gold in the cradle, and a little writing in it, which warn’d them that ſhould take me up to looke carefully to me, to call me Urania, and when D2r 19 when I came to ſixeteene yeeres of age to tell this to me, but by no meanes before, this they have truely performed, and have delivered me the mantle and purſe, that by them, if good fortune ſerve, I may come to knowledge; injoyning me beſides, not to keepe this my ſtory ſecret from any, ſince this ſweet place intiſing many into it, may chance to bring ſome one to releaſe me from this torment of Ignorance. It could not be otherwiſe, ſaid he, ſince ſuch ſweetnes, and peereleſſe lovelyneſſe are match’d together. But now, ſaid Urania, let me know I beſeech you, who I have diſcover’d my ſelfe unto; Let us ſit downe, ſaid he, under theſe Rockes, and you ſhall know both who I am, and the cauſe of my comming hither: Nay, anſwered Urania, if it pleaſe you, let us rather goe into a Cave hard by, where I have left an olde weake man, ready to tell me his Story, having with him two of the fineſt youths, and a Maide of the rareſt beauty that eye can behold, and deſirous he is to ſpeake, for long he cannot endure. So together they came into the Cave, the grave man reverently with bowing downe his head, ſaluting him thus; Brave Sir, for Majeſtie doe I perceive in your countenance, which makes me give you this title, Welcome to my poore abiding, and moſt welcome, ſince now I truſt, I ſhall diſpoſe of my Sonnes, according to my long wiſh and deſire: ſit I beſeech you downe, and tell me who you are, that then I may diſcourſe to you the lamentable fortune I and theſe my children are fallen into. The ſtranger ſate downe betweene the old man and the excellent Shepherdeſſe, beginning his Tale thus. My name ſaid he, is Parſelius, Prince of Morea, being eldeſt Sonne unto the King thereof, which Countrie I left with a deare friend of mine, who beſides the untying band of friendſhip we live linked in, is my kinſman, and heire to the Kingdome of Naples, called Amphilanthus, reſolving not to returne, till wee had heard newes of a loſt Siſter of his, who in the firſt weeke after her birth was ſtolne away, ſince which time an old man, whether by divination or knowledge, aſſured the King her Father, ſhee is living. Wherefore the moſt brave of Princes, Amphilanthus, reſolv’d to ſeeke her, my ſelfe loving him as well, or better then my ſelfe, would not be denied to accompany him: for having bene ever bred in neereneſſe of affections, as well as in converſation together, it could not be, but we muſt like the ſoule and body live, and move: ſo we betooke our ſelves to the Sea, leaving Morea, paſsing many adventures in divers Countries, ſtill ſeeking the leaſt frequented, and privateſt places keeping to the Weſt, for that way wee were directed by the wiſe man. At laſt we arriv’d in Sicilie, which Country we found in great trouble, warres being broke out againe after the departure of Periſſus, Nephew to the King, who had ſetled the State in good peace and quiet. But their hearts either not fully reconcil’d, or only reconciled to him, after his departure, which as we heard was ſtrange and ſudden, being never ſince heard of, they rebelled againe; but we ſoone appeas’d the buſines, ſetling the King in his ſeat with all quiet and ſafety. Then did Amphilanthus and I, though againſt my heart, part our bodies, but never ſhall our minds be parted, he in one ſhip, taking I know not juſtly what courſe, but I truſt the happieſt: my ſelfe guided by fortune, not appointing any one place to bend to, was brought hither, promiſing at our parting to meete at his Fathers Court in Italie within twelve moneths after. But ſhorter I hope now my journey will bee, ſince I D2 verily D2v 20 verily beleeve, you moſt faire Shepherdeſſe are the loſt Princeſſe, and rather doe I thinke ſo, becauſe you much reſemble Leonius, the younger brother to Amphilanthus, whoſe beautie in man cannot be equall’d, though ſurpaſſed by you. When he had concluded, the old man with teares thus said: O Almightie God, how great are thy bleſsings to me, that before I die, thou doſt thus bring the moſt deſired happineſſe I could wiſh for, in ſending hither that Prince, who onely can reſtore our good unto us. Moſt mighty and worthilie honourd Prince; ſee here before your royall preſence, the unfortunate king of Albania, who in the warres betweene Achaya and Macedon, taking part with Achaya, was beaten out of my country, and forced to wander, ſeeking ſafetie far from the place, where my ſafety ought moſt to have been. I came to your fathers Court, it is true, poore, and unlike a Prince, which ſight tooke away ſo much as pitie; Courtiers, rather out of their bravery, contemning, then compaſsionating extremitie: beſides, your Mother, being Siſter to the Macedonian king then living, would not permit me any favour, my kingdome in the meane while ſpoild, and parted among ſuch, as could prevaile by ſtrength and policy to get ſhares. When I found my ſelfe in this miſery, with my wife and ſome few friends we went away, leaving Morea, and al hope of gaining any good in Greece, following what courſe our ſtars would guide us to, we came hither, where it pleaſed God to bleſſe us with theſe two boies, and this daughter, after whoſe being ſeaven yeares old, ſhe died. Yet for all it is, and was a joy to me, to ſee of my owne for my poſterity, finding that likelihood of princely vertues (as I hope) ſhal be one day manifeſted, it hath grieved mee to thinke how I ſhould leave them; but now my hopes are revived, ſince I truſt that danger is paſt; your noble, and magnanimous vertues being ſuch, as to take pitie of any, how much more then wil your honor be, to aſsiſt diſtreſſed Princes? And now may you well do it, ſince a ſervant of mine, who I have often ſent thither, to ſee how things paſſe, doth aſſure me, your Uncle is dead, and a mighty Lord being next heire-male, which by the lawes of the country was otherwiſe, hath got the Crowne, having incloſed your faire young coſin, right heire to the kingdom of Macedon, being only daughter to the late king, in a ſtrong tower til she be of age, & then to marry her; or if ſhee refuſe, to keep her there ſtil, and this is the beſt ſhe can expect. Wherefore ſir, thus you are bound to reſcue her: then I beſeech you take theſe two young men into your protection, who till now, knew no other, then that they were meane boies, I not daring to let them know their birth, leſt thoſe great ſpirits which live in them, ſhould have led thēem into ſome dangerous courſe: but ſtill I have kept them under, making them know hardnes and miſery, the better ſtill to endure it, if ſo croſſe their fortunes be; or if they come to enjoy their right, they may know the better to command, having ſo well learn’d to obey and ſerve. And moſt delicate Shepherdes, do you I pray accept of this young maid for your friend and companion, ſince if you bee the King of Naples daughter, or any other Princes, you need not ſcorne the companie of the Albanian Kings daughter. Parſelius taking the old King in his armes; And is it my good fortune moſt famous King of Albania (ſaid hee) to have it in my power to ſerve ſo excellent a Prince? Doubt not then but I will with all faithfull love and diligence (as ſoone as I have concluded this ſearch, with meeting my deareſt friend in Italie) goe into Morea, and from D3r 21 from thence carry ſuch forces as ſhall (with my other friends I will joyne with me) reſtore you to your right, and pull downe that Macedonian Uſurper, were it but for wronging you. But ſince I have ſo faire an occaſion to revenge ſuch injuries offered ſo vertuous a Prince as your ſelfe, in keeping a kingdome, and uſurping another from his rightfull Queene, I am doubly bound: your ſonnes I accept to bee my companions, and as brothers to me will I be carefull of them; the like did Urania promiſe for the young Lady. Then the old king before over-charged with ſorrow, was now ſo raviſhed with joy, as not being able to ſuſtaine, burſting into flouds of kind teares, and his ſoule turn’d into a paſsion of joy unſupportable, being onely able to kiſſe the Prince Parſelius and Urania, imbracing, bleſsing, and kiſsing his children, giving them charge faithfully and lovingly to obſerve, and love that brave Prince, and ſweet Shepherdes, like a child for quiet ending, gave up the ghoſt in their armes, he beſt did love. Great ſorrow was made among them for his death; but then growing almoſt night, Urania for that time went home, leaving the three to attend the Kings body till the next morning, directing Parſelius to the ſad abiding of the perplexed Periſſus, promiſing to come to the Cave by Sunne riſing to diſpoſe of all things.

Urania being come home, little meate contented her, making haſte to her lodging, that there ſhee might diſcourſe with her ſelfe of all her afflictions privately, and freely, throwing her ſelfe on her bed, ſhe thus beganne: Alas, Urania, how doth miſerie love thee, that thus makes thee continuallie her companion? What is this new paine thou feel’ſt? What paſsion is this thy heart doth entertaine? I have heard my imagined Father, and many more, talke of a thing called Love, and deſcribe it to be a delightfull paine, a ſought, and cheriſh’d torment, yet I hope this is not that: for ſlave am I enough already to ſorrow, no neede have I then to be oppreſſed with paſsion: Paſsion, O paſsion! yet thou ruleſt Me. Ignorant creature to love a ſtranger, and a Prince, what hope haſt thou, that becauſe thou art not knowne, thou ſhouldſt be knowne to love in the beſt place? I had rather yet offend ſo then in a meane choice, ſince if I be daughter of Italy, I choſe but in mine owne ranke, if meaner, ambition is more noble then baſeneſſe. Well then, if I doe love, my onely fault is in too ſoone loving; but neither in love, nor choice: Love pleade for me, ſince if I offend, It is by thy power, and my faults muſt, as made, be ſalv’d by thee. I confeſſe, I am wonne, and loſt, if thou, brave Prince, pittie not, and ſave me. Sweet Chaſtity, how did I love, and honor thee? Nay, almoſt vowe my ſelfe unto thee, but I have fail’d, Love is the more powerfull God, and I was borne his ſubject: with that ſhe roſe up and went to the window to ſee if it were day, never knowing before, what it was to wiſh for any thing (except the knowledge of her ſelfe) now longs for day, watches the houres, deemes every minute a yeare, and every houre an Age, till ſhe againe injoy’d Parſelius sight, who all that night tooke as little reſt; hope, love, and feare ſo vexing him, and tyrannizing over him, as ſleepe durſt not cloſe, nor ſeaze his eyes to any the leaſt ſlumber, all his content being in thinking on Urania; wiſhing from his ſoule ſhee were the loſt Princeſſe, then they might happily injoy; which wiſh by love was chid, ſince love was able in him to make D3 her D3v 22 her great enough, and thoſe wiſhes were but to adde to that which ought to be ſo perfect, as it ſelfe ſhould of it ſelfe be ſufficient to make happines, which is the greateſt greatnes. Then did he reſolve, whatſoever ſhe was, to make her his Wife; his Father, Country, Friend, and all muſt love Urania. Thus all muſt yeeld to her, or loſe him already yeelded. Hee whoſe youth and manlike converſation ſcorn’d the poore name and power of love is now become his Bondman, cries out on nothing but Urania; thinks of nothing, hopes for nothing, but the gaine of her perfections to his love: accuſing this night for ſpitefully being longer then any other that ever he knew, affection and deſire making it appeare tedious unto him, and why? becauſe it kept Urania from him. O (would he ſay) how happy wert thou Parſelius to land on this ſhore, where thou haſt gaind the Goddeſſe of the earth to bee thy Miſtris, Urania to be thy love? But then would a lovers feare take him, making him tremblingly ſigh and ſay; But if ſhe ſhould not love again, wretch of all men, what would become of thee? Courage then joyning with hope, would bring him from that ſad deſpaire, giving him this comfort; Yet ſure (ſaid he) her heart was not fram’d of ſo excellent temper, her face of ſuch beauty, and her ſelfe wholly made in perfectneſſe, to have cruelty lodged in her: No, ſhee was made for love, then ſhe muſt love; and if ſo, pity will claime ſome part; and if any, or to any, who more deſerves it then my ſelfe, who moſt affecteth her? With that he went to the mouth of the rocke, from whence he might diſcover all the plaines, carefully and lovingly beholding them: You bleſſed Plaines (ſaid he) which daily have that treaſure, which the reſt of the world wanting, confeſſeth ſence of poverty; dull earth, ignorant of your riches, neither knowing, nor caring how to glory ſufficiently for bearing, and continually touching ſuch perfections, why doſt not thou with all excellencies ſtrive to delight her? ſending forth ſoft and tender graſſe, mixt with ſweeteſt flowers when ſhe will grace thee, ſuffering thee to kiſſe her feete as ſhee doth tread on thee? but when ſhe lies on thee, doſt thou not then make thy ſelfe delicate, and change thy hardnes to daintines and ſoftnes? Happy, moſt happy in her ſweet weight; and yet when ſhe doth leave thee do not the flowers vade, and graſſe die for her departure? Then hee perceiv’d her comming a farre off downe the plaines, her flocke ſome feeding but moſt leaping, and wantonly playing before her. And well may you doe this moſt lucky flocke (ſaid hee) having ſuch a Commandreſſe, and ſo faire a Guardian: well doth joy become you, ſhewing you ſenſibly doe know the bleſsing you injoy. But what will you doe when ſhe ſhall leave you? leave this pleaſure, pine, ſtarve, and die with ſo great miſerie. Alas I pity you, for ſuch a change will bee. And what wilt thou, ſweet Iland, doe? let in the ſea, be drown’d, and loſe thy pleaſant ſolitarines. Having thus ſaid, he left the deſolate rock, and went to meete her, who with equall love and kindneſſe met him; ſuch indeed was their affection, as can be expreſſed by nothing but it ſelfe, which was moſt excellent. When the firſt paſsion was paſt, which joy govern’d for ſight, love taking the place of ſpeech: Ah Urania (ſaid he); how did the Sun ſhow himſelfe in his brighteſt and moſt glorious habits to entertaine thee in theſe meades, coveting to win thy favour by his richneſſe triumphing in his hope of gaine? What mov’d thy ſight then in my ſoule? Think you not it grew to raviſhing of my ſences? The Sunne (ſaid ſhe) ſhin’d (mee thought) D4r 23 thought, most on you, being as if ſo fond, as he did give himſelfe to be your ſervant, circling you about, as if he meant, that you ſhould be the body, and himſelfe ſerve for your beames. With that he tooke her hand, and with an affectionate ſoule kiſſed it, then went they together to the Cave where the two yong ſavage Princes, and their Siſter attended them: then did they privately bury the old King, promiſing (if buſineſſes went well, that they by Parſelius favour might recover their right) to fetch his worthy body, and lay it with the other famous Kings of Albania.

This being agreed upon they went out of the Cave, Steriamus and Selarina (for ſo the yong Princes were called) went first in their savage habits, which they reſolved to weare till they came where they might fit themſelves with apparell, and Armes befitting their Eſtates: Parſelius then promiſing to knight them: Next after them went the Morean Prince leading Urania, and ſhe holding Selarina by the hand. Being come into the Plaine, Parſelius againe ſpeaking to Urania, urged the likely-hood of her being the loſt Princeſſe, beſides, aſſuring her, howſoever, of no lower an Eſtate if ſhe would goe with him. She made him this anſwer. A Prince, ſaid ſhe, can demand or promiſe but Princely things; I beleeve you to be ſo, becauſe you ſay ſo; and that face, me thinkes, ſhould not diſſemble, out of this I credit you, and ſo conſent to goe with you; then nobly and vertuouſly, as I truſt you, diſpoſe of me. He caſting up his eyes to Heaven, Let me, nor my attempts proſper, ſaid he, when I breake faith and vertuous reſpect to you; now let us to the Ship. Nay, I beſeech you firſt, ſaid ſhee, permit me to take my leave of my good friends, and formerly ſuppoſed Parents, leſt my abſence bring their death, if ignorant of my fortune: beſides, wee will carry the mantle and purſe with us. He ſoone agreed unto it, and ſo together they went to the houſe, the late abiding of the matchleſſe Shepherdeſſe, where they found the good old folkes ſitting together before the doore, expecting the returne of Urania. But when they ſaw her come ſo accompanied, they wondred at it; and though poore, yet were they civill, wherefore they went towards them, and hearing by the faire Shepherdeſſe who the Princes were, kneeled downe, and would have kiſſed the hand of Parſelius: but he who reſpected them for their care of Urania, would not permit them to doe ſo much reverence, lifting them up, and imbracing them, told them the ſame ſtory of his travell, and cauſe thereof, as he had done to Urania, and then concluded, that the likelihood of her being that ſought for Princeſſe, was the reaſon why they agreed to goe together, he promiſing to conduct her ſafely into Italy, and if ſhe proved the Princeſſe, to deliver her to her father, which verily he beleeved he ſhould doe; and ſeldome doe mens imaginations in that kind faile, eſpecially having ſo good grounds to lay their hopes upon. The old folkes ſorry to part with Urania, yet knowing ſhe was not ordain’d to tarry with them, would not ſeeme to contradict their wills: wherefore fetching the mantle and purſe with the little writing delivered them to Urania, whoſe good diſpoſition was ſuch, as ſhe could not refraine from teares when ſhee parted with them, they wiſhing their age would have permitted them to have attended her, but being feeble it was not for them to travell, eſpecially to go ſo uncertaine a journey, but in their place they deſired their daughter might ſerve her; which ſhe willingly conſented to. Thus D4v 24

Thus every thing concluded, they tooke their leaves, and way to the Ship, which they found where Parſelius had left her, but not as hee had parted from her; for much more company was in her, and a ſtrange encounter, he found his Servants Priſoners, his Armes poſſeſſ’d, and all his goods in the hands of a Pirat: yet had he govern’d it ſo, as this miſ-adventure was not diſcover’d till they were aboord. Parſelius alone in regard of his company and ſome women, would nevertheleſſe, have ventured his life to have kept Urania free, ſuch was his love, by none to be ſurpaſſed: his compaſsion likewiſe was great on the other Princeſſe; in himſelfe, feeling the juſt cauſe, as he thought, they had to miſtruſt him, and his promiſes to be valueleſſe, this accident being the firſt of their hoped for joyes.

But ſhee, whoſe truth in beliefe would not permit her to have the leaſt part of ſuſpition to enter, much leſſe, lodge in her breaſt againſt him, hindered that brave (but doubtfull) attempt, uſing theſe ſpeeches to him.

Be ſatiſfied, my deareſt friend, ſaid ſhe, and hazard not your ſelfe in this kinde, ſeeking to alter what is ordain’d by Fate, and therefore not to be changed: but rather give us example, as confidently, and mildly to ſuffer this adverſity, as happily we might have enjoyed the other we expected. He onely with a languiſhing, but (to her) loving looke, anſwer’d her, when the Pirat, contrarie to their expectation, came, and kneeling downe before Urania, uſed theſe words.

Let not, faireſt Princeſſe, this accident trouble you, ſince your impriſonment ſhall bee no other then the command of mee, and mine: neither moſt noble Sir, be you, or theſe other offended, for ſooner will I doe violence on my ſelfe then any way wrong thoſe that come with this Lady: Bee patient, and you ſhall ſoone ſee, the cauſe of my taking this noble prey; this ſaid, he roſe, and placing them all on fine ſeats in the Cabine, where lately the Prince had ſate free from both the bands of love, and impriſonment, himſelfe ſitting before them began his diſcourſe in this manner (while the ſhip under ſaile was guided the way which he directed the Pilat) My name (ſaid he) is Sandringall, borne and bred in the land of Romania, being ſervant to the King thereof: this King lived long as one may ſay, the favorite of fortune, being bleſt in his government with peace, and love of his people, but principally happy in two children, a ſon, and a daughter, yonger by ſome yeares then her brother, he being called Antiſius, and ſhe Antiſia; promiſing in their youthes all comfort to ſucceed in their age: but deſtinie herein commanded, diſpoſing quite other waies, and thus it was. The King my Maſter having in his youth been a brave and valiant Prince, giving himſelfe unto the ſeeking and finiſhing adventures, a ſtrict league of friendſhip grew between him, and the King of Achaia, for whoſe ſake he left his country, with a great army aſiſting him againſt his Macedonian enemie: after returning with honor and content, the Achaian King gratefull for ſuch a curteſie, being growne in yeares, ſent Embaſſadours to demand his daughter in marriage for his ſonne, and withall to have the Princeſſe ſent unto him, to be brought up together, to the end, that converſation (a ready friend to love) might nurſe their affections ſo wel, as ſhe might as contentedly be his daughter, as it was affectionately deſired of him. His ſonne, as towardly a Prince as thoſe parts had, called Leandrus, with whom few Chriſtian Princes will com- E1r 25 compare, except the two Couſens Parſelius and Amphilanthus: but to my diſcourſe. My Maſter ſoone conſented to the Achayan kings demand, which although for the farneſſe of the country he might have refuſed; yet the neerenes of their loves was ſuch, as he could not deny him, or his requeſt, reſolving inſtantly to ſend the one halfe of his happineſſe to his old friend; and for this end he ſent for me, but herewithal begins my miſerie, cauſed by my treacherie, which heartily I repent, and am aſhamed of. I being arrived at his Court, out of an ancient confidence which he had of my loialtie to him, committed this charge unto me, to ſee his Antiſsia carefully conducted and delivered to the king of Achaya: giving me directions, and counſel how to carry my ſelfe; beſides ſole authority and power in this embaſſage. Thus we departed, my wife attending on her perſon; accompanied we were with moſt of the nobility, their loves being ſuch, as they parted not til they ſaw the yong Princeſſe ſhipp’d. Covetouſnes (a dangerous ſin in this time) bred in my wife (ſeeing the infinite riches the father had ſent with his child); her perſwaſions beſides (or rather joyn’d to the diveliſh ſenſe of gaine) made me conſent to deteſtable wickednes. Led by this wicked ſubtilty, we reſolv’d not to take our way to Achaya, but to put in to ſome Iſland, there to ſell the Jewels, and leave the Princeſſe in a religious houſe, not to bee knowne while her deare Parents ſhould eſteeme her loſt, we uſing the gaine to our owne profits. More cunningly to carry this, we ſent a ſervant of ours before into the ſhip, with ſuch proviſion as our plot required, towards night, the ſweete young Lady embarqued, with beliefe to go into Achaya; we purpoſing nothing leſſe: for in the dead time of the night wee ſet the ſhip on fire, having before (when moſt ſlept) convaide the treaſure into the long boate: then with as much amaſement as any (nothing like the bellows of that fuell) I tooke the Princeſſe in mine armes leaping into the boate, calling to my wife to follow me, withall cutting the cord, leſt others ſhould leape in: ſhe leaped, but ſhort, her ſin ſo heavy drowning her, and my truſty ſervant, with al the knights, in number twenty, and the Ladies ſent to attend Antiſia were drown’d, or burnd, or both. Then play’d I the waterman, making towards the next ſhore we could diſcover; day breaking gave us ſight of one, yet only for flattring hope to play withall, not to be enjoy’d, for inſtantly were we ſet on by rovers, who kept about theſe coaſts. The Princeſſe they tooke from me, and all the treaſure, leaving me in the boate, and towing it by the ſhip in the midſt of the ſea, left mee with bread and water for two dayes, but without oare, ſayle, or hope; yet ſuch, and ſo favourable was my deſtinie, as within that time a Pirat ſcouring the ſeas tooke mee up, who not long after was ſet upon by another. But then did the firſt arme me to ſerve him, which in gratitude I did, and ſo well defended him, as we had the victorie by the death of the other, ſlaine with my hand: for requitall hereof, he beſtowed the new won Barke upon mee, and men to ſerve me. Glad was I of this, having meanes to ſearch for the Princeſſe, which I vowed with true and humble repentance to performe, never giving over, till I had found the loſt Antiſia, or ended my life in the ſervice. And this is the reaſon I took you, for having landed here, and by chance ſeene you, I ſtraight remembred your face, wherefore I determin’d by ſome way or other to compaſſe the meanes to get you before my parting hence; and had not this happy occaſion befalne mee, ſome other had not failed E to E1v 26 to atchive my purpoſe. Then tell me where have you been theſe ten yeeres? for ſo long it is ſince you were loſt: and with all I beſeech you let my ſubmiſsion and repentance gaine my pardon. Truly (ſaid Urania) you have told ſo ill a tale, as if I were the loſt Princeſſe, I ſhould ſcarce forget ſo great an injury: but ſatiſfie your ſelfe with this, and the hope of finding her, while you have in your power one, who (alas) is loſt too. The Pirat at this grew much troubled and perplext, for ſo unadviſedly having diſcovered his former ill: thus they remaind, the Pirat vext, Urania griev’d, Parſelius in ſoule tormented, the others moved as much, as reſpect in them to the other two, could move in noble minds, leaſt, or not at all, thinking of themſelves, in compariſon of them: all ſitting with arms croſs’d, and eyes caſt downe upon the earth, except the Pirat, whoſe mind was buſied with higher thoughts, none knowing to what end they would have aſcended, had not a voice awaked them, which came from a Sayler, who bad them prepare. This called not the reſt from their ſorrow, nor moved Urania ſo much as to heare it, who ſate not teareleſſe, though ſpeechles, while her ſighes accompanied the wind in loud blowing. Sandringal looking forth, ſaw the cauſe of the cry proceeded from the ſight of the great Pirat of Syracuſa, whoſe force was therabouts too well knowne: then did he take his armes, delivering Parſelius his own into his hands, intreating his aide. Parſelius lifted up his eies, and as he raiſed them, he placed them on Urania, as the ſphere where they alone ſhould move, uſing theſe words: Now have we ſome hope, ſince once more I poſſeſſe my armes: thoſe (in ſhew) ſavage youths helping him. By this time was the other ſhip come to them, when there began a cruell fight betweene them: being grapled, Parſelius encountred the chiefe Pirat, Sandringal a blacke Knight, who was ſo ſtrong and valiant, as Sandringal gaind much honour ſo long to hold out with him. Parſelius kild his enemy, when at that inſtant the black Knight ſtrake the head of Sandringal from his ſhoulders; which Parſelius ſeeing, Farewel Sandringal (ſaid he), now are Antiſsia and Leandrus well reveng’d for thy treaſon. With that the black Knight commanded his part to bee quiet, himſelfe throwing downe his ſword, and pulling of his helme, ran and imbraced Parſelius, who knowing him to be Leandrus, with as much affection held him in his armes: thus was the buſines ended, all growing friends by their example. Then were al the priſoners brought forth of both the ſhips, amongſt whom he knew one to be the Squire of his deare friend and Couſen, Amphilanthus, and two Gentlemen who had mortall hatred (as it did appeare) one unto the other: for no ſooner came they together, but they would have buffeted each other, wanting weapons to doe more; the one of them Leandrus tooke into his cuſtody, while the other began his ſtory thus. My Lords (ſaid he) firſt let me beſeech pardon for this rudenes; next, claime juſtice on this villaine, who hath not only wrong’d me, but in his unmannerly diſcourſe injur’d the braveſt Chriſtian Princes; and that you may know the truth, give me liberty to ſpeake this to you. My name is Allimarlus, borne in Romania, and Page I was unto the King thereof; but being come to mans eſtate, and ſo much knowledge, as to ſee and commiſerate my Maſters miſery, which had the floud from two ſprings; the firſt was the loſſe of his daughter Antiſsia, being ſent under the conduct of his faithfull (as he eſteemed) ſervant Sandringal (who ſo well hee truſted, as hee would have ventured his life in his hands; which E2r 27 which appeared in putting the faire Antiſsia in his power, who as himſelfe he loved) to be delivered to the King of Achaia, deſiring a match betweene her and the kings ſonne, called the hopefull Leandrus; but in the way the ſhip was ſpoild by an unlucky fire, and ſhe (as it was conjectured) loſt, which ſince proved otherwiſe, not being ſwallowed by the unmercifull ſea, but betraide by her Guardian, and ſtolne againe from him by Rovers; ſince which time little newes hath been heard of her, ſaving hope of her living. The other, and greater affliction was, and is, a wicked woman he hath made his wife, after the death of his vertuous Queene, who died as ſoone as ſhee had ſeene her worthily beloved Sonne Antiſsius bleſſed with a Sonne, whom they called after his owne name, who having indured a long and paineful ſearch for his Siſter, at his returne tooke a ſweet and excellent Lady, called Lucenia to wife; who, though ſhe were not the faireſt, yet truly was ſhe beautifull, and as faire as any in goodneſſe, which is the choiſeſt beauty. But this ſecond marriage made them firſt know miſerie, the king old, and paſsionately doting on her: ſhee young, politique and wicked, being the widow of a Noble man in the Countrie, whoſe beaſtlines and crueltie coſt the Prince his life, and bred the ruine of the State, as I have ſince my departure from thence, underſtood by a Knight of that Country. But to my diſcourſe: The King one day after hee had baniſhed his ſonne Antiſsius the Court, and by her damnable counſell put ſuch jealouſie into his head, as hee now feared and hated him, that once was three parts of his joy. This and the loſſe of his other comfort Antiſſia, did ſo perplexe him, as one day being at dinner, he began with teares to ſpeake of Antiſsius, blaming his unnaturalneſſe to him in his age, who had ſo tenderly and lovingly cheriſhed his youth: but little of that ſhe would ſuffer him to diſcourſe of, leſt his deſerved pitie might have hindred her ends, and ſo her plots have faild, or been diſcovered. Then ſpake he of his young friend and once hoped for ſon Leandrus, who in ſearch of Antiſſia, was ſaid to be ſlaine, by reaſon that his Squire return’d to the Court (after long ſeeking his Lord, who by miſadventure hee had loſt), bringing his armour ſhrewdly cut and tattered, which he had found in a meadow, but no newes of his Maſter; only this probabilitie of his loſſe a country fellow gave him, telling him, that gallant men in gay armours had not farre off performed a gallant fight, wherein ſome were killed, and one Knights body carried thence by a Lady, who followed the Knight, having but one more with her, whither they went, or more of the matter, he could not tell. With this and the armour he return’d to the old King, who the kindeſt of fathers, did accordingly ſuffer for this too likely diſaſter. From that he fell to the laſt and firſt of his misfortune, ſpeaking of Antiſsia, and bewailing her loſſe: concluding, How miſerable am I of all men, that doe live to lament for theſe many afflictions? one child dead by his living undutifulnes, the other loſt by treachery in a man I moſt truſted; and to be beſides, the occaſion to bereave my deareſt friend of his only comfort, which as one of my equall ſorrowes I eſteeme. I ſeeing his vexation, and juſt cauſe of mourning, offered my beſt ſervice in ſeeking the Princeſſe, who not being dead, I might hope to find, and bring ſome content unto his age. Hee hearing mee ſay this, fell upon my necke, kiſsing my forehead, and yet weeping ſo, as they reſembled the watry and parting kiſſes the ſweet Rivers give the ſweeter bankes, when with ebbing they muſt E2 leaue E2v 28 leave them: ſo did his teares, ſo did his kiſſes on my face, both meet and part; at laſt his joy-mixt ſorrow let him ſpeake theſe words: and wilt thou O Allimarlus doe this for me? ſhall I yet find ſo true a friend? a ſervant, and a faithfull one (ſaid I) who will not live, if not to ſerve you, and ſo my faith to live in me. Then he tooke me up in his armes, and calling for a ſword of his, which he had worne in moſt of his adventures, gave that with the honour of Knighthood to me; then kiſsing his hands and the Queenes, I took my leave. He, though glad to find my loyaltie, and hoping to heare ſome newes of his daughter, yet was ſorry to part with me: ſo few were left that he could truſt, his kind wife having taken care that her Minions and favorites ſhould moſt attend his perſon.

Long time was I not landed in Greece, in that part called Morea, before I met an old man, who told me ſomething of the Princeſſe, but nothing of her certaine aboad: yet I rejoyced to heare of her, not doubting but to bring her to delight her grieved father, who never indeed taſted of true happineſſe ſince her loſſe, that being the thread to his ſucceeding miſeries. That old man likewiſe told me, I was in my way of finding her, if I held on to Laconia. I earneſtly deſired his company, which he affoorded me, and ſo we went together, reſolving ſtill to enquire, and to leave no likely place unſought in all Greece, till we had found her. A prettie ſpace we thus continued, the old man paſsing away the time with good diſcourſe, which made the way ſeeme ſhorter, telling me many adventures which had befalne him in his youth, having led the life that moſt brave ſpirits uſe; but one I beſt remember (being his owne ſtory, the place wherein we then were producing it), it was this, and in truth worthy of note. Whatſoever I now, faire Knight, (ſaid he) appeare to be, know I am in birth quite contrary: poore, and alone now, once a Duke, and one of the mightieſt, richeſt, ancienteſt, and ſometimes happieſt of theſe parts; this countrie wherein you are, being mine, onely ſubject in homage to the famous King of Morea; my education had been moſt in the court; my time, ſome ſpent there, ſome time abroad: but weary at laſt of either, as a hound wil be, who never ſo wel loving hunting, wil at laſt take reſt: ſo did I lie downe at mine owne home, determining to end my daies in quiet plenteouſnes, taking my own delight; to adde unto which, I brought with me a vertuous Lady, and ſuch a one, as might for goodnes equal any of her ranke, and truly not unbeautifull: yet ſo much was I beſotted on a young man, whom I had unfortunatly choſen for my companion, as at laſt all delights & paſtimes were to me tedious and lothſome, if not liking, or begun by him. Nay, my wives company in reſpect of his, was unpleaſing to me. Long time this continued, which continuance made me iſſue-les, wherfore I made him my heire, giving him all the preſent honor I could in my own power, or by the favor of the king (who ever grac’d me much) procure him. But he the ſon of wickednes, though adopted to me, eſteeming poſſeſsiōon far better then reverſiōon, gave place ſo much to covetouſneſſe, as murder crept into credit to attaine the profit, wherefore he practiſed to make me away: my friends and kindred had before left me, expecting nothing but my ruine, ſeeing me ſo bewitch’d with my undoing. The plot was laid, and I thus betraide where moſt I truſted; the time being come for the execution, the hired man (being mine more for juſtneſſe, then his for rewards) came unto me, and upon promiſe of E3r 29 of ſecreſie diſcovered the truth unto me, making me beſides promiſe, to be perſwaded by him; which was, for ſome time to retire my ſelfe, till a party were made in the Countrey ſtrong enough to pull downe his pride, who had gained ſuch power, as he was grown more powerfull then my ſelfe, then might I be my ſelfe, and rule in ſafety. I conſented to the concealing, but never could be wonne, to thinke of harming him, whoſe ungratitude I beleev’d ſufficiently would one day burden him. But how often did I entreat and beſeech him to performe his part, and ſatiſfie his Maſter in killing me? whoſe falſeneſſe and wickedneſſe more griev’d me, then ten deathes (could I have ſuffer’d ſo many) yet his honeſt care over-ruled me, and I ſubmitted to his Counſel. Then tooke he my clothes, apparelling me fit for the change of my fortune: He, (poore man) returning to my Caſtle, for ſo till then it was, credibly reporting, that I going to ſwimme, as often I did in this ſweet River which runnes along this Valley, I was drown’d (wee being then in that place, and indeed, the ſweeteſt in the world.) This in ſome kind was true, ſaid he, for drown’d I was in ſorrow and teares: which, could they have made a ſtreame for bigneſſe anſwerable to their ſwift falling, had queſtionleſſe made his fram’d report true. This being told the Duke, as then by my imagined death, imaginarily he was, did make ſhew of inſupportable griefe being ſo poſſeſt, as he ſeemed diſpoſled of ſenſes, furiouſly, and ſuddenly ſtabbing the good man, who for my life loſt his owne: This was counted a paſſionate act, Love tranſporting him ſo much beyond himſelfe, as he was not able to reſiſt his owne furie, while his devilliſh cunning did both put a Gloſſe upon his brutiſhneſſe, and keepe his Treaſon unreveal’d: the poore ſoule falling dead at his feet, while he ſaid, take this for thy deteſted newes bringing. Then did he make a ſolemne funeral for my dead mind, though living bodie, He apparrell’d himſelfe, and his Court in mourning, which gave much content to the people who loved me, while indeed, their black was but the true picture of his inward foulenes. My wife did preſently retire to a houſe her ſelfe had built: but when he had (as he thought) ſufficiently plaid with the people, he began to exerciſe his authority, beginning with my wife, picking a quarrell to bereave her of her eſtate, which he in ſhort time did, turning her to ſeek her fortune: Patiently ſhe tooke it, having yet ſome Jewels left her, ſhe bought a little houſe in a thick and deſart wood, where ſhe was not long before I came unto her, diſcovering my ſelfe to both our equall paſſions of joy and ſorrow. Privatly we there continued many yeares; God in our poverty giving us an unexpected bleſsing, which was a daughter, who grew up and ſerved us; for a ſervant our meanes would not allow us, though our eſtates requir’d it. Seventeene yeares we thus concealed liv’d, but then, as joies, ſo tortures will have end; The Duke in all pleaſure and plenty, I in miſerie, and povery. One day the young Prince accompanied with his moſt noble companion Amphilanthus, (who for the honour of Greece was bred with him) and many other brave young Nobles who attended them, went forth to ſee a flight at the brooke; when after a flight or two the Princes Hawke went out at checke, which made them all follow her, and ſo long, as at the laſt (for reſcue of my afflictions) they were brought to my poore abiding, which by reaſon of the farrneſſe from the Court, and foulnes of the weather, (a ſudden ſtorm then falling) they accepted for their lodging: E3 which E3v 30 which although ſo meane as could be, yet they pleaſed to like it, rather looking into my heart for welcome (where they found it) then into the meanneſſe of the place. After they had refreſhed themſelves and diſcourſed freely with me, it pleaſed my Prince to ſay, that my eſtate and life, agreed not with my converſation: wherefore he would not be denied, but needes muſt know the truth; which out of obedience, more then deſire, with heart-tearing griefe I diſcourſed to him. He gave few words for anſwer, but commanded me the next day with my Wife and Daughter to attend him to the Court, which faine I would have refuſed; foreſeeing (that which ſoone after follow’d) the deſtruction of my once moſt loved friend: who, though hee had chang’d gratefulneſſe to the contrary, and love to hate, yet my affection could not ſo much alter it ſelfe as to hate where once ſo earneſtly I affected, or ſeeke revenge on him, whoſe good I ever wiſhed. But we obeyed; then the ſweet young Prince preſented me to his Father, who inſtantly called me to minde, remembring many adventures, which in our youths We had paſſed together: pittying my fortune as much as he had in younger daies affected me, yet glad in ſome kind, to recompence my faithfull ſervice to him; inſtantly ſent for the Uſurper, who by reaſon of a journey the King made to ſee his Realme, and ſhew it to his Sonne before his departure, who was to goe thence with his excellent Couſen in a ſearch by them undertaken, was come neere to the place of the Tyrants abode. He refuſed to come, but ſoone by force he was brought before the King; who with milde faſhion, and royall Majeſtie examined the buſineſſe, which he confeſſed: but rather with a proud ſcorne, then repentant heart: wherefore the King with juſt judgement degraded him, committing him to a ſtrong Tower, whereinto he was walled up, meate given him in at the windowe, and there to ende his dayes: which were not long, pride ſwelling him ſo with ſcorne of his fall, as he burſt and dyed. The Dukedome after this ſentence was reſtored to me: but truely, I was not able ſo to recover my former loſſe, wherefore humbly thanking the King, and his Sonne, beſought them to give mee leave to beſtow it on my Daughter; which was granted me, my wife thinking ſhe had ſeene enough when I was my ſelfe againe, departing this life with joy and content. Beſides, I made one ſuit more, which was, that ſince the Prince had with ſo much favour begun to honour mee, it would pleaſe him to proceed ſo far as to beſtow one of his young Lords in marriage on my Daughter. The King and Prince both tooke this motion moſt kindely, wherefore chooſing a hopefull young Lord, and him the Prince moſt loved, gave him to her: the marriage was with much honour celebrated in the Court, at which for their unſpeakable honour, Parſelius (for ſo the Prince is called) and Amphilanthus Prince of Naples, were made Knights; and bravely for the beginning of their ſucceeding glory began thoſe ſports of Field, as ſince have made them famous over the world. This ended, I went away kiſſing the Kings and Princes hands, undertaking a Pilgrimage: which performed, I returned to this place, where like an Hermit ſtill I live, and will continue while life is in mee; this Valley, thoſe ſteepie woody Hilles, and the Cave I reſt in, ſhall bee all the Courts or Pallaces that theſe old eyes ſhall ever now behold. As thus we trauelled E4r 31 travelled on, determining to conclude that daies journey with the end of his ſtory, and reſting in his Cell that night, we were called from that reſolution by a noiſe within the wood, of Horſe, and claſhing of Armour, which drew me to ſee what the matter was. Arriving at the place, we found two gentlemen cruelly fighting, and by them many more ſlaine: but that which moſt amazed us, was, that hard by them on the ground, was one of the Mirrours for beauty to ſee her ſelfe lively in, ſo faire indeed, is ſhe, and ſuch a fairenes hath ſhe, as mine eyes never ſaw her equall, if not that rare Shepherdeſſe by you, or the incomparable Lady Pamphilia, Siſter to the noble Prince Parſelius, who I need but name, the world being ſufficiently filled with his fame. This Lady lay along, her head upon her hand, her teares ranne in as great abundance, as if they meant to preſerve themſelves in making ſome pretty brooke of trueſt teares, her breath ſhee tooke rather in ſighes and ſobs, then quiet breathing, yet did not this alter the colour, or feature of her heavenly beauty: but reſembling the excellent workmanſhip of ſome delicatly proportion’d fountaine, which lets the drops fall without hurting it ſelfe: or like a ſhowre in Aprill, while the Sunne yet continues cleare and bright and ſo did ſhe ſeeme to our eyes. As we were admiring her, there came a Knight in blacke Armour, his Shield ſutable to it without any Device, who not ſeeing the Lady, ſtep’d to the two Combatants, willing them to hold their hands, till hee did underſtand the cauſe of their enmitie; They refuſing it, turn’d both on him, one ſtricking him forcibly on the ſhoulder, he ſeeing their rudeneſſe, and feeling himſelfe ſmart, forgot parting, and made himſelfe a party, ſticking one of them ſuch a blow as made him fall dead at his feet. Whereupon the other yeelded, delivering his Sword, and turning to the Lady, who now the Knight ſaw, with admiration for her faireneſſe and ſorrow, unbinding her and ſitting downe by her, finding I was likewiſe a ſtranger, call’d me, and the good Hermit to heare the diſcourſe which the vanquiſhed man deliver’d in this manner. Two of theſe which here you ſee lye ſlaine were halfe brothers, Sonnes to one mother; the one of them my Maſter; who on a day, after a long chaſe of a Stagge, happened into a Merchants houſe, not farre hence, where this Lady did then remaine: They were civilly and courteouſly entertained for being Gentlemen well borne, and in their faſhion pleaſing, they were reſpected, and belov’d of moſt; never having attempted, or to mans knowledge imbraced, or let in a thought contrary to vertue till their comming thither, where they reſolv’d of a courſe worſe then man could of man imagine, if not proud by experience. For there they ſaw that Ladie, deſir’d her, and plotted to obtaine her, purpoſing with all ill meaning to enjoy her, nothing being able to give other ende to their wicked mindes but this; whereto their beaſtlineſſe, and true juſtice hath brought them: having made this place their bed of death, as it was meant for their laſcivious deſires. Great they did imagine her of birth, by the honour done unto her; this was another ſpurre to their devilliſh longing; yet to be certaine, with a good faſhion diſſembling their inward intent, (as well they could, for they were Courtiers) intreated the Merchant to tell who this Lady was, that they might accordingly honour and reſpect her. Hee told them her name was E4v 32 was Antiſsia, and that ſhe was daughter to the great king of Romania, betraied by her Guardian, taken from him againe by Rovers, and ſold by them on this coaſt, at the Towne call’d S. Anzolo, where I a Merchant (ſaid he) bought her; they not knowing who they ſold, nor I what I had bought: till ſome daies after ſhe her ſelfe (intreating me no more to ſuffer her to be made merchandize, but to carry her to her father, who would reward me ſufficiently for my paines) told me the unexpected ſecret. The brothers hearing this, inflamed more then before, beauty firſt inticing them, then ambition wrought to compaſſe a kings daughter to their pleaſure; much commending themſelves for placing their loves ſo worthily, yet ſtill forgetting how unworthie and diſhonourable their love was. Deſire makes them now politike, caſting all waies how they might betray her; conſulting together, they at laſt concluded, to get the Princeſſe into the Garden to walke, having before appointed theſe ſlaine men to attend at a doore, which opened into the field, which they opening, perſwaded her to goe out a little into ſo ſweet an aire: ſhe fearing nothing went with them, when no ſooner ſhe was forth, but ſhee found ſhe was betrayd; crying for helpe would not availe her, yet the pitifulneſſe of it brought forth moſt of the houſe, who perceiving what was intended and neere acted, no fury could be compar’d to theirs (and furie indeed it was) for they but five, and unarmed, attempted to reſcue her from us, being all theſe; and two of them ſo amorous, as they in that raging paſsion (love being at the beſt a mild frenzie) would have been able, or thought themſelves ſo, to have withſtood them, and many more, eſpecially their Miſtris being in preſence. This noiſe alſo brought forth the good womāan, wife to the honeſt merchant, where began ſo pitifull a monefull complaining betweene her and this Princeſſe, as truly mov’d compaſſion in all my heart I am ſure weeping for them: yet the mad Lovers had ſenſe of nothing but their worſt deſires. With theſe words the Princeſſe fell into a new ſorrow, which the Knight perceiving (whoſe heart was never but pitifull to faire Ladies) perſwaded the ſad Antiſsia ſo well, as he proceeded; Then being poſſeſt of the Ladie, my Maſter led the way, bringing his brother and us to this banket; this place being ſet downe for her diſhonor, but deſtin’d for their graves. Then grew a ſtrife for the firſt enjoying of her, ſo farre it proceeded, as from words they fell to blowes, and ſo in ſhort time to this concluſion: for they fighting, wee following our Maſters example, followed them in death likewiſe all but my ſelfe, and I now at your mercy. He had but concluded his ſtorie, when I pulling of my helmet, kneeling downe to the Princeſſe, told her who I was, and likewiſe my ſearch for her, which ſhe (with as much joy as on a ſudden could enter into ſo ſad a mind) receiv’d with gratious thankfulnes. Now had the black Knight in like manner diſcover’d his face, which ſo excellent in lovelines, I cannot ſay fairenes, as the whiteſt beauty muſt yeeld to ſuch a ſweetnes, and yet doth his mind as farre excell his perſon, as his perſon doth all others that I have ſeene, and ſo will all allow, for this was Amphilanthus; who with mild, yet a princely manner, told the Princeſſe, That ſhe might leave her ſorrow being falne into his hands, where ſhe ſhould have all honor and reſpect, and within ſhort time by himſelfe bee deliver’d to her father. But firſt hee was to performe his promiſe to his deareſt friend and Coſen Parſelius in meeting him in Italy, the time prefixed being almoſt expired, and his ſearch vtterly F1r 33 utterly fruitleſſe. But I pray ſir (ſaid Parſelius) how came that brave Prince again into Morea? By a violent ſtorme (ſaid he), wherein he ſuffer’d ſhipwrack. This done, Amphilanthus, Antiſsia, the Hermit, and my ſelfe, tooke our waies to the Merchants houſe, whom we found return’d, but ready again to have left his houſe, fill’d with diſcontent and paſsion for the unhappy accident: his wife in that deſperate griefe as hardly could ſhee have endured with life, had not the bleſſed returne of Antiſsia given comfort, like life unto her ſorrowes. The ſervant to the ſlaine Knight guided us within ſight of the houſe: but then with pardon and liberty of going his owne way, he departed. That night we reſted there, the next morning parted our ſelves; Amphilanthus, Antiſsia, the Merchant and his wife, took their journy together towards the Court, there to leave her till he had found Parſelius, and ſo end his vow; the old Hermit returnd to his private devotions, my ſelf took my way to the next port, to ſhip my ſelfe for Romania, in the ſame ſhip was alſo this man, who hearing me diſcourſe of my adventures with the Maſter of the ſhip, gave ill language of Amphilanthus, then of Parſelius, ſaying, they were Coſoners, and not Princes, but ſome odde fellowes taking good names upon them, ſince it was very unlikely ſo great perſons ſhould be ſo long ſuffered abroad, and travell in ſuch a ſort alone, and more like runne-awaies, then Princes. Theſe much moved mee: but to put mee quite out of patience, hee went on, giving vilder, and more curſt ſpeeches of my owne Lord: this made mee ſtrike him, and ſo wee fell together ſo cloſe, as one or both had dyed for it, had not the company parted us; and after wee had againe gon to it, but that this ſhip came and tooke us, and ſo made us Priſoners to ſave our lives. But now Sirs, if you doe not juſtice, you wrong your ſelves, in not revenging ſo great an injurie done to the braveſt Princes.

Parſelius replide: Wee were not worthie to live, if wee did not right ſo worthy a Gentleman as your ſelfe, and revenge the wrong done to ſo great Princes, whoſe greatneſſe yet cannot keepe ill tongues in awe ſufficientlie, but that in abſence they are often wronged; and therefore friends muſt revenge that, which they ignorant of otherwiſe may ſuffer. But herein wee may bee thought partiall; for this Knight you ſee is Leandrus, my ſelfe Parſelius, one of the couſoning Princes (as it pleaſed his honeſtie to call mee): I would adviſe therefore, that this rare Shepherdeſſe ſhould appoint him his puniſhment. The young Knight kneeled downe to have kiſſed the handes of the two Princes: they taking him up, gave him thankes for his diſcourſe, commending him much for his loyaltie and valour.

Urania, (who was as heartily angry as the Knight) ſeeing her Parſelius thus wronged, could find no leſſe puniſhment for him, then death. But then the Prince did with ſweete perſwaſions mitigate her furie: but brought it no lower then to publike whipping, ſubmiſsion, and recantation: Laſtlie, humbly on his knees to aſke pardon of the Romanian Knight.

All now ſatiſfied but Urania, (who could not eaſilie forgive an injurie done to her other ſelfe) ſent him a ſhore to the next land they ſaw, F then F1v 34 Then did the knight againe ſpeake: My Lord Parſelius, with your leave, I beſeech you permit me to take ſo much boldnes, as to beſeech my Lord Leandrus to doe me ſo much honour, as to tell mee the adventure, which cauſed the report and ſuſpition of his death: they both agreeing, Leandrus thus began. After I had left you moſt noble Parſelius, I went to my owne countrie to viſite my father, where ſtill I heard the noiſe of Antiſsia’s loſſe, the likelihood of her beauty, the griefe of Parents, and the wrong done to my ſelfe: theſe did not only invite, but command me to be diligent, in making al theſe pieces joyne again in the firſt body of cōontent; which I perſwaded my ſelf able to doe, by ſeeking and finding of her. The one I reſolv’d, the other I nothing doubted: then with my fathers conſent I left Achaya, taking my way among the Greek Ilands, and paſſing the Archipelago. I left no Iland that had a league of land unſought, or unſeene: then ſhipt I my ſelf, and paſt into your Morea; ſo after I had ſeene all thoſe places, I went againe to ſea, reſolving afterwards to take towards Italy, whither for farneſſe it might bee the traytors had carried her; my companion then leaving me to go to his heart, which he had left in Cecillia. But being in the Iland of Cephalonia, there was a ſolemne and magnificent Feaſt held, which was by reaſon of a marriage betweene the Lords daughter of that Iland, and the Lord of Zante’s ſonne, a fine and ſpritefull youth; Juſts, Tilt, and all other such warlike exerciſes being proclaimed. Hearing this, I would needs ſhew my ſelfe one, as forward as any ſtranger to honour the Feaſt. The firſt day (which was the wedding-day) Armes were laid aſide, and only dancing and feaſting exercis’d: after ſupper every one preparing for the dancing againe. With the ſound of trumpets there entred one in habit and faſhion like a Commander of horſe, who deliver’d ſome few lines to the new married Paire, dedicated as to their honour and joy, which they receiv’d moſt thankfully, promiſing freedome and welcome to the whole company. Then entred in twenty Gentlemen preſenting ſouldiers, and ſo danced in their kind, making a brave and commendable demonſtration of Courtſhip in the braveſt profeſſion, honour abounding moſt, where noblenes in valour, and bounty in civilitie agree together. After they went to a rich banket: the brave Maſquers diſcovering themſelves, were found to be gentlemen of both Ilands, equally divided in number, as their affections ought to be to either, and therefore had put themſelves into the eveneſt and perfecteſt number of ten, and ten. But to leave ſport, and come to earneſt; the manner of that place was, that from the banquet the Bride muſt be ſtolne away (to bed the meaning is), but ſhe tooke to the fields. Moſt did miſſe her, for there wanted no reſpective care of her, but al were ſatisfied with the faſhion, correcting ſuch as ſpake ſuſpiciouſly, and expecting to be call’d to ſee her in bed, waited the calling. But the time being long, ſome haſtier then the reſt went to the chamber, where they found ſhe had not been. This was inſtantly blowne abroad; all betooke themſelves to Armes who could beare any, the Ladies to their teares, every one amaz’d, and chiefly the Bridegroome perplext. The old fathers vext, the mothers tore their gray locks, ſuch diſorder in generall, as cannot bee expreſt, but by the picture of the ſame accident, Some miſtruſted the Maſquers, but ſoone they clear’d themſelves, putting on Armes, and being as earneſt as any in the ſearch. I a ſtranger, and loving buſineſſe, would needs accompany them (which the favour of a Noble. F2r 35 Nobleman, with whom I had got ſome little acquaintance, did well aide me in) whoſe fortunes were in finding them, more happy then any others, overtaking them, when they thought themſelves moſt ſecure, being together laid within a delicate Vineyard, a place able to hide them, and pleaſe them with as much content, as Paris felt, when he had deceiv’d the Greeke King of his beautifull Hellen; laughing at the fine deceit, and pitying in a ſcornefull faſhion thoſe, who with direct paine and meaning followed them, commending their ſubtilties and fine craftineſſe, in having ſo deceiv’d them. Kiſſing and embracing, they joyfully remain’d in their ſtolne comforts, till wee rudely breaking in upon them, made them as fearefully ruſh up, as a tapiſt Buck will doe, when he finds his enemies ſo neere: yet did not our comming any whit amaze them, but that they were well able to make uſe of the beſt ſence at that time required for their good, which was ſpeech, uttering it in this manner.

My Lords (ſaid they), if ever you have knowne love, that will (we hope) now with-hold you from croſſing lovers. We confeſſe, to the law wee are offenders, yet not to the law of love: wherefore as you have loved, or doe, or may, pity us, and be not the meanes that wee too ſoone ſacrifice our blouds on the cruell altar of revenge, while we remaine the faithfull vaſſals of Venus. Let not your hands be ſoild in the bloud of lovers; what can waſh away ſo foule a ſtaine? You may bring us (it is true) unto our juſt deſerv’d endes: but then take heed of a repentant gnawing ſpirit, which will moleſt you, when you ſhall be urg’d to remember, that you caus’d ſo much faithfull and conſtant love, to be offred to the triumph of your conqueſt, over a lover unarm’d, wanting all meanes of reſiſtance, but pure affections to defend himſelf withall, and a woman only ſtrong in truth of love. For my part, ſhe wan me, my companion was by him gaind; ſo as promiſing aſsiſtance in place of arms, and helpe in ſtead of force, we ſat down together, he beginning his diſcourſe in this manner. To make long ſpeeches, ſtriving to be held an Orator, or with much delicacie to paint this ſtorie, the time affoords not the one, our truth and love requires not the other; wherfore as plainely as truth it ſelf demands, I wil tel you the beginning, ſucceſſe, and continuance of our fortunate (though croſt) affections. I lov’d this Lady before ſhe had ſeene this yong Lord, ſhe likewiſe had onely ſeene my love, and onely tide her ſelfe to that, before he ſaw her; love made me her ſlave, while ſhe ſuffered as by the like authoritie. I ſued, ſhe granted; I lov’d, ſhe requited; happineſſe above all bleſsings to bee imbraced. Our eyes kept juſt meaſure of lookes, being ſometimes ſo inchain’d in delightfull links of each others joy-tying chaine (for ſo wee made up the number of our beholdings), as hard it was to be ſo unkindly found, as to ſeperate ſo deare a pleaſure. Our hearts held even proportion with our thoughts and eies, which were created, nurſed, and guided by thoſe, or rather one harts power. But Parents having (were it not for Chriſtianity, I ſhuld ſay) a cruel & tirannical power over their childrēen, brought this to us diſaſtrous fortune: for diſcovering our loves, ſet ſuch ſpies over us (ſcorning that I being the yonger brother to an Earle, ſhould have ſuch happineſſe, as to injoy my Princeſſe) as we could never come to enjoy more then bare lookes, which yet ſpake our true meanings after it was diſcover’d. This courſe inrag’d us, vowing to have F2 our F2v 36 our deſires upon any termes whatſoever, alwaies conſider’d with true nobleneſſe, and vertue. Thus reſolv’d, We continued, till her Father concluding this match, ſhut her up in a Towre, wherein he then kept (in her) his choiſeſt Treaſure, till this day of her Marriage: which opportunity we tooke, purpoſing; More he would have ſaid, as it ſeemd, truely to manifeſt the vertuous determination they had, in their accompliſhment of their deſires, when he was hinder’d by the ruſhing in of others with their Horſes. Riſing, We diſcern’d the deceiv’d youth with ſome others in his company; Fate, like his Love, having guided him to that place. In charity wee could not leave our firſt profeſſed Friends, nor could I part my ſelfe from ſuch and ſo true Love: wherefore reſolutely taking my companions part, defended the Lovers, pitty then taking the place of Juſtice in our Swords; the Huſband being unfortunately ſlaine by my Companion, truly I was ſorry for him, and glad it was not I had done it. But ſoone followed a greater and more lamentable miſfortune: For one of the yong Lords Servants, ſeeing his Maſter ſlaine, preſſed in, unregarded, or doubted, upon the unarmed Lover, who was this while comforting his Miſtris, and not expecting danger, was on the ſudden thruſt into the backe, as he was holding his onely comfort in his armes. He ſoone (alas, and ſo forever) left his deare imbracement, turning on him who hurt him, repaying the wrong with giving him his death: but then ſoone followed his owne, the wound being mortall which he had received, yet not ſo ſuddenly, but that he ſaw the deſtruction of his enemies. We being as fierce, as rage, and revenge could make us, then he remaining alone (beſides my ſelfe) alive, and yet dying, giving me infinite thankes for my love, and willing reſcue lent him, with many dolefull and (in affection) lamentable groanes and complaints, he tooke his leave of his onely and beſt beloved, then of me; to whom he committed the care of her, and his body, then kiſsing her departed. But what ſhall I ſay of her? imagine, great Prince, and all this brave company, what ſhe did; You will ſay, ſhe wept, tore her haire, rent her clothes, cri’d, ſobd, groand; No, ſhe did not thus, ſhe onely imbraced him, kiſſed him, and with as deadly a paleneſſe, as death could with moſt cunning counterfeit, and not execute, She entreated me to conduct her to the next Religious houſe, where ſhee would remaine till ſhe might follow him. I admird her patience, but ſince more wonder’d at her worth. O women, how excellent are you, when you take the right way? elſe, I muſt confeſſe, you are the children of men, and like them fault-full. The body we tooke with the helpe of a Litter which paſſed by (having before convayd a hurt Knight to the ſame Monaſtery next to that place) and in that we convayd it thither, where we buried him, and almoſt drownd him in our teares. Thinking then to have remov’d, ſhe fell ill, not ſicke in body, but dead in heart, which appear’d; for within two dayes ſhe dyed, leaving this world, to meet, and once more joy in him, who more then a world, or ten thouſand worlds ſhe loved, and ſtill deſired; which made her chooſe death being her then greater joy, burying them together a little without the houſe (the order of that place not permitting them to be layd within it.) After this ſad (but honeſt) performance of my word, I went on in my Journey, meeting within few dayes after, a Page belonging to my dead friend, who with his Maſters Armour followed him F3r 37 him, love and obedience bringing it into his mind. The armor was good, being that which I now weare, mine owne hackt and cut in many places. With much ſorrow the youth receiv’d the wofull tidings of his Maſter, then obtained I ſo much, as to have thoſe armes, which with violēent ſorrow he conſented to, helping me to arme my ſelfe in them, though ſo, as had I been any but his dead Lords friend, he ſooner and more willingly would have wound into his funerall ſhirt. He tooke my armour, and laid it together under a tree which grew in the mid’ſt of a faire and pleaſant plaine: then (although againſt my will) he kiſt my hands, and with as much true-felt ſorrow as could lodge in ſo young yeares, tooke his leave of me; only beſeeching me, when I remembred my unfortunate friends, I would alſo with ſome pity thinke on his miſery: this was my adventure. And then paſt I by ſea, till on a rock I ſuffered ſhipwrack, being taken up by this famous Pirat whom you ſo valiantly have ſlaine, being I aſſure you, none of your leaſt victories, he having had as much ſtrength and skill, as in any one man need remaine: but knowing me, and ſome power I have with the king of Cecile, my deere and worthy friend Periſſus his Uncle, whoſe excellent company I gain’d in Achaya, he then being there, and with whom I travelled many moneths, almoſt yeares, till I began this ſearch: this man, on condition I would mediate for him to the King, or his Nephew, let me goe at libertie, and arm’d in his ſhip, till ſuch time as we fortun’d to land; alwaies concluded, that while I was with him, I ſhould defend him with my beſt meanes. This made me reſiſt you till heaven told me my error, which I repent, and heartily aſke pardon for: and this ſure was the reaſon that my Page imagined my death, if hee found (as by all likelihood he did) my armes.

Then did Parſelius againe imbrace Leandras: turning to the Squire of Amphilantus he demanded what he knew of his Maſter. Truly (replide he) nothing but the joy I conceive to heare by this gentle Knight that he is living: I parted from him in a great ſtorme, having been in Germany ſent thither with an army from the Pope to aſsiſt the Emperour againſt the Duke of Saxony, who was ſlaine by his hand, and for this act was by the Emperour and the other Princes made King of the Romans, having protected the Empire againſt ſuch an enemy; ſince till now never having heard newes of him: but he ment to ſeeke ſtill for you, and therefore left Germany, and in the Mediterran ſea, my ſelfe, ſhip, and all my Lords treaſure was taken by this Pirat, whom your valour hath deſtroyed. Thus with proſperous wind and infinite joy for Amphilanthus his new title and honour, they ſailed towards Italy, hoping to land not farre from the Towne where the king of Naples at that time kept his Court, which was at that great Citie: but being within the ſight of the ſhore becauſe it then was evening they reſolv’d not to land till the next morning, and ſo take the day before them. This thought the beſt (like mens counſells) proov’d the worſt; for in the night roſe a terrible and fearefull ſtorme, being ſo violent, as it tooke not away reſt only, but knowledge from the Pilot, being onely able within ſome howers to aſſure them, that they were far diſtant from Italy. The tempeſt continued in as great (if not greater) furie, nor any more comfort had they, ſave that now they enjoyed light, and yet could that light ſcarce be counted day, being but as day-breake before the Sun-riſing; ſo as it was but as to diſtinguiſh the time of day from night, or as if it were to F3 hold F3v 38 hold a candle to them, the more to ſee their danger, ſo thicke, cloudy, and uncomfortable, as they could diſcerne nothing, but what was neareſt them, which was perill. Cunning now prevail’d not, for the moſt ſkilfull confeſſed, that now he was artleſſe, heavenly powers working above the knowledge of earthly creatures, which way they were by force carried, was utterly unknown to them; ſailes, tackling were gone; the maſt, either by force, or hope of ſafety caſt over-board; thunder, lightning, wind, raine, they wanted not; none being able to expreſſe the deſperatenes of this ſtorme, but by ſaying, it was the picture of the laſt day for violence, but like the world for ſtrangenes and uncertainty. Thus they continued in the day (having only the ſhadow of a day) and in the night feareful flames, which yet they thankt, becauſe by thēem they could diſcerne themſelves. When heaven did think this ſtorme had laſted long enough croſſe to thoſe, though croſt, yet ſtill moſt loving lovers, it commanded the ſeas to be at quiet, which being perform’d, the Pilot againe began to uſe his ſkil, which firſt had meanes to let him know, that ſo farre they were from the place reſolv’d on, as in ſtead of the coaſt of Italy, they were within ſight of the Iland of Ciprus: this not onely amazed them, but much troubled them, conſidering the barbarouſnes of the people who there inhabited, and their extremity ſuch, as of neceſsity they muſt land to repleniſh their wants, cauſed by the rigor of the tempeſt: yet were they come to ſuch a part of the country, as there was no harbor or port to ride or land at; wherfore they were forſt to coaſt the country; night again like an evil ſpirit poſſeſsing them, almoſt all tired and weary with the length and violence of the ſtorme. Some were laid down to ſee if reſt would poſſeſſe them: others falne aſleep, none enduring it like the excellent Urania, which brought comfort (though in ſorrow) to the loving and noble Parſelius, never ſhewing feare or trouble: incouraging all. And yet ſhe did feare, but ſeeing his, ſhe diſſembled hers, in care of not further harming him, She, I ſay, when all were gone to reſt, ſtood as Sentinel, but by her owne appointment, love cōommanding her ſoule to take no advantage of reſtfull houres; which ſhe obediently did, ſleep never but by loves liberty poſſeſſing her eies: which freedome her paſsion had not yet allowed her, but moleſting her patient ſweetnes cauſed her to walke up and downe in the maze of her trouble. The Moone (though coldly) ſmiling on her, and her love, ſhe perceived a great fire, whereupon ſhe called the company, demanding what their opinions were of it; they could not give her a direct anſwer, till being come ſomewhat neerer, they perceived it was a Ship was falne a fire in the midſt of the Sea, and right againſt it a very good Harbour. Pitty, and noble compaſsion ſtraight moved in them, ſo as they haled to the burning Barke, to know if there were any by ill fortune in her, and if ſo, to ſuccour them, but hearing no anſwer, they concluded ſhee was empty: wherfore paſſing on they landed in the Iſland, which no ſooner was done, but their former wonder was encreaſed, by the ſudden falling a fire of their own Ship, which had but deliverd her ſelf of thēem, and then as a Martyr ſuffer’d for the paine they had in her endur’d. But this paſt, admiration brought new ſorrow to them, conſidering they were in a ſtrange Country, among barbarous people, depriv’d of all hope to get thence any more, but there to continue at the mercy of unchriſtened creatures. Parſelius wiſhed, but ſtil found himſelfe further from ſuccour of any but his fruitles wiſhes: all his tormenting griefe being F4r 39 being for Urania. Urania did as he did, juſtly requiting his paine, for all hers was for him. All lamented and pittied Urania, and the dainty Selarina, who mildly, yet with a more Woman-like manner ſuffered theſe afflictions, loving and pittying Urania, being an obligation they were all in their hearts, as they found, bound unto. Leandrus ſorrowed for her, and bewail’d the two young Princes, whoſe Father had loſt his Kingdome, for his love to his Father, which ſtirred in him a commiſerate paſsion. Thus, all for others grieved, pittie extended ſo, as all were carefull, but of themſelves moſt careleſſe: yet their mutuall care, made them all cared for. Parſelius with a brave courage, at laſt adviſed them to goe on, yet left it to their owne mindes, fearing to perſwade, leaſt harme might after follow, grieve, feare, perſwade they did and all diſtractedly, ſo much they feared, and moſt was for Urania: ſo much can worth, ſweetneſſe, and Beautie worke in noble mindes. His adviſe was to goe on, and this was allowed, for what could hee propound that Urania liked not of? And if ſhe conſented, what ſpirit could deny? Thus, on they went (but as in a Labyrinth without a thrid) till they came within ſight of a rare and admirable Pallace.

It was ſcituated on a Hill, but that Hill formed, as if the world would needs raiſe one place of purpoſe to build Loves throne upon; all the Country beſides humbly plaine, to ſhew the ſubjection to that powerfull dwelling. The Hill whereon this Pallace ſtood was juſt as big as to hold the Houſe: three ſides of the Hill made into delicate Gardens and Orchards: the further ſide was a fine and ſtately Wood. This ſumptuous Houſe was ſquare, ſet all upon Pillars of blacke Marble, the ground paved with the ſame. Every one of thoſe pillars, preſenting the lively Image (as perfectly as carving could demonſtrat, of brave, and mighty men, and ſweet and delicate Ladies, ſuch as had been conquer’d by loves power: but placed there, as ſtill to mainetaine, and uphold the honour, and Houſe of Love. Comming towards it, they imagined it ſome Magicall work, for ſo daintily it appear’d in curioſitie, as it ſeem’d as if it hung in the ayre, the Trees, Fountains, and all ſweet delicacies being diſcerned through it. The upper Story had the Gods moſt fairely and richly appearing in their thrones: their proportions ſuch as their powers, and quallities are deſcribed. As Mars in Armes, weapons of Warre about him, Trophies of his Victories, and many demonſtrations of his Warre-like God-head. Apollo with Muſicke, Mercurie, Saturne, and the reſt in their kind. At the foote of this Hill ranne a pleaſant and ſweetly paſſing river, over which was a Bridge, on which were three Towres: Upon the firſt was the Image of Cupid, curiouſly carv’d with his Bow bent, and Quiver at his backe, but with his right hand pointing to the next Towre; on which was a ſtatue of white Marble, repreſenting Venus, but ſo richly adorn’d, as it might for rareneſſe, and exquiſiteneſſe have beene taken for the Goddeſſe her ſelfe, and have cauſd as ſtrange an affection as the Image did to her maker, when he fell in love with his owne worke. Shee was crownd with Mirtle, and Panſies, in her left hand holding a flaming Heart, her right, directing to the third Towre, before which, in all dainty riches, and rich delicacy, was the figure of Conſtancy, holding in her hand the Keyes of the Pallace: which ſhewed, that place was not to be open to all, but to few poſſeſſed with that vertue. They F4v 40

They all beheld this place with great wonder, Parſelius reſolving it was ſome Enchauntment; wherefore was the nicer how they proceeded in the entring of it: while they were thus in queſtion, there came an aged Man, with ſo good a countenance and grave aſpect, as it ſtrucke reverence into them, to be ſhewed to him, by them. He ſaluted them thus: Faire company, your beholding this place with ſo much curioſity, and beſides your habits makes me know you are ſtrangers, therefore fit to let you underſtand the truth of this brave Building, which is dedicated to Love. Venus (whoſe Prieſt I am) thinking her ſelf in theſe latter times, not ſo much, or much leſſe honour’d then in ages paſt, hath built this, calling it the throne of Love. Here is She dayly ſerv’d, by my ſelfe, and others of my profeſsion, and heere is the triall of falſe or faithfull Lovers.

Thoſe that are falſe, may enter this Towre, which is Cupids Towre, or the Towre of Deſire: but therein once incloſed, they endure torments fit for ſuch a fault. Into the ſecond any Lover may enter, which is the Towre of Love: but there they ſuffer unexpreſſable tortures, in ſeverall kindes as their affections are moſt incident to; as Jelouſie, Deſpaire, Feare, Hope, Longings, and ſuch like. The third which is guarded by Conſtancy, can bee entred by none, till the valianteſt Knight, with the loyalleſt Lady come together, and open that gate, when all theſe Charmes ſhal have concluſion. Till then, all that venture into theſe Towres, remaine priſoners; this is the truth. Now if your hearts will ſerve you adventure it.

They thanked the old man for his relation, but told him they had ſome Vowes to performe firſt: which ended, they would adventure for impriſonment in ſo rare a priſon. The old Prieſt left them, and they weary, laid them downe neere the Towre of Deſire, refreſhing themſelves with ſome little meate, which Uranias mayde had in her Scrip: but wanting drinke, they all went to the River, whereof they had but drunke, when in them ſeverall Paſsions did inſtantly abound.

Parſelius forgot all, but his promiſe to the dead King of Albania, for the ſetling his Sonnes in that Kingdome. Leandrus afflicted with the loſſe of Antiſsia, muſt ſtraight into Morea to finde her, and take her from Amphilanthus; Steriamus and Selarinus would not be refuſed the honour of Knight-hood, Mars having ſo poſſeſſed them with his warlike diſpoſition, as worlds to their imaginations were too little to conquer, therefore Albania was already wonne. Urania, whoſe heart before was onely fed by the ſweet lookes, and pleaſing converſation of Parſelius, loves him now ſo much, as ſhe imagines, ſhe muſt try the adventure, to let him ſee her loyalty is ſuch, as for his love, and by it ſhe would end the Inchantment. Selarina, thought ſhe ſaw within the Gardens, a young Prince with a Crowne upon his head, who beckned to her, wherefore ſhe would goe at ſuch a call. Urania’s maide beheld as ſhe beleev’d Allimarlus in the ſecond Towre, kiſsing and embracing a Blackmoore: which ſo farre inraged her, being paſſionatly in love with him, as ſhe muſt goe to revenge her ſelfe of that injurie. Theſe diſtractions carried them all, as their paſsions guided them. Parſelius having knighted the two Princes, tooke their way to the next Port: Urania now not ſeene or thought on. Leandrus haſting another way, to finde meanes for his Journey. Selarina to the Towre, and knockt with that fervent deſire to accompliſh her ende as the G1r 41 the gate opened; all the three ruſh’d in, ſtriving who ſhould be firſt. But Selarina was then ſoone made to know ſhee ſhould not contend with Urania, wherefore ſhe was lockt into the firſt tower, burning with deſire to come to that ſweete Prince, which ſtill ſhe ſees before her: hee calling, ſhee with unceſſant deſire ſtriving to goe to him. Urania went on, when entring the ſecond tower, guarded by Venus, ſhe was therein incloſed, when as thus much ſenſe came to her, as to know ſhe had left Parſelius, which ſtrak her into a mourning paſſion, confeſſing that, an unpardonable fault, and what he in juſtice could not excuſe. Then deſpaire poſſeſt her ſo, as there ſhe remaind, loving in deſpaire, and deſpairing mourn’d. The ſhepherdeſſe her ſervant continuing her firſt paſſion got into that Tower too, where ſhe ſtil ſaw her affliction, ſtriving with as much ſpitefull jealouſie, as that fury could vex her withall, to come at the Moore to pull her from her knight. Thus were the women for their puniſhment, left priſoners in the throne of Love. which Throne and puniſhments are daily built in all humane hearts. But how did the honeſt Allimarlus carry himſelfe in all theſe changes? Alas, with much griefe and ſorrow for this miſfortune, he not having drank, being the onely ſenſible man left; wherefore fearing more the harme of Parſelius and his companions then the Ladies, who were (without queſtion) ſafe, though farre from being free, he followed them, leſt harme might from thoſe furious humors grow. They made ſuch haſte, as no reſt could invite their ſtay, till they were tired with their owne minds travell, and then all three lying downe in one anothers armes, they yeelded unto ſleepe. In which, new torments vexed them: for then did they come a little to themſelves (or a little more from themſelves in another kind) and as men long held in a trance, awaked. Parſelius weeping for Urania’s unkindneſſe, who had (as hee dreamed) forſaken him, and left him ſleeping, while ſhee went with another. The two Princes bewailing the death of their Siſter, who they imagined taken violently from them, and ſacrificed to Venus.

Thus they againe fall into ſtrange and new diſtractions, which griev’d the young Knights verie ſoule to ſee, but having no hope of ſeeing them reſtored, while they continued in that Iland: ſoothing them up in their owne opinions, knowing it dangerous and idle to croſſe mad men, with gentle perſwaſions gain’d Parſelius to goe with him, when hee promis’d to bring him where Urania with her new friend did abide, and then he might recover her, and kill his enemie. The other hee likewiſe gaind, promiſing they ſhould have the meanes to kill their adverſaries likewiſe.

Thus he got them thence: travelling in this ſort, till they came to the ſea ſide where they found a ſmall Barke, and in her two perſons, an old man, and a little Boy being Fiſhers: and having taken ſome, had then newly put a ſhore to dreſſe, and ſo to ſatisfie their hungers with their gaine. The Romanian Knight ſaluted the old man, intreating, that that companie might goe into his boate, and time it was to prevent the comming harme, for then were they ready to runne into the ſea; but by force they got them into the Barke, where no ſooner they were, having freed themſelves from the land (which was the nature of thoſe charmes), but their good ſpirits againe poſſeſs’d them. Then did Parſelius bewaile Urania, crie out of his miſerable fortune in having loſt her, beſeech every one to pitie with him ſo great a miſchiefe. The knight wept to ſee theſe G changes G1v 42 changes, but then mildly told him all that had happened. Griev’d Parſelius did remaine; but conſidering heavenly powers had cauſed this, he the more quietly endur’d it, yet not without a bleeding hart, and often ſhowring eies: O Urania (would hee cry), how juſtly maiſt thou hate me, for leaving thee? Damn’d country, can it be that thou wert ordain’d for love to have a Throne in, and yet to be the hel of lovers? Much more he cri’d, and ſorrowed out, while the old man had gain’d the knowledge of this adventure from Allimarlus, who was by him knowne, ſo as beſeeching Parſelius to lay by his mourning, or at leaſt to give eare to this ſtory, ſaid hee, which will encreaſe compaſſion, and paſſion in you; with that the grave old man began thus. Lamentation (brave Princes) is that which I muſt treat of; but firſt I muſt tell you, as one of the parts of this ſtory; I am called Selencius, brother I am to the king of Romania, Lord to this young knight: and thus from me (the moſt unfortunate of Princes) heare the wofull’ſt and moſt diſaſtrous hiſtory, that ever Princely eares gave attention to. I was brother, and ſomtime heire to this unhappy king, being thought loſt: but after found in ſuch an adventure of enchantment as this ſeemes to be. Return’d, married, and was bleſt with two children, of whom I am ſure this Gentleman hath already diſcourſed unto you, wherefore that part I wil leave, and come to the laſt. My Nephew Antiſsius being come from the fruitles ſearch of his ſiſter Antiſsia, my brother would needs marry him to a Lady in the country, which he (although never having bin in love) might have queſtioned; yet he ever loved to obay his father, and ſo they were married. O Antiſsius, worthy Antiſsius: with that the teares ran downe his long white beard, reſembling drops in ſnow, ſtopping his breath, that ſcarce the laſt word could bee heard. In this time did all the Princes joyne, concluding it with ſobs, and groanes, every one having equall feeling of ſorrow, though for ſeveral things. At laſt he cry’d out theſe words: Pardon great Prince this ſad interruption in my ſtory, which I am forſt to do, heart-rending ſorrow making me ever doe ſo, when I think of (much more ſhame) my deereſt Nephew, and his unfortunate loſſe; being ſuch a wound to that country, as none can imagine but our ſelves, who daily feele the miſery. He being married by his fathers commāand, who longed to ſee ſome fruit from ſo worthy a ſtock, his obedience having maſtred his affection, which rather was to follow Armes, then fall into the armes of Love: he worthily lov’d his wife, and lovingly liv’d with her; within that yeare being bleſt with a Son, whom after his father they called Antiſsius: with this joy’d-at birth began the ruin of all (yet not becauſe of his birth, for in him we have yet our laſt hope) but by reaſon that the Grandmother liv’d but to kiſſe her babe; after whoſe death the king again maried, and her, whoſe wickednes I am ſure hath come unto your eares. This malitious creature, after ſhe had cauſed Antiſsius to bee baniſht, and moſt honeſt men to loſe their lives, or places, ſhe yet not ſatiſfied with ſuch ſins, as never the earth ſufferd in one body the waight of more treaſon, adultery, witchcraft and murder, were plentifully in her, yet while he liv’d ſhe was not contented. Wherefore to bring this to paſſe, was now her only ſtudy. In this time ſome one or two honeſt hearts were left, who gave the king warning of her, ventring their heads to ſave his body from harme: her immoderate deſires ſo much knowne, as they cried out againſt her; ſhee being a Queene ſalved not, nor covered her ſin, which in her greatnes appeared the greater fault; a ſpot being more markt in a Diamond, then in an ordinarynarie G2r 43 nary piece of glaſſe. Long time it was ere his honeſt and unſpotted love would believe it, or hearken to it, while ſhee delighted her ſelfe in her owne ſhame, and his diſhonor. At laſt (though extreame loath) he ſeem’d to ſee it, ſlaking his violent love to her, & oft refraining her bed, made her diſcerne it, though delighting her ſelf ſo much with others, had ſomewhat blinded her from ſeeing, what but for policy, ſhe cared little for. But then did ſhee never leave the poore man with her flatterings and diſſembling falſhoods, till ſhe had gaind the canuſe and ground of his moſt juſt offence, and deſerved miſtruſt, and unuſuall ſtrangenes, which at laſt (undone by her bewitching fawnings) ſhe gained. Then had ſhe enough, vowing to be revenged on al, and under this colour to execute her malice, and purge her ſpleene upon the famous Prince his ſon; which by her cruell practiſes, ſhe at laſt unfortunately brought to paſſe. For firſt (by meanes as ſhe pretended that ſhe was ſlandred) ſhe got her good honeſt huſband to baniſh any, who had in the leaſt, ſpoken of her lightnes; putting into that number thoſe whom ſhe hated, having ſuffred (as ſhe alleagd) as much by their ſlanderous reports, as almoſt if it had been a truth ſhee had merited, wiſhing ſhe had ſtill continued widow, rather then to come to this height of honour; and having it, to fall ſo low as into the ſhame of diſhonor: beſeeching him throughly to revenge her, or to permit her to retire to the moſt lonely and private life, rather then there openly to ſinke under ſhame and infamie: or if ſhe could be found faulty, then to cut off her head, farre unfit to live wife to ſo vertuous and good a king. To ſatisfie her, whoſe diſſemblings were of force to bring new heate into his aged heart, which like old wood will preſently kindle, he ſtrooke off the heade of thoſe loyall ſervants, who had honeſtly (though undiſcreetly) told him of her ſinne, men, not loving that diſcourſe of any. This done, he came to receive thanks: but ſhe telling him this was nothing, and unleſſe hee would doe more to right her, ſo ſhamefully wrongd, ſhe would go away, and execute ſome miſchiefe on her ſelfe; her ſpirit and conſcience not being able to ſuſtaine themſelves induring ſuch abuſe: and then (if ever he lov’d her) he would be ſorry, he had wrongd ſo true and faithfully loving a wife, while he did credit pickthanking Counſellors. He ſeeing this paſsion in his deere wife, vowed revengefull juſtice on all ſhe could accuſe. Upon this vow, and ſome other aſſurance which was given by execution, her holy Majeſty ſeem’d ſomewhat ſatisfied, and then contented (as it were) to live, having new life given in her juſtice, and faithtrying honour. She came abroad, but oft-times bluſhing; modeſty was the colour put upon it, when indeed it was affection to a young Lord in the Court: who after ſhee found ſhe could not win with all inticements and love-ſhowes, ſhee accuſed him for ſeeking her, and ſo with many more loſt his head. Now was Antiſsius and his vertuous wife confind to a Caſtle, ſome twenty miles from the Court, he being accuſed of popularity, and aſpiring to the Crowne. This was the power of that inſatiable Monſter, as ſhee could, and would baniſh from him his beſt, and onely true comforts. My Nephewes misfortune increaſing, and his hate to live, growing every day ſtronger in him, he gaind for all this the Queenes leave to goe, and live with me. She willing to it, hoping his former ill uſage would provoke him to that hee might die for, elſe ſhee would finde a meanes to compaſſe it. But few plots needed, this being the beginning, and his ſoone G2 following G2v 44 following overthrow; for the people finding her government abſolute, and that being bent to the ruin of the land, followed the vertuous Prince in great numbers, and at al times, which he as much as in him lay, did put off & avoid: yet not ſo, but that the Queene wrought cunningly enough upon it, to mixe jealouſie with the fathers love to his ſonne, ſhee never ceaſing to wiſh the ſubjects love as great and firme to his Majeſtie, as ſhee, and all others ſaw their hearts were placed upon his worthy ſonne, which though he for his affection to him, did not yet make uſe of, yet it is a fine thing, ſaid ſhe, to bee a king, and a terrible matter to be tempted: were you not ſafely bleſſed with ſo honeſt a ſon. And therefore you muſt truſt more to the loyaltie of Antiſsius, then the faith of his people, who, he might perceive, regarded nothing leſſe then their due reſpect to him. Sparingly ſhe ſpake well of him, but freely to make ſuſpition. Thus now was he falne into the path, which led to the court of her malice: for buzing theſe things in his old, and fearefull eares, ſhee at laſt brought to this fulneſſe of ill. One day as ſhe had appointed (being privately with the King in a Gallery) two of the Counſell came in, in haſt, yet a diſſembling feare in their faces, counterfeiting need, but doubt and unwillingneſſe to diſcover what mov’d in them this ſudden approch. The King urg’d them, when with teares they told him, that they had gaind knowledge of a dangerous conſpiracy, which was plotted, & to be inſtantly executed upon the perſons of his Majeſty, and his moſt royal Queen, by Antiſsius and my ſelf, the treaſon being this: to depoſe him, kil the Queen, baniſh the Counſell I make himſelfe Monarch of Romania, diſpoſe the offices, already diſpoſed of, among his favourites, and the whole realme, as he beſt liked to his followers, and aſſociats, and in this kind make a conqueſt of it. Then alas ſir (ſaid they), what will become of poore Romania, when your vertue and wiſdome ſhall be put by, their government, and his greene capacity, and thoſe young wild headed Counſellors ſhall rule over us, who were fitter at ſchoole to learne obedience and loyalty, then to ſway a Scepter, beſides the wrong and ſin, of taking the lawfull Prince from among his people. This related and ſeconded by the Queen, who ſtil in a double maner clear’d, & condemn’d poore Antiſsius, whoſe juſt and vertuous heart never thought of ſuch a treaſon, nor of her (if not with ſorrow for her wickednes). It wrought ſo far in the jealous breſt of the old man, as he manifeſted his crediting it, and with all the feare hee conceiv’d of it, expreſsing as much hate to his ſon, as ſuch a wicked practiſe might juſtly challenge. Then haſtily (as feare is alwaies ſudden) he demaunded advice, with the beſt and readieſt way to avoide the danger. They yet having gone but halfe way of their diveliſh progreſſe, replied: That ſince it pleaſed him to have ſuch confidence in them, as to aſke their advice in ſo great a buſines, they would as honeſtly diſcharge themſelves, and this they held the ſafeſt, and the beſt courſe; which was, that the Prince (who they muſt ſtill love and reverence, and whoſe fault cut their hearts to thinke of) ſhould be ſent for, but in ſuch a manner, as he ſhould have no cauſe to diſtruſt, leſt then he went about to gaine by force, what they before had been inform’d, he hoped to compaſſe by a private conſpiracie. This advice, and the plot it ſelfe, he imparted to ſome more of the Counſell, who already were ſufficiently inſtructed in their parts, and ſo accordingly agreed; conſenting, nay commending the grave, carefull, and honeſt advice of the other two. Then was a meſſenger G3r 45 Meſſenger ſtraight diſpatched to the Prince, (who like a brave, but innocent Hart came into the toile) with order to come himſelfe, his wife, and Sonne unto the King, whoſe age, and weakneſſe being great, and his affection only left ſtrong in him, towards him, and his, would have them neerer to him, and for that he would recompēence him, for the injuries in former times done to him: I was not at home, for had I bin, the journey ſurely had bin hindred, while Antiſsius doubting no treaſon, his noble heart being free from thinking any, in haſte (hoping that way to expreſſe the joy hee felt by theſe unexpected glad tidings) poſted to the Court, leaving word, that I (who was to returne in a very ſhort time after) ſhould with all convenient ſpeed accompany his wife, and ſonne to the King. Few daies he had rid, before he was encountred with a troope of horſe, under the commaund of an ancient friend of his, and a friend indeed he was in this action, being betrayd as well as he, ſent under colour of love to the Prince, who ſince hee had (or at leaſt it being thought hee had) ſo much diſlik’d his father, as hee had forbid him his once heeld-deereſt ſight, and that the people had taken notice of it in a dangerous kind: to prevent any bold or hazardus attempt might happen by a rude multitude, the Queene had ſent this troupe to guard him, and that ſhe knowing the love this Gentleman bare Antiſsius, had made choice of him to conduct his perſon thither. Antiſsius was ſomewhat troubled with this accident, wondring why ſhe ſhould be on the ſudden ſo kind, knowing that there was none whoſe ruin ſhe and her godly crew more ſhot at: yet could not he (who ſaw only with the eies of vertue) pierce into this plot. Mildly and gratiouſly hee ſaluted the Captaine and his men, yet telling them, his innocency had been guard enough for his perſon.

They went on, but when they were within ſight of the great Citie of Conſtantinople (the Court then being there) they perceived a farre greater number of Souldiers, with which ſight hee ſaw his end, and ſoone heard the ſentence of his death: for then did they ſet upon him, crying, Downe with that Traytor, that diſobedient child, the incurable griefe of his loving father, the diſhonour of our Countrie, and the Canker of the States flawed-reproductionone word. With theſe cries they ruſhed violently upon the Prince. The firſt troope ſeeing this Treaſon, did their beſt to defend Antiſsius; but their lives could not buy his ſafetie, in vaine ſtriving to alter deſtiny: the period of his dayes being come with a blow given him by a trayterous villaine, which ſtrake his head in two. Griefe of this accident turn’d to fury, his party fighting as if Antiſſius had beene in every one, and ſo to bee defended; but that was paſt, their loves onely living to him. Yet dyed it too, for none were left of the whole Troope, but the Captaine, and ſome tenne more. The Queenes men having gain’d almoſt what they ſought, fully to give her ſatisfaction in his death; yet wanted part, ſince they could not get his bodie, to be made a preſent to her cruelty. For the Captaine perceiving their drift, hinder’d them of it, taking him up when he ſaw the unluky blow given, and in the heate of the fiight fled away with it, knowing this a better piece of ſervice, then to have loſt his life in revenge at that time: ſince to better purpoſe he might ſave it in ſerving his Sonne, to have a juſt, and fit requitall for ſuch a wickedneſſe, on thoſe ſhamefull murderers. They came with this body (of the moſt beloved Prince, while he lived, and the G3 moſt G3v 4246 moſt pittied and honourd after death) to my houſe. Juſt as I return’d, did I encounter this ſad and diſaſtrous adventure; In ſtead of a brave, couragious, and (with it) pleaſing preſence, I met his bloudleſſe, pale, and martyr’d body. There I ſaw the hope of our Country, and comfort of mine age, chang’d againe into our firſt being: So much it afflicted mee, as I ſtood amazed with griefe, ſpeechleſſe, and ſenſeleſſe of ſenſe, but ſorrow: till ſorrow being pleaſd to make me have more feeling of her power, gave me leave to let theſe words come from me. O Antiſsius, hath life beene lent me to ſee this day! Miſerable man, miſerable Countrey, wretched age, wherein ſuch cruelty doth raigne; O Antiſsius! but then by their honeſt good perſwaſions (telling me the neceſsity, and enſuing dangers, if not prevented, that the reſt living might fall into) I ſtrove to endure this calamity with as much patience, as ſo miſerable a man could let ſinke into him, and indeed for this young youthes ſake, who is the young Antiſsius, heire to theſe miſeries, and the overthrowne eſtate of Romania. But then followed a ſecond cauſe of griefe; For his vertuous wife came to us, who hearing ſuch lowd cries, and diſtracted noyſes, left her Chamber, following the cries till they brought her to that moſt lamentable ſpectacle. When ſhe ſaw the cauſe of their wailing, ſhe put them aſide, going to the body, and kneeling downe by it, uſed theſe words; My deare, was it for this, that unnaturall Father, and monſter of women, ſent for thee? That no ſooner thou ſhouldeſt ſee thy Fathers houſe, but with it thou muſt ſee thy houſe of death? Alas, wert thou too good, too hopefull, too full of all vertues to live among us, who can now but aſſiſt thee with our teares? But long ſhall not this worldly ſorrow triumph over me in thy loſſe, for I muſt, and will be with thee; with that kiſſing the pale lips of her deareſt love, and as it were breathing her (though not laſt, but fortelling) laſt breath into him, ſhe roſe, and riſing, a little ſeemed to ſmile, joy within her (for aſſured going to him) having cauſed that Countenauce, which by ſome was diſliked, not being, to their weake apprehenſions, ſad enough, for ſuch a cauſe of woe. As ſoone as ſhe had left the body, ſhe came to me, earneſtly entreating me, that I would ſuffer none to trouble her, ſhee having ſome private devotions to performe, which being ended, I ſhould be welcome to her. For my part, I ſo little miſtruſted her intent, or imagined a Woman had ſo ſtrong a ſpirit, as to dye when ſhee would, granted what ſhe aſked, being confident, her goodneſſe would keepe her from doing any violence on her ſelfe. Having left me, ſhe went to the roome where her young Sonne lay, and then faſt ſleeping, when as weeping over him (as the Maides ſince tolde me) well maiſt thou ſleepe, deare heart, ſaid ſhe, for long, I feare thy quiet will not laſt; thy being Sonne to ſo worthy a Father, and unfortunate a Mother, muſt caſt ſome ſtormes on thee, it being fault enough in thee to have ſuch Parents: at leaſt, thy wicked Grandmother will thinke ſo, who hating truth will make thee ſuffer for thy Fathers ſake. Sleepe then quietly, my ſweet, and loſt Antiſsius, nor now looke up to ſee thy woefull Mother, or to take her laſt farewell: but thus receive her bleſſing, which as the bleſsing of her owne ſoule, ſhee wiſhes may come, and ſtay upon thee, God ſending thee a more happie life then thy valiant Father had: let his guifts of vertue, courage, and magnanimity live in thee, and his misfortunes take their grave in mee; Alas G4r 47 Alas, Antiſsius, my onely ſweet Babe, I muſt leave thee, then againe kiſsing him, ſhee ſaid. This is the difference in affection, twixt a Huſband and a Childe, otherwiſe no feare of misfortune ſhould carry me from thee, but my ſweeteſt I muſt goe, leaving Antiſsius, to flie to Antiſsius. And good maids, ſaid ſhe, have a kind, and juſt care of this young Prince, he may live to requite your paines, and revenge the wrongs done to his diſtreſſed Parents. They vowed all faith and dutifull ſervice to him; then againe, as loath it muſt be the laſt, ſhe kiſſed him, and ſo went to her Chamber: yet at the dore, turning backe, affectionatly, and with watry eyes, caſt her laſt, and kindeſt fare-well looke on him. When ſhe came into her Chamber, Shee lockt the dore, not ſuffering any to ſtay or come to her: where ſhe continued till (I thinking her ſtay long, beſides, having buſineſſe with her concerning the dead Prince) I went to her Lodgings, where long I knocked, and indeed, ſo long as it vexed me: but after feare poſſeſſed mee, when I conſidered what the danger might be, and her freedome, and liberty, ſuch as none had ever received that diſhonor, of being barr’d her preſence. Wherefore I ſent for ſome of my Servants, who by my command brake open the dore. Entring the roome, We found her laid upon her bed, newely dead, yet her own accuſtomed ſweetneſſe in her, lying as ſtraight, and unmov’d, as if death had onely then ſhowne, he could in his panges be milde, yet receive his gaine: ſo as well it may be ſaid, he depriv’d her of her life, yet left her owne beauty and grace to triumph over his fury. By the bed ſide ſtood a Table cover’d with a Carpet of Crimſon Velvet, and on the board a Letter, which I tooke up, and ſeeing it directed to me, I read it, and here (brave Princes) you may ſee the very ſame, my deareſt Neece left to me, which never will I part with, till time give end unto my dayes, or life to accompliſh her deſires. The Letter was this. Since it hath pleaſed God for the overthrow of this Land, and griefe of all good hearts, (among which you, and I, hold the neereſt places in ſorrow) to cut this thread of admiration in ſunder, and leave the heavy burden of lamentation upon us, taking away our joy, our comfort, our onely Hope Antiſsius, I feele my ſelfe altogether unable to ſuſtaine ſo great, and killing a loſſe, then let me crave this of you (which the aſſurance of your love to your dead Nephew, and dying Neece, imboldeneth me to aſke) that you will grant theſe three things, and ſee them accompliſhed: Let the love you bare to your dead Nephew continue and live in the ſame ſtrength to your living Nephew. Let nothing hinder you from ſeeking a deadly revenge on his Murderers. Laſtly, let me be here privately buried with him. Let theſe requeſts be welcome to you my deareſt Uncle, and not deny the dying Lucenia.

No Stranger I thinke would have denied ſo juſt requeſts, proceeding from a Lady of her worth, and being dying; what then wrought in me, who wanted not love, or reſolution of revenge? One of her deſires I inſtantly performed, for I buried her with her bhuſband, and then upon the Tombe, my ſelfe, the Captaine, and the Servants to the loſt Antiſſius, tooke a ſolemne oath to have revenge: but by the braveſt Princes, whoſe worths muſt needs abhorre ſo deteſtable practiſes; other meanes, though they diſerv’d the G4v 48 the worſt, and baſeſt, honeſt and noble hearts did deteſt them. This done, we parted every one a ſeverall way, and to a ſeverall King, to make our miſery more manifeſt; out of Juſtice demanding their ayde, to pull downe wickedneſſe, and againe ſettle worth in Romania, my ſelfe remaining one whole yeare after, nere the Helliſpont diſguiſed, and almoſt begging my lyving, with this my laſt hope. Still they ſought us while wee were among them, but then perceiving the continuall hazard, and ableneſſe in this latter Antiſsius to travell; We left Greece, my ſelfe alone going with him: But how this was diſcover’d, or that this young man muſt inherite his Fathers misfortunes, we hardly did eſcape taking. Upon the miſſing of us, Ambaſſadours were ſent in all haſte to all the neere Princes, to whom with much falſehood, their falſe fault was covered with as foule a vaile, working ſo farre as beliefe, or feare of warre made ſhew of, ſo much as prevented the ſuccour we had hoped for. Finding this, we tooke this Boate, coaſting (not daring to ſtay any where) till we could be ſecure, Many places we have ſeene, but found none to reſcue misfortune: not caring whither we went, ſo we were freed from her malicious power. Hither Fate hath brought us, and here we have found, and ſerv’d ſome Noblemen, and good Princes, who have promiſ’d their helpe: ſo as, if you (brave Prince) Parſelius, and theſe with you will likewiſe aſſiſt us, I feare not, but aſſure my ſelfe of our hoped-for comfort. Thus if pitty dwell in you, you will pitty us, and this Allimarlus is your Lord, and Prince. Parſelius then embraced him, ſo did Steriamus and Selarinus: all promiſing (their former vowes, and buſineſſe ended) they would attend and reſcue them, in the meane time, they would adviſe them to leave that ſhore, for feare of danger, conſidering the Charmes, which yet to any but ſuch as adventured the Towres, or unfortunatly dranke of the River were nothing: yet that ſcarce knowne, made cauſe of doubt. So they reſolv’d and betooke themſelves to the Sea, when they ſaw floating upon the water, a man paſt ſenſe or power to helpe himſelfe, being now ſubject to the Sea, and the diſpoſition ſhee might bee in to deſtroy him, or ſuccour him. Parſelius in Charitie willed them to goe towards him, the Tyde bringing him a pace (as in love of him) that way. Being neare, hee perceived the man to be his deare Friend Leandrus, who (in the ſame fury they had before falne into, but wanting ſuch helpe as they had) ran into the Sea, miſſing a Boate to convay him, but not fury to caſt away himſelfe, crying out he would have Antiſsia in ſpite of the valianteſt blacke Knight. But quickly was he cool’d with loſſe of ſtrength, to ſave himſelfe from loſſe, ſenſes were come to him, but alas, too ſoone to loſe them againe, and life with them, if this happy adventure had not come unto him. For then cry’d out Parſelius, O take up that worthy body, ſave that noble perſon from ſuch loſſe; with this they made to him, taking him up, and after much care, getting life againe, to put it ſelfe into the Cage of the body, when knowing his friends, but forgetting all things elſe, they embraced, as ſoules would (if not by a greater joy hinder’d) rejoyce in the other world, for encountring their beſt friends. On they rowed, ſometimes Parſelius and the other Princes ayding the old man; taking their turnes till they diſcover’d a Morean Ship, to which they haled. She comming, and her rulers knowing their Prince, with all joy and dutie receiv’d him, and his company into her. Then ſecurely they ſayl’d H1r 49 ſayled towards Greece where being landed in Morea, they determined, that ſince inſtant ayde could not be given them, they ſhould there in a ſtrong Caſtle remayne, not Priſoners, but Commanders of that place, being an impregnable Fort, and in ſuch a place, as none could land without their favour; ſo might they uſe the opportunitie of place, and time. The Romanian Knight, after this place was by the Prince deliver’d to Seleucius and his Nephew Antiſsius (in the ſame ſhip had thither brought them) tooke againe to the Sea, intending to goe into Romania, and ſo hired them for Conſtantinople. But ſoone were they alter’d: for meeting another ſhip which deſir’d to know ſomething (the cauſe of that ſhips journey being for diſcoverie) hee found in her the ancient ſervant, and the ſame faithfull Captaine who had ſo loyally ſerv’d the firſt Antiſsius. Finding him (and by him, that the Prince was to be found) he with him returned to the Caſtle: where being receiv’d, and ready to make his diſcourſe, I will leave him, and goe againe to Parſelius, who tooke the directeſt way to the Court, which was then kept in Arcadia, being a time the King had in pleaſure made a journey that way, to delight himſelfe in that moſt delightfull Countrey. Being there arriv’d, no joy could be compar’d to the Kings and Queenes, ſeeing their deereſt Sonne return’d: but little joy felt he, Urania being loſt, which onely to Pamphilia he diſcover’d, who out of a deere and ſiſterly affection, the like bewayled abſence. Sports and pleaſures were every day offer’d, while he ſtill knew of none, being in them as in another World; onely wherein his owne perſon was required, there his valour failed not, though his Soule which govern’d that, was otherwhere. Some dayes this laſted: but Parſelius, whoſe love ſtill urg’d him, could have no reſt, colouring his paine with the loſſe of his friend and couſin, which indeed was the cauſe, but in the feminine gender. The King was the leſſe diſpleas’d, becauſe it was on ſo worthy a ſubject; yet he was ſorry, being the lovingeſt of Fathers, that his deereſt ſonne ſhould be diſpleas’d, and moſt troubled, when hee ſaw hee would not ſtay, but againe goe ſeeke his friend. Yet before his depart, he gayn’d the promiſe of his Father, to rayſe men to aſsiſt Steriamus in his journey, to conquer his right: which was granted both for that juſt Cauſe, and likewiſe, becauſe the faire young Princeſſe Mariana, Queene of Macedon, by right ſhould be unto her right reſtor’d. Thus departed Parſelius, leaving Steriamus and his Brother to attend their buſineſſe, and ſee the men rays’d, himſelfe promiſing within fit time to take their journey to returne. Leandrus likewiſe accompanying Parſelius to the Court, gave his word to uſe his beſt power in gayning forces from his Father, to aſsiſt in this deſerv’d occaſion, they having ſuffer’d for their Parents loves. To which end he went into Achaya, giving his hand to Parſelius, to be with him in Morea within ſix moneths, which was the time appointed for their marching forwards towards Macedon, or Albania, as at their next meeting they would agree on. Thus they parted: Parſelius as his deſtinie would guide him, Leandrus to Achaya, and the other Princes remayning in Arcadia with the King, very much eſteemed of.

But ſoone after the Court remooved neerer to the Sea; while Amphilanthus, who had beene too long forgot, not being time enough remembred, being the moſt matchleſſe Prince with the faire Antiſsia, being in the H Mer- H1v 50 Merchants houſe as the Romanian Knight told Parſelius, finding fit time, and longing to meete his friend, with the Princeſſe, and the honeſt paire, took their way towards the Court where the king lived: by the way it was Antiſsia’s fortune, to marke (with ſo yeelding a heart) the lovelineſſe, ſweetnes, braverie, & ſtrength of the famous Amphilanthus, which in many adventures hee made teſtimony of in her ſight, before their gaining the Court, as this (alas) made her acknowledge, ſhe had ſeene but him, who might be thought a Prince, ſhee had heard of none but him, all others vertues being ſingle in them, but knit in one in him. This made her like, that made her love: and ſo ſhe did (poore Lady) to her loſt libertie; he, the more he ſaw her reſpect to him, anſwered it with his to her: kindneſſe then betray’d them, ſhe ſhewing it, he (as a kind-hearted Prince to Ladies) receiving it. By this time they were content to think they loved, and ſo to know thoſe paines. He was not unexperienced, therefore ſoone ſaw remedy muſt be given: and cruelty hee imagin’d it would be in him, who diſcern’d he might by his art helpe her, if hee refus’d that good, to one ſo faire, and ſo kindly loving. This made him in charitie watch his opportunitie, or at leaſt not to looſe any, being moſt with her; and contentedly, becauſe lovingly paſſing the time, entertaining themſelves with fine diſcourſe many howers together. The good people wearie with travelling or ſeeking other neceſſaries for them, neceſſarily leaving them then, not with much complaining of their abſence.

At laſt they came unto the Court, being two moneths after the departure of Parſelius, and the next weeke after the ſecret departure of Steriamus, which was ſuch, as hereafter you ſhall heare. His arrivall was as pleaſing to the People and Prince, as faire weather is after a ſtorme, or plenty following a great dearth: ſo generally and particularly was hee beloved; his enemies (for no great man, nor good man lives without) being forced in truth to confeſſe he deſerv’d much admiration. Hee came pleaſantlie thither, and for ſome dayes continued ſo: but after, whether miſſe of his friend Parſelius, or ſome other private cauſe to himſelfe mooved him, is not knowne: but ſad hee grew, and ſhunning all other companie, would retire himſelfe with Antiſsia into Pamphilia’s chamber, where hee would, when hee ſpeke, direct his ſpeech to her; ſtill blaming her brothers for ſo ſtrangely leaving their Country, he could not offer ſpeech to her, which ſhe received not with much reſpect, yet was ſhee generally the moſt ſilent and diſcreetly retir’d of any Princeſſe. But one day as they were alone together, ſome diſcourſe falling out of the beautie of Ladies, Amphilanthus gave ſo much commendations of Antiſsia, as ſhe betweene diſlike, and a modeſt affection, anſwered, hee had ſpoke ſufficiently in her praiſe: for truly my Lord, ſaid ſhe, me thinkes there is not that beautie in her as you ſpeake of, but that I have ſeene, as faire and delicate as ſhee; yet in truth ſhee’s very white, but that extreame whiteneſſe I like not ſo well, as where that (though not in that fulneſſe) is mix’d with ſweete lovelines; yet I cannot blame you to thinke her peereleſſe, who viewes her but with the eyes of affection. Amphilanthus gave this reply; That hee till then had never ſeene ſo much Womaniſh diſpoſition in her, as to have ſo much prettie envie in her, yet in his opinion (except her H2r 51 her ſelfe) he had not ſeene any fairer, Antiſsia with that came to them, which brought them into other diſcourſes, til they were forced to part. They gone, Pamphilia alone began to breath out her paſsions, which to none ſhee would diſcover, reſolving rather ſo to periſh, then that any third ſhould know ſhee could be ſubject to affection. Alas, would ſhe ſay (weeping to her ſelfe) what have I deſerved to bee thus tyrannically tortured by love? and in his moſt violent courſe, to whom I have ever been a moſt true ſervant? Had I wrong’d his name, ſcornd his power, or his might, then I had been juſtly cenſured to puniſhment: but ill Kings, the more they ſee obedience, tread the more upon their ſubjects; ſo doth this all conquering King. O love, look but on me, my heart is thy prey, my ſelf thy ſlave, then take ſome pity on me. Being heavie, ſhe went into her bed, but not with hope of reſt, but to get more libertie to expreſſe her woe. At laſt, her ſervants gone, and all things quiet, but her ceaſeleſſe mourning ſoule, ſhe ſoftly roſe out of her bed, going to her window, and looking out beheld the Moone, who was then fair and bright in her ſelfe, being almoſt at the full, but rounded about with blacke, and broken clouds. Ah Diana (ſaid ſhe) how doe my fortunes reſemble thee? my love and heart as cleare, and bright in faith, as thou art in thy face, and the fulneſſe of my ſorrowes in the ſame ſubſtance: and as thy wane muſt bee, ſo is my wane of hopes in my love; affections in him, being as cold to me, as thou art in compariſon of the Sunnes heate: broken joyes, blacke deſpaires, incirkling me, as thoſe diſſevered clouds do ſtrive to ſhadow by ſtraight compaſſing thy beſt light. When ſhe had (as long as her impatient deſires would permit her) beheld the chaſt Goddeſſe, ſhe went to her bed againe, taking a little Cabinet with her, wherein ſhe had many papers, and ſetting a light by her, began to reade them, but few of them pleaſing her, ſhe took pen and paper, and being excellent in writing, writ theſe verſes following.

Heart drops diſtilling like a new cut-vine Weepe for the paines that doe my ſoule oppreſſe, Eyes doe no leſſe For if you weepe not, be not mine, Silly woes that cannot twine An equall griefe in ſuch exceſſe. You firſt in ſorrow did begin the act, You ſaw and were the inſtruments of woe, To let me know That parting would procure the fact Wherewith young hopes in bud are wrackt, Yet deerer eyes the rock muſt ſhow. Which never weepe, but killingly diſcloſe Plagues, famine, murder in the fulleſt ſtore. But threaten more. This knowledge cloyes my breſt with woes T’avoid offence my heart ſtill choſe Yet faild, and pity doth implore. H2 When H2v 52

When reading them over againe; Fie paſſion (ſaid ſhe) how fooliſh canſt thou make us? and when with much paine and buſineſſe thou haſt gain’d us, how doſt thou then diſpoſe us unto folly, making our choiceſt wits teſtimonies to our faces of our weakeneſſes, and, as at this time doſt, bring my owne hands to witneſſe againſt me, unbluſhingly ſhowing my idleneſſes to mee. Then tooke ſhee the new-writ lines, and as ſoone almoſt as ſhee had given them life, ſhee likewiſe gave them buriall. And yet, ſaid ſhee, love muſt doe thus, and ſure we love his force the better for theſe fanſies. Then putting out the light, leſt that ſhuld too ſoone waſt, beholding her paſſions, which in hotter flames continued (then the united one of the candle could aſpire to compariſon with the ſmalleſt of millions of them) turning her in her bed with a deepe love-ſigh, ſhe cried: O love, thou doſt maſter me.

Thus did the love wounded Princeſſe paſſe that night, or the greater part of it; convenient time for ſports in the morning being come, the king ſent for her to attend him and the Queene, to ſee a match which was made at the Juſts onely, partly to pleaſe the king, but moſt to welcome Amphilanthus. Pamphilia and Antiſsia were plac’d together; Antiſsia dearely loving her for her couſins ſake; whom ſo well ſhe lov’d, as ſhe gloried to have all eares and eyes partake the knowledge of it. Pamphilia did embrace her companie, being excelling in ſweet converſation, as farre as pleaſant and harmeleſſe mirth could extend: and fit was ſuch a companion, for the melancholy which abounded in the Princeſſe. Being at the window, and all having once runne over, Amphilanthus gaind the firſt honour. Whereat Antiſsia being joyfull, Well may it be beſtowed on him (ſaid ſhe), for ſure none can in all brave exerciſes come neere your matchles Couſin, for delicate fineneſſe, and peereleſſe power. ’Tis true (ſaid Pamphilia): yet if you ſaw my brother Parſelius, you would (and indeed muſt) confeſſe, hee comes the neereſt to him, and neerely matches him. I know not him (ſaid Antiſsia), but if he do but ſecond this, you may boldly ſay, no Princeſſe living can compare with you for a Coſin and a Brother. By this the match was ended, and the Knights comming to the king, hee gave them thankes, embracing his beſt beloved Nephew. Then went each one to his Miſtris, to receive their opinions in the defence of their favours: Antiſsia telling Amphilanthus, that in her mind, hee alone deſerv’d the honour of that day. He repli’d; Her wiſhes and favour did purchaſe him that honour, more power living in them, then in his arme or ſkill. Then did all returne, the Knights conducting every one his Ladie, Pamphilia went alone, for ſhe not enjoying her love, lov’d be alone, as ſhe was alone in perfect and unfortunate loving; thinking ſo ſlight a thing as a Knights leading her, might bee a touch in her thoughts to her ſpotleſſe affection, nor would ſhe ever honour any one, with wearing a favour in thoſe ſports; having vowed, that onely one ſhould enjoy all love and faith from her; and in her conſtancie (this not being knowne, her paſsions ſo wiſely govern’d, as ſhe was not miſtruſted to love ſo violently) made her of many to be eſteemed proud, while it was that flame, which made her burne in the humbleſt ſubjection of Loves meaneſt ſubjects; yet was her choice like her ſelfe, the beſt. No day paſs’d without ſome exerciſes on horſeback, wherein Amphilanthus did ſtill adde fame unto himſelfe, by that to make Antiſsia the more his Priſoner: But now is the time for his depart in the ſearch of his friend arriv’d; if H3r 53 if it griev’d the Court to part with him? it ſurely heartily perplexed her, whoſe life depended on his ſight; ſo it tormented her, as with the flowing of teares, her face was martyred ſo much, as ſhe was not fit to come in company, having turn’d her delightfulneſſe to ſorrowes, faining her ſelfe ill, and ſo keeping her chamber, being ſeene of none but of Pamphilia, to whom ſhee had freely diſcourſed both her affection, and ſucceſſe in her love; who like a worthy friend, accōompanied her in this ſorrow. The night before he was to go, he came into her chamber to bid her farewell, and to intreate her to remaine there till his returne; the king having given him his promiſe, that all honour and reſpect ſhould bee us’d to her; the Princeſſe Pamphilia (he durſt ſay) would doe the like; and for his owne part, care and diligence ſhould not want in him to make his ſpeedy returne. The poore Lady could but with a ſpeechleſſe mourning behold him, holding his hand faſt in hers, at laſt ſorrow brought foorth theſe words for her. My Lord, God knowes how I lament for your going, how much more muſt your abſence afflict me? As you ſee the one, and may judge of the other, have pittie in haſtning hither to her, who till then daily will finde a death-like life. So he tooke his leave of her, promiſing to performe her commands: then turning to Pamphilia (who had all this while beheld this ſo ſad, but loving parting), Madam (ſaid he) is there anything left to make me ſo happy, as that it may bee in my fortunes to ſerve you, and ſo to be bleſt with your imployments? My Lord (ſaid ſhe) it is ſufficient to be commanded by one, and ſo beautifull a Lady: for my part, I will entreate your ſpeedy returne, and that you bring my brother with you. With this he left the Ladies, one to lament, the other forc’d to comfort. His journey he tooke directly toward the ſea, meaning at the firſt convenient Port to take ſhipping, and ſo to paſſe into Italie, whether, it might be his friend was gone, according to their firſt agreement. But comming into a place not the richeſt, but well diſtant from the worſt of countries, in a part within ſome leagues from the ſea, the leaſt inhabited of any of thoſe quarters, being ſomewhat hilly, and deſert-like, he went among ſome of thoſe hills to reſt himſelfe, chuſing one, the ſide of it being a fine Wood, the foote of it beautified with a pleaſant and ſwift River, before it a prety Plaine which went not farre, before another Hill proudly over-lookt her lowlineſſe: his horſe he gave to his Squire, himſelfe walking downe into the Wood, and being taken with the pleaſures of that place, hee laid himſelfe among them on the ground, ſpeaking theſe words: What deſtiny is this, unhappy man, that no time will bee permitted mee to endure happy in? How is the world deceiv’d, in thinking happineſſe conſiſts alone in being belov’d? when as if it proceedes from other then their owne choſen love, it is a puniſhment; like as the being cramm’d, when one is full: Love then (I beſeech thee) make me leſſe happy in not being lov’d, or truly bleſt with enjoying her heart, who hath made mine her Captive. But O mee, I doe feare that ſhee doth love: wretch that I am, what then muſt needs befall mee? Death, I cruell’ſt death, when by a Love procured. More he was a ſaying, and ſurely had diſcovered his paſſions in a greater, and more exact manner, but that hee was call’d to attention by a delicate (yet dolefull) voyce, a Lute finely plaid upon, giving muſicke to his Song, which was this.

H3 Adieu H3v 54 Adieu ſweet Sun Thy night is neare Which muſt appeare Like mine, whoſe light but new begun Weares as if ſpun By chance not right, Led by a light Falſe, and pleaſing, ever wun. Come once in view Sweet heat, and light My heavy ſp’rit Dull’d in thy ſetting, made anew If you renew, Dayſies doe grow, And ſpring below Bleſt with thy warm’th, ſo once I grew. Wilt thou returne, Deare bleſſe mine eyes Where loves zeale lyes Let thy deere object mildly burne Nor flie, but turne ’Tis ſeaſon now Each happy bow Both buds and blooms, why ſhould I mourne?

No ſooner had he ended his ſong, but the ſame voice (though in a more plaining maner) brought forth theſe words: O life, O death? why am I cloyd with one, & ſlave for the other, much more of me deſired? Falſe joyes, leave, forc’d pleaſure fly me, muſick why abide you? ſince joy, pleaſure, and true muſick (which is love) abandons me, ſhuns me; alas true piece of miſery: I who am deſpis’d, hated, ſcorn’d, and loſt. Are theſe my gaines ungrateful love? take here thy conqueſt, and glory in thy purchaſe, while I live loathing my ſelfe, and all, but her by whom I remaine a wretched forlorne ſlave: yet ſome comfort I have to ſuſtaine mee, that I ſuffer for the rareſt and moſt excellent of women, and ſo long Cupid uſe thy force, and tyrannize upon my ſlaughtered heart. Theſe words were to the brave Italian, ſo juſt the image of his owne thoughts, as they were as if his, or like two Lutes tun’d alike, and placed, the one ſtruck, the other likewiſe ſounds: ſo did theſe ſpeeches agree to his incumbred thoughts. Willing he was to comfort him, but loth to diſquiet him, knowing in this eſtate lonelines, and disburdning of ſome part of the like griefe doth eaſe one: wherefore he remain’d in a doubt what to doe when as the young man (for ſo he perceiv’d from ſuch a one the voyce did come) not caring which way he did take, or ſeeing any direct path, but that his phantaſies led him in, came hard by the place where Amphilanthus lay, who viewing his youth and delicate beautie, admired and pittied him H4r 55 him. He paſſed on towards the River, his eyes, as it were, imitating the ſwift running of that ſtreame, his Lute he held in his hand, till againe having ſome more Verſes fram’d in his minde (perfect lovers never wanting invention) he againe played, and ſung; having done, O Love, ſaid he, once eaſe me, or let death ſeaze me, giving concluſion to my dolorous daies. What doe I gaine by being a Prince? What availes it me to hope for a Kingdomes Government, when ſhe who is my Kingdome to me, and my Princeſſe doth reject me? Woe is me that ever I knew Morea; Woe is me that ever I beheld Pamphilia; O Pamphilia, would I were but ſo much honour’d, as thou wouldſt but thinke me worthy to kiſſe thy hands, that would revive me, and for that favour would I thinke my ſelfe ſufficiently requited for all my torments bearing.

Amphilanthus hearing his Couſen named, and the young man diſcover himſelfe to be a Prince, wondring in his travels he had never ſeene him, deſirous to be reſolv’d of his eſtate, and name, with all the true cauſe of his deſperate griefe, went towards him curteouſly, and with reſpect due to him, ſaluted him thus. Sir, let not, I pray you, my boldneſſe in this interrupting your more pleaſing thoughts, be diſpleaſing to you, ſince it is my fortune (not deſire to trouble you) which brought me hither, wherefore, I hope, I ſhal obtaine pardon of you. The young Prince ſoberly, and a little bluſhing, anſwered. No fault can I find with your being here, or any thing except my owne fortune, which thinkes it ſelfe never curſt enough to me; but ſince, as I aſſure my ſelfe, you have heard my Paſſions, till now never knowne to man, let me know by whom I am diſcover’d? Upon promiſe to have the like curteſie from you; replyed the valiant King, I wil not hide my ſelfe from you: He conſenting, the ſtranger Prince began: Then Sir, know I am called Steriamus, Prince and rightfull King of Albania, brought unto this countrey by the vertuous and noble Prince Parſelius, who hath undertaken to aſsiſt me in recovering the Kingdome loſt in my Fathers daies, but what talke I of a Kingdome, having loſt the power of my content and happineſſe; now Sir, performe your word: I am ſaid the other, Amphilanthus King of the Romans. Steriamus knowing him to be that famous Prince, in whoſe ſearch his friend was gone, faſt held him in his armes, crying; yet am I happy to ſee the moſt renowned Prince breathing before I dye; for now may I ending ſay, I have ſeene the worth of the world, and feele her greateſt cruelty. Amphilanthus bluſh’d to heare his vertue ſo extold, but lovingly embracing in like manner the Albanian Prince, was againe ſollicited by him, to tell him all his ſtory, which in this manner (ſitting downe by the River ſide) he did diſcourſe. My ſelfe and my brother being brought by that worthy Prince to his Fathers Court, were there left, he firſt having receiv’d promiſe, and command being given for mens rayſing, to reſtore me (miſerable me) to my kingdome, as I before told you, he tooke his leave, being gone in the ſearch of you, but promiſed returne within ſix monthes into Morea, being now gone into Italie, hoping to meete you there. I remaining, griev’d to part with him, but more afflicted with an incurable wound, which in that Court I receiv’d. But before I goe any further, I pray tell me whether you have lately ſeene the Princeſſe Pamphilia, for ſurely then ſhall I finde one paine troubles us, and one cure onely for us; I ſaw her very lately, repli’d Amphilanthusthus, H4v 56 thus being but almoſt now come from her Fathers Court, but for all that you may ſafely goe on with your diſcourſe.

Then, ſaid he, it was my happineſſe to ſee her, but my miſery to fall in love with her, (cruell ſhe) who if ſhe prove not mercifull to me, I muſt for her, thus ever ſuffer: beſides, it hinders my going on, in the regaining of Albania; for, what is a Kingdome to me, being ſubject to a greater power of the minde? What can that Realme prove to me, if Pamphilia martyr mee? What is a Court to one caſt downe to the loweſt of Loves ſlaveries? No Selarinus, thou art worthy, and free, and therefore fit to rule; and God ſend thee that, and all other good fortunes, and this among the reſt, that thou never come to the knowledge of thy miſerable Brothers end, whoſe miſery did thus begin.

One day as the King and Queene were walking in the Garden, attended on by all the Princes, Ladies, and Knights of the Court, every one diſcourſing as beſt pleaſed them, Pamphilia walked alone, none daring to preſent himſelfe to her: ſuch was the reſpect all bore unto her, and feare of diſpleaſing her. I ſaw her, and with that ſight loſt my ſelfe; Love then emboldned me ſo, as arm’d with his fire, I went to her, and tooke the boldneſſe to walke by her, and offering diſcourſe (I confeſſe unworthy of her hearing) ſhee entertain’d me modeſtly and gravely: Love for me finding this hope, forc’d me to uſe the time, and to ſpeake ſomething of it ſelfe to her: which ſhee perceiving (yet out of pitty not willing too curſtly to deale with me) ſhewd me in her countenance diſlike of my ſpeeches. And yet not to put mee too much beſides my ſelfe, called other to her, to adde (as ſhe faign’d) to her company: With a bleeding heart I ſuffered this diſgrace, which yet was by her ſo handled, as none but my owne ſoule could witneſſe it to any. Thus that day paſt, ſorrow increaſing in me, and little mirth growing in her. Oft times would ſhe be ready to ſigh, but loving that breath, which ſhee drew for ſo loved a cauſe, ſhe did ſtrive to fetch it backe againe; or elſe it was to cover her long breathing. Many daies this continued, till one night ſtanding in a round window in a great Galerie, a Lady who did much uſe to accompany the Princeſſe (though ſhe be of the Queenes Chamber) ſtanding by her. Madam, ſaid ſhe, did you ever ſee ſo ſilent a Prince as this is? Surely if he were to winne his Kingdome by words, as it muſt be done by ſwords, the Countrey might remaine a long time without the lawfull King. Pamphilia looked (O me a deadly wound that ſweeteſt looke did prove) pleaſingly upon me, ſaying, My Lord, you ſee this Lady finely begs diſcourſe from you. Alas Divine Princeſſe, ſaid I, what diſcourſe can proceed from a dead man? I never heard till now, ſaid ſhee, that dead men walk’d, and ſpake. Yes Madame, cry’d I, as you have ſeene trees continue greene in their branches, though the heart be quite dead, and conſum’d away, hollowneſſe onely remayning: And ſo is nothing left in me but empty hope and flouriſhing deſpaire. Is there no cure, ſaid ſhe? Yes, that there is, ſaid I. Shew it, ſaid ſhe: I looking about, and ſeeing the other Lady parted from me, beſides hard by a faire Glaſſe (many hanging as ornaments in that Gallery) I tooke it up turning it to her, mine eyes onely ſpeaking for me. She (with ſeeing her face, ſaw my cauſe of torment) ſaid as little as I: onely taking the Glaſſe turn’d the other ſide, which was dull like my gaines, and with as I1r 57 as much ſcorne and contempt, as could appeare in ſo much beauty (like as if the Sun would in ſpite ſhew himſelfe in a ſtorme), ſhe turnd from me. I ſtood ſtill, for indeed I could not move, til for my laſt comfort, ſenſe came to mee, to ſhew me, I was in no fit place ſo to betray my paſſions: wherefore getting ſo much ſtrength (although no more, then as men after a long ſicknes gaine, when they goe with feeble joynts, the length of a roome; ſo much had I), and that little with much ado, brought me to my chamber, where I opened my breſt to al ſorrow, and let mine eies make ful ſea of teares. Thus I remaind, till this reſolution took me, to wander I car’d not whither, ſo it were far from knowledge of any, and to leave that moſt cruell beauty to her owne content; which yet I feare ſhe hath not, though I truly wiſh ſhee had. I call’d my brother to me, telling him he muſt be ſecret to me, as he did hope for love from mee: which hee vowed, not miſtruſting what I meant, till ’twas too late to goe backe. With ſobs and teares hee beſought mee to alter: but I told him there was no remedie, nor muſt he breake his oath. Then againſt his heart he ſaid, he muſt obay. My charge was this; never reveale my manner of going, nor ever to ſeeke after me, or ſuffer any that he could hinder. Then went I to Pamphilias chamber, where I humbly deſired to ſpeake with her; ſhee gave me leave: but when I was ready to ſay ſomething ſhe prevented me. If you have, ſaid ſhe, any buſines, I ſhalbe ready to do you any ſervice in it: but if it be concerning your glaſſe diſcovery, know this, you ſhall doe beſt to bee ſilent; for a greater offence you cannot doe mee. Alas Madam (ſaid I), have you no pitie for me? I have pity for any (ſaid ſhe), leave this folly, and I ſhall wiſh you well. That was ſo cold a favour for my deſires, and my dutifull affection ſuch to her, as not to give her the leaſt cauſe of diſlike, beſought her, ſhe would honour me but ſo much, as I might kiſſe her hands before my departure, which was forc’d by an adventure, calling me away: ſhe nobly grāanted that, and ſaid, ſhe wiſht me good fortune. I told her, my fortune could only be made by her. Then can it prove little, ſaid ſhe. With trembling and death-like palenes I left her lodgings, having yet the favour which my lips receiv’d, in touching her faireſt hand; which kiſſe ſhall never part from me, till theſe my lips doe kiſſe with death. Then wandred I away, till I came hither; never finding any place to pleaſe me, nor, alas, doth this, or can any thing but her pity pleaſe; only this is leſſe diſtaſtefull, then thoſe where greater noiſes be. Here I am quiet, but for my owne quiet, but for my griefe, which never gives mee reſt. In a little cave in the ground is my lodging, one Squire attending mee, who from a Towne not farre hence fetcheth me proviſion: this Lute (a quality I learnd in the Court ſince my comming thither) miſfortune, and my Miſtriſſes diſdaine, my diſcourſe and companions: and thus lives, and daily dies the rejected Steriamus. Having finiſhed his tale, his eies flowed againe with teares, as if it were their office to give the full ſtop of his diſcourſe. Amphilanthus embracing him; Steriamus (ſaid he) leave theſe lamentations; for a fury in one (who how worthy ſoever, yet being a woman), may change. How many have bin condemnd for cruely, that after have prov’d kind enough? yet ſpeak I not this of Pamphilia, who hath ſtill kept a conſtant reſolution to her ſelfe. But ſure ſome ſtrange occaſion makes her (ſo full of judgement and ſweetneſſe) carrie ſo ſtrict a courſe in your affections: yet let not that make you forget your ſelfe. The poore Albania (poore in miſſing you) calls upon you, I the I1v 58 the reſt of the world hath need of ſuch Princes, then let not paſſion overthrow a brave ſpirit: abſence can bring no hope, preſence and deſert may, if any thing. Or ſay ſhe never love you, there are other faire Ladies, who will be liker themſelves, pitifull and loving. Never ſhall other love poſſeſſe my heart (cride he), and that O heavens ſtill witneſſe for mee, and behold this vow, That when I change, it ſhall be unto death. Then ſhutting his hands one faſt within the other, he groaning ſaid; Nor ever let theſe hands part, if I part from this my love. Time (ſaid he) will give you (I truſt) unexpected cauſe of cōomfort, in the meane time, let us talke of ſomthing els. Then Steriamus invited Amphilanthus to the Cave, dearely loving him for his brave advice, but moſt for his coſins ſake. There they ſat together, lay together, & paſs’d ſome dayes together, till the Albanian was overcome with the Italians (never-fayling) perſwading ſpeeches; ſo as they tooke their courſe towards the ſea, falling into that way which brought them directly to the Caſtle, where young Antiſſius and his Uncle were by Parſelius left. There they found them, and met the honeſt Captaine, who was brought thither by the Romanian Knight, who after the whole diſcourſe was told to Amphilanthus, as before it had been to Parſelius by the old Prince, and young Knight, continued the ſtory thus. After that (devill of women) the Kings wife had wrought the ruine of Romania, Proclamations out for the bringing of either or both of you, for which large ſummes of money were offered: but if you could be deliver’d in alive, thoſe ſummes, and great honours with brave poſſeſſions: you my Lord made a Traytor, and you Sir having your head at ſale. Then obtained ſhe, that her ſonne was made heire apparant to the Crowne; and that if the King happned to die, while the new Prince was under yeares, that then ſhe would governe as Protectreſſe, till hee came of age. This ſure, ſhee grew wearie of the old man, whoſe age, and dotage (ſhe having imploy’d them to her uſe, was now cloy’d with them) troubled her; to bee rid of him was then her ſtudy. At laſt finding an eaſie way (as ſhe thought) ſhee cald one of her ſervants to her (being one who ambitiouſly ſought to win the honour, of being her favourite) leading him into a private Cabinet, where ſhe plotted al her wickednes: there ſhe began with falſe and forged flattrings to intice him to her purpoſe; diſſimulation, and proteſtation of her affections ſhe wanted not, to draw him into the yoke of her witch-craft. And what (ſaid ſhe) though the world doe taxe me for loving many? doe not you accuſe me, my onely deere; for ſooner will I die, then wrong your love. If my faſhion, which is free and familiar, make you doubt me? conſider why it is, ſince it were neither wiſdome, nor ſafety for us, to uſe you only kindly in al ſights. The graces others have, is but to blind their eies, which els would be cleere ſighted to our ill, and this ever by the love you beare me, I conjure you to believe; and this ſhould you well find, were I at liberty and free. What freedome would you aſke? To be my ſelfe, ſaid ſhee, and ſo to take a husband I could love, as I love you; and ſo would make you, were the old man dead. Is that the bar, cride he, deere Lady? He is dead, or even as good, for two daies is his longeſt terme of life. That done, enjoy me, who am onely thine; and verily the thing is eaſie, ſafe; and doubtleſſe doe it then, and by it purchaſe me. He long time bewitcht with her craft, allur’d by her beautie, and continued in error by her falſehoods, beleev’d ſhe ſpake unfained from her heart, letting himſelfe covet that, which with I2r 59 with murder (and treacherous murder) they muſt gaine frōom the true owner But he lookt no further then his love, to compaſſe which, no meanes ſeem’d ill, ſo partiall was he to his vild deſires. Thus was his word engaged, and the kings life limited; which end of time being come, they inticed the grave man into a Parke, where they murdred him, bringing home the old body beſmear’d in his owne bloud, coverd with their mantles (as the fault was with their fained talles), which were, that in the Wood certaine men, hired as it was likely by you, ſet upon him, killed him, and wounded them; ſhewing ſome ſlight wounds which they had (for the greater ſhew of truth) given themſelves. The Queene being brought to this ſad ſight, tooke on ſtrangely, rending her clothes, crying, and even howling ſo, as moſt did pitie her, and few or none accuſe her guilty of the crime, ſo cunning was ſhe in her deepe deceits. Then was the Councel cald, who came, in ſhew ſad, but in harts joyfull, wicked men, loving nothing more then change; they brought alſo the young king to his mother. The people being aſſembled, and the falſe report of the kings death deliverd, wherwith they were ſatisfied, pitying the wounded body, yet crediting the murderers. Thus was the poore doting King rewarded for his fondnes. A funerall was made with all ceremonious coſt and pompe, the young unlawfull king being that day crowned, as ſoone as the body was interred. This was yet but one part of the play, the other ſoone followed. She thinking her ſelfe no way ſecure (ſo many knowing of her ſin) to avoide puniſhment on earth, would run yet faſter to meet more puniſhments cauſe, in the other world, by heaping murders upon murders: for inviting all thoſe except her Minion) to a private banquet, ſhe poiſon’d them, reſerving the favourite for ſome other vertuous purpoſe; who being in the pride of his deſires, expecting when he ſhould be made her huſband, often urg’d it: but ſhee put it off with pretence of feare, leaſt that the too ſudden marriage might give occaſion to the world to doubt, what was moſt true, and what their guiltineſſe made them miſtruſt.

Thus it paſt a while like a calme tide after a tempeſt: her ſonne and ſhee being in full poſſeſſion of all, the neighbour kings ſent to condole the death of the king, and to congratulate the other, whether out of love, or deſire of peace (a ſweete thing to ſpriteleſſe Princes). Among the reſt came one, who accompanied the Embaſſadour of Morea, a Gentleman of excellent parts, winning the love of all that converſed with him, having a modeſt government over a ſtrong and daintie wit: but as hee was in this happie, hee was croſt with the violent love of the chaſtleſſe Queene, who affected him after her wonted faſhion, but ſo fondly and intemperately, as ſhee caus’d moſt to looke with gazing eyes on her: hee was not of the higheſt ſtature, though farre from being low; his haire faire, and that beard hee had, ſomething inclind to yellow. Shee ſaw this Gentleman (who ſince I learnd, was Sonne to the Duke of Mantinea, and Captaine of a troope of Horſe, which was part of the Kings Guard, and the Nobleſt part; becauſe that Companie muſt ever bee choice men, and all Gentlemen): Shee wooed him, plainely ſaid, Shee loved him. Yet could not this prevaile, wroth in him, withſtanding all her baites: which being meant as refuſals, prov’d inticements to bring her on; like a Spaniell, that fawnes on the mans crueltie. Her paſsions then growne immoderate,I2 moderate, I2v 60 moderate, and ungovernable, yeares increaſing in her, and ſtrength of judgement failing her more then in her youth, gave ſuch open teſtimonie of her love, as her latter ſervant (but companion in miſchiefe) perceiv’d it; his confidence having been ſuch, as that blinded him long time, giving libertie and aſſurance in that to her, and her ends, which never were but either politike, or laſcivious. But he as having new ſight given him to ſee her ſhame, and his owne together; hate taking the place of love, his deſires flew to the ruine of her, as before to the continuance of their dayes in their owne pleaſures never enough enjoy’d. Hee plotted to undoe her, and watched the opportunity, which he obtaind by his diligent prying; that, bringing him to diſcover her going into her Cabinet with this ſtranger, pretending there to ſhew him ſome jewels. They were no ſooner within the roome (ſhee having but put the doore a little to, not cloſe), but her inraged enemy came, and finding meanes of diſcerning what was to be ſeene, loſt it not, but ſtood ſtill looking in. She (whoſe thoughts caried her to higher points then care) took no heed of that which moſt concern’d her: for there hee ſaw her with all paſsionate ardency, ſeeke, and ſue for the ſtrangers love; yet he unmoveable, was no further wrought, then if he had ſeene a delicate play-boy acte a loving womans part, and knowing him a Boy, lik’d onely his action; then with much adoe he brought forth theſe words: Alas, Madam, why ſeeke you at my hands your diſhonour and my ſhame? How dare you venter your honour in the power of a ſtranger, who likely would uſe it to his glory, and your reproch? Beſides you know I love one, whoſe worth and truth muſt not be hurt, or blotted in my fault, my life not worthy to ſatisfie the crime, ſhould her unſpotted loyaltie ſuffer for my ſinne. Yet ſatisfie my deſire (ſaid ſhe) and then love whom you will. Love whom you will (cry’d out the furious forſaken) ruſhing into the roome as much unexpected, and unwelcome, as thunder in winter, which is counted prodigious. The Queene ſtood amazed while hee uſed theſe ſpeeches; Fie faithleſſe Woman, verifier of that fault whereof I hoped, women had been ſlandred, and not ſubject unto: have I obeyed you in your wicked and abominable treaſons, thus to be rewarded? She finding hee had not onely found her, but alſo had diſcovered her falſe-hood, withal conſidering his rage, ſhe fell at his feet, asking pardon. Pardon your ſelfe, ſaid he, if you can, and me who want it, as drought doth water: Be your proteſtations, vowes, and daily given oathes come to this? With that moſt furiouſly hee ran towards her, but the Morean in humanitie ſav’d her from hurt by him; but to hinder that, he was forc’d to ſtruggle with him, who was a ſtrong man, and then had double power. This noyſe cal’d in ſome that waited without, others ran to tell the king, either to ſhew forwardneſſe in ſervice, or indeed buſines, not caring what they carry, ſo it be newes, wanting the chiefeſt part, which is judgement, to know, where, when, and what to tell. But in briefe, the king came, and finding this unfortunat diſorder, not being able to win from them by faire meanes the truth, (to avoyde all ill) committed them to priſon, from whence (for the ſpeedier, and ſo more ſecure proceeding) the next morning they were brought to publike arraignement: but the King was not preſent, fearing thoſe things (which after brake forth) would then be blowne forth. And indeed it was ſo, for the accuſed being demaunded what he could ſay in his owne defence; ſaid, Nothing but wherein he muſt accuſe himſelfe. Being vrged I3r 61 urged to that, hee confeſt all, finiſhing his ſpeech thus; For her ſake, by her conſent, knowledge, and command, I ſlew the King; ſhee having given mee her faith (which as a faith I eſteemd; but alas, it was a ſhadow put in a falſe light) that ſhe would marry me; this added to a naturall ambition I had to greatneſſe, not judicially weighing, how heavy in juſtice this weight of honor ſhould bee ſo divelliſhly ſought for, or attained. For this hee was condemned to die, the manner by foure wild horſes: but before his execution ſhe was examined, with whom few words were uſed, before ſhe confeſt her ſelfe guilty. She was likewiſe condemned (for being a ſubject, ſhee was under the law), and ſo had her head ſtruck off, the ſtranger was delivered free againe. Many pitied her, to whom ſhe had done good (for none can be found ſo ill, that ſome will not commiſerate); yet the moſt (like the baſe world) left her, having held with her while her power ſhin’d, but now ſet with her light, running to the riſing ſtrength, not to the declin’d: few ſaid, ſhee was wrongfully put to death, either for love to her, or to make buſines: for no ſooner was ſhe dead, but one of her antienter favorites roſe in rebellion, the people apt to take any occaſion to ſtirre new afflictions: but a great party he hath gotten, and ſo much gaind, as the King is now ſhut up in the great City of Conſtantinople, the Rebell (as the unlawfull king doth call him) beſieging him, and vowing never to lay downe Armes, till he hath gotten him in his power: and now do they all cry out for Antiſsius, honouring the very name as a god; wiſhing for you Sir, and vowing if they can recover you, to make you their King. Thus have I left them, the Generall (for ſo he is called) having injoyned me to find you out; they are infinite ſtrong, and want but you, and ſome brave men to governe them. Goe now I beſeech you; never had Romania more need, nor ſhall you ever finde a fitter time.

The Princes ſat a while in conſultation, at laſt they reſolv’d preſently to take the journey in hand, not holding it good to looſe ſo fit an opportunitie. The Squire of Amphilanthus was ſent to find Parſelius in Italy, and to acquaint him with their affaires, withall to entreat his company. This concluded on, all went to reſt, Steriamus deſiring, that becauſe his name was not yet knowne by deſert, it might be ſtill kept ſecret; and moſt he deſired it, by reaſon of his vow. They agreed to it, and he was only call’d, The true deſpis’d, which was all the device in his ſhield. Amphilanthus did deſire to be held unknowne too: but his reaſon was, that it was not ſo ſafe for ſo famous a man to be commonly knowne, in ſo great & imminent dangers; beſides, the renowne of him, might make many refuſe the combate with him, who elſe hee might for ſport or profit encounter: hee had Love painted in his ſhield, and was call’d, The Knight of Love.

Towards Romania with proſperous winds they ſailed, chuſing the way by ſea as the ſhorteſt, and leſſe troubleſome. In a fit and ſhort time they arriv’d in Romania, landing a little from the Towne, for feare of unknowne dangers, and ſo they paſt to the Armie, where Antiſsius and his Uncle being knowne, unſpeakable joy was made, the Generall yeelding all into his hands, and taking his authority from him. Upon this the Uſurper ſent for a Truce, but that was denied: then hee deſired (rather then to continue immur’d in that kind, beſides, ready to bee famiſht), that they would bring three Knights into the field, the which number hee would alſo bring, himſelfe I3 being I3v 62 being one, and thoſe ſixe to end the buſineſſe, which ſide overcomming, the other ſhould depart with peace, and never make more warre, one againſt another. This was accepted, Amphilanthus and Steriamus being two, the third they had not yet appointed, nor would, till the day of combate; ſtill expecting ſome famous Knight, or Parſelius himſelfe, might come to fill the number: if none, then the young Knight their firſt acquaintance ſhould be the man.

The day come, when as the Liſts were made without the Towne, the Judges appointed, old Seleucius, Uncle to Antiſsius, and the honeſt Captaine Liſandrinus, were the Judges for their ſide: on the other, were the Admirall, and Marſhall of Romania. The Gates were all ſet open, and free libertie given everie one to paſſe where hee liſted, onely injoyn’d to goe unarm’d. The firſt that entred into the field was the King, on each hand of him his two Companions in fight; before him ſix men bare-headed, one carrying his Helme, three other his Speares, the two laſt his Sword and Sheild: his Armour was greene, floured with Gold; the furniture to his Horſe of the ſame colour, cut into Garlands of Laurell, and embroidered with Gold; but ſo artificially joynd together, as they ſeemd when the Horſe ſtird, to riſe as ready to crowne each part of his conqueſt. In his Shield he had a crowne of Bayes, held up by a Sword; Word he had none, ſo as it ſeemd he ſtaid for that, till his hoped for victorie had provided one for him. The other Knights were both alike in Watchet and Gold; their devices a blew Cloud, out of which ſparkled fire.

But then came the honour of his ſexe, never enough admired, and belov’d Amphilanthus, his Armour was white, fillited with Rubies; his furniture to his Horſe Crimſon, embroydred with Pearle; his Shield with the ſame-device, from which hee tooke his name. Steriamus according to his fortune was in Tawny, wrought all over with blacke. As they were entring, a brave Gentleman in a murry Armour, fillited with Diamonds, his furniture richly wrought with Silver and Gold, came to Amphilanthus, uſing theſe words: My Lord, your worth cannot bee hid, though you have obſcured your name; they both (but the former moſt) ties mee to be your ſervant, and as the firſt favour I ſhal receive, beg the honor of being third in this brave exploit; not that I am ſo ignorant, as to think my ſelfe worthy of being your Companion, but wholly out of ambition to ſerve you. Amphilanthus looking upon him, ſeeing the richnes of his Armes, and the braverie of his Perſonage, being as comely and ſtrong ſet, as ever hee had ſeene any, made him this anſwer. Sir, the honor is mine, to gaine ſo brave a Companion and friend, wherein I rejoyce; and in place of your love to me, give you mine, which is and ſhall be firme unto you, and with all my heart embrace your offer to bee the third, not now doubting of the victorie, having ſo happy a beginning. Then they imbraced, and taking him on the left hand of him, and Steriamus on the right, they went on to the Judges: and all ſixe meeting together, ſpeaking ſome few wordes one to another, they parted to meete, never more to part on ſome ſides. Amphilanthus encountred one of the Watchet Knights, Steriamus the King; and the Foreſt Knight (ſo being called, becauſe of his Device, which was a great and pleaſant Forreſt, moſt pleaſantlie ſet forth, as the cunning of the I4r 63 the rareſt Painter could deviſe) met the other watchet knight. The firſt Knight loſt his Stirrop, elſe there was no advantage on any ſide, and thus they continued the three courſes; then lighting and drawing their ſwords, there grew the cruelleſt, and yet delightfulleſt Combate, (if in cruelty there can be delight) that Martiall men ever performed, or had been ſeene by judging eyes: for never was courage, magnanimity, valour, ſkill, and nimbleneſſe, joyn’d better together; ſo as indeed a Kingdome was too low a prize for ſuch a Combate. Long it continued, till the Knight of Love, diſdaining one man ſhould hold out ſo long with him, gave him ſuch a wound in the head as therewith he fell downe dead at his feete. At the ſame inſtant the King gave Steriamus, a great hurt in the body, but he was quickly paid with a wound in the belly, which gave him his diſcharge, and freed him from any more trouble of ruling or obeying. The Knight of the Forreſt ſeeing his Companions good fortune, knew it his part to accompany them, ſo as with a ſurely given ſtroke, the head of the other, and laſt knight fell to kiſſe his feete. Steriamus was carried preſently into the Towne, where by the helpe of a good Chyrurgion, he was ſoone recovered. The Judges all in face glad, (howſoever ſome of their hearts were affected) came to them, who with the reſt, preſently proclaymed Antiſsius King, who was by the people received with much joy at the Coronation, which was within ſhort time. Antiſsius created the Generall, Duke of Neapolis, and Lyſandrinus Duke of Selybria.

All things being in quiet, the Knight of Love would needes returne into Morea, to ſee things fitting for Steriamus, and to accompany him in his Conqueſt. With him went the Knight of the Forreſt, betweene whom grew ſo ſtrict a bond of Friendſhip, as was never to be broken, they two lying together in one roome, Steriamus in another, by reaſon of his hurt. Amphilanthus in the night often turn’d, and turning, ſtill did end with ſighes. The Forreſt Knight perceiv’d it, yet let him alone till the morning, when being ready to riſe; My onely friend, ſaid he, Your laſt nights ill reſt made mine unpleaſing to me, and moſt, becauſe mine ignorance hinders me from being able to ſerve you. I cannot be yet ſo bold to demand the cauſe, ſince what proofe have you of me, that I ſhould thinke you might eſteeme mee worthy of ſuch a favour? Yet this you may be confident of, that death ſhall ceaze me, before I refuſe to venter life to obtaine your deſires; and loſe it rather, then reveale any ſecret you ſhall impart to me. Amphilanthus anſwer’d, that he ſaw unexpected good happen to him in al things (eſpecially in this bleſſed friēendſhip) but in that which he moſt ſought for, nor would I conceale the cauſe of this my paine from you, were it once diſcover’d to her from whom I ſuffer it, but till then I muſt conceale it; and you, I hope, on this occaſion will excuſe me: and for proofe of your accepting this for that which it is, being truth, tell me your love, and fortune in it, which ſhall binde me to confidence, and ingage me to the relation of mine. My Lord, ſaid he, to ſatiſfie you (which is the all of my wiſhes) underſtand, that my poore ſelfe (onely rich in the honour of being your friend) hunting one day in a great forreſt, my Father, the king of Bohemia, and many other Princes of Germanie, being aſſembled; It was my fortune following the ſport more eagerly then the reſt, to goe ſo farre from my company, as I was left I4v 64 left in the woods all night: there I tooke my lodging, reſting free from paſsion, if not rage, for wanting judgement ſo to be loſt. In this night, and middeſt of it (for I wak’d with the dreame, and found it was not day) me thought I ſaw a Creature, for ſhape a woman, but for excellencie, ſuch as all the rarenes in that ſexe, curiouſly, and ſkilfully mixed, could but frame ſuch an one; and yet but ſuch a one in ſhew, like a Picture well drawne, but the ſubject more perfect, apparelled in greene, her haire hanging careleſſe, nothing holding it, but a delicate Garland, which ſhe wore upon her head, made of Panſies, and Wood-binds. Her face bare, boldly telling me, not I onely, but all hearts muſt burne in that pureneſſe: Eyes like the perfect’ſt mixtures of heavenly powers, not to be reſiſted but ſubmitted to. Lipps fully commanding the plenty of duty, when they ſeem’d to demaund obedience: Her neck the curiouſeſt pillar of white Marble, breaſt of Snow, or ſmooth waves of Milke, ſwelling, or falling, as the ſweet gale of her moſt ſweet breath did riſe, or ſlacke. All other parts ſo exquiſite as none, ſave onely ſhe, can be ſo excelling. This I found in her, who me thought, came to me uſing theſe words. Ariſe, leave Bohemia, and reſcue me from the hands of Rebels. I cride out, ſtay, O ſtay, and tell me how, and where? In Hungaria, ſaid ſhee, with that I wak’d having her Image ſo perfect in my breaſt, as nothing can remoove it from me. A pretty while I lay ſtill, wiſhing to ſleepe againe, ſo once more to have beheld her; but ſhe was too rich a Jewell ſlightly to appeare to ſuch worthleſſe eyes. Contented with that I had ſeene, I lay feeding on that and my reſolution which was to ſeeke her. When day began to appeare, what joy was it to me? But for my greater comfort I found hard by me this Armour laid with this Shield, and Sword. I ſtaid not but put it on, thinking with my ſelfe how to attaine to the honour of Knight-hoode, my Father having refuſed it to me, becauſe my elder Brother, being weake and ſickly, had not demanded it; reſolving I ſhould attend his encreaſe of ſtrength, my Fathers whole content being in that Sonne. Conſidering this, I knew it no way to goe to him: wherefore arm’d, (my Squire carrying my Sword, I paſſed unto the Emperours Court, who without delay gave me what I demanded, honoring me with the gift of an excellent Horſe, and furniſhing me with all conveniencies.

Then tooke I my way for Hungarie, which Kingdome I had no ſooner entred, but I mett the newes of a great rebellion made by the uncle Kings Baſtard ſonne, called Rodolindus, againſt the Daughter and Heire of the ſecond brother, called Melaſinda, who was Crowned Queene, after the deceaſe of her Uncle and Father. But hee envying her greatneſſe, and ambitiouſly ſeeking the honour himſelfe, claym’d a contract betweene the King and his mother, with all vowes and proteſtations of marriage. Witneſſes he produced, true or falſe they made a terrible ſtirre, and brought the faireſt Malaſinda into great danger. Troopes I continually mett, ſome with the Queene, ſome againſt her: with much difficultie I paſſ’d till I came to an ancient Lords Caſtle, within two leagues of the City of Buda, where ſhe was incloſed; this nobleman held with his Soveraigne, and after much diſcourſe of thoſe affaires, he led me into a Gallery where he ſhewed me the picture of that diſtreſſed Princeſſe; truely, I will not ſay, ſo well drawn as that which remaines figur’d in my heart, but ſo well, as none but her counterfeit K1r 65 Counterfeit could appeare ſo beautifull, and ſuch, as I knew it to be the ſame which in that bleſſed night in the Forreſt ſhewed her ſelfe to me. This made me conclude, the adventure was reſerv’d for me: wherefore carefully examining all things that had paſſed, and curiouſly and affectionatly weighing the buſineſſe, and meanes to atchieve the finiſhing, not leaving any thing unask’d, that might availe, concluding to adventure what ere came of it. The good Lord adviſed me, (perceiving my purpoſe) to bee ruled by him: which I conſented to, when I found hee meant honeſtly for his Princeſſe good, and circumſpectly for my ſafety, by no meanes ſuffering me to enter the Towne, as my ſelfe, (by reaſon of a great hate had been betweene our Parents) but as an adventrous Knight, who hearing of her troubles offerd my ſervice to her. She moſt faire, moſt lovely ſhee, accepted me into her ſervice, where I performed what was put into my truſt: in two dayes killing two of the mightieſt, and ſtrongeſt knights of all his party. In the ende, the Councell of both ſides, and the people weary of war, adviſed, and agreed upon a peace, on thoſe conditions, that he ſhould lay downe all claime to the Crowne, yeelding it wholly to her; but in requitall, ſhee ſhould take him for her Huſband. This was bitter to her, but this ſhe muſt doe, or be left alone, people-leſſe, and kingdome-leſſe. I was but one, and unable to ſet the Crowne, and keepe it on her head againſt the whole ſtate: wherefore loving her ſo much, as not daring to thinke of any harme to her, in giving ill adviſe, (nor could my ſoule allow her leſſe then the kingdome) with the reſt, I perſwaded for him; till ſhee told me; She was ſorry ſhe no better deſerv’d my love, but that I would thinke another fitter for it, or ſhe unworthy of mine. I ſwore (and truely) the world had not that treaſure I more covetouſly ſought, then her enjoying; ſhe urg’d the unkindneſſe betweene our Parents, made me doubt: I firmely vow’d, her love made me ſecure, and happy: but what I did, or ſaid in this, was onely for her good and ſafety. With much adoe, and long perſwaſions I wonne (her love to mee) her yeelding for the other; ſo the match was concluded, and peace on all ſides, I leading her the day of her marriage to her wedding Chamber, where I left her to her huſband; the next morning ſhee came downe into a little Garden, whereinto no window looked, but that in her Cabinet, nor key could open but her owne. Into this place I was convay’d by her woman a little before, where meeting her, we paſſed ſome houres together. Thus was I the bleſt man, injoying the world of riches in her love, and hee contented after, having what he ſought. Thus I lived a while, till I found him alter’d, and the face of the Court a little chang’d towards mee (for former cauſes they pretended, forgetting me, and what was done by mee for them) which made me, fearing her harme, leave the Country for a while, which little time to me already ſeemes ages, being yet but moneths, and few in number, though in love innumerable. She was ſad, and griev’d for my going; I playd the woman too, and wept at our departing, but ſoone I hope againe that we ſhall meete, howſoever I will ſee her, though in private, and venter life for it. After that I left Hungary, I came through many Countries, till I came in to Italie, and ſo hoping to meete you there; but hearing of your being in Morea I went croſſe the Sea into that Countrey, and K ſo K1v 66 ſo had miſt you, but that I fortunately met your Squire; who ſeeking Parſelius enquired of me, for him, and I for you of him. Wee reſolv’d each other, I telling him where I had left him, which was in Elis, after a delicate and ſtrange adventure finiſhing, and being directed by him how to know you, I was the better inſtructed to preſent my ſervice to you, which the fame of your worth had long ſince dedicated to you.

Leave complements deere friend (ſaid Amphilanthus), it is not now time to uſe them, our loves having ſealed them up in truth; give ſuch delicate phraſes to your next Miſtris. My next: why, thinke you I will change? If you bee wiſe (ſaid Amphilanthus), and would my fate would change, then were I happy; one ſuch minute, whereof it ſeemes you have had ſeaſons, would be more welcome to me, then the Crowne of Naples; yet would I have her chaſte ſtill, and then I hope I ſhould with truth and ſervice win her. Is ſhee yet to be won (ſaid the Bohemian)? Yes, (ſaid the Italian), by me ſhe is: and what tormenteth me is, I feare ſhe loves my friend. He is no friend that wil not yeeld to you (ſaid he). I ſhould not love him (ſaid Amphilanthus), if his love to mee ſhould exceed that to ſo incomparable a creature. How know you ſhe doth love (ſaid the Prince)? I only feare (ſaid he), and dare not hope it is my ſelfe: but ſurely ſhe doth love. Hope and beleeve (ſaid he) and that will make you bold to ſhew yours to her, and then who can refuſe you? Would this were true, and then had I the only victory I ſeeke. Adventure brave Prince (ſaid the Bohemian), never yet faild your conqueſt on men, and women are the weaker and gentler: beſides, you are (the world ſayes happy in thoſe wars) ſo fortunate and ſo loving, as you cannot faile, nor ſhe reſiſt. I am no coward, though miſtruſt my ſtrength in her ſight; her lookes (ſaid Amphilanthus) are to me (if frowning) more terrible then death: yet come what will, I muſt adventure; if I obtaine, I will be as free with you, as you have been with me, elſe keep my diſgrace, my fortune, and affliction from diſcovery made by my tongue. Will not your face declare it thinke you? therefore to avoide ſuch inconvenience, woe bravely, and reſolutely, and then win joyfully, and bleſſedly. Morning being ſomewhat ſpent, they roſe, and ſo tooke on their way, Steriamus having yeelded to Amphilanthus earneſt perſwaſion, to goe with him into the pleaſant Morea. Parſelius, after he had left his Fathers Court and friends together, with his ſad thoughts, he betook himſelfe to Elis, and ſo to ſhip for Italy, to fetch his friend to aſſiſt the two Princes, and after to goe and redeeme his heart out of the enchantment: as he paſt along in the country of Elis, one day being ſo buſied, as his thoughts had chāangd him into thēemſelves, his horſe carying him which way he beſt lik’d he was cald upon by a rude voice, which wild him, to know himſelfe better, then ſo proudly to carry himſelf before a Princeſſe. Looking up to ſee what, and who this was, he perceived cloſe by him a troope of Ladies, all on horſeback, and many Gentlemen and Knights attending them, but one who had adventur’d to inſtruct him a little more then the reſt, to whom he thus ſpake; Truly ſir (ſaid he) this fault was cauſed by melancholy, not by rudenes; for I have bin too wel brought up to be uncivil to Ladies. It appeares ſo indeed, ſaid he, that thus you ſtand prating to me, and do no reverence to her who beſt deſerves it. The Prince angry at his boldnes, but unwilling to wrangle with him, only turnd to the Ladies, & made a reverence to thēem, offring to paſſe by thēem; but K2r 67 but the firſt Knight ſeeing that: Stay Sir (ſaid he) you have not done all, ’tis not a curteſie ſhall ſerve, for we muſt ſee if your valour be equall to your manners. They have commonly gone together (ſaid Parſelius): but where are your Armes? Hard by (ſaid the other); and that you will too ſoone find. I’m ſure (ſaid he) I have found words enough, which may make me hope to ſcape the better from your blowes. He went and arm’d himſelfe, the like did all the reſt, while the Prince ſtood beholding the Lady, who was of great beauty and bravery; apparreld in a hunting garment of greene cut with red, the upper and lower part of her gowne embroydred with gold, and red, a feather of red and greene in her head; the furniture to her horſe of the ſame colour and richnes, to whom Parſelius thus ſpake: Madam, if I had offended you, the leaſt of your corrections had made me ſubmit, without the furie of your Knights, who me thinkes were very confident of the due reſpect you may challenge, els unarm’d they would not have bin ſo forward to the combate. Sir (ſaid ſhe) you are deceiv’d in this, for ſuch is their valour, as none yet ever equall’d them, eſpecially him that firſt ſpake; nor have they reaſon to truſt any further on me, then their owne ſwords will warrant them in; but indeed the cauſe of all this, is a vow which I have made, which is this; My ſelfe being daughter to the Prince of Elis, which Countrie is in homage ſubject to the King of Morea, it was my ill fortune to fall in love with the ſcornefull and proud Prince of that Countrie, called Parſelius, who did not content himſelfe with diſdaining me, but boaſted of my ſubjection, and to my ſelfe, when I with humilitie beſought his favour; he told me, he was no ſubject to Love. This hath made me vow revenge, to which end I keepe theſe knights about me, and never meete any ſtranger, that they encounter not, nor ſhall, till we meete him; and if good fortune fall, that we win him by combate, I will then win him by love, or obtaine my will by force.

By this the Knights were come, who ſetting on the brave Prince one after the other, he overthrew them all, and left them, moſt not able to goe thence, ſome ſtarke dead, the beſt, leggs or armes broken. This done, the Lady againe ſpake: Sir, ſince fortune and your power, hath left mee guardleſſe, I hope you will conduct me to the Towne, beſides, let me know who you are. Madam (ſaid hee) as I take it, by the courſe of Armes you are mine; for if you were to win mee by their conqueſt, by the ſame reaſon you muſt be loſt, if they be vanquiſhed. Tis true Sir (ſaid ſhe) and ſuch indeed were the conditions; yet I had hop’d you would never have called that in queſtion. Nor truly Madam (ſaid he) doe I it, with any meaning to keepe you, though my victory gives you to me: but to ſhew I am civill, and not unmannerly, I will deliver you here to your Ladies and Pages; that I am not proud or ſcornfull, I kiſſe your hands: but to let you ſee I diſdaine an unworthy love, or a forc’d one, Parſelius bids you thus farewell, and will yet pray, that your ſenſes may tell you, a lower choice, and an humbler mind will prove more fit and happie for you; and ſuch I wiſh you, ſince for mee you have been diſtempered.

Thus hee departed, leaving her amazed and afflicted, with hate, diſdaine, ſcorne, and all other ſhee accuſed him of, till ſhame overcame, and forſt her to returne to a good old man her father; whoſe mild and good example, brought her to follow the counſell of Parſelius, who held on his K2 iourney, K2v 68 journey, taking ſhip for Italy, he landed in the kingdome of Naples; thoſe very parts, making him remember that, which too well ſtill continued in his mind, which was the ſweet and delicate Iland, wherein he found the ſweeteſt, and delicateſt of Shepherdeſſes; the thought of whom brought forth theſe words, his heart bleeding as faſt, as before his eyes had ſhed ſad drops. O ſweet Iland, cride he, and yet deſolate Pantalarea, how doe our afflictions ſuit as one, and ſo our deſtinies? Urania hath left thee, and thou mourn’ſt; Urania hath left mee, and I pine. Deereſt Urania, deere unto me ſtill; why wouldſt thou for novelties leave thy faithfull Parſelius? why wouldſt thou not be as well then adviſed, as till that time be governd by my counſell? Yet foole, moſt blame thy ſelfe: for why didſt thou permit her dainty lips to touch that charmed Brooke? nay, ſtill adde unto thy folly; why wouldeſt thou drinke ſo haſtily thy ſelfe, and ſo have no meanes left to helpe or ſave? Accurſed Spring, from whence did run the ruine of my bliſſe. Bewitching ſtreame, to charme me to the loſſe of my ſoules joyes; ſpitefulleſt of the gods, or goddeſſes; was it for revenge, becauſe wee would not trie your charmed houſe, that yet their cruell triall ſhould be made upon us? Unlucky tempeſt, conſtraining us to land on that much more unlucky ſhore. Leaving his ſhip, he went a land, commaunding his ſervants to goe to the Court, and if they came before him thither, there to attend till his comming, but ſecretly; himſelfe going along the ſea-ſide, his mind as unreſtingly running on Urania, as a hurt bird, that never leaves flying till he falls downe: no more did hee reſt, till death-like ſleepe did force him to obay; yet were his dreames oft of her, his mind then working, and preſenting her unto his imagination, as in day his thoughts did to his heart. ſo did the eyes of his loving ſoule, ever behold her, accuſing himſelfe for his folly, fearing the power of the charmes, whoſe wicked might, might alter her; aſſuring himſelfe, ſhee muſt be deceiv’d by them, if ever ſhe did change. In this violent feaver of ſorrow hee went on, till he diſcern’d a man come from under the rocks that proudly ſhewed their craggie faces, wrinkling in the ſmiles of their joy, for being above the Sea, which ſtrove by flowing to cover them; but for all that ambition, was forc’d to ebbe in penance for that high deſire. He came arm’d at all points, leading in his hand as beautifull a Lady as Nature could frame, and ſorrow ſuffer to appeare ſo; being ſuch an one, as both had us’d their beſt art to frame, and ſuffer to ſhew excellent; had ſhe bin free, how much more rare muſt ſhe then of neceſſity appeare, who in miſery ſhew’d ſo delicate? The Morean Prince ſtaid to behold, & beholding did admire the exquiſitenes of that ſad beautie, but more thēen that did the cruelty of the armed man ſeeme wōonderful, for leading her to a pillar which ſtood on the ſand (a fit place that the ſea might ſtil waſh away the memorie of ſuch inhumanity) he tied her to it by the haire, which was of great length, and Sun-like brightneſſe. Then pulled hee off a mantle which ſhe wore, leaving her from the girdle upwards al naked, her ſoft, daintie white hands hee faſtened behind her, with a cord about both wriſts, in manner of a croſſe, as teſtimony of her cruelleſt Martyrdome. When ſhee was thus miſerably bound to his unmercifull liking, with whipps hee was about to torment her: but Parſelius with this ſight was quickly put out of his admiration, haſting to revenge her wrong, ſetting ſpurres to his horſe, hee ran as ſwift as Lightning (and as dangerous this happned to the Knight) K3r 69 Knight) towards them, yet ſending his voyce with more ſpeede before him, crying, vilde Traitor, hold thy hands and turne thy ſpight on mee, more fit to encounter ſtripes, hoping thus to ſave her from ſome, which if but one, had beene too much for ſuch delicacie to endure.

But hee (whoſe malice was ſuch, as the neerer he ſaw her ſuccour, the more was his fury encreaſed) looking up and ſeeing a brave knight accompany that voice, caſting his hatefull looke againe on her, and throwing away the Whips, drew his Sword, ſaying, nor yet ſhall this newe Champion reſcue thee; then ready to have parted that ſweet breath from that moſt ſweet body, Parſelius came, and ſtruck downe the blow with his Sword, though not ſo directly, but that it a little raſed her on the left ſide, which ſhee perceiving, looking on it, and ſeeing how the bloud did trickle in ſome (though few) drops, Many more then theſe, ſaid ſhee, have I inwardly ſhed for thee my deare Periſſus; but that laſt word ſhe ſpake ſoftlier then the reſt, either that the ſtrange Knight ſhould not heare her, or that ſhe could not affoord that deere name to any, but her owne eares.

Shee being thus reſcued, the Knight ſtrake fiercely at Parſelius, who met him with as much furious ſtrength, giving him his due in the curſtedſt kind, and fulleſt meaſure, making ſuch proofe of his valour (juſtice being on his ſide, which beſt guides a good ſword in a noble hand) as in ſhort time hee laid him at his feete, pulling off his helme to cut off his head. But then the Ladie cride unto him, beſeeching him to ſtay that blow; the like did another Knight newly arriv’d, who untide the Lady. Whereat Parſelius was offended, thinking himſelfe highly injured, that any, except himſelfe, ſhould doe her that ſervice, telling him, Hee much wondred at his boldneſſe, which had made him offer that wrong unto him. I did it (ſaid the new Knight) but to give her eaſe, and ſo to bring her, that wee both might acknowledge humble thankfulneſſe for this brave and happy reliefe, which hath brought her bleſſed ſafety. Parſelius hearing this curteous anſwere, was ſatisfied: then looking on the vanquiſhed Knight, hee demaunded, Why hee had uſed that cruelty to ſo perfect a Lady? As he was anſwering, the ſtranger Knight knew him, caſting his eye upon him, and without any word, would as ſoone have deprived him of his life: but Parſelius ſtayd him, blaming him for ſeeking the death of a man already dying. He confeſſing his fault, aſkt pardon; and pulling off his helme, told him, that there he ſtood ready to receive puniſhment for twice ſo offending him.

Parſelius, though not knowing him, yet ſeeing his excellent perſonage, and princely countenance, imbraced him, telling him, That honour might gaine, nay challenge pardon for a greater fault, then was poſſible to bee committed by ſuch a brave Knight, he likewiſe taking off his helme. When Limena (who was this ſad tormented Lady) ſaw her Periſſus (for Periſſus it was), the joy ſhe conceiv’d was juſt ſuch, as her love could make her feele, ſeeing him her ſoule had onely loved; after ſo many cruell changes, and bitter paſſions in their croſt affection. This being paſt, the wounded Knight began thus.

Firſt (ſaid hee) let mee know by whoſe hand I have received this worthieK3 thie K3v 70 thie end, and indeed, too worthy for ſo worthleſſe a Creature, who now, and but now, could diſcerne my raſh, and wicked error: which now I moſt heartilie repent. Now are mine eyes open to the injuries done to vertuous Limena, her chaſtity appeares before my dying ſight, whereto before, my eyes were dimme, and eares deafe, ſeeing and hearing nothing, but baſe falſhoods, being govern’d by ſo ſtrong and undeſerved Jealouſie.

Next, I muſt aſke pardon of you my Lord Periſſus, deny not theſe Petitions, I humbly beſeech you, both unto a dying man, who in his life, did offer you too foule, and too unpardonable an injury. Periſſus ſeeing his ſpeedy end approaching, having the nobleſt and freeſt heart, forgave him that offence, which proceeded from the ſame ground that his croſſes came from, both taking roote from Love, and yet Love in that kinde chang’d nature with madneſſe, when attended on with ſo much jealouſie; then with a milde voice, he ſpake.

Philargus, ſaid he, I am glad your puniſhment is accompanied with ſo happy and true repentance; I doe freely forgive you, and thinke no more of that paſt, then if never done. But this I deſire you will demand the like of your excellently vertuous wife, who hath beene the patient of all your fury. That I doe, ſaid Philargus, and let my ſoule enjoy no happineſſe, if I wiſh not her as well as it. Then deare Limena, have you pardon’d me? if not, O doe, and forgive unfortunate, and ill-deſerving Philargus My Lord, ſaid ſhe, I moſt ſincerely and heartily forgive you, and ſo I pray, doe you the like for me; my deareſt then, ſaid he, I happily, and thriſe happily now ſhall welcome death. For your other demand, ſaid the brave Prince, my name is Parſelius, Prince of Morea: Philargus kiſsing his hand, gave him thankes, and weeping for joy ſaid. Moſt fortunate end, how doe I embrace thee, comming ſo luckily, and brought thee by ſuch royall hands? Then taking Periſſus by the one hand, and Limena by the other, he ſaid, I have yet one requeſt more to make, which granted, I ſhall dye with all content, and this is only in you two to conſent to, they promiſed that then he ſhould not be refuſed. Theſe miſfortunes, ſaid he, which now are paſt, and I hope ſhall have buriall in mee, have nevertheleſſe (it is moſt likely) left ſome falſe conceipt remaining in the hearts of ſome people: which to remedy and utterly take away, deſiring Limena’s honor (which without queſtiōon remains ſpotted) might flouriſh as deſervedly, as the cleareneſſe of it ſelfe is, without ſo much as the ſhadowe of a thought to the contrary. I beſeech you, for your owne beſt fortunes, and my quiet departing, to promiſe mee that after my death you will marry each other. One more worthy (my Lord), more loyall, more chaſte, the world holds not; and this are you bound to doe for her, who for you hath been wrongd; and Limena deny not this to your dying husband, being the laſt he can ever aſke you. He needed not urge them much to what they moſt coveted, and purpoſed in their hearts before: yet to give him full ſatisfaction (though on her ſide with baſhfull and fearefull conſenting) they yeelded to him. Then my Lord (ſaid he) take her, and my hearts prayers with beſt wiſhes to you; and my beſt belov’d Limena, in witneſſe of my love to you, I beſtow on you this moſt worthy Lord, far better befitting you, and my whole eſtate: with that, embracing them, kiſſing her; and laſtly, lifting up his eyes to heaven, he departed, they like true friends cloſing his eyes. K4r 71 eyes. Being now growne late, for that night they went into the Cave, which but lately had been the priſon of ſweet Limena: with them they caryed the body, laying it in the further part of the hollowneſſe. Then did Parſelius tell them how infinitly happy he eſteemed himſelfe in having come ſo luckily to ſerve them, of whom, and whoſe unfortunat affection hee had heard, having had it from the rare Shepherdeſſe. Name her he could not, his breath being ſtopp’d with ſighes, and his teares falling down in all abundance, ſent from his heart, which dropp’d like the weeping of a Vine, when men without pitty wound it. Periſſus ſeeing his ſorrow, made haſt to aſk the cauſe, fearing ſome great harme had befalne that Divine Creature, of whom he gave ſuch praiſes, as Limena thought they were too much, which hee perceiving left, with demanding of her ſafety, and why his greeving was; which Parſelius having paſsionatly, and truely related, he deſired moſt earneſtly, to heare the reſt of Limena’s ſtory; which ſhe thus began.

My Lords, after I ſent the Letter, and the time expired, Philargus came for my anſwer, or to performe his vowe, which with deſire I attended, although he contrary to my wiſhes prolonged it. When hee had what I reſolud to give him for ſatiſfaction, which was a direct deniall, being in theſe words: I know, as your wife, I am in your power to diſpoſe of; then uſe your authority, for ſo foule a ſtaine will I never lay upon my bloud as to betray the Prince: name you in truth I durſt not, leaſt at the laſt that might moove my affections. Then did he command me to goe with him, (to my death I hoped) when he brought me into a great Wood, in the midſt whereof he made a fire, the place being fit, and I thinke, ſure had been uſed in former time to offer ſacrifice in to the Silvan Gods. Then hee made mee undreſſe my ſelfe, which willinglie, and readily I did, preparing my ſelfe to be the poore offring, but the richeſt, that richneſſe of faith in love could offer. When I had put off all my apparrell but one little Petticote, he opened my breaſt, and gave me many wounds, the markes you may here yet diſcerne, (letting the Mantle fall againe a little lower, to ſhew the cruell remembrance of his crueltie) which although they were whole, yet made they newe hurts in the loving heart of Periſſus, ſuffering more paine for them, then he had done for all thoſe himſelfe had received in his former adventures; therfore ſoftly putting the Mantle up againe, and gently covering them, leſt yet they might chance to ſmart, beſought her to goe on, longing to have an end of that tragicall hiſtorie, and to come againe to their meeting, which was the onely balme could be applied unto his bleeding heart. She joyfull to ſee this paſſion, becauſe it was for her, and ſorry it was Periſſus did ſorrow, proceeded: And after theſe, threatning many more, and death it ſelfe, if yet I conſented not. But ſeeing nothing could prevaile, hee tooke my clothes, and with them wip’d the bloud off from me, I expecting nothing but the laſt act, which I thought ſhould have been concluded with my burning; his mind chang’d from the firſt reſolution, ſo as taking me by the haire, and dragging me into the Wood among the buſhes (whoſe curſeneſſe ſeconded their maſters furie) tearing my ſkinne, and ſcratching my bare leggs, to a tree he there tied me: but not long I continued there, for he going a little from me, returned with a Paſtors coat, which he tooke from a poore man, that was in that Wood, ſeeking a loſt Beaſt; with this he diſguiſed me, and alſo having taken the K4v 72 the mans Horſe, tooke me behinde him, putting a gag in my mouth, for feare I ſhould ſpeake for helpe, poſting unuſed waies through the deſart to the Seaſide, where he got a boate, and ſo paſſed over to this place, where ever ſince we have remained; for my part, with daily whippings, and ſuch other tortures, as pinching with irons, and many more ſo terrible, as for your ſake (ſeeing your griefe my deereſt Lord) I wil omit, declaring only this I muſt ſpeak of, belonging to my ſtory. Once every day hee brought mee to this pillar where you found me, and in the like manner bound me, then whipt me, after waſhing the ſtripes and bliſters with ſalt water but this had been the laſt (had not you thus happily arriv’d); for he determined as he ſaid, after my tormenting had been paſt, in ſtead of waſhing me with the ſea-water, to caſt me into her, and ſo make a finall end of his tormenting, and of my torments. To this end he likewiſe went yeſterday to the Towne, and bought this armour, arming himſelfe, to the intent, that after his purpoſe was accompliſht, he might take his journey which way beſt he pleaſed. Thus my Lords have you heard the afflicted life of poore Limena, in whom theſe tortures wrought no otherwiſe, then to ſtrengthen her love, and faith to withſtand them: for could any other thought have entred into my hart, that would have been a greater affliction to my ſoule, then the curſt ſtroakes were to my body, ſubject only to his unnaturalneſſe, but now by your royall hand redeemed from miſery, to enjoy the only bleſſing my heart can, or ever could aſpire to wiſh, and here have you now your faithfull Love Limena. Periſſus embraced her with the love, his beſt love could expreſſe, and then ſpeaking to the Morean Prince, he ſaid: The thanks moſt brave Prince, for this happineſſe belongs unto you; which is ſo much, as my life ſhall ever bee ingaged to pay the due unto you, and my ſword imployed to the beſt of my power to ſerve you, vowing, that when I (and the ſame I profeſſe for my deereſt here) prove ungratefull, wee will no more ſee light: nay let us be as wretched as ever we were, if that ſinne know us. Parſelius with much affection requited their proteſtations, making the like for himſelfe in his love to them; ſo for that night they went to reſt. The next day taking their journey to Naples, to provide ſuch things as were neceſſary for them; thence went they into Sicily, having a brave ſhip, which the Governor of that Towne (knowing Parſelius) provided for them; going himſelfe, and many more brave Gentlemen, to conduct them over: whither being come, they found the Country in great trouble, the King being dead, and an Uſurper in his ſtead: but quickly were thoſe ſtirres appeaſed by the preſence of Periſſus, well helped by the Company which came out of Naples with him; but moſt, and indeed chiefly compaſſed by the valour of Parſelius, who with his owne hands (in a battell which was fought betweene the uſurper, and an army that came to aide Periſſus, as ſoone as his arrivall was publiſhed) kild the falſe king and his two ſons, being counted the valianteſt men of all Sicily, and in ſtature were little leſſe then Giants. This being finiſhed Periſſus was crowned King, and ſoone after was the laſt promiſe performed in the marriage, which was ſolemnely, and with great ſtate accompliſhed.

Then did Parſelius take his leave of the King and Queene, returning to Naples, and ſo to the Court of that King, where with all joy and welcome hee was received, the triumphs and feaſtes making teſtimonie of it; yet L1r 73 Yet was his ſorrow ſuch for Urania, as all thoſe ſports were rather troubleſome, then pleaſing unto him.

Some few daies after the triumphes began, the Squire of Amphilanthus found him there, to whom he deliver’d his Meſſage; with much joy did the old King receive the Squire, bringing him ſuch joyfull newes of his Sonnes being well, though much more welcome had he beene, if he could have told any thing of his returne thither. Parſelius demanded of the Squire how hee found him out; Why Sir, ſaid hee, My Maſter going away from Morea, with Antiſsius, and that company, ſent mee by Sea, to ſeeke you in this Countrey, by chance our Shipp ſprung a leake, ſo as we were forced to put in againe to mend her: after we had beene a day at Sea, before ſhe was throughly mended, came a brave Gentleman, called Ollorandus, younger Sonne to the King of Bohemia, who ſeeking my Lord, to whom he hath vow’d his Love, and ſervice, knowing mee to bee his ſervant enquired of me for him; I told him, where at that time he might find him. Having done this I tooke the boldneſſe to aſke him, if hee heard any newes of you, and withall the cauſe why I aſked; he anſwered me that having paſt Italie, in ſearch of Amphilanthus, and hearing he was caſt upon Morea by Shipwrack, hee followed after him till hee came to the Court, which at that time was in Arcadia, there hee heard that he had beene there, but was againe gone into Italy to ſeeke you, and that hee would with you ſoone returne againe into that Countrey, to goe into Albania; wherfore he deſiring to ſee ſomething in thoſe parts paſſed up and downe, ſometime to Morea, where in Elis he met with you, having (as hee merrily tolde me) paſſed a pretty adventure, with a Lady and her Knights. From thence hee came to that part of the Kingdome, where I was put in by that chaunce, meaning there to ſhip once more for Italy: but I telling him of my maſter’s journey to Romania, he with all ſpeed followed him, there to deſerve his friendſhip by his ſervice, and thus came I to be ſo fortunate to meet you. Then did Parſelius acquaint the King with his entent, which was to follow Amphilanthus; ſo taking his leave, he went with as much fortunate ſpeede as might be to onuertake his friend, promiſing the old King, to haſten his Sonnes comming, withall, letting him know the hope he had of Urania’s being his Daughter; which hope was as comfortable to him, almoſt, as if hee had already enjoyd her.

Parſelius in his journey travelled with great paine of mind, the like ſufferd Pamphilia, who all this while continued her Love, and life in Morea, who by loves force was, it ſeemed, transform’d into the ſame paſſion; her loveſicke Companion ſtill accompanying her, till one morning, her deare (though unquiet) affections calling her to attend them, made her ſee day ſooner, then otherwiſe ſhe had by many houres, and ſeeing it to make uſe of her light: for though the ſight which ſhe deſired, was hid from her, ſhe might yet by the light of her imaginations (as in a picture) behold, and make thoſe lights ſerve in his abſence. Even as the morning ſeemes for cleerenes, fairenes, and ſweetneſſe: ſo did ſhe riſing, that daintineſſe wayting on her, that the greateſt light could ſay, he excelled her, onely in heat, but not in brightneſſe; and in ſome kind, he gain’d at that time advantage on her, whom abſence held in cold deſpaire. Quickly was ſhe ready, and as ſoone left her L Chamber, L1v 74 Chamber, going into the Gardens, paſsing out of one into another, finding that all places are alike to Love, tedious. Then opened ſhe a doore into a fine wood, delicately contriv’d into ſtrange, and delightfull walkes; for although they were fram’d by Art, nevertheleſſe they were ſo curiouſly counterfeited, as they appeard naturall. Theſe pleaſed her onely to paſſe thorow into a little Grove, or rather, a pretty tuft of Aſhes, being invironed with ſuch unuſuall variety of excellent pleaſures, as had ſhe had a heart to receive delight from any thing but Love, ſhee might have taken pleaſure in that place: for there was a purling, murmuring, ſad Brooke, weeping away her ſorrowes, deſiring the bankes to eaſe her, even with teares; but cruell, they would not ſo much as ſtay them to comfort, but let them ſlip away with as little care, as great ones doe the humble Petitions of poore ſuitors. Here was a fine grove of Buſhes, their roots made rich with the ſweeteſt flowres for ſmell, and colour. There a Plaine, here a Wood, fine hills to behold, as placed, that her ſight need not, for natural content, ſtray further then due bounds. At their bottomes delicate Valleyes, adorn’d with ſeverall delightfull objects. But what were all theſe to a loving heart? Alas, meerely occaſions to increaſe ſorrow, Love being ſo cruell, as to turne pleaſures in this nature, to the contrary courſe, making the knowledge of their delights, but ſerve to ſet forth the perfecter mourning, tryumphing in ſuch glory, where his power rules, not onely over mindes, but on the beſt of mindes: and this felt the perplexed Pamphilia, who with a Booke in her hand, not that ſhee troubled it with reading, but for a colour of her ſolitarineſſe, ſhee walked beholding theſe pleaſures, till griefe brought this Iſſue. Seeing this place delicate without, as ſhee was faire, and darke within as her ſorrowes, ſhee went into the thickeſt part of it, being ſuch, as if Phoebus durſt not there ſhew his face, for feare of offending the ſadd Princeſſe; but a little glimmeringly, as deſirous to ſee, and fearing to bee ſeene, ſtole heere, and there a little ſight of that all-deſerving Lady, whoſe beames ſometimes ambitiouſly touching her, did ſeeme as if he ſhin’d on pureſt gold, whoſe brightneſſe did ſtrive with him, and ſo did her excellencie encounter his raies: The tops of the trees joyning ſo cloſe, as if in love with each other, could not but affectionatly embrace. The ground in this place, where ſhee ſtayed was plaine, covered with greene graſſe, which being low and thicke, looked as if of purpoſe it had beene covered with a greene Velvet Carpet, to entertaine this melancholy Lady, for her the ſofter to tread, loth to hurt her feet, leſt that might make her leave it; this care prov’d ſo happy, as heere ſhee tooke what delight it was poſſible for her to take in ſuch kinde of pleaſures: walking up and downe a pretty ſpace, blaming her fortune, but more accuſing her love, who had the heart to grieve her, while ſhee might more juſtly have chid her ſelfe, whoſe feare had forc’d her to too curious a ſecrecie: Cupid, in her, onely ſeeking to conquer, but not reſpecting his victory ſo farre, as to allow ſo much favour, as to helpe the vanquiſhed, or rather his power being onely able to extend to her yeelding, but not to maſter her ſpirit. Oft would ſhee blame his cruelty, but that againe ſhee would ſalve with his being ignorant of her paine: then juſtly accuſe her ſelfe, who in ſo long time, and many yeares could not make him diſcerne her affections, (though L2r 75 (though not by words plainely ſpoken;) but ſoone was that thought recalled, and blamed with the greateſt condemnation, acknowledging her loſſe in this kinde to proceed from vertue. Then ſhee conſidered, hee lov’d another, this put her beyond all patience, wiſhing her ſudden end, curſing her dayes, fortune, and affection, which caſt her upon this rocke of miſchiefe. Oft would ſhee wiſh her dead, or her beauty marr’d, but that ſhe recall’d again; loving ſo much, as yet in pitty ſhee would not wiſh what might trouble him, but rather continued according to her owne wiſh; complaining, fearing, and loving the moſt diſtreſſed, ſecret, and conſtant Lover that ever Venus, or her blind Sonne beſtowed a wound or dart upon.

In this eſtate ſhee ſtayed a while in the wood, gathering ſometimes flowres which there grew; the names of which began with the letters of his name, and ſo placing them about her. Well Pamphilia, ſaid ſhe, for all theſe diſorderly paſsions, keepe ſtill thy ſoule from thought of change, and if thou blame any thing, let it be abſence, ſince his preſence will give thee againe thy fill of delight. And yet what torment will that prove, when I ſhall with him ſee his hopes, his joyes, and content come from another? O Love, O froward fortune, which of you two ſhould I moſt curſe? You are both cruell to me, but both alas are blinde, and therefore let me rather hate my ſelfe for this unquietneſſe; and yet unjuſtly ſhall I doe too in that, ſince how can I condemne my heart, for having vertuouſly and worthily choſen? Which very choice ſhall ſatisfie mee with as much comfort, as I felt deſpaire. And now poore graſſe, ſaid ſhee, thou ſhalt ſuffer for my paine, my love-ſmarting body thus preſſing thee.

Then laid ſhee her excelling ſelfe upon that (then moſt bleſſed ground) and in compaſſion give me ſome reſt, ſaid ſhee, on you, which well you may doe being honor’d with the weight of the loyalleſt, but moſt afflicted Princeſſe that ever this Kingdome knew: Joy in this and flouriſh ſtill, in hope to beare this vertuous affliction. O Morea, a place accounted full of Love, why is Love in thee thus terribly oppreſſed, and cruelly rewarded? Am I the firſt unfortunate Woman that baſhfulneſſe hath undone? If ſo, I ſuffer for a vertue, yet gentle pitty were a ſweeter lot. Sweet Land, and thou more ſweet Love, pardon me, heare me, and commiſerate my woe, Then haſtily riſing from her low greene bed; nay, ſaid ſhee, ſince I finde no redreſſe, I will make others in part taſte my paine, and make them dumbe partakers of my griefe; then taking a knife, ſhee finiſhed a Sonnet, which at other times ſhee had begunne to ingrave in the barke of one of thoſe fayre and ſtraight Aſhes, cauſing that ſapp to accompany her teares for love, that for unkindneſſe.

Beare part with me moſt ſtraight and pleaſant Tree, And imitate the Torments of my ſmart Which cruell Love doth ſend into my heart, Keepe in thy ſkin this teſtament of me: L2 Which L2v 6676 Which Love ingraven hath with miſerie, Cutting with griefe the unreſiſting part, Which would with pleaſure ſoone have learnd loves art, But wounds ſtill cureleſſe, muſt my rulers bee. Thy ſap doth weepingly bewray thy paine, My heart-blood drops with ſtormes it doth ſuſtaine, Love ſenceleſſe, neither good nor mercy knowes Pitiles I doe wound thee, while that I Unpitied, and unthought on, wounded crie: Then out-live me, and teſtifie my woes.

And on the rootes, whereon ſhe had laid her head, ſerving (though hard) for a pillow at that time, to uphold the richeſt World of wiſdome in her ſex, ſhe writ this.

My thoughts thou haſt ſupported without reſt, My tyred body here hath laine oppreſt With love, and feare: yet be thou ever bleſt; Spring, proſper, laſt; I am alone unbleſt.

Having ended it, againe laying her ſad perfections on the graſſe, to ſee if then ſome reſt would have favourd her, and have thought travel had enough diſturbed her, ſhe preſently found, paſſion had not yet allowed time for her quiet, wherefore riſing, and giving as kind a farwell-looke to the tree, as one would doe to a truſty friend, ſhe went to the brooke, upon the banke whereof were ſome fine ſhadie trees, and choice thorne buſhes, which might as they were mixt, obtaine the name of a prety Grove, whereinto ſhe went, and ſitting downe under a Willow, there anew began her complaints; pulling off thoſe branches, ſometimes putting them on her head: but remembring her ſelfe, ſhe quickly threw them off, vowing how ever her chance was, not to carry the tokens of her loſſe openly on her browes, but rather weare them privately in her heart. Further would ſhe have proceeded, but that ſhe heard behind her a ruſhing in the buſhes. Looking backe, ſhee perceiv’d Antiſsia cloſe by her; who having noted the ſadneſſe in the Princeſſe, and her ſolitary retiredneſſe, imagined (by her owne paſſions) the cauſe muſt needs bee love: but that imagination growing to beliefe, beliefe brought feare, feare doubt, and doubt the reſtleſſe affliction, ſuſpition; her excellencies making the aſſurednes of her no leſſe excellent choice, ſo as the more perfect ſhe confeſt them both to be, the more did thoſe perfections make her perfectly jealous. This was the reaſon that ſhee came thus forth, and in as private ſort as ſhe could, that ſo ſhe might by chance over-heare her ſecret complaints, and ſo (though for a certaine vexation) bee ſure of her moſt troubled knowledge.

But herein ſhe was deceived: for although ſhe heard much of her ſorow, yet got ſhe no aſſurance for whom the ſorrow was, never in all her extremeſt ſufferings, once naming the mover of her paine, which kept her love in as much ſecreſie, as that, ſecretly after brought tormenting paine, proceeding from unhappyhappy L3r 6777 happy ignorance. But Pamphilia perceiving her, ſmiling, yet bluſhing, doubting her paſsions were diſcovered, and her love betray’d to her Companion; ſhe nevertheleſſe to make the beſt of it; How came you hither faire Antiſsia (ſaid ſhe)? I did not thinke this ſad place, could have invited ſo much happineſſe to it, as your preſence; who being happy, muſt make all places partake with you?

This place (ſaid ſhee) hath her bleſsing already in you, the ſaddeſt being forc’d to deſerved joy, enjoying ſo good fortune, as to have Pamphilia in it. But I pray, if I may be ſo bold to aſke ſuch a queſtion of you (which the confidence of a friend makes me venture upon) why are all theſe grievous complaints? for never heard I greater, neither was ſorrow ever richlier apparreld, then lately you have dreſt her: If it be for love, tell me who that bleſſed creature is, that doth poſſeſſe ſuch a world of treaſure as your heart? and deny not this to your friend, and ſervant, who will faithfully ſerve you in that, or any other you will impoſe upon her, though ſure in this little paine, will ſerve to win your eaſe, if you will ſuffer your ſelfe to have eaſe, no man breathing that will bee ſo void of judgement, or can have power to reſiſt, what you in love might demaund, but muſt bee ſo farre from denying, as hee will without queſtion venture his life, to gaine ſo pretious a prize.

Your owne worth (ſaid Pamphilia) makes you thus confident, and your happie fortune, in meeting an anſwerable affection, thus feareles: but alas for me, I that know worth (greatnes, nor the trueſt love can bring ones deſire, if deſtinie have otherwiſe appointed) can never let ſo much flattring hope blind me with conceit of mine owne deſerts (which it may be are ſeene but by my owne eyes), as to imagine their merits may gaine my ends. No ſweet Antiſsia, love is onely to be gaind by love equally beſtowed, the giver, and receiver reciprocally liberall, elſe it is no love; nor can this be, but where affections meete; and that we muſt not all expect, nor can it reaſonably bee demanded. Since how ſhould the power of love be knowne, but by his ſeverall uſage of his ſubjects? If all were us’d alike, his juſtice muſt be examined. but be it as it will, ſome muſt and do ſuffer; yet ſpeake I not this of my ſelf, or in confeſſion that I am pinch’d with theſe tortures, for Lord knowes, how farre am I from theſe like vanities, then how can I ſatisfie your loving demand, and friendly promiſe? You cannot thus diſſemble (replied Antiſsia), your owne hand in yonder faire Aſh will witnes againſt you. Not ſo (ſaid Pamphilia) for many Poets write aſ well by imitation, as by ſence of paſſion; therefore this is no proofe againſt me. It is well ſaid (anſwerd Antiſsia) in your owne defence: but I pray, why did you but even now with ſighes and teares (as I judged by your voyce) blame both love, and abſence? Many reaſons there are to accuſe both (ſaid Pamphilia): but let mee bee ſo much bound to you, as to know the reaſon of your inquiſitivenes? If it were only for my good, mee thinks you grow too neere me; bare friendſhip not being able ſo cunningly to ſift one, therefore it makes me thinke ſome other cauſe moves this care in you; if ſo, freely ſpeake it, and I will as freely ſatisfie you. Well (ſaid Antiſsia) then confeſſe you love, and I will ſoone follow with the other. It were to ſmall purpoſe (replide Pamphilia) to deny it, ſince you have diſcovered mee; I confeſſe it, and am no whit aſhamed of it, though grieved by it. My L3 curioſitie, L3v 78 curioſitie (ſaid the other) was, and is, leſt it ſhould bee hee whom I affect.

Alas (cride Pamphilia), can ſo baſe an humour as ſuſpition creepe into ſo brave a heart as Antiſsia’s? and to gaine ſuch power there, as to make her miſtruſt her friend? Truly I am ſorry for it; and would adviſe you for honours ſake, quickly to baniſh that Devill from you, which otherwiſe will daily increaſe new miſchiefes. I know (ſaid Antiſsia) it is the worſt of Monſters: yet this is no anſwere to my queſtion.

Tis true (ſaid Pamphilia): but I being innocent of it, forgot firſt to cleere it. But I pray Antiſsia, what doe you ſee in mee, that I ſhould love Amphilanthus more, then reſpectively?

This (ſaid ſhe) that all perfections having joynd, and united their ſtrengths to make you wholly excellent, it cannot bee, but you in all things muſt manifeſt it, and in judgement are you not cald to expreſſe it? And if in judgement, wherein can there be more diſcern’d, then in the choice of friend or Love? If ſo, can you chuſe other, then the moſt deſerving? and then, muſt it not bee the moſt excellent of men? and is not Amphilanthus that moſt excelling Prince?

In truth (anſwered Pamphilia) I confeſſe this latter part to be true: for aſſuredly there lives not his equall for all vertues, which well might make me (if I were ſuch a one as you ſay) to have that ambition in mee, to affect the worthieſt; but ſo much perfection I want, as that part hath faild alſo in me: yet this I will ſay, I love him as hee merits, long converſation as from our youthes; beſides, our bloud claiming an extraordinary reſpect.

You will not deny you are in love with him then? Why ſhould I not (ſaid ſhee)? I’m ſure I know my owne heart beſt: and truly ſo farre is it from ſuffring in this paſſion, as it grieves mee you miſtake mee ſo much. but Lord what ſtrange and dangerous thoughts doth this bring into our breſts? Could any but a Lover have ſo troubleſome a conceite? Why ſweet Antiſsia when did this opinion firſt poſſeſſe you? or what gave you occaſion to conceive it? Hath my ſpeech at any time betray’d mee? Hath my faſhion given you cauſe to ſuſpect it? Did I ever enviouſly like a Lover, ſeeke to hinder your enjoying him? Did I unmannerly preſſe into your companies? Some of this ſurely I muſt have done, or you unjuſtly accuſe me.

None of theſe could you faile in (cride ſhee); ſo great a wit, and matchleſſe a ſpirit would governe themſelves better, then to offend in ſuch fond parts: but the reaſon I have already given, being equall excellencies; and the beliefe proceeds from this, that mee thought you did with as feeling an affection accompany my ſorrow when he went away, and more neerely I imagined by your faſhion it toucht you, then pity of my griefe could have procured. Then I conſidered my eyes had been ſo fortunate, as to looke upon the beſt, why then ſhould not the beſt of our ſex alſo looke on the rareſt object; and looking ſo, muſt not the ſame concluſion be, that beholding as I did, love muſt come in and conquer; as on me, ſo then looking with my eyes, of force you muſt love him.

What a progreſſe (ſaid Pamphilia) hath your troubled imagination made to find a poore cauſe, to forge a poorer vexation? If all theſe things were true, and L4r 79 and that I lov’d Amphilanthus, what then? were it any more then my extremeſt torment, when I ſhould ſee his affections otherwiſe placed? the impoſsibility of winning him from a worthy love, the unbleſſed deſtiny of my poore unbleſſed life, to fall into ſuch a miſery; the continuall afflictions of burning love, the fier of juſt rage againſt my owne eies, the hatred of my breſt for letting in ſo deſtroying a gueſt, that ruines where he comes; theſe were all, and theſe alone touching me in all diſquiets. What need ſhould they have to moleſt you, ſince ſo perfectly you are aſſur’d of his love, as you need feare no occaſion, nor any body to wrong you in that, wherein he will not wrong his worthy choice and conſtancy? What harme then could it be to you, if you ſhould love him? The loſſe of my content; ſince that your love (ſaid Antiſsia) muſt not be refus’d, but ſought; and if obtaind, wo be to any other that aſpires to that place; better never to be borne, then know the birth of ſo much folly, as to adventure to be a rivall with the rareſt Princeſſe Pamphilia; therefore knowing this harme, I had rather you did not love him. Well, then be ſatisfied (ſaid the ſweet, but ſad Pamphilia), my love to him proceeds from his never enough praiſed merits, but not for love otherwiſe, then I have already expreſt.

Antiſsia was with this anſwer thorowly ſatisfied, taking the Princeſſe in her armes, proteſting her life too little, to pay for requitall for this royall freedome ſhe had found in her, and the favour received from her; expreſſing then her love in the beſt manner ſhe could, plainely making confeſſion of all to her; concluding, that had not her incomparable vertue bound her beſt reſpects to her, yet the reſemblance which ſhee had in her face of that famous Prince, and her onely beloved, would have forced her to love her. The delicate Lady told her, ſhee could not better pleaſe her, then in telling her ſhe did reſemble him, ſince then ſhe was ſure ſhe was like to true vertue; for he was of that the onely body: but this love, and his dependances doe ſo vex us, as they take away all other ſocietie; to amend which, let us returne to the Court (ſaid ſhe). I am contented, ſaid Antiſsia. So riſing, and holding each other by the arme, with as much love, as love in them could joyne, they tooke their way backe towards the Palace; but in the great Garden they met the King and Queene; ſo they attended backe on them into the Hall, whither they were no ſooner come, and ſetled in their places, but they were entertained with this adventure: Tenne Knights comming in ruſſet Armours, their Beavers up, their Swords in their hands; who comming more then halfe way to the State, making low reverence, ſtood ſtill, parting themſelves to either ſide of the Chamber, to let the followers better be diſcerned. Then came tenne more, but in blacke Armours, chain’d together, without Helmets or Swords. After them came ſixe armed like the firſt, three carrying Speares of infinite bigneſſe; one, the Sheild, and the other two the Sword and Helmet of a Knight, who for countenance ſeem’d no lover; his colour like a Moore; his faſhion rude and proud, following after theſe ſixe, who, as the firſt, divided themſelves.

Then came this man to the State, leading by the hand as ſweete a Ladie, as hee was ugly; ſhee as milde in countenance, as hee inſolent; ſhee as fearefull, as hee bold: on the other hand of her, another Knight ſad, but L4v 80 but it ſeem’d amorous. The King and all the Court beholding, and expecting the iſſue of this buſines, when the ſtout man in a hollow and hoarſe voice delivered theſe words.

King of Morea, I am Lanſaritano, whoſe fame I doubt not, hath ſpread it ſelfe to your eares: Lord I am of the Ilands of Cerigo, Dragonero, and other leſſer circkling my chiefe Iland, as ſubjects to my greatnes. This Lady you ſee here, is my vaſſall by birth, but by my choice honour’d with my love, which ſhe fooliſhly refuſeth, judgement ſo farre failing her, as not to be able to diſcerne the happineſſe, and unſpeakable good, blind Fortune hath given her, in letting my high & noble thoughts abaſe themſelves ſo low, as to looke on her my creature, and favour her with my liking. She whom I might command, I have bin contented to woe; ſhe who ſhuld obay, ignorantly refuſeth: yet I (Maſter of worth) will not force her, but have compell’d my ſelfe to conſent to ſatisfie a fond requeſt ſhe hath made to me, which is, to come into this Court with her, and this knight my Coſen whom ſhe loves, and is the barre from my enjoying her: and here if ſhe can find a Knight, who for her ſake will enter into this quarrel (which ſhe calls, The defence of true Love) he muſt obſerve this, to give her to one of us, and fight with the other: if it happen he chuſe him (as well it may be he wil defend Ladies, he will diſpoſe of her to her beloved), he muſt combate me: if he overcome, ſhee ſhall bee free; elſe yeelded to me: which I make no queſtion of, ſince I never yet knew any had the fortune, how ſtout, valiant, or hardy, could hold out with me. Theſe bound men are Knights, and her Brothers two of them, the reſt her friends and kindred, who upon her vaine complaint, fearing violence would have been by me juſtly us’d upon her, made an inſurrection, which ſoone I appeaſed, and for the love of her would not yet put them to death, but have brought them with mee likewiſe on this condition; that when I have fought and vanquiſht that bold and fond man whoſoever, that will adventure to combate with me, I ſhall ſtrike off all their heads. This Sir is the cauſe of my comming, wherefore I deſire leave of you that ſhee may have one, if any Knight will undertake it, or dare maintaine her cauſe, which ſhee accounts ſo faire and good.

The King was ſorry for the Ladies ſake, his Court was ſo unprovided of thoſe brave Knights which were wont to honour it, eſpecially that his famous Nephew, and brave Sonnes were all abſent, who he knew would defend a Ladies cauſe, eſpecially a loving Lady, as ſhe ſeem’d; wherefore hee made this anſwere. Lanſaritano, I am troubled, ſo brave a man ſhould fight in ſo ill a matter, ſince if I were as you, ſhee that would not by my worth bee wonne, ſhould not be thought worthy to be gaind by the hazard of my ſelf, into which you muſt run, if you encounter Knights of my Court; for ſurely no brave man will give her from her owne affection: but now indeede is your fortune good, in comming when the Worthies of our parts are abſent; yet doubt I not but I have ſtill ſome here, who honour Ladies ſo much, as they will venter to deliver them from force in love; therfore I give you free liberty to pronounce your challenge.

I am ſorry (ſaid he) that all your Worthies be not here, that I might for my glory overcome them one after another; but ſince they are abſent, any one here take her part that will, or give her to mee, if none will adventure combate M1r 81 combate, otherwiſe I am ready to meete him with the Launce three courſes, and then end the Combat with the ſword; if no one dare undertake it, you muſt ſweete Lady bee mine for want of a knight for your Champion. Shee lookt ſadly, and wept ſo love-likely, as all pittied her, but none offered their ſervice, the valour being knowne, and the ſtrength much feared of Lanſaritano; till Selarinus diſdaining ſuch a man ſhould have, though ſo little, a cauſe to adde more fuell to the fire of his pride, ſtept forth and ſaid: Moſt mighty King, may it pleaſe you to honour mee ſo much, as to permit mee the libertie of this adventure, wherein I doubt not, but to doe juſtly, and to lay Lanſaritano’s pride as low, as the earth will ſuffer his body to lie upon it.

The king glad to ſee the fine young Prince ſo forward, but loth to venture him in ſo dangerous a buſineſſe, told him, That the true nobleneſſe and bounty of the kings of Albania his Predeceſſours did againe live in him, to maintaine which, hee was very willing to grant his requeſt, but his tender yeares made him loth to adventure him alone. Then Sir (ſaid hee) ſhould I both ſhame my ſelfe, and the brave Princes before by you mentioned: but as I am alone left here of my bloud, I will alone adventure. Then hee aſked the Lady if ſhee would accept him, and ſtand to his cenſure? Shee anſwered; Moſt willingly ſhee would. Hee then gave her to her beloved, ſaying; Prepare your ſelfe, and know Lanſaritano, that you ſhall finde enough to doe, when you encounter Juſtice and reſolution, which are the two I take with mee in this Combate againſt you.

The furie of the vaine man was ſuch, to ſee ſo young a man anſwer him; as hee could ſcarce give one word againe; but at laſt his breath ſmoked out theſe words: Alas, poore Boy, I pitie thee; wherefore pray thee be adviſed, and hereafter when thou haſt a Beard come, and it may be I will grace thee, with fighting with thee; unleſſe thou doſt hope I ſhould have ſome pity on thy faire face, and ſo forbeare to hurt thee in the fight. But ſince you have no braver Knights, Great King of Morea, farewell, I will returne: and now faire Lady, what thinke you of your ſervant my ſelfe? will you love me, or let this ſmug Youth be your Champion?

The king was infinitely offended with the proud ſpeech of Lanſaritano, the like was all the company; yet none adventured to anſwer but brave Selarinus himſelfe, who againe couragiouſlie, yet mildlie told him; That hee neede not learne; to know words were not the weapons to bee uſed in fight, therefore hee would anſwere him no further in that kinde, but hee ſhould give him ſatisfaction with his Sword and Speare for the Ladies ſake, before his parting thence, whether hee would, or no; and then have occaſion to ſpeake better of him, if hee left him to ſpeake at all.

The King embraced the young Prince, and ſtraight ſending for an Armour, which was the firſt that ever Amphilanthus had worne, having left it there, taking another which was brought him from Italy, after his firſt Victorie of fame, which was there performed againſt two Knights, in the defence of an injured Ladie; this hee put on, which was all White, ſave juſt againſt the Heart hee had the M figure M1v 82 figure of a heart wounded curiouſly made, and ſo artificially, as one would have thought his heart had been ſeene to bleed through the Armour: with theſe Armes Selarinus was arm’d, the King girting the ſword to him, and kiſſing him, wiſht as good fortune to him, as the firſt Lord of thoſe Armes had, and to proove as worthy to weare them. Hee on his knee humbly gave him thankes; then turning to the Lady, will’d her to take her loved Servant, if ſhee accepted him for her Knight. Shee joyfully beholding him, and ſmiling on her love, who equally expreſt his joy, followed him, who now appeared a young Mars; yet was her joy mixt with feare, of falling againe into his hands; till which time ſhee, and this ſhe told him, eſteem’d her ſelfe the happieſt woman breathing, in ſuch a Defendant.

Then went they into the Liſts, the King and all the Court taking places fit to behold the fight, Lanſaritano curſing his deſtinie that brought him the diſhonour to meete a childe (as he tearm’d him, though after hee proved otherwiſe unto him) in the field. Lanſaritano was conducted into the field by his owne knights in the ſame manner, as they enter’d the hall. The Lady who was cald Nallinia, and her late diſtreſſed, but now revived aſſociats were plac’d in a ſeate by themſelves, to ſee, and to bee ſeene as the prizes of the combate.

Then came Selarinus into the field, attended on by the Marſhall, Maſter of the Horſe, and the chiefe officers of the kingdome of Morea, the Marſhall being a grave old man, but in his youth one of the beſt knights of that Countrie, gave him his firſt Speare. The King of Pamphilia (brother to the King, who was newly come thither to viſit him, but principally his Neece, who by his gift was to enjoy that kingdome after his deceaſe, and therefore bore that name likewiſe given by him) was one of the Judges, the Prince of Elis the other for Selarinus; and theſe two did Lanſaritano accept alſo for him, doubting no wrong in ſo juſt a kings Court.

They bravely encountred, running the two firſt courſes without any advantage; the third, Selarinus received ſo ſtrong a Counter-buffe on his breaſt, as beate him backe upon his ſaddle, being a pretie while before hee recovered againe: but Lanſaritano having more ſtrength, but as great a blow, ſhewed no moving in himſelfe, though the blow was ſo forcible, as the girts brake, and hee came over his horſe, by the ſlipping of his ſaddle. Selarinus looking back, ſaw him on foote, which comforted him much, fearing that hee had, till then, received the worſt: but being ſatisfied, with new courage hee leapt from his Horſe, ſcorning any advantage, and drawing his ſword, went towards his enemy, who met him pufft up with as much furie, as a ſhip runs upon a rock withall, and alike did he proſper.

A long time did this combat endure, Lanſaritano ſo bravely and valiantly behaving himſelfe (as how could he doe other, fighting before his Lady, to win his Lady, as it won unexpected fame to the brave Albanian, who ſtill continued with the better: for though Lanſaritano as valiant as moſt, and as ſtrong as any, yet had his enemy this advantage over him, that in valour hee equal’d him; and what in ſtrength hee faild of, in nimbleneſſe and cunning hee exceld him, which brought him the victory with the M2r 83 the others death, being given by a thruſt in the face, his Beaver by chance flying up, the pin being cut in the laſt blow before. Then were the Knights and the Lady ſet at libertie by the brother of Lanſaritano, who was one of thoſe, and the ſame that carried his Helmet. He now being to ſucceede his brother in his commands, tooke his leave of the King and the Court. The Lady had ever affected this Knight, and was married before her parting to him, given in marriage by the Brother, who was called Sarimatto; they returnd, and ſhee lived after with much content with her huſband, who was no way like his Coſin, though big, and ſtrong, and as valiant, but milde, curteous, and honeſt; proving a true friend and ſervant to the Court of Morea.

With infinite joy the Prince was conducted to the Palace, there entertaind by the King and Ladies, who all joynd in honoring him, who had ſo much honourd the ſex, letting his firſt adventure bee in the defence of a woman; then carried him to his chamber, where his wounds were dreſt, which were many, but none dangerous; yet had the loſſe of much bloud made him fainter then hee was. This was his firſt adventrous tryall of Armes, and accordingly did he proceede bravely and happily.

But now to Leandrus, who was left in his way to Achaia, to get forces to aſſiſt the Princes. Long he rid not without an adventure, thoſe places affording many, and pleaſant ones, yet was his ſcarce one of that number: for after he had left the court, he took his directeſt way to that part, which was neereſt for him to paſſe thence into Achaia; as he went thinking of his friends, but moſt of his love, his heart having receiv’d a cureles wound by the never fayling commanding eyes of Pamphilia, ſometimes purpoſing to aſk her in marriage, another time hoping firſt by his deſert to win her love, then promiſing himſelfe the furtherance of Parſelius, the labour of Roſindy, the favour of Amphilanthus, the earneſtneſſe of his owne affection, and lover-like importunity; theſe hee reſolv’d ſhould woe for him, and thus hee meant to have her: yet wanted hee her conſent, the better part of the gaining, and the harder to bee gaind: yet theſe conceits pleaſed him, as mad folks delight in their owne odde thoughts: and ſo was this little leſſe then madneſſe, had hee had ſenſe to have conſidered her worthie ſelfe not to bee given, but to her owne worthie choice, and by it. But thus hee ſatisfied himſelfe, till wanting this happineſſe of ſelfe-fram’d delight alſo, hee fell into ſuch deſpaire, as proved farre worſe then many hells unto him.

As he paſt (yet in his pleaſure) along a way, which divided it ſelfe (neere a delicate fountaine) into three parts, hee ſat downe on the ſide of that Fountaine, drinking firſt of the Spring, and then taking out a paper wherein hee had written ſome ſad verſes, hee read them to himſelfe; they were theſe.

Drowne me not you cruell teares, Which in ſorrow witnes beares Of my wailing, And Loves failing. M2 Flouds M2v 84 Flouds but cover, and retire Waſhing faces of deſire Whoſe freſh growing Springs by flowing. Meadowes ever yet did love Pleaſant ſtreames which by them move: But your falling Claimes the calling Of a torrent curstly fierce Paſt wits power to rehearſe; Only crying, Or my dying May in ſtead of verſe or proſe My diſasterous end diſcloſe.

When hee had read them, and was putting them up againe, having firſt kiſt them, becauſe they ſhould goe to his Miſtris, hee heard the wayling of a man, and looking up, ſaw a Knight (as hee ſeem’d to bee) lie by the ſide of the Fountaine on the other part from him, and beſides, heard him uſe theſe ſpeeches. I wonder when time will permit mee eaſe, and ſorrow give concluſion to my dayes, or to it ſelfe; if not wearied, yet for pities ſake, tormenting mee, the moſt afflicted ſoule breathing; miſerable Clarimatto, accurſed above all men, and abus’d beyond all men, and more diſhonour’d then any creature, and by whom, but by the moſt eſteemed creature, a woman, and a faire woman; but the cage of a foule mind, and the keeper of a corrupt ſoule, and a falſe heart, elſe would ſhe not, nor could ſhe have given her ſelfe (once mine) to any other. She was mine by vow, by ſolemne profeſſion, but now an others: fickle ſex, unſteady creatures, worſe I will not call you, becauſe indeed I love her, though abus’d by her, and ſham’d in her. Leandrus went to him, and kindly offerd his ſervice, if he needed it. Hee caſting up his weeping eyes, in teares thankt him, but ſaid; One man was enonugh to ſuffer in ſo ſlight a cauſe, and ſo undeſerving a creature. He deſired to know the matter. He anſwerd, he had lov’d a Lady, ſhe had done the like to him, or made him thinke ſo: but having what ſhee would, ſhe had changed, and not only ſo, but given her ſelfe to his enemy, being firſt betrothed unto him, and in that time he was providing for the marriage, married the other; and this is the cauſe of my torment; hither I am come to revenge my ſelfe of him and in him of her, if ſhee love him ſtill. They are in a ſtrong Caſtle of his where they merrily live, while I am miſerably vexed with tortures, and diſhonour, the worſt of torments. What was the originall cauſe of his malice?

Truly Sir, this cruelty hee uſeth but to mee, as belonging to my deſtiny. Neglected I have been of my friends for bearing this diſgrace from mine enemy, and the hater of all my Countrie, the reaſon of his hatred to us proceeding from this. The King of Morea in his youth was a brave man at Armes, and followed, and finiſhed many adventures, by chance at a great Iuſt M3r 85 Juſt held in Achaia for joy of the birth of the Kings ſon, cald Leandrus, as after I heard he was, and proov’d a Prince worthily deſerving the joy, then ſhewed for receiving of him. This Lords father was likewiſe there, and encountring the King was by him throwne to the ground, which diſgrace hee took ſo heavily, as he would have revenged it with his ſword, but that being forbidden (the end of thoſe triumphes, reaching no further then ſport) diſcontented, and burning in rage, hee went thence, watching when the King returnd in his journey, in this very place he ſet upon him troopes of his comming all theſe ſeverall waies, and at once charging him, who onely for his pleaſure had ſent his greateſt company before him, following with two Knights and their Squires; but in this conflict the King got ſo much of the victorie, as hee ſlew his Enemie with his owne hands, but could not keepe himſelfe from being taken priſoner, and carried almoſt to the Caſtle; whither if hee had gone, without doubt hee had thence never returnd.

But the Squires ſeeing his diſtreſſe, and the death of the other two, their Maſters, ran everie one a ſeverall way, till they got a good number of the traine together, who with all ſpeed, and fury purſued them, overtaking them hard by the Caſtle, and taking their Lord from them, moſt being kill’d, ſome few got into the hold, where relating their unlucky adventure, the wife of the ſlaine Lord, and Mother to this Lord (having as great a ſpirit as any woman breathing) made a vow to bee revenged of all the Court of Morea, of the King and his poſterity eſpecially. And this ſhe hath hitherto performed with great cruelty, her ſonne having beene nurſed in this hatred doth likewiſe continue it with more violence, as his ſpirit is ſo much greater, as commonly a mans is, in reſpect of a womans: and this is the cauſe why hee hateth all the Moreans, of which countrey I am, borne in Corinth, my heart truely ſcorning him for his other injury done mee, am invited hither for theſe two reaſons, to bee revenged on him.

Leandrus thank’d him for his diſcourſe, but told him hee had by it made him long, to try if hee could bee made a Priſoner alſo for ſo juſt a cauſe, or deliver thoſe ſo unjuſtly incloſed, and the rather ſaid hee to ſerve one ſo much injuried as your ſelfe, whoſe quarrell lay on mee, and doe you defend the honor of your King and Country, ſhee not being worth fighting for.

Hee anſwered that was true, yet his honor hee eſteemd worth cleering, and that calld upon him.

While they were thus diſcourſing, the Lord and the falſe Lady came lovingly hand in hand together downe one of the paths, ſhee ſmiling in his eyes and wantonly courting him, ſeeking to give him occaſion of mirth, but hee went on like a man to whom ill was ſucceeding, hee had ſome ſervants with him arm’d, and his owne armour was likewiſe carried by him, if hee ſhould have any occaſion ſuddenly to uſe it: hee was of a cleere and pleaſing complexion, a perſon amiable and lovely, curld hayre, fayre eyes, and ſo judiciall a countenance, as might have made the worthieſt woman like him, and ſo well hee deſerv’d as it was pitty hee fell into her hands, who undid both his minde, and bodie, making him as wicked as M3 her M3v 86 her ſelfe which was the worſt of her ſex. He looked upon her with love; but his ſpeech was ſparing, either that naturally he had not ſtore of words, or his inward heavineſſe at that time made him ſilent. When he came neere the fountaine, Clarimatto approched to him; My Lord, ſaid he, I am ſure you know the cauſe of my comming into theſe parts, if not, examine your heart, and that will tell you the injuries you have done me, or if that be ſo impure, or partiall, as it will not, for offending, bee true to ſo falſe a maſter, behold this creature by you, your ſhame, and mine, and in her forehead the faire field of our diſgrace, you ſhall ſee it written in ſpots of infamy and wrong.

The Lord knew his face, and with it the offence, therefore anſwered him thus. Sir, ſaid he, if on theſe conditions, I acknowledge the underſtanding of your rage, I ſhould make my ſelfe guilty of what I am free from; to my knowledge I never wronged any, if unwillingly, I made amends, and am ready ſo to doe. Can you give mee my honour againe, throwne to the ground by you, and your inſatiable Love, cride he? You wrong us both, ſaid he, and this ſhall be the Ground of my revenge and anſwer to you; with that he arm’d himſelfe, ſhee crying to him, not to adventure his deare ſelfe againſt that ſtranger, whom ſhe knew full well; ſhee kneeled to him, held him by the leggs, kiſſed them, gazed on him, in termes call’d him deareſt. All would not ſerve, he encountred his enemy, and truly was he juſtly made ſo by his owne ill deſerving. They fought, like two, one having got, and earneſt to keepe a Miſtris, the other having loſt, and revengfull to gaine his honour, and kill his Rivall, and Undoer in his Love; at laſt, the true cauſe got the upper hand, and the Lord came to the lower ſide of Victory; which the ſervants perceiving, ruſhed all upon Clarimatto. Leandrus finding the wrong they offer’d, and the other was like to ſuffer, ſtepp’d in to his reſcue. A fight was among theſe performed fit, and onely the prize of Love fit to be the end of it. Clarimatto nimble, valiant, and having Juſtice on his ſide, fought accordingly, and ſo as the Lord having loſt much bloud out of two wounds given him by his foe, nor had he eſcaped free, but was hurt in ſome places, the Lord then gave back a little, his men cirkling Clarimatto about like buſie Bees when anger’d, uſing their beſt (or better to ſay, more malicious) meanes to hurt him, who protected by a brave ſpirit, and undaunted courage layd about him without feare, but not without ſuch hurt to them, aſsiſted bravely by Leandrus, as they began to flee. Their Maſter ſeeing that revil’d them, vowing to hang who ever ſaved himſelfe by baſe flight, and kill thoſe that fought not better, though he by that meanes let the hatefull enemy paſſe. This urged them againe to perplexe them, but could not now compaſſe him, hee having to prevent that danger, got the Fountaine at his backe, there defending himſelfe; but alas much like a Stagge at Bay, that muſt for all his courage, yeeld to the multitude and force of many Doggs: and ſo was he like to doe, (Leandrus having a new ſupply ſet on him) for having receiv’d a wound in the thigh, he bled, ſo faſt as almoſt his powers faild him, his eyes beginning with faintneſſe to dazle, and his ſtrength ſo faſt to decreaſe, as he leand himſelfe againſt the Fountaine, holding his Sword ſtraight out, meaning he that firſt ſeazed him ſhould alſo meet his owne end; and with this M4r 87 this reſolution ſtood the brave revengefull Lover, his ſoule bidding his friends and all farewell: Leandrus being but in a little better caſe, when as an unexpected good hap befell them by the comming of a Knight in blacke Armour, who ſeeing this cruell fight, and unmanly combating of many againſt two, came happily and ſpeedily to their ſuccour, even when one had done his laſt for that time to defend himſelfe, which the Lord perceiving, preſſed in upon Clarimatto, although almoſt as weake as hee with loſſe of bloud (ſpite procuring that, leſt he might elſe want his will in having his end ſome way) ſo as both valiant, both ſtrong, were now without ability to ſhew valour, if not in dying with their Swords in their hands, and without ſtrength having no more then hatred at that time, allowed to both in thoſe weake limbes, which was no more, then inſteed of running one at the other, they reeld and fell one upon the other, in the fall, the Sword of Clarimatto finding a way into an unarmed part of his Rivals body, which a blow at the firſt encounter had left open, but till then well guarded by the ſkill and courage of his Maſter, whoſe Sword miſſed him, who elſe with that had with him taken a grave, both agreeing (by diſagreeing) to death. The new-come Knight made a quicke diſpatch of the reſt, ſome by death, ſome by yeelding. Leandrus, though weake, going with much care to Clarimatto, and who had in all the fight behaved himſelfe ſo worthily not fearing any thing but continuance of diſgrace, and freeing all in true worth, and love to truth.

The buſineſse ended, the ſtranger and Leandrus tooke up the wounded Clarimatto, and having, with untying his Helme, given him ſome ayre, hee came a little to himſelfe, but ſo beſmeer’d with bloud as at firſt hee was not knowne to the Knight, whoſe Helme was likewiſe off; but when diſcover’d, Clarimatto, ſaid he, happy I am to helpe thee, but unhappy to finde thee thus, my deareſt friend, What deſtiny brought thee hither? What happineſſe in unhappineſſe met, to make me meet thee thus? Accurſed, yet now bleſt occaſion, if thou outlive this victory. If I had conquered, ſaid hee, death yet might have honour’d me, but to live vanquiſhed, rather wiſh I to dye. Thou haſt brave Clarimatto, ſaid hee, overcome, and ſlaine thine enemy with thine owne hands. Then am I contented, ſaid hee, though ſtraight I die, and moſt that I ſhall yet end in your armes, whom of all men I moſt love, none but your ſelfe could have had the deſtiny to helpe me, who onely was, and is beſt beloved of me, and herein hath Deſtiny bleſſed me.

Then came the Lady, who with as much contempt of them, as ſorrow for her lover, looked upon them both, the one dead, the other dying, ſhe ſaid nothing, but kneeled downe by her latter loved friend, and kiſſed him, roſe againe, and looked with infinite hate upon Clarimatto, and then taking a knife ſhe held under her Gowne, ſtabb’d her ſelfe, falling betweene them both.

The blacke Knight went to the Caſtle whither Clarimatto was carried, and ſoone after died; the bodies of the others were buried in the place where the fight was, the keyes were delivered to the blacke Knight, who delivered many brave and valiant Knights, caught by treaſon, and unfortunate ſpite, and all Greeks. Then was Leandrus brought into a rich Chamber,ber M4v 88 ber, and the blacke Knight, who had taken poſſeſſion of that Caſtle, for the King of Morea, beſtowed the keeping of it on Clorimundus his Eſquire. With many teares and ſighes Clarimatto was buried, who was extreamly beloved of this blacke Knight, which was Roſindy, with whom hee had beene bred, and nurſed.

This being done, and Leandrus, paſt danger, though not for weakeneſſe able to remove, Roſindie left him in the cuſtody of the new Governour, and other Knights, who loved him ſo well, as there was a queſtion, which they more affected their delivering joy, and happy injoying, or his ſafety who had beene the firſt cauſe to bring them the other; herein their worths appeared, and in better hands Leandrus cannot be left, till his ability call him againe to ſervice in other parts. But now Roſindy, muſt be a little accompanied, who taking on his journey, ſtill reſolv’d to performe the command of his Miſtris, which was to paſſe all Greece, and accompliſh ſuch adventures as might make him worthy of her love, and yet not to diſcover the ende of his travell, or himſelfe, to any without extraordinary occaſion. To obſerve this, he put on thoſe blacke Armes, bearing no Device in his Shield, becauſe his deſire was onely to be called the unknowne Knight; the cauſe why ſhe had thus commanded him was, that the more his honor was known, the more he might be feared when time might ſerve for him to deliver her from her Priſon, and bondage wherein ſhe lived, from whence as yet ſhee could not be releaſed.

Thus uunknowne he paſſed among his beſt friends, and meaning ſo to continue he paſſed from this place to his Fathers Court, there to ſee what adventure would happen to adde to his fame; beſides, to know the certaine time of the pretended Journey for Albania, but eſpecially when they appointed to free Meriana the chiefe end indeed of his journey. So he came to the Court, and ſending one Squire of his, who well knew all the parts of it, came to Pamphilia’s Chamber, who hearing who it was that deſired to ſpeake with her, ſhee ſtraight ſent for him, from whom ſhee learned that her dearely beloved Brother was hard by, but reſolving not to be knowne, had intreated her to come into the pleaſant Grove there to conferre with him, which ſhe with much willingneſſe, and deſire performed. Now this Squire was not knowne of many beſides Pamphilia, nor any whit of Antiſsia, whoſe jealouſie infinitely upon this increaſed, and the more meanes were ſought to alter it, the greater did the heate grow; like a Smith that puts water into his Forge, to make the fire more violently hot. The ſweet (but ſad) Princeſſe not miſtruſting this, went (as appointed) into the Grove, the ſuſpitious Lady, whoſe heart now lay in her eies to diſcover her, ſoone and ſecretly followed her, where ſhe diſcern’d (being in the Evening) a knight ſo like in proportion to hers, or ſo had the power of doubt made him, as ſhee ever believed it to be himſelfe: but when ſhe ſaw their affectionate imbracements, then was her heart like to breake, not being able to ſuſtaine, but for feare of diſcovering, as ſoftly, but leſſe quietly, being confident, her confidence in his love, which had before but flattered her to his own ends, and not for love, had beene a bayt to draw on her deſtruction. With this dolorous opinion ſhee retired into her Chamber, where ſhe fell into the moſt grievous complaints that ever poore afflicted ſuſpitious Lady had endured.

The N1r 89

The Princes continuing in the Wood,with all love and kindneſſe the black Knight beginning his diſcourſe. My beſt, and onely deare Siſter know, that after my departure hence, I paſt thorow moſt part of Greece to ſeeke adventures, till I came into Macedon, where I found the King dead, and an Uſurper ſtrongly placed and ſetled in his roome: the fame of Meriana’s beauty I likewiſe encountred, but (alas) ſhee was ſhut up in priſon by that Traytor, and ſo cloſe kept, as none could gaine a ſight of her, but with much danger. The Villaine (though her neere Kinſman) keeping her thus, with intent to marry her, if he can gaine her conſent; if not, ſo to hold her inclos’d during her life. But by a bleſſed chance, as it may happen, I got the ſight of her, truely ſo rare a creature, as my commendations, which cannot with all worldly eloquence, if with beſt art, imploid to ſet forth the neereſt of her praiſe come neere to the loweſt degree of her perfections; what then ſhould I venture to commend her, whoſe delicacie may receive wrong by my unperfect tongue, not ſufficient to extoll her? Let it ſuffice, my eyes ſaw that, which made my heart her ſlave; and thus I compaſſed my joy. I lay in a houſe, the Maſter whereof had ſerved her Father and Mother, wayting in the Queenes chamber. and now hath libertie to ſee her when hee will, or hath any buſineſſe with her, as to bring her new apparrell, or ſuch neceſſarie things, hee being Maſter of the Wardrobe. This man with whom I often conferred concerning the Princeſſe, finding my longing to behold her, and heartily wiſhing her libertie, brake with mee about it; I hearkned to him, and ſo wee grew ſo farre, as wee were faſt enough to each other, for betraying our purpoſe. Then hee cauſed mee to put on a ſuite of one of his ſervants, who was juſt of my ſtature, and taking new apparrell to carrie her, ſent it by mee, withall, his excuſe, that hee was not then able himſelfe to come, I went with it, imagining my ſelfe more then a Prince, in being ſo happie to be his Servant to ſuch an end. When I came, the Maides that attended her, told her of my comming, and of my ſelfe, being a ſtranger, and never there before; ſhee ſent for me demaunding many things of me, which (as well as ſo much amazedneſſe, as I was in, beholding her, could permit me) I anſwered. Shee tooke delight to ſee me ſo mov’d, imagining it had been out of baſhfulnes, which ſhe made ſport with.

Thus for ſome time it continued, till one day my Maſter went himſelfe, with whom the Princeſſe had much diſcourſe concerning me, and among the reſt, ſhee very much preſt to know what Country man I was, and at laſt directly who I was: for (ſaid ſhee) either hee is a verie fooliſh fellow, or ſome other then he ſeemes to bee, which I rather doe imagine; therefore faile not, but tell mee by the reſpect and love you beare mee, what you know of him? Hee who loved mee as his Sonne, was loath to diſcover mee directlie, for feare of danger; yet conſidering, that if at all, hee were much better tell who I was, and the cauſe of my diſguiſe, which would purchaſe mee more good, then diſſembling. Upon promiſe of her being no way offended, nor diſcovering it, which if knowne, would coſt my life; he told her all, and withall added my extreame affection to her. When N ſhe N1v 90 ſhee at firſt heard it, ſhee ſeemd offended, yet after ſaid, ſhe was contented to keepe counſell, upon condition that I preſently went thence, and never more attempted to come where ſhee was, in ſo diſguis’d a habit to wrong her. When I receiv’d this meſſage of death, I knew not whether I ſhould thank or blame my friend: in an agonie I was afflicted to the higheſt, perplexed in ſoule; in briefe, I was but torment, and with it tormented my ſelfe. Words I had none, nor other action, but going ſtraight to my chamber, throwing my ſelfe on the bed, and there lay I ſenceleſſe, ſpeechleſſe, and motion-leſſe for ſome houres, as they told mee, in which time hee went to her againe, telling her how hee had left mee, and that ſhee had kild a brave Prince, and her hopefull kinſman; adding, How doe you thinke Madam ever to bee freed, when you uſe ſuch as would venture for your freedome with this ſcorne? long enough will you remaine here, and bee a Priſoner for any hope you can have of deliverie by theſe faſhions: but it may bee you affect this life, or meane to marrie Clotorindus; if ſo, I have done amiſſe, for which I beſeech you pardon me, and him, with whom I will likewiſe leave Macedon: for what ſhall I doe here, where worth is contemned, and ſlaverie eſteemed? When ſhee heard the honeſt ſpeech of my Maſter, and ſaw the likelihood of looſing him, in whom onely ſhee could have aſſurance of truth and truſt, ſhee told him, his love and truth had gaind his pardon; for ſhee would not have him goe by any meanes. For mee, ſhee would have mee ſent to her, with whom ſhee would ſpeake (ſince ſhee could not believe, ſuch a Prince would take ſuch a courſe for her love), and direct me what I ſhould doe, if ſhee found I was the man he ſpake of. Hee reurning, told mee of it; and the time being come, I reſolv’d (though for it I did die) ſince ſhee did miſtruſt mee to goe like my ſelfe; ſo as putting on my owne clothes, and my Sword by my ſide, but my Maſters cloake upon them, I paſt into the Garden, and ſo into a Gallerie, the honeſt man directing mee there to tarrie, till ſhee came unto mee. When ſhee appeared, it was like a blazing Starre, foretelling my loſt life and liberty, if ſhe did ſtill perſever in her crueltie. But when ſhee ſpake, my heart was ſo poſſeſſed, as I had not one word to anſwere her; onely throwing off my diſguiſe, kneeling downe, and gazing on her, was the manner of my ſuing to her. Shee came then nearer, and taking mee up, ſhee ſaid: My Lord (for ſo my Servant telles mee I may call you), much doe I wonder, why diſguis’d till this time you have continued? If for love, your judgement much erred, to thinke I could affect ſo low as a Servant; if for other ends, my ſelfe would never doe my ſelfe the wrong, to thinke of any unnoble courſe: and if the firſt, why did you not ſeeke to diſcover it? Divine Lady (ſaid I), farre be it from me to have a thought to iunjure that vertue, which admiringly I love, and loving, honour; the reaſon why I remaind diſguis’d and unknowne, was the happineſſe I conceived in ſeeing you, and the feare I had to looſe that happineſſe, no way ſo much flattering my ſelfe, as to have a hope to attaine to that, whereto my beſt thoughts ambitiouſly N2r 91 ambitiouſly did flee: feare kept me ſilent, love made me feare. Now you have it, diſpoſe of mee mercifully, elſe ſoone after this diſcoverie, bee pleaſd to heare of my ſad end. She it ſeemd had pitie, but not ſo much as to expreſſe it, wherfore ſhe only anſwered thus. To aſſure me of your love, and you of pity, this is the courſe you muſt take; inſtantly leave this place, nor returne unto it, untill ſuch time as your fame by your noble deeds may prove ſuch, as ſhall make you worthy of my love; then returne, releaſe mee with your owne hands; make me perfectly know, you are Prince Roſindy, and I wil give my ſelf unto you. I with all joy promiſed thoſe conditions ſhould be performd. She ſmil’d, and ſaid, a Lover would promiſe any thing. I will die (ſaid I) but accompliſh theſe. Then will I be yours (ſaid ſhe). That gave me a full heaven of joy; ſo kneeling downe againe, and taking her hand, I kiſt it, and on it ſeald my vow. But one thing more (ſaid ſhe) I would have you doe; let all theſe deeds be done, while you ſtill keepe your name of the Unknowne, and ſo bee cald till you returne, unleſſe ſome great occaſion happen to reveale your ſelfe. I promiſd likewiſe this, and ſo by that name of Unknowne, I have paſt theſe ten moneths, never diſcovering my ſelfe to any, but lately to Leandrus, and a brave Gentleman (then told he her the whole adventure), and now unto your ſelfe. With promiſe of her love, my vow anew ſolemnely made, I took my leave, my hart fild with ſorrow to part, and my ſoule ready to leave this earthly cage, grieving ſo much to leave my better ſelf: ſhe in like ſort was ſorry, and pretily expreſt it; yet would not let too much bee ſeene, leſt it might ſtay me, ſo we parted. I happie, and ſorry; ſhe ſorry, and moſt happy in her owne noble vertues. But now mee thinkes the time is ſo long, as deſire makes me haſte homewards, accounting that my home where my ſoule remaines: but to this place I came firſt of purpoſe, to heare what reſolution was taken for the conqueſt of Albania, but moſt for the reliefe of Macedon. To obay my Ladies commaund, I came ſecretly, and ſo will remaine unknowne, but to you my deareſt Siſter: now tell me what you heare, and keepe my knowledge to your ſelfe?

Pamphilia with infinite joy hearing this ſtory, and the brave fortune like to befall her deare brother, tooke him affectionately by the hand, uſing theſe words: Moſt worthy to bee held deareſt brother; the happineſſe is much greater which I conceive, then able to expreſſe, ſeeing the likelihood of your worthily merited fortune: What I know, I were a poore weake woman, if I would conceale from you, or reveale of you. Therefore, know the intent was to conquer Albania firſt: but whether the abſence of Steriamus will hinder it or no, I yet know not; but this I beleeve, that ſuch meanes may be wrought as to preferre Macedon before the other, and ſince your content, and fortunes lie that way, if you will truſt me, I will order it ſo, as that ſhall bee firſt.

Bind mee more if you can, ſweete Siſter, and to make mee happy, enjoy the authoritie over mee and mine (ſaid hee). Then did ſhee entreate him, that hee would for a while tarrie there, which hee graunted, till ſuch time as they could order their affaires according to their owne minds. While this content laſted to Pamphilia, as much griefe increaſed to Antiſsia, which griefe at laſt grew to rage, and leaving ſorrow fell to ſpite, vowing to revenge, and no more complaine; this thought did ſo farre poſſeſſe N2 her, N2v 92 her, as her countenance bewrayed her heart, ſhunning the ſight of Pamphilia who with love and reſpect did covet hers. This change made the ſweet Princeſſe infinitely admire, what the reaſon ſhould bee that now mooved her, ſhe ſeeming to have remaind ſatisfied. But thoſe who know that languiſhing paine, alſo know, that no perfect ſatisfaction can be, unleſſe the humor it ſelfe with ſatisfaction doe quite leave the poſſeſſed: for as long as one ſparke lives though never ſo little, it is able with the leaſt occaſion, or ſigne of occaſion, to make a great fire, and ſo did it now prove. Pamphilia deſirous to have no unkindnes betweene them, ſought all waies to pleaſe her: this was as ill a courſe, as if of ſcorne ſhe had done it, or in pitie (having deceiv’d her) would ſhew the moſt deſpiſed, and contemptible friendſhip, which is pitie. Madnes grew ſo upon this, as ſhe burſt out into ſtrange paſsions, eſpecially one day, when as Embaſſadours came from the young King of Romania, to give thanks to the King of Morea, for his royall curteſie to his Aunt. who by the Knight of Love, he underſtood to be in his Court, giving withall ſuch infinite praiſes of him, to the unſpeakable joy of the old King, and all the Court, knowing him to bee Amphilanthus, as mirth liberally ſhewed her ſelfe in all faces but Antiſsia’s. The Embaſſadour having delivered letters to her, both from Amphilanthus, and the King, wherein ſhe was intreated to come into Romania to him, and by her ſervant adviſed, not to refuſe the Kings demand, but to goe with the Embaſſadour, which was the new Duke Lizandrinus, whither in ſhort time himſelfe would alſo come: but the more ſweet and kind language hee us’d in his letter, the greater was her conceite, it was uſed to flatter her, complement never being uſed in the time of her happineſſe, eſpecially when ſhe came to the point of going, ſhe directly concluded, that he had laid that tricke upon her, to be rid of her ſight, and the freelier to enjoy his new Miſtris, and this ſhe angerly told Pamphilia, whiſpering in her eare, withall adding, that he might aſwell have told her thus much himſelfe, conſidering ſhe ſaw him, and you brave Lady (ſaid ſhe) laſt night in the Gardenwood. Pamphilia between feare to have her brother diſcoverd by her malice & diſdaine ſo unjuſtly to be accuſed, her bloud ſcorning to lie ſtil when it was wrongd, boldly ſhewd it ſelf in her face with thretning anger: but this mov’d a cōontrary effect thēen feare, increaſing baſe jealouſie in ſtead of noble thoughts & aſſurance of that ſhe falſely conceived, proving this to be true, that miſtruſt which is moſt times built upōon falſhood, gaines greateſt aſſurance frōom the falſeſt grounds. She ſeeing her bluſh (as ſhe cald it) by that judging guiltines, and that, working ſpite, went away laden with ſcorne, & her own ſuſpition, which now wrought to fury. Into her chamber ſhe went, where throwing her ſelfe upon her bed, careles of eaſe or hanſomnes, ſhe brake into theſe ſpeeches. Accurſed day that firſt knew Antiſsia breathing, why was not the aire peſtilent, the milk poyſon, the armes that held me ſerpents, and the breaſts that gave me ſuck venom’d? and all theſe chang’d from their proper goodneſſe to have wrought my deſtruction? Miſerable fate that brought me to bee loſt, and found by him who now ruines me, Treacherous Love, but more treacherous Lover; I might (wretch that I was) have taken heed by others, and not have runne into the ſame danger my ſelfe; now I am well requited, and payed in the ſame kind, for glorying at them, and in my gaine, while they waild under the waight of his forſaking them; now muſt I tread with them N3r 93 them in the path of that miſerie. Fond creatures that joy in this, beware, this muſt at laſt bee your owne; your turne ’twill bee (though laſt) to leade the dance.

Falſe creature; was it not enough to deceive mee of my liberty, and honour, but to overthrow me utterly? to deſtroy my quiet content, which in the ſmart of your love I enjoyed? Curſed bee the time I admired your ſweetneſſe, and familiar kindneſſe, your loving care, and tender reſpect, which made my heart too ſoft, yeelding to the power of your allurings. Is it come to this? Was all your fondneſſe for this purpoſe? Did you only ſtrive to win, to caſt away at pleaſure? Were all your deſired meetings for this, to make me the more miſerably end with neglective forſakenneſſe? If any man could be true, I aſſured my ſelfe it muſt be you. O that I had enough conſidered, there was doubt juſtlie made of mans truth in love; then had I more ſafely defended my ſelfe from this diſaſter. Amphilanthus, thou wert Noble, juſt, free: How is this change? Can nobleneſſe bee, where deceit rules? Can juſtice be where couſonage governs? can freedome bee, where falſhood lives? Thoſe were: but theſe are now in thee. Was thy ſadneſſe for this new wound? Alas, I aſſured my ſelfe it was for parting from mee, that ſo much change did grow. Could not I (blinde foole that I was) have markt his often frequenting Pamphilia’s Chamber? his private diſcourſe with her? his ſeeking opportunitie to bee in her preſence? his ſtolne lookes? his fearefull but amorous touching her hand? his kiſſing his owne hand, rather comming from hers, then going to hers? Loving it more for having touch’d that beloved hand, then for being his. Oft would hee doe this, and looke on mee, then did I beleeve, all was meant to mee, which he did to her, and wiſht it had been I, his eyes betraid mee, my beliefe bewitched mee, and his falſhood muſt kill mee. Churliſh affection, why torture you me alone? make him likewiſe ſmart, make her likewiſe vexe. But I need not curſe her, ſince (poore Lady) ſhe is but entring into her following perplexitie. Alas Pamphilia, I pitie thee, and indeed love thee no whit leſſe then before; I cannot, nor may not blame thee for loving him, ſince none can reſiſt his conquering force in love, nor for ſeeking him: for whoſe ſoule would not covet him? but I blame him for ſpoyling poore hearts to his glorious triumph. Unnaturall man that preyes on his owne kind, nouriſhing his life with the ruine of ſimple innocent Lovers; a cruell foode, but crueller devourer of them: which hath wrought this hardneſſe in mee, as from hence to love thee, but till I can bee reveng’d of thee; and ſuch a revenge will I have, as thy hard heart ſhall melt for it, if any goodneſſe bee left in it; for over the world will I ſeeke thee (my journey to Romania once ended) to bee thus quit with thee, that thy falſe eyes, and flattring tongue, ſhall bee no longer able to deceive, or betray thy ſelfe or others, but behold the true end of me, who gaine my death by thy falſehood, and in thy preſence will I conclude my life with my love to thee. I wondred, yet never had wit to doubt, why ſo much Ceremonie lately came from you; ceremonie indeede, being a ſhadow, not ſubſtance of true love. Change wrought it, and change put on the habit of that which once was love: for once I know you loved me, and was N3 fond N3v 94 fond of me; fond, I fondneſſe it may moſt properly be cald; for love is eternall, but this changeable. Many wee ſee fond of ſports, of horſes, of doggs; and ſo was it my dogged fortune, to have you fond of me: but the immortall part, the ſoule, is not fond, but loving, which love fo ever lives; and this love wanted I, onely enjoying his fond, and fondly proov’d deſires, which are remov’d, and have left nothing behind, but the ſad remembrance of my once great and higheſt eſteem’d bleſſing; now remaine I, throwne downe into the darkneſſe of deſpaire, and loſſe, by loſſe of his affection.

Thus diſcourſing, toſsing upon her Bed, ſhe remain’d; fed not, nor ſlept all that night: the next morning early going to the Garden Woods, whither ſhe ſooner came then Pamphilia, where being a while, and ſitting under the ſame Aſhe, wherein the other affectionate afflicted Princeſſe had written the Sonnet, ſhee was invited, either by her owne paſsion, or the imitation of that excellent Lady, to put ſome of her thoughts in ſome kind of meaſure, ſo as ſhee perplexed with love, jealouſie, and loſſe as ſhee beleev’d, made this Sonnet, looking upon the Sunne, which was then of a good height.

The Sunne hath no long journey now to goe While I a progreſse have in my deſires, Diſasters dead-low-water-like do ſhow The ſand, that overlook’d my hop’d-for hyres. Thus I remaine like one that’s laid in Briers, Where turning brings new paine and certaine woe, Like one, once burn’d bids me avoid the fires, But love (true fire) will not let me be ſlow. Obedience, feare, and love doe all conſpire A worth-leſſe conqueſt gain’d to ruine me, Who did but feele the height of bleſt deſire When danger, doubt, and loſſe, I ſtraight did ſee. Reſtleſſe I live, conſulting what to doe, And more I ſtudy, more I ſtill Undoe.

Undoe (cride ſhe), alas I am undone, ruind, deſtroyd, all ſpoild by being forſaken, reſtleſſe affliction which proceeds from forſaking: yet would I bee beholding to this Enemie of mine, if forſaking in my torments would poſſeſſe me, ſo I might remaine forſaken by them: but that muſt not bee, I muſt onely know pleaſure, happineſſe, and the chiefe of happineſſes love, from my beloved forſake mee; but paine, torture, and ſhame will ſtill abide, and dwell with me. Then went ſhee a little further towards the River, where by the banke under the Willow lay the ſuppoſed Amphilanthus, the cauſe of all this buſineſſe; his Helme was off, by reaſon of the heate, and ſecureneſſe from being diſcovered, not indeed being poſsible for any, except Antiſsia, who had by Pamphilia’s leave a key to thoſe walkes to come within them of that ſide of the River: ſhee had gone to him raſhly, had not his voyce ſtaid her, whereat ſhe ſtarted at firſt, and then trembled with feare and joy, thinkingking N4r 8595 king by that likewiſe it had beene her Love: Jealouſie had ſo tranſform’d her, as it was impoſsible for her to heare, or ſee, or know any thing but Amphilanthus, and her ſorrow for him; when at another time ſhee would have laught at her ſelfe for making ſuch unlikelineſſe vexe her; hee ſpake but low, as it were whiſpering to himſelfe theſe words. O my deare, when ſhall I (wretch) againe injoy thy ſight, more deare, more bright to me then brighteſt day, or my owne life? Moſt ſweet Commandreſſe of my only bliſſe, when, oh when ſhall I againe be bleſſed? Canſt thou leave me thy loyall ſervant, here or anywhere, but with thy beſt deſerving ſelfe? Shall I lye here in ſecret, complaining, when they ſelfe maiſt ſuccour me? Quickly, alas, releeve me, never more neede, never more love ſought it. Theſe words gave her full aſſurance ’twas he, and jealouſie told her they were ſpoken to Pamphilia. Rage now outgoing judgement, ſhee flew to him; ungratefull man, or rather monſter of thy ſexe, ſaid ſhe, behold before thee, thy ſhame in my diſhonour wrought by my love, and thy change? Roſindy was amazed, and fear’d betraying, wondring his Siſter was ſo careleſſe of him: ſhee ſeeing her raſh and unpardonable fault, in having thus wrong’d her Love, ſtood in ſuch a depth of amazedneſſe, and torment (all affections working at once their owne waies in her) as ſhe was a meere Chaos, where unfram’d, and unorder’d troubles had tumbled themſelves together without light of Judgement, to come out of them.

The blacke Knight beheld her, wondring more at her manner, and former ſpeech, then now heeding his being knowne, admiring at her paſsion, and not underſtanding her words, to his thinking never having ſeene her, and therefore not guilty of her blaming him. But now was ſhee a little come to her ſelfe, but ſo as feare, and modeſty cauſd ſo much baſhfulneſſe as ſcarce ſhee could bring forth what ſhe deſired; but with eyes caſt downe and a bluſhing face, ſhee with much adoe, ſaid thus. Sir, I beſeech you as a Lover (for ſo I perceive you are) hide the imperfections of one of that number, my ſelfe unfortunatly having fallen into the worſt extremity, which is Jealouſie, and worſe, if may bee worſe, without cauſe as now I perceive, but falſhood which hath cauſed it. I miſtooke you, and more have miſtaken my ſelfe, or indeed my better ſelfe: conceale I beſeech in this, and if I may ſerve you in any thing, for requitall command, and I will obey you. Faire Lady, ſaid he, I cannot but exceedingly pitty your eſtate, and wiſh the happieſt amendment to it: My humbleſt ſuit unto you ſhall be onely this, that you will conceale my being heere, not eſteeming me ſo worthy as once (after your going hence) to remember you ſaw me, till ſuch time, as it may fortune, I may doe you ſervice, or that I come to acknowledge this favour from you, and I ſhall in the like obey you. As ſhee was anſwering, and promiſing that, Pamphilia came, but with infinite diſcontent againſt Antiſsia for being there, when as ſhee without diſſembling, but withall unfaigned love, and ſhame, fell at her feet, beſeeching her pardon, crying out, that never liv’d there a more unbleſſ’d Creature then her ſelfe, who had now liv’d to wrong the two perfect mirrours of their Sexes, with the baſe (and moſt worthy of contempt) humour of ſuſpition.

Pamphilia tooke her up, and quickly was the peace made, the one ſeeking to give all ſatisfaction, the other willing to receive any, rather then for that buſineſſe N4v 96 buſineſſe to make more ſtirring. Then with promiſe of her ſecret holding, the Knights being there, not ſo much as deſiring to know his name, leſt that might make ſuſpition, ſhe deſired to know, to diſcover. Againe ſhe departed contented, and as happy as before ſhe had beene diſquieted; onely now grieved that ſhe had wrong’d Amphilanthus. She gone the deare Brother and Siſter ſate downe together, Pamphilia ſpeaking thus.

My long ſtay (ſaid ſhee) might have marr’d your promiſe and my deſired care of keeping you ſecret, had not this good chance of acknowledgement wrought the contrary; but howſoever it had brought little harme to you, ſince long, I feare, you will not here abide, after you underſtand the newes I bring, which is this. My Father was this morning in Councell, where it was ſet downe that Macedon is fitteſt to be firſt releev’d, and the rather, beauſe it is more eaſie to gaine the Kingdome out of one Uſurpers hand, then out of many. My Mother hath beene infinite earneſt, and as earneſt as if ſhe knew your mind, her reaſon being, that the young Queene is her Neece, as you know, and Macedon once quieted, Albania will be the ſooner won. Selarinus the younger Brother likewiſe hath deſired the buſineſſe of Albania may be layd aſide till Steriamus be heard of, not willing to bee thought haſty in winning honour, and love in his owne Countrey in the abſence of his Brother: and in truth, I muſt ſay, he doth like himſelfe in it, and that is like one of the fineſt Princes I know, for ſo he is, and the like will you ſay when you once knowe him, and know him you muſt, his ambition (as he termes it) being to gaine the honour of your friendſhip, and to be your Companion in your travels. I have promiſ’d him to be the meanes for him; and beleeve me brother, you will thank me for it, ſince a ſweeter diſpoſition match’d with as noble a minde, and brave a courage, you never (I beleeve) encountred.

Roſindy was ſo joy’d with this diſcourſe, as he knew not almoſt what this laſt part of her ſpeech was: wringing her hand, O ſaid he, the bleſſed Meſſenger of eternall happineſſe; but what Forces ſhall go to redeeme her? The number from hence, ſaid ſhe, are fifty thouſand, from Achaia twenty, from Romania twenty, the Achaians are to be demanded by Ambaſſadors now appointed; that Army to be lead by Leandrus, the Romanians by Lyſandrinus, the ſame Duke who is here now with us, and who certainly aſſures my Father, that number will not be refus’d by his Maſter, but rather more forces added to them. Now doth my Father wiſh for you to lead his men, deſiring you ſhould have the honour of this brave attempt, by ſtrong working of divine knowledge, I thinke, underſtanding your minde. Chooſe now whether you will breake promiſe or no, to your Miſtris; yet doe I not ſee, but the liberty ſhe gave you, will permit you to doe this; No, ſaid he, deare Pamphilia, counſell me not to be unjuſt, and in the greateſt to mine owne vow, and that vowe to my Love? But thus you may helpe mee, aſſure my Father that you know where to finde me, and let him reſerve the honour of the charge for me, and you bring mee to receive it, in which time I will poſt to Macedon, and get leave to returne, and take the charge: This they agreed upon, ſo being ſomewhat late ſhe left her Brother there, promiſing to come againe to him after Dinner, and then to let him know the Kings anſwer, and ſo take leave of each other. She return’d when as ſhe O1r 97 ſhe found the King and the whole Court aſſembled to ſee, and heare a ſtrange adventure. An aged man of grave and majeſtick countenance, haire white as ſnow, and beard downe to his girdle, bound in ſtrong chaines of Iron; a young man likewiſe enchaind with him, foure Squires leading them, the old man with teares, and pitifull groanes telling his ſtory thus. Moſt famous King, behold before you the diſtreſſed king of Negroponte, brought into this miſery by my owne folly, ſo much doating on a daughter of mine, as I ſuffered my ſelfe to fall into the ſinne of forgetfulneſſe to this my ſonne, too worthy I confeſſe for me, deſerving a farre better title then my ſonne, unleſſe I had been a more natural father; For ſuch was my affection to that ungratefull child of mine, as I diſinherited my ſonne cald Dolorindus, whoſe vertues appeare by the blacke ſinnes of his ſiſter, who I even now grieve to name: but why ſhould my ſorrow bee increaſed with the ſight of your noble compaſsions? or better to ſay, Why ſhould ſo worthleſſe a creature move ſorrow in ſuch royall minds? to avoide which, I will as briefly, as my miſerable relation will give me leave, diſcourſe my tragick ſtorie to you.

After I had unnaturally diſinherited Dolorindus here preſent, I gave the kingdome (which came by my wife, and ſhe dead) to Ramilletta, my ungratious daughter, who requited me, as Vipers doe their Dam; for no ſooner had ſhee the poſſeſsion, but ſhe fell into ſuch ill government, and indeed beaſtly living, as the report wounded my honour, and ſtaind my blood: I aſhamed, grieved at it, told her of it, perſwaded her to leave it, telling her, how cruell a blow it was to my ſoule; to ſee her ſhame. Shee made mee no anſwer, but with her eyes caſt downe, left the roome where I was. I thought confeſsion and repentance had caus’d this countenance: but alas, I was deceived, for it was rage, and ſcorne procured it, as ſoone I found: for inſtantly came in a number of her ſervants, who tooke me, and caſt mee into a darke terrible priſon, where they kept me one whole yeare: then came Dolorindus, and ſtrove with al his wit and power to releaſe me; but finding it could not be wrought by other meanes then good nature; deſiring, that as he had life from me, hee might have death alſo with me. She taking ſome pitie of him, or rather not willing to ſhed his bloud her ſelfe (though ſhee cared not who did) told him, that if hee could overcome two knights, which ſhee would appoint to encounter him, hee ſhould have his owne, and my liberty, elſe to be at her diſpoſe. This hee agreed unto, glad that hee had a ſhadow of hope (for no more it proved) for my releaſe, undertaken by him. The day was appointed, when as I was brought into a little place, made of purpoſe for ſeeing the combate; ſhee, and her ſervants hoping this would be the laſt day of my trouble to them, when I ſhould ſee Dolorindus ſlaine, and her cruelty increaſe, both which muſt (as they did truſt) end my life with breaking of my heart; and ſo indeed it neerely had, and would aſſuredly, had my ſoone been kild, whoſe love to me, did make my fault ſo foule before me, as affection proved curſter then affliction. But to the matter: ſo bravely did my Dolorindus behave himſelfe for our deliveries, as although the other were ſuch, as ſtill if a challenge were made, they were choſen; if any valiant man had been named, they had bin inſtantly commended with him; nay, ſuch confidence all had of their ſtrength, as if the kingdome had bin in danger to be loſt, and only to be ſaved by combate, theſe would have been ſet for the Defendants, yet were O theſe O1v 98 theſe two overcome by Dolorindus, and in our preſence had their lives ended by his brave arme, who yet had ſufferd his bloud to accompany their deaths, trickling downe as faſt, as the teares from a mothers eies, for the loſſe of her deareſt ſonne: ſo much indeed he loſt, as he was for faintnes forced to bee carried away to Chirurgions (I thought) and ſo to ſafetie. In ſome kind this was true, but not to libertie; for ſhe ſeeing the honour he had got, and fearing the love of the people would fall upon him, ſeeing his worth, ſhe kindly in ſhew brought him into a rich chamber, and had his wounds dreſt, taking infinite care of him: but as ſoone as he recoverd, hee was for ſafetie ſhut into a ſtrong Tower, where he remaind till within theſe few moneths, my ſelfe carried backe againe into my priſon, where I was vext with the continuall diſcourſe of her bravery, of Dolorindus death, and of her marriage with an undeſerving man, who in my life of government I ever hated, no worth being at all in him, that he ſhould deſerve mention; but that he had no worth in him meriting mention; never ſo deteſtable a Villaine breathing. This creature ſhe fell in love withall, and lived withall; but now I thinke is partly wearie of, becauſe ſhee doth expoſe him to fight for her honour, being before ſo fond of him, as ſhe was afraid the wind ſhould almoſt blow upon him: but him ſhee hath brought, and three more his brothers; and if theſe fower can bee overcome, by any Knights in this Court, wee ſhall bee ſet at libertie, elſe remaine Priſoners, which wee have conſented unto. Now Sir, if you pleaſe to give us ſuch knights, they ſhall enter.

The King anſwered, that ſuch unnaturalneſſe deſerved a farre ſharper puniſhment, and that there was no ſenſe, a Combat ſhould end ſo foule a buſineſſe. Hee replide, that hee was contented, and therefore deſired but the knights, and for the matter, it was already determined. Then ſtept Selarinus forth, deſiring to bee one; Pamphilia likewiſe intreated, ſhee might have the favour to bring another, who ſhee would undertake for, meaning the Prince of Corinth; the Prince of Elis would not bee denied to bee the third; and Liſandrinus humbly beſought in ſuch a buſineſſe he might be the fourth.

This was agreed upon, ſo Pamphilia went to the Wood, and there diſcourſing the buſineſſe to her brother, hee inſtantly reſolved to be one, and whether ſhe would or no, came with her, his Beaver cloſe for feare of diſcovery, doubting nothing elſe but his face to betray him; for ſo much was hee growne in height and bigneſſe, as hee could not be taken for Roſindy. The fower Defendants being there met, the reſt entred, Ramiletta going in the midſt of the fower Challengers, two before her, two behind her, but ſo farre aſunder, as they made from corner to corner the faſhion of a Saltier croſſe. So terrible were theſe to behold, as few could indure to looke upon them, onely her ſervant was a little milder in his countenance, and ſomewhat leſſe then the others. Their haire was of a browne red colour; and briſtled; their eyes of anſwerable bigneſſe to their bodies, but furiouſly ſparkling fier. When Pamphilia ſaw theſe Monſters, ſhee would aſ willinglie have had her Brother thence, as hee ambitiouſly wiſht to have the Combate begin: then followed fifty knights without ſwords, but their Beavers cloſe, being ſuch, as the old King told the Court, were taken, ſeeking to deliver them from bondage, and who were brought along O2r 99 along with them for witneſſe of their valour and power. Theſe huge men, who were cald the terrible and unconquered Brethren, nor the Lady, made any reverence, but gazed upon the company and Ladies, who there ſtood to behold them: then were they carried to the Liſts, the old man againe ſpeaking: Sir, theſe are the Challengers; may it pleaſe you that the Defendants likewiſe go. The King was ſorry for the Knights, & in his mind more troubled, then long time before he had bin, once being of the mind to have hindred it: but conſidering his honor was ingaged, in that, he went on, commanding his great Marſhall nevertheles to have ſome other number of Knights ready arm’d upon any occaſion. This was done, and ſo being all in the Liſts, the Judges plac’d, and the Trumpets ſounding, Ramiletta was brought in her Chariot of pale greene Velvet, made of an unuſuall faſhion, and thoſe fiftie knights ſtanding round about her, the old man and his ſon being in a ſeate behind her in the ſame Chariot. The Juſts beginning, the Unknowne Knight encountred the greateſt of the foure; Selarinus the next in bigneſſe and fierceneſſe, almoſt his equall; Liſandrinus the third, and the Prince of Elis the fourth. The firſt encounter was ſtrong and terrible, for the mourning Knight was ſtruck flat upon his backe, and his adverſaries horſe was with the blow ſtrooke dead, his Maſter by that meanes falling to the ground; Selarinus and his enemie both unwillingly ſaluting the earth with their heads, the reſt had likewiſe that fortune: then bravely began the fight with the ſwords, which continued one whole howre, no advantage being ſeene, till the Prince of Elis with extreame loſſe of bloud, and a wound in his leg, fell to the earth; at that inſtant had the unknowne Knight given his enemy a wound in the thigh, which was ſo great, and beſides given croſſe, as he could not ſtand, but like a huge maſt of a ſhip, with the ſtorme of this blow laid his greatnes along; the other going to ſtrike off the Prince of Elis his head, was by the blacke Knight hindred, ſtriking off that arme, which was depriving the Prince of his life. At this he cried out, giving the watchword which was among them, ſo as the other, who had now even wearied their foes, left them, running to the place where the Princes ſat, catching Pamphilia in their armes, and ſtraight carrying her into the Chariot; the other fifty at the inſtant got Swords for the accompliſhing of their wills, privately hid in the Chariot, a place being made under the ſeate for them, the Hilts onely out, which were taken to bee but artificially made to ſeeme Swords, and placed for ornaments round about the body of the Chariot, being all painted about, and carv’d with Trophies, and ſuch like devices. Then did the old man as ſoone as they had their prey, turne Chariot man, driving the Horſes with great ſwiftneſſe, the King cride for helpe; but alas, in vaine as it ſeem’d, tearing his haire for this overſight. But ſoone was this buſineſſe ended, for Selarinus marking their treaſon, leapt up upon his horſe againe, purſuing them, and overtaking them, kild the former horſe, the reſt running, fell over him, ſo as the Chariot was ſtaid. Then came two ſtrange Knights, who by chance were going to the Court, to whom the Traytor cride for helpe, ſaying, That that Knight by force would take his Lady from him, beſeeching even with teares to have their help, for (ſaid he) here is the famous Princeſſe Pamphilia, whom this Villaine would take from mee, and abuſe. With that the ſtrange Knights began to prepare, but Selarinus told them, they were beſt take heed, for (ſaid hee) O2 this O2v 100 this is all falſe that he reports, and hee hath ſtolne by treaſon this Lady from the Court, where there is yet a cruell fight, I having left them to reſcue this Princeſſe. One of them ſtraight knew his voice, ſo as drawing their ſwords on his ſide, as before they were ready to doe it againſt him, they drew to the Chariot, demaunding of the Princeſſe if this were true? She anſwered, Yes; and therefore (ſaid ſhe) aſsiſt this worthy Prince. Then they tooke the old man and youth, and as before they were in counterfeit chaines; they made them ſure in true ones, tying them with the falſe Ramiletta to the hind end of the Chariot, ſo putting their Squires to leade the horſes. With this brave Princeſſe they returnd, and moſt fortunately for the other diſtreſſed Knights at the Court, who were ſo tired with the terrible Brothers, and fifty other, as they were almoſt at their laſt, the poore unarmd Courtiers lying as thicke ſlaine, as if they had ſtrewed the place with their bravery, in ſtead of flowers. the Marſhal came with his troop: but ſo little could he availe, as only taking the King, and carrying him away to ſafetie with the Queene, and ſuch as did run with them, left the two brave Combatants to defend themſelves, who did ſo bravely, as they had ſlaine two of the Brothers out-right, Roſindy having kild one, wounded the other in the thigh, and now was fighting with him, whom Selarinus had firſt encountred, but very weake with wearines, and loſſe of bloud, the fierce man preſt ſorely on him, when Selarinus again came, and finiſh’d his begun worke, giving him a blow on the head, which made him ſtagger, and ſeconding it, laid him on the earth: then leapt he from his horſe, lifting the blacke Knight up in his ſtead, and ſo ſtrake he off the head of that Traytor. Now was there but one left, and he wounded, yet the number of Knights were little decreaſed, ſo as if the two new knights had not come, they would have been in a farre worſe caſe, who ſo bravely behaved themſelves, as ſoone the victory was clearely theirs. Roſindy beſtirring himſelfe in ſuch manner, as who ever had ſeene him, and told the Queene his Miſtris of it, that alone, without any other Conqueſt, had been enough to win her.

By this all was quiet, then tooke they ſome of thoſe Knights, who had yeelded and demaunded mercy, the wounded Brother, and the traiterous old man, Ramiletta, and the youth, going with this troope into the Pallace; the body likewiſe of the Prince of Elis they carried with them, which yet ſeemd but his body, no breath ſtirring, nor any ſhew of life appearing, till being laid in his bed, and carefully lookt unto, his old Father being there grieved in heart, yet the better contented, ſince if he died, it would be to his honour for ever, to end his daies in ſo noble an adventure; life againe poſſeſſed him, but weakely expreſſing itſelfe for many daies, yet did he recover. When this company came into the Hall, ſtraight came the King unto them, running to Pamphilia, and weeping with joy to ſee her free againe, ſo as in a pretie ſpace he could not ſpeake unto her, but when, O my deere heart (ſaid he) what treaſon was there here againſt mee, to deprive mee of thy ſight? Shee comforting him, and letting ſome teares fall, as dutifully ſhed to wait on him, beſought him, ſince ſhee found that bleſſedneſſe, as his ſo great affection to her, that he would thanke thoſe, who reſtored her to him; then taking them all one after another in his armes, he deſired to know the blacke Knight. Pamphilia O3r 101

Pamphilia then anſwerd. Sir, ſaid ſhee, this Knight is ſo ingaged by a vow, as he can hardly let his name be knowne; yet ſince, this liberty was given, that upon extraordinary occaſion hee might reveale himſelfe, I will undertake the diſcovering, and fault (if fault there be in this) upon mee, and then turning to him, Brave Brother, ſaid ſhee, comfort our Fathers age with the happineſſe of the ſight of ſuch an incomparable Sonne, with that Roſindy pulling off his Helme kneeled downe. But when the King beheld him, he fell upon his necke, with ſuch affection kiſſing him, as if all his love were at that inſtant in him, and joynd together to expreſſe it to him. Then was command given for a rich Chamber for him, whither he was lead, Selarinus accompanying him, being leſſe hurt then he, yet had he not eſcaped free from remembrance of that divelliſh creature. All now at peace, no diſcourſe was but of the valour of the defendants, but eſpecially the honor of Roſindy was blazed abroad, having with his own hand kil’d one of the Brothers, wounded another, and wearied the third to death, ſlaine many of the Knights, and by his example done ſo much, as incouraged the weake bodies of the reſt, whoſe hearts never faild. Then Selarinus was commended exceedingly, and indeed with great cauſe, for his valour was equall with moſt, his care that day exceeding others. Pamphilia being ſaved from impriſonment by him. Liſandrinus with all honour reſpected, who made manifeſt proofe of his valour, and affection to the Court. The Prince of Elis did ſo well, as made all aſſured of his being a brave Knight, this the firſt of his adventures having ſo manfully performed: for had not an unlucky blow in the legge hindred him from ſtanding, he had alſo ſlaine his foe. The two laſt Knights were of the Court, one, Sonne to the Marſhall, cald Lizarino; and the other, Tolimandro, Prince of Corinth. The Traytors were all carried to a ſtrong Tower, where they remaind till the Knights were well againe recovered, which in ſhort time was to the great joy and comfort of every one.

Now did Pamphilia thinke it fit to acquaint the King with her Brothers buſineſſe; wherefore firſt aſking leave of Roſindy, ſhee did; the King being infinite glad of this newes, went ſtraight unto his lodging, whom he found alone, but for Selarinus, who never left him, as ſtrict and firme an affection growing betweene them, as ever lived in two mens hearts, one unto another. Then did the King impart unto him, what Pamphilia had told him, which was confirmed by Roſindy, the match liked, and commended by the King: the reſolution was, as Pamphilia before had told him, and hee choſen Generall of the Morean forces, Selarinus his Lieutenant; and thus with preparing for theſe wars, and every one contented (except the loving Ladies); Love muſt againe be a little diſcourſed of.

Parſelius (who making haſte after Amphilanthus) tooke his way thorow Morea; but after not as hee was directed by the Squires, but along Achaia, croſſing the Gulfe of Lepanto, which courſe might make him miſſe the King, if hee came ſhort of the Combate; they reſolving to take their courſe backe againe by ſea to Morea, as well to trie adventures in the Iſlands, as to haſten the forces, that being a ſhorter way: but here did Parſelius, as deſtined for him (for till now hee ſtill obeyed the other) meete a greater force then hee imagined, being in a Forreſt benighted, O3 and O3v 102 and having none with him except his Couſins Squire, and his owne. In that ſolitary place they layd them downe for that night: The next day going on in that Deſart till they came to a ſtrong and brave Caſtle, ſituated in a litle Plaine, a great moate about it, and over it a draw Bridge, which at that time was downe, and ſome Servants upon it, looking upon the water which was broad and finely running: when the Prince came neere the place, they turnd their eyes to him, who courteouſly ſaluted them, and demaunded, whoſe Caſtle that was; they replied, it was the Kings, and that there liv’d within it his faire Daughter Dalinea. Is ſhee, ſaid the Prince, to be ſeene? If ſo, I pray let her know that heere is a Knight deſires to kiſſe her hand, well knowne to her Brother, and who had the honour to bee his Companion. One of the ſervants inſtantly ranne in, others went to take their horſes, while Parſelius lighted, and put off his Helme, wiping his face with his delicate white and ſlender hand, rubbing his haire, which delicatly and naturally curling made rings, every one of which were able to wed a heart to it ſelfe. By that time the Meſſenger returnd: leading him firſt into a ſtately Hall, then up a faire paire of ſtone ſtaires, carv’d curiouſly in Images of the Gods, and other rare workmanſhip: at the topp they came into a brave roome richly hang’d with hangings of Needle-worke, all in Silke and Gold, the Story being of Paris his Love, and rape of Helen; out of that they paſſed into another roome, not ſo big, but farre richer, the furniture being every way as ſumptuous if not bettering it; but what made it indeed excell, was that, here was Dalinea ſitting under a Cloth of Eſtate, of Carnation Velvet, curiouſly and richly ſet with Stones, all over being Embrodered with purle of Silver, and Gold, the Gold made in Sunnes, the Silver in Starres, Diamonds, Rubies, and other Stones plentifully and cunningly compaſſing them about, and plac’d as if for the Skye where they ſhin’d; but ſhe ſtanding appeard ſo much brighter, as if all that had been, but to ſet forth her light, ſo farre excelling them, as the day wherein the Sunne doth ſhew moſt glorious, doth the drowſieſt day. Her Ladies who attended her, were a little diſtant from her in a faire compaſſe Window, where alſo ſtood a Chaire, wherein it ſeemed ſhe had been ſitting, till the newes came of his arrivall. In that Chaire lay a Booke, the Ladies were all at worke; ſo as it ſhewed, ſhe read while they wrought. All this Parſelius beheld, but moſt the Princeſſe, who he ſo much admir’d, as admiration wrought ſo farre, as to permit him to thinke that ſhe equal’d Urania; this was a ſudden ſtepp from ſo entyre a Love, as but now hee vowed to his Shepherdeſſe, being an Hereſie, as he proteſted, for any man to thinke there liv’d a creature like his Love. But into this hee is now falne, and will lead the faction againſt her. Uncertaine Tyrant Love, that never brings thy Favourits to the topp of affection, but turnes againe to a new choice; Who would have thought any but Urania’s beauty, could have invited Parſelius to love? Or who could have thought, any might have withdrawne it, till this ſight? Which ſo much mov’d as he loves Urania, but for being ſomewhat like to Dalinea, but her, for her owne ſake. He was not ſo ſtruck with wonder when he firſt ſaw Urania, (though with it he loſt his liberty) as he was now wounded to death, looſing life if no compaſſion ſucceeded; this firſt ſight wonne him, and loſt his former Bondage, yet was he freed, but O4r 103 but to take a new bond upon him. He went towards her, who with a Majeſticke, yet gracious faſhion met him, who ſaluted her thus. My fate leading me (I hope for my greateſt happineſſe, I’m ſure yet for my beſt content, bringing me thus to behold your excellencies) from farre places, unlooking for pleaſures, am brought to the height of them moſt incomparable Lady, in comming thus into your preſence, whereto I was emboldned by the love I bare your Brother, by the curteſies of your ſervants, the honour your ſelfe granted me in licencing my approach: but moſt by my owne ſoule, which told me I muſt not paſſe without paying the tribute of my beſt ſervice, to the Princeſſe of all women; for how would my conſcience accuſe me in ſuch a neglect? How would my heart blame me for ſuch an omiſsion? But how might brave Leandrus chide Parſelius, if hee yeelded not himſelfe at the feete of his worthily admired Siſter? Dalinea hearing him call himſelfe Parſelius, with a ſweet and pleaſing bluſh, deſired pardon, that ſhe had ſo farre forgot her ſelfe, as not to doe him ſufficient reverence; but yet a little blame your ſelfe, great Prince, ſaid ſhe, who unknowne, and undiſcovering your ſelfe to any, you come among us: pardon this rudeneſſe, and be pleaſ’d to accept my ſubmiſsion for it; to deſerve which favour, I will ſtrive in giving you the beſt welcome to deſerve it. He took her hand, aud kiſſed it, which although ſhe could in reſpect have hindred, yet ſo delicate was his hand, as ſhee was content to let him hold and kiſſe hers. Then ſhe brought him under the State, where two Chaires being ſet, they paſſed away ſome time, diſcourſing of adventures, and of the ſweet content the Companion Princes enjoyd in their youthes, ſhee infinitely delighting in thoſe ſtories, eſpecially when they touched on her brother, whom entirely ſhe loved.

Parſelius finding which way her affection lead her, made his attend her, and all his ſtories, either beginning, or ending with the praiſe of Leandrus. Thus one pleaſ’d, and the other contented, that it was in him to content her; they paſſed ſome dayes love creeping into the heart of Dalinea, as ſubtilly as if he meant to ſurpriſe, and not by open force take her: Diſcourſe procur’d converſation, ſweet converſation, liking of it ſelfe; that liking, deſire to continue it; that deſire, loving it, and that the man that affoorded it: and thus farre come, I ſhould wrong her if I ſhould not ſay, ſhee yeelded in her heart to love his perſon, whoſe diſcourſe had made his way, by taking firſt her eares priſoners, now her eyes likewiſe execute their office, brings his excellent ſhape, his beauty, his abſolute brave faſhion: then her underſtanding beſets her, tells her how excellent his wit is, how great his valour, how matchleſſe his worth, how great his deſcent, and royall poſſeſſions; all theſe, alas, joynd, and made a curious, and crafty worke to compaſſe that, which love himſelfe without halfe, or any in compariſon of theſe aſſiſtants, could have made his ſubject. But as the rareſt Jewell is not to be had but at the higheſt rate: ſo her peereleſſe perfections muſt have all this buſineſſe to gaine her; but now ſhe is wonne, and he almoſt loſt, not daring to thinke ſo, or ventring to winne it: He would with his eyes tell her his heart, with kiſſing her delicate hand, with a more then uſuall affection, let her feele his ſoule was hers: She found it, and underſtood what hee would have her underſtand, nay, ſhee would anſwer his lookes with as amorousrous O4v 104 rous ones of her part, as ſtraightly, and lovingly would ſhe hold his hand, but knowing modeſty forbid, ſhee would ſigh, and in her ſoule wiſh that he would once ſpeake; but baſhfulneſſe with-held him, and woman modeſtie kept her ſilent; till one afternoone, walking into a moſt curious and dainty Garden, where all manner of ſweets were ready in their kind to entertaine them; Flowers of all ſorts for ſmell and colour; Trees of all kinds of fruits, and walkes divided for moſt delight, many Birds ſinging, and with their notes welcomming them to that place: At laſt, a payre of innocent white Turtles came before them, in their faſhion woing each other, and ſo wonne, enjoying their gaine in billing, and ſuch like pretty joy.

Parſelius taking advantage on this, how bleſſed (ſaid he) are theſe poore Birds in their owne imaginations, thus having one anothers love! Tis true, ſaid Dalinea, but more bleſſed are they, if the ſtory bee true, that they never change. Having once, ſaid he, made a perfect choice, none ſure can after change. I never heard man accuſe himſelfe, ſaid ſhe, but rather when he had runne into that fault, finde ſomething amiſſe in his former love. I am ſorry, replide the Prince, you have ſo ill an opinion of men, ſince that I feare, will hinder you from honouring any with your love. Why ſhould you feare that anſwerd ſhee? Becauſe (ſigh’d hee) I would not have ſuch admirable Beauties unaccompanied, but joyn’d to a worthy aſſociate. Theſe muſt, ſaid ſhee, for any thing I ſee remaine as they doe (if ſuch as you ſay) long enough, before they wil be ſought; feare (cryde he) makes men ſpeechleſſe, and admiration hinders the declaring their affections. A poore lover, ſaid ſhee, ſuch a one muſt be, who wants the heart of one ſuch little Bird as this. I ſee moſt perfect Lady, ſaid he, then, that this baſhfulneſſe is neither profitable nor commendable, wherefore I wil now, incouraged by your words, rather commit an error in honeſt plainneſſe, then in fine Courtſhip, and if it be an error, take this with it, it is not meant amiſſe, though it may be rudely performed, as what but rudeneſſe can come from a wandring Knight?

Not then to colour that which is moſt cleare, and perfect in it ſelfe, with fine and delicate Phraſes, or to goe too farre about from the right way of diſcovering, give me leave, moſt excellent Princeſſe, to ſay, that ſo excelling was your power over me, when I firſt ſaw you, and ſo ſtrongly hath continued the honour in keeping the conqueſt, as I am, and ever muſt bee your devoted Servant, my love being wholly dedicated to you; and this would faine long ſince have ſaid, but I feared your diſpleaſure, nor had I now ventured, but that me thought you bid me bee bold, taking your diſcourſe wholly to my ſelfe. Then did you take it right, ſaid ſhee, for I confeſſe; with that ſhee bluſh’d ſo prettily, and look’d ſo modeſtly amorous, as ſhee neede have ſaid no more, to make him know ſhe lov’d him: Yet he covetous to have the word ſpoken, taking her in his armes, be not ſo cruell my onely life ſaid he, to barre me from the hearing of my bliſſe: Why then, ſaid ſhee, I muſt confeſſe I love you. Bleſſedneſſe to my ſoule cryd he, theſe words are now; my dearer ſelfe canſt thou affect poore me? I honor your worth, and love your ſelfe, ſaid ſhee, but let your love be manifeſted to me in your vertuous carriage towards me. Vertue, ſaid hee, made choice for me, then can ſhe not abuſe her ſelfe; and vertue in you made mee P1r 105 me moſt to love you, then aſſure your ſelfe, that onely vertue ſhall governe me. Thus they lovingly and chaſtly liv’d a while, only pleas’d with diſcourſe; but that grew to leave place to more enjoying it ſelfe, being loath that any time ſhould be ſpent without it, envying the night that kept them ſo long abſent; to avoid which he ſo earneſtly ſued, and ſhe ſo much lov’d, as ſhe could not refuſe, what hee deſired for their equall contents: ſo as making two of her maides, and his Squire onely acquainted, one morning they ſtole out of the Caſtle by a back doore, which opened juſt upon the Mote, and having a bote there, wherein they uſed to row for pleaſure, they croſt the water, and ſo walked unto an Hermitage hard by, where after they had heard Prayers, the Hermit plaid the Prieſt and married them. With infinite joy they returnd, to come to the height of their deſires, where wee will leave them a little, and ſpeake of Berlandis, Squire to Amphilanthus, who longing to ſee his Lord, and ſeeing little hope of getting Parſelius thence, reſolv’d to try how he might get him from that lazie life, and win him againe to follow Armes: but alas, this was as impoſſible, as it was for Urania to believe, that Parſelius would forſake her. Many times he urg’d him, many times he told him of adventures, which himſelfe and his Coſen had paſt, to their eternall fames; oft hee remembred him of the promiſes hee had made, and vowes which ought to bee performed: but theſe wrought nothing, vowes he remembred not, but this laſt holy one, which was moſt religiouſly to bee obſerved: promiſes hee had made, but thoſe might ſtay till ſome other time, or till he had longer ſolaced himſelfe in theſe new delights.

To conclude, Berlandis concluded to leave him, and ſo telling; and taking his leave of him, departed with this meſſage to Amphilanthus, that he would in ſhort time come unto him; in the meane time, intreated to bee pardoned, ſince in his time hee had a little abſented himſelfe from him upon a like, though not ſo juſt an occaſion. Then hee charged Berlandis, not to let any know where hee had left him, except his owne Lord, and to intreate likewiſe his ſecrecie to all others to denie his finding of him.

Thus Parſelius obſcured himſelfe for ſome time, while the fame of his Brother bravely fild the world, and had ſhind alone like the greateſt light, had not one eclips’d it with his greater power, which was, and is, Incomparable Amphilanthus, who with his two companions left Romania, intending to goe to Morea, as I before ſaid, haſting thither, as in pretence of the Albanian buſineſſe. After they had taken ſhip, they came downe the Archipelago, and amongſt thoſe Iſlands ſtaying at Sio for freſh water, and to take in ſome paſſengers, left by that ſhip there, at her going to Conſtantinople; into the which Iland, the Knight of the Forreſt would needes perſwade the reſt to enter, ſeeing it delightfull, and loving naturally to ſee novelties, and venture as farre, and oft-times as happilie as any: this motion was agreeable to Steriamus, whoſe heart yet faild him, for all Amphilanthus did warrant him to goe where his ſoule was Priſoner, for feare of offending her, though ſo much hee loved, as if hee had been ſure to ſee her, and with that ſight to die inſtantly, rather then live, and not ſee her, he would ſo have ſuffered death. But Amphilanthus was loath to looſe time, yet hee was contented to content his Friend, ſo as they P paſt P1v 106 paſſed up a good way into the Iland themſelves alone, without any other, not ſo much as their Squires with them: long they had not gone, before they met three fine young Maides, apparreld after the Greeke manner, carrying each of them a baſket, wherein were ſeverall delicate fruites; the knight of the Forreſt went to them, deſiring to bee reſolv’d of the manner of that place, and whether they could let them underſtand any adventure. The maides with much ſweetnes, and modeſt faſhion replied; They were but of meane Parentage, and not accuſtomed to ſuch buſineſſes, but (ſaid they) this laſt night a brave Gentleman lay at our Fathers houſe, much complaining of the loſſe of a young Prince, called Dolorindus, Prince of Negropont, who landed here, and ſince was never heard of; much hee ſeemd to doubt his danger, and eſpecially to feare Treaſon, the Lord of this Iland being indeed the moſt cruell, and treacherous man breathing; old, and yet ſo ill, as his white haires have gaind that colour from black, ſince he practiſed villany, for theſe fortie yeares plotting nothing, but the deſtruction of brave Knights, and delicate Ladies, of which hee hath ſtore in his Caſtle, where in darke and ugly priſons he continues them, onely letting them have light when he ſends for them, and ſports himſelfe in their torments: and this proceedes from no other cauſe, but out of a generall hate to all, where vertue lives, and beautie dwells. His wife of as ſweet a condition, who is worne away to bare bones with meere hatefull fretting, to heare that any ſhould live inricht with goodneſſe. From this paire are brought a forth couple of as hopefull branches, as can proceede from ſo good ſtocks; their parents ill, which they have bin many yeares practiſed in to come to perfection, being fully flowing in them, ſo as they in this kind excell, having ſo many yeares fewer, and yet as much ſinne in them, falſhood, and all treaſon abounding, with ill nature in them: one of them being a Daughter, and the elder called Ramiletta, the moſt cunning, diſſembling, flattering, falſe Creature that ever ſweete ayre ſuffered to breath in, without corrupting it with her poyſonous treaſons; the other a Sonne vilde, craftie, and beyond meaſure luxurious.

Theſe three are now gone a journey, whither I cannot tell you, but ſurely to ſome villanous purpoſe, bravely they are attended on, and richlie ſet forth, the old woman onely left behind with her practiſes to helpe if occaſion ſerve, or by as much ill to reſcue, if harme befall them. It was a glorious ſight to ſee the brave furniture they had, delicate Horſes and gallant troopes of Knights to the number of fiftie, beſides foure, who were the fierceſt and ſtrongeſt of this Country, ugly and fearefull to behold, being Brothers, and called the terrible, being of ſtature little leſſe then Giants; and indeed ſuch, as ſurely for being ſo much above ordinarie ſtature were anciently termed ſo: a joyfull ſight this alſo was, for every one rejoyced ſo much at their going, as in great troopes the people followed them to the ſea, heartily wiſhing never to ſee them returne any more.

Hath there been no newes of them ſince (ſaid the Knight of Love. None (anſwered the Maides), nor will be we hope. But are there any priſoners remaining in his Caſtle (ſaid he)? So the knight told my Father (ſaid one of them) and wee are all certaine of it, if he put them not to death before his going, which I the leſſe thinke, becauſe his wicked mate ſo much affects P2r 107 affects the like pleaſure in torturing, as ſhe holds them ſurely living of purpoſe to delight her ſelfe. Will you favour us with the guiding us to the Caſtle ſaid Amphilanthus? withall our hearts, ſaid they, if we were ſure to bring you ſafe backe againe, but fearing that, we rather deſire pardon, then to bee the meanes of bringing hurt to ſuch Gentlemen. Let the hazard of that lye on us, ſaid the Knights, and the content to this Countrey, eſpecially to your ſelves, when you ſhall ſee it freed from ſuch Tyranny.

Much adoe they had to perſwade the Maides, to conduct them; yet at laſt, they prevaild, and altogether went to the houſe of the Traytor, by the way eating of thoſe fruits they had in their Baskets: within fewe houres they arriv’d within ſight of the Caſtle, and drawing neerer they ſaw two Gentlemen fighting on the Bridge, but preſently they loſt the ſight of one being falne. Then another advanc’d himſelfe who by that time that they came neere enough, to deſcry any thing done on the Bridge, they ſaw likewiſe betrayd by a falſe place in the Bridge, which they but comming on it ſtrait opened, and as ſoone as they were fallen, ſhut againe; they of the houſe ſo well acquainted with it, as they eaſily avoided it.

They ſeeing this treaſon, hating deceit of any thing, ſtood conferring what they might doe to avoide this tricke, when as the man that combated the other two, came unto them, curteouſly intreating them into the houſe, if it pleaſed them to enter without blowes: or if they would trie their forces, as all yet had done, he was the man that firſt would waite upon them in that exerciſe.

They aſſuring themſelves no good could be in that creature, who had betraid any, as curſtly replied, as he had mildly (but craftily) ſpoken; telling him, that curteſie in Traytors muſt be as dangerous, as his kindneſſe would prove, if they were ſo ignorant as to truſt him, who they ſaw before their faces, had betraid two, who fought with him: wherefore they were reſolved to be ſo farre from receiving his complement, as they would make him bring them to the ſureſt entring into the Caſtle; which if hee refuſed, they would cut off his head. With which words they laid hands on him, and that but done, when with a loud and terrible voyce, hee gave notice to them within of his danger, which brought out many to his ſuccour, that place never being without ſome alwaies arm’d. They ruſhed all on the Knights, who bravely behaved themſelves, making quicke worke amongſt them: but then came more, and ſuch numbers, as with their freſhneſſe and companies, they put the Knights more to their ſkill, then in long time they had been: yet they whoſe hearts were filled with true worth and valour, would not thinke themſelves in hazard, but ſtil confident of victory, purſued their Enemies to the Bridge, who ſeeing their want of ſtrength to maſter the three, gave backe of purpoſe to win them to their ſnare: but ſoone did they find their deceit, ſo as avoiding the bridge, they ſcapt the plot, and got the knowledge of it; for they fearefull, and ſome unſkild, runne upon the falſe place, which opened, they falling in: and the three knights ſeeing the place opened, diſcover’d the breadth to bee no more, then one might ſtride over, ſo as they bravely ventur’d leaping over it and entred the gate.

Preſently was a great cry and noiſe in the Caſtle, all now that could beare Armes running upon the knights; and ſo did they perplex them, as they P2 forced P2v 108 forced them to take the benefite of putting their backs to a brave fountaine, which was in the midſt of a ſquare Court wherein they were. This gave them eaſe and ſafetie, being ſure to have no hurt, but what they ſaw; thus they fought till none were left that durſt fight with them.

Then ſtood they a while to breathe, and reſt them, when ſhowers of arrowes came upon them out of the windowes, and from the battlements; theſe vexed them more then any thing, not knowing what to doe againſt them, but onely covering themſelves with their Sheilds, made them their defences, while they reſted a little. But no ſooner had they gained breath, but they ranne up the ſtayres, and finding moſt of them women, yet cruell in that kind, and ſkilfull in ſhooting, they would not contend with them with their Swords, but running forcibly (in ſpite of their ſkill and continuall ſhots) within them, knowing no meanes to bee ſecure, the number being ſo great, were forced, for all their charitable mind, to begin at home with that vertue, and for their owne good to hurt them; which in this manner they did, throwing ſuch as they could lay hands on out of the windowes, purſuing the reſt, who running from them, yet ſtill gall’d them with their arrowes, ſuch was their nimbleneſſe and cunning, as they would ſhoote when they ran faſteſt. But at laſt they got the end of their travell, with the end of them, moſt kill’d or bruſed with the fall, the reſt throwing downe their bowes, and craving mercie.

But now came they to the place, where the ſpring of all miſchiefe ſate, the Miſtriſſe of wickedneſſe, and that Caſtle, in ſuch diſtreſſe, becauſe they were not diſtreſſed; as malice and all vices mixt together, could hardly bee the figure of this woman: but what could ſhee doe? All cunning now faild her, though ſhe began with humilitie, fawning and flattringly begging life, ſucceeding with curſings, revilings and threatnings: but all proſpered alike for they taking her, commaunded her to bring them where the Priſoners were. When ſhee ſaw no craft would prevaile, ſhee caſt her hatefull looks upon them, and by an unlucky chance eſpying a Dagger at Ollorandus back, ſtept to him haſtily, drawing it out, and as ſuddenly being unmarkt, ſtrake Amphilanthus (who was then looking from herward, careleſſe of her) under his Armour, giving him ſuch a wound, as the bloud fell in great abundance from him: but ſoone was that well revenged, if her life were anſwerable for ſuch a miſchance; yet did they keepe her alive, till the Caſtle was ſetled, one drop of his bloud being more worth, then millions of lives of better people. Then ſhe was terribly tortured, and yet kept long in paine for her more laſting puniſhment, and laſtly burn’d.

By this were moſt dead or yeelded, all being ſafe, Amphilanthus was carried into a rich chamber, where his wound was ſearched and dreſt by the three Siſters, who were now come into the Caſtle, brought in by Steriamus of purpoſe to dreſſe the Prince. Ollorandus being ſo perplext that it was his unlucky fate to have the weapon, that hurt his friend, as he was truly ſorrow it ſelfe, even being ready with it to have parted his owne life from him had not Amphilanthus conjured him by all loves, and friendſhips, and proteſtations to forbeare.

Quick- P3r 109

Quickly did the Siſters aſſure them of his ſafety, which as a bleſſing came unto them. After he was dreſſ’d he ſent his friend to fetch the Priſoners all before him, which was done, where were of Knights and Ladies ſuch ſtore, as (if in health and ſtrength) there had beene a fit number for the furniſhing a brave Court, but as they were, it was a ſight of commiſeration, ſo pale, and weake they were with want of foode, and their bodies ſo abuſed with tortures, as they appeard like people of purpoſe made to ſhew miſerie in extremitie. Among them was Dolorindus, whoſe owne minde, and this uſage, had brought him into a fit eſtate to anſwer his name. Amphilanthus knowing him, firſt tooke care of him, calling for his owne apparell which was brought, and cauſing delicate foode to bee brought him, cheeriſhed him ſo, as by that time that he was able to travell for his wound, Dolorindus was likewiſe fit to accompany him, which in few daies came to paſſe by the diligence and care of the three Siſters, who were next in true ſucceſſion by the Mothers ſide, to the ancient Lords of Sio: their Father came unto them with the Squires, to the Princes, and thoſe of the Ship. Then prepared they for their departure, Amphilanthus beſtowing the Caſtle and the Iſland upon the Siſters, his kinde Chyrugions, promiſing to ſend his faithfull and beſt eſteemed ſervant Berlandis to marry the eldeſt, as ſoone as he could finde him, and on the other two, Steriamus and Ollorandus beſtowed their Squires, giving them the Order of Knighthood, who well deſerv’d it, proving worthy of ſuch Maſters, making the world ſee, that ſuch example as dayly their Maſter ſhewd them, muſt needs make bravemen leaving that place in quiet, having taken the oathes of all the Inhabitants in Berlandis name, and his wives. Then tooke they Ship againe for Morea, but paſsing along the Aegean Sea, they entred many Iſlands, ſeeking and finding adventures, but in one, being (though little) yet plentifull, as a greater, delicately compaſſed with Snow white Rocks, yet mixt with ſmall fine trees, whoſe greeneneſſe gave them hope to ſee, but pleaſure gave them heart to goe into it; when they found it within ſuch a place, as a Lover would have choſen to have paſſed his tune in, and this did urge the foure Knights all amorous, and yet in ſeverall kindes to expreſſe their paſsions ſeverall waies.

Amphilanthus left the other three, taking the direct way to the heart of the Land, as ever ayming at that place, having the beſt, and moſt power continually over that part. Steriamus tooke on the right hand; Ollorandus to the left, but Dolorindus who never knew difference of fortune (ſtill having lived in a conſtant ſtate of her diſpleaſure) went away betweene them all, his thoughts (as ever in action) better being able to utter forth his paſsions being alone, which in this kinde he did: when he came into a dainty fine wood of ſtraight high Oakes, and young Beeches, mingled with a fewe Aſhes, and Cheſtnut trees; in the midſt of the Wood was a Mount caſt up by nature, and more delicate then Art could have fram’d it, though the cunningeſt had undertaken it, in the mid’ſt of it was a round Table of ſtone, and round about it Seats made of the ſame Stone, which was blacke Marble, ſome Letters, or rather characters he found ingraven in the upper part of thoſe ſeates, and on many of the Trees, which curiouſly incompaſſed it; & many Ciphers, althougth but one for meaning, though in number many; Lovers had done P3 theſe P3v 110 theſe as he thought; lovers made him remember he was one, and that oft he had carv’d his Miſtriſſes name upon Bay trees, to ſhew her conqueſt, which ſhee had requited, cutting his name in Willowes, to demonſtrate his fate. This afflicted him, and moved ſo much in him, as hee could not but frame ſome verſes in his imagination, which after were given to Amphilanthus, and his other companions; the lines were theſe, place and fortune procuring them.

Sweete ſolitarines, joy to thoſe hearts That feele the pleaſure of Loves ſporting darts, Grudge me not, though a vaſſall to his might, And a poore ſubject to curſt changings ſpite, To reſt in you, or rather reſtleſſe move In your contents to ſorrow for my love. A Love, which living, lives as dead to me, As holy reliques which in boxes be, Plac’d in a cheſt, that overthrowes my joy, Shut up in change, which more then plagues deſtroy. Theſe, O you ſolitarineſſe, may both endure, And be a Chirurgion to find me a cure: For this curſt corſive eating my beſt reſt Memorie, ſad memorie in you once bleſt, But now moſt miſerable with the weight Of that, which onely ſhewes Loves ſtrange deceit; You are that cruell wound that inly weares My ſoule, my body wasting into teares. You keepe mine eies unclos’d, my heart untide, From letting thought of my beſt dayes to ſlide. Froward Remembrance, what delight have you, Over my miſeries to take a view? Why doe you tell me in this ſame-like place Of Earths best bleſsing I have ſeene the face? But maskd from me, I onely ſee the ſhade Of that, which once my brightest Sun-ſhine made. You tell me, that I then was blest in Love, When equall paſsions did together move. O why is this alone to bring diſtreſſe Without a ſalve, but torments in exceſſe? A cruell Steward you are to inrole My once-good dayes, of purpoſe to controle With eyes of ſorrow; yet leave me undone By too much confidence my thrid ſo ſponne: In conſcience move not ſuch a ſpleene of ſcorne, Under whoſe ſwellings my deſpaires are borne. Are you offended (choiceſt Memorie), That of your perfect gift I did glorie? If I did ſo offend, yet pardon me. Since ’twas to ſet forth your true exclencie. Sufficie- P4r 111 Sufficiently I thus doe puniſh’d ſtand, While all that curſt is, you bring to my hand. Or, is it that I no way worthy was In ſo rich treaſure my few dayes to paſſe? Alas, if ſo and ſuch a treaſure given Muſt I for this to Hell-like paine bee driven? Fully torment me now, and what is beſt Together take, and mem’ry with the reſt, Leave not that to me, ſince but for my ill, Which puniſh may, and millions of hearts kill. Then may I lonely ſit downe with my loſſe Without vexation, for my loſſes croſſe: Forgetting pleaſures late embrac’d with Love, Linck’d to a faith, the world could never move; Chain’d with affection, I hop’d could not change, Not thinking Earth could yeeld a place to range: But ſtaying, cruelly you ſet my bliſſe With deepeſt mourning in my ſight, for miſſe And thus muſt I imagine my curſe more, When you I lov’d add to my miſchiefs ſtore: If not, then Memory continue ſtill, And vex me with your perfecteſt knowne ſkill, While you deare ſolitarineſſe accept Me to your charge, whoſe many paſsions kept In your ſweet dwellings have this profit gaind, That in more delicacie none was paind: Your rareneſſe now receive my rarer woe With change, and Love appoints my ſoule to know.

When he had made this, and committed them to that keeper, who yet would not be perſwaded to ſet him at liberty, but continued the more to moleſt him, like a ſoare that one beates to cure, yet ſmarts the more for beating. So did Memory abide with him: Then walk’d hee on to meete his friends, who were all in their kinds as much perplex’d as himſelfe. Amphilanthus alone, and ſo the abler to be bold in ſpeech, began thus, walking (with his armes folded, lovingly for love, one within the other) along a ſweet River. Unhappy man, ſigh’d he, that lives to bee vexed with the fame that once moſt delighted thee; who could have thought inconſtancy a waight, if not to preſſe me on to more delight? Left I till now any wherein change brought not unſpeakable content? When I tooke Antiſsia, thought I not I was happy in the change? When I before had altered from and to that love, did it not bring a full conſent of bliſſe? But now that I have changed, and for, and to the beſt, alas, how am I troubled? How afflicted? How perplexed? Conſtancie I ſee, is the onely perfect vertue, and the contrary, the trueſt fault, which like ſinnes, intices one ſtill on, of purpoſe to leave one in the height: as the height of enjoying makes one leave the love to it. I have offended, all you powers of love pardon me, and if there be any one among you, that hath the rule of truth, governe mee, directrect P4v 112 rect me; and hencefoorth aſſure your ſelfe of my faith, and true ſubjection, error makes me perfect, and ſhewes me the light of underſtanding. But what talke I of truth? Why commend I faith when I am uncertaine, whether theſe will winne? She alas, ſhee doth love, and woe is mee, my hope’s in this quite loſt, ſhee loves, and ſo I ſee my end; yet never ſhall that come without a noble concluſion, and that, her eyes and eares ſhall witneſſe with my loſſe. Deareſt once pitty, my ſad lookes, ſhall tell thee I doe love, my ſighes ſhall make thee heare my paines, my eyes ſhall let thee ſee (if thou wilt but ſee me) that onely thy ſight is their comfort; for when from thee they ſtirre, they muſt finde a new ſeat to turne in, and a head to dwell in, and ſo now they have, for nothing ſee they but thy delicacy, nothing viewe but thy perfections, turne from all to thee, and onely turne unto thee; My ſoule hath alſo eyes to ſee thy worth, Love hath now fram’d me wholly to thy Lawes, command then, heere I breath but to thy love, from which when I doe ſwarve, let me love unrequited; but deareſt be thou kinde, and then have I all bliſſe. Why ſhouldeſt not thou leave one, ſince for thee Ile leave all? Be once unconſtant to ſave me as ’twere from death, who for it will be true, I vow, and this vow ſtill will keepe, that onely thou art worthy and alone I will love thee.

Then caſting up his eyes, he ſaw before him a rare meadow, and in the midſt of it a little Arbour, as he ſo farre off tooke it to bee, but drawing neerer he found a delicate Fountaine criircled about with Orenge, and Pomgranet trees, the ground under them all hard ſand, about the Fountaine (as next adjoyning) was a hedge of Jeſamnis mingled with Roſes and Woodbines, and within that, paved with pavements of divers colours, plac’d for ſhew and pleaſure; on the ſteps he ſate downe beholding the worke of the Fountaine which was moſt curious, being a faire Maide as it were, thinking to lade it drie, but ſtill the water came as faſt, as it paſt over the diſh ſhe ſeem’d to lade withall: and juſt thus ſaid hee, are my labours fruitleſſe, my woes increaſing faſter then my paines find eaſe. Then having enough, as hee thought, given liberty to his ſpeech, he put the reſt of his thought into excellent verſe, making ſuch excelling ones, as none could any more imitate or match them, then equall his valour: ſo exquiſite was he in all true vertues, and ſkill in Poetry, a quallitie among the beſt much prized and eſteemed, Princes brought up in that, next to the uſe of Armes. When he had finiſhed them, he ſate a while ſtill, then looking on the Fountaine, he ſaid, Deare hopes ſpring as this water, flow to injoying like this ſtreame, but will not till my life doth waſt in me; nay dye, runne to my Love, and tell her what I feele; Say, and ſay boldly, till I knew her ſelfe I was but ignorant and now doe know, that only ſhe, and ſhe alone, can ſave or ruine me.

Many more, and far more excellent diſcourſes, had he with himſelfe, and ſuch as I am altogether unable to ſet down, therfore leave them to be gueſſed at by thoſe who are able to comprehend his worth, and underſtanding: ſuch may expreſſe his paſſions, all elſe admire, and admiringly eſteeme ſo incomparable a Prince, who for a little while continued thus, but then leaving the Fountaine he went ſtrait on, and followed on his way till he came unto a Hill, the ſides appearing rocky, the topp hee might diſcerne greene and ſome trees upon it; he by little and little climb’d to the topp, where the Q1r 113 the middle of it he ſaw a hole, and looking in at that hole perceiv’d fire a pretty way below it, and that fire as if it were ſtir’d by ſome hands, whereupon hee concluded, that this was ſome poore abode of ſome miſerable people, either made ſo by want or miſfortune, which likewiſe might bee want, that being the greateſt miſery.

Round about the top hee ſought, but at laſt thought with himſelfe, that there was no way to ſee the Inhabitants but by ſome way in the ſide of this Rocke, wherefore he went downe againe, and halfe about the Hill, when he found a little doore of ſtone, the even proportion of the opening making him knowe it to be ſo, elſe nothing could have diſordered it, ſo cloſe it was, appearing but like chinkes or clifts. He pull’d at it, but it would not ſtirre; then he knock’d, when ſtraight a little window was opened, and out of it an ugly old Dwarfe looked, whoſe face was as wrinkled as the rocke, his complexion Sand colour without ſo much red as to make a difference ’twixt his lips, and face; his haire had beene blacke, but now was growne griſled, yet ſtill kept the naturall ſtubbornneſſe of it being but thin, and thoſe few haires deſirous to be ſeene ſtood ſtaring, neither were they of any equall length, but like a horſes maine, new taken from graſſe, which by the wantonneſſe of ſome of his companions had beene bit, and natch’d in divers places. Beard he had none, to diſtinguiſh his ſexe, his habits being forc’d to ſpeake for him to that purpoſe; onely a wart he had on his right cheeke, which liberally beſtowed ſome haire according to the ſubſtance, for the ſight of ſuch as ſaw him. He was not onely a Dwarfe but the leaſt of thoſe creatures, and in ſome ſort the ill-favoured’ſt; this youth ſeeing Amphilanthus, ſtraight cryd, alas wee are betray’d, for heere is an armed man that will aſſuredly deſtroy us.

The Prince promiſed on his word, he, nor any there ſhould have the leſt harme, if he would let him but come in unto him; the olde Dwarfe ſcarſe knew how to truſt, having before beene in his truſt deceiv’d, wherefore he deſired firſt to know who he was that gave his word. The King anſwered, I am called, and knowne by the name of the Knight of Love, but mine owne name, ſaid he, is Amphilanthus. Prayſed be heaven, ſaid he, that you are landed here, for alas my Lord, I am your Subject, miſerably perplexed, by a cruell and tyrannicall man, Lord of the Iſland of Strombolli, and who hath undone me, and my children; then leap’d he from the window, and opened the dore which was made faſt with many bolts of yron: the doore open the King went in, though with ſome difficulty at the entring, by reaſon the place was low, & fitter for ſuch a man as the Hoſt, then the Romanian King. In the roome he found a woman, in height and lovelineſſe anſwerable to the man, and three younger men then himſelfe, but all of his proportion, who ſeem’d to be his Sonnes. Then did Amphilanthus deſire to know the cauſe of his complayning againſt the Lord of Strombolli, which the old Dwarfe began to relate in this manner.

May it pleaſe you, great Prince, to underſtand, I am called Nainio borne in Strombolli to pretty poſſeſſions, the which I enjoyed ſome yeares after my Fathers deceaſe, but the Lord of the Iland, (or better to ſay, the Governor) paſſing that way, and ſeeing my living pleaſant and delightfull, groves of Orange, and Lemmon Trees, all other fruites plentifully yeelding themſelves Q for Q1v 114 for our uſes, grew in love with the place, and in hate with me; firſt, hee peremptorily commanded mee to bring my wife, and theſe tall men my ſonnes, to attend him, his wife and children. I that was borne free would not bee made a ſlave; wherefore (I muſt confeſſe unadviſedly) I gave too rough an anſwere, that bred diſlike, and gave juſt occaſion againſt mee. Then ſent hee for mee, made mee a ſcorne in the eyes of all men, and when hee had gloried enough in my miſerie, ſcoffing at my ſhape and ſtature, ſaying, I would make a fit Commander againſt the Infidels, hee put mee, and my family into a little boate, and when ſhipping went for Greece, ſent mee along with them: but ſuch kindneſſe I found among them, as they indeede carried mee, but brought mee backe againe; this was diſcovered, whereupon I was to die: but my pardon was got by the Lady, wife to the Lord, a vertuous and ſweet Lady, on condition if ever I were found in Strombolli, or any part of Italy, I ſhould die for it. Then went I away, and with the firſt mentioned Saylers got into this ſea, and ſo unto this Iland, where I have remaind but in continuall feare; for conſidering the danger I was in for my life, it ſo with the memorie frights mee, as I had rather have ſterv’d here, then gone hence for feare of harme, everie one that I heare or ſee in this place being as a Sprite unto mee, and ſo did you appeare, till you told me who you were, ſo much doe I yet ſtand in awe of the cruell Iland Lord.

The King ſmil’d to heare his diſcourſe, but moſt to ſee his action, which was ſo timerous and affrighted, as never any man beheld the like; and as he did, ſo did his Sons, like Munkeys, who imitating one another anſwer in geſtures as aptly and redily as one Ecco to another, and as like, and ſo the ſport was doubled. Great delight did hee take in theſe little men; wherefore gently and mildly hee gaind ſo much of them, as they would with him leave that place, conditionally that hee would not carry them into Italy, where they more feared their firſt enemie, then truſted to the power of the King, ſuch a Lord is coward feare over baſe minds, as underſtanding gaines ſmall place in their hearts, as by this appeared, elſe might they have been aſſured in his company in Strombolli it ſelfe.

But conſents agreeing on both ſides, they went out of the rocke to meete the other Princes, the Dwarfes quaking at every leafe that ſhook, and fainted when they heard the Armour a little claſh in his going; but directly they loſt life for a while, when they met the other Knights, not being able to believe they were their Lords friends. But after they grew more valiant, like a coward, who againſt his mind being brought into the middle of a battaile, can neither runne, nor his cries bee heard, and therefore of force muſt abide that hell torment: So were theſe brought to it by ſight of fights, when death could only have relieved them from feare.

Amphilanthus following on, came to a great Cave, into which hee went, putting the Dwarfes before him; a great way they paſſed into it till hee came to a River, which either was blacke, or the darkeneſſe of that ſhadowed place made appeare ſo: the vault was of height ſufficient for him without trouble to walke in, and of breadth for three to goe a front, paved and covered round with free ſtone, when he came to the River he Q2r 115 he deſired to paſſe it, but at firſt ſaw no meanes; at laſt he diſcovered (or feare in his Dwarfes diſcoverd for him, they being able to diſcerne, having been long in the darke, which though at firſt it blindes like Love, yet it gives at laſt ſight to get out of it); ſo they found a board, which was faſtned with chaines to the top of the Vault, and two pines of yron that held the chaines, being ſtuck into the wall; thoſe being pulled out, the chaines let the Planke fall gently downe, juſt croſſe over the water, which was not above ſix yards over, but being on it, they might ſee a great way up and downe the ſtreame. Then paſſed they on to a doore which they opened, a pretie way along the ſame vault from the brook, and the end of it, thorow which they entred into a dainty Garden, and ſo into a faire Pallace of Alabaſter, incompaſſed with Hilles, or rather Mountaines, of ſuch height, as no way was poſſible to bee found to come at it, but thorow the ſame vault the King came. Divers Gardens and Orchards did ſurround this pallace: in every one was a fountaine, and every fountaine rich in art, and plentifully furniſhed with the vertue of liberalitie, freely beſtowing water in abundance.

Theſe places hee paſt, ſtaying in a large ſtone Gallerie, ſet upon pillers of the ſame ſtone; there hee ſat downe, complaining ſtill of his Miſtriſſe, whoſe heart was ſtored with paine and love, equally oppreſsing her. O (cride he) my deareſt love, the ſweeteſt cruell that ever Nature fram’d, how have I miſerable man offended thee? that not ſo much as a looke or ſhew of pity will proceede from thee to comfort mee: are all thy favours lockt up, and onely ſad countenances allotted mee? Alas, conſider women were made to love, and not to kill; yet you will deſtroy with cruell force, while I changed to a tender creature, ſit weeping and mourning for thy crueltie, which yet I can hardly terme ſo, ſince thou knoweſt not my paine.

Further hee would have proceeded, when a doore opened into that roome, and out of it came a grave Ladie, apparreld in a black habit, and many more young women attending her; ſhee ſtraight went to him, ſaluting him thus. Brave King, welcome to this place, being the abiding of your friend, and ſervant. Hee looking upon her, perceived wiſdome, modeſtie, and goodneſſe figured in her face; wherefore with a kind acceptance hee received this ſalutation, deſiring to bee informed of the place, but moſt to know how he came knowne to her.

Sir (ſaid ſhee) my name is Melliſſea, and having ſkill in the Art of Aſtrologie, I have found much concerning you, and as much deſire to doe you ſervice. Can you find good Madam (ſaid hee), whether I ſhall bee happie in my love, or not? In love my Lord (ſaid ſhee) you ſhall bee moſt happy, for all ſhall love you that you wiſh: but yet you muſt bee croſt in this you now affect, though contrarie to her heart.

But ſhall I not enjoy her then? miſerable fortune, take all loves from me, ſo I may have hers. Shee loves you (ſaid Melliſſea), and it will proove your fault if you loſe her, which I thinke, you will and muſt; to prevent which, if poſſible, beware of a treacherous ſervant. For this place, it is that anciently reverenced, and honoured Iland of Delos, famous for the birth of thoſe two great lights, Apollo and Diana; the ruines of Apollo’s and Latona’s Temples remaining to this day on the other ſide of that mountaine, called Cynthus; once rich and populous, now poore and peopleleſſe, none or very few Q2 inhabiting Q2v 116 inhabiting here, beſides this my family; the ſharpe and cruell rockes which girdle this Iland, guarding it ſelfe and us from dangerous robbings. But muſt I looſe my Love (ſaid Amphilanthus)? Accurſed fate that ſo ſhould happen. I yet doe hope, if I may be aſſured ſhee loves mee, this will never bee.

Well my Lord (ſaid ſhee) to let you ſee, that hope is too poore a thing in compariſon of truth to truſt to, I wil give you theſe tokens, to make you truly ſee my words are true; you have lately had a wound by a woman, but this a greater and more dangerous you muſt ſuffer, which will indanger your life farre more then that laſt did; yet ſhall the cauſe proceede from your owne raſhneſſe, which you ſhall repent when ’tis too late, and when time is paſt, know, the meanes might have prevented it: but to doe what I may for your good, I adviſe you to this; alter your determination for your journey to Morea, and in ſtead of it, goe ſtraight to Ciprus, where you muſt finiſh an Inchantment, and at your returne come hither, and with you bring the company that you releaſe there, then ſhall I bee more able to adviſe you, for this doth yet darken ſome part of my knowledge of you.

Hee remaind much perplext with thoſe words; yet as well as ſuch affliction would permit him, hee made ſhew of patience. Then did Melliſſea ſend one of her Maides to bring his companions to him, hoping their ſights, and the diſcourſe of their fortunes would a little remove his melancholie from him: in the meane time hee with croſſed armes walkt up and downe the Gallerie, muſing in himſelfe, how hee ſhould ſo farre and deadlily fall out with himſelfe, as to be the cauſe of his owne miſerie, not being able, though hee had the beſt underſtanding, to reach into this miſterie. Sometimes the Lady diſcourſed to him, and he for civilitie did anſwere her; yet oft-times ſhe was content to attend his owne leiſure for his replie, ſo much power had his paſſions over him.

Thus hee remaind moleſted, while Steriamus following his right hand way, was brought into a fine plaine, and thence to the foote of a mountaine, where hee found rich pillers of Marble, and many more ſignes of ſome magnificent building, which ſight wrought pitie in him, remembring how glorious they ſeem’d to have been, now throwne downe to ruine; And ſo (ſaid hee) was my fortune faire, and brave in ſhew, but now caſt low to deſpair and loſſe. O Pamphilia, Goddeſſe of my ſoule, accept mee yet at laſt, if not for thy ſervant, yet for thy Prieſt, and on the Altar of thy ſcorne will I daily offer up the ſacrifice of true and ſpotleſſe love: my heart ſhall bee the offering, my teares the water, my miſerable body the Temple, and thy hate and cruelleſt diſdaine, the enemy that layes it waſte. Once yet conſider, greateſt beautie, mightieſt riches, ſumptuouſeſt buildings, all have ſome end; brighteſt glory cannot ever dure; and as of goodneſſe, muſt not ill have ſo? grant this, and then thy rage muſt needs conclude.

Yet thus, did not his paine find concluſion, but a little further hee went among thoſe ruines, where hee laid himſelfe not downe, but threw himſelfe among thoſe poore and deſtroyed reliques of the rareſt Temples, where hard by hee heard Ollorandus likewiſe complaining. My Melaſinda (ſaid hee) how juſtly maiſt thou blame thy Ollorandus, who ſtill travels further from thee, who ſtrove to bring thy love ſtill neereſt to him? Canſt Q3r 117 Canſt thou imagine thy immaculate affection well beſtowed, when ſo great neglect requiteth it? Wilt thou, or maiſt thou thinke the treaſure of thy love, and richeſt gift of it well beſtowed, when abſence is the paiment to it? If againſt mee and theſe thou do’ſt but juſtly except, yet what doth hold thee from killing that ſlave, and ſetting thy deare ſoule at libertie? No, thy vertues will not like a murderer, it muſt bee as it is, Deſtiny muſt onely worke, and deſpairing ſorrow tyre it ſelfe in me. Steriamus wanting pitie, knew the miſſe, and therefore would bee as charitable as hee could: to ſhew which goodneſſe, he roſe, and went to Ollorandus to put him from his mourning, who was then againe entring into his waylings, telling him, they were too long from Amphilanthus. As hee ſtart up, behold Dolorindus, who came ſadly towards them, whom they called to them, and ſo together went from that place, meaning to aſcend the mountaine: but then came the ſervant of Melliſſea to them, intreating their companies from her Miſtriſſe to the Pallace, where they ſhould meete their companion. They ſoone conſented to that invitation; whither being come, they told all their adventures one to another; then were they brought into a faire roome, where after they had eaten, Melliſſea againe thus ſpake.

My Lords, the time calls upon you, occaſions being ſuch, as your preſences are required in ſeverall places: wherefore firſt to you my Lord Steriamus I muſt ſay, you muſt haſte hence, and as you deſire your owne happie ends in love, obſerve what I adviſe you. Goe from hence into Arcadia, feare not, for nothing ſhall encounter you of harme. Dolorindus, doe you the like, for much is your being there requiſite: from thence goe to Saint Maura, and in a rocke which lies juſt againſt it towards Cephalonia, privately remaine till fortune call you thence by helpe, which ſhall appeare death; this may ſeeme hard and terrible, but feare it not, ſince it ſhall bring your happineſſe; then goe into Greece againe, and helpe your friends, and your ſelfe in the Conqueſt of Albania. They tooke her hand, and kiſt it, on it ſwearing to obey her Counſell. Amphilanthus was ſorry for his vow, eſpecially that his journey was ſtaid to Morea: but hee made the cauſe of his griefe, for parting with his friends.

Then to Ollorandus ſhee thus ſpake: The good that ſhall come to you muſt proceede from this brave King, who ſhall give unto you both ſecuritie of life, and your onely love: life hee ſhall venture for you, and ſave yours by the hazard of himſelfe: keepe then together, and ſtill be your ſelves firme and conſtant, aſsiſting one another; for a time will bee, when you ſhall merit this from Amphilanthus, giving him as great a gift. And credit what I ſay; for it is as true, as by my meanes you received the Armour in the Forreſt, when you were faſt ſleeping, it being laid by you, from which you have taken the name of Knight of the Forreſt. For you my Lord, thinke not but I am as carefull, or more of you then any, though I have left you laſt; for as yet I can ſay little: but feare nothing except what I have already warnd you of; my Art ſhall attend you, and I never faile to ſerve you, make haſte then to Cyprus, and be carefull. Then all promiſing to performe her will, with teares in their eyes they tooke leave of each other. Q3 Steriamus Q3v 118

Steriamus and Dolorindus demanding what ſervice Amphilanthus would command them. He anſwered, They ſhould honor him much in remembring him to the King and Queene, to whom by Steriamus hee ſent the olde Dwarfes, and the youngeſt Sonne called after his Fathers name, hee deſired Dolorindus to preſent to Pamphilia from him.

Thus they parted, and Amphilanthus, Ollorandus, and the other two dwarfes who ſerv’d them for Squires, tooke their way for Cyprus. Quicke was the journey of the other two, arriving in Laconia, and ſo haſting to Mantinea, where then the King was; but being neere, Steriamus began to faint, fearing the ſight of her, he moſt deſired to ſee, yet incouraged by Dolorindus to performe what he had ingaged his word to doe, they went on, comming to the Court, when the King, and all the Princes were aſſembled to judge the Traytors. But Steriamus whoſe fame was now farre ſpread for his noble Acts at Conſtantinople, and divers others, was ſoone knowne in the Hall, and as ſoone with great joy brought before the King, to whom he delivered the Preſent, and ſervice of Amphilanthus.

The King infinitly rejoyced to heare of his brave friend, and taking the Dwarfe (the Queene with as much love accepting the other) deſired before they paſſed to the Judgement to heare of their adventures. Then did Steriamus openly relate all, that had happened him after his depart, untill their comming thither, in ſo good words and Princely a maner, as all admired, and loved him; eſpecially, for doing it with ſuch affection, and truth, to the eternall renowne of incomparable Amphilanthus. Then preſented he Dolorindus to the King, whoſe name and preſence was welcome to at that time; eſpecially, aſſuring himſelfe now to have an end and true knowledge of the Traytours, who were lead (at their comming in) aſide, ſo as they neither ſawe them, nor heard the relation of the adventure at Sio, which was extreame ſtrange, and wondred at by all, the more the cauſe of admiration was, the more ſtill increaſed their honours that atcheived it. Then went the Princes to Pamphilia, who much commended Steriamus for his diſcourſe, kindly of Dolorindus, accepting the Dwarfe, promiſing to love him for his Lords ſake: then were all placed againe, Roſindy taking Steriamus, and ſetting him betweene him and his friend Selarinus, who was true joy it ſelfe to ſee Steriamus againe, the traytors then entred, to whom the King thus ſpake.

Without any more falſhood, truly declare unto me who you are, and your true names, for thoſe you tooke upon you, I know are falſe: then diſcover the cauſe of taking my daughter, deale truly, if any pitie be expected by you, to be ſhewed unto you. The old man curſtly replied, Hee wondred a King ſhould have ſo ill a conceit of another of his owne ranke, as to thinke falſhood could be in a royall breaſt, and more did he admire that the King of Morea who before had beene counted juſt, would offer that injuſtice to the King of Negropont, who having beene ill uſed by an ungratefull Childe, and comming thither for ſuccour ſhould be made a Priſoner like a Traitor, and uſed like theeves.

Then anſwered the King, behold my Lords before you the vildeſt of men, and falſeſt of Traitors; to prove which Dolorindus ſtand forth and witneſſe againſt him; Dolorindus indeed came foorth, the Traytor ſeeing him ſtraight Q4r 119 ſtraight too well knew him; wherefore roring out hee cryed, I am undone, for now all is betray’d. Then did Dolorindus againe tell the manner of his trecherous taking, and impriſoning him, and withall the winning, and deſtroying of the Caſtle, and his ſervants; the burning of his wicked wife, and the beſtowing of the Iſland upon Berlandis, and the other two their Squires, whom they had matched to the three Siſters. Theſe creatures being paſt helpe to be ſaved, fell downe on their faces, confeſſing the truth, which was this.

The Sonne to this wicked man ſeeing the picture of Pamphilia, which was ſent ſome two yeeres before by Pamphilia to her Uncle, but taken away by Pirats who after landed at Sio, and among other things ſold that. He fell in love with it, and ſo longed to enjoy her, as nothing but death appear’d in him; which the devill his Father perceiving, plotted all waies hee could; to which end, he invented that falſe Bridge, hoping to get ſome of her brothers or friends, if not, ſome that might bring them meanes to finde a tricke to gaine her.

Tenn monethes this continued, then came the poore Dolorindus, who by Treaſon they got, and having heard his Story, which almoſt was the ſame he told for himſelfe, onely this differing, that the Kingdome was not given by affection to the daughter, but by right, as being a gift given by the Grandfather to his Daughter, and her firſt borne, which happened to be a Daughter, and ſo ſhee elder, put Dolorindus by. The reſt was true of her ill deſerving, but the Father righted by his Sonne, by a Combate againſt two mightie men was delivered from priſon, ſhe put downe from government and committed to his Priſon, where ſhortly after ſhe died.

This Story the wicked man made his owne, and his Sonne tooke the name of brave Dolorindus, forging the reſt, and making that deceitfull Chariot of purpoſe to betray the Princeſſe whom they purpoſed to have carried with them to Sio, and to keepe her by that Treaſon againſt all, at leaſt the amorous Lover ſhould have had his deſire.

This being confeſſ’d, and hee no Prince, but an uſurping Lord of other mens rights, and a Kings, and Princes honour, they were all condemn’d and executed according to the Archadian Law. Now is the time of Steriamus departing come, and alſo for Dolorindus who taking their leaves of the King, and Court, promiſed Roſindy, and Selarinus to meete them ſoone after in Macedon; kiſſing Pamphilia’s hand once more to bleſſe his lips with the laſt affectionate kiſſe, hee can ever have from her, or give to her, hee departed with his friend towards Snt. Maura, perplexed in ſoule, love working more terribly, now then ever, like that killing diſeaſe which parts not but with life: and ſo was this ſickneſſe come now to the height in him. A little leſſe eaſe felt Antiſsia, who now muſt ſoone leave Morea; the Abmmbaſſadour recovered of his hurts, and others choſen to goe in Commiſsion with him concerning the forces, being the two brave Princes of Corinth, and Elis, Brother to the proud lover of Parſelius, who hee met as you have heard. More honourably Antiſsia could not be accompanied, and ſince ſhee muſt goe, ’twas thought fit ſhe went with them.

The day before ſhe was to goe, not having all night taken any reſt, ſhe roſe earlyer then ſhee was accuſtomed, and ſooner then any was ſtirring ſhee Q4v 120 ſhee came into Pamphilia’s Chamber, who ſhe found ſweetly ſleeping, but drawing the curtaine ſhe awaked, and ſeeing her, wondred what occaſion had call’d her up ſo ſoone, and at that houre to bee dreſſ’d, wherefore ſhee ſaid, why, what diſturbance, ſweet Antiſsia, hath thus rais’d you? What diſquiets moleſted you? Can your thoughts affoord you no more reſt? Or, is it joy for your departure, makes you thus early, and takes away that dull humour of ſleepe from your ſpirits? Joy to part? O me, reply’d ſhe weeping. No Pamphilia, my heart doth breake to thinke of it, my ſoule is tortur’d ſo, as it enjoyes no peace for griefes additions.

The loſſe of your company is much more to mee, ſaid the Princeſſe; for you gone, who ſhall I have the bleſſing to converſe withall? With whom, or to whom may I freely ſay my minde? To whom ſpeake my paine? To whom waile my misfortunes? Thus is the loſſe moſt in me; for you goe to your Nephew, where you ſoone will ſee your love, while I lamenting, ſpend my time I am to tarry here; which ſince you goe will ſeeme ages to mee.

Why will you be thus cruell, moſt ſweet Pamphilia ſaid ſhee, to add unto my torments, by the expreſſion of your favour to me? I ſhall goe ’tis true, to my Nephew, rather to content him then my ſelf, ſince what wil his Court be to mee, when I ſhall bee in the Dungeon of Deſpaire? For ſeeing my Love, much hope I have, when he favours me not ſo much, as by theſe Princes to ſend one poore remembrance, to let me know hee thinkes on ſuch a ſoule; a ſoule indeede, wonne, and loſt by him, who now deſpiſes the memory of her, who diſdained not to love, and ſerve him, and who I know, ſuffers in honor for him: but let her ſuffer, and be he as ungratefull as he will, I yet muſt love ſo much as to lament his loſſe. But me thought you touch’d even now of parting, whither, rare Lady, will you goe? Or what quarell have you to poore Morea, to leave it deſolate, as ſo it muſt be when you forſake it? I ſhall leave it but for a while, ſaid ſhe, and then it will be freer, and ſafer from afflictions, when the moſt afflicted ſhall bee abſent from it. Goe I muſt with mine Uncle, to be ſeene to the Pamphilians, and acknowledged their Princeſſe; which Countrey my Uncle in his youth (being as brave and valiant a man as ever breathed) wonne from the ſubjection of Tyrants; in requitall whereof the people choſe him their King, their love being then ſo great, and ſtill continuing, as they have given him leave to chooſe his Succeſſor, which by reaſon he never marryed, had elſe falne to them againe for choice. He long ſince choſe me, and to that end gave mee that name: but hee growing old, or rather weake, and they deſirous to know me, gain’d of him to make this voyage for me, with whom I doe returne ſpeedily, and now rejoyce in the ſoone comming of it, ſince you and I muſt part.

O name not that word, great Princeſſe, ſigh’d ſhee, but rather ſpend this little time in ſuch content as our hearts can permit us, diſpoſing theſe houres to a more pleaſing purpoſe, pray therefore riſe, and goe into the ſolitary wood, where we may unheard, and unperceiv’d, better diſcourſe our woes, ſaddly, and freely complaining. I will ever yeeld unto your deſires, ſaid Pamphilia: then goe you before, and I ſhall ſoone follow you. Antiſsia left her, taking the way to the Walkes. Pamphilia got up, and as ſhee was making R1r 121 making her ready, her paſsionate breaſt ſcarce allowing her any reſpite from her paſsions, brought theſe Verſes to her mind, wherein ſhee then imprinted them.

Deare Love, alas, how have I wronged thee, That ceaſeleſly thou ſtill dost follow me? My heart of Diamond cleare, and hard I find, May yet be pierc’d with one of the ſame kind, Which hath in it ingraven a love more pure, Then ſpotleſſe white, and deepe ſtill to endure, Wrought in with teares of never resting paine, Carv’d with the ſharpeſt point of curs’d diſdaine. Raine oft doth waſh away a ſlender marke, Teares make mine firmer, and as one ſmall ſparke In ſtraw may make a fier: ſo ſparkes of love Kindles inceſſantly in me to move; While cruelst you, doe onely pleaſure take, To make me faster ty’d to ſcornes ſharpe ſtake, Tis harder, and more ſtrength muſt uſed be To ſhake a tree, then boughes we bending ſee: So to move me it was alone your power None elſe could ere have found a yeelding hower Curs’d be ſubjection, yet bleſt in this ſort, That ’gainſt all but one choice, my heart a fort Hath ever lasted: though beſeig’d, not mov’d, But by their miſſe my ſtrength the ſtronger prov’d Reſisting with that conſtant might, that win They ſcarce could parly, much leſſe foes get in. Yet worſe then foes your ſlightings prove to be, When careles you no pitie take on me. Make good my dreames, wherein you kind appeare, Be to mine eyes, as to my ſoule, most deare. From your accuſtomed ſtrangeneſſe, at laſt turne; An ancient houſe once fir’d, will quickly burne, And wast unhelp’d, my long love claimes a time To have aid granted to this height I clime. A Diamond pure, and hard, an unſhak’t tree A burning houſe find helpe, and prize in mee.

Being ready, ſhe went into the Garden Woods, where ſhee ſaw Antiſsia ſadly walking, her eyes on the earth, her ſighes breathing like a ſweet gale claiming pitie from above, for the earth ſhe ſaid would yeeld her none, yet ſhe beſought that too, and at laſt paſſion procured alteration from mourning, ſhe began to ſing a Song, or rather part of one, which was thus.

R Stay R1v 122 Stay mine eyes, theſe floods of teares Seemes but follies weakely growing, Babes at nurſe ſuch wayling beares, Frowardneſſe ſuch drops beſtowing, But Niobe muſt ſhew my fate, She wept and griev’d her ſelfe a ſtate. My ſorrowes like her Babes appeare Daily added by increaſing; She loſt them, I looſe my Deare, Not one ſpar’d from woes ne’re ceaſing: She made a rock, heaven drops downe teares, Which pitie ſhewes, and on her weares.

Aſſuredly more there was of this Song, or elſe ſhe had with her unframed and unfaſhioned thoughts, as unfaſhionably framd theſe lines. But then Pamphilia came to her, ſaying; Sweete Antiſsia, leave theſe dolorous complaints, when wee are parted, let our hearts bleed teares: but let us not deprive our ſelves of this little comfort; at leaſt, let us flatter our ſelves, and thinke wee now feele ſome; and when abſence makes us know the contrary, then mourne. Alas (ſaid Antiſsia) I foreſee my harme; my Spirit tells mee once being gone, gone will my joyes bee altogether: ſadneſſe will preſage any thing (ſaid Pamphilia), eſpecially where that may procure more ſadneſſe; melancholy, the nurſe of ſuch paſſions being glad, when her authoritie is eſteemd, and yeelded to: and ſo much hath it wrought in me, as I have many houres ſate looking on the fire, in it making as many ſad bodies, as children, do varietie of faces, being pleaſed, or diſpleaſed, or as mine owne fancies have felt paines, and all this was but melancholy, and truely that is enough to ſpoile any, ſo ſtrangely it growes upon one, and ſo pleaſing is the ſnare, as till it hath ruind one, no fault is found with it, but like death, embraced by the ancient brave men, like honour and delight. This I have found and ſmarted with it; leave it then, and nip it in the bud, leſt it blow to overthrow your life and happineſſe, for my ſake bee a little more chearefull, and I will promiſe you, when you are gone, I will as much bewaile abſence.

Antiſsia tooke her hand, and though againſt her will kiſſed it, ſaying; Admired Princeſſe, let your poore unfortunate friend and ſervant, bee in abſence but ſometimes remembred, with a wiſh to ſee her with you, and that will bring an unſpeakable content to that diſtreſſed creature, on whom fortune tries her curſteſt power in deſpitefull rage, and cruelty. Doubt not me more deare Antiſsia (ſaid ſhee), for thoſe wiſhes ſhall bee, and attended with others for your happineſſe, then diſtruſt not me for Pamphilia muſt bee juſt.

Thus in kind diſcourſe they continued, promiſing to each other, what was in love demaunded to demonſtrate their affections, till it was time to retire. Little meate that Dinner ſerved them, whoſe hearts had filled their Stomacks with love and ſorrow: after Dinner, going againe to that sad R2r 123 ſad place that night being the laſt, lying together, and with ſad, but loving diſcourſe pasſing thoſe darke houres day being loath to ſee Antiſius teares, but greiv’d, and afraid to ſee Pamphilia weepe, did hide her face till the Sunne greedy of ſo pretious, and ſweete a dew looking red, with haſt came into the roome, where they bluſhingly aſhamed ſo to bee ſurprized, put on their clothes, not to be in danger of his heate.

No ſooner were they ready, but Antiſſia was call’d for, who the ſweeteſt Lady accompanied to her Coatch with maine teares, and ſad, becauſe parting kiſſe, taking leave of each other, Antiſſia by her ſorrow foretelling her comming, or indeed but ſhewing her already befallen loſſe, Pamphilia was ſorry for her going, becauſe ſhe was now aſſured of her love: the Court did in generall lament, ſuch love and reſpect ſhe had gain’d by her courteous and ſweete behaviour, many wiſhing her married to Parſelius, that ſo they might ſtill keepe her with them, ſo many well wiſhes ſhe had, as ſurely made her journey more proſperous, for ſafety; and ſpeedily (conſidering the way) ſhee arrived at Conſtantinople, being lovingly, and kindly entertayned by the King, and affectionatly by her Uncle, whoſe joy was greateſt knowing what hazard ſhe had ſuffer’d, ayming now at nothing more then how to get the brave Leandrus to performe what before was determined betweene their Parents.

She gone, preparation was made for the journey of Pamphilia, rich Chariots, Coaches, furniture for Horſes, and all other neceſſary things that could bee demanded for ſervice, or ſtate; the Liveries for her ſervants being of the ſame colours the Chariots, and other furnitures were, and them all of her owne choſen colurs, which were Watchet and Crimſon, as the Chariots were Watchet, embroydred with Crimſon and purle of Silver, one with Pearle, all the reſt alike. The King and Queene did accompany her to the ſea-ſide, al the other Princes bringing her aboord, and there kiſſing her hands.

Thus away ſhe went ſailing with gentle and pleaſant wind, till the Pilate told the king, that a great fleet followed them, by their colors, and the ſhapes of the ſhips, ſhewing they were Italians. Wherefore they not knowing the buſineſſe prepared for the worſt; when they perceived out of the greateſt and faireſt of theſe ſhips, Knights unarmd, and Ladies armd with beauty, able to conquer worlds of hearts, to iſſue, and enter a delicate Galley, which ſtraight made way by oares towards them.

The King ſeeing it, and Pamphilia being above any Princeſſe courteous, commanded their ſhip to ſtrike ſaile, leaſt harme might befall them in their comming aboord. Straight came they into the ſhip, the firſt and chiefe of thoſe Knights with a grave, and manly faſhion, delivering theſe words holding a Lady (moſt exact in all perfections) by the hand. Moſt incomparable Princeſſe, the fame of whoſe worth the world is fild withall, and yet wants aother to be able to comprehend the fulneſſe of it. Be pleaſed to know, that this Lady and my ſelfe are your devoted Servants, Periſſus and Limena of Cecillia, reſcued and ſaved from ruine and death by your magnanimious brother Parſelius, to whom we were now going to manifeſt our gratefulneſſe to him, but hearing by a ſhip which came from Morea, juſt as we were putting a ſhore, that the Prince is neither there, nor hath been of ſometimes heard of, R2 withall R2v 124 withall of your journey, we reſolved to attend you, and to you doe the ſervice we owe him, which by him I know will be a like taken, as to himſelfe; ſuch is his affection to you, ſuch admirable perfections living in him, as love, and affection to his friends are plentifully flouriſhing in him; wherefore we beſeech you to accept of our affectionate ſervices, which ſhall ever (next to Parſelius) bee moſt devotiouſlie obſerving to your commands. Him wee love for his vertues, and the benefits wee have received from him; you wee love for him and your owne merits, whoſe name doth duly claime all eies, and hearts to love and admire.

Pamphilia, whoſe modeſty never heard her owne commendations without bluſhing, pretily did now expreſſe a baſhfulneſſe, but her ſpeech delivered with confidence ſhewed thoſe words, nor the ſpeaker of them neede for them bluſh, they were theſe.

Brave and renowned King, of whoſe vertues mine eares have long ſince been witneſſe; bee pleaſed to heare your ſervant ſay, ſhee doth bleſſe her eyes, that preſents ſuch worth unto them, and eſteeme this as my chiefeſt happineſſe, that for the firſt encounter in my journey, fortune favours mee with the meeting of ſuch excellent Princes, in whom are all the powers of true worthineſſe, that can be in either, or both ſexes; and in you moſt happy Queene, the rare vertue of matchleſſe and loyall conſtancy; and much doe I bleſſe my deſtine thus to enjoy your companies, which Parſelius ſhall thanke you for, and I him for you.

Then ſhe preſented them both to her Uncle, who kindly welcom’d them, being glad ſuch royall company would attend his Neece to honour her Coronation, which he meant ſhould be with all ſpeed after their arrivall, he determining to retire to a religious houſe, he had built to that purpoſe. Thus with happy and pleaſant content ſhe ſailed towards Pamphilia, while Parſelius all this while continuing in ſweet delight, it is now fit time to let him ſee his fault committed in the greateſt kind of ill, being breach of faith in love.

One night in his ſleepe, Urania appeared unto him, ſeeming infinitely perplexed, but as if rather fild with ſcorne, then ſorrow, telling him, hee was a Traytor to love, and the ſubtilleſt betrayer of truth. Now my you joy ſaid ſhe in your ſhame and change, your cruell falſhood having undone my truſt, but thinke not this troubles me farther, then for vertues ſake; ſo farre are you now from my thoughts, as I ſtudy how I never more may heare of you; and to aſſure you of this, you ſhall ſee me give my ſelfe before your face, to another more worthy, becauſe more juſt. This in ſoule ſo grieved him, as he cried, ſobd, groand, and ſo lamentably tooke on, as the kind Dalinea lying by him awaked, having much adoe to bring him out of his wofull dreame. But when he recovered his ſences, they were but to make him more truly feele paine, continuing in ſuch extremitie of weeping, as ſhe feared his heart would breake withall, which made her heart even rend with compaſſion. Much ſhee intreated, and even beſought him to tell her the cauſe, but this of any ſecret muſt bee kept from her; ſhee begged, hee continued in laments, till at laſt he ſaw hee muſt not leave her thus in feare. Wherefore after hee had a little ſtudied how to bee more deceitfull, or as equally as he had bin before, weeping ſtill, and ſhe accompanying him R3r 125 him in teares ſeeing his fall ſo faſt; which hee finding made him weepe the more, both now kindly lamenting each other, they remayned the moſt perfect ſoules of affliction, that ever had earthly bodyes about them. Compaſſion he had in great fullneſſe to Dalinea, torment for Urania’s ſcorne, affliction for her loſſe, hatefull loathing his fault, condemning himſelfe more cruelly then ſhe would have done, all joyning as it were for his utter deſtruction; yet remain’d hee in his bed, framing this excuſe to ſatiſfie his wife, telling her that he imagined hee ſaw all Arcadia on fire, the earth flaming, and in the mid’ſt his father burning, who with lamentable cryes demanded helpe of him; wherfore ſaid he, certainely ſome ill is befallen, or befalling him, which makes me reſolve inſtantly to goe unto him. O take me with you, ſaid ſhe. My deere, ſaid he, pardon at this time my leaving you, for ſhould I carry you where troubles are? no, Sweet, remayne you here, and be aſſur’d, you ſoone ſhall heare of your Parſelius, and if all be well, in ſhort time Ile returne for you; beſides, our mariyage not yet knowne may wrong you if not carefully carryed: then deere love bee patient, and ſtay heere.

She could not deny, for words fail’d her, only ſhe ſob’d, and waſhed his face with her teares, who was as much afflicted. Then riſing he ſent her Maides unto her, and ſo departed to his chamber, where he arm’d himſelfe: then being ready to goe to her, hee thought the word or ſhew of farwell, would but give new wounds, wherfore writing ſome few lines, he deliver’d them to the Steward, & ſo with charge to give the letter to her owne hands, he tooke his horſe, haſting he knew not whither, regarding neither way nor any thing elſe; then came he to the Sea ſide, his Squier nor daring to ſpeake one word to him all that journey; when he ſent Clorinus (ſo was he cald) to provid a boat for him, he thought it not fit to deny, nor durſt he venture to councell. In the meane time came a little Barque, into which he went, turning his horſe looſe, not conſidering what griefe & trouble might come for his miſſe. But he who ſought for death, thought of no earthly content: he being in, they put againe from the Land, and at Clorinus returne, were quite out of ſight. He finding his Maſters horſe without his Lord, fell into pittifull complayning not being able to gueſſe other then the worſt miſhappe: long he was reſolving what to doe, but in concluſion hee vowed to ſpend his life in ſolitary ſearch of him, and ſo to dye; but by no meanes to goe to Dalinea, nor to bee an ill newes bringer to his Parents. Heavily and afflictedly hee paſſ’d on by the Sea ſide, till hee mette the Squier of Leandrus, who joyfully aſked him for his Lord, hee as ſadly replied, he had loſt him; then followed Leandrus who knowing the youth asked for his friend, but to him hee could make no anſwer but in teares. Straight feare poſſeſſed him, the youth ſtill wept, Leandrus ſigh’d, and taking him aſide conjured him to tell what he knew of his Lord.

Then did hee relate all unto him, hiding onely what might touch Dalinea; this much mooved the Prince, yet he ſought to comfort Clorinus, telling him, he did not ſee by this, any other harme likely to follow but ſome privat grief had made him take this courſe, and therfore willed him by any meanes to make no buſines of it, but goe and ſeek him as carefully as hee could; adviſing him by reaſon of his love, which he knew he bare to Urania, R3 to R3v 126 to goe to Ciprus, leaſt thither hee were gone to try the enchantment. Thus they parted, Leandrus much greived for Parſelius, not indeed being able to judge of the matter, yet tooke hee a good courage to him, as a happie foretelling of his friends ſafetie, and ſo tooke his way to Dalineas Caſtle, whom he found in as much moleſtation, as ever loving, and faithfull wife, felt for the abſence of her husband. But when ſhee ſaw her Brother, the joy of that, and her judgment contending with her paſſion, made her hide it ſo well, as he only beleeved ſhe had beene ill of a feaver, which was true, but twas the Hectique feaver of love; Some dayes hee tarryed there, all which time ſhe held in good order: but he once gone, ſhe fell into the moſt dolorous, and unſufferable pasſſsions, that violence in violent love could produce.

Parſelius with a hartleſſe body and wounded ſoule, never aſking whither they carryed him, nor ſpeaking one word, held on till they landed him in an Iland which they knew, ſo going away from them, he ſought the moſt obſcure place he could, but finding now none ſad enough deſiring to outgoe Periſſus in his deſolate living, which made him againe remember the happineſſe he had in the finding Urania, for whom he now ſuffers, was aſſaulted with a new kind of ſorrow, yet all but running to the end of torturing him, embracing memory for telling him all her perfections, as if the fault, the miſerie of her rage, the misfortune of her loſſe, were not enough to perplexe him, but he muſt needs add memory as a plague of his owne bringing, and cheriſhing. Then did he wiſh he were in that Iland, and that he might ſpend his daies in the ſame rocke, and that it might likewiſe include his miſeries, curſing his indiſcretion, that ſuffered the Ship to goe away before ſhee had convayd him thither; then ſeeking for ſome other Barque that might doe it, he ranne to the Sea againe, where he found a little boate, and in her an old Hermitte, with him he would goe, nor could the old Father diſſwade him. To a Rocke they came being a prettie way within the Sea, where being landed, the old man ledd the way up to the toppe, where it ſeem’d there had beene anciently a Temple of great ſtate, and bigneſſe, as yet by the ruines did appeare: among thoſe ſad places the Cell of this good man was made, with this religious man, & in this ſolitary place he reſolv’d to end his daies thinking he could not doe better then hide his face, which even himſelfe was aſhamed of, for having committed ſo execrable an offence.

Then ſate they downe together, the old Hermitt conſenting to his ſtay at laſt, but ſomething againſt his will, at firſt he tooke him, and he happy (if that word may be uſed in that miſerie, where happines, nor content, or any thing but afflictions are) but uſe what terme you wil to this, here he ſtayd, & being ſet they tould their owne ſtories to each other, Parſelius beginning.

Aged and grave Father, give mee leave by way of confeſſion to tell you my wofull life, which being ſo delivered claymes ſecreſie of it ſelfe, did not your goodneſſe otherwiſe warrant mee that from you. My name is Parſelius, borne (in an unhappy houre, and under a curſed plannet) in Morea, Prince therof, and of all miſeries, my poſſeſſions ſo largely extending in that continent, as none hath a more mightie inheritance. I was bred much at Athens, yet could I learne no way to avoyd miſfortune, but how to bee ſubject to it I was moſt apt, humilitie to ſubjectionon R4r 227127 on raigning more in mee then rule. My travells I beganne (as likewiſe all my good) with a Coſin of mine, alſo bred there, and for the only happyneſſe I ever taſted, We went ſometime together in the ſearch of one, who I aſſure my ſelfe I have found, and with the finding loſt my ſelfe, having before that parted from my friends, to the moſt excellent (and in that my ſinne the more excelling) I came into an Iland where I found, her, whoſe beauty excelled all things but her mind, which yet beautified that; elſe matchleſſe body, with her I fell in love, and loved her earneſtly: villaine that I ſay, I lov’d, and ſo prove by the change, my fault, much more that I muſt ſay I ever lov’d her who (ſweeteſt Creature) beleeving me, that then was juſt, went with leaving that Iland where ſhe was bred, truſting me who have deceived her. Many dangers we paſſ’d, ſhe in all of them fearing nothing but my harme, who ſince have brought the greateſt to her: at laſt a ſtorme tooke us when wee were as we thought ſafe, and in ſight of Italy, and wherin we might have landed, but deſteny otherwiſe appoynted for us. This tempeſt brought us from joy and comfort to deſpaire and loſſe; for wee were carryed (in the many daies that it endured) to Ciprus, where landing, by wicked charmes our ſhippe burned; and wee were forced to goe up into the Iland for ſuccour. Then arrived we at an inchaunted Palace, made of purpoſe for my deſtruction, wherein Urania is incloſed, ſhee whom once I did beſt love, who ought ſtill to have beene beſt loved, and ſhee for whoſe loſſe in my falſhood thus tormenteth mee, thence parted I deprived of all ſenſe, but, by leaving that Land came againe into them to bee more vexed with them; a while (and wretch, too ſmall a while,) lamenting her impriſonment, and my want which willfully, I cauſ’d to be no longer want, but direct loſſe. O fault unpardonable, why doe I live to confeſſe it? and ſhame in mee, not quite devouring me: but I who was borne to ill, ledd by the ſervants of Hell, or Hell it ſelfe conſpiring my ruine, brought me into Achaia, and ſo into the power of vild change. There I ſaw Dalinea daughter to the King of Achaia, ſhee blinded not alone mine eyes with admiration, but my judgement, blotting out & forceing my memory to bee treacherous to me, made me forget all thoughts of my more deſerving love, and truth it ſelfe: letting mee ſee nothing but deſire of her love, ſhe vertuous (and too perfect for ſuch a worthleſſe Creature as my ſelfe) could but allowe of vertuous yeelding, I to enjoy, granted any thing, and ſo I marryed her, with whom I remain’d ſome while as happy as any bleſſing in a wife could make mee, and yet in that am moſt unbleſſed, not being able to continue in that happy ſtate of ſtill enjoying her, too great a portion of good for mee, (wretched man) to have. For one night I ſaw Urania in my ſleepe appeare unto me, or better to ſay, my conſcience taking the advantage of my bodyes reſt, the hatefull enemie to the ſoules bliſſe, and in that quiet ſhewed unto mee, my deereſt ſhepherdeſſe juſtly accuſing me, and condemning mee. I had no way to eſcape, if not by this meanes; I roſe, I left Dalinea for Urania’s fury, whoſe ſweete ſubſtance I loſt for Dalinea’s love, I have now left both, both iniur’d, R4v 128 injur’d, both afflicted by me. Why ſhould I then continue ſuch an affliction to the rareſt of women? and a vexation to the worſt, as I am unto my unbleſſed ſelfe, Aſſiſt me, good Father, in my miſery, this is truth I have told you, and more then ought to live on earth or I hope can be found againe; wherfore that as all ill is in mee, I deſire, nay, covet to end, that the world may be no longer infected with that plague, but as knit in me, that knot may never be unty’d, but end, and conclude with me.

Then wept he, as if it had beene to ſatisfie a drought with rayne, ſheding teares in ſuch abundance, as they left that name, to be more properly tearmed little ſtreames.

Well, it was that the Sea was the place of receiving thoſe ſprings, which from the Rocke ranne into her, which in madneſſe of deſpaire hee would once have followed, offring to tumble into her; the old man ſtriving with him, ſtayd him, who had loſt all power to reſiſt, greife having taken away his ſtrength, and in place of it given him only might, in weakning paſſions, working for their glory to deſtroy. Then did the aged Hermitte comfort him, chiding him for his wilfull ſinne, in ſeeking to murther himſelfe. Religiouſly hee wrought upon his fury, ſo as he brought him to a more peaceable bearing his afflictions, but not to any more eaſie.

This ſtorme a little quieted (as after a tempeſt of Thunder, a ſhower of raine is thought little) the good man to paſſe the time began his ſtory, the relation wherof gave ſome liking to Parſelius.

But becauſe the Drums beate, and Trumpets ſound in Morea for the releife of Macedon, and the brave conqueſt of Roſindy, the Hermitts diſcourſe muſt a little ſtay, while warrs, the nobleſt, becauſe profeſſ’d by the nobleſt, take a little time for them. The time come for the Armies marching, brave Roſindy tooke his journey with his moſt noble companions: hee Generall, Selarinus Generall of the Horſe, the Prince of Corinth and Elis, had their places reſerved for them, as Serjeant Major, & Commander of the Archers; Many brave Knights and bold men went along ſome out of love, ſome for ambition, ſome for honor, many for preferment. The rendevous was at Cariapaiary in the Confines of Macedon, not farr diſtant from the River Devoda, where they met the Romanian Armie led by Liſandrinus as deſired, but with it came Antiſſius to ſee the brave warrs, and to receive Knighthood of Amphilanthus, who not being there, hee ſoone left the Army to find him out, promiſing when he had from him received that honor, (and only from him would he have it) he would returne to them, where ever they were. Thus marched they on with all the bravery that might be, every one ſtriving who ſhould be moſt ſumptuous, to expreſſe their loves and reſpects to their Generall: who was more generally beloved then any Prince, except his Couſen, and Brother, every one wearing his Colours in honor to him, which was Oring-tawny and white.

Thither came to the place of meeting, alſo the Achaians ledd by Leandrus, who after hee had viſited his Siſter, and once againe ſeene his aged Father, followed the Armie gone before, and overtooke them before their comming to the Towne. With them (and much true affection in himſelfe to the Generall) hee came to Roſindy, of whom hee received moſt loving welcome; who ever could imagine glorie, might heere have ſeene it at the height S1r 129 height of perfection: magnanimous ſpirits, brave and unconquered men, undaunted ſouldiers, riches of all gallantry in every reſpect, and what was moſt and beſt, all excellent ſouldiers, and true ſouldiers, the excellenteſt men.

Thus then was all that could be wiſht in this Army together joynd: none refuſed paſſage, but willingly yeelded it to be rid of their force, ſo as love or feare, made free and open way for them, till they came within the skirts of Macedon, there they met ſome, but poore reſiſtance, till they came to a great Plaine, neere the river of Devoda. There they ſaw a great Army, and by intelligence, knew the Uſurper was there: they went as neare him, as diſcretion would permit them, conſidering night grew on, and as judicially provided for the Army, the Generall himſelfe going to ſettle every Quarter in his right place, being ſo expert in the learning of the Art of a Souldier, as hee could juſtly tell what compaſſe of ground would ſerve from one hundred to thouſands.

When hee had ſetled them, he returned to his Tent, where hee with the Princes and Commanders ſupped, after conſulting what would be fitteſt to bee done the next day; many opinions were given: ſome to ſet upon the King and his Army, but that Selarinus liked not, for (ſaid hee) wee are but ſtrangers, and all our hope and power in the Armie, if wee be overthrowne, all is loſt for us; if hee looſe the day, hee is in his owne Country, and may have aide inſtantly brought to him: therefore I thinke fitter to let him urge us, then for us to preſſe him to fight; beſides, no queſtion but hee will doe that, why then ſhould wee bee ſo forward? Let us patiently goe on with temper, and the greater will bee our benefit. Roſyndie much commended his adviſe, and reſolved to bee perſwaded by it.

While thus they ſate, came a Trumpet from Clotorindus with a defie, and challenge to fight the next morning. This was accepted, the hower appointed, eight of the clocke; thus every one betooke themſelves to reſt, hoping for the next dayes victorie. As ſoone as day appeared, Roſyndie tooke his Horſe, and rid through all the Armie, adviſing, intreating, commanding, and uſing faire words, intreaties, peremptorie authoritie, and all in their kinds, as hee found the ſubjects, on whom they muſt bee uſed, with ſuch judgement, as bred not onely love and feare, but admiration in all hearts, to ſee ſo great underſtanding and unuſuall excellencie in ſo few yeares. But now all are ready, his Armie hee order’d thus; the foote hee divided in three bodies, the Vanguard led by himſelfe, accompanied with Leandrus; the Maine battel by Selarinus accompanied with Liſandrinus, the Reare, by the grave Marſhall, who went with him out of love to his perſon, with him was his ſonne Leſarino: ſome of the Horſe (by reaſon of advantage was found in that place) were put on either ſide as Wings; the right-hand Wing given to Tolimandro, the left to the Prince of Elis, ſome Foote placed to flanke the Horſe, and ſome Horſe put in each diviſion.

Clotorindus had put his men much in this kind; ſo they charged the Vantguard of the Macedonians, led by a brave and valiant Gentleman, called Theſarenus, Prince of Sparta, who did ſo bravely, as had there been but few more of his ſpirit, the day had hardly bin loſt, at leaſt not ſo ſoone wonne. Roſyndie with the vantguard charged the Macedonians S where S1v 130 where there was a cruell fight, the Morean Horſe firſt defeated, then the Vantguard broken and diſordered, which Selarinus perceiving, came with the Maine-battaile to the ſuccour, where ſo bravely hee found Roſindie fighting as hee had made walles of dead men of his owne killing round about him, as if they had been caſt up of purpoſe for his ſafetie: or as a Liſt roped in for the combate, which hee was in, with the young Phalerinus, Prince of Theſſalonica, who more delicately and bravely held out, then any hee had yet encountred: but what with wearineſſe, and beſides, ſeeing the new ſuccour come, was forced to yeeld; Roſindy taking him in his armes, in ſtead of diſarming him, taking his word, in ſtead of his Sword, which noble act bred ſuch love in the young Prince towards him, as hee after prooved a true and faithfull ſubject unto him. Then did Roſindy, and Selarinus haſte to the battaile, which was now by the overthrowne of the Vantguard, required to come up, and the Reare with the ſtrangers to advance againſt the Macedonian Horſe. A great while the Moreans had the worſt, but at laſt by the valour of Selarinus, Leandrus (who had changed his white Armours, innocent cullour, to revengefull bloud), Liſandrinus, the Princes of Corinth and Elis, and the Marſhall with his ſonne, but eſpeciallie by the judgement mixt with true vallour, and the care, matched with excellent skill of Roſindy, the Victorie came on their ſide, with the ſhamefull flight of Clotorindus; the execution was great, and indured long, the Conqueſt greater, the bootie verie rich, and thus with the loſſe of tenne thouſand on the one ſide and thirtie on the other, the retreit was ſounded: the next day, the dead of both ſides buried, and Roſindy with his brave troope marched on toward Theſſalonica, where the Queene was, and into which Towne the Uſurper was got, of purpoſe, if not by ſtrength, yet by tricks to ſave himſelfe, and keep the Crowne; but neither he muſt doe.

Then did the brave Generall ſet downe before Theſſalonica, and incompaſſing it round, cutting off all victuall by land, and blocking the ſea and ſhips, hindred all good from their aide; ſo making it a rare and cruell ſiege. Nor did Roſindy endure the length of this with much paine, longing in his very ſoule, to ſee his Lady, which within ſome time after hee did, but ſo, as the great longing hee had ſatisfied by her ſight, was turnd to ſorrow for it: his deſire and joy to ſee her changed to griefe, and wiſhing hee had not ſeene her, the cauſe, and his affliction as hee termed it, prooving terrible. Thrice were their ſallies made forth by the beſieged, but to as little purpoſe, as if they meant only to come forth to be honourd with wounds, and being vanquiſhed by their mightie Enemies.

One day they ſaw a white Flag upon the Wall, which gave them to underſtand, a Parly was demanded by the beating likewiſe of a Drum, which Roſindy did in the ſame manner anſwere, they came upon the Wall, the Prince and his companions to the Wall, then did Clotorindus ſpeake thus.

Great Prince Roſyndie, and you brave Princes his Companions, what injuſtice doe you goe about in ſeeking to deprive mee of mine owne, who never wronged you, nor would have denied to have ſerved any of you with my owne perſon and meanes, if you had requird it? now for you to ſeeke S2r 131 ſeeke to take a Kingdome from mee, lawfully my right, both by being next heire male, and beſides mine now by marriage with Meriana, daughter and heire, as you terme her, to the Crowne, what exceptions can you now take? Let me then as a Friend, and Kinſman (as by marriage I now am to you) gaine peace; I that have been by your owne will made your Enemie, deſire an end of theſe cruell warres. Let me be accepted as a Coſin, and my frendſhip taken as proferd by a friend, rather then thus continue ſhedding of bloud, let the concluſion be welcome, and the trumpets and drummes turnd to Muſick of joy. This I demand for my ſelfe as your friend, if you pleaſe, and for my wife your Coſin, who infinitely is grieved to have her owne bloud ſeeke to ſhed the bloud of her deare huſband.

Huſband, falſe Traytor, repli’d Roſindy, ſhe whoſe matchleſſe worth ſo well knowes it ſelfe, cannot abuſe that knowledge of truth, to yeeld the treaſure of it to ſo baſe a place, and which never had ſtaine, but by this thy wronging her, who cannot live to undoe that, with beſtowing it on one ſo vild and treacherous as thy ſelfe. For thy friendſhip I refuſe it, and ſo I anſwere for my friends here preſent contemning thy baſeneſſe, ſo as wee ſhould hate our ſelves, if a thought of thy ſubmiſſion (if not to puniſh thee) could come into our hearts. Thy falſe tale of marriage we loath to heare of, ſince as falſhood wee hate that, and thee for it. Thou ſayſt, wee have no juſt quarrell; O Monſter, what Juſtice more can bee required, then taking Armes to the putting downe a Rebell and a Traytor to his rightfull Princeſſe? Alliance thou claimeſt, I acknowledge none: and had there been no other cauſe, this had been enough to have made us ruine thee, for framing ſo falſe a report, and wronging (with thy filthie tongue) thy Queene, and the Queene of true vertue, and of Macedon. Therefore recant and deliver her, or here I vow to fire the Towne, and breake open the gates, to let in our juſt revenge to thee, and on thee.

Is this the requitall of my kindneſſe (ſaid Clotorindus)? farewell, doe thy worſt proud Prince, and all thy fond companie: but take this with thee before the Towne bee wonne, thy heart ſhall ake more, then ever any wound could come neare thee to bring it, or the wound of thy fond love.

With that he went from the wall, and in ſtead of the white Flag, preſently a bloudy one was hung forth, which continued till the next day, when as to the ſame place Meriana was brought, with an infinite number of armed men, dreſſed as to her Wedding, a Crowne on her head, and her haire all downe. To this ſight was moſt of the Army drawne, but Roſindy, with moſt haſt greedily beholding her beauty, and hearkning to her ſpeech, which was this.

Clotorindus, thou haſt now (I confeſſe) ſome pittie in thee, ſince thou wilt free mee from my miſerable living, I thanke thee for it, and Roſindy I hope ſhall requite it, to whom I commend my beſt and laſt love; farewell brave Prince, but bee thus confident that I am juſt. With that they incloſed her round in a cricle, often before ſeeking to hinder her laſt ſpeech.

Preſently was ſhee out of Roſindies ſight, and preſently againe brought into it to his extreameſt miſerie, for onely that peereleſſe head was S2 ſeene S2v 132 ſeene of him, being ſet upon a pillar, and that pillar being upon the top of the Pallace, the haire hanging in ſuch length and delicacie, as although it ſomewhat covered with the thickneſſe of it, part of the face, yet was that, too ſure a knowledge to Roſindie of her loſſe, making it appeare unto him, that none but that excellent Queene was miſtriſſe of that excellent haire. His ſoule and heart rent with this ſight, and the ſeeing it a farre off, riſing with ſuch ſpeed, as it ſeemd a Comet to ſhow before their ruine, or like the Moone, having borrowed the Sunnes beames to glorifie her pale face with his golden rayes. All the Armie made a moſt pitifull and mournefull crie, as if every one had loſt a love, the Princes cry’d upon revenge, that word wrought moſt upon Roſindy, the reſt being before but a time to lull his paſsions in their reſt, which were reſtleſſe afflictions. Long it was before hee ſpake, at laſt hee cryed, Arme and aſſault this wicked Towne. Then went hee in the head of the Armie to the Gates, which with Engines that they had, and guided with furie, by the next morning, they broke open, not before when judgement governed, being able to perſwade themſelves they could have compaſſed it.

The Gate open, they with furious rage, and mercileſſe crueltie, proceeded, ſparing not one creature they met, haſting to take downe the Head of his deareſt love, and hopes. But when hee came thither, hee ſaw that taken away alſo. O crueltie unjuſt (ſaid hee), wilt thou not ſuffer mee to ſee her once more? Wretched Fate, that I muſt now bee barred from taking yet the laſt kiſſe from thy deare, though pale dead lipps, on them to ſeale the laſt part of my life? Hee complained thus, yet his griefe increaſed his rage, ſo as hee came into the Pallace, where hee found Clotorindus in the Hall, with a Dagger in his hand, who as ſoone as hee ſaw him, with a helliſh countenance, hee looked on him, and in a curſt voyce, ſaid, Thy Victorie ſhall yet never bee honoured by my death, which but with mine owne hand ſhall bee brought mee: then ſtab’d hee himſelfe in many places of his bodie, and ſo fell. The Prince ſcorning to touch him, commanded the Souldiers to take him, and throw him into the Ditch, eſteeming that too good a buriall for him.

Then went hee on further, hoping in deſpaire to know how his ſoule was parted from him, and where the bodie did remaine, meaning on that place to make his Tombe, and in it to conſume, pine, and die. With this hee went into many roomes, but found no bodie: then went hee to the Gallerie where hee firſt ſpake with her, throwing himſelfe upon the ground, kiſſing the place, and weeping out his woe. Selarinus ſtaid with him to hinder anie raſh, or ſudden attempt, hee might make upon himſelfe; Leandrus and the reſt made ſafe the Towne, and tooke all the people that were left (which were but few) to mercie in Roſindies name, who lying thus, at laſt ſtart up, crying, hee heard his Lady call for helpe. Selarinus doubting it had been but ſome unrulie paſſion, miſtruſting more his friend, ſeeing the vehemency of his paſſion, then hoping the truth of this, followed him, till hee came into a Tower at the end of the Gallery, where hee alſo heard a voice pitifully complaining, at laſt hearing it bring forth theſe words. O Roſindy, how juſtly haſt thou dealt with me, and S3r 133 and royally performd thy word? but wretch that I am, I ſhall not doe ſoe with thee, for heere muſt I conſume my dayes unknowne to thee, and wald up with miſery, and famine die.

This was enough for the two brave men to make new comfort, in new ſtrength to relieve her, wherfore Roſindy cry’d out, doſt thou live my Meriana? heere is thy faithfull love, and ſervant to reſcue thee. O my Lord, ſaid ſhe, never in a happyer time, quickly then give me life with your ſight. Then ran Selarinus downe with joy to call for helpe, Roſindy examining every place, where he might find the fitteſt to come to throw downe the wall; but then a new feare tooke him, how they might doe that, and not hurt her; but the greater danger muſt be avoyded, and the leſſe taken, ſo the ſoldiers came and threw downe the wall, Roſindy ſtill crying to her to take heed; and when they came to the laſt blow, that there was a place appear’d (though ſmall) into the roome, none then muſt worke there but him ſelfe, ſelfe, leaſt duſt, or any the leaſt thing might offend her.

But when the wall was ſo much downe as ſhe was able to come out, with what joy did he hold her, and ſhee embrace her love? Imagine excellent lovers, what two ſuch could doe, when after the ſight of one dead, the other wall’d to certaine death, ſeeing both taken away, and mett with comfort, what could they ſay? what joy poſſeſs’d them? heavenly comfort, and all joyes on earth knit in this to content them.

Then did Roſindy as much weepe with joy, as hee did before with mourning, and ſhe weeped to ſee his teares, ſo as joy not being to expreſſe it ſelfe, was forced to borrow part with ſorrow to ſatisfie it.

Selarinus chid them for that paſſion, and ſo brought them out of it, bringing them into the Hall, whither by that time the other Prines were come, and the cheife of the Armie. In that brave and moſt warlike preſence did Meriana give her ſelfe to Roſindy, being there betroathed: then were the others of the people taken to Meriana, the Macedonians from all parts comming with expresſſsleſſe joy unto her, yeelding themſelves as her loyall Subjects, and taking others to her, and Roſindy of alleageance.

Then ſent hee new Governours and Commanders to all the frontier Townes, and into the cheife ſtrength within the Land, requiting the Moreans with the eſtates of thoſe that were loſt in the battaile, and the Towne; the ſtrangers with the booty, which was infinite, and other ſuch rewards as bound their loves to him for ever, not being able to hope to thrive ſo well in the next buſineſſe, which now muſt be for Albania.

The Queene Meriana, and Roſindy in this content, the counterfeting was found, and the device diſcover’d; which was told by a ſervant of Clotorindus uſed in the buſineſſe, which was, that pillar had bin made & ſet there by her Father, a man excellently graced in all arts, and eſpecially in proſepectives, to try his skill he made this, which though ſo big, as one might ſtand in it, yet ſo farr, it ſeemd but as a ſmall piller, of purpoſe made to hold a head uppon, and ſo had they raiſ’d her within it, as no more appeard above it then her chinne coming over it, it was as if ſtucke into her throat the juſt diſſtance and art in the making being ſuch and ſo excellent as none could but have thought it had beene her head cut off, beſides the greife S3 and S3v 134 and her owne complection naturally a little pale, made her ſeeme more then uſually, and ſo nearer death, the intent being to make Roſindy beleeve ſhee was dead, which conceit, he hoped would leade him thence; ſhe being gone, for whoſe ſake he came thither, which if it had taken effect, then ſhe ſhould have lived as ſhe had done before, but ſeeing neither his falſe tale, nor this tooke the way hee wiſhed, he walled her up, purpoſing that ſince hee could not winne, nor keepe her, none ſhould elſe enjoy her; but now all is ended with the bleſſing of enjoying, in a better eſtate who can be left? Amphilanthus following his way to Ciprus with his friend Ollorandus, quickly landed there, taking their way as they were directed by paſſengers, (the Countrey now full of people, that came to ſee the end of this buſineſſe) to the throne of love, the plaine before it, being all ſet with Tents, and covered with Knights and Ladyes.

The firſt Tent Amphilanthus knew to be ſome Italians, wherfore hee went into that, and finding it belonged to the Duke of Millan, whoſe opinion of his owne worth, and the beauty of his Miſtreſſe had made him adventure the enchantment, was therein incloſed, hee diſcoverd himſelfe unto his ſervants, who preſently made offer of it to his ſervice; which hee accepted, yet did hee charge the men not to let him be knowne by any but themſelves: there they reſted for that night, the next morning going among the Tents, finding many brave Princes, and excellent Ladyes, ſome come to adventure others, only to behold the adventures of others: many of theſe the two excellent Companies knew, but they keeping their beavers downe were not knowne of any.

One Lady among the reſt, or rather above the reſt, for exquiſite wit and rare ſpirit, ſo perfect in them, as ſhe excelled her ſexe ſo much, as her perfections were ſtiled maſculine.

This Lady (as her judgment was greater then the reſt, ſo her obſervation was likewiſe more particular) caſt her eyes upon theſe ſtrangers, but moſt on the Italian: ſhee ſigh’d at firſt ſight, after grew ſad, wondring why ſhee was ſo troubled, not knowing the face of her trouble, never then reſting till ſhe had got the truth of whence he was, and ſo the meanes to ſee him; hee having inquired of every ones name and title, came alſo to know her to bee called Luceania Daughter to a noble man, who was Brother to the famouſly vertuous, but unfortunate Lady Luceania, wife, and Mother to the firſt, and this laſt Antiſſius King of Romania.

Wife ſhe was to a great Lord in the ſame Countrey, who though unable to flatter himſelfe with conceit of worth, ſufficient to end ſo rare an adventure, yet partly for novelties, and moſt to pleaſe his ſpiritfull wife, hee came thither, loving the beſt company, for theſe reaſons.

The Prince was glad to here this, becauſe he was now ſure of acquaintance quickly there. As ſoone as his name was knowne, ſhee ſtudying to have her ends by his knowledge, watched the next fit opportunitie, which was offered the next day by a generall meeting of all the Knights and Ladies. Hee ſeldome baſhfull, put himſelfe among them: Luceania muſt needs know him, wherfore ſhee aſked thoſe that accompanied her, who that ſtranger was, they all anſwered they knew him not, nor could they learne of any who hee was. Is S4r 135

Is it poſſible, ſaid ſhe ſo brave a Prince ſhould be unknowne? many deſiring to doe her ſervice, ſhe being for noble behaviour, courteſie, wit, and greatneſſe of underſtanding loved, and admired of all ſuch as could bee honord with her converſation; to pleaſe her, every one indevored, and one forwarder then the reſt (as more bound in affection) went to him, telling him, that a faire Lady much deſired to know his name.

Can it be anſwered the King, that any faire Lady ſhould ſo much honor mee, as to deſire ſo worthleſſe a thing as my name? There is one Sir, ſaid hee, who curiouſly deſireth the knowledge of it, which muſt bee more worthy then you doe accound it, otherwiſe could ſhe no covet in, and ſuch an one is ſhee, ſaid he, as if you can deſerve beauty, you will acknowledge, only deſerves honor, and ſervice.

They belong, ſaid the King to all ſuch excellent creatures, yet Sir, (ſaid hee), it is my ill fortune at this time that I am not able to ſatiſfie her deſires, although this grace ſhall ever make me her ſervant. The Knight acquainted with ſuch vowes went back to Luceania, truly telling her all that hee had ſaid, which although delivered by a farre worſe Orator, yet gaind they more favour for him: ſhee eſteeming witt beyond outward beauty, but both there joyned, it is neceſſary for to yeeld as ſhe did, for before ſhee deſir’d his name only, now finding judgment and brave Courtſhipp, ſhee long’s for his ſociety, and theſe accompanied with ſeeing his excellently ſweete, and ever conquering lovelineſſe, did joyne as to the conqueſt of her, for ſhee who before had knowne love rather by name then ſubjection, now ſhee finds her ſelfe loves Priſoner, affection before, but companion like now maſtring, and now ſhe finds it expedient to know that delightfull cruell, who had with ſo pleaſing a dart, wounded, and ceazed her (till then commanding) heart.

The next evening was reſolv’d of for her gaine of knowledge, and rather then miſſe, there ſhee would employ the ſame loveſicke Knight againe, who to bee graced with her commands would doe any thing.

The evening come, and Amphilanthus, his companion aſſuring themſelves they were unknowne, freely came into the company. Shee who now was by the art of love taught to watch all opportunities, and never to looſe any, was walking with her husband forth, to paſſe away the time in the coole ayre: Amphilanthus and his friend diſcourſing of their owne paſsions, finding the greateſt miſſe ever in moſt company, their Ladyes being abſent, were ſo tranſported with their paſſions, as they were cloſe to this amorous Lady, and her Lord before they diſcoverd it, which when they found, asked pardon for their rudneſſe, they would have returnd: but ſhee who was now, not to put of her hopes till the next meeting, reſolvd to make uſe of this, ſo with as inticing a countenance, as Cæſar underſtood Cleopatras to be, ſhee told them ſhee ſaw no error they had committed, that place being free to all, but turning her ſelfe towards her huſband, ſhe ſmiling ſaid. Would you thinke my Lord, this Knight were aſhamed of his name? I ſee ſmall reaſon that hee ſhould, ſaid hee, why thinke you that he is? becauſe hee refuſeth too tell it ſaid ſhee.

All- S4v 136

Although (excellent Lady) anſwered Amphilanthus, it may be my name is not ſo fortunate as to have come to your eares with any renowne, yet am I not aſhamed of it, a vow onely having made mee conceale it. May not that vow bee broken, ſaid ſhee? This may, and ſhall (ſaid hee) to ſatisfie your deſire, though ſome vowes are ſo deare, as nothing, nor any force may prevaile againſt them. With that ſhee ſaw Ollorandus had undertaken her husband, which gave her more libertie in her deſires, againe urging with fine and amorous countenances the breach of his vow. The commanding power (ſaid he) which your perfections carrie with them muſt prevaile; then bee pleaſed to know I am Amphilanthus, King of the Romans.

Pardon mee my Lord, (ſaid ſhee) that I have been thus bold with you, which was cauſed by (with that ſhee bluſhing held her peace, deſiring to bee thought baſhfull, but more longing to bee intreated for the reſt). Nay, ſpeake on, excellent Lady (ſaid hee), and barre not mine eares from hearing what you ſurely once thought mee worthy to know. Well then my Lord (ſaid ſhee) you ſhall have it, my deſire to know you, was cauſed by an unreſiſting power, your excellencies have over my yeelding affections to you; the firſt time I ſaw you, I received the wound I now periſh in, if you favour not.

Amphilanthus was rather ſorrie, then glad to heare this ſpeech, being to him, like as where the law is that a man condemned to die, may bee ſaved, if a Maide begge him for her husband: ſo hee may bee ſaved from death, but wedded againſt his heart to another; affection before having wounded him, hee can ſcarce entertaine this: but conſidering gratefulneſſe is required as a chiefe vertue in everie worthie man, he curteouſly replied, that till that time fortune had never ſo honoured him, as to bring him to the height of ſo much happineſſe as to be graced with ſuch an affection.

Shee who loved, and deſired, tooke the leaſt word hee ſpake for a bleſſed conſent, was about to anſwere againe, when they ſaw Ollorandus come with her husband to them, who with much adoe (as he counterfeited) had told who they were; the good man hearing that theſe were two of them reliev’d, and won Romania to quiet by their owne valor, but eſpecially rejoycing that Amphilanthus (of whom the world was fild with fame) was there, came to welcom him, nor would be deny’d, but they muſt lodge with him in his tent. Luceania was not greev’d at this motion, though Amphilanthus would willingly have gone backe to his Milan Tent, where he might have comforted himſelfe, with diſcourſing to his owne thoughts; But the Lady now keepes him prettily well from thoſe paſſions with continuall diſcourſe of other things.

Much he enquired after the manner of ending the enchaunment, which hee longed for, that then hee might againe ſee what he only coveted: Love ſtill increaſing in her, as longing grew in him to ſee his deereſt Love. Hee kindly entertain’d her favours, and courtuouſly requited them, and one day the more to expreſſe his reſpect to her, hee tooke this courſe, which in his owne minde was plotted rather to get more freedome, and to make proofe of his valour, his friend and hee onely acquainting Luceania and her Lord with it, changing their armors and colors, the better to be unknowne, came T1r 137 came in the morning with Trumpets before them, challenging every one that deſired to trie his ſtrength, to the Juſt, to breake ſixe ſtaves a piece, and this to continue ſixe dayes, in defence of their Miſtriſſes beauty. Amphilanthus was in Watchet and White; Ollorandus in Orange colour, hee having no favour; and therefore in ſpite wore that colour: the other had a ſcarfe which Lucenia ſent him the night before, which hee wore on his right arme. This challenge brought forth all the knights, and they the Ladies; the firſt was an Italian, and encountred Ollorandus (who was to hold the firſt three dayes, if ſo long hee could without foyle, by Amphilanthus appointment, if not, then he to come in). This Italian was ſtrong, and the ſtronger, for that he was in love; and more, becauſe his Miſtriſſe at that time made him the bolder, being favourd with her ſight, and bleſſed with her loving wiſhes. But theſe could not prevaile againſt the Bohemian, who had the ſtronger ſpirit waiting on him of perfect love, which overthrew the Italian, lying on the ground, flatly confeſſing his overthrow.

Two dayes he thus kept the field, without ſhew of looſing the honor to any: but then came one, who encountred him with ſuch cleane ſtrength and valour, as he was forc’d to confeſſe, hee matched him; nor did it turne to any diſhonour to him, when it was knowne who it was, being Polarchus, Baſtard ſonne to the king of that Iland: but ſoone did Amphilanthus revenge his friend, and ſo by conqueſt kept the field, though hee confeſt, hee had ſeldome felt ſuch an encounter as the laſt of the ſixe courſes, the other five having laſted without any advantage: this with the loſſe of his ſtirrops, but the falling back of the other upon his horſes backe, and tumbling downe, ſtriving to recover his ſaddle. Thus he redeemd his friends miſchance, maintaining the field againſt all commers, in the defence of his miſtriſſes beauty.

Two dayes hee held it, in which time hee woone the fame of the braveſt Knight. The laſt day they were a little hindred from that ſport, by the comming of a great, and brave troope of knights, having with them two of the beauties the world could hold excellent; they rode in a Chariot of watchet Velvet, embroidred with crimſon ſilke, and Pearle the inſide, the outſide with purle of ſilver: and yet that riches poore, in compariſon of the incomparable brightneſſe and cleareneſſe of their owne beauties. Soone were they knowne: for who could be ignorant of the perfections of Pamphilia and Limena: for hee that never ſaw Pamphilia but by report, ſeeing this unſpeakable beauty, ſaid, it could be no other then that peereleſſe Queene, none elſe could ſo excell in true perfection. Two Knights rid on each ſide of the Chariot, one in armour of Gold, enameld with leaves of Lawrell; the other all blacke: thus they came with great magnificence and ſtate, when Amphilanthus was ready to encounter a new knight, that would needs have the favour to be throwne downe by the conquering Prince, who ſoone receiud the honour, his vanquiſhing power gave all other, kiſſing his mother without deſire or pleaſure.

Then did the Prince looke about him, caſting his eyes by chance towards the troope, at which ſight hee ſtraight knowing the never enough exalted Princeſſe, he went towards her, his eies meeting the unreſiſting power of her eies, who was ſoveraign of al harts; telling the new Queen, that certainly now the charmes muſt have concluſion, ſhe being come to adventure for them. I T hope T1v 138 hope my Lord (ſaid ſhe) there will be an end of them, ſince I know I am able to bring one part to the concluſions demand, being that, I thinke you have not been much troubled with all, and in truth I cannot blame you much, ſince libertie is an excellent profit. But what colour ſhall wee have next: the laſt I ſaw was Crimſon, now Watchet and White; do you adde to your inconſtancy, as faſt as to your colours? None can bee accuſed deere Ladie (ſaid he) for their change, if it bee but till they know the beſt, therefore little fault hath yet been in me: but now I know the beſt, change ſhall no more know mee. Every change brings this thought (ſaid ſhee): but here is the Queene Limena, whoſe noble vertues were reſcued by your friend, and my brother from crueltie and death, though not of them, but her perſon dying, they muſt (if not for him) have remaind the outward tombes of her honor. Then kiſt he her hands, and ſo conducted the two Queenes to the fitteſt place to ſee thoſe begun ſports, and to be beheld of the Knights.

Amphilanthus continuing his ſtill enjoyed victories, none parting from him without flat falles, or apparant loſſe of honour. Then the Knight of Victorie, and the Black Knight came unto him with theſe words: Victorious Sir, we ſee how bravely and happily you have carried your ſelfe in this challenge, and ſo as we ſhould bee too bold flatterers of our ſelves, if wee would hope to get the better of you: yet being knights and ſervants to faire Ladies, we are ingaged in honour to try our fortunes with you, defending that theſe two Ladies are fairer, and more truly worthy then your miſtriſſe. I ſaid the Knight of Victory defend the Queene Limena: and I (ſaid the other), the incomparable Pamphilia. Your demaund (ſaid Amphilanthus) ſhall bee anſwered, although I muſt confeſſe, it rather ſhould bee yeelded unto without blowes; yet will I proceede in the begun challenge, though againſt beauties matchleſſe; and firſt anſwere you, who defend the Queene Limena.

All eyes were fixed upon theſe two, one knowne powerfull, and not to bee vanquiſht, the other outwardly appearing excellent, and ſo did he prove himſelfe: for never were ſix courſes runne more finely, then theſe were; ſo as every one ſaid, that none but another Amphilanthus could have performed them ſo delicately; yet a little difference there was betweene them, which made a queſtion to whom the whole honour did belong. Amphilanthus loſt his ſtirrops, and the other was ſtruck flat upon his horſe: but the Prince himſelfe ordered the buſineſſe thus; that hee would make an end of that mornings triumph, and the other ſhould have the after noones triall.

This was agreed on by all, and hee much commended for his royall curteſie; when noone came, Amphilanthus lighting from his horſe, came to the ſtranger, who ſtood ready to receive him with his right Gauntlet off, but his Beaver downe, to whom the Prince with a grave and ſweet countenance delivered the Speare, and liberty for the free accompliſhing the reſt of that exerciſe. The ſtranger with al reſpect, and indeed affection, received that favour, wiſhing the happineſſe to conclude the time with as much bravery and good fortune, as Amphilanthus had done the daies paſt.

Then did the Prince boldly ſhew himſelfe to all, many there knowing him, and comming humbly to acknowledge their loves and gratefulneſſe unto him, for infinite favours received by them from him: for indeede no T2r 139 no man was ever inrich’d with a more noble, free, and excellent diſpoſition, then this exquiſit Prince had flowing in him: after dinner this moſt honored and beloved Prince, with the admired Queenes, Ollorandus, and the reſt came againe to ſee the concluſion of that brave ſport, in which time the Knight of Victorie ſo ſtoutly behaved himſelfe, as thereby hee gaind exceeding great fame, but now was evening beginning to threaten him with her power to overcome his victories, which yet remaind whole unto him, few being left that were not by Amphilanthus, Ollorandus, or himſelfe, taught how to adventure in ſuch like buſineſſes. He now having a little time left him to breathe in, none comming againſt him, hee looked about, and caſt his eyes on her, whoſe beauty he ſo bravely defended with ſuch affection, as hee ſtirred not them, nor his mind from that beloved object, till a boy in ſhepheards apparrell delivered theſe words to him, almoſt pulling him, before hee gave him hearing. My Lord ſaid he (for ſo my maſter bid me call you), I come from yon man, one, who not skill in armes, but truth of his Ladies beauty brings forth, and by me ſends you word, that your Miſtriſſe Limena is not one halfe ſo faire, as his Queene Pamphilia: it is (hee ſayes) no bouldneſſe to defend her, whoſe beauty is without compare; wherefore hee deſires you to prepare your ſelfe: but take heed Sir, hee is mighty ſtrong. Good Boy (ſaid the Knight), tell your Maſter I will attend him, and I pray thee adviſe him as well for the love I beare thee. Then came the Shepheard knight (for ſo they cald him) all in Aſh colour, no plume nor favour, onely favourd with his Ladies beſt wiſhes (the beſt of favours). The encounter was ſtrong and delightful, ſhivers of their ſpeares aſcending into the aire, like ſparkes of a triumph fire: fowre courſes they ran, without any difference for advantage; the fift, the knight of Victorie loſt both ſtirrops, and a little yeelded with his body; the other paſſing with the loſſe of one ſtirrop; the ſixth and laſt, being (if it were poſſible) a more ſtrong, and excellent courſe: their ambitions equall to honour, glorious to love, and covetous of gaine before their Ladies, ſcorning any place lower then the face. Both hit ſo luckely and equally, as their beavers flew up, the knight of Victorie being knowne to be Periſſus, the other Amphilanthus, who confident that now he had truth on his ſide, and deſirous once more to trie the ſtrength of the other, while moſt eyes were on the Champion, he ſtole away, and arm’d himſelfe. Amphilanthus at firſt knew not Periſſus, many yeares having paſt ſince their laſt meeting: but when he heard Periſſus nam’d, with what joy did he embrace him, being the man, who from his youth, hee had like himſelfe loved, admiring his vertues, and loving his perſon. This done, they went to Pamphilia’s tent, where ſhee gave Amphilanthus infinite thanks for the honour hee had done her: but yet my Lord (ſaid ſhe) I muſt blame my poore beauty for the delay you had in your Victory, which I confeſſed, when I ſaw ſo long differring of your overcomming grieving then for that want, which brought your ſtay in winning.

Detract not from your beauty, which all judgements know without equall (ſaid hee), nor from the bountie of the renowned and famous Periſſus, but give the reaſon where it is, which is want in my fortune to obtaine any thing that moſt I deſire, or ſeek, ſuch croſſes hitherunto accompanied my life. Then did Pamphilia intreat him to take knowledge of the other knight, whoſe T2 name T2v 140 name was Milliſander, Duke of Pergamus and her ſubject, whoſe father, though newly dead, and therefore wore that mourning armour, yet would not ſtay, but attend her thither; then Amphilanthus deſired to know how it came about, that ſhe honoured that place with her preſence. The Queene willing to ſatisfie his demand began her diſcourſe in this manner. Mine Uncle King of Pamphilia, comming for me to carry me into his Country, and there to ſettle me (as long ſince he reſolv’d) by the conſent and leave of my father, I went with him, by the way winning the happines of the companies of theſe excellent Princes, Periſſus and Limena: after our arrivall I was crowned, and being peaceably ſetled, mine Uncle retired into a Religious houſe, where he will end his dayes: I heard ſtill the fame of this enchantment, of which I had underſtood by my brother Parſelius, who had himſelfe got ſome unfortunate knowledge of it; I deſired to adventure it, being aſſured that I was able for one part to conclude it, ſince it is to be finiſhed by that vertue I may moſt juſtly boaſt of. Thus reſolved (honoured with the preſence likewiſe of this excellent King, and vertuous Queene, with the conſent of my people, leaving the goverment for this time with the Councell) we came to adventure for the Throne of Love. Which (ſaid Amphilanthus) I am alſo to trie; wherefore let me be ſo much favoured, as I may bee the Knight to adventure with you, and you ſhall ſee, I want not ſo much conſtancy, as not to bring it to end, though it pleaſed you lately to taxe me with it. My Lord (ſaid ſhe) I taxed you onely for Antiſsia’s ſake, who (poore Lady) would die, if ſhee thought that you had chang’d, ſhee ſo entirely loveth you. Hath ſhe ſpoken to you to ſpeake for her (ſaid hee)? in truth ſhee did well, ſince love much better ſuites with your lippes then her owne: but ſhall I have the honour that I ſeeke? You ſhall command my Lord (ſaid ſhee), and wee will ſurely bring an end to it; your valour, and my loyalty being met together. He made no other anſwere then with his eyes, ſo for that night they all parted, every one expecting the next mornings fortune, when the Throne ſhould be ſo bravely adventur’d for. All that would trie their fortunes had free libertie; ſo ſix couples ventur’d before the peereleſſe payre; but all were impriſoned, to be honord the more, with having their delivery by the power of the moſt excellent, who being ready to adventure, they were hindred a little by the comming of a Gentleman in white armour richly ſet forth, and bravely accompanied, who comming directly to Amphilanthus deſired the honour of Knighthood, telling him hee had ſought many places, and paſſed many Countries to receive that favour from him, which, but from him hee would not accept, withall pulling off his helme, which preſently made him to be knowne to be Antiſsius King of Romania. Amphilanthus with due reſpect to him welcomd him, proteſting he could never merit ſo high an honor as this was unto him, wherefore without delay in the ſight of all that Princely company, he girt the ſword to him, and he with Periſſus put on his ſpurs; then came Allimarlus to kiſſe his hands, who moſt kindly he received; and now my Lord (ſaid hee), you are very fitly come to ſee the Throne of Love wonne (I hope) by this ſurpaſſing Queene, and your ſervant my ſelfe.

Antiſsius went to ſalute the Queene, ſo together they paſſed towards the Bridge. Antiſsius and Ollorandus going together, twind in each others armes Pamphilia T3r 141 Pamphilia being thus apparreld in a Gowne of light Tawny or Murrey, embrodered with the richeſt, and perfecteſt Pearle for roundneſſe and whitenes, the work contrived into knots and Garlands; on her head ſhe wore a crowne of Diamonds, without foiles, to ſhew her cleareneſſe, ſuch as needed no foile to ſet forth the true brightneſſe of it: her haire (alas that plainely I muſt call that haire, which no earthly riches could value, nor heavenly reſemblance counterfeit) was prettily intertwind betweene the Diamonds in many places, making them (though of the greateſt value) appeare but like glaſſe ſet in gold. Her necke was modeſtly bare, yet made all diſcerne, it was not to be beheld with eyes of freedome: her left Glove was off, holding the King by the hand, who held moſt hearts. He was in Aſh colour, witneſſing his repentance, yet was his cloake, and the reſt of his ſuite ſo ſumptuouſly embroidred with gold, as ſpake for him, that his repentance was moſt glorious; thus they paſſed unto the firſt Tower, where in letters of Gold they ſaw written, Deſire. Amphilanthus knew he had as much ſtrength in deſire as any, wherefore he knocked with aſſured confidence at the Gate, which opened, and they with their royall companions paſſed to the next Tower, where in letters of Rubies they read Love. What ſay you to this, brave Queene (ſaid hee)? have you ſo much love, as can warrant you to adventure for this? I have (anſwerd ſhee) as much as will bring me to the next Tower, where I muſt (I believe) firſt adventure for that.

Both then at once extremely loving, and love in extremity in thēem, made the Gate flee open to them, who paſſed to the laſt Tower, where Conſtancy ſtood holding the keyes, which Pamphilia tooke; at which inſtant Conſtancy vaniſhed, as metamorphoſing her ſelf into her breaſt: then did the excellent Queene deliver them to Amphilanthus, who joyfully receiving them, opened the Gate; then paſſed they into the Gardens, where round about a curious Fountaine were fine ſeates of white Marble, which after, or rather with the ſound of rare and heavenly muſick, were filled with thoſe poore lovers who were there impriſoned, all chain’d one unto another with linkes of gold, enamiled with Roſes and other flowers dedicated to Love: then was a voyce heard, which delivered theſe wordes; Loyalleſt, and therefore moſt incomparable Pamphilia, releaſe the Ladies, who much to your worth, with all other of your ſexe, yeeld right preheminence: and thou Amphilanthus, the vallianteſt and worthieſt of thy ſexe, give freedome to the Knights, who with all other, muſt confeſſe thee matchleſſe; and thus is Love by love and worth releaſed.

Then did the muſick play againe, and in that time the Pallace and all vaniſhed, the Knights and Ladies with admiration beholding each other. Then Pamphilia tooke Urania, and with affection kiſsing her, told her, the worth which ſhee knew to bee in her, had long ſince bound her love to her, and had caus’d that journey of purpoſe to doe her ſervice. Then came Periſſus, bringing Limena to thanke her, who heartily did it as ſhee deſerved, ſince from her counſell her fortunes did ariſe. Amphilanthus likewiſe ſaluted her, having the ſame conceit of reſemblance between her and Leonius, as Parſelius had, and ſo told her with exceeding joy all after one another comming to her, and the reſt. Antiſsius caſting his eye upon Selarina, fixed it ſo, as it was but as the ſetting of a branch, to make a tree ſpring of it: ſo did his T3 loue T3v 142 love increaſe to full perfection. Then all deſir’d by Pamphilia tooke their way to her Tent, every one conducting his Lady, Amphilanthus Pamphilia, Periſſus, his Limena; Ollorandus, Urania; Antiſsius, Selarina, the King of Cyprus his Queene, his brave baſe Sonne Polarchus, the Lady hee only lov’d, who was Princeſſe of Rodes. Many other great Princes, and Princeſſes there were, both Greekes and Italians; Allimarlus for old acquaintance leading Urania’s maide: thus to Pamphilia’s tent they came, where moſt ſumptuouſly ſhee entertain’d them: then did all the great Princes feaſt each other, the laſt being made by the King of Ciprus, who out of love to the Chriſtian Faith, which before he contemned, ſeeing ſuch excellent, and happy Princes profeſſors of it, deſired to receive it, which Amphilanthus infinitly rejoycing at, and all the reſt, Chriſtned him with his wife, excellently faire daughter, and Polarchus his valiant Sonne, and ſo became the whole Iſland Chriſtians.

Then came he unto Amphilanthus, humbly telling him that the diſgrace he had from him receiv’d, he eſteemed as a favour, and honour ſufficient, to be overcome by the valianteſt King, who none muſt reſiſt; to manifeſt which, he beſought him to accept him unto his ſervant, and friend, with whom hee reſolved to end his daies.

Amphilanthus replied, the honor was his, to gaine ſo brave a gentleman to his friendſhip, who ſhould ever finde him ambitious to expreſſe his love to him: but ſaid he, aſſuredly you never adventured the throne, but that you were in love. He bluſhing, told him it was true, but (alas) my Lord, ſaid he, I have no hope now to winne her. Then told he the King, the whole ſtory of his love, beſeeching him to aſsiſt him, which he promiſed to doe, and for that purpoſe to take their way by Rodes, and ſo at the delivering of her to her Father, to ſollicit his ſuit for him, ſhe extreamly loving him, hee kiſſed the Kings hands for it. And thus every one remain’d contented, Urania, longing to ſee Parſelius, and yet not daring to demand any thing of him, till one day, (and the firſt of their journey) ſhee prettily began with Pamphilia, taking occaſion upon her owne diſcourſe as you ſhall heare. But now that every one reſolves of going homeward, what can bee imagin’d of loving Lucenia? whoſe heart is now almoſt burſt with ſpite, and rage, which ſhe ſhewed to the King himſelfe, when he came to take leave of her, telling her that it muſt be his ill fortune to part with her, that being finiſhed which brought him thither. She anſwer’d, it was true, it was finiſhed now to her knowledge, which ſhe doubted not had had many ends with ſuch fooliſh creatures as her ſelfe, els ſaid ſhe, had I never beene deluded with your flatteries. I never ſaid he, proteſted more then I perform’d. It was my folly then, ſaid ſhe, to deceive my ſelfe, and wrong mine owne worth, with letting my love too much expreſſe it ſelfe, to give advantage for my loſſe, when as if you had firſt ſued, your now leaving mee might have beene falſhood, where as it is onely turnd to my ſhame, and loſſe. I am ſorry ſaid hee, I ſhall part thus much in your diſpleaſure, ſince I know I once was more favour’d of you. You cannot right me more, ſaid ſhee, then to goe, and gone, never more to thinke of me, unleſſe your owne Conſcience call upon you. It will not I hope reply’d Amphilanthus, be overburdened with this weight, ſince I will (now as ever I did) obey you, and ſo brave Lady farewell.well T4r 143 well. Shee would not wiſh him ſo much good, who now ſhee hated, ſo as onely making him a ſmall reverence they parted, the Prince going to the Kings and Queenes who attended for him, the King of Ciprus bringing them to the Sea, the morning before their taking Shipp, preſenting them with the Shepherds, and Shepherdeſſes of thoſe Plaines, who after their manner ſang and ſported before them, to the great delight of all, eſpecially Pamphilia, who much loving Poetry, liked their pretie expreſsions in their loves, ſome of which ſhe cauſed to be twiſe ſong, and thoſe that were at the banquet, (which was made upon the Sands, they being ſerv’d by thoſe harmeleſſe people) to be written out, which were two ſonges, and one Dialogue delivered betweene a neate, and fine Shepheard, and a dainty loving Laſſe, it was this.

Sh. Deare, how doe thy winning eyes my ſenſes wholly tye? She. Senſe of ſight wherein moſt lyes change, and Variety. Sh. Change in me? She. Choice in thee ſome new delights to try. Sh. When I change or chooſe but thee then changed be mine eyes. She. When you abſent, ſee not me, will you not breake theſe tyes? Sh. How can I, ever flye, where ſuch perfection lies? She. I muſt yet more try thy love, how if that I ſhould change? Sh. In thy heart can never moove a thought ſo ill, ſo ſtrange. She. Say I dye? Sh. Never I, could from thy love eſtrange. She. Dead, what canſt thou love in me, when hope, with life is fledd? Sh. Vertue, beauty, faith in thee, which live will, though thou dead, She. Beauty dyes. Sh. Not where lyes a minde ſo richly ſpedd. She. Thou doſt ſpeake ſo faire, ſo kind, I cannot choſe but truſt, Sh. None unto ſo chaſte a minde ſhould ever be unjuſt. She. Then thus reſt, true poſſeſt, of love without miſtruſt.

An other delicate Mayd, with as ſweet a voyce, as her owne lovely ſweetnes, which was in her, in more then uſuall plentifulneſſe, ſang this Song, being as it ſeemd ſame out with Love, or having ſome great quarell to him.

Love T4v 144 Love what art thou? A vaine thought, In our mindes by fancy wrought, Idle ſmiles did thee beget, While fond wiſhes made the nett Which ſo many fooles have caught. Love what art thou? light, and faire, Freſh as morning, cleere as th’ ayre: But too ſoone thy evening change, Makes thy worth with coldneſſe range, Still thy joy is mixt with care. Love what art thou? a ſweet flowre, Once full blowne, dead in an houre, Duſt in winde as ſtaid remaines As thy pleaſure, or our gaines, If thy humour changes to lowre. Love what art thou? Childiſh, vaine, Firme as bubbles made by raine: Wantonneſſe thy greateſt pride, Theſe foule faults thy vertues hide, But babes can no ſtaydneſſe gaine. Love what art thou? Cauſeleſſe curſt, Yet alas theſe not the worst, Much more of thee may bee ſaid, But thy Law I once obay’d, Therefore ſay no more at first.

This was much commended, and by the Ladies well liked of, onely Amphilanthus ſeem’d to take Loves part, and blame the mayde for accuſing him unjuſtly, eſpecially, for deſcribing him with ſo much lightneſſe. Then to ſatisfie him, a ſpruce Shepherd began a Song, all the others keeping the burden of it, which they did begin.

Who can blame me if I love? Since Love before the World did move. When I loved not, I deſpair’d, Scarce for handſomeneſſe I car’d; Since ſo much I am refin’d, As new fram’d of ſtate, and mind, Who can blame me if I love, Since Love before the World did move. Some in truth of Love beguil’d Have him blinde and Childiſh ſtil’d: But V1r 145 But let none in theſe perſiſt, Since ſo judging judgement miſt, Who can blame me? Love in Chaos did appeare When nothing was, yet he ſeemd cleare: Nor when light could be deſcride, To his crowne a light was tide. Who can blame me? Love is truth, and doth delight, Where as honour ſhines moſt bright: Reaſon’s ſelfe doth love approve, Which makes us our ſelves to love. Who can blame me? Could I my paſt time begin, I would not commit ſuch ſin To live an houre, and not to love, Since love makes us perfect prove, Who can blame me?

This did infinitely pleaſe the brave King; ſo cunningly, and with ſo many ſweet voyces it was ſung: then the banquet ended, they tooke leave of the kind King of Ciprus, and his company, all the reſt taking ſhip with Pamphilia, ſailing directly to Rodes, where they received unſpeakable welcome, being feaſted there eight dayes together, and for ſhow of their true welcome, the Duke of that Iland beſtowed his conſent for marriage of his daughter, with her long beloved friend Polarchus, whoſe joy and content was ſuch, as the other amorous Knights wiſht to know. Then tooke they their leaves of the Duke, and all the Rodean Knights and Ladies, taking their way to Delos, Polarchus promiſing within ſhort time to attend them in Morea.

The end of the firſt Booke.

V The V1v 146 V2r 147

The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania.

The Second Booke.

All this journey did Urania paſse with much griefe inwardly ſuffered, and ſo borne, deſirous to know where her love was, yet baſhfull, durſt not aske, till one day Periſſus ſitting betweene her and Limena, tooke occaſion to ſpeake of his firſt finding her, and ſo of the obligation they remaind tied unto her in, for all the fortunes they enjoyd; and ſo from that, to ſpeake of the reſcue Parſelius brought Limena at her laſt breathing, as ſhee thought. I wonder (ſaid Urania) where that Prince is, ſince ſo many brave men being here, mee thinkes hee ſhould not bee abſent; nor could I have thought any but himselfe might have ended this adventure. Truly (ſaid Periſſus) when we parted with him, I never ſaw a more afflicted man then hee was (except once my ſelfe), and all was for the loſse of you. I thought rather (ſaid ſhe) he had been offended with us for adventuring; which well he might, considering by that folly we loſt him. Nay, ſaid Allimarlus (who was then come to them), hee had no cauſe to blame you, having committed as great an error, and the ſame, himſelfe, then told hee all the ſtory to her, of what had paſt after the drinking the water, and ſo much as he knew, or heard by others of him, while he was heard of. Then came Pamphilia and Amphilanthus, who went on with the diſcourſe, that now Urania was reſolved, and aſſured of his affection, which ſo much joyd her, as the abſence of him grew the more terrible to afflict her.

Then to Delos they came, whoſe milke-white rockes looked ſmooth with joy to receive within their girdle, the worlds treaſure of worth, now being in their preſence richer, then when most treaſure was within her: then tooke they directly to the Pallace, at the entring into the vault meeting the grave Meliſſea, who with her maides carrying torches of white waxe, conducted the Prince through that into the Gardens, all now in hope or feare to know their fortunes. Urania deſiring to know her ſelfe; Pamphilia to be reſolved, whether ſhe ſhould gaine by her loyalty. Amphilanthus when he ſhould enjoy, and Antiſsius longing to be aſſured, if hee ſhould have Selarina, who as much deſired the ſame knowledge of gaining him, ſuch affection had growne V2 betweene V2v 148 betweene them, he being (as ſhee did verily perſwade her ſelfe) the ſelfe ſame little King, that beckned to her out of the enchanted Garden. Allimarlus muſt by any meanes be gaind by the Shepheardeſſe.

Thus they all expecting, and Periſſus happily enjoying, they continue in the Pallace, while the grave Hermit muſt next have time to tell his ſtory to diſtreſſed Parſelius, in this manner beginning.

My loving and afflicted ſonne, heare your poore friend ſay, his name is Detareus, borne in Dalmatia, and Lord of Raguſa: I was bred a Courtier, and accordingly thrived; repentance being at laſt their beſt fortunes. In that Court I lived in good favour with the king, and honoured with the office of Steward of his houſe: Children I had, and all other contents: but at laſt my wife died, and ſo did the beſt of my happineſſe; for alas, ſoone after fell my miſeries to increaſe; and for the greater ſharpnes of them, to be thus ſpringing from my owne beſt remaining comfort: for I call’d to my chamber my deareſt daughter, (Bellamira by name) to be with me, and to governe my ſervants, but ſhe having ſuch beauty, as to be a fit bait to catch misfortune, and bring it to me, the king liked her; which I perceiving, haſted to beſtow her, and ſo I did on a great heire, who was called Treborius, with whom ſhe happily lived. But this King ſtill loving her, and as a lover ſeeking all meanes to gaine his mind, never ſpared feaſtings, and all occaſions, to draw company to the Court; yet all was becauſe ſhe muſt be there, otherwiſe were none in his opinion preſent: her husband alſo was extreamely favoured by him in outward ſhow, and his houſe often viſited by his Majeſty. He ſaw it: but ſeeing his wives vertue ſpotleſſe, over-lookt the temptations, which were but as two Glaſses, ſet to ſee both ſides of her nobleneſſe, and worthy chaſtitie. Much adoe there was, all eyes beheld it, all ſpake of it, all admired her. I diſcerning this, at laſt gave over the Court, ſcorning to bee uſed in the ſlights, which were for her diſhonour, and mine in hers: I retyrd, ſhe then having no fit occaſion to viſit the Court, did likewiſe ſo. No country sports faild to give delight, I oft-times with her, and her loving husband; they oft with mee. But now muſt theſe bee croſt, not being fit for ſubjects to live in content, when the Prince is not pleaſed; to break which, he ſent me Embaſſador to Italy, to the king of Naples, father to the glory of Princes, your matchles coſin; her husband he employed another way, hoping to win her in our abſence: but herein he was deceived, for ſhe would not have the ſhadow of ſuch times afforded him, wherefore ſhe went with her husband, thereby that plot was hindred, and the kings immoderate affection croſſed; but whereby my miſery moſt increaſed was, that in my Embaſſage I fell in love with a Lady, whoſe ſweetnes and delicacie was able to have made Troylus falſe. This Lady I loved, this Lady (happieſt deſtiny as I then unwiſely conjectured loved me) but alas, ſhe had a husband, a terrible and wretched barre in the way of thoſe looſe and wicked enjoyings which we coveted yet ſo we ordered our affaires, as wee came to have private conference, and many ſeverall meetings. This Lady was of Apulia, and one, who if the enjoying her were death, and life the miſſing it, death had bin ſweeter, and more to have bin priſed. As I went V3r 149 I went to the Court, I ſaw her, ſhe after came thither, at the aſsemblie which was for my entertainement. Wee liked, loved, and enjoyed: then did I not faile, to ſeeke all meanes to win, and keepe her husbands favour, which was the way for my bleſsing: hee embraced it, and truly I muſt confeſſe, uſed mee ſo well, as had any other matter been the end of my deceiving, but what was, I ſhould have been ſorry, ſo to have abus’d his truſt. But what ſhall I ſay; you know love, and therefore brave Sir pardon it, or rather the relation of that which was in mee; ſo much power had this affection in mee, as I drew out the time of my ſtay to laſt, weaving the longeſt web that faining occaſions could allow mee, the ſpider love working for me. But now comes my affliction in love, and yet happineſse in the end, for time grew for my departing, which word I may juſtly uſe, ſince it was like death (or that it ſelfe) to mee, or any paſsionate ſervant. To his houſe I was invited in my way home (wee yet having remaind at Rome) thither wee went, and made as many dayes journeyes as wee could, ſtill to win of time: at laſt wee there arrived, where want was none, if fault; onely I found the continuall company of her good man, that which I diſliked, yet wee converſed freely (as well wee might) before him, hee being as free, as noble courteſie could deſire expreſsion in: but we were not fully contented with this, wherefore wee would venture for more, which coſt all; for hee lying from his Wife that night, by reaſon of care to her, leſt continuall busineſse might diſquiet her. I having notice of it, when all were in their beds, and ſweete ſilence ſpread with ſleepe over all the houſe, I roſe out of my lodging, and ſoftly went unto her Chamber, where I found her ſleeping, at my comming to the bed ſide; ſhee awaked, but how did ſhee blame mee? (and yet truly I believe, it was the hazard I had put my ſelfe in, ſhee more accuſed, and chid, then my ſelfe): for ſhee did not too cruelly reject mee, though earneſtly ſhe intreated, nay conjurd my ſudden retyring, which I after ſome howers yeelded unto, taking my leave of her with as ſad and dying affection, as if I had foreſeene the enſuing harme, which thus happened. I had at my riſing lighted a Candle, which careleſlie (my mind onlie on my adventure) I left burning on the Cubbord in my Chamber; this light by miſerable miſchance waſting it ſelfe to my ruine, burned ſo into it ſelfe, as not being able to ſuſtaine, or in mallice falling downe to throw mee to the bottome of all deſtruction, tooke hold of the Carpet, ſo ſetting that on fire (the blaze aſpiring to my ende), fired the hangings, they hating the injurie, the gueſt they honoured had done to their owne Lord, in angrie flames made teſtimony of their loyaltie to their Maſter, giving him knowledge by their light to ſee my fault, and to bee as torches for the conducting him unto my miſery. The fire great, the ſmoke greater, and which more haſtily flew about to call witneſſes of their innocencies, raiſed the ſervants; they, their Maſter; he carefull of me, ſent to my chambers to call me to ſafetie, but more reſpecting his wife (as deareſt to him) went himſelfe to ſave her, when at the doore, how unwelcome a meeting had he, encountring in mee, the robber of his honor? Hee ſtood ſtill, and in truth I muſt ever ſay, hee beheld mee rather with V3 ſorrow V3v 150 ſorrow then fury, nor would he suffer any to be witneſſe of his ill, but ſeeing me unarm’d, and onely in my Cloake, he intreated me to paſſe into the next roome, which I did, and ſeeming cheerefull enough to all els, tooke care of his Houſe to preſerve it if poſſible. Then brought he unto me a ſuit of Cloathes, and having cauſed me to make my ſelfe ready, together we went forth unnoted by any, (as well wee might, conſidering the buſineſſe they had to ſave the place from deſtruction.) When wee came into a faire Field, he with teares, thus ſaid. Till now had I never the misfortune to be acquainted with the worſt of offences; which is breach of the true law of Friendſhip, but ſince I am falne into the wretchedeſt experience of it, I muſt, like the moſt miſerable, ſeeke a way out of it. You cannot deny but you have deſerv’d death, and in the worſt kind; yet though I may have it, yet will I leave the fault where it is, and in the braveſt manner, wipe away the ſtaine, which cannot be waſhed but with your bloud, or cleanſed by my ende. Take then this Sword (throwing one to mee) and ſaid he, defend your ſelfe. I beſought him not to put me to ſuch a triall; I had deſerv’d no favour, nor wiſhd I any to my ſelfe, onely that hee would honor me with giving me my death, and ſpare his wife, who was (for all my ſhamefull attempt) vertuous, and untouch’d. He onely ſhooke his head, and fetching a deepe groane, bid me leave ſpeach, and goe to the concluſion, which muſt bee death. Wee fought (for my part) with ſo much foule guiltineſſe, as me thought, ſtrength, cunning, all good, and underſtanding had abandon’d me: hee furious, revengefull, (and as I preceiv’d, greedy of ende) purſued me, who onely held my Sword, not to offend, but to defend me, till ſome (who I deſcern’d not farre off) could come to part us; but he likewiſe ſeeing them, ran ſo fiercely at me, as I muſt either lay my ſelfe open to take death, or holding but my Sword out, give him his end, which I moſt unwillingly did, forc’d to it by the frailty of the Fleſh, which in the apparent dangers, is alwaies kindeſt to it ſelfe. Thoſe I ſaw, came, and juſt to take up his body, and who (alas) followed them, but the poore Lady? extremity of ſhame bringing her to ſhew her ſhame: She ſeeing him ſlaine, cry’d out, O ſpare not me, who am the wofull cauſe of all this miſery, let me at laſt be thus farre bleſſd, as by your hand to be ſent againe unto him, from whom your ſinne and mine have parted me, never let ſo deteſtable an offence reſt unpunished? Shame calls upon you, and calls to me for ſatisfaction. The servants amazedly beheld us, till ſhe never ceaſing accuſing her ſelfe, nor urging death, ſeeing ſhe could not get it, kneeled downe, and taking a cold kiſſe from his lips, that were to her doubly dead in affection, and pale death, ſuddenly roſe up, and in riſing taking his ſword, with furious and hatefull ſpite to her ſelfe, and wrong done him, threw her ſelfe upon it, falling downe upon him, joyning in that manner her broken vow againe in a new one, with their ends. Then did the ſervants finde the cauſe, whereupon they ſet on me, for I would not yeeld to goe with them, chooſing, and deſiring rather to dye with them, then outlive them in ſuch ſhame; but too happy, and contrary to my wiſh was my deſtinie, for I ſlew them. Being then left with the two dead bodies, I fell into ſuch complaints, as ſorrow, and ſhame, could procure in me, crying out, where affliction hath judg’d and V4r 151 it ſelf in being excell’d, as in my miſery; why ſhould it not have end in death? then gave I my ſelfe many wounds, never ceaſing wounding, while my wounded ſoule abided in my body; at leaſt the ſoule of humane ſenſe, for ſo it onely prov’d, for others following their Maſter and Miſtris, found us all in the entertainment of wounds, paleneſſe mixt with bloud in the outſide, in ſtead of the more naturall habitations, the veines having made open flouds to drowne themſelves in, as a river may ſwell againſt it ſelfe, to looſe her owne name, and yeeld it to a greater by her owne Pride. Their bodies they carried away, mine remain’d like a tatter’d Enſigne, rather a glory of gaine then loſſe, and ſo poore a thing was I: but a charible man more loving goodneſse then me, and yet loving me for goodneſse ſake, (to make me have a better ending then in bloud) tooke my martyr’d body away: with bathings, and many more fine curioſities he brought mee to know I liv’d, to be more knowing my dayly dying. In a little Cell hee recover’d me, but to no more health, then to be able to goe thence, for longer I would not ſtay, then I had ability to goe away. I diſcover’d nothing of my ſelfe to him, but by him all that had paſſed after I left ſenſe till his recovering me; the generall report was, I was burn’d, ſome fewe ſaid murdred, all agreed I was loſt, and in that was true agreement, for ſo I was, and am. Then left I Apulia, and in Hermits Cloathes roam’d up and downe, till I lighted on this place, never finding any that could content mee but this: What ſince became of my poore Daughter, her misfortunes, or bleſſings, I can give no account of, but I feare the worſt, ſince one day, one inſtant, and one Planet governd, and gave our births, onely 24. yeares differing in time; here have I ſince remaind, and till now, never diſclosed my ſelfe, nor would have done to you, had not your freedome firſt ingag’d me: repentance hath beene my bleſſed delight, having enjoyed that, as plentifully, and comfortably as ever joy was to ſoules.

Now ſir, you ſee before you, where miſery hath not beene ſparing, where afflictions have not faild their greateſt bounty in exceſsiveneſſe, and where only comfort of a happy repentance rules, and gives a ſweeter conſolation, then worldly pleaſures could with all glorious paintings give liking. Then did Parſelius againe grieve for him, and yet comfort ſprung; as after a hard Froſt, flowres though dead, may appeare living, retaining ſome warmth in the roote, as in his breaſt: that he might, with gray haires know a change from miſadventures to a pure content.

Thus they continued, ſometimes Parſelius wayling, ſometimes the Hermit relating his Stories paſt, hee bent to comfort, the other to Diſpaire, though ſometimes a little moov’d to hope, but with as ſmall ſtrength, as life hath in the laſt gaſpe.

But now muſt Steriamus, and his companion find their way to their deſtined reliefe, following the courſe ordained for them; they took to the Sea, & ſo toward St. Maura: Steriamus ever bringing into his ſight, the ſweetneſſe and braveneſſe of Pamphilia, bleſsing Melliſſea for ſending him to ſuch a heaven of joy as to ſee her, and with her favour to ſpeake to her, and for his happineſſe to kiſſe her hand, ſhee mildly permitting him. O (ſaid he) Steriamus now ſhalt thou end happily (if so thy Destiny bee) since thou hadst a kind parting from thy better ſelfe. Then beheld he the Sea, which calme and V4v 152 and ſmooth gave them quiet paſſage: ſo, ſaid he, appeard my Miſtris, gently letting my good come unto me, to paſſe me unto an unlooked for content. Deareſt Love, how doth ſweetneſſe better ſit with you, where trueſt ſweetneſſe dwels, then harſh cruelty? Then did night poſſeſſe them, but ſo ſtill an one, and ſo brightned by the favour of the faire Moone, who ſeem’d chaſtly to behold her ſelfe in the ſmooth face of the Sea, which yet ſometimes left her plainnes, riſing, as catching at her face; or, as with love to embrace it, or rather keepe her in her dwellings, wherein ſhee was deceiv’d: for favours are not ever ſo free, as though lent, to be poſſeſſ’d for ever, and thus greedy was I (ſaid he) but ſhe as chaſtly refuſed me, yet did their ſight bring ſome Verſes into his minde, which were theſe.

Pray thee Diana tell mee, is it ill, as ſome doe ſay, thou think’ſt it is, to love? Me thinks thou pleaſed art with what I prove, ſince joyfull light thy dwelling ſtill doth fill. Thou ſeemſt not angry, but with cheerefull ſmiles beholdſt my Paſsions; chaſte indeed thy face Doth ſeeme, and ſo doth ſhine, with glorious grace; for other loves, the truſt of Love beguiles. Be bright then ſtill, moſt chaſt and cleereſt Queene, ſhine on my torments with a pittying eye: Thy coldneſſe can but my deſpaires diſcry, and my Faith by thy cleareneſse better ſeeme. Let thoſe have heat, that dally in the Sunne, I ſcarſe have knowne a warmer ſtate then ſhade; Yet hotteſt beames of zeale have purely made my ſelfe an offring burnt, as I was wonne. Once ſacrific’d, but aſhes can remaine, which in an Ivory box of truth incloſe The Innocency whence my ruines flowes, accept them as thine, ’tis a chaſt Loves gaine.

Having done them, he ſaid them to Dolorindus, whoſe thoughts were as buſily employd in the ſame kinde; now were they come within ſight of St. Maura, wherefore Steriamus demanded of the Marriners, if they knew the white Rocke, they did, and ſo in the long Boate carried them unto it, where landing them they departed; the Princes taking to the topp of it, viewing it, and the ruines, admiring what they ſhould doe in that deſolatneſſe, where they found no man, no place for man to bide in save one little Cave, whereinto they went, and ſitting downe they afreſh diſcourſed of their Fortunes: Steriamus relating to his companion, the manner of his living in Pantaleria, in the little Cave, and ſo his youth, but when he touched of Pantaleria, he could not paſſe it over without ſome paſsionate remembrance of it, where he onely X1r 153 only lived free, and therefore as hee called it happy. Delightfull Pantaleria (would he crie), when I remaind in thee, how was I Lord of my ſelfe, and ſo of all quiet content? dayes were then paſt in hunting, or ſome other countrie delights, which now waſte in being hunted by afflictions: no paine knew I, if not by ſurfetting of pleaſure, yet proved I a man eſteeming change my greater happineſſe, when brave Parſelius with the rareſt of women, except my Lady releaſed me from ignorance, bringing me into the world, to be the riper in miſeries fruite, what happineſſe (in compariſon of the woe we Princes ſuffer) doth remaine in a country life? O Pantaleria would I had ſtill remaind in thee, or would I had never knowne delights, which were ſtill ſpringing in thee, like thy dainty flowers, and tender graſſe which increaſed in plenty of ſweetnes, being corrected for the little height it ſome times got, by the tender ſheep, as my ſorrowes abound by the cruelty of my deareſt love. Cruell love, Ah cruelſt of cruelties, why end you not your tyrannies, or let tyrannie end, with ending me? Curſed be the time I ever ſuffered the unrightfull Monarchy of love to governe me, & thus to ſoveraignize over me, giving wounds, and a little eaſing them, as to make one hope, the danger of death were paſt, of purpoſe to make them more intollerable in the ſuffering, els why brought you me from joy to miſery? then a little to enjoy a glimmering hope to be put into a darker night of ſorrow with parting from it, els might you have left me in the sweet Morea, when Pamphilia ſmiled on me? Love you invited me, but ſterv’d me, you againe feaſted mee, but poyſon’d me, forcing me to drinke of abſence. You (ſaid Dolorindus) doe lament, as if alone you were appointed to ſuffer, or alone did indure affliction, when too covetouſly you hoard unto your treaſure, what belongs to other men; you call love a tyrant, when you are a greater, taking away the inheritance of others, as from me your friend, who have as much right to miſery as any, living in as great exceſſe of it, and having as large poſſeſsions in that government: then ſpare me liberty to complaine with you, permit mee to ſay miſfortune is as much mine as yours, and then like fellow ſubjects let us bewaile the weight of that unjuſt tyranny. Pardon mee deare friend (ſaid hee), if I would wholly take ill to my ſelfe, ſince it is to free you, and all worthy people from that, which I am fitteſt to beare, as a creature fram’d for the vaſſalage of Love, and his crueltie: but ſince you aske liberty to bewaile, take it, and let that bring your freedome, while it redoubles on my breaſt, as being mine and yours, tell mee then all your woe, and know you ſpeake to woe it ſelfe in ſpeaking unto me. Then Dolorindus (beginning with the ſet order of lovers, which is with ſighes and teares) began his diſcourſe thus. Free from the knowledge of harme, it was my hap to meete a Lady, hunting in a great Forreſt, attended on by many brave Gentlemen and Knights; but being more then woman-like excellent in riding, ſhe had left her Ladies, or rather they had left her, not able to attend her in that ſurpaſsing quality. I young, and affecting ſport, fell into the company, marking more that brave Diana then the chaſe ſhee followed, which was of a Stagge, who though hee tooke pride in being ſo purſued, and that it was in him to make her follow, ſtoutly commanded her attendance, yet cowardly flying from her, thinking it better to truſt to his ſpeed then her mercy, yet was he rewarded at laſt fit for his merit, for ſtandingX ding X1v 154 ding at bay, as if to threaten her doggs, and even before her face gazing on her, ſhe ſtroke him with a Croſſebow to the heart; then weepingly hee fell downe at her feete, groaning for her unkindneſſe: yet was not this the cruelſt blow ſhe gave, for (O me) ſhee did likewiſe wound my breaſt. Then came they all about her, admiring the hurt, while I admired, any ſeeing her, could live unwounded. Some prais’d the hounds that ſo truly hunted: I prais’d mine eyes that never were at fault, till they brought home the honor of the day, which was the loſſe of my poore heart, hunted by mine eyes unto that bay.

When all the rights were done, and doggs rewarded (I alone unſatisfied for my great gift), ſhee nobly intreated the company to goe with her unto her houſe, which all agreed unto, and my ſelfe unknowne to any there, tooke my way with them, boldly adventuring on that invitation. We ſat downe at dinner, all the diſcourſe was ſtill upon the ſport that morning, the Stagge afforded them, to which I gave a poore aſsiſtance, for having been bred abroad to learning, and to armes, I was an unexperienced hunts-man, which ſhe marked, and accordingly made uſe of, telling mee, that ſure the hunting was not pleaſing to me, or the want of that exerciſe had made me unskillfull in the diſcourſe. I ſaid, the latter was the true reaſon, for till that day I never ſaw that ſport, though I had knowne the field delights in many ſorts. Then fell ſhe to diſcourſe of martiall things, being excellently learned in all the Arts, knowledge no way ſcanting her. Thus dinner paſt, when horſes againe were brought forth, and ſhe waited on by us, went forth to ſee Haukes flee, ſpending the after-noone in that delight, inviting us againe with her, when before ſupper, choyce of muſique was beſtowed upon us: all theſe did well, and beſt to ſerve her beſt beloved ſelfe; but theſe (alas) prov’d but more hurts to mee, making mee by them ſee my greater loſſe, love like a ſerpent poyſoning my joyes, and biting my beſt daies, venomd all my bliſſe, making my new pris’d wound death to my hopes, and ſorrow to my ſoule. Pitie I wanted, pitie I ſought, but pity durſt not ask; and thus did griefe take me, & in me make abiding: commiſeration was the mark I aimed at, but feare held my hand: I ſaw her faire and delicate, and therfore imagined ſoft pity to be within ſo ſweet a cage; yet had her eies ſuch powerful might, as gave command, that none ſhould dare to claime ſo rich a bliſſe; overwhelmed with the cruelſt ſpite that Nature could inflict upon a man, I remaind, which was fild with a youthfull baſhfulneſſe, which overſwaied my humbleſt heart, diſaſters glorying in my patient ſuffering, exceſsiveneſſe of ſorrow flowing in me, for now was the time to part; or if I would remaine, I muſt not hide my ſelfe, or longer ſtay unknowne; for then was her husband to returne from a journey made unto the neighbour Ile, wherefore I thought it not amiſſe (the company all gone) to take my time, and thus I ſpake unto her. If that which I muſt ſay ſhould turne to give offence, accurſed would I thinke the time, and words I go about to utter; but comming from a man wholly devoted to your ſervice, I hope they will produce ſuch ends, as they are now directed to, and ſo may make me bleſſed, if bleſsing can deſcend on one ſo much unbleſt yet as my ſelf: this time wherin I have enjoied the full of outward joy beholding you, hath yet brought loves attendants, loſſe & feare with X2r 155 with it, loſſe of my libertie tyed wholly to your wil, & feare in my heart, if you deſpiſe my love; cauſe of affection I can challenge none for me, if not in gratitude to me, who give my ſelf for it, a ſtrangers name may make you ſcorne me, not knowing worth in me, but boldneſſe, fitting all contempt; theſe yet you may caſt by, for this ſtranger, your ſervant, am ſonne to the King, and your humbleſt lover Dolorindus. She (who before did in her lookes manifeſt the breeding of a curſt reply) a little ſmoothed the tempeſt of her rage, and with ſober reverence, demanded pardon for her uſing me with no more reſpect; and yet my Lord (ſaid ſhe) the fault may ſooner be pardoned, ſince ’twas you which were the cauſe of it. Then did I againe ſolicit: ſhe modeſtly, but confidently much refus’d. Her husband then arrived, who knowing mee gave free and noble welcome; I ſought how ſtill to induce the man to love my company, and to ſeeke it, which hee did alſo, having his ends, which ſurely he might gaine, ſo I might compaſſe mine; to which (for all her chaſt replies, and curious preſerving of her honour in her words), at laſt I did obtaine, and ſo her love, in as equall meaſure, as mine was to her, which was without compare, had hers not equald it. Thus it continued for ſome yeeres; all the mirth and ſports that were in Negropont, were ſtill at her Caſtle; Maskes, Juſts, Huntings, nothing can bee thought on, that was not in plenty at her houſe. My ſelfe (though ſonne unto the king, yet my ſister being to inherit the kingdome) was not ſo much lookt after (if not by noble minds) as ſhee who was to rule; ſo as I gain’d by that meanes, both more freedome, and leſſe over-ſeers of my actions. To a Maske that wee had there, wherein I was, a Lady came, whoſe ill ’twas to fal in love me, and ſo violently did it flame, as it grew dangerous; if ſhe were refus’d, a womans hate (which is the deadlieſt) I was to expect; if I conſented, juſt diſdaine from my deare ſelfe I was to merit. Hate could not ſtirre mee to ſuch ill, but feare (leſt it would blaze unto her hurt) made me yeeld ſome content. In theſe two ſtraites I was: if I would have asked leave, and told the cauſe, it yet might purchaſe doubt: if I denied, certaine hurt enſued. To avoid both, I did kindly uſe her, and such words ſpake before my onely love, as I did wiſh, that ſhe should underſtand, while ſtill the other tooke them to her ſelfe. Thus it was well: but how could well long laſt with me? from this well grew my worſt ill, and that ill, all my woe; for my loves husband grew to doubt his wife, which well he might: for though ſhe were aſſured, or truly might be of my faith to her; yet could ſhee not but ſometime ſhew diſlike, that ſhe ſought to win me, or that ſhe ſhould aſpire to be her rivall love; this made that ſecret deare affection ſeen, which ſo long had laine cloſe, wrapped up alone in knowledge of our ſoules. Hee had no ſooner found this, but hee ſtraight ſtuddied by skill to be reveng’d, and yet to ſeeme ſtill ignorant of the plot; and thus his wicked practiſe he began. A ſolemne feaſt hee made, which was to laſt for twelve whole dayes, the reaſon he alleaged was this: an old man once did ſay (whose skill was very great in the Art of Divination, as ’twas held), that he ſhould never live to fiftie yeares of age; which time being then expired, this feaſt for that cauſe was appointed. Many Ladies thither were invited with their Lords, and many knights, who were to win faire Ladies, and with the reſt this amorous Lady came, whoſe welcome to my X2 loue X2v 156 love was like hers unto me. I grieud that ſhee was there, becauſe I ſaw ſhee did diſpleaſe her eyes, who firmely held my heart. The Lord (whoſe name was Redulus) never ſhewed better cheere, his heart never more foule, nor thoughts more ſulled with baſe fram’d tricks. At the firſt ſhow, which was by candle light, and neither Maſque nor properly any one thing, but a mingle of divers ſorts; I ſate betweene thoſe two, whoſe loves in ſeverall kindes I held: my Ladies in truth mix’d with a little feare, the other in violence heated with diſlike. I had but one love, yet of force ſhew’d two; faith and ſincere affection to my choyce diſſembled: and a faign’d reſpect to her had choſen me. The huſband watching all and catching with as many ſeverall watches, our cloſe looks, as spiders flyes, with numbers of her webs: then did his wit begin to play that part allotted to it ſelfe, which was to throw a ſpitefull jarre among us three, which was effected by this diviliſh meanes; flouting the Lady whom my ſoule best loved, telling her how ſhee had made ſuch a choyce hee could not blame her for, ſince hee a Prince, a dainty youth, a neate and courtly Knight, delicate, amorous, how can hee bee ſeene without admiring, and then loving? yet truely wife, ſaid he, I better doe deſerve your love, since I have loved but you, and you have many partners in his love: I ſpeake not this for jealouſie, nor am I angry with it, or diſpleaſed, but onely pitty you who are deceiv’d. Courtiers you know will love choyce of Miſtreſſes, alas what lucke have you to fall into this ſnare? to love, and to be couzened of your love, by one you make your friend, and ſweet companion? juſtly yet this is done, that you afford your friend a part in all. Selinea (for ſo was ſhe, deere ſhee my, Lady cal’d) knew not at firſt with what face, or in what kind to receive theſe words; the husband firſt was the informer, the buſineſſe his diſhonour, the loſſe hers, the fault her lovers, theſe call’d her ſharpeſt and beſt pleaſed wits to ayde, at laſt ſhee thus did ſay. My Lord, you ſay you pity me in this kinde; were I guilty, you had more juſt cauſe to hate me, for truth in men (except your ſelfe) their truths and falſhoods are indifferent to me, having no further reaſon to commend, prize, or diſlike them, but for vertues ſake, and ſo am I in my owne opinion bleſſed in your love, as I ſhould deſpaire of bleſſing if I deſerv’d it not in the ſame height of loyalty: for the Prince, he hath (it is true) many noble parts able to win womens affections, but yet none ſuch where true worth remaines, as to divert them from a vertuous life, ſince that leaves the name & property when it runs to change. If I were ſingle, it might be I ſhould as ſoon like him as any other; but I lov’d you, and love you, never to change from that love: therefore I pray you take home your beforegiven pitty, and beſtow it where it wants, ſince I have yet no uſe of it, and continue that love you did beare me, which ſhall be requited with as laſting a faith in me. He who expected rather a curſt and ſharpe anſwer, then ſo milde an one, tooke her in his armes, and kiſsing her, ſwore, hee lov’d her well before, but now his heart was wholly hers: thus ſhee, as ſhee hop’d, had ſatisfied him, who ſeem’d contented, but his minde was no more then before quieted; for then he went to Melinea, and talking with her, diſcourſed how infinitely hee was afflicted with the wrong that Dolorindus did him in his reputation and honour, courting of his wife ſo publikely, and ſtriving to diſcredit him unto the world, and ſo undoe his happineſſe at home, which X3r 157 which hee enjoyed while Selinea lov’d him: but now ſuch power had the earneſt and importunate love of the Prince gained over her weake powers to reſiſt, as hee had made her his. But yet ſayd Melinea he loves her not aſsuredly, as you imagine. Bee not deceiv’d ſweet Melinea, ſaid Redulus; for never did man more paſsionately affect then Dolorindus doth, did you but ſee his ſleights, nay his paſsions if they faile, you would ſweare no man did violently love but hee; his ſighs, with folded armes, and ſtealing lookes, diſcovers what hee feeles. How have I ſeene him when he talk’d with you, and kiſ’d your hand, throw even his ſoule out at his eyes to her? Surely, my Lord ſaid ſhee, you cannot ſee this, but you doe ſpeake it onely to trye if I would prove ſo unworthy as to joyne with you in doubt of her, who is as good as faire. No I proteſt ſaid hee, I ſpeake as I believe and know; but yet I am aſſur’d that his love is the greater, and the cauſe that ſhee did ever bend to thinke of love: A Princes name is able to attract a chaſt-borne maide to know loves heate and force; what then can love and ſtrong affection win on a woman? Take you heede faire maid, love is a power that will, though once gainſaid, the ſecond time come in with armes, and make your chaſteſt thoughts contribute to his taxe, had you beene in the chamber, or but mark’d the piercing darts hee ſent by lookes of love, such as had beene enough to burne a heart that would contend, but yeelding, make joy glory in greater pride, then ever joy did know. I found ſome verſes too, which hee hath made, and given his miſtreſſe; by them you may gheſſe in what eſtate his reſtleſſe burning ſoule continues flaming to my utter ſhame, and ruine of my name. Then tooke hee forth ſome verſes which indeed I doe confeſſe I made and moſt unfortunately loſt; thoſe lines gave full aſſurance of the truth, and bred as true a hate in her to us, which though ſhe ſtrove to cover and diſſemble, (with ſhow of ſorrow onely for my griefe) yet hee perceiv’d, as having eyes of Art, and thoſe directed by a divelliſh wit, theſe found what hee did ſeeke; then wrought hee ſtill on that, and ſo at laſt came to his practiſe end; which happened the day before the feaſt had full concluſion in this hapleſſe kind. The jealous and deſpightfull Melinea, when dancing did begin, of purpoſe let the paper fall, but ſo as Selinea muſt bee next to take it up, which ſoone ſhe did, and opening it, diſcerned it was my hand, and that the ſubject of thoſe lines was love, which was moſt true, but alas falſly held from her, to whom they, and my firmeſt thoughts, were onely bent and dedicated, with affections zeale, and zealous love; theſe and my negligence in not ſeeking to confirme her truſt, confident of her love, made her alas belive too ſoone. The paper was with faigned anger snatched quickly away from my miſtris, ſhee with bluſhing ſaid, Why Melinea, I thought you had not beene one ſo much given to Poetry till now? I made them not ſaid ſhee; No, (ſighing ſaid the other) I know that, with which ſhee looked on mee, but with ſo cruell eyes, (and yet affection went with them, though ſhadowed with her ſcorne, which might be pitty call’d.) Theſe ſtrake my heart in ſunder with their ſight: (O mee, cryed I) have I fram’d theſe to ſpoyle my fortunes which ſhould have procur’d my bliſse, by telling X3 what X3v 158 what I could not utter? ſpeach tyed by a power of a greater might. Alas that ever I did take a penne in hand to be the Traytor to my joy; this griefe made me as guilty ſeeme by ſhame and ſilence, which did then poſseſse my moſt diſtracted ſenſes, as if I had been as falſe as they made me appeare. The dauncing went ſtill on, but ſhe (who was the beſt) like to her heart ſhe rul’d her feete, in ſad and walking pace; now was the plot well forward, hee wrought ſtill, and finding fault there was no nimbler ſports, came and intreated me to take his wife, and ſo begin a more delightfull daunce. Hee ſaw my griefe, ſhe found his drift, two hated mee to death, all were diſorderd, but I onely loſt; thus paſſ’d the night, the morning come, to part we were directed by our words given at the meeting. Faine I would have ſpoken, but shee who thought me falſe, avoided it, and gave but liberty to ſay farewell, which even with teares I did: She loath now to behold me, who of late ſhe lov’d, caſt downe her eyes, not gracing me with one poore looke, which though diſgracefull, yet as hers, had beene more welcome then the ſweeteſt ſmiles that ever lover joyed in from his Love. Thus we were parted to diſpaire and loſſe, yet meant I not to leave my miſtris ſo, but quickly found a meanes to viſit her, when ſhe continuing ſtill her cruell frownes to mee, I got yet liberty by my cares watch, to ſpeake with her, although againſt her minde; but then more cruell then the fierceſt Lyons enrag’d by famine, did bring forth these words. False man (ſaid ſhee) have you not yet enough, that your deceipt hath come unto mine eyes? For, falſe you are, elſe had you lov’d me ſtill, you would have diligently cleer’d this doubt: but O you thinke this not enough, nor I ſufficiently afflicted with your fault, but more you would intice me for more paine, glory in your injuſtice, and make triumphes for your ill, blaze to the world the ſinne of your ingratitude, and change, and that once done, hope then to winne againe; but who? none but ſo luckleſſe, and unbleſſed a ſoule as I was, who did truſt you, cruell you, the worſt, and falſeſt of your changing ſexe. This being ſaid, but force could hold her; wherefore for feare of further rage, I let her goe, remaining like the Creatures Metamorphoſ’d into ſtones. Yet at laſt, I went into my Chamber, and there framd ſome lamentable lines, to let her ſee, how cruelly ſhee had with ſcorne, and ſtrange miſtaking, martyr’d mee. When I delivered them, ſhee tooke them with theſe words, Ile reade them, ſaid ſhee, onely to perceive how well your vaine continues in this change; or, if you pleaſe, Ile be you meſſenger and give them Melinea from your ſelfe. Theſe wounded mee more then the ſharpeſt Sword, but more alas, grew my miſhapp: for ſhe hating ſo much, as once before ſhe lov’d, deſir’d me to love my ſelfe so well, as to refraine to ſhew my eyes to her, where ſo much falſe ingratitude did dwell, and for my ſake, ſhee would not onely doe the like for mee in keeping from my ſight, (leaſt I with ſeeing her ſhould ſee my shame) but would for my foule fault, hate all mens loves; this I besought her to recall, ſhe ſaid, it fixed was: then went I thence and mourned a while unseene; at laſt, my Fathers miſerie called me to ſuccour him, that done, againe, I ſought to gaine her pardon, but alas, in vaine, for she reſolvd to nothing but my griefe, ſhunn’d as ſhe promiſd my then loathed ſight. After her husband dyed, I then did woe her X4r 159 her, offered marriage, ſought with more then Vaſſal-like deſire, but nothing moovd her, untill love did againe take anew the conqueſt of her heart, making her contrary to all her likings, (which ſhee till then had publiſh’d) chooſe a brave yong Lord, in truth a worthy man, but contrary in all the outward markes which heretofore ſhe ſaid could winne her love. When I ſaw this, I knew there was no hope, I left her, and the Countrey, blaming fate that thus had made me cauſeleſly accurſed. Farewell (ſaid I) deere Lady of my soule, and farewell all love to your wayward ſex, where judgement lives but in the ſhallow being of an outward ſight; curſt is that man that puts leaſt truſt in you: more certainely the fickleſt weather hath, more ſtaidneſſe feathers, and more profit drops of raine in Snow which melts with it, while you ſpoile onely me: thus I departed when ſhe married laſt, and then for her ſake vowed, as ſhe had done, but with more manly conſtancy, to hold a true and a loyall oath, never to love, or chuſe a Creature of ſo light a kinde, as generally all women bee, the beſt alone being good, that while ſhe’s pleaſ’d ſhe will give equall love; ſuſpitious ſexe, and fondly ignorant, that will not know the truth, leaſt truth ſhould ſhew the fault, in baſe ſuſpecting without cauſe.

Stay, ſtay, said Steriamus, you grow curſt againſt the lovelyeſt, ſweeteſt, happieſt birth, that ever earth did beare; your mother was a woman, and you muſt be favour’d by an other, to be bleſſed with brave poſterity. Women, why blame you them, the deareſt soules, and comforts of our ſoules? Love in aboundance made you too farre croſt, blame Love then, not her ſcorne, which ſurely was not ſcorne but perfect griefe. Be charitable, and aske pardon for this ſinne, for never will I give it other name, nor ſuffer thoſe bleſſed creatures to ſuſtaine ſo great abuſe, as your rage layes on them.

As thus they were in deep, and almoſt collerick diſpute, againſt, and for the worth of women kinde. Parſelius and the Hermit did arrive, who went that day together for ſome foode, but when they heard mens voyces, and both lowde, they went into the Cave, and ſo did end their argument with kind concluſion: for ſtraite Parſelius was diſcovered to his deare and loving friend, who likewiſe was with teares of joy embraced, where altogether they remain’d, with love relating ſtill their fortunes, which did paſſe away the time with pleaſant ſweet content; for ſuch was paine to them ſo truly borne, as joy had gain’d that name if offer’d them.

But now Pamphilia haſteth homeward, and the greateſt Lady must diſpatch her guests. The Queene of all brave beauty, and true worth, Pamphilia, thinking it long to heare her fate in Love, yet daring not for modeſty to aske, what moſt ſhe coveted to underſtand, faign’d a deſire to returne againe unto her People, who expected her, this alſo was a truth, and therefore juſt excuſe.

The Lady knowing moſt things, alſo found this drift, yet did as finely ſtrive to cover it; wherefore one day dinner newly done, ſhe tooke her company into a roome, the faireſt and best furniſh’d of that place, and by a witty ſleight divided them into the windowes, and ſome pretty places every one a ſunder from their friend, each one imagining ſhe was with ’tother, then came ſhee to Pamphilia and thus ſpake: Rareſt of women for true loyalty X4v 160 loyalty, I know your longing which proceeds from love, aund grieve I doe, that I cannot be bleſſed with power to tell that happineſſe you ſeeke, but Destiny that governes all our lives hath thus ordain’d, you might be happy, had you power to wedd, but daintineſſe and feare will hinder you: I cannot finde that you ſhall marry yet, nor him you moſt affect many afflictions you muſt undergoe, and all by woman kinde, beware of them, and ſo the better ſpeed.

Pamphilia onely ſigh’d, and turnd her bluſhing face unto the window, while the Lady went unto Urania, to whom ſhe thus diſcourſ’d. Fayreſt, and ſweeteſt, leave off your laments for ignorance of your eſtate, and know that you are daughter to a mighty King, and ſiſter to the braveſt living Prince, the honour of all Knights, and glory of his Country, renowned Amphilanthus; the manner, and the reaſon for your loſſe, ſhall bee brought to you in a fitter place. Now for your love, alas that I muſt ſay, what Deſtinie foretels, you ſhall be happy, and enjoy, but firſt, death in apparance muſt poſſeſſe your daintie bodie, when you ſhall revive with him you now love, to another love, and yet as good, and great as hee. Bee not offended for this is your fate, nor bee diſpleaſed, ſince though that muſt change, it is but juſt change, bringing it from him alike diſquieted.

The Lady left her, who impatient of her ill went to Pamphilia, whom ſhee found ſtill without ſpeech, and as (if one would ſay) fix’d like the heaven, while the world of her thoughts had motion in her griefe. Urania likewike vex’d in her ſoule, ſhew’d in her face the ſmall content ſhee knew; they both ſtood gazing in each others face, as if the ſhining day Starre had ſtood ſtill to looke her in a glaſſe, their bloud had left their cheeks, and ſunke into their hearts, as ſent in pitty downe to comfort them; at laſt aſſured confidence did come and plead for part, and ſo they ſate and spake; while Melliſſea paſſ’d unto the King, to whom ſhee onely told that faire Urania was his ſiſter, and that although ſo deare to him, yet to make her live contentedly, he, and none elſe muſt throw her from the Rocke of St. Maura into the Sea; feare not, but doe it (ſaid ſhee) for this muſt make her live, and forget her unfortunate love, (which vertue that water hath.) For his Love, ſhe did aſſure him hee was bleſſ’d in that, if being certaine of her heart, could bring it him; but yet ſaid ſhe; Nay, ſay no more, cry’d he, this is enough, and let me this enjoy, Ile feare no ills that Propheſies can tell.

Then went he to the window, where hee found the ſad ſweet couple, whom he comforted, kiſsing his Siſter, and with eyes of joy, telling Pamphilia, he was happy yet: then Ollorandus came, and ſo Periſsus with his Queen, who Melliſſea had aſſuredly foretold, the conſtant being of their happy dayes. Antiſsius was the joyfull’ſt man alive, for he had ſuch a lucky fortune given, as to love well, dnaand to bee well belov’d, and what was moſt, to gaine that he moſt ſought, and happily ſtill to continue ſo; the like had Selarina, ſo as well it might be ſaid, theſe of all the others had the happieſt ſtates. Good Allimarlus, and his loving love had promiſe to obtaine, ſo all are bleſſ’d but thoſe to whom beſt bleſsings did belong. All thus reſolv’d, they thinke of their returne; Pamphilia homewards needs would take her way, but Amphilanthus gain’d ſo much at laſt, with helpe of faire Urania, and the reſt, as Y1r 161 as ſhe reſolv’d to ſee Morea firſt, & therfore ſent Melliſander unto Pamphilia to ſatisfie the Councell of her courſe, and to aſſure them of her ſpeedy cōomming to them, after ſhe had ſeene her Fathers Court; ſo with kind farewells they left Delos, ſoone after landing in Meſſenia, and with all this royall troope came to the aged King, whoſe joy was expreſſeleſſe grown, to ſee this company, the glory of thoſe parts. Much did he welcome faire Urania, glad in his heart to ſee her, who he knew would bring ſuch comfort & content unto her father, his beloved friend. Feaſts were proclaim’d throughout the kingdom, Juſts, and all exercises were brought forth to welcome theſe brave Princes to the Court, Pamphilia’s honour, honouring all the reſt; yet could not that, or any other joy (though all joyes were ſo plentifully there, as bare accepting had injoyed them) give leaſt delight to her, whoſe wounded heart did feede upon the ſore, was lately given by curſed fore-telling of her looſing fate. Into the garden woods (her old ſad walke) ſhe therefore went, and there as ſadly did againe complaine. Alas Pamphilia, ſaid ſhee, luckleſſe ſoule, what cruell Planet governd at thy birth? what plague was borne with thee, or for thee, that thou muſt but have a vertue, and looſe all thereby? Yet ’tis all one, deere love, maintaine thy force well in my heart, and rule as ſtill thou haſt: more worthy, more deſerving of all love, there breaths not then the Lord of my true love. Joy then Pamphilia, if but in thy choice, and though henceforth thy love but ſlighted be, joy that at this time he eſteemeth me. Then went ſhee to the Aſh, where her ſad ſonnet was ingraved, under which ſhe writ:

Teares ſome times flow from mirth, as well as ſorrow, Pardon me then, if I againe doe borrow Of thy moiſt rine ſome ſmiling drops, approoving Joy for true joy, which now proceeds from loving.

As ſhe paſt on, ſhe heard ſome follow her, wherefore looking backe, ſhe diſcernd Urania and Amphilanthus, to whom ſhe ſtraight returnd, and with them walked a while up and downe the wood, til Amphilanthus adviſed them to ſit downe, ſo laying his Mantle on the graſſe, the two incomparable Princeſſes laid themſelves upon it, the king caſting himſelfe at their feete, as though the only man for truth of perfection that the world held, yet that truth made him know, that they were ſo to be honourd by him; then laying his head in Urania’s lap, and holding Pamphilia by the hand, he began to diſcourſe, which they ſo well liked, as they paſt a great part of the day there together, Pamphilia ſtill deſiring him to tell of his adventures, which hee did ſo paſsing finely, as his honour was as great in modeſtly uſing his victories in relation, as in gaining them: but when hee ſpake of Steriamus, his finding him and his paſsions, he did it ſo pretily, as neither could procure too much favor for him, nor offend her with telling it, yet ſtill did ſhe haſten the end of thoſe diſcourſes, which he no whit diſlikt; but Urania deſird ſtil to heare more particularly of him, as if ſhe had then known what fortune they were to have, together; at laſt the king proceeded to the comming to the Iland, now cald Stalamine, anciently Lemnos, where (ſaid he) the Lady is called Nerena, a woman Y the Y1v 162 the moſt ignorantly proud that ever mine eyes ſaw; this Ladies ill fortune was to fall in love with Steriamus, who poore man was in ſuch fetters, as her affection ſeemd rather a new torture, then a pleaſure to him: yet left ſhe not her ſuite, telling him ſhe was a Princeſse deſcended from the kings of Romania, abſolute Lady of that Iland, and for his honor (if he knew truly what honour it was to him) his love. He told her, ’Twere more credit he was ſure for her, to be more ſparingly, and ſilently modeſt, then with ſo much boldneſſe to proclaime affection to any ſtranger. Why (ſaid ſhee) did ever any man ſo fondly ſhew his folly till now, as to refuſe the profferd love of a Princeſſe? and ſuch an one, as if a man would by marriage bee happy, ſhould bee onely choſen as that bleſsing? I am (ſaid hee) truly aſhamed to ſee such impudent pride in that ſexe moſt to be reverenced: but to let you know, that you too farre exceede the limits of truth and underſtanding, by vainely over-eſteeming your ſelfe, I will aſſure you that I love a Princeſſe, whoſe feete you are not worthy to kiſſe, nor name with ſo fond a tongue, nor ſee, if not (as the Images in old time were) with adoration; nor heare, but as Oracles; and yet this is a woman, and indeed the perfecteſt, while you ſerve for the contrarie. How call you this creature, ſaid ſhe? Steriamus was ſo vext that plainly ſhe cald you ſo, as he in very fury flung out of the houſe, nor for the two daies which wee staid there, afterwards ever came more in; ſhee perplexing him ſtill, leaving him in no place quiet, till ſhe got your name. Then made ſhee a vow to ſee you, and follow him, till ſhee could win him, letting her proud heart bow to nothing but his love, wherein the power of love is truely manifeſted. I would be ſorry (ſaid Pampilia) to ſee her upon theſe termes, ſince ſhe muſt (fild with so much ſpite against me) with all malice behold me. I wiſh ſhe were here (ſaid Urania), ſince it is a rare thing ſurely to ſee ſo amorous a Lady.

Thus pleaſantly they paſſed a while, till they thought it time to attend the King, who about that houre ſtill came forth into the Hal, where they found him, and the adventure ſoone following, which he laſt ſpake of: for the kings being ſet, there entred a Lady of ſome beauty, attended on by ten knights, all in Tawny, her ſelfe likewiſe apparreld in that colour; her Pages, and the reſt of her ſervants having that liverie. The knights being halfe way to the State, ſtood ſtill, making as it were a guard for the Princeſſe to paſſe through, who went directly to the king; then making a modeſt, but no very low reverence, ſhe thus ſpake. Although your Majeſty may well wonder, firſt at my comming, then at the cauſe, yet (I hope) that excuſe I bring with it, will pleade for my juſtification. It is not (I am moſt aſſured) unknowne to you, although one of the greateſt Chriſtned Kings, that loves power is ſuch, as can command over your hearts, when to all other powers, you ſcorne ſo much as yeelding. This hath made me a ſubject, though borne abſolute; for whatſoever I ſeeme here to be, yet I am a Princeſſe, and Lady of the ſweet, and rich Stalamine: but alas to this Iland of mine, came three knights (knights I call thēem, becauſe they honor that title, with eſteeming it higher then their own titles, for Princes they were, & the rareſt ſome of them of Princes, as when you heare them namd, you wil confeſſe with me). One of these, my heart betraying me, & it ſelf never before toucht unto the ſubjectiōon of his love, wherof if he had bin ſo fortunat as to be able to ſee the happines was fallēen unto him in it he Y2r 163 he might have juſtly boaſted of it. But hee ſlighting what his better judgement would have reverenc’d, refuſed my affection, mine, which onely was worthy of gaine, being ſo well knowing as to diſpiſe liberty in giving it ſelfe to any of meaner qualitie then Steriamus, whoſe proud refuſall, yet makes me love him, and take this journey in his ſearch, comming hither where I hop’d to find him, both becauſe I heard he lived much in this Court, and that hee had beſtowed his love upōon your ſurpaſsing daughter Pamphilia; theſe brought me aſſurance to win him, having given my ſelfe leave to ſhow ſo much humility as to follow him: next to ſee that beauty which he ſo admired, and as if in ſcorne contemned mine in compariſon of it, which I thinke, Sir, if you well behold, you will judge rather to merit admiration then contempt. Fair Lady ſaid the King, that Prince you ſpeake of hath been much in my Court, and not long ſince, but now indeed is abſent, nor have we heard any thing of him, ſince his departure: for your love, it is ſo rare a thing to bee found in one of your ſexe in ſuch conſtant fury, as to procure, and continue ſuch a journey, as that of it ſelfe (without the mixture of such perfections as you ſee in your ſelfe) were enough to conquer one, that could be overcome: but for his love to my daughter, there ſhe is to anſwer you if ſhe pleaſe, and cleare that doubt, ſince it is more then ever I knew that the Albanian Prince did love her, more then in reſpect unto her greatneſſe. Nereana turning to Pamphilia, earneſtly, and one might ſee curiouſly, and like a rivall, therefore ſpitefully beholding her, thus ſpake. Well might hee (brave Princeſse) beſtow his affections where ſuch unuſuall beauties do abide; nor now can I blame him for proſtrating his heart before the throne of your excellent perfections. Pamphilia bluſhed, both with modeſty, and anger, yet ſhe gave her this answer. Madam (ſaid ſhe) I know you are a Princeſſe, for before your comming hither, I heard the fame of you, which came ſwifter then your ſelf, though brought by love: and in truth I am ſorry, that ſuch a Lady ſhould take ſo great and painefull a voyage, to ſo fond an end, being the firſt that ever I heard of, who took ſo Knight-like a ſearch in hand; men being us’d to follow ſcornefull Ladies, but you to wander after a paſsionate, or diſdainefull Prince, it is great pitie for you. Yet Madam, ſo much I praiſe you for it, as I would incourage you to proceede, ſince never feare of winning him, when ſo many excellencies may ſpeake for you: as great beauty, high birth, rich poſſeſsions, abſolute command, and what is moſt, matchleſſe love, and loyaltie: beſides, this aſſurance you may have with you, that to my knowledge hee loves not me, and upon my word I affect not him, more then as a valiant Prince, and the friend to my beſt friends. Thus are you ſecure, that after ſome more labour you may gaine, what I will not accept, if offered me, ſo much do I eſteeme of your affectionate ſearch.

Theſe words were ſpoken ſo, as, though proud Nereana were nettled with them, yet could ſhe not in her judgement finde fault openly with them, but rather ſufferd them with double force to bite, inwardly working upon her pride-fild heart, and that in her eyes ſhe a little ſhewed, though she ſuffered her knees ſomewhat to bow in reverence to her. Anſwere ſhee gave none, ſcorning to thanke her, and unwilling to give diſtaſte; having an undaunted ſpirit, ſhe turned againe to the King, uſing theſe words.

For all this (ſaid ſhe) great King, I cannot thinke but Steriamus loves this Y2 Queene Y2v 164 Queene, for now doe I find a like excellent mind incloſed within that all-excelling body, ſuch rarenes I confeſſe living in her beauty, as I cannot but love his judgement for making ſuch a choice and the rather do I believe he loves her, becauſe he affects hardeſt adventures, and ſo impoſsible is it I ſee to win her heart, as it may proove his moſt dangerous attempt, yet bravely doth he, in aſpiring to the beſt. Then brave king, and you faire Lady, pardon me, and judge of my fault or folly with mild eyes, ſince neither are mine wholly, but the Gods of love, to whom I am a ſervant. The King told her, more cauſe he had to commend, and admire her, then to contemne her, ſince for a woman it was unuſuall to love much, but more ſtrange to be conſtant. After this, and ſome other paſſages, Amphilanthus and Ollorandus came, and ſaluted her, giving her many thankes for their royall welcome: ſhe kindly received them, deſiring them to give her ſome light how to find Steriamus: they anſwered her, that from Delos, he was directed to an Iland, called St Maura, but more they knew not, nor heard of him ſince his going thither with another good Prince, calld Dolorindus.

Having this little hope of finding him, ſhe gave them thankes, and ſo took her leave, nor by any meanes could they perſwade her ſtay, in her ſoule hating the ſight of her, who though againſt her will had won, and then refuſed that, which ſhee for her onely bleſsing did moſt ſeeke after, yet would ſhe honour her worth, which openly ſhe proteſted, but never affect her perſon. Thus the ſtrange Princeſſe departed, neither pleaſed nor diſcontented, deſpiſing any paſſion but love ſhould dare think of ruling in her: but because ſhe muſt not be left thus, this ſtory ſhall accompany her a while, who tooke her way to the ſea, thinking it better to truſt her ſelfe with Neptune, then the adventures which might befall her, a longer journey by land.

She taking ſhip at Caſtanica, meant to paſſe among the Ilands, and by power commanded the Saylers to bend their courſe for St. Maura, which they did, but in the night the wind changd, and grew high, turning (towards day) to a great ſtorme, not meaning to be curſt, but when the fury might be ſeene; thus were they with the tempeſt carried another way then they intended, and at laſt ſafely (though contrary to their wils) being in the Mediterran ſea, were cast upon Cecily, at a famous place cald Saragusa. Then ſhe, who ſaw there was no way to contend againſt heavenly powers, would not in diſcretion chaſe, though blame her fortune: on land ſhee went to refreſh her ſelfe, and ſo paſſed toward the Citie of Seontina, where ſhee determined to ſtay ſome dayes, and then proceede, or rather returne in her journey, the weather being hot, and travell tedious.

One dayes journey being paſt, ſhee wild her ſervants to ſet up her tents, hard by a Wood ſide, where ſhee had the benefit of that ſhade, and before her a delicate greene Playne, through the which ran a moſt pleaſant River: ſhee liking this place, which (as ſhee thought) humbly by delights ſought to invite her ſtay in it, as a Woman that would take what content ſhee could compaſſe, for that time laid aſide State, and to recreate her ſelfe after her owne liking, went into the Wood, pretending, her thoughts would not bee ſo free, as when ſhee was alone, and therefore bid her ſervants attend her returne: they willing to obaybay Y3r 165 bay her, and beſt pleaſed when twas for their eaſe, let her goe, who taking the directeſt way into the heart of the Wood, and ſo farre, (not for the length of the way, but the thicknes, and the likeneſſe of the paths, and croſſings) as ſhe wandred in amaze, and at laſt quite loſt in her ſelfe, ſtraying up and downe, now exerciſing the part of an adventurous lover, as Pamphilia in jeſt had call’d her, a thouſand thoughts at this time poſſeſſing her, and yet all thoſe as on a wheele turnd, came to the ſame place of her deſperate eſtate. One while ſhe curſ’d her love, then diſlike of her folly, for adventuring, and raſhly leaving her Country: ſhe raild at the uncareful people who permitted her to have her fond deſires without limiting her power, but that ſhe check’d againe, for ſaid ſhe, rather would I be thus miſerable, then not abſolute. Blame her Deſteny ſhe extreamely did, reviling her birth, and all that ever ſhe had gloried in, except her ſelfe, with whom her owne over-valuing conceipt, would never let her quarrel; ſhe wiſh’d Steriamus unborne, or that her eyes had never ſeene him, ſpitefully imagined Pamphilia had bewitched her: in ſumme, often times curſing all, ſeldome or never ſpeaking, or thinking good of any, all good thoughts wholy bent to her owne flattery, which by that, were made ill. Vow ſhe did to turne away all her ſervants and take new Sycillians to attend her, but that was as quickly corrected, wiſhing ſhe had her old ones with her, only now deſiring to bee at Lemnos, where ſhee might freely speake ill of that Enchantreſſe Pamphilia, who hath (ſaid ſhe) with her beauty overthrowne my love, and laſtly foreſpoken my journey and the finding of Steriamus.

Thus chafing, rayling, curſing, and at laſt crying for anger or feare, ſhee ſtraglingly continued till night ſhewed her ſad face, threatning more cruelty for her puniſhment. Her ſervants ſought her, but in vaine, ſo as halfe the night being waſted, they gave over till the next morning, concluding then to devide themſelves, and ſo looke for her, none fond of finding her, ſo proud and curſt ſhe was: but dutie told them ſhee muſt bee ſought, leſt ſhee finding her ſelfe neglected, might bring their greater harme; ſo ſome taking charge of her tent, and other, proviſion, the reſt, with part of her Damſels went in ſearch of her; they travelled, while ſhe at night being weary, laid her downe, and having finiſhed her exclamations, with meere wearines of envious thoughts fell aſleepe, reſting till break of day, when ſhe was awaked by one, who gently pulling her by the ſleeve, and then folding her in his armes, uſed theſe words.

Liana (ſaid hee) why alas thus long haſt thou tormented thy poore ſlave Allanus? O looke but lovingly now upon mee, and for that love-looke, all former ills ſhall bee forgotten, thy ſcorne ſhall bee no more thought on, thy cruell ſtrangeneſſe, and cauſeleſſe ſuſpition no more preſented to mine eyes, nor ſhall thy leaving me be mentioned, nor thy flying from mee, put againe in remembrance, all ſhall reſt uncald, as bills cancelled; throw off then thy curſtneſſe, and now embrace mee with thy pardoned love? hold mee in thy favour, as I doe thee in my breaſt: ſtrive not anew to abandon me, who liv’d but in thy ſearch, and will to pleaſe thee now die, rather then living, give offence unto thee.

Shee whoſe pride could hardly permit the embracing, if Steriamus had offered it, before ſhe loved him, ſeeing (the day now broke) a man thus Y3 bould, Y3v 166 bould, and what was more for her vexation all tatter’d, and torne, his rayments like one, who in contempt of handſomenes had put on thoſe misſhapen, and ill ſuited cloathes, and for newnes raggs, in great diſpite. Villiane ſaid ſhe, touch me not, nor diſhonor my habits with thy rude handling them, ſtrugling with all her power to get looſe from him, who mildely ſaid hee would not offend her. Thou doſt offend me ſayd ſhee. Thou haſt long afflicted me ſayd hee: let me goe hence Villiane cry’d ſhe: O pitty me ſayd Allanus? I hate thee ſayd Nereana. Theſe curſt words being to a madde man, as indeed this ragged creature was, diſtractedly fallēen into that miſerable eſtate by mistaken love. he fell into his old fits, and then forgetting himſelfe, his finding her, Liana, and all, grew to apprehend, that this was the Goddeſſe of thoſe woods, who had put on that habit to diſguiſe her ſelfe. O pardon me divine Goddeſſe ſayd hee, who have thus farr forgotten my ſelfe towards you, but blame your outward ſhew rather then my neglect? She, the more he ſpake, grew the more diſtemperd, at laſt with rage growing almoſt as madd as he, who now, fully perſwaded ſhee was that Goddeſſe, whether ſhe would or noe, would worſhip her, and that he might be ſure of her ſtay, hee tide her to a tree; then to have her in her owne ſhape out of thoſe veſtures, which he imagined made her unwilling to abide with him: hee undreſſ’d her, pulling her haire down to the full length; cloathes hee left her none, ſave onely one little petticoate of carnation tafatie; her greene ſilke ſtockins hee turn’d, or rowld a little downe, making them ſerve for buskins; garlands hee put on her head, and armes, tucking up her ſmockſleeves to the elbowes, her necke bare, and a wreath of fine flowers he hung croſſe from one ſhoulder under the other arme, like a belt, to hang her quiver in: a white ſticke which he had newly whittled, he put into her hand, inſtead of a boare ſpeare: then ſetting her at liberty he kneeled downe, and admired her, when ſhe almoſt hating her ſelfe in this eſtate fled away, but as faſt as his ſad madneſſe would carry him, he purſued her. The more he followed, the greater was her ſpeed, till both weary, and ſhee breathleſse, caſt her ſelfe downe by a cleere ſpring, (into it ſhe was about) but the picture of her owne ſelfe did ſo amaze her, as ſhe would not goe ſo neere unto her metamorphoſ’d figure. This ſpring was in the middeſt of a faire meadow, the ground painted over with all ſorts of dainty flowers: the weeping of it running waſte, ſeeming merry tears, or a pleaſant mourning; but ſhe paſt the pleaſure of those delicacies, ſenſe having out-gone her, or at leaſt (in great weaknes ready to depart) lay unvaluing as ignorant of thoſe ſweete delights, till night being againe come, ſhe yeelded unto the juſt demaund of ſleepe, her body being too weake for ſuch a ſpirit. The madd man in like maner reſted, but a prety diſtance from her; towards day ſhe was awak’d, and cal’d from her reſt, by a ſonge which was ſunge by one not farre from her, who in like manner had there taken his lodging; day was a little breaking forth, like hope to enjoying, which made her ſee, the voyce belong’d to a Knight of excellent proportion, for ſo much she might diſcerne, with a ſoft (but ſweete) voyce hee brought forth these words.

How doe I finde my ſoules extreameſt anguiſh, With reſtleſſe care my harts eternall languiſh? Torments Y4r 167 Torments in life, increaſing ſtill with anguiſh, Unquiet ſleepes which breed my ſenſes languiſh. Hope yet appeares, which ſomewhat helpes my anguiſh, And lends a ſparke of life to ſalve this languiſh: Breath to deſire, and eaſe to forgone anguiſh, Balmes, but not cures, to bitter taſting languiſh. Yet ſtrait I feele, hope proves but greater anguiſh, Falſe in it ſelfe, to me brings cruell languiſh. Could I not hope, I ſuffer might my anguiſh At leaſt with leſſer torture ſmart and languiſh. For (Rebell hope) I ſee thy ſmiles are anguiſh Both Prince, and ſubject, of e’relaſting languiſh.

O Nereana, ſaid ſhe, what luckles chance is befallen thee? how art thou loſt, abuſed, neglected and forſaken? yet theſe thou art not altogether fallen into, ſince thine owne royall ſpirit ſhall never leave thee, and if once thou canſt but get free from this place, thy worth and deſerts ſhall ſhine more glorious over theſe miſhaps, and thy power reward thy ſervants diſloyalty: and now it may be, nay I aſſure my ſelfe, here is a meanes preſented to me for my delivery; with that riſing, ſhe went where the Knight lay, who after the ſong remained a little quiet, (I meane in ſhow) comming to him, ſhee uſed theſe wordes. Sir, welcome to this place, ſince I aſſure my ſelfe you are of purpoſe ſent to doe me ſervice. The ſaid Knight looking up, and ſeeing her ſtrange odde attire, geſsing her by her ſpeech to be as vaine, as her apparell was phantaſticall, riſing from the ground, hee ſaid. If my ſervice (which would prove to my perpetuall griefe) were alotted to madneſſe, I cannot finde where better to beſtow it, then on you; otherwiſe, I truſt I ſhall not attend your follies. My follies, cryde ſhe; I tell thee greateſt Princes may eſteeme themselves honour’d, if I command them. If diſtraction rule them, I believe they cannot finde a fitter miſtris, answer’d he. O God ſaid Nereana, when was vertue thus abuſed? I tell thee baſe Knight, I am a Princeſſe. I am not baſe, said he, nor can I thinke you are a Princeſſe, ſince ſo unprincely termes come from you. Why, what are you ſaid ſhee? I am not aſhamed of my name ſaid hee; wherefore (if you can, and have such underſtandings as to be ſenſible of it,) know that I am cal’d Philarchos, youngeſt ſonne to the King of Morea, and brother to Parſelius and Roſindi, and to finde Parſelius, (whom wee have loſt) I am now going. I thought you were ſaid ſhee deſcended of some insolent race, for much do you resemble that highly admired Lady, your proud Siſter Pamphilia. Hee who was naturally melancholly, and ſadder now, becauſe in love, grew extreamly angry, yet moderating his fury hee onely replyde thus. A woman and being madde, had liberty to ſay any thing: whereupon hee went to his horſe, and leaping on him made as great haſte as if he had fear’d infection, leaving her in all the diſorder that might be imagined, the trampling of his horſe awaked the mad man, who being now out of his former fit, but ſtill diſtempered roſe, and going to the spring to drinke, found Nereana ſitting by the ſide of it in such a paſsion as ſhee perceived him not till hee was cloſe by her; then riſing in a chaſe, ſhe would have left the place; but hee ſtaying her, faire Nymph ſaid hee, flee mee Y4v 168 mee not, I meane no harme unto you, but rather wil beſeech you to be mercifull to the moſt hapleſſe of men, and to this pitty I conjure you by the true and earneſt affection that Alfeus bare you: by his love I ſay, I ſue to you to have compaſſion of mee, turne this ſweet water into a ſpring of love, that as it hath beene ever called by that bleſſed name of Arethuſa, you now having taken againe your owne ſhape, and reſumd your naturall body from that Metamorphoſis, taking name, and a new beeing againe unto you, having by this gain’d a God-head for ever, bleſſe, and inrich this water with that gift, that when my cruell (but ſtill beloved) Liana, ſhall drinke of it, the vertue of it may turne her heart to ſweeteſt pitty. Nerena, as much affraid as her proud ſpirit would permit her, remembring how hee had uſed her the day before, amazed with what hee ſaid, never having heard of any ſuch thing as a Metamorphoſis, her wit lying another way, ſcorning his ſight, diſdaining his ſpeech, and yet forced to ſuffer it; in few wordes, doubting that ſilence might inrage him, ſhe made this anſwer. I am not a Nimph Arethuſa, nor a Goddeſſe, but a diſtreſſed woman. Then ſaid hee, are you the fitter for me to keepe company with: not ſo neither, ſaid ſhee, for I am a Princeſſe. Can Princes then bee diſtreſſed, ſaid hee? I thought they had beene ſet above the reach of miſery, and that none but Shepheards and ſuch like, could have felt that eſtate. O yes, ſaid Nerena, and I am heere a ſpectacle of the frowne of fortune; wherefore let mee intreate you to give mee ſome eaſe in my affliction, which is to leave mee, ſince your company is one of my troubles. Would my ſorrowes were as ſoone to bee helped, as your requeſt might be granted, then ſhould I bee in hope to bee, ſaid hee, happy: but alas, mine can never have end, yours may and ſhall; for I will no longer trouble you; with that hee ſadly went from her, leaving her, whoſe intolerable pride was ſuch, as ſhee would not let him ſtay ſo much as in her preſence, though after ſhee wiſhed for him, and would gladly have had his converſation, pardoning his meane eſtate and madneſse. So long was ſhee in that place, as famine, cold, and want wrought kindneſſe in her, who elſe despised, and contemned all, and all thinges; from hill to hill ſhee went, loving them for imitating the height of her minde, and becauſe ſhee might by their helpe ſee if any paſſengers paſs’d that way, beſides to hide her ſelfe among the buſhes, even as it were from her owne ſelfe. Now berries and ſuch poore food was her richeſt fare, andand those eſteem’d, ſince they held her life with her: thus was truth revenged of ignorance, ſhee continuing thus.

While Philarchos held on his courſe till hee came to the City of Syracuſa, where ſtanding upon the haven, there arriv’d a great troope of Ladies, and brave Knights; but one Lady (ſeeming the onely one for delicacie, and to bee the miſtreſſe of the reſt) paſsing by him, caſt her eye on him, viewing his rich armour and brave ſtature, inſtantly ſtaying, ſaluted him thus. Sir, your outward countenance tels me, that in ſo excellent a body, as brave a mind inhabits; from you therefore I beſeech pitty and aſsiſtance, being like to periſh otherwiſe, under the disfavour of my father; if you will aid a diſtreſſed Lady, and thereby gaine honor to your ſelfe; grant this unto your ſervant Orilena, Princeſſe of Metelin, and some other neighbouring Ilands which lye in the Archepelago. Hee whose ſpirit was wholly guided by worth, Z1r 169 worth, ſtedily beholding her, replide, that his greateſt happineſſe (and that whereto he onely did aſpire) was to ſerve Ladies, to defend them from injuries, and to bring them to their beſt content: wherefore although hee had promiſed himſelfe another way (or indeed no perfect knowne way, ſince it was in ſearch of a brother of his) that, and all other occaſions ſhould be laid aſide, to relieve ſuch a creature as her ſelfe; and in this he ſpake truth, for this was the Lady he loved, ſhe yet ignorant of it. Then ſhe intreated the knight to goe aboard with her, not deſiring to delay time; hee was soone intreated to ſuch a bleſsing: wherefore he conſented, and being in the ſhip, ſhe began her diſcourſe thus.

A Gentleman in Mitalen, being ſon to the richeſt, and nobleſt man for deſcent in all the Country, my father hath choſen to beſtow on me; this man might (I will not deny) more then merit me, were his conditions anſwerable to his meanes; but as he is rich in all worldly treaſure, ſo he is the treaſure of all helliſh properties: the beſt of his qualities which are ſmooth faſhion, and eloquent ſpeech, turnd, and imployd to no other uſe, then flattery, and deceitfull glozings. Theſe worke on my father, and ſo have they their pare in me; hee beleeves, and loves him; I perceive, and hate him; but which workes moſt with my father is, that he ſo much ſeemes to deſire me out of affection (as he ſayes) that hee will take mee with nothing; ſuch affection and fondneſſe my father beares, and carries over a young ſiſter of mine, as to make her Princeſſe of his Ilands, he conſents to give mee to this Prince of wickedneſſe; I having no meanes to ſave my ſelfe from the deſtruction this loathed match would bring me, I went to this Lord mine Uncle, to whom I declared my misfortune and enſuing ruine, if I did marry ſo. Hee taking pitie on me, conveyed me thence with theſe Knights and Ladies, whose affections to me are ſuch, as not to leave me in ſuch diſtreſſe, but accompany mee rather in adventure of ill, then aſſured ill: but alas what ſhall I ſay? I am the miserableſt of women, if I fall into his hands againe, which I hope you will keepe me from. I was by the advice of theſe my friends, put into the search of Amphilanthus, the honour of Knights, of Parſelius, Roſindy, Periſſus, Steriamus, or Selarinus, all which are famous men, whoſe honours ſhine equally, and either of whoſe aſſiſtance had been aſſured gaine: but ſome of them are (as I perceived by one I met) ſo farre off, and there in ſuch imployment, as I ventur’d not to obtaine their favours: after I met a knight, who told mee, Amphilanthus and Periſſus, with the valliant Ollorandus, were gone into Morea, wherefore thither I purpoſed to goe, but a ſtorme tooke me, caſting me upon this place, where I have gaind this happineſſe (as I hope it to my ſelfe) by finding you; wherefore I pray honour me, with telling me who you are.

Moſt worthie Ladie (ſaid hee), ſince you had deſire to have ſome of theſe named Knights, you may thinke your fortune the worſe in finding mee, and putting confidence in mee, ſo farre ſhort of those Princes: wherefore I would deſire to conceale my name, till my actions may allow the bold diſcoverie of it; let mee then (I beſeech you) bee so favoured by this ſecond honour, as to give mee leave, onely to bee called your Knight, till I merit by my ſervice to you, your knowing more of mee. Shee granted his requeſt, verily imagining him to Z be Z1v 170 be some of them by his ſpeech, and thereupon her comfort increaſed. Then did ſhe beſtow a very rich and coſtly armour on him, his owne having been but hardly us’d, by a curſt, but overthrowne enemy, which hapned in this manner. After he had left Athens, and at his returne received the honour of knighthood, it was his determination to ſeeke his brother Parſelius, and to that purpoſe he paſs’d through his fathers Countries unknowne, not leaving any adventure unattempted, wherein hee might make triall of his force, which hee made ſo good teſtimony of, as he was feared in all thoſe parts, being calld the Knight of the Speare, by reaſon he carried the figure of one in his ſheild, as he did that ſhape on his arme: but hearing no newes of his brother, hee tooke to the ſea, and among the many Ilands, it was his fortune in Metelin to win and looſe, where his greateſt honour he obtaind, his freedome hee loſt, happening thus.

Paſsing by a ſtrait way into a faire meadow, hee ſaw a marvellous rich, and coſtly Pavillion placed, about it many Tents, and before them all, a ſhining Pillar of Gold, whereon were written theſe words: The worthieſt Knight, and Servant to the faireſt Lady, defends this, and the honour of themſelves, againſt any bold man that dares gaine-ſay the worth or beauty of them. He ſcorning ſuch preſumption, ſtrake upon the Pillar: whereupon one came to him, telling him, his Lord would ſoone encounter him. Straight came he forth, being one of the cruelleſt, and hard-favoredſt men, that could be a man, and no monſter; his bignes extraordinary, his fierceneſſe ſuch, as could not be withſtood with ordinary ſtrength: armed he was with plates of yron, and his horſe anſwerable to his maſter in all things, ſo as an excellent choice was made, as if both framd for one another, and never were two beaſts better matched; none fit to ride the one, but he who was fitteſt to be maſter of the other. This creature came (with a troope of his vaſſals before him, for ſo he calld them) into the field, each of them carrying the Sheilds and Helmets of thoſe knights he had conquered before that Pillar, all which they placed in order as they were wonne, but for his greater glory, on the ground. Then advanced he to the Greeke Prince, ſcornefully pitying him, who ſo boldly ventured his youth againſt ſuch an experienced conquerour. But hee in whom vertuous modeſty liv’d, mixt with manly ſtrength, only deſired the fight, rather then diſcourſe; ſo they ran one againſt the other with ſuch comlineſſe, fierceneſſe, and ſtrength, as in either part was ſeene rightly placing thoſe properties. The Prince had his Helme ſtrooke off; the other was run thorow the ſhoulder, part of the ſtaffe ſtaying in him; withall he fell from his horſe, but being recoverd, and ſeeing the danger the other was fallen into by loſſe of his Helme, he in regard of that, forgot his hurt, and with furious rage ſet upon the Prince, who covering himſelfe with his Sheild, as nobly and bravely defended himſelfe; they fought till the bloud ran as faſt from their wounds, as dropps from a lovers eyes, comming from as heartbleeding a cauſe; for at laſt the Monſter was killed, and the Prince taken out of the field for dead; but who except love could be ſuch a Chirurgion; for whether was hee brought but to the Princeſſe, who lay but one league thence, an excellent Chirurgion, and as excellent a Ladie, who ſo carefully tended him, as hee in ſhort time recovered, but to a more laſting paine (for favour and cures bringing tormenting wounds), ſhee put balme to Z2r 171 to the hurts given by the enemy, but ſhee a friend foe-like did make much deeper, and more harmefull ones, piercing the heart which in the fight kept it ſelfe ſecure, now fallen into the extremitie of loſſe: but what was gaind beſides this? danger, and threatning ruine: for the younger siſter cald Erinea fell inamord with him, and ſo paſsionate was ſhe of him, as ſhe ran to her father, caſt her ſelfe at his feete, beſought him to get that ſtranger for her, or to see her soone buried. He whoſe fondneſſe was, and is without expreſsion, vowed to ſatisfie her. The Prince got notice of it, and ſo privately ſtole away, his affections being gratefully, and paſsionately placed on the other, kindneſſe wounding, and bringing love. Then paſsed he, where he heard ſtill of the flouriſhing fame of his kindred: laſtly, his Brothers loſſe, which hee gaind by the meeting of the Squire Clorinus: then vowed hee a ſearch for him; but finding her, for whom hee had loſt himſelfe, hee left the former to follow her, and find himſelfe; ſo ſtormes ſometimes proove bleſsings, for one tempeſt brought them in one place to meete.

Thus paſsed they together, he freely (becauſe unknowne) beholding her; ſhe kindly, becauſe hee was to ſerve her, entertaining him: then at laſt they arriv’d at Metelin, where they met for their firſt welcome this encounter; a Pillar of red Marble, as threatning bloud, on which hung in bloudy letters theſe words, written in white Marble, ſeeming like drops of bloud in ſnow; The true Servants of Erinea maintaine this with Sword and Speare againſt all, that doe defend the trayterous Knight of the Speare. He, whom this did moſt concerne (yet having power to performe his former reſolution) inly fretted, but otherwiſe made no other ſhow, then in demanding of the Lady, who this Knight of the Speare was. She ſighing, made this anſwer: Alas my Lord (ſaid ſhe) you laye too hard a taxe on me, ſince I cannot pay it, without yeelding as tribute many teares, and even the breaking of my heart to ſay he is, and is not now here: but yet to deny nothing to you, who ſo freely have granted my requeſt, I will ſay what I know of him; He was, and (I hope) is the true image, or rather maſculine vertue it ſelfe; the lovelieſt that Nature framd, the valianteſt that followed Mars and his exerciſes, the wiseſt that wiſdome dwelt in, the ſweeteſt that nobleneſſe grac’d with ſweet mildneſſe, and the mildeſt that ſweetneſſe honourd: excellent in eloquence, true in profeſsion, and making his actions ſtill the ſame with his word; truth governd him, and he truth, honord by being ſo true in worth: but for his name, or birth, I can ſay nothing, ſince but after a cruell combat I firſt saw him brought halfe dead to mee; yet ſo much ſpirit had that decaied fire left, as burnt my heart. I might bluſh to ſay I lov’d, becauſe a maide ſhould not thinke of, much leſſe acknowledge ſuch a paſsion: but Sir, to deny that which is truth, I ſhould wrong you, and most abuſe my love, which grew from an unuſuall ground, when pale wan lipps won kiſſes, where diſpaire made hope, and death affection: but from theſe ſprung my deſires, which lie as deadly wrapt up now in folds of loſſe, no expectation of any good remaining, but that my faith which ſtill lives ſhall breathe juſtly in that love, till life to death give new poſſeſſion.

How came your hopes ſo to deſpaire (ſaid hee)? Alas Sir (ſaid ſhe) the ſight of his wounds, and image of death, made me at firſt feare in love; then having recoverd him, I hoped in love; but then my younger ſiſter (of whom I Z2 haue Z2v 172 have ſpoken, ſtill being the barre in my joyes) fell in love with him, as meaning to diſinherit me in all poſſeſſions of very thoughts, and the deare enjoying of them, for yet my love aſpired no higher then to thinke of him, not adventuring to let him ſee I lov’d, ſo ſhe gaind thus much of me, ſhee ſpake to my father, ſhe wooed for her ſelfe, ſhe vowed, ſhe plotted, ſhe did al to gaine, and ruine me. But he, whether pitying me: for ſurely Sir, he could not chuſe but know I lov’d him, ſince my faſhion ſhew’d it, though my ſpeech not daring boldly to ſay it, flatteringly demonſtrated, ſome thing made thoſe faultrings in my talke, my bluſhings ſaid, I ſurely feared, or loved, and feare muſt of neceſſitie be barr’d, ſince he was rather priſoner unto me, though I indeed was ſubject to his love.

But are you freed (ſaid he)? O no (cride ſhe) nor ever will, nor was my lothneſse to diſcourſe for that, but for this deſperate affliction; he finding he was ſought, and not conſenting to bee made by force to yeeld, to other then his owne made choice, he ſtole away; and truly say I ſo, ſince he robbed mee of my beſt and chiefeſt part. Oft have I curſt my ſelfe, that I ne’re followed him, or did miſtruſt that he would ſo depart; which though in love I would not have gainſaid, yet with my Love I would have gone along: a Pages habit for his ſake would I have prized more, then Princes Roabes at home. But he did goe, and I unbleſt maid remaind behind, unhappy, diſpoſſeſt, and diſinherited of all, if you doe not relieve me to ſome good, which I expect alone from you to have.

Doe you not know the Knight (ſaid he) who thus you doe affect? Thus farre, ſaid ſhe, his face is ſo ingraven in my thoughts, his picture drawne so lively in my heart, as ſoone his knowledge would come unto me, if I might be happy with his deare ſight. Deare Lady (ſaid hee) I can thus much ſay, he loves as much as you have here expreſsed, and yet that is ſo fully to make him plainely diſcerne the heaven of true content, as if ought might make him more deere appeare before your eyes, he would attempt to gain that, though the loſſe of life muſt attaine it; love then ſtill him, who is your beſt beloved, and loves you beſt, and only, and thus take unto your ſervice that ſo wiſht for Knight, more happy, in this expreſt love, then in a million of poſſeſſed Iles. I am the man you doe inrich with love, I am the blest borne man to ſuch a fate, and I the true unfaigned loving man, who loves love truly for this happie love. She bluſhed to ſee ſhe had firſt told her tale, but he did kiſſe away that bluſh, for then had he throwne off his helme, and held her in his armes, boldly poſſeſſing what ſhe freely gave. She ſaw him, knew him, and ſo knew al joy. Then put he on his helme, and ſtrake the Pillar thrice; ſtraight from a Wood, a little diſtant off, tenne knights arriv’d, the formoſt of the which thus ſpake. Fond man be gone, this worke is not for thee, unleſse thou be that Traytor we expect. I am no Traytor (ſaid he), yet the man you falſely have call’d ſo, and written too.

Many have fondly ſaid as much, ſaid he, who after have recanted, and yet loſt their heads, for taking falſhood to themſelves. Falſhood ne’re liv’d, or had a ſpring in me, I am Philarchos, Knight of the Speare, ſaid he, ſought for by Erinea, but diſdaining her, am hither come to right her ſiſter Orilena, wrongd, and abuſd by her.

With that they parted, ſoone againe they met: but he who now knew twas no Z3r 173 no time to ſpare, aimed fully at his hart, which hee did, parting it to devide the former wrong among the reſt, who followed him in fate. The ſecond at the encounter loſt his horſe, and brake his thigh, with meeting with the earth; the third his ribs: then did they ſurely finde this was the Knight. The fourth did breake his arme, and ſhoulder both, the fift had but a fall and found his legges to runne away, and call more company, while all the other five at once, (and contrary to the law of armes) aſſayled him. He now was to win his prize for honour and love, wherefore couragiouſly he withſtood them all, though the blowes that met at once, given by foure ſpeares, were terrible, yet hee like the pillar of true worth ſtood unmoovd; the fift kill’d his horſe, ſo as hee was forced to fight on foote, leaping nimbly from him, as diſdayning to have a fall, any way, or on any termes, they rudely aſſayl’d him, keeping their horſes: but ſoone had hee brought two of them more humbly to yeeld, and reſpectively to encounter him: for wounding the horſe of one of them, he ran away with his Maſter, madd with the hurt, and caſting him, he hanging by the ſtirrop, never left running and ſtriking, till he had torne him in peeces; the other he ſtroke off his arme, with the anguiſh of which blow he fell from his horſe, the Prince quickly leaping upon him. Now were there but three left, and he againe mounted, fear’d not what their forces could doe unto him, and ſoone made he an end of them; one hee wounded in the body to death, the other with a blow on the head, the blood ſpringing out of his eyes, noſe, and eares in greateſt aboundance choked him, he having no time nor means, to pull off his helme, ſo neere the brave Knight followed him, nor had it beene to any other end, if he had gayn’d the opportunity, then as if he would with good manners have ſtood bare headed, to have his head cut off with more reſpect, and eaſe to the Conqueror, who now had but one left to withſtand him, who ſeeing his fellowes fate, would not indure, but turned his horſe and fledd; yet before he went, the Knight perceiving his intent, (not caring to hinder him,) cut the bridle, and raines of his horſe, which gave him ſuch liberty, as the poore diſtreſſed runaway, knew not how to governe him, nor himſelf: if he leap’d from him, he fell into the hands of his enemy, whoſe fury he durſt not truſt; if he kept the ſaddle, he was in as great danger, going where the madnes of the beaſt would carry him, but ſoone was hee out of thoſe feares: for Tolimargus (the ſweet youth the Lady had deſcribed to her Knight, ſeeing the flight of the poore Knight) encounterd him, and his Knights in number twelve, made a ring about him, while Tolimargus ſtrake off his head.

Then ſpurd they al towards the brave Philarchos, who had now in this ſpace pulled off his helme, and ſo taken a little breath, beſides drunke a pretious drink Orilena gave him, which did ſo refreſh him, as he was wel able to have a ſecond encounter, which quickly hapned, and a ſharper then the firſt: for all thoſe thirteene, deſiring either to kill, or take the Prince, ranne upon him, who fearcelerly attended them, and with his Speare killd the firſt, with his Sword the ſecond, and then encountred Tolimargus, who he knew to be the cheif by his armor, to whom he thus ſpake. If worth be in thee, or ſo much ſence to be ſencible of the ſhame thou doſt to the honor of Knighthood, let thy knights ſtand ſtil, & end the combat with my ſelf, who am as good a man as thou art, and therfore no diſgrace, but an honor to fight with me. What art Z3 thou Z3v 174 thou (ſaid he) that thus dareſt compare with me? I am (ſaid he) Philarchos of Morea. If (ſaid he) thou hadſt not thus butcherd my knights, and the reſt of my Countrimen, I could find in my heart to grant thy requeſt, nay ſave thy life, for I have no quarrel to any, but to the Knight of the Speare, that Traytor, who hath won my love, and miſtriſſe from me, and cowardly run away when he had done. Villaine (ſaid he) he run not away from any man, but from the fond affection of Erinea: and to ſhew thee the better that hee feares none, nor thy force, here I am, the ſame Knight of the Speare, to puniſh thy preſumption for aſpiring to my love. Then ſet they all upon him, but what with fury and hate to him, who was his rivall, he did ſuch acts, as in ſhort time he left none to revile him; the laſt was Tolimargus, who held among his men, as farre from blowes as he could, till (they were all kild) hee was forſt to conclude the combat himſelfe with the loſse of his head, which Philarchos cut off, and preſented to Orilena, who commanded it to be ſet upon the top of the Pillar, and all the other bodies laid about it, as the trophies of that victorie.

This being done, they haſted to a Caſtle of her Uncles (that good man who had carried her away from her harme) and there they ſhut up themſelves (that place being of good ſtrength) till they could get forces to aſsiſt them, or peace with the Duke. While the bruit of this victorie ſpread it ſelfe over all Meteline, comming to the Dukes eares, and alſo to Erinea’s, ſhee fell downe at his feete againe, beſeeching that ſhee might bee favoured ſo farre, as to have permiſsion to deſtroy this rebellious companie, who would (ſhe ſaid) elſe ruine them. The father old, and doting, graunted it; then ſhe at laſt brought forth this plot, to proclaime, that whoſoever could bring in Orilena, dead or alive, ſhould have the Caſtle of the Sunne, (which was the fayreſt in that Country, and had beene Apollo’s temple) and all the royalties thereto belonging; but he that could bring her alive, with her ſervant the Knight of the Speare, ſhould have the honour, and Iſle of Samos, to him and his for ever. This promiſe was imagined to be of ſuch force, as to bring in either of them or both: laſtly ſhee layd another, which was by promiſing her ſelfe to any one, who could bring in his head. This was ſpread abroad, which made much danger, and hazard to the brave Prince, and his friend; yet ſuch a ſpirit had hee, as aſpir’d to nothing, but the nobleſt, and moſt difficult adventures. Certaine notice the Duke and his amorous daughter got of the Knights beeing there, and his Daughters returne, by the firſt Knight that fledde, and who was the cauſe of Tolimargus comming, though hee diſcover’d not to him the name of the Knight. Then gain’d they notice of their being at the Caſtle ſo as not having a readier way, they raiſ’d men, and violently beſeig’d the place, and ſo ſtraightly, as at laſt famine grew to be as cruell, and curſt a threatner, as the Duke; yet they reſolv’d to end there, famiſhed for want of foode, rather then yeeld, and ſo be famiſhed with want of each others company. Then went they into the Chappell, and there together pray’d, together wept, at laſt together married, vowing to dye religiouſly, vertuouſly, and lovingly together. At there returne, they went to eate that poore remaining that there was left them, and having done, they went againe to pray; then returned into their chamber, where they ſpent the night in mourne- Z4r 175 mournefull diſcourſe, yet ſo full of love, as love ſeem’d to pleaſe it ſelfe in excellent ſorrow: teares, and ſighs were the banquets for their nuptialls, complaints of cruelty their enjoyings, and what could be wiſhed to give true delight, contrarily wrought againſt them.

The morning come they roſe, and as one, parted not, but together went to the top of the Caſtle, whence they ſaw their ruine, then kiſsing her, and gently weeping on her face, hee ſaid. My deere, miſtake not you theſe tears, which now I ſhedd onely in tenderneſſe unto your ſtate, and for you, who was ſaver of my life; How can life better be diſposed of, then to her ſervice who did once preſerve it? when I a ſtranger, hurt, and mangled, was conducted to your houſe, how was I there relieved, and cheriſhed by your care? this was but to this end, and this end is more welcome then a life, which without you I otherwiſe had gained. Farewell deere love, more kind, and ſweete then bleſſings in diſtreſſe; Ile fight for thee, and this muſt be my laſt, yet feare I not, for doe but ſee my end, and that will make me live with joy in death, when I ſee thee beholding me from hence, my courage will increaſe, and make my blowes more terrible, and fatall, then the harme which falls in ſtormes from high. Farewell once more my deere, my life, my joy, and my laſt comfort: ſweete weepe not for me, nor marre thoſe deere eyes, which wound mee more to ſee them harme themſelves, then ſtroaks that from the enemie can come, and bee aſſured the victory will turne to us, if you but let their cleernes ſhine on me; but dimme them, and I die. The ſweeteſt ſoule did weepe, yet wip’d away the tears to favour him, and ſhew them bright; farewell my life, ſaid ſhee, if thou doſt die, for after thee Ile never more ſee day: then kiſſ’d they once againe, and ſo did part; hee to the gate, whereout he ſallied, then arm’d in flawed-reproduction1-2 charactersdd: his ſheild with the old device, which was an Azuer Speare, upon his arme a ſcarfe of Azuer colour, given him by his love, and thus againſt the enemie he came, who never ſtay’d to meete him, but with troops incompaſſing him round, who fought with rage againſt all hope, more then a hope to dye like to himselfe, and to renowne his blood, that though ſhedd by ſuch force, yet so well ſhedd, would write his fame eternally to times, and witneſſe worth with valour joyn’d, made love the crowne whereat they leiflawed-reproductionone word’d ſtill.

ſay what courage he did ſhow, how many ſlew, what wounds, what ſtroaks, it were but tedious, and moſt vaine; but ſo much did hee there, as made a way through the thickeſt, & ſo paſſ’d in ſpite of what their furyes, or their numbers could doe to hinder him. A path he made of men, and paved the ground with bodyes, while their bloods ſought how to bath them cleane, and waſh their wounds: which given on ſo ill grounds, did bluſh for ſhame. Hee beeing paſs’d, and on the other ſide, caſt up his eyes, to ſee if ſhee beheld; which when he ſaw, and that ſhe made a ſigne to him, to ſcape, and even with hands held up, and knees bent downe ſhee did beseech, hee bravely anſwered, (with his ſword wav’d round about his head, as who flawed-reproduction1-2 charactersould ſay) no heere Ile dye, or ſet my Lady free. With that, behind him came a gallant Knight, and fifty more, who never ſpeaking word; as he againe did charge his enemie, charg’d in with him, and did ſo bravely helpe, as in ſhort time, the conqueſt was diſpoſ’d to brave Philarchos, and his new come Z4v 176 come friends; then did they ſeeke among the priſoners, where they might finde the ſpring of all this ill; at laſt they got the Duke; and then with guards brought him into the Caſtle, when kind Orilena came unto her Knight, and holding him faſt in her tender armes, wellcomd him to his owne, and her command; but as ſhe did embrace him, ſhe perceav’d the blood to runne along his arme, wherefore ſhee went, and ſpeedily did fetch an excellent baulme, and then diſarming him, did dreſſe his wounde: but when his helme was off, the ſtranger Knight caught him with all true love into his breaſt, and lovingly thus ſaid.

My Lord, how bleſs’d am I to ſee the Prince I ſeeke? he alſo having pulld off his helme, but young Philarchos knew him not; wherefore my Lord ſaid he, the honor you have done this day, is to your ſelfe, in reſcuing a poore diſtreſſed Lady, and reſtoring her unto her birth-right, which ſhee elſe had loſt: for me, this favour, and the aide I had from your brave ſelfe and theſe your followers, ſhall ever binde me to be ſtill your friend, and faithfull ſervant, when you ſhall diſpoſe of me, and mine, which ſtill you freely may, and ſhall command; yet let mee know I doe beſeech you, who you are, and how that you knew me? My name (ſaid he) is honoured moſt by this brave title of your friend, my ſelfe am calld Antiſsius King of Romania, ſetled, and reſtored by your excellent couſen, (and the worlds greateſt worth) Amphilanthus; the knowledge that I have of you is this: I ſaw your picture in the famous Court of your father the Morean King, and withall your name, and many of your acts were there related, while you paſſd unknowne, but as the bare Knight of the Speare; joyes infinitly did poſseſse the Court, to heare the fame which all parts holds of you: beſides, ſo like you are to that brave King, whom heaven doth favour for the earths beſt good, as for his ſake, (if for no other cauſe,) I should affectionatly love you. The honour which you lay on me (said he) great King are ſuch, as I but weake in worth can hardly beare the waight of, yet the laſt affects me moſt, that I am ſomething like that matchleſse King, whoſe worth, ambitiouſly I ſeeke to imitate though ſure to come as much below the reach of it, as ’tis from me unto the cleereſt ſtarre.

Then did they bring the King into a roome, where they diſarmed him, and then went backe unto the Duke, whom they had put into a gallerie well guarded, and respected like himſelfe: him they found, not overthrowne with griefe, for neither was hee ſad, nor any way diſmay’d, but ſeem’d to beare his overthrow patiently, to him Philarchos thus began. My Lord, for ſo you are to mee, ſince I am husband to your elder child, who fondly, and no way humanely, for love to Erinea, you forget, and would diſinherit; but ſhee, (borne to more good) was firſt releivd by me; laſtly, and moſt, by this great King, heaven ſo much favoring her, as to have ſuccour ſent her from farr parts; before his comming we were marryed, determining to die (if ſuch our fates) in holy wedlock. Now you may diſcerne what wrong you did, and if you pleaſe, accept me for your ſonne, and pardon what without your knowledge, wee in love, and great extremity have done; nor thinke ſhee hath diſhonored her ſelfe, or you, in making me her husband, for I am a Prince, and ſonne unto a mighty King: my name Philarchos, my Country Morea, third ſonne unto the King thereof. Then did the Duke embrace Aa1r 177 embrace him, ſpeaking thus: What hath been done, I do confeſſe was hard, and moſt unjuſtly againſt mine owne child; but ſhe hath married unknowne unto me, in that ſhe hath done like offence; ſo ſet them juſt in ſight, and hers the greater will appeare: yet ſince her choice is ſuch, & where ſuch worth is, as I truly ſpeak, more cannot flouriſh in so tender yeares, I love her, and commend her: thus worth doth governe, where rule els would ſhew. Then kiſt he his new ſonne, and preſently his daughter was brought forth, whom he did kindly welcome, and ſo did conferre that Iland ſtraight upon the new maried couple, making him Prince of fruitfull Metelin, and other Ilands which were alſo his: but himſelfe and Erinea left the joyfull payre, and went to Samos, where they lived, ſhe ſtudying how to vexe or hurt her ſiſter: thus ill natures breath but in malice, and feede ſtill on ſpite. Then did the young Romanian King take leave, firſt telling how he came unto that place, which was by chance; for leaving the Morean Court, upon the comming of the happy newes of Victorious Roſindy, hee deſired to returne for his owne Countrie, and there he would raiſe more men (but as he travelld, he would ſtill inquire of Parſelius and Philarchos, whom he long’d to meete), and goe himſelfe to ſuccour and redeeme Albania (Love, what a Lord art thou, commanding over all; for Selarina was the cauſe of this)? Then going back, hee fell upon this Ile to take in water, and by meereſt chance, meeting a Peaſant of that Country, learn’d the ſtate at that time, that the place was in; this brought him to the happy ſuccour of the lovingſt paire that ever lov’d, and did enjoy their loves. All well, the Duke departed, and they ſafe, Antiſsius tooke his leave, with Allimarlus, Steward of his houſe, and many more who did attend on him; a little before whoſe leaving Morea, Leandrus haſting to his heart, deſired to be the meſſenger of that ſo happy ſucceſse of brave Roſindy, and ſo there arriv’d, to the infinite content of all the Court; relating the dangerous attempts, but then concluding with the happy end of joy and marriage, delivering letters from the King and Queene, who gave precedence in place, and government to her husband: for (ſaid ſhe) he won the kingdome by his ſword, me by his love; both his, none but himſelfe can here beare rule. A little after Leandrus did arrive, Amphilanthus tooke his leave, and with his Siſter went for Italy (as he pretended), but St. Maura was the ſhrine hee bent his pilgrimage unto. The night before, great ſorrow was, to part, betweene Pamphilia and Urania; yet time grew on, the king came in, and ſo with kind and ſad farewels, he left the Court, promiſing to returne with ſpeed, and to conduct Pamphilia to her kingdome, from whence, he by his perſwaſions had yet detaind her. The way he and his ſiſter tooke, was ſtraight unto the ſea, none going with him, but his deare and faithfull friend Ollorandus; the evening after his depart, Leandrus remaining in the Court, and his paſſions more violently increaſing to the height of diſcovering, looking out at his window, ſaw Pamphilia alone in a faire garden, walking in ſuch a manner, as he could hardly give it that title; for ſo ſtilly did she moove, as if the motion had not been in her, but that the earth did goe her courſe, and ſtirre, or as trees grow without ſence of increaſe. But while this quiet outwardly appear’d, her inward thoughts more buſie were, and wrought, while this Song came into her mind.

Aa Gone Aa1v 170178 Gone is my joy, while here I mourne In paines of abſence, and of care: The heavens for my ſad griefes doe turne Their face to ſtormes, and ſhew deſpaire. The dayes are darke, the nights opreſt With cloud’ly weeping for my paine, Which in ſhew acting ſeeme diſtreſt, Sighing like griefe for abſent gaine. The Sunne gives place, and hides his face, That day can now be hardly knowne; Nor will the ſtarres in night yeeld grace To Sun-robd heaven by woe o’rethrowne. Our light is fire in fearefull flames, The ayre tempeſtious blaſts of wind: For warmth, we have forgot the name, Such blaſts and ſtormes are us aſsind. And ſtill you bleſſed heavens remaine Diſtemperd, while this curſed power Of abſence rules, which brings my paine, Leſt your care be more ſtill to lower. But when my Sunne doth back returne, Call yours againe to lend his light, That they in flames of joy may burne, Both equall ſhining in our ſight.

Leandrus now growne reſolute not to looſe for want of attempting, would not let this opportunitie paſſe, nor let ſlip ſo pretious an advantage, went into the garden to her, and indeed it was properly ſaid ſo, for ſuch buſineſſe had her paſſions, as til he interrupted them with words, she diſcerned him not, his ſpeech was this. Is it poſsible (moſt excelling Queene) that ſuch a ſpirit, and ſo great a Princeſſe, ſhould be thus alone, and adventure without guard? My ſpirit my Lord (ſaid ſhe) as well guards me alone, as in company; and for my perſon, my greatneſſe, and theſe walls are ſufficient warrants and guardians for my ſafety. Yet your ſafety might bee more (ſaid hee) if joyned with one, who might defend you upon all occaſions, both with his love and ſtrength, while theſe dull walls can onely incompaſſe you: but if traitors aſſaile you, their helpe will bee but to ſtand ſtill, poorely gaine-ſaying. Love is oft-times as ſlacke (being treacherous) anſwered Pamphilia, from aſſiſtance, thus are theſe walls more ſecure: and for ſtrength I had rather have theſe, then ones power I could not love. Such is your diſcretion (ſaid Leandrus, as to know, that love with diſcretion is the trueſt love; and therefore to a brave Princeſse, and eſpecially to you, whoſe vertue and beauty cannot be Aa2r 279179 be demanded by any, whoſe defects might challenge meriting of them, diſcretion ſhould adventure to perſwade you to make choyce of some one you might affect for a husband, ſince you were not onely fram’d the moſt incomparable Lady of the world, but alſo a woman, and ſo to be matched with one fit for your eſtate, in birth and greatneſſe, and so judgement will continue affection betweene you. Diſcretion in love, I muſt confeſſe (ſaid ſhe) as diſcretion it ſelfe is beſt. but if love come wholly to be governd by it, that wil have ſo great a power, as love will looſe name, and rule, and the other for riches, or other baſer things, ſhall prevaile againſt the ſweeteſt paſsion, and only bliſſe, which is enjoying; therefore my Lord Leandrus, by your favour, I muſt ſay, I thinke you erre in this, and in the truth of love, which is a ſupreme power, commanding the eyes, and the heart: what glory were it to him to have a cold part of wiſdome to rule with him? No, his honor is to be alone, and therefore doth he oft expreſſe it, in making proud and great ones, deſperately affect meaner ones, in reſpect of them, and all to yeeld to his law; they then that truly understand great Love, must so observe, as their merits may purchase from him ſo great a grace, as to be able to chooſe fitteſt loves; his power muſt not be limited, nor his government mixed, as if he had a counſell ſet about him, or a protector over him, his knowledge wanting no advice, his knowledge never knowing partner, who is in truth all wiſdome all knowledge, all goodneſſe, all truth; he muſt not have it ſaid, that love with diſcretion is the trueſt love, ſince in truth of love, that is but a baſtard, brought up at home like a right borne child: and yet is his judgement ſuch, as hee makes diſcretion ſhine through all his acts; but how? as a ſervant to his greater power; as if your heart ſhould command your tongue, to deliver what it thinkes, but diſcreetly to doe it ſo, as offence may not proceede from it: here is diſcretion, and yet the tongue is but the hearts meſſenger. Leandrus, whoſe end was to procure favour, not to contend, wittily tooke hold of this laſt ſpeech, thinking it better to make this the introduction to his love, then any longer to waite or expect, occaſion offered, which if once but let ſlip, ſeldome comes againe, ſo as letting her lovelineſse, and her owne words to be the beginning and meanes for his affections knowledge, he anſwered thus.

Madam (ſaid he) it is moſt true, that the tongue is but the hearts meſſenger, yet meſſengers from ſuch a part, are to have, and carry credence; then let my tongue bee the deliverer to you of the moſt fervent affection that ever heart bare to Princeſſe, with the trueſt and unfaigned love; diſdaine not then my affection, ſince I will with loyalty and ſervice deſerve your favour, as wel or better then any man breathing: a Crowne I will adde to yours, and the ſoveraigne command of Leandrus: but what talke I of a Crowne to her, who weares the crowne of all vertues? My Lord (ſaid ſhe) I cannot but thanke you for your princely offer; but it muſt bee my fathers liking, with the conſent of my neareſt and deareſt friends that can ſet any other Crowne on my head, then that which my people have already ſetled there; and the conſent of ſo great a people, and ſo loving to me, muſt not be neglected; what vertues are in me, ſhall appeare through the obedience I owe, and will pay to his Majeſty, and the reſt: therefore I am altogether unable to give you ſatisfaction any further then this. It is you that muſt, & may ſay all, ſaid he. Then can you have no anſwer, ſaid ſhe. Why? are you not (cryd Leandrus) ſoveraigne Aa2 of Aa2v 280180 of your ſelfe by Judgement, yeares and authoritie, unlimited by fortunes, by government, and the love of your Parents, which will goe with you in my choice. Theſe ſtill are but the threads that tie my dutie, replide the Queene: but if they conſent (ſaid he) wil you eterniſe my happineſſe with your agreeing. Give me leave firſt (said Pamphilia) to know their minds; and that can be no hinderance, nor furtherance of your affaires, nor ſhall my anſwere bee more diſpleaſing to you, then now it might be. Your doubtfull anſwer will breede deſpaire in me, cryd he. It were much ſafer (ſaid ſhe) to doubt, then vainely to nurſe hope. Then bent ſhe her walke homeward, which he durſt not withſtand, though feareleſſe of any man, or monſter, yet trembled hee in her preſence; both they went, and ſo continued both loving: both complaining, and neither receiving comfort; he beholding her, and in her ſeeing no affection, nor cauſe of hope, ſhee seeing him, but with eyes of thankefull reſpect without love; yet went he further, and ſo ſtill made the greater diſtance. Yet was not this all, for her love was ſet not to be ſtirred, or mooved to other courſe, then whether the fortune of her choice did guide her. She ſigh’d, he thought it did become her, and ſo ſigh’d too: ſhe grew pale, and ſad, ſo did he, wanting what he ſought. Shee oft-times would diſcourſe of love: he thought it was the prittieſt theame, and anſwerd her in that. Shee would complaine of men, accuſe their fickelneſſe, and change, hee joyned, though contrary in ſexe to ſpeake of women, and their ſlightings.

Thus they agreed, though in a different kind, and both did pleaſe, becauſe they both did love. He ſtrove by ſome pleaſing talke in a third perſon to bewaile his caſe, ſhe would not know his meaning, yet with wit would let him ſee ſhe loved, and not himſelfe. Cruell it was to underſtand her affection was elſe-where placed, yet ſometimes would hee flatter himſelfe, and give his fawning hopes leave to diſſemble, and caſt a glaſſe of comfort on him, but glaſſe-like was it brittle, although faire, faire in hope, broken to diſpaire. Love violenteſt ſtorme, that can bring ſhipwrack to a quiet heart, why doe you travell thus to bring home gaine onely of loſſe? Bee favourably kinde, love ſhould be mild, while love you are moſt curſt; and this did poore Leandrus know, whoſe ſpring-time joy, was turned to winter-griefe; yet ſtill hee did purſue, and ſo unfortunately muſt proceede. Pamphilia loyall, loving, and diſtreſſed, because paſſionate, that night after this diſcovery, which though kind, yet to her was diſpleaſing; when each retired to their reſt, ſhee went unto her watch of endleſſe thoughts: into her chamber ſhe haſted, then to bed, but what to doe? alas not within that to ſleepe, but with more ſcope to let imagination play in vexing her; there did ſhee call his face unto her eyes, his ſpeech unto her eares, his judgement to her underſtanding, his braverie to her wit; all theſe but like that heape of ſtarres, whoſe equall luſture makes the milky way. One while ſhee ſtudied how to gaine her love, then doubt came in, and feared her in that plot; his lookes ſhee weighed, if out of them ſhe might but gaine a hope, they did aſſure her joy, then did her heart beate quick unto that bliſſe, but then againe remembrance threatned loſſe, how he had lov’d, & might again chuſe new. Falſe traitor, cryd ſhe, can thy baſenes be ſo vild & wicked, in bringing thus in mind, what thou in goodnes ſhouldſt have caſt away? what if one errd, muſt that bee regiſtred? what vertues haſt thou laid aſide, which in him dwell, and thus uncharitably bringſt his worser part Aa3r 281181 part in ſight to harme him, but thou fayleſt now I know his worth, and doe excuſe that fault, and here I vow to live a conſtant love, and lover of his matchleſſe excellence: then turnd ſhe to the window, poore dull night ſaid ſhe, keepe still thy ſadneſſe till thy Sun appeare, and mine together, ſhineing as light, Darke art thou like my woes, dull as my wits; with that ſhe laid her downe to reſt, but it’s not granted her, it muſt not yet bee, ſhee must more endure.

Then roſe ſhe and did write, then went ſhee to bed, and tooke a Candle, and ſo read a while; but all theſe were but as lime-twiggs, to hold faſt her thoughts to love, and ſo to all unreſt which govern’d her, for till the day did breake, ſhee thus did wander in her raving thoughts: then did ſleepe covet place, but ſhe was calld to goe a hunting with the King and Queene, which ſhe obayed, and as her manner was, as ſoone as the Stagge was rouſed, and Doggs let in unto his overthrow, ſhe followed them, and left the reſt, (that either were not ſo well horſ’d, or leſe affecting ſuch a violent ſport) behind, and bravely in followed the pleaſant chaſe, which did continue till the Sun was ſet. Then did they with much glory view their ſpoyles, joying as in a conqueſt of great gaine, but what did moſt content the faireſt Queene, was the ſweete evening, in which ſhe injoyed all the content the dainty Ayre could give, which was as cleere, as her cleere heart in love, and that as cleere, as cleereſt ſweeteſt ayre. But as ſhe rode ſoftly to coole her ſelfe, a delicate ſweete voyce invited her to ſtay, and ſo to ſee the owner of that muſique, the voyce did draw them to a pleaſant Grove, and then unto a ſwift, ſweete Rivers ſide, where on the brinke amonſt the ſeges, ſate a Nimph of all perfections that were chaſt; hard by her on the banke her quiver lay, her bow by that, and ſhe undreſſing was to bath, and waſh her in that pleaſant ſtreame. Pamphilia was almoſt amaſ’d, to ſee ſo rare, and exquiſite a creature as ſhee was, wherefore commanding all the men to ſtay, ſhee and her Ladyes only went to her, whoſe modeſty and baſhfullnes was ſuch, as ſhe even quaked to ſee thoſe women there, and well might ſhee, who never ſaw her ſelfe in ſhaddow, but ſhee dived to hide her ſelfe from her owne eyes, yet had ſhee lov’d.

The Queene perceiving that ſhe was afraid, moſt mildly ſpake thus to her. Sweete Nimph bee not thus diſmaid, wee are none ſuch as will give cauſe of any harme to you; wee are your friends, and following the ſport which you oft do, by chance, or hunters fortune are benighted: going unto the Court wee heard your voyce, which hath a power ſufficient to attract all creatures, like the ſweete youths Harpe, that drew dumbe things to admire his choyſeſt tunes: let me not now diſturbe you ſweeteſt Nimph, nor barre us from ſuch heavenly harmony; then did ſhee ſweetly make this fine replye; Great Princeſſe pardon I beſeech this rudneſſe in mee, which hath made me dumbe, till now unable to give anſwer, but my lipps unſeald by your great Grace, my ſpeech made free to ſatisfie your will, I muſt confeſse, when I did ſee you firſt I was amaſ’d, and did wiſh my ſelfe againe in this faire River, ſo to hide my worthleſse ſelfe from your all judging eyes. Oft have I ſeene you hunt in theſe faire plaines, and ſomtimes taſte of this (then bleſſed) brook; behinde the ſeges, I did once lye hid, when you dry, and farre from all places fit to entertaine your vertues in, ſate downe, Aa3 and Aa3v 282182 and drank of this cleere water. O ſaid I, how bleſſed wert thou if thou coulddeſt but know into what happineſſe thou ſhalt arrive; firſt to bee touched by thoſe beſt deereſt lipps, and ſo to paſſe into her royall breaſt? How did I thinke I ſaw the ſtreames which were below, haſte as for ſorrow they had miſs’d that fate, and thoſe above come haſtely to catch, if not to touch yet one kind looke on them? this while I lov’d, and ſo was ſencible, but ſince Diſpaire had marryed mee, and I wedded my ſelfe to chaſt Dianas life. Let me intreat you ſweete Nimph ſaid the Queene, to tell me all your ſtory, and this night will be more pleaſing to me, if ſo ſpent, then any that my fortunes yet have knowne, ſhe then with reverence due to her ſtate, thus did beginne her tale.

My name (great Queene (ſaid ſhee) is Allarina, a Sheepheardeſſe by birth, and firſt profeſſion, and ſo had ſtill beene, had I not luckleſly profeſſ’d a Lovers name, and left my former happy (becauſe contented) life. At fourteene yeares of age I firſt felt paine, but young, and ignorant, I ſcarce did know what was my torment; I diſtempered was, ſlept not, nor fed, my coulor waxed pale, my mirth decayed, and ſighs did wholy breath my breath, admire my change the Sheepheards generally did, bewaile my ill the ſheepherdeſſes would, my parents grieved for me, I for my part knew only that I knew not what I ayld, till one day walking to a pleaſant wood, which was upon a hill, I did conſider with my ſelfe, what was the firſt originall of all this paine; I could not ſuddenly find out the ground, till at the laſt conſidering well each thing, I found his name moſt pleaſing was to mee, and ſo as I did in my heart ever thanke the meanes that did bring him to bee but ſpoken of. None in my thoughts, appeard ſo excellent, none ſpake like him, none ſung like him, nothing could hee doe, that did not ſeeme beſt, and nothing done by others but did ſhew dull, and quit voyd of any pleaſingnes, ſo excellent appeard he unto mee. When this came to my mind, then ſtraight I ſight, bluſh’d, and layd my hand upon my panting heart, and then cryd out, I hope this is not love; but love no ſooner was (by poore me) nam’d, but as if cald, he ſtraight poſſeſſ’d my heart, alas I yeelded then to know I lov’d, and love joy’d, I confeſſ’d I was his ſlave, and ſuch a ſlave was I alas ſoone growne, as but that ſlavery I did affect: my health then alterd, and my mother put me into the hands of a Phiſitian to bee recovered (as ſhee hop’d) by him, but all in vaine, it was not in his power, the cure was not ordaind for him.

Then came my love to viſite me, which gave me life, and comfort: thus I did remaine, and five yeares loved him, yet hee ignorant that my affection ſo was placed on him. I ſurely borne for this concluſion, could not permit my ſelfe to ſay, or ſhew I lov’d more then in poore ſad lookes, bluſhing when he did aske me of my ſheepe, unſteddily, and with a downe caſt looke, not daring to behold what moſt I loved, for feare of burning what was ſcorched before. I gave my answers unreſolvedly; hee by all this perceived that I lov’d, for twas not ſillines he ſaw, that made that innocent-like faſhion ſhew in me, wherefore he meant to watch me, and ſo find where my love was; but then it was too late, for not imagining it was himſelfe, hee marryed. After this I grieved, and almoſt dyed, but remedy was paſt, and I undone; yet one night, (bleſſed night for me, & my deſires) he came, & fetched me to his ſiſters Aa4r 175183 ſiſters houſe, where being ſet betweene us two, hee fell into diſcourſe of many pretty things, and all of love, and all as I did finde, to gayne by arte, to know were I did like; at laſt we fel unto a fooliſh ſport, which was, to tell truly what we were asked, and ſo to draw a lot who ſhould demand; it fell to him, who pretily to cover his intent, he firſt demanded of his ſiſter, what life ſhee thought the pleaſanteſt & best. She ſaid, the ſhepheards. Then he asked, if ever ſhe did wiſh in love, and gaine it to her full content? She ſaid, ſhe never could obtaine ſo juſt a ſatisfaction, for her wiſh was ſtill above the benefit ſhe gaind. Then was it come to me to be his ſervant, his queſtion was, Which was the bleſſedſt halfe houre I ever knew? I ſaid, a time I followed a poore bird to ſhoote at it, and as I thought (O mee the deareſt thought) a thought which joyed my ſoule, I hit the bird. Who did you thinke of (ſaid he)? Then I bluſht, he urg’d, and ſwore I marr’d the Play, and muſt bee puniſht for so foule offence. I pardon askt, and ſaid I would confeſſe: but when I came to ſay but theſe few words, It was your ſelfe, my ſpeech againe did faile, my ſpirits fainted, I looked pale, and red, and ſigh’d, and ſmild, and all in inſtant ſpace; love never had more ſtrange diverſitie then in me at that preſent; I was dumb, then ſpake a little, halfe what I ſhould ſay, and turned the reſt to comfort my poore hart: then did he take me in his armes, and ſtrictly did conjure me to ſay out. Why then (ſaid I) I thought on him I loved: this made him yet more curious, holding me ſtill, perceiving I was not diſpleaſed, ſweetely perſwading me to ſay the reſt; when I with ſoft and feareful words, afraid to heare my ſelfe ſay, I did love; ’Twas you, ſaid I: he then ’twixt joy and greefe, wept, the like did I. This paſſ’d, continually he tended my poore flock, forſooke his owne, if they did ſtray from mine, his ſongs were of mee, and my thought on him.

Many ſweete, pleaſant, and delightfull games he did invent to give content to us, at laſt his ſiſter grew to malice his reſpect to me, and to diſcerne all was for my delight, which hee did ſtuddy, or preſent to us: ſhe had much pride, and ſuch as Sheephardeſſes ſeldome know, yet flow’d it in her, who elſe was like us, milde, and ſufficiently witty. This her malice flew unto the height of ſlighting me, which I perceaving, let her go alone unwaighted on, or yet accompanied by mee. Two yeares this did indure, when all plagues grew, for then his wife did likewiſe did likewiſe ſtomacke me, and out of the poore witte ſhe had, (which ſcarce was ſenſe) did manifeſt her rage. I was in troth moſt ſorry for her hate, ſo much I loved him, as I loved all was his, and her, though not ſo well as the worſt beaſt he had, ſince ſhee alone I ſaw my barre for bliſſe. Hee ſaw my patience, which was oft times moovd even into ſpite, yet cover’d, and ſuppreſd with the deere power of my deerer love. Then was there entertayn’d at brave Mantinia, a great Embaſsador, whether we were call’d, among the ſtrange delights, to repreſent our innocent paſtimes, in which, my love and I were placed for the cheife, for he at wreſtling, and those sports of ſtrength, did farre excell the others of theſe plaines; my ſelfe for paſtorall ſongs, dances, and ſuch like had the firſt place among the maids, and ſo came I, great Princeſſe, to be bleſſd with ſeeing you, which ſight ſtill lives ingrafted in my breaſt. But what became then of your love, ſaid the Queene? Why that alas was al my ſorrow, and my change cride ſhe, grew from his change, which in this ſort befell: hee having thus in pure and ſpotleſſe Aa4v 184 ſpotleſse ſort gaind my beſt love, could not yet be content with ſuch enjoying, but did covet more, which to prevent, I found convenient meanes and ſlights ſtill to avoyd, which he perceav’d, yet then affected me ſo much, as nothing could withdraw him from my love: arguments hee would frame, even againſt his owne deſires, and ſweare, that where true love was, looſe deſires were diſtant, and unknowne, nor could a man ſo much affect, where hee had once gaind all, as when he knew there did from him lye hid, a richer treaſure then hee had poſſeſt, and more devoutly, and with greater zeale did he love, where he ſtill was ſo refuſed, then if hee had by yeelding obtained all. I did beleeve, and much commend his mind, and what I praiſ’d, or lik’d he likewiſe ſeem’d to be affected with; but what in men can laſt in certaine kind? there was a meeting amongſt us, and thither on --05-01May day every yeere (beeing the day we celebrated feaſts) the rareſt, and the choyceſt beautyes came, among the reſt one, who in truth I muſt confeſſe, was faire above the common beautyes in our time, but of the meaneſt parentage and ranke, being a ſervant to a Shepherdeſſe, who was of greateſt place, for there is difference, and diſtinction made of their degrees, (though all below your ſight) as well as in the great ones, and as much curious choyce, and ſhame to match below their owne degrees, as among Princes, whoſe great bloods are toucht, if ſtaind with baſeneſse in the match they make. This woman yet allur’d my love to change, and what was worſe, to ſcorne me; long I was, before I would perceive it, yet at laſt too cleerely it diſcovered was: ſhe then attended on the May Lady, of purpoſe there inticed, where he for his wiſhed ends might her behold.

The heardſman then, who kept the Cattell both of his ſiſters & his owne, did grow enamour’d of this beautious Laſſe; at last, love gaind the hand of judgement, and ſo privately they marryed, then did he grow more ſure, and ſurely did injoy, for who could with much cruelty refuſe, eſpecially not borne to chaſtity: then were his looks all caſt on her, his ſpeeches wholy bent to her, her wit admir’d, her jeſts told, wondred at, into all company ſhe muſt bee admitted, all reſpect her, and I quite caſt off; my ſoule was wounded with it, and my heart waſted, and dryed up; that truely I was growne a woman, worthleſſe for outward parts to be looked on; and thus tormented, I deſired oft to ſpeake with him, but hee did more ſhunne mee, then ever once he coveted my ſight. If I came in, where he alone did ſtand, inſtantly he went out, or would turne his backe, in ſharpeſt ſcorne unto my loving eyes. Aye me, cryd I, am I come to this paſse? have I loſt all my liberty for this? have I adventured death, and ſhame, to come unto this ſhamefull end in love? my parents have I left, and they diſpleaſd have rated mee, for my immoderate love, and all to be requited with gaine, at laſt of fowle diſdaine, for fervent truth? The world was fild with my conſtancy, all with broad eyes ſaw his diſloyalty; ſome pitied me, others flouted me; I grieved, & yet at laſt reſolv’d either to ſpeak or write; ſpeake alas I could not, for I did feare to give offence, ſtill fondly loving him: when I was in my bed, and thought of all my woes, I could reſolve to ſpeake my mind, and frame my ſpeeches in as moderate kind as might be, rather demanding pittie, then to diſcover, that I did diſlike him for his change; but when I ſaw him, and did view his eyes, if on me, caſt but in a cruell sort, so farre I was from Bb1r 185 from any power, or true ability, to touch of wrongs, or to beg poore compaſſion, as I ſtood amazed, trembling, and even as one caſt unto death. Then did I ſilently lament this harme, and mournefully bewaile my miſery, ſpeaking unto my ſelfe, as if to him, and frame his anſwers like unto his lookes, then weepe, and ſpend whole nights in this diſtreſſe, my heart almost unable to ſuſtaine so curſt a Dialogue, as I had framd millions of times to vexe my ſoule withal, at laſt I writ a letter, I remember theſe being the contents, and almoſt the ſame words. If what I write may proove diſpleaſing unto you, I wiſh my hand had loſt the uſe to write, when I writ this, my eyes, ſight for ſeeing it, and my heart, had then rent with ſorrow for puniſhment, in ſo offending you, who for al your cruelty, can do no other then love you ſtill. But the affliction that I am fallen into by your change, makes me ſend theſe lines unto you, & to beſeech you by the love you once bare me, to let me know the cauſe of your great ſtrangeneſſe towards me; if proceeding from my part, be juſt; and tell it me, who will not onely curſe my ſelfe for doing it, but with all true humilitie demand a pardon for it; my ſoule is purely yours, in love untoucht, unſtaind of any blame or ſpot; faith was the ground whereon I placed my love, loyalty, the hope I held it with, and my ſelfe your moſt unfained lover, the poore creature to bee looked upon with reward for theſe: but you give ſcorne, alas once looke on me, that beautie which decayed now in me, once pleas’d you beſt; when waſted it, but in thoſe yeares I ſtill was true, and chaſt to you? if my face be not ſo faire, my mind is fairer, cloath’d in truth, and love, and thus will I ever deſerve you more then any: pity me, alas I crave it, and moſt juſtly from your hands. Did I neglect at any time, what I did owe, to pay unto your will? if ſo, my confidence might make me erre, but never did I willingly commit ſuch fault, blame then the truſt I had, and juſt aſſurance of my confidence in you: will you reject me, ſince I pine for you, the teares which ſtill for you I ſhed, have marr’d, and dull’d mine eyes, and made me worthleſſe to behold; looke then but on my faith, and pitty me, who will die as I was, and am, which is sincerely yours. This I read, this I corrected, and often ſtaind with blots, which my true teares in falling as I writ had made. I ſent it by a youth, who ſtill had lov’d me, and did ſerve my love; he gave it him one morning as he waked: his anſwere was, that he would ſpeake with me. The next day he did come, and found me in my bed, bathing my ſelf in my poore, yet choice teares; he moſt unkindly onely ſat him downe, not once ſo much as looking on my woes, or me, ſpeaking theſe words, with eies another way, & voice diſpleasd: You writ a hanſom letter, did you not, ſaid he? Alas ſaid I, what ſhould I do oppreſt? I am half mad, diſtracted with your ſcorne; I could not ſilent be, nor yet could ſpeake. You wrong’d your ſelf, said he. Wherein, cri’d I? With that he roſe, & not giving me ſo much as kind, or unkind looks, ſpake to another whom he cald in, and ſo together left me and my woe. After that time hee ſtrove by all plaine waies, and craftie ſlights, and all to make me ſee, how I was caſt away, and left by him. I patiently did ſeeme to beare my loſſe: but oh my heart could not let me doe ſo, though in the day I ſtrove to cover griefe, in night time I did open all the doores, and entertaine each ſervant that woe had. Once I remember after many moneths that this diſaſter had befallen mee, hee merrily did ſpeake among us all, and alſo to me, as one among the reſt, and the greateſt ſtranger to his thoughts: I joyed that ſo he favoured me, for though he uſed mee, as but if in triall of my truth, I earneſtly loved him, and joyed to Bb ſee Bb1v 186 ſee him: my poore cold heart did warme it ſelfe to thinke of what had paſt, and leapt when I ſaw him; but yet that leape was like, or did reſemble a ſtrong convultion at the lateſt gaſpe, for then it fell downe dead in my deſpaire: but being thus together, hee was pleaſed to ſay ſome verſes to mee, which were good, and truly ſuch as I did much affect. I thought they were his owne, and ſo was vext, becauſe to me they did not then belong, as once all that he made, or framed were. He did commend them very much himſelfe, and ſaid, he liked the ſtrength that was in them. I ſaid they were moſt good, and like him, which made them much the better, ſo diſcourſing on, I tooke the boldneſſe to ſay ſomething to him, knowing that they might ſpeake in kind for me, and yet my ſelfe not beg againe, they were theſe. When I with trembling aske if you love ſtill, My ſoule afflicted leſt I give offence, Though ſenſibly discerning my worſt ill; Yet rather then offend, with griefe diſpence. Faintly you ſay you muſt; poore recompence When gratefull love is force, I ſee the hill Which marrs my proſpect love, and Oh from thence I taſt, and take of loſſe the poiſon’d pill. While one coale lives, the reſt dead all about That ſtill is fire: ſo your love now burnd out Tells what you were, though to deceiving led. The Sunne in Summer, and in Winter ſhewes Like bright, but not like hot, faire falſe made blowes You ſhine on me, but you loves heate is dead. He made no anſwere, but onely ſaid, they were very fine ones: after this he continued in his peremptory courſe of hating me, and I in my poore way of ſuffering all, till ſo ill I did grow, as though not in him, yet in each one els, I did obtaine, what I did claime from him, for they did ſorrow for my miſerie, and he ſtill triumph, as if in a gaine to overthrow a ſoule given to his will. At laſt, extremitie of griefe and paine, brought me unable to doe any thing: thoſe that beſt did consider my miſhape, juſtly did know the cauſe; others ſmile, and ſay, ’twas, for I was forſaken; others laugh, and ſay, I was growne dull: ſome ſaid, my proſe was gone, and that I onely could expreſſe my ſelfe in verſe. Theſe I did heare, and this in truth had troubled me, if greater matters had not ſhut my eares and heart from weighing ſuch ſlight things as theſe. I gave my ſelfe then wholly to the fields, nor kept I any company but with my flocke, and my next kindred which would viſit me. With my poore ſheepe I did diſcourſe, and of their lives make my deſcipherd life: rockes were my objects, and my daily viſits; meekeneſſe my whole ambition, loſſe my gaine; and thus I liv’d, and thus ſtill ranne to death. But one day as I paſt among the rocks, which were both ſteepe, yet eaſie to aſcend; the countrie hilly, the earth blacke, the mourning onely coverd with Heath and ſtones Bb2r 187 ſtones, to expreſſe the ill nature of that ſoile: I went ſtill in it, till at last deſcending one of the ſteepeſt, and moſt ragged of thoſe hills, the top of which was crownd with milke white rocks, in bigneſſe ſtrange, and faſhion farre more rare; I ſat downe in a ſtone of mighty height, which like a chaire in juſt proportion, did give mee roome and eaſe. Yet ſome thing unſafe it was to looke downe (for thoſe whoſe eyes will dazell if on any high place) for the height was great, and that ſtood, as if onely framd to ſit, and ſee the bottome directly under. Looking a while, I ſaw ſome folkes below, and as it were, a Spring where they did drinke: I left the rocke then, and did ſtraight deſcend unto the Plaine, the deſcent was not tedious, but ſlippery. When I thither came, of all the company, one man was able to declare any thing of the nature of it, for the reſt were ſtrangers, and not the same Countrimen. I civilly demanded, if that ſpring were medicinable, or what made them with ſo much affectionate ceremony to drinke, and as it were, adore it. That man made anſwere, it was that divine and ſacred water, which did cure all harmes. I blamd him, knowing he had ſaid too much, ſince only one was fit to bee termed ſo; but he, more ſervant to adoration then divinity, told me many ſtrange works that water had performd. I did for novelties take of the ſtreame; drinking of it, I found it did me no harme. Then I demanded, what it would procure? he ſaid, Quiet of ſpirit, comfort in this life. How long I demanded ought we to drinke thereof? Seven times (he replied), and thrice ſeven dayes. I living not farre off, reſolv’d the task, and dranke, and found ſuch good, as ſoone I was alterd in al things but my truth, which now alone to me remaines unharmd; my whole condition alterd, I grew free, and free from love, to which I late was ſlave. Then finding this true vertue in my ſelfe, and my poore ſelfe returnd to me againe, I did embrace it in the ſame true ſort that love held me, and ſo we did agree. I love my ſelfe, my ſelfe now loveth me. But after to avoid all new delights, or to bee ſued too, or intiſed againe, I put on theſe habits, hoping by pureneſſe, and vowed chaſtity, to win Diana’s favour, which now is all my ambition, and my hope. Thus here I live in expectation, not aſſurance of her acceptance: into this Brooke I oftentimes doe goe, and now was going juſt as you did come; remembrance of my faith I keepe, and joy alone in that, without deſire, or thought of loves varietie. My daies remaining, I have given to truth, and as a Nimph I ſtill will here remaine; my name I alſo changed with my life, from Allarina to Silviana, theſe habits keepe me from diſcourſe with men, my vow from yeelding; ſo I now live free, and uncontrold of Fortunes ſelfe. My Miſtriſſe I adore, I keepe her Feaſts devoutly, and thus I doe remaine your humbleſt Vaſſall, mighty Princeſſe, elſe ſole Miſtriſſe of my thoughts, and freedomes rule.

Happy you are (ſaid the excellent Queene) ſo to bee able to maſter your ſelfe: but did you never ſee him ſince you wore theſe habits? Oft-times great Princeſſe (ſaid ſhe) I have ſeene him, and ſo perceived deſire new in him to win me back, but now it is too late. I muſt confeſſe, who once had told me, I could have beheld his face without my ſoules affection to it, I ſhould hardly have believed it, much more to find my heart ſo free from love, as now it is, and as he made himſelfe to me, even a meere ſtranger; ſo are now mine eyes and thoughts as farre, from touch of love, as if I had been borne never to know love, or ſuch paſsions, when as once my eyes hung after him, Bb2 as Bb2v 188 as ſterv’d without his ſight, my ſoule lov’d him as a bleſsing, and I was indeed only his, now am I free my ſelfe, void of thoſe troubles, love provoked in me; I can with quietnes heare all his acts, ſee him this day intolerably fond of one I hated, then change to a new; all that mooves not me, ſave only that I out of pity, pity their ill haps. Once I was jealous, vext if hee did throw by chance a looke on any, but my ſelfe, that fault he puniſht with his ſterne neglect, & plagueing me in the ſharpeſt kind, ſtriving to make me ſee his change, and ſcornefully expreſſing to my ſight, diſdaine of me, and fondneſse in ſuch loves. Theſe are requited now, he growne to pitie, when I ſcorne to take it, he to love me, when I am vowed elſe-where: thus love rewarded is with ſcorne, and ſcorne, with pitileſſe regard returning home. I cannot yet believe (ſaid Pamphilia) but you love him ſtill, for all this liberall and excellent diſcourſe. I never will live houre (ſaid Silviana) to hate him, though I am made free from bond of vaine affection; & thus much truly I doe ſtill remaine his friend and ſervant, to defend him from all harmes, I may by my reſpect make void, and were it in my way to doe him, though a juſt ill turne, and many leagues off, I might doe him good, that journey I would take, yet love I not ought, but faire chaſtitie. This ſweet diſcourſe concluded, the brave Queene tooke leave of the fine Nymph, and ſo returnd, with promiſe, when ſhe hunted in thoſe parts, ſhe would find her: then going to the Court, ſhe went into her chamber to take reſt; little of that ſufficed her, for though great as any, yet in love was as much ſubject, as the meanest borne. Pamphilia (ſaid she) can thy great ſpirit permit thee to bee bound, when ſuch as Allarina can have ſtrength to maſter, and command even love it ſelfe? Scorne ſuch ſervilitie, where ſubjects ſoveraignize; never let ſo meane a thing ore-rule thy greateſt power; either command like thy ſelf, or fall downe vaſſall in deſpaire. Why ſhould fond love inſult, or venture in thy ſight? let his babiſh tricks be priz’d by creatures under thee, but diſdaine thou ſuch a government. Shall blindness maſter thee, and guide thee? looke then ſure to fall. Shall wayward folly rule thee? looke to be deſpis’d. Shall fooliſh wantonnes intice thee? hate ſuch vice. Shall children make thee follow their vaine tricks? ſcorne then thy ſelfe, and all such vanities. Yet when all this is ſaid, and that the trueſt knowledge tells me theſe are true, my wounded heart with bleeding doth profeſſe vaſſalladge to the great and powerfull might of love. I am a priſoner, guard me then deere love, keepe me but ſafely free from yeelding, and keepe me, as thou haſt already made me, thine.

Much of the time, ſhe had to be at reſt, ſhe thus imploy’d: then ryſing, the day telling her all brightneſſe waited on her; ſhe roſe, and went to the ſweete Limena, who accompanied her, into her ſad fine walkes, being there alone, (ſave with her ſecond ſelfe,) ſurely ſaid ſhe, you that ſo perfectly and ſo happily have loved, cannot in this delightfull place, but remember thoſe ſweete (yet for a while curſt) paſſages in love, which you have overgone: ſpeake then of love, and ſpeake to me, who love that ſweete diſcourſe, (next to my love) above all other things, if that you cannot ſay more of your ſelfe, then your deare truſt hath grac’d me withall, tell of ſome others, which as truly ſhall be ſilently incloſed in my breaſt, as that of yours; let me but underſtand the choice varieties of Love, and the miſtakings, the changes, the croſſes; if none of theſe you know, yet tell me ſome ſuch fiction, it may be Bb3r 199189 be I ſhall be as luckleſſe as the moſt unfortunate; ſhew me examples, for I am ſo void of hope, much leſſe of true aſſurance, as I am already at the height of all my joy. Limena beheld her, both with love, and pitty, at laſt; my deareſt friend (ſaid ſhee) fall not into deſpaire, before joy can expreſſe, what ſurely is ordain’d for you. Did ever any poore drop happen to fall but ſtill for love? Will you be poorer then the pooreſt drop of raine, which for the love to earth, falls on it? raiſe up your ſpirit, that which is worthy to Monarchiſe the world, drowne it not, nor make a grave by ſad conceits, to bury what ſhould live for royalty; yet if you doe deſire to heare, of Love, and of loves croſſes, I will tell you a diſcourſe, the Sceane ſhall be in my Countrey, and the rather will I tell it, ſince in that, you ſhall ſee your ſelfe truly free from ſuch diſtreſſe, as in a perfect glaſſe, none of your true perfections can be hidden, but take not this tale for truth. In Cicilie (not far from the place which gave my Father birth, and where I much was bred) there liv’d a Lady, mother to many, and delicate Children; but, whether her fortune fell with the loſſe of her Husband, (as many, wofully have with that felt their undoing) or that misfortune (ſo great a Prince) ought not to be unattended, I know not, but ſhe affecting her friends, as friendship could challenge, a young Lord came with one of her neereſt allies to viſit her; this viſitation made him ſee her daughter, elder then three more, that at that ſame time were in her houſe: he receiving welcome, tooke it, and occaſion to come againe, thoſe againe commings brought miſchevous affection, that affection, miſchiefes ſelfe, for thus it happ’ned.

The Lady lov’d him, hee liked her, he ſued, she innocent could not deny, but yeares did paſſe before they did enjoy. At laſt, three yeares almoſt worne out, he found a time, or rather her, much unprovided for refuſall; both extreamly loving, nothing was amiſſe as they imagin’d, nor was ought denyde, ſome yeares this paſſed too, in all which time, ſhee who did onely love, for Loves ſake, not doubting leaſt that might bee a touch unto her affection, or ſpot in ſo much cleareneſſe, as her heart held to him, let buſie ſpeeches paſs unregarded, ſmil’d when friends bid her beware, eſteeming her conſtant opinion of his worth, richer then truths which ſhe thought falſhoods while they were againſt him. Thus the poore Lady was deceiv’d, & moſt miſerably undone, he falling in love with one ſo inferior to her in reſpect of her qualities, compar’d with hers, though of greater ranke every way, as his neereſt friends condemn’d him for ſo ill a choice; but ſhe was crafty, and by art faire, which made him looke no further. At laſt, it ſhewed so plainely as ſhe must (if not wilfully blinde) ſee with the reſt; but how did ſhe ſee it? alas with dying eyes, all pasſions compar’d to hers were none, the ordinary courſe of ſorrow abounded in her, riſing to ſuch a height, as out flew diſpaire; melancholy was her quieteſt companion, while monefully she would ſit, dayes without words, and nights without sleepe. Oft would ſhe tell theſe paines before him, though not to him, pittifully would ſhe lament, and hee take no more notice of it, then if he heard it ſpoken of an other. Alas would ſhe cry, I am no more worthy to live, I am a ſhame to my houſe, a ſtaine to my ſex, and a moſt pittifull example of all miſcheife; ſhamefull creature, why liveſt thou to diſgrace all thy friends? poore ſoule, (poore indeed, but in true goodnes) leave this unhappy body, take thy ſelfe away, and when thou haſt Bb3 left Bb3v 190 left me, it may be thou mayſt be better, and win pittie: hence foorth muſt blame infould me, now muſt ſhame cover me, and diſpaire with loſſe deſtroy me; yet hadſt thou chang’d to a better, and conſtanter, it would not ſo much have vext mee, but when I ſee my deſerts, my love, and my ſelfe caſt off, onely by ſubtiltie betrayed, and in ſo vild a place, alas it rents my heart, both with loſſe, and your fault. Can worth procure no more favour? muſt all yeeld to outward fairenes? ſhe is faire I confeſse, ſo once you thought I was, and if not ſo perfect, thanke your owne ſtrangenes, and my teares ſhed for your falſhood, which have furrow’d, & worne wrinkles, (where ſmoothneſſe was) with their continuall falling. Had you no way to ſhun me, or my love, but by your change? you might have juſtly dealt yet, and but ſay’d, I can no longer love you, I had then sate downe alone with loſse, but now doubly afflicted, as looſing, and being deceavd; your want of truth, is a greater plague to me then my miſery, in that I lov’d you better then my ſelfe, ſo much is your unworthines my extreameſt torment. Oft was I told that I would hurt my ſelfe in truſting. I reply’d, I had rather bee wretched in loſſe, then unhappy in ſuſpition; theſe now befall me, yet ſuſpect I not, for apparent truth tells me I am forlorne. Once I remember I was to ſpeake to him, and (foole) I tooke the time when ſhe was by, with what ſcorne did he put me off, and ſlightneſse heare the busineſſe, which concernd himſelfe, yet cōomming from me, was unpleaſing: would yet I could be more luckleſſe, ſo it came not from thy worthleſneſſe, for ’tis that, not my misfortune, tortures me. While yet ſhee thus continued in her woes, her beauty dying, as her fortune waſted, he careleſſe man of any good, or reſpect, ſave of his owne deſires, would many times come to her, rather as I conjecture, thinking to betray her, then for any affection hee then bore to her, while ſhe (poore hapleſſe lover) never deny’d what he commanded. Poore ſoule, how glad would ſhe be to receive one looke; one word gave her new life againe, but a ſmile made her hope, which laſted to make her the ſtronger, to ſuffer againe the miſery he allotted her. Well, ſo it continued, and ſhe was undone, imagine then, brave Queene, in what miſery ſhe was, and moſt, when he that ſhould have comforted her harme, held ſtill his curſt neglect: Till being neere her end, as it was thought, rather (and onely ſure for his owne honour) then her ſafety, hee ſent often to her; this made her take joy, aſsuring her ſelfe, he now felt, he was bound to love her, ſince thus ſhe was neere death for him; this made her hope, he would be gratefull in affection, though not paſsionate. Much did he flatter then, and proteſt reſpect of her, above his life, and that her life and ſafety were more deare to him, then his owne heart bloud. Expreſſeles conſolation were theſe vowes, but broken, greateſt plagues; what ſhould we truſt, when man the excellenteſt creature, doth thus excell in ill? No ſooner was ſhe amended, but he ſent againe with all ſhew of affection, his comming he excuſed, as out of care to her, leſt others would have viſited her too, and ſo might trouble her in weakenes, & bring danger to her health. Theſe gloſſes were to her like faith, beleeud, & cheeriſh’d, til ſoone was ſhe made to know, mens words are onely breath, their oathes winde, and vowes water, to begin with her enſuing griefe, her new borne hopes ſoone died, thoſe tyes ſhe had knit up were broken aſunder, in more violence, which death brought heavy miſery Bb4r 191 miſery unto the mother of theſe miſadventures; for ſoone after fell his direct leaving her, not ſcanting any contempt or ſcorne, but turning all ſhew of favour to her; after that fell a new change, for then this dainty woman muſt yeeld her fortunes to a new choyce in him, and to an other, whoſe beauty wins him from her craftineſſe. Then did ſhe likewise fall to new diſlikes, crying out ’gainſt diſloyalty, complaind of her misfortune, curſd her credulity, and fond hopes, never ceaſing complaints, nor revilings, for her thoughts, chuſing the firſt forſaken lover, to heare her accuſe him even unto her face, he who had from her chang’d lately to her, and now from her unto an other love; cruell this needs muſt bee to ſee him blamd, and for that fault which ſhe had ſuffered for, alas then would ſhe ſay, what hap have I to accuſe my Fate, and ſtill to heare the accuſation from an other to the ſame purpoſe: Diſloyall Lincus, hath thy poore lover Alena deſerv’d this hate? canſt thou without ſhame conſider my wrongs? thinke on my deſerts, I challeng none, but leave them to thy ſelfe to judge. I am your loſt forſaken, I am yet your trueſt love, and I am indeed the unhappieſt ſufferer of your blame. Pelia complaines of your diſloyalty, and to mee, from whom you flew to her, if ſhee diſlike, what ſhall I doe, who beare the marks of ſhame, and loſſe for you? my reputation marr’d, my honour in the duſt; are theſe requitalls to be ſcornd, deſpiſed, and hated at the laſt? unkind man, for worſe I cannot call you, yet turne backe againe, and look on my deſearts, if not on me, and you ſhal find cleerenes in them, to diſcerne theſe other faults by purenes to tel you, none but it ſelf deſerves you, griefe to moove all your compaſſions to it, laſtly, juſt claimes to make you gratefull; but you I ſee deſpise all vertuous wayes, goe on your courſe then while I mourne for you, and my extreameſt croſſe. Thus did ſhe oft complaine, yet never ſhund his ſight, leaſt he ſhould thinke his change could alter her. the more he ſaw her patience, the more, and inſolentlyer did hee preſſe on it, ſtriving of purpoſe to afflict her moſt, which the ſight of his alteration needs muſt bring, when ſhe beheld him kiſſe his new loves hand, with melting heart, and paſſionate reſpect, ſmile in her eyes, begge for her grace, write to her praiſe, and expreſſion of his love; theſe alas cryd ſhee were the baites that firſt betrayed me, thus once he did to me, thus fond was hee of mee, thus careles of all elſe, but now transformed, as is his truth, and faith. Many perſwaded her to keepe away, to ſcorn as much as he, to hate as much as he; no would ſhe cry, his fault ſhal never make me il, nor wil I chang though he ſo fickle bee, yet bee aſſured I love him not, nor can bee more deceived by him, or any other, onely thus far the remnant of my love extends, that I would take any courſe, though painefull, dangerous, and hazard my life, to keepe him from leaſt harme. Thus did a loiall lover live, and this is cōommonly the end of loyaltie to men, who never knew but the end of their owne wills, which are to delight (only Periſſus excepted). And to ſatisfie you, I have given you this ſhort example of true love, faigned I confeſſe the story is, yet ſuch may be, and will bee lovers Fates.

Pamphilia gave great attention to it, and the more, becauſe her laſt adventure, and this diſcourſe did ſomewhat neere concurre as ending in misfortune. why (ſaid ſhe to her ſelfe), ſhould all chuſe: theſe or ſuch like wofull hiſtories Bb4v 192 hiſtories, of purpoſe to torment me with feare, that I may live to ſee like woes? alas, Love ſheild me from ſuch harme; I now behold cleere joy, ſo did Silvania, and Alena, and Pelia, yet what concluſion have they? utter ruine and diſtreſſe for reward. Theſe thoughts ſo inwardly afflicted her, as ſhe ſat ſtill, her colour not changing, nor any motion in her outward part, while the ſoule onely wrought in her, & yet, not to let the world be ignorant of her operation, ſent teares from out her eyes, to witneſſe the affliction that ſhe felt; teares which did fall with ſuch lovelynes, as lovelines did fall and bide with them. So much did Limena love her, as ſhe greev’d for thoſe teares, and with cryes gave teſtimony of her ſorrow, while ſhe unſtirr’d, ſtill let them ſlide upon her ſofteſt cheeks, as if ſhe did conſent to honour her true teares, with touching that earths-heavenly place; her heart did beate with paine, and I thinke greefe, that her eyes ſhould be more happy in ability to demonſtrate her paine, then that which beſt knowing her mind could attaine unto; I feele ſaid it the torment, they ſhew it, like players of an others part, and ſo did it ſwell, as Limena was forced to helpe, and with comfort and perſwaſions appeaſe the rage.

Thus they continued till Nanio the dwarfe came to them, telling his Lady the happy tydings of Roſindy’s arrivall, with Selarinus, this awaked her, and made her melancholy companion, yeeld to her better friend, joy; back they went together, and with much content met the King Roſindy and his companion in the Hall, where the King and all the Court were aſſembled, joy plentifully diſpoſing it ſelfe to every one. Amphilanthus holding his courſe towards St. Maura was thither brought ſafely, and ſpeedily, then going to the Rocke, he tooke Urania in his armes uſing theſe wordes.

My deareſt Siſter, and the one halfe of my life, Fortune (never favourable to us) hath ordain’d, a ſtrange adventure for us, and the more cruell is it, ſince not to be avoyded, nor to be executed but by my hands, who beſt love you; yet blame me not, ſince I have aſſured hope of good ſucceſſe, yet apparent death in the action, I muſt (not to prolong time, or amaze you with diſcourſe, alas that I muſt ſay theſe words) deereſt Urania, I muſt throw thee into the Sea; pardon me, Heaven appoints it ſo. My deereſt brother ſayd ſhe, what neede you make this ſcruple? You wrong me much to thinke that I feare death, being your ſiſter, or cheeriſh life, if not to joy my parents; fulfill your command, and be aſſured it is doubly welcome, comming to free me from much ſorrow, and more, ſince given mee by your hands: thoſe hands that beſt I love, and you to give it me, for whoſe deare ſake, I onely lov’d to live, and now as much delight and wiſh to die. Kinde teares proceeded from them both, and mournfull ſilence did poſſeſſe their tongus, till she againe beſought, and hee refuſed; but yet at laſt reſolving, if ſhe periſh’d to ende with her: he tooke her in his armes, and gently let her ſlide, ſhewing it rather to be her ſlipping from him, then his letting her fall, and as ſhee fell, ſo fell his heart in woe, drownd in as deepe an Ocean of deſpaire; but ſoone was he call’d to wonder, and all joy; for no ſooner had ſhe ſuncke into the water, but the waves did beare her up againe, to ſhewe the glory they had in bearing ſuch perfections; but then the Deepes, ambitious of ſuch a prize, ſought to obtaine her, opening their hearts to let her ſincke into them, when two men in a boate came rowing towards her, and Cc1r 193 and one who lay in a craggy part of the Rocke, furiouſly threw himſelfe unto her, ſhe only ſaying, Live happy Amphilanthus, and my onely deare Parſelius, farewell: that calld him, who leaping in, cry’d; Parſelius will never outlive Urania; and ſunke ſtraight with her, then were both pulled up, and ſafely brought to land, by the help of the other two, who leaping out of their boat into the ſea, ſpared not danger, or life it ſelfe; all foure then ſoundly waſhed, came a ſhoare, where Amphilanthus embraced them, and with teares of joy welcom’d his ſiſter, and his friends, who now well understood the operation of that water; for Parſelius knew nothing of his former love to her, onely the face of Urania, and being aſſured of her neereneſſe to him in bloud, rejoyced with them, the others did the like. Now was Steriamus releaſed of his unfortunate love, eſteeming Pamphilia wholly for her worth, not with paſsion thinking of her. Urania’s deſires were no other, then to goe into Italy to ſee her father: and Dolorindus to accompany his friends whither they would goe. Thus happily were all delivered of the moſt burdenous tormenting affliction that ſoules can know, Love, and Love was pleaſed, becauſe now he might have new worke in new kinds. Parſelius longs to ſee his Dalinea: Urania wiſheth it alſo without jealouſie, or anger, but loves her heartily for her Coſins ſake: moſt happy Princeſſe to be deliverd from ſuch a hell, as loving him, who had (although ſo neere to her) been ſo farre from truth to her. Amphilanthus was ſo overcome with comfort and joy, diſcerning this fortunate and bleſſed iſſue of the adventures, as kindneſse now wrought like ſorrow: then embracing all, they tooke to the boats, the Hermit going with them to the Iland, where with kind loving perſwaſions, they invited him to leave that place, and to accompany them thence: but hee excuſed himſelfe, promiſing to be ready at any time to doe them ſervice, but his vow he could not breake: then he intreated them, that if by chance in their travels they happened into Dalmatia, they would enquire for his unfortunate daughter Bellemira, and by some meanes to let him underſtand of her. They promiſed this: ſo with more kind farewels, they parted from the Hermit, and at Amphilanthus earneſt intreaty went together for Italy, where they arrived, and ſo paſt unto the Court. But what joy? what content did all hearts feele, in ſeeing the Princeſſe of true worth and admiration returnd? Then did the old king, whoſe haire and beard like ſnow make a true reſemblance of it, joy (like the Sun) heating and melting; ſo did joy melt his hart into teares, & they like a thaw, dropping on the lower ſnow, he held them in his armes; they kneeld, he kiſt them, but could not ſpeake, ſo was he wrapped and overwhelmed with joy. At laſt Amphilanthus ſpake, beseeching him to ſalute the other Princes, which he did, and then turnd to them, and againe kiſſed, and embraced them. This being paſt, they were conducted to their lodgings: Urania having rich robes fit for her birth brought unto her, till then having worne her Shepherdeſſe attire, which ſhe reſolv’d to doe, as long as ſhe liv’d unſeene of her father, & only to receive them from his hands. Now was Italy fild with delight, being the pleaſing’ſt and delightful’ſt of any; ſports are new invented to give welcome, and Juſts proclaimed, wherein these Knights muſt alſo ſhew their skil, the Ladies came from al parts to ſee Urania, the Knights to honor Amphilanthus: the firſt day of the Juſts, the King being ready to go forth of the Hall to the lists, there entred an old man, in habit like a Pilgrim, with a ſtaffe of that Cc faſhion Cc1v 194 faſhion in his hands, bare-footed, and with all demonſtration of that life, he ſpake lowd, and beſought the King to ſtay till he had deliverd ſome things fit for his knowledge, then all placing themſelves, he began thus.

Moſt happy King, receive theſe ſpeeches from me (a miſerable man, if you pitie not), a Prince I am by birth, but a Villaine by nature; Prince I was of Istria, and brother to the King of Dalmatia, proud I was, and accompanying that vice, I had malice, and all ill abiding in mee, which cauſd a deteſtable treaſon in me, for hearing many propheſies, & likelihoods of the greatnes, & worth of Amphilanthus, I ſtudied how I might any way croſſe the ſucceſſe, he then being but of tender yeares, ſcarce having attained to ſeven yeares of age; but that which moſt moov’d me, was, that a learned man ſaid, he ſhould rule over the greateſt part of the world, and live to be Lord of my Country alſo; to avoid this, I vowed to looſe no meanes or opportunitie; wherefore I went to the Court of my brother, where there then liv’d a great, and a wiſe man; this man confirm’d, what before I had heard, adding more unto it for his increaſe of honour, for he had caſt his nativitie, having gaind it from one, who was at the birth of the worlds wonder, your ſonne. Upon this I diſguiſed my ſelfe, and hither I came into your Country and Court, where I found the Queene newly brought to bed of a daughter; this I thought might be a meanes for my ſafety, for no magicke could withſtand the happy fortune of Amphilanthus (though a danger he ſhould fall into uncertaine to recover it, and by a woman). So determining to have my ends ſome way, having ſome skill in Magicke, I caſt a ſleepe upon all the attendants where the babe lay, and being in an evening, tooke the child, and conveyed it away with me, purpoſing to keepe her to protect me from danger, while I would practice the ruine of the Prince by any deviliſh plot, and to be the cauſe of as much hurt as might be to his worthineſſe: but otherwiſe, and better for the good of all theſe parts it happened, I being in all my charmes and ſpells, prevented by a greater power, yet was I glad I had the child, with whom I tooke my way to the ſea, where ſitting downe, and looking on the ſweeteneſſe and delicacie of the babe, unawares by Robbers I was ſet upon, no helpe being left me by learning, or art, to relieve me in that adventure, death being onely expected by me, they prooved more mercifull, ſaving my life, but took what I had from me, and the child, which moſt of al I eſteemd; then wofully did I returne to mine owne Country, there I fell to my books, and called others of that art unto my aide: but doe what I, or they could, we were barrd from knowledge or gueſſe, what was become of the child, or what courſe it ſhould run, heavenly powers hiding it from mee, to keepe her ſafety neerer to her, till this yeare it was diſcovered to mee, that ſhee was ſafe in the conduct of a great Prince, her eſtate unknowne to her ſelfe, and him, nor was her inpriſonment hid from me, though the place and manner was; her diſguiſe was ſhewed mee, being Shepherdeſſes attire, ſince which time I have beſtowed my time and labour in ſeeking her, and now Sir, where I ſtole her; here I find her, this being your daughter, and I, (Sir,) the Traytor.

This then being done, they all againe embraced her, but Urania deſired to know one thing more, which was how the Mantell, and Purſe was left unto her. That (ſaid the old man) was done by him or her I know not which, that protected you, nor can you know that, till you finiſh an aduenture, Cc2r 195 adventure, which is onely left for you to end. Then did every one adjudge the old Prince to no leſſe then death; but the King nor Amphilanthus would consent to it, ſaying, Their joyes and welcomes ſhould not bee mixed with bloud: then did he profeſſe repentance, and for that, and their great mercies, he received pardon, and ſo returned towards his country, halfe way in his journey he died: thus the adventure concluded, they went forth to the Juſts which were ready to begin with their preſence. The firſt day was concluded by a match made of twelve to twelve, with ſword & ſpeare, which were to their renownes performed: then the Princes determined to manifeſt their valours, yet every one privately taking this reſolution, made a ſhrewd miſtaking among them: for the King and Queene being placed, there entred a Knight in black armour, his deviſe, the World burning, and Cupid hovering in the flame; this Knight was ſtraight encountred by a Prince of Apulia, a brave and valiant Gentleman, but too weake for him: then the Princes of Vihin, of Milan, Savoy, Florence, Mantua, Modina, and many others met him, and ſo the earth, as his Livery. Amphilanthus ſeeing this, ſtole away, hoping to revenge his Country men againſt this ſtranger; ſo taking a white armour, like a young Knight came in, and fitly; for then did the black knight want worke: but long he did not complaine of that, for this encounter was ſtrong and furious, the black Knight taking him for ſome ſuch an one, as the other kind-hearted Princes were, which made him ſit the more careleſly, and ſo gave the Prince the advantage to ſhake him ſhrewdly; which he meaning to mend the next time, with great rage met him, who never yet was overthrowne, or neere the hazard of it: but ſo terrible was the meeting, as both their horſes were ſtrooke upon their buttocks, yet againe recovered; three courſes they ran thus without advantage, wherefore by the lawes of thoſe Juſts, they were to end it with the ſword, which they did, fighting without mercy or feare, the white armour of Amphilanthus looking pale with rage to see his bloud, while the other mourned for his maſters hurts, which were many. Long they fought on horſeback, thēen both agreeing (their horſes being ſpent) they lighted, and ſo continued the fight, till the King ſent downe Urania to intreate them, that they would give over, ſince they hoped the quarell was not deadly, beſides the greateſt pitie ſuch Knights ſhould bee loſt at the time, when pleaſure, not warre, ſhould be exerciſed. They at her deſire yeelded, while all judgements gave them the honour, of the moſt worthy to be admired Combatants, Italy had ever knowne. Faint they were, and ſo ſat downe, taking one another by the hand, as witneſſe their malice was ended, and so might every one truly believe, when they beheld their faces, for the black Knight was Parſelius, who faigned himſelfe not well, of purpoſe to bee the abler to combat all commers. The two friends did then condemne each one himſelfe for hurting the other (but theſe chances often happen among Knights): ſo they went to the King, whoſe grief was great to ſee their hurts; but knowing by his Chirurgions none of them were dangerous, though painfull, his content was infinite to see their valors. Urania was sorry for Parſelius, but tended Amphilanthus wholly, till he came abroad, which was ſome two daies after; ſtrange happines wrought by divine power to work ſuch change, who once would have left all friends for Parſelius. During which time, the ſport ceased, and began again with his preſence: the other Princes every one Cc2 had Cc2v 196 had their trials in full manner, and Steriamus for his honour had this adventure befall him. The fame of this meeting, and the Juſts being noised over all thoſe parts, there came most Knights and Princes, to whoſe eares the tidings came, among which was the Prince of Piemont, as proud and inſolent, as thoſe vices could corrupt man withall: this man pufft up with ambition in the worſt kind, aſpired to love Urania, and therefore put himſelfe to the bold diſcovering of it, and not content with that, demanded a favour of her to weare, which ſhe refuſd, hating vice ſo much, as for that, ſhee abhorred him. He ſcorning to be denied, when hee ſhould have hated himſelfe for ſuch an attempt, gave ſome ſpeeches not befitting her to take, and withall ſnatched a glove from her, which hee ſware to weare; yet mildly ſhe tooke small notice of either of them, but her ſpirit made her colour ſhew, ſhe was offended; this was in the chamber of Amphilanthus in the window. Steriamus ſtanding by, and ſeeing it grew offended, and ſo much, as it making his eies give teſtimony of the furie he had boyling within him, he ſpake theſe words; Preſumption hath cauſd in you this unmannerlineſse, but truth in mee provokes theſe words; lay downe the glove againe, and your ſelfe at her feete, humbly ſubmit and yeeld your life to her diſpoſing, for having done ſo unpardonable an act, and leave your hopes to her mercy, or here receive this from me, that you ſhall have my heart, or I yours to ſatisfie her right. He laughed, and ſaid, the glove did well become his hart (having put it into it in that time), and that there he would weare it in deſpite of him, or the beſt Knight. Steriamus ſtrake his hat off, with all giving him ſuch a blow in the face, as he made him ſtagger; then took the glove, and kiſsing it, Urania, that thereby hee had the happines to begin his ſervice to her, being long before ingaged unto it: if ſhe would take it from him, ſhe had the power to doe that, and what elſe ſhe pleaſd, ſince he deſired to be but accounted her humbleſt ſervant; yet his deſire was ſo much to be honourd, as to bee permitted to weare it as her favour, till he brought him humbly to ſubmit for ſo great a preſumption. She who had ever loved Steriamus from his youth, and by this was ingaged, beſides his adventuring to ſave her in the ſea, to gratifie him, yet tender of being cauſe of harme to him, ſhe only ſpake thus: My Lord (ſaid ſhe) your merits ſo farre beyond my deſerts, make me amazed, in what manner to carry my ſelfe, I am doubtfull; yet I will rather offend in the good, then ill; weare not this I beſeech you, too meane for you, ſince taken from ſo ill a place, but let me have it, and accept from me a more worthy, and a fitter favour, and one untoucht by any hands, but thoſe that preſent it with all true reſpect unto you, He gave her the glove, and tooke from her a ſcarfe, which with infinite content, he tyed (aſſiſted by her alſo) about his arme; then went ſhe to the fire, into which ſhe threw the glove, wiſhing that there the danger of Steriamus might end, with the conſumption of that leather. Then did the diſgraced Prince goe out, and inſtantly ſend to Steriamus, to give him ſatiſfaction, which he preſently did yeeld unto, and kiſsing Urania’s hand, went downe to arme himſelfe in a private place, and in an armour not known, being ruſſet, and as plaine an one as could be, his riches conſiſting in his worth, and his Miſtriſſes favour. Straight was the Court fild with the newes, that two brave combatants were entring the Liſts; the King, Amphilanthus, (though weake) and all the Court came, except Parſelius, who could not ſo well Cc3r 197 well ſtirre abroad as Amphilanthus, by reaſon he had loſt much more bloud; his ſtaying within, made Steriamus not miſſed; ſo all aſſembled, the proud Prince comes in, ſuted to his humour, his attendants many, and ſhewed they had received their education from him; the other had none with him, but carried his ſpeare himſelfe; the Judges were made, the Prince of Savoy his Coſin-german, choſen by him; and Amphilanthus, deſired by the other, the Trumpets ſounded, and they encountred; Steriamus was ſtruck backe on his horſe, and the other his horſe fell with him, ſo they fought on foote; fierce and cruel was the fight, lamentable was the ſight of it, for except those choice Princes, none could equall this Piemountois, and that he knew, which did incourage, or made him more prize his power then his worth, as one might ſay, a Horſe were a braver Creature then a man, becauſe he draweth, or beareth more. Steriamus fought for honor, and that to be received from Urania, tho other, to repaire his honour, touch’d for Urania: thus they paſt no fury, no ſtrength, no harme ſhun’d, or ſpar’d which was not calld to the higheſt accompt, nor any skill wanting, which was not, (if a little ſtirr’d) renewed, and payed with judgement, and diſcretion.

Moſt ſayd, no combate, (except the laſt) could compare with this, yet in ſome ſort did this exceed, as being one more bloudy, ground hate, and all curſt additions being joyned together in them, to be at the heigth and governe, nay, ſpend themſelves in the furious and deadly concluſion. At laſt, much care was had to ſave them, when even their eyes daſled, and their legges grew falſe to their bodies, no longer willing to ſupport them. Then fell the Piemount Prince, and Steriamus upon him, not of purpoſe, but by weakeneſſe; his helme he puld off, and would have killed him, but his ſpirit ended (in ſhew) with his fury, for then he fell off from him in a ſwound, appearing as dead as he. The Judges came in, and finding it was the brave Prince, Amphilanthus fell downe by him, the King came from the window, Urania ran to him, and wiping his face, rubbed his temples with her hand, when life againe poſſeſt him, and how could it be otherwiſe, being in her armes, where life of love did dwell? When he beheld where he was, and remembring what hee had began for her, fearing he had loſt his honour by the others victory, he offerd to get up, and being on his knees, ſcarce able to riſe higher, crying out, Miſerable Steriamus to live to ſee thy ſhame, and before her, where honour ſtrives to be, and from whom all my honor muſt proceed; he caſt his eies, and ſaw where the other lay dead, then was he ſatiſfied, and well might he bee ſo, ſince this was none of his ſmalleſt, but one of his chiefeſt victories, the ſtrength, valour and skill of the other being ſo well knowne, as none could yeeld him conquered, but by an unconquerable ſpirit.

Steriamus gaind the victory, and ſo, as great honor as could be given to any in a ſingle fight; he was not the ſtrongeſt, but as valiant as any, and (except the coſin and brothers) equall with any. This paſt, they were taken up, in the raiſing them, the Prince breathed, and looked up, wherupon Steriamus would ſtay, and heare him ſpeake; he unwilling, yet by him before he would be dreſt, was forſt to confeſſe his folly, and in as humble maner as he demanded, asked pardon for preſumption to Urania; then he forgave him, and kindly reconciled themſelves, ſo embracing the proud Prince, departed, proud now that he had lived to goodneſſe, ſhaking off the other pride with his life. Steriamus Cc3 was Cc3v 198 was conducted to his lodging, where Urania viſited him often: the body of the other to a place appointed, till his buriall; the Prince of Savoy taking order for him, not with exceſsive ſorrow for his death, who in his life time never cared for him, nor any that had ſo much vertue; for this was a fine young Gentleman, vertuous, and valiant, and now by his couſins death, Prince likewiſe of Piemount. Every day were new ſhowes, and triumphes, and by reaſon theſe brave Princes could not be any of the number, martiall exerciſes were for a while layd aſide, and the Court ſports gain’d the place; Amphilanthus, Parſelius, and (within few dayes) Steriamus beeing ſpectators: but one afternoone, with ſound of Trumpets, there entered into the hall a brave Knight, and with bravery unuſuall, hee was attended with many ſervants, all in one colour livery, which was Sea greene and crimſon, as coats of ſeagreene velvet, embroderd with crimſon ſilke, in the faſhion of hearts, ſtroke through with darts; twenty of theſe he had, every one of them carrying a picture, then came two richer then the former, holding one fayrer then the reſt (or he was deceiv’d) for this was the picture of his miſtris, the Knight then commanded them to ſet them downe, which they did on both ſides of the chamber, the faces to the States, he ſtanding in the middle with his miſtriſſes thus ſpeaking. Famous King of Naples, and no more famous, then truely meriting that fame; I am hither come upon command, ſent by a power that onely hath ſoveraignty over me, elſe free, my name is Polarchos, ſonne to the King of Ciprus, but ſubject by love to the Lady of Rhodes; I went to the Court of her Father, deſirous to ſee all places, there did love ſurprize mee, and I ſacrifice my liberty on the altar of her commands; Oft times I went afterwards to ſee her, and was (like the fulfilling of wiſhes) welcome to her, though not to her father, after hee diſcoverd our loves, which though his diſlike could not alter our affections, being ſtrong, and young, yet it oppoſed our oft delightfull meetings, ſubtilty was then to come into freedom’s place, and danger, where ſafety was wont to dwell, we only ſecure in our loves tryals, I had many put upon me, but I paſſd them all, the more to increaſe her liking, and her fathers hate to mee. Then was there an inchantment, wherein faith in love, and valour was to be ſhewed, and approved; but ſince the rareſt living Prince, your moſt excellent ſon, had the power, as juſtly deſerving it, to conclude thoſe charms; I will let the deſcription of that paſſe, ſince how impoſsible is it, but that you have heard the whole relation of it by him.

Then to proceed, I was ſo much honord, as to be carryed to Rhodes, and peace made with her father, and his conſent gaind for our marriage: then departed he with his royall company, leaving me aſsured, and ſo certaine of all content, as then I imagined; but after there departure, ſome two dayes before the ſolēemnizing of the marriage, we were diſcourſing of many things, among the reſt, of the adventures at Ciprus, which brought on the pleaſant Juſt we had there: begun by matchleſſe Amphilanthus, and his worthy companion Ollorandus, with whom I did well enough, but was by your Son layd on the ground; this I tooke for no diſgrace, but as a due, when I preſumed to meete him, who was to be yeelded to by all: but though I thought this no diſhonor, the hearing it bred diſdaine in my miſtris, wherefore ſhe told me, that unles I would wipe away this ſtaine, ſhe would never looke uponon Cc4r 199 on me, and though ſhe could marry no other, yet she would not performe it with me, this greeved me, and ſo much was I vexed with the teller of this to her, as to begin, I could have found in my heart to kill him; but what would that availe? She was angry, and wilfull in her reſolution, and being Princeſſe of that Iland, I had but a ſmall party there, to force her to performe her word, and faith ingaged; yet thus farre I brought it, I undertooke to carry her picture through all Greece, and Italy, and Juſt with all, that would venture their Miſtreſſes Pictures againſt mine, if I overcame, I was to have her inſtantly upon my returne, and all their Pictures, as my gaine to preſent her withall, only I excepted, Amphilanthus and Ollorandus whom I had before beene ſo much ingaged to. Shee was contented with this, and ſo I tooke my way; Moſt of Greece I have paſſed, and all good fortune hath yet attended me, never receiving the worſt of any, but I muſt confeſſe, my Deſtiny hath yet held mee, from meeting the renowne of Knighthood, the three Brothers, and their Companions; the laſt I mett withall, was a Romanian Knight, and he brought, as aſſured gaine, this Ladies, the Princeſse Antiſsia, but hath courteouſly left her to grace the other Ladies; Now Sir, my humble requeſt to your Majeſtie is, that I may have permiſsion to try my fortune here.

The King roſe up, and embraced him, giving him welcome, and liberty; ſo did Amphilanthus, Parſelius, Steriamus, Ollorandus, and laſtly, Dolorindus came unto him, but not with ſo loving a countenance, for he was reſolved to encouter him, ſo much had the reſemblance of Antiſsia wrought on his minde; then the King deſired to have the orders of the Juſts proclaimed, which were, That no man muſt come into the Field to Juſt, without his Ladies Portraiture. That if he were overcome, hee must leave it behinde him, as his ſigne of loſſe. That he muſt not offer to defend that with the Sword, which he loſt with the Launce. That they were to runne ſix courſes, if done equally, to continue till the Judges decided it. And laſtly, if the Challenger were overcome, the Defendant had free liberty to diſpoſe of all the Pictures before conquerd; this being done, for that night they parted, Polarchos to his Tents, which were ſet up at the end of the Liſts, being infinit rich, and beautifull. The princes brought him thither, though faine they would have had his company in the Court, but that was contrary to her command, who he muſt wholly obey.

The morning come, there aſſembled all the Court, the Judges were the foure firſt named Princes, then came in the Prince of Milan, attended on, like himſelfe, two Knights of Milan carrying his Ladies Picture, which was, indeede, as lovely as any could be, but browne of complexion, Daughter ſhee was to the Duke of Florence, and who at that time he was extreamely paſsionate, of being to be his wife, within fewe weekes after; this Prince ranne finely with an excellent grace, and delicate Horſemanſhip; but Polarchos had runne with Amphilanthus, with equall ſtrength, for ſome courſes, wherefore this young Prince muſt be contented to leave his picture behinde him, which he did at the fourth courſe, and thus did his misfortune bring in many, for that day he gain’d ſeven to the number of his Victories, & the ſecond day, almoſt as many. Now was he to ſtay but ſixe daies in every Kings Court, not as long as he found Knights to Juſt with, but thoſe Cc4v 200 thoſe that would, muſt within that time doe it, or not elſe. The third day he had but few, by reaſon the Knights were unprovided, but the fourth and fift, he had enough to doe, to conquer ſo many as came. The ſixt day, there entred a Knight in gold armour, his plumes, furniture to his horſe, liveries all yellow and gold, ſo as he was called the jealous Knight; before him was carryed the picture of Antiſsia, so he came to the Judges as the cuſtome was, but they refus’d him liberty, ſaying, that ſince the Princeſſe had beene once before brought in, it was not lawfull to bring her againe, ſince ſo it runne to infinitneſſe; yet he much urging, and the challenger beeing as curteous, as valerous, conſented on this condition, that this ſhould be the laſt example, ſo they parted, and encountred with great force, and fineneſſe, the yellow Knight had a while the worſe, but hee recoverd himſelfe prettily wel again, and brought it to that paſſe, that in five courſes, there was little advantage; but then Polarchos knowing his concluſion was neere an end, like a man that in earneſt, deſird to win his Ladyes love, encounterd him, and ſtroke him flat on his backe, paſsing only with the loſse of his ſtirrops, ſo the honour was given him, and the other unknowne, got away as hee came, but with ſomewhat leſſe reputation, yet no ſhame; ſince he did beſt of forty that Juſted of that Court.

Thus the Juſts had end, and Polarchos with much honor, was brought into the Court, wher he continued ſome daies, & having now finiſhed his charge departed for Rhodes, with all lovely triumphant trophies. At Rhodes he was received kindly of all, except his miſtris, who examining al that he had done, and finding none of the famous women among them, told him that thoſe were nothing to her, unleſse he had brought Pamphilias, Uranias, Selarinas, and Limenas pictures, or that he had overthrowne, Parſelius, Roſindy, Steriamus, Selarinus, Periſſus, Leandrus, or ſuch Knights, looking with ſo deſpightfull a contempt on him, as it a new moved his paſsions, into a ſtill continuing hate, for he ſeeing this, and all his labour no more eſteemd, grew to abhorring that, which before he ſought, and ſcorne, what he ador’d. Is all my labour (ſaid he) requited thus? the travells, the hazards I have runne into, rewarded with this ſlightneſſe? Farewell, fond unworthy woman, and when Polarchos next ſeekes thee, uſe him thus; now I hate thee, and will no more ever ſee thee, or thinke of thee, if not with ſcorne. With that hee flung out of her preſence, and ſtraight went to his lodging, where he meant to ſtay that night onely, and the next day take his journey homeward, but he was thus prevented; for ſhe ſeeing his minde alter’d, and how like ſhe was to fall into this loſſe, ſhe call’d her truſtieſt ſervants to her, and gave them charge how to fulfill her commands, which they accompliſh’d; for in the dead time of the night, when hee ſlept ſecure from Love paſsions, which were wont to hold his eyes open, and buſie his ſoule, hee now freed from them, enjoyed quiet reſt, till he was diſturb’d by the rude ruſhing in of certaine men into his Chamber, who taking him unprovided, layd hold of him, and binding him with cords, and yron chaines, carried him into a ſtrong towre, which was on the topp of the Caſtle, the windowes bard thicke with yron, nothing elſe to keepe Sunne or cold from him, no bed but the hard floore, nor meate, but bread and water.

Thus he liv’d a while, true ſpectacle of misfortune, in unfortunate love, thoſe Dd1r 201 thoſe hands that lately defended her beauty, now bound for maintaining ſo falſe a ſhadow, and all the honour he gaind for her, turnd to diſdained hate, ſurely a juſt puniſhment, when worth carries a ſword againſt worth to defend the oppoſite, Poore Polarchos, into what affliction art thou brought? how will thy friends lament thy misfortune, and redreſſe thy wrongs, if they may attaine but the knowledge of it? but thus thou muſt yet continue tortured for thy too great goodneſſe.

Amphilanthus having now recoverd his ſtrength pretily well, came unto his father one day, telling him what promiſe he had made unto his coſin, the Queene of Pamphilia, to conduct her home, and therfore beſought his leave to depart, and alſo permiſsion for Urania’s going; beſides, Steriamus was now to proceed in his buſineſſe concerning the recovery of his kingdome; theſe he ſaid, and no other ſhould have carried him from his preſence. This indeed was true, and ſo gaind he the libertie he demanded, though with hearty grief to part with them: the Queene was alſo ſorry, for he was their deareſt child; yet his honour was more deare to them. Then tooke he leave of all the court, and, and with his brave companions, and ſweet Urania, tooke ſhipping for Morea. Periſſus having all this while continued in Arcadia with the King, faine would take leave of them, but the happy newes of their arrivall did ſtay him. If the Morean King were upon this, even raviſhed with joy, none can blame him, ſince he had at that time the whole worth of the world in his preſence. Pamphilia never more contented, having her two deareſt brothers with her, whither alſo ſoone came Philarchos to fill up their joyes, bringing with him his beautifull, and chaſtly loving Orilena; all were full of comfort, all comforted with this happineſſe: bravery of Knighthood ſhin’d there, the onely beauty of vertue, and vertuous beautie was there aſſembled. As thus the Court was floriſhing in glory, deſpiſing any ſorrow, a ſad ſpectacle cald them one morning a little to compaſſion, a Lady in mourning attire, attended on with numbers of Knights and Ladies likewiſe in that habit, came into the Hall, the Ladies face covered with a blacke Vaile; next to her followed an other Lady, carrying a moſt ſweete and dainty child in her armes, ſhee comming to the State, did not kneele downe, but threw her ſelfe at the Kings feete, crying out with ſuch pitifull moane, as all hearts did joyne as in love to condole with her.

Long it was before ſhee could bring forth any thing; at laſt, O my Lord (ſaid ſhe), as ever you had compaſsion of an afflicted creature, verifie it in favour ſhewed to mee. I am a Lady, and a miſerable ſoule, forlorne by fortune, and my love: I was reſolute, but alas, what woman can ſee my yeeres, and ſtill continue ſo? I was deceived, and am, and this now grieveth me. Aſſiſt me gratious Prince, it is alone in you to redreſſe my harme: then doe it, and doe it to her, who ſuffers by your bloud.

The King was amazed, not beeing able to gueſſe at the busineſſe; yet taking her up, deſired to know more of it, promiſing his beſt power and aide in it. The buſineſse then my Lord (ſaid ſhee) is this: I am diſhonoured if you helpe not; one of your Knights travelling in ſearch of a friend of his, unfortunately (for mee) lighted on my houſe, where I with civility, and courteous manner intertaind him: ſo well hee liked the place (and then my ſelfe) as hee never ceaſed continuall importunity, Dd woing Dd1v 202 woing, and ſparing no meanes to win his end, till hee procured this end for me: yet being chaſtly bred, and honouring vertue above all reſpects, or paſſions, I would not conſent till he married me: then wee kept together some times, he leaving all other courſes, contented to obſcure himſelfe, his name and eſtate, to be in my armes; happineſſe to me like aſſurance of heaven, for as heaven I lov’d him, and would not refuſe any danger, his love might expoſe me unto. But he having enjoyed his deſires, and ſeeing I had no hidden beautie more for varietie to delight him with all, hee left mee with a faigned excuſe, never ſince having ſo much as looked after me, or let me know hee liv’d. What torment this was to me (Great King) conſider? but moſt, finding my ſelfe with child; then came the hazard of my honour in mind, the danger of my diſgrace, the ſtaine I might bring to my houſe: for few will believe us, poore women, in ſuch extremity, but rather will increaſe our infamy. What paine ever was ſuffered by woman, I indur’d in ſoule and body, till the time of my delivery came, when God ſent me this babe: having gaind ſome little ſtrength, I left my Country, and hither am I come unknowne to any, humbly to crave your favour; one of your Knights hath done me this abuſe, and therefore from your hands I implore right.

Sweete Lady (ſaid the King), I pitie much your fortune: but tell mee who this Knight is, and I vow he ſhall not ſtay in my Court, or favour, if hee doe not before me ſatisfie you, ſo as this can be verified againſt him.

Sir (ſaid ſhe) if one of theſe words I have ſpoken bee falſe, let ſhame, and perpetuall loſſe requite me: no Sir, I have ſpoken onely truth, and deſire but to be juſtified; yet wiſh I not ſo great an ill to befall him, for God knowes my ſoule is purely his, loving him as it ſelfe, and but for him, would have ſo much tried the ſincereneſſe of it. Then call (I beſeech you) your Knights together, and of them demaund, what they will alot me; I will be diſpoſd of by your ſelfe and them, for juſtly may I put my ſelfe to you, ſince he is no other that hath abuſed me, but your owne ſonne, the winning and forſaking Parselius.

The King at this grew infinitely troubled, not knowing what to ſay, or doe in it; at laſt he cald his ſonne, who was all this while talking with Leandrus about Pamphilia: he comming to him, the king demanded of him, if he would upon his Honour, reſolve him directly of one thing he would demand; nay more, he charged him on his bleſsing, not to conceale that from him which he was to aske. He vow’d, nothing ſhould make him anſwere falſe. Then tell me (ſaid hee), have you a child, or are you married to any without my knowledge? He fell ſtraight on his knees; If ever (cry’d he) I gave my word to marry any, or had any child by any, let Heaven (bleſse you, ſaid the Lady, staying him from further proceeding). Vow not (ſaid ſhe); for never knew I man but you, and you are husband to me, and father to this babe. Her voyce he then began to know, yet being impoſsible (as hee thought) for Dalinea to come hither, he deſired to ſee her face. Nay (said ſhe), firſt promiſe to bee juſt before your father, and this royall preſence, confirme what privately before only ſhee you vow’d in ſacred marriage. What did I vow (ſaid he) I never will deny: then royall Father (ſaid hee) heare mee with patience and favour; and yet before I ſpeake, call Leandrus hither: ſo he was cald, when Parſelius with eyes fild with teares thus began. Wretch that I was, wandring Dd2r 203 wandring in ſearch of my friend Amphilanthus (as I pretended, but indeede that onely was not my voyage), I fell into the confines of Achaya, where I met Berlandis, who came to ſeeke me from his Lord, and to intreat my company in finiſhing the warre for Antiſsius; I conſented: but paſſing through that Country, I chanced to come to the Caſtle of Dalinea, your faire and vertuous Siſter; her I fell in love withall, forgot all former vowes, and truths in love; her I ſought, flatter’d, wept to, proteſted what loves art could instruct me in: but all in vaine, vertue in her was a ſtrong rocke againſt my vehement ſuite, till at the laſt pitie procured reward; to me ſhee granted, on the making her my wife: I did that willingly, and as my only happineſſe. But long I had not thus enjoyed her, but one ſad night I dream’d of my firſt Love, who furiouſly revild me for my change, then ſent revenge in ſcorne, and worſt contempt. I waked diſtracted; ſhee, deare ſhee, my wife was grieved with my paine, asked the true cauſe, complaind with me, griev’d with mee, wept with me, who wept to couſen her; yet I was forc’d to it. At laſt I made a faignd excuſe, and by that meanes liberty to goe. From thence I parted, after loſt my Page, flying from all but ſadneſſe, which did live, fed by my ſorrow, preſſed with the heavieſt weight of ſoule-felt-mourning, I got unto the ſea, and ſo ſhipt and ſaild to St. Maura, where with an Hermit grave, and poore, I waſted out ſome time, till ſweet divine Urania was by her deare brother throwne into the ſea. I ſaw her fall, and heard her cry, farewell; I leapt unto her, and ſo came a ſhore by helpe of Steriamus, and his friend, good Dolorindus. Straight I found the good, for then all fortunes paſs’d in my croſs’d love; I quite forgot, nay, that I had e’re lov’d, ſo farre was paſsion from me; yet the love, chaſte love of Dalinea as my wife, I yet retaine, and onely ſhe doe I affect and love. This Sir is true, and humbly I aske pardon for my fault, which I had meant more privately to have confeſs’d; and you Leandrus pray now pardon me, your Siſter hath loſt nothing by this match, nor ſhall have reaſon to complaine of me, if true affection, and a loyall love, can merit loves requitall from her breaſt. I know ſhe lov’d me, and I love but her. For you ſad Lady, if you be not ſhe, you wrong your ſelfe extreamely; and I vow, that (but her ſelfe) I never yet did touch, nor ever will; then ſeeke another huſband, and a father for your child.

I’le ſeeke no other (anſwered ſhee), then take your loyall Dalinea to your ſelfe: and this was Dalinea, whoſe firme love, but violent, had brought her to that place, deſpairing of Parſelius and his love. Parſelius tooke her in his armes, and ſcarce could ſatisfie himſelfe with joy, to see his deareſt Dalinea. The King forgave them, and with fatherly affection wept, and kiſs’d her, and the babe: then did Leandrus embrace them both, ſhee asking pardon, and Parſelius too he did forgive, and ſo all were content. Urania as untouch’d with love or anger likewiſe welcomd her, ſo did all elſe; the mourning was caſt off, and all the joy expreſs’d, that clothes or Triumphs could produce: but Pamphilia admiringly beheld Urania and her Brother, at laſt, O love (ſaid ſhee), what ſtrange varieties are here? aſſuredly none but thy ſervants can let ſuch waverings poſſeſſe them; protect mee yet from such diſtreſſe, and let me be ordaind, or licenſed to be the true patterne of true conſtancy, and let my love be loyall to me.

Theſe paſsions oft did vexe her, and perplexe her ſoule, one day eſpecially Dd2 when Dd2v 204 when all alone in the Woods ſhee thus did complaine. Never at quiet tormenting paſsion, what more canſt thou deſire? What, covet that thou haſt not gaind? in abſence thou doſt moleſt me with thoſe cruell paines, in preſence thou tortureſt me with feare and deſpaire, then doſt burne with deſire to obtaine, yet ſealeſt up my lipps from diſcovering it; leave theſe contrarieties, and make me live peaceably, and ſo happily: ſcorch’d I am with heate of doubt, my hopes are burnd to aſhes, and onely the ſmoake of ſuſpition fuming of my whole ſelfe, now conſumed by this fire. Could I believe thoſe ſighes were for me? Could I hope his ſadneſſe proceeded from this ground? Could I thinke his lookes on me were love? Could I imagine, when hee provokes me to diſcourſe of ſuch like paſsions, it were to find my affections ſeate? I might then be ſo fortunate as to diſcover that, which hidden, ruines me: but paſsion, thy ends are onely to afflict, never to helpe; thou do’ſt ſtill worke againſt thy ſelfe, as if thine owne mortall enemy. What ill ſpirit but thy ſelfe, would find cauſes to hurt? what nurſe would not feede her babe rather with milke, then weane it, to ſtarve it, if not able elſe to ſuſtaine it? but you a cruell nurſe denie me foode, and famiſh mee with deſpaire, a leane living, and a miſerable fate; unnaturall this is to murder, what your ſelfe did breed; you bred me to this woe, will you forſake me now in neceſſitie? you have given me education, brought up in the learning of love; was it to be after condemned, for being ſo ill a ſcholler? or have I learnd now enough, and ſo muſt make uſe of it? Teach me a little more, and onely to know this, the Pelican lets out her bloud to ſave her young ones: but paſſion, you let mee with all your childrens affections pine and ſtarve; one drop of life-bloud, hope would cheriſh me, but hope abandons mee, and I remaine an unfortunate witneſſe of your tyrannies. Welcome my teares (cry’d ſhee) you are more tender and more kind, ſtriving to eaſe mee by your carefull meanes; then wept ſhe, ſigh’d, ſobd, and groand in her anguiſh; but when the ſpring had run it ſelfe even dry, ſhe roſe from off the graſſe, which a while had been her bed, when theſe extreameſt weights of heavineſse oppreſſed her: and to make her the trulier deliverd of her ſorrow, Amphilanthus came unto her, and ſtraight followed Urania and Limena. This brave Prince diſcernd her eyes ſome-what ſweld, whereat his heart did melt with pitie, and kindly askt the cauſe: ſhe that now might have had her wiſh, yet refuſd that happy proffer for her delivery; modeſty and greatneſſe of ſpirit over-ruling her, ſo as ſhee made a ſlight excuſe; and yet that enough to make him know, ſhe deſired not to reveale her ſecret thoughts. This taught him civilitie not to urge, that gave her time to know ſhe did amiſſe in being ſo ſecret, as lockt up her loſſe, in ſtead of opening her bleſſing. Then ſat they all downe together, Amphilanthus laying his head on Pamphilias Gowne, which ſhe permitted him to do, being more then ever before ſhe would grant to any: then fel they into diſcourſe of many things, and as all muſt come to concluſion, ſo they concluded with love, as the end of al ſweet pleaſure. Then variety of love came among thēem, I meane the diſcourſes in that kind, every one relating a ſtory, Urania was the laſt, and hers was this. In Italy as once I went abroad into ſome Woods, where a dainty river wantonly paſſed, it was my chance, walking up and downe, to call to mind the ſweete Iland wherein I was bred, and all thoſe pleaſant paſſages therein, ſo farre thoſe thoughts poſſest me, as they mooved ſadneſſe Dd3r 205 ſadneſse in me, and that, paſſion, and paſſion, attendance on that power; ſo as I threw my ſelf upon the ground, there a while remaining as in a trance, lulld into it by thoſe charmes. Awak’d I was out of this ſweete ſleepe by a voyce, which I heard moſt lamentably to complaine, ſadneſſe never being ſadder then in her; this brought mee to other of paſſions companions, deſire, and longing to aſsiſt that afflicted creature, who by the words was ſpoke, appeard a woman and a lover. I drew neerer to gaine a ſight if I could of her, when I perceiv’d her lie upon the earth, her head on the roote of a weeping willow, which dropped downe her teares into the Chriſtalline ſtreames, hanging part of her faire armes over it, to embrace it ſelfe in that cleare glaſſe. Shee lay betweene the body of that ſad tree, and the river which paſſed cloſe by it, running as if in haſte to carry their ſorrowes from them, but ſorrow in them had too ſure abiding: ſhee was in the habit of a Shepherdeſſe, which pleaſed me to ſee, bringing my eſtate againe in my mind, wherein I lived firſt, that had bin enough to call reliefe from me; wherefore I was going to her, when ſhe brake forth into theſe ſpeeches, being mixt with many ſighes, and fearefull ſtopps: Poore Liana (ſaid ſhee) is this thy fervent loves reward? have I got the hate of my friends, the curſe of my parents, and the utter undoing of my ſelfe, and hopes, to bee requited with falſhood? Alas unkind ſhepheard, what have I deſerved at thy hands, to be thus cruelly tormented, and undeſervedly forſaken? never can, or may any love thee better then I did, and doe, and muſt, though thou prove thus unkind. That word (unkind) brought a kind company of teares to ſecond it; which I ſeeing, ſtept unto her, who ſorrowfully, and amazedly beheld me, feare and griefe joyning together in her face, offering at firſt to have gone from me; but I would permit her to have her mind in that, no more then fortune would ſuffer her to enjoy; ſhe ſtaid, when I us’d theſe words: Seeke not to leave me, who have been pincht with theſe torments, having lovd, and ſomtimes wanted pity as much as you; ſhun not me experienced, ſince you cannot be better accompanied, then by me, who am not ignorant of ſuch paines, and have as much lamented abſence, as you can diſlike falſhood, but now I have gained freedome. Would all could find that cure (ſaid ſhe): but ſince you command, who ſeeme moſt fit to be obayd, I will not flee from you, nor had I at firſt offerd it, if not out of ſhame, to have my follies diſcoverd by any except wild places, and ſavage mountaines, as gentle and tender-hearted as my love. It is no blame (ſaid I) to love, but a ſhame to him, who requites ſuch conſtant and worthy love with no more reſpect; nor think you do amiſſe, or ſhal do, if you relate to me the whole ſtory of your (as you call it) ill fortune, ſince meanes are allow’d in al buſineſſes for redreſſe, and that you may chance to find here, at leaſt ſome eaſe, the very complaining giving reſpit from a greater ſorrow, which continual thinking, & plodding on, wil bring you. You ſhal have your wil (ſaid ſhe) and be by me denied nothing, ſince I ſee you governe or maſter Fate; and moſt I am ingaged to refuſe none of your commands, ſince I have once ſeene a face like yours, and no way inferior to your beauty, as much tormented, as I am now afflicted; her name was Urania, her dwelling in an Iland where I was borne, & my miſery for me, though the place is cald, the pleaſāant Pantaleria. I more curiouſly beholding her, called her to mind, having bin one of my beſt cōompanions; wherfore embracing her, I told her ſhe ſaid right, Dd3 and Dd3v 206 and that I was the ſame Urania, afflicted then for ignorance of mine eſtate, now known to be daughter to the King of Naples, but hers proceeding from love, I againe intreated the underſtanding of it: ſhe then roſe up, and with ſober, and low reverence ſhe began her diſcourse thus.

Moſt excellent Princeſs, poore Liana your ſervant, being (as you know) Daughter to the chiefe Shepheard of that Iland, who had the title of Lord over the reſt, being indeed a Noble man, and a great Lord by birth, in his owne Countrey, which was Provence; but miſery glorying to ſhew in greatneſſe, more then in meaner ſorts of people. It happ’ned ſo, as the Earle of Provence tooke diſlike with him, and that growing to hate, he ſo farre proſecuted his ſpight, as he ceaſed not till he had undone him, (an eaſie thing for a Prince to compaſſe over a Subject.) Then having nothing left him but life, and misfortune, hee left his Countrey, ſeeking to gaine ſome ſolitary place to ende his daies in, he happened into that ſweet Iland, and (as you have heard I am ſure very often) with his few friends, that would not forſake him, elſe left by fortune, inhabited in it, and call’d it by his name; nor did I till after your departure, know my Father to be other then the chiefe Shepheard. But my misfortune brought that knowledge, and makes me deſire a ſpeedy end; for thus it was. I being his onely child, and ſo heire to all his eſtate, (which was great for a Shepherd) was by many ſought, iundeed moſt, if not all the young, and beſt Shepherds of the Countrey; thoſe youthes all ſtriving for me, made me ſtrive how to uſe them all alike, and ſo I did likeing none, but courteouſly refuſing all, till (as every one muſt have a beginning to their miſery) there came a Shepherd, and a ſtranger he was in birth to that place, yet gained he a neerer, and choycer acquaintance with my heart, and affection, then any of our home-bred neighbours. He call’d himſelfe Alanius, and ſo if you have heard part of my diſcourſe, I am ſure you have already with that underſtood his name, being the head-ſpring to my calamitie; for, Alanius I affected, and onely lov’d; and to ſay truth, moſt deſperatly did love him, (O Love, that ſo ſweet a name, and ſo honour’d a power, ſhould bring ſuch diſaſters;) ſecretly I lov’d ſomewhile unknowne unto himſelfe, but not before his heart had made it ſelfe my priſoner, little imagining, mine had beene ſo much his ſubject. But ſo it continued, till his paine made him diſcover his love, and that pittie I held over his paine, mixed with mine owne affection, compelld me to yeeld to my misfortune; yet, was Alanius then worthy of my love, for hee loved me, and I muſt ever love him ſtill, though he be falſe. Falſe, murdering word, which with it ſelfe carries death, and millions of tortures joyned with it; yet thou art ſo, and I unfortunate to call thee ſo, elſe no worth wanted in thee. But this is too ſadd a relation, I will proceed with the continuance of our Loves; which was for a pretty ſpace, when another, who had before Alanius his comming thither, ſought me for his wife, being of good eſtate, and of equall hope, to riſe in his fortunes, given to husbandry, and ſuch commendable qualities as Countrymen affect, and ſo it was my fathers minde to breed me too, and therefore had given his conſent, looking to the towardlineſſe of the man, and the great bleſsing hee had received, in more then uſuall increaſe of his ſtocke. Theſe were allurements to him, when Dd4r 207 while they were ſcarce heeded by me, the riches I looked unto being fortune in our Loves, till one day, my Father call’d me to him, telling mee, what a match he had made for me, and not doubting of my liking, ſhewed much comfort which he had conceivd of it, and ſo went on with joy, as if the mariage had beene ſtraight to bee consummated. I was, truely, a little amazed withall, till he finding I made no anſwere, pulling me to him, told mee, hee hop’d my ſilence proceeded from no other ground, then baſhfulneſſe, ſince he aſſur’d himſelfe, I would not gaineſay what he commanded, or ſo much as diſlike what he intended to doe with me, wherefore hee would have mee joyne my dutifull agreement to his choice, and order my love to goe along with his pleaſure, for young maides eyes ſhould like onely where their Father liked, and love where he did appoint. This gave me ſight to my greater miſchiefe, wherefore I kneeld downe, words I had few to ſpeake, onely with teares I beſought him to remember his promiſe, which was, never to force me againſt my will, to marry any. Will (ſaid he) why your Will ought to be no other then obedience, and in that, you ſhould be rather wilfull in obeying, then queſtion what I appoint; if not, take this and bee aſſured of it, that if you like not as I like, and wed where I will you, you ſhall never from me receive leaſt favour, but be accompted a ſtranger and a loſt childe. Theſe words ran into my ſoule, like poyſon through my veines, chilling it, as the cold fit of an Ague diſperſeth the coldneſſe over all ones body; for not being Alanius whom he meant, it was death to me to heare of marriage, yet deſirous to ſeeme ignorant, and to be reſolvd, who it was, I deſired to know, who it was it pleaſed him to beſtow upon me. Hee reply’d, one more worthy then thou canſt imagine thy ſelfe deſerving, then naming him; that name was like a Thunder-bolt to ſtrike my life to death, yet had I ſtrength, though contrary to judgement, to doe this. I kneeld againe, and told him, that if he pleaſe to kill me, I ſhould better, and more willingly embrace it, elſe, unleſſe he did deſire to ſee me wretched, and ſo to conclude my daies in miſery, I beſought him to alter his purpoſe, for of any man breathing I could not love him, nor any, but. That But, I ſtaid withall, yet he in rage proceeded: But, cryd he, what, have you ſetled you affections elſe where? Who is this fine man hath wonne your idle fancie? Who hath made your duty voide? Whoſe faire tongue hath brought you to the fouleneſſe of diſobedience? Speake, and ſpeake truely, that I may diſcerne what choice you can make, to refuſe my fatherly authoritie over you? I truely trembled, yet meaning to obey him, as much as it was poſsible for me to doe, in my heart, loving the expreſſion of dutie, I told him it was Alanius. Alanius, a trimme choice truely (ſaid he) and like your owne wit, and diſcretion; ſee what you have done, chooſe a man, onely for outſide; a ſtranger, and for any thing we know, a run-away from his countrey, none knowing him, nor himſelfe being able to ſay, what he is? I weeping implor’d a better opinion of him, ſince I aſſured my ſelfe, that if I could come to the bleſſing of enjoying him, all happineſſe in this world would come with it, elſe deſird he would wedd me to my grave, rather then to any, but Alanius, whom onely I did, or could love, and one whom I had not placed my affections upon alone, but life, and all hope of comfort. How he was Dd4v 208 was moov’d with this (alas ſigh’d ſhee) imagine you, truely ſo much, as (being by nature cholericke) I verily thought, he would have kill’d me, his eyes ſparkled with furie, his ſpeech was ſtopp’d, ſo as not being able to bring foorth one word, he flung out of the roome, locking mee faſt up for that night, without hope, or comfortable company, but my owne ſorrow, and teares, which never left me; and thoſe were more pleaſing to mee, when I ſaid to my ſelfe, thus doe I ſuffer for Alanius. The next morning he ſent one of his ſervants to me, a young Ladd who he loved me well, (but was faſter tied in ſervice to your command, ſaid ſhe to me, once overjoy’d, when you ſent him to attend a Knight, and after your going away, alſo left that Iland, whether to ſeeke you, and ſo to ſerve you, or hating the pooreneſſe of that place when you were abſent,) but this youth being ſent by my Father, to know if I continued in the ſame diſobedience, I was in the night before, I ſent him word, that I ſhould hate my ſelfe, if my conſcience ſhould ever be able to accuſe me of ſuch an offence; but true it was, my love continued as firme, and unremovable to Alanius, as it did: for alas, what can change a conſtant heart, which is fixed like Deſtiny? I could not let any thing come neere me, which might be miſtruſted to lead one piece of change, or carry one ragg of it abroad, my heart like the Woole the briars catch, torne, and ſpoil’d, rather then pull’d from it. O intolerable ſervitude, where faſt holding is a loſſe, and looſing a gaine, yet rather had I loſe, while I keep vertuous conſtancie. With the anſwer I gave, return’d the youth, wherupon without ſeeing me, he ſent me to a Siſters houſe of his to bee kept (and ſorry I am, I muſt call her his Siſter, or keepe this memory of her, for a more divelliſh creature never liv’d) there I was halfe a yeare, without meanes to let Alanius know of my impriſonment; he ſought (guided by love) for mee, but having no truer a director found me not, till one day comming with his Flocks, as hee was accuſtomed to doe, into the faire Plaine, where we were wont to meet, he mett this Ladd, who ſeeing him ſadd, asked what he ayl’d. Alanius replide, how can he chooſe but mourne, whoſe heart is kept from him? Indeed (ſaid he) I cannot blame you having ſuch a loſſe, and yet ſure you have a heart in place of it, elſe could you not live to feele, and diſcover the want of yours; but did you know what tormenting ſorrow ſhe feeles for you, you would yet be more perplexed. Wretch that I am (cryed he) can ſhee bee tormented, and for me? and live I to heare of it, without redreſſing it? Yet what talke I (foole that I am?) Can my cries ayde her? Can the baying of my Lambes aſsiſt her? Can my poore Flocke buy her freedome? Can I merit her releaſe? Or can, indeed, my ſelfe thinke I am worthy, or borne to ſuch bleſſedneſſe, as to releeve her, vext, and harm’d for me? What power haſt thou but over thy teares to flow for her? What aſsiſtance, but ſheepe, innocent, as thy ſelfe, and loyall paſsion? What Armes but thy Sheepe-hooke, which can onely catch a beaſt, while thou (unworthy creature) art not able to helpe her? The pooreſt thing can aſsiſt a friend of the ſame kinde, but thou canſt neither helpe her, nor thy ſelfe, worſt of things created; end, and rid the World of such corruption, for why ſhould I breath, if not to ſerve Liana? You may ſerve her, and relieve her, ſaid the youth, if you will heare, and but take adviſe: and more will I doe for you, then Ee1r 209 then I would for any other, ſince I find you love her (as indeed you ought to doe). Then be ſatisfied thus farre (if you will truſt me, who will never be but true), I will tell you where ſhe is, and give you all aſſiſtance towards her delivery. She is in yonder houſe, upon the top of that hill, which ſhewes it ſelf as boldly boaſting in the cruelty is committed there, by warrant of a cruell father: with her Aunt ſhe is (yet ſtill your Liana) ſo cloſe kept, as none, ſave my ſelfe, may ſee her, who from her fathers viſits her once a day, though not for love that he ſends, but to trie, if by his unfatherly tortures, ſhee may bee wrought to leave loving you: but ſo much he failes in this, as it is impoſsible by famine to make one leave to wiſh for food, but rather with the want, to increaſe the longing to it: which he ſeeing, threatneth the forſaking her. Oft have I carried this meſſage, and as oft returnd ſorrowfull, receiving his doome, but direct deniall to his demaunds; and truly it hath even griev’d my ſoule, to ſee how terribly ſhe hath been perplext and handled, by thoſe rude and merciles executors of his will, who can no way alter her, if not to blame them for their curſtnes, who never was but mild to them, and this morning did I ſee her, when ſhe uttered theſe words. Alas (ſaid ſhe) unhappy Liana; how art thou afflicted for thy conſtancy? yet this tell my father, his kind commands had more wrought in me, then his cruelty, yet neither againſt my loialty in love; but now ſo hardned I am againſt paine, with uſe of paine, as all torment, and millions of them added to the reſt, ſhall have no power to move, the leaſt in my affection to unworthy change, for then ſhould my ſoule ſmart, as onely now my body is ſubject to theſe torments. This I told truly to my Maſter, who nothing was mov’d by it, but to more rage, ſending another of my fellowes to his ſiſter, conjuring her, that ſince neither perſwaſions, not the begun tortures would prevaile, ſhe ſhould uſe any other means, with what affliction ſhe could to alter her, ſparing none (ſo her limmes were not harmd by them) which no doubt ſhall bee executed. Wherefore you muſt thinke ſpeedily to aide her, who indures for you, ſtill resolud to beare miſery for you; and aſſure your ſelf ſhe wil indure al can be laid upon her, rather then faile in one title to you, or Loves fealty; and no way I know more ſure and ſpeedy, then to write her a letter, which I will deliver, and therein let her know, the true and conſtant affection you beare her (which will bring ſole comfort to her dolefull heart), and that (if ſhe wil venture) to bring her ſelfe to happines in freedom, and to make you mutually contented, ſhe muſt meet you in the little wood, next below the houſe, where you will not faile her, & carry her from theſe miſeries into all delight and pleaſure. Ah my deare friend (ſaid he), how haſt thou bound me by thy friendſhip, and loving care to us both? but how canſt thou performe this? If that be all (ſaid he) let mee alone, nor take you care, for it ſhall be my charge, which I will honeſtly diſcharge, and deliver it with mine owne hands, as if it came from her father, which ſhall be the meanes to have the roome private for our diſcourſe: what ſhal then hinder me, from diſcovering your deſires, and her happines? This agreed upon, they parted for that time, the youth to his flock, Alanius to his pen & paper, that evening meeting again, according to appointment; and then leaving Alanius to prepare al things ready againſt my cōomming, to cōonvey me to the next town, there to be maried, himſelf comming to me, leaving the falſ ſhepherd, who fairly like the falſeſt betraier of blis, promiſed to be in readines for us: the honeſt lad did his part, telling my aunt that he was to ſpeak Ee with Ee1v 210 with me preſently, and in great private. She miſtruſting little (and glad to let any of my fathers men ſee how circumſpectly ſhe kept his orders), brought him up, inſtantly after, ſhe had afflicted me with iron rods. When I ſaw the Youth, Alas (ſaid I), are you come with more torments? for pities ſake let me now have an end, and take my life, the beſt and laſt prize of your tirannies. His anſwer was, he could not alter his Maſters will, nor be a meſſenger of other, then he was intruſted with all, as hee was with a ſecret meſſage unto me; wherefore intreating mine Aunt, and the reſt by, to leave the roome, they left us together; they gone, and wee free from danger, he began thus: Thinke not ſweet Liana that I am now come with any matter of griefe, but with the welcome tidings of the long deſir’d bliſſe of enjoying, if you wil not your ſelfe marre your owne content. Is it poſsible (cry’d ſhe) that I can live to ſee happineſſe? Reade this (ſaid he), and then tell me, whether you may reſolve to be happy or no, or ſo refuſe it. I tooke the letter, and with exceſſive joy(ſaid ſhee) I opened it, finding in that his firmeneſſe: for what was there wanting, which might content me? loyalty profeſsed in large proteſtations, affection expreſſed in the deareſt kind, and sweeteſt manner; beſides a meanes for our happineſſe moſt of all believed, and ſought. What can you imagine then Madam (ſaid ſhe) that I did? I kiſt the letter, wept with joy, too ſoone fore-telling the greater cauſe, which for his ſake I ſuffered, teares prooving then but ſlight witneſſes for my far deeper ſuffering; when I found all this contrary, and my Alanius falſe, the heavens I thought would ſooner change, and ſnow lie on Ætna, then he would break his faith, or be ungratefull to me, who then for him ventured life and fortunes; for, to fulfill his deſire, I went with the Youth, cald Menander, having gotten ſuch things as were neceſſary for my eſcape, aſsiſted by a maid in the houſe, who much pitied my eſtate, but more loved Menander, who made uſe of it that night for my benefit. In a diſguiſe which he had brought thither, under colour of neceſſaries, we left the houſe, and soone arriv’d at the appointed Grove, which was at the Hilles foote. All the way feare poſſeſſed me, leſt I had too long ſtaid, and ſo given him cause of unkindnes, that I no faſter haſted to him, who alone could truly give me life in comfort, and deſire to see him, made me accuſe my ſelfe of long tarrying, eſpecially when I ſaw him there; but what ſaw I with that? death to my joy, and martirdome to my poore heart: for there I ſaw him in anothers armes, wronging my faith, and breaking his made vowes. I ſtood in amaze, not willing to believe mine eyes, accuſing them that they would carry ſuch light to my knowledge, when to bring me to my ſelf, or rather to put me quite from my ſelfe, I heard him uſe theſe ſpeeches: It is true; I lov’d Liana, or indeed her fortune, which made me ſeeke her; but in compariſon of thee, that affection borne to her, was hate, and this onely love, rather eſteeming my ſelf happy in enjoying thee, and thy delights, then if endowed with this whole Iland. What is riches without love (which is in truth the only riches)? and that doe I now poſſeſſe in thee. Theſe words turnd my amazednes to rage, crying out; O falſe and faithleſſe creature, beaſt, and no man, why haſt thou thus vildly betrayd thy conſtant Liana? Hee looking up, and perceiving me, and his fault, ſaid nothing, but as faſt as guiltines ſtor’d with ſhame could carry him, hee fled, his delight (or wanton) following him, which way they tooke, when out of the Grove, I know not, nor the honeſt Lad, who would not leave mee, bearing part with mee in griefe, and Ee2r 211 and I with him of ſhame, infinitely moleſted, that hee was made an inſtrument in my betraying. When I had endured a little ſpace (like a Cabinet ſo fild with treaſure, as though not it ſelfe, yet the lock or hinges cannot containe it, but breake open): ſo did the lock of my ſpeech flie abroad, to diſcover the treaſure of my truth, and the infiniteneſſe of his falſhood, not to bee comprehended, Paſſions grew ſo full, and ſtrong in mee, I ſwounded, and came againe to feele and increaſe miſery: hee perſwaded, I was willing to heare him, who I ſaw had been in goodneſse to me, coſned as I was. We left the Grove (accurſed place, and in it my cauſe of curſes) comming into a faire meadow, a dainty wood being before it, and another on the ſide of it; there did my unfortunate eies againe meete with Alanius, unlucky encounter where I ſaw ſuch falſhood, which yet boldly venturd towards mee, hee running with greateſt haſte after me, but ſending his voyce before him, conjuring me by the love I bare him, to heare him, calling mee his Liana: but as I ſaw him, ſo did his error appeare unto me, and yet did griefe rather then hate hold the glaſſe to me; for though he had neglected, and deceived me, and ſo forsaken my truth, to joy in the looſe delights of another, yet I mournd that he was deceitfull, for (God knowes) I love him ſtill. I fled from him, but ſent my hearts wiſhes for his good to him, like the Parthian arrowes, which by his cries ſeemd to wound him, and my words (though few) to ſtrike him, which as I ran from him, I threw back to him; It is true, I was yours, while I was accounted ſo by you; but you have cut the knot, andand I am left to joine the pieces againe in misfortune, and your loſſe of love: all happineſse attend you, the contrary abiding in me, who am now your forſaken, and ſo, afflicted Liana. With this I got the Wood to ſhelter me, and the thickeſt part of it, at my petition to grant me ſuccour, coveting now the greateſt shade to hide me from him, to whom, and into thick ſhades, I lately ran. In this manner I liv’d a while there, never ſeeing company, or light, but againſt my will, ſtill haunting the privateſt places, and ſtriving to gaine the ſea, which ſoone after I obtaind, getting the opportunity of a youths paſsing into Italy, who had ſought Periſſus, to bring him notice of his Uncles death, the King of Sicily; with him I paſſed, and ſo came into this country, where ever ſince I have romingly endured, never in any one place ſetled. The youth Menander and I, parted at the ſea, he (I thinke) going to ſeeke his Maſter, or rather you, then did ſhee cloſe her ſpeech with multitudes of teares, which truly moovd mee to much compaſſion, beginning then to hold her deare to me. I perſwaded her to leave that life, and live with me, who would accompany her ſorrowes, rather then afflict her with mirth; and beſides, it might bee, in my company ſhee might gaine remedy for her torture. No remedy but death (ſaid ſhee) can I have, and too long (O me) have I ſought that; yet to obay you, I will abide ſome time here, and but here in theſe woods, beſeeching you not to urge me to the Court, when the pooreſt place, much better doth agree with my eſtate. I to enjoy her converſation, granted to any thing, concluding that I ſhould often viſit her, and ſo paſſe our times together in loving diſcourſe.

This, ſaid Amphilanthus, (by your favour ſweete ſiſter) prooves you love; the water it ſeemes, hath not ſo thorowly waſhed away your affection, but reliques remaine of the old paſſion.

No truly deareſt brother (ſaid ſhee) all thoſe thoughts are cleane droun’d; Ee2 but Ee2v 212 but yet; I will goe on with my ſtory. Doe deare Siſter (ſaid he) and begin againe at (But yet). She bluſht to find he had taken her, and yet daintily proceeded. That promiſe moſt religiouſly was kept betweene us, every day viſiting my Shepherdeſse. But one day as we were together diſcourſing and walking in the wood, we heard one not farre from us, ſadly to ſing an od kind of ſong, which I remember, getting afterwards the coppy of it, and if I bee not deceiv’d ſweet Coſin (ſaid ſhe) you will like it alſo; the ſong was this, ſpeaking as if ſhe had by him, and the words directed to her, as his thoughts were.

You powers divine of love-commanding eyes, Within whoſe lids are kept the fires of love; Cloſe not your ſelves to ruine me, who lies In bands of death, while you in darkeneſſe move. One looke doth give a ſparck to kindle flames To burne my heart, a martyr to your might, Receiving one kind ſmile I find new frames For love, to build me wholly to your light. My ſoule doth fixe all thoughts upon your will, Gazing unto amazement, greedy how To ſee thoſe bleſſed lights of loves-heaven, bow Themſelves on wretched me who elſe they kill. You then that rule loves God, in mercy flouriſh: Gods muſt not murder, but their creatures nouriſh.

Pamphilia much commended it, which pleaſed Urania infinitely, touching (as ſhe thought) her one eſtate, while a proper ſong, and well compoſd: truly (ſaid Amphilanthus) is this to be ſo much liked? but my coſin only doth it to pleaſe you. No in truth, ſaid Pamphilia, it deſerves in my judgement much liking; he ſmild on her, Urania going on, you ſeeme Brother, ſaid ſhe, a little willing to croſſe me this day, but I will proceed in diſcourſe. The ſong (you are pleaſd to jeſt at) being ended, the ſame voyce againe did begin to lament in this manner: If ſcorne be ordaind the reward for true love, then I am fully requited? if firme affection muſt be rewarded with contempt, and forsaking, I am richly pay’d? but if these deserve a sweet payment, which alone conſiſteth in dear love, then am I injured, and none more cauſeleſly afflicted, or cruelly rejected? Love, ſuffer what thou wilt, faith indure all neglect, but ever be your ſelves pure and unſpotted. Unkind Liana, yet pardon me for calling thee ſo, ſince my heart grieves at that word unkind, yet give me leave to tell thee, I have not deſerv’d this puniſhment from thee, nor merited this rigor, if anothers offence may make me faulty, I am moſt guilty, els as free as my love ſtill is to thee, from blame, or thought of ſtaine in it: art thou not then unjuſt (ſweete Judge of all my harmes) to puniſh me without a fault committed: Pitie me yet, and recall the cenſure wrongfully given on me, condemned without a cauſe, and ſtill led on towards execution in daily torturestures Ee3r 213 tures without merit. Did any man die for anothers act? then I muſt alſo ſuffer that tiranny, elſe conſider, falſe judgement is a ſhame unto the Judge, and will lie heavy on his conſcience: call backe then e’re I die, this unmerited verdict, ſince my truth with-ſtands thy cruelty. I would with Liana have gone to ſee who this was that thus accuſed her, but that we heard him againe ſay ſome Verſes, which being concluded, we went to him; but as wee went, we heard another ſpeake unto him thus. Alanius, why doe you thus accuſe Liana, and torment your ſelfe with that, which were ſhee certaine of, ſhee would, and muſt pitie you? nor can you blame her for flying you, ſeeing as we both believed your unkindneſſe and foule error. Alas, ſaid Alanius, farre be it from me ever to blame her, nor can my ſoule permit me to love her leſſe, though ſhe were curſt; nay, were ſhe falſe, I yet ſhould love her beſt; but being by you aſſured of her truth, give me leave to blame her raſhnes, and curſe my owne ill fortune, and unluckie life, which gave, and gives ſuch diſlike and ſmart unto my dearer ſelfe, and my ſad daies. Liana now knew not what to doe, when ſhe was certaine this complainer was Alanius, and the other (as ſhe did imagine) Menander: but I willing to reconcile ſuch broken fortunes, made her goe towards him, accompaning her ſorrowes my ſelfe. When being neere him, and he looking up, perceiving her (without ceremony, or regarding me) ran unto her, and kneeling downe, cry’d out theſe words. Alas my deare Liana, what hath your unhappy ſlave Alanius deſerv’d to be thus pitileſſe tortured? heare but the truth, and before you raſhly cenſure me, conſider my great wrongs, which I ſtill ſuffer by miſtakes in you. Liana, who loved as much as he, and was as equally perplexed yet now a little more, if poſſible bearing her owne, and his ſorrow; for her affliction as being his, and cauſed by her, ſhe lifted him up from the ground, and with teares ſaid: Think not my Alanius thy Liana can be other to thee, then thou wilt have her be, yet blame me not directly for theſe things, ſince here Menander can reſolve thee of the cauſe. yet let that paſſe, and now bee confident, thy love hath ſuch command mee, as hadſt thou been (falſe ſhe would not ſay) as we imagined thy repentance, and thy loved ſight ſhould have deſtroyd all thoſe thoughts, where in offence might have been borne to thee, and ſo forgetfulnes in mee had governd with the memory of thy love. Then riſing, with a kiſſe the lovers reconcil’d themſelves, and caſt away their mourning: but the ſtory being ſtrange where on their miſtaking did ariſe, you ſhall heare that ſome other time.

Nay ſweet Urania (ſaid Amphilanthus) let us heare it now, where can we be better then here? what company ſo pleaſing, or dearer to us? If Pamphilia be agreed (ſaid ſhe) I will continue it. Take no care of me (ſaid ſhe), for believe it, I am never ſo happy, as when in this company; eyes then ſpake, and ſhee proceeded. Wee ſat then downe, and Alanius kneeling before us, began: The firſt part of my life (and the happy part I am ſure) this Shepherdeſſe hath related, and brought it to the full period of it, nay to the height of my miſery; wherefore I will begin with the ſucceſsion of that, and as I imagine where ſhee left, which was with her leaving mee in the plaine, or better to reſolve you of the deceit, with the night before wee were to meet; ſhe cōomming before me to the place appointed, ſaw (as ſhe imagined) my ſelfe her lover, wronging my love, and her: well, and ill for me ſhe Ee3 might Ee3v 216214 might conceive of it ſo, but thus in truth it was. There liv’d a Shepherd then, (and my companion he was) who bewitched with a young maydes love, that unluckily had plac’d her love on me, plotted to deceive her, and in my ſhape to winne, what his owne perſon could not purchaſe him; wherefore that (in that) unlucky night, he came unto my lodging, and ſtole away my clothes, I uſually on ſolemne dayes did weare; in theſe habits he went into the Grove, being ſo like in ſtature, ſpeech, and favor, as he oftentimes was taken, even for me. Knowing her walke in the evening, to be towards thoſe woods, in the Plaine he ſaw her, and followed her into the Grove, overtaking her, juſt in the ſame place appointed for our bliſſe; being a little darkiſh, ſhe miſtooke him, and hoping it was I, was content to be blinded: but wherein I doe moſt accuſe him, was, he uſed some words (to give her true aſſurance ’twas my ſelfe) concerning deare Liana. Theſe unhappily ſhee heard, and theſe, I muſt confeſse, gave full aſſurance of my faulſeſt fault. I cannot blame thee ſweet, love made thee feare, and feare inraged thee, and yet (my heart) thou mighteſt have heard thy poore Alanius ſpeak, yet, as this honeſt Ladd told me, thou didſt never hate my perſon, though condemne my diſloialtie, which in my greateſt miſery, gave yet ſome eaſie ſtopp unto my paine, and that thou didſt aſſure me of, for in all thy fury and flight, thou ſeemedſt to wiſh me bleſſ’d. She having made more haſt then I, came thither firſt, and ſo perceiv’d (as ſhee miſtruſted) my amiſſe. I following my firſt directions, likewiſe came, but in her ſtead, onely I diſcernd the footeſteps of a woman having gone in haſt; I had no thought, nor end of thinking but of Liana, fear’d ſome danger to her ſelfe, or harme which had enſued, as the night and unfrequented places might produce. Not dreaming on this harme, I followed thoſe steps, (for hers I knew they were, her foot ſo eaſie was to be diſcerned from any others, as a dainty Lambs from any other ſheepe) long had I not perſued, and even but newly in the meadow, when I did ſee my deare, but ſhe as much offended therewithall, as I was joyd at firſt, fledd from me, giving mee ſuch language, as my fate appear’d by that, to be undone. I cry’d to her, ſhee fledd from me, accuſ’d me, and yet did wiſh all happineſſe attend me; this was comfort in deſpaire. I followed ſtill, till I loſt, not my ſelfe, but my witts, growing as madd, and doing as many tricks, as ever creature diſtracted did or could committ.

From Pantaleria I got into Cicilie, in a boat taken up by a Pyrat, for a booty, but finding in what eſtate I was, he landed me at Naples. There I paſſed ſome time, where yet the fame lives of my madneſſe; diſtemper’d as I was, I fell in company with a loving Knight, (as ſince I underſtood by this my deareſt friend) who was in the next degree to madneſſ, loving overmuch, and with him came into this kingdome, where I have loſt him, but heere gained my friend Menander, who conducted me unto a vertuous Lady, skilfull in Phyſicke, who never left with curious medicines, and as curious paines, till I recover’d my loſt wits againe. Then being ſenſible (and moſt of my diſtreſſe) I tooke my leave, and with Menander, came unto this place, being directed by as ſadd a man, as I then was, now come againe to life by you, my deare forgiver, and my onely joy.

What man directed you ſo neere the Court, ſaid Liana? an unlikely place to Ee4r 215 to finde my ſorrow by. A poore, and miſerable Lover too, ſaid Alanius, who we found laid under a Willow tree, bitterly weeping, and bewailing the cruelty of a Shepherdeſſe who had unwillingly made her ſelfe miſtris of his heart. We went to him, to demand ſome things of him, which as well as griefe would ſuffer him, he anſwered us, but ſo ſtrangely, as appear’d, he deſired to ſpeake of nothing but his Love, and torture for it; telling us, that he was a man, whoſe Deſtiny was made to undoe him, loving one, who no griefe, teares, praiers, or that eſtate they held him in, could bring to pitty, having ſetled her love ſo much upon another, as ſhee hated all that ſought, (though for their good) to worke her thoughts to change.

By the diſcourſe, and deſcription, we ſoone found, it was no other then your ſweeteſt ſelfe, my deare Liana, that brought us hither, where wee are aſſur’d of you, and what we hoped for before; under that tree we left him, where he vowes to remaine while he hath life, and after, there to be buried, that being his bed, and then ſhall be his Tombe. Liana modeſtly denied the knowledge of any ſuch matter, ſo with much affection, and ſuch love, as I yet never saw the Image of the like; they welcom’d each other, hearts, eyes, tongues, all ſtriving to expreſse their joyes. Then did they returne with me to the Court, and were thoſe two ſtrangers, you deare brother, commended ſo in the Paſtorall. Menander I tooke to waite on mee, who confeſſ’d, hee had (as Liana told me) left Pantaleria to finde me, and now is hee here attending in my Chamber. This ſweet diſcourse ended, they roſe and went into the Court, the Princes liking this which ſo kindly concluded with enjoying.

But that being ſo bleſſed a thing, as the name is a bleſsing without the benefit, muſt be now in that kinde, onely bereft ſome, who deſerves the richest plenty of it. Ollorandus continuing in the Morean Court, newes was brought unto him of his Brothers death, by which hee was now Prince of Bohemia, and beſides deſired by his old Father to returne, that he might ſee him, if poſsible, before his death, which, both for age, and griefe of his Sons death, was likewiſe ſoone to befall him. The Prince met Amphilanthus juſt at his returne from the walks, having left the Ladies in their chamber, and was going to ſeeke him, to diſcourſe ſome of his paſsions to him, but he prevented him thus.

Moſt deare, and onely worthy friend, read this; I dare not beſeech your company from this place, but ſee my neceſsity, and ſo weigh my fortune; you know that I have beene enjoyned not to leave you, you know likewiſe, what good I muſt receive from you, when is that likely to come but now? Amphilanthus read a letter which he gave him, and thereby ſaw he was to accompany his friend, and leave his better friend (becauſe more deare) behinde. In great perplexitie he was, divided twixt two loves, and one to be diſſembl’d, yet he anſwer’d thus.

The happineſſe befalne to Bohemia in you, I joy for, and yet in compariſon of you, it is but little, your merits being more then that Kingdome can pay, or many anſwer; but are you reſolv’d to goe ſtraight thither? What needs ſuch a journey, ſince paſsion is ſtrongeſt at the firſt? and if it would have cauſd your Fathers death, that before now happened; never bee ſo doubtfull of his ſafety, but bee confident he is well, or if other, you may (time Ee4v 216 (time enough) goe thither: the Countrey ſo much loves you, as they will never let your abſence wrong you; the fame of your valour is ſuch, as none dare goe about to uſurpe your right: your cares then, thus may bee ſettled for home buſineſſes, and you reſolve to heare once more from your Countrey, before you goe thither. Your promiſes here infinitely ingage your ſtay. How will you anſwere the going your ſelfe, and carrying mee, (who I muſt not leave) from the ſuccour, you formerly promiſed Steriamus? The time growes on, and the Army will bee together within this moneth, ready to martch; beſides, his confidence is as much in you, and mee, as in a good part of the Troope, how can wee diſpence with this? Put it off I beſeech you, if you will favour us ſo much, and yet, thinke not I ſpeake this to deny going with you, or to ſhow unwillingneſse, but in truth, out of theſe reaſons.

And one more (deare friend) ſaid Ollorandus, the Queene Pamphilia I heare, is ſhortly to returne into her owne Kingdome, whither you promiſd to conduct her. That is true, ſaid Amphilanthus, yet I preferre my friendly reſpect to you before ſuch a ſervice, and to ſuch an one whoſe judgement is mix’d with that nobleneſſe, as ſhe will not binde one to anothers harme, to performe a complement to her; yet I muſt confeſſe it would grieve mee to faile her, who on my promiſe came hither from Cyprus, nor would I leave her unguarded, or guarded by any but my ſelfe, if not to goe with you; whoſe love, and company, I eſteeme above all mens, or any fortune.

My love, ſaid Ollorandus ſhall waite upon yours, equall it, I dare not ſay, my ſelfe being ſo much inferior to you in all perfections, as all parts of me muſt yeeld to you; but to my ability, mine ſhall approve it ſelfe, and ever be faithfull; but let me ſay this to you, that theſe reaſons are nothing to hinder me, your commands hath more force, and ever ſhall bee of power, to alter and rule my courſes. For Steriamus, I love him next to you, and above mine owne Kingdome, which elſe is moſt to me; if alone, that call’d upon me, I would ſtay: but I am ſummon’d by my Father, duty herein obligeth me, nor is there ſuch preſent neede of my going into Albania; it will bee a moneth, you ſay, before the Army be joyned, it may bee two, well then, How long will they be martching? Beſides, you have no certainety which way you muſt paſse: through Epirus, you ſhall not without fighting, the brave and faire Queene of that Countrey hath alreadie refuſed it, Wherefore I ſay, by that time every thing being ready, and the Army neere Albania, we may meet it, and come time enough to ſerve Steriamus. You ſaid, anſwered Amphilanthus, I had one reaſon more then I alleadged to you, but I will ſweare you want not another cauſe to invite you that way; muſt not I be favourd by you to ſee your Melyſinda, this is the kingdome you provide for, and this is the true ende of your obedience. If you have geſſed right, part then? Not ſo, ſaid Amphilanthus, I will goe with you, eſpecially if you entend to goe into Hungaria. I intend that, ſaid he, if I live; then muſt I break all appointments, and attend you: they embraced, and ſo parted, reſolving with all ſpeed to take their voyage. Ollorandus promiſing himſelfe much good in it, Amphilanthus heartily mourning; but the grave Meliſſea had coniur’d Ff1r 217 conjur’d them not to part, and therefore he muſt obey. When Supper was done, Amphilanthus and Selarinus, (according to their cuſtome) brought the Queene of Pamphilia to her Chamber, with whom Urania lay by her intreaty, and Selarina in the next roome, being then likewiſe there. When they were thither come, Amphilanthus countenance changed from the wonted manner of mirth, and excellent diſcourſe turn’d into ſilence, and ſighes: It made the Ladies ſadd to see it, and deſirous to know the cauſe, Urania therefore began to aske the reaſon of this alteration. Hee caſting his eyes with true ſadnes where his heart was priſoner, (Selarina ſtanding juſt before him) onely ſaid, that till that time he was never ſo afflicted. Whereby my Lord, ſaid Pamphilia, if I may aske the reaſon why, being with deſire to ſerve you, if my ſervice may avayle you? Alas Madam, ſaid he, it is in you to make me happy. Then can you never miſſe happineſſe, ſaid ſhe.

With that Urania and Selarinus, and his Siſter, left them together ſitting on the bed, they walking to the window, and finding their diſcourſe long, went into the next roome, which was a Cabinet of the Queenes, where her bookes and papers lay; ſo taking ſome of them, they paſſed a while in reading of them, and longer they would have done ſo, but that they heard excellent muſick, which cald them to hearken to it. It did conſiſte of Lutes and Voyces, and continued till the end of the diſcourſe betweene the matchleſſe Princes; which being finiſhed, they came to them, and Amphilanthus told them, hee was now at liberty to goe: To goe, whither (ſaid Urania)? a tedious, and unwilling voyage (ſaid hee), but Deſtiny will have it ſo; yet ſhall I goe better contented then I feard I ſhould have done, and yet with that more perplex’d, becauſe I goe. Some other ſpeeches paſsed, Urania extreamely bewailing his going, and more grieving, when ſhe knew the reſolution taken by Pamphilia alſo to depart. Theſe ſorrowes tooke away their attention from the ſong, and now being late, Amphilanthus and Selarinus tooke their leaves for that night, going downe a back-way through a Garden where this muſick was; being to paſſe by them, and unwilling to be ſeene, they threw their cloakes over their faces, and ſo purpoſed to paſſe. But the Maſter of that company hating any man that received favor from his Lady, when he wanted it (not imagining Amphilanthus had been one) rudely pull’d the cloake of Selarinus downe. Amphilanthus inſtantly drew his ſword, and ſtrake him on the head, the other likewiſe ſtruck, but they were parted quickly, and making no more noiſe, the offence giver knowing Selarinus retird, they paſſing on without more hinderance into their chambers. Amphilanthus come to his, indured the night with much impatiency, the day being as he thought ſpiteful to him, and therfore would not appeare; when ſhe did, he kindly forgave her ſtay, & inſtantly made himſelf ready to attend her. Into the Garden walks hee went, knowing the Ladies would not be long from thence; but wandring up and downe, as his thoughts were reſtleſſe, he came to the Willow tree, where Antiſsia found Pamphilia: under that he lay where not being long, he heard the voices of men, on that other ſide of the river, & hearkning a little, underſtood what they ſaid, & by their voices who they were. He marveled infinitly at the diſcourſe, whēen he found it was Leandrus whōom he had ſtruck, & was as ſory for it, as if he had willingly hurt his brother: but remēembring the maner, he knew he was not to be blamd, for the man who puld his friends cloake downe, had Ff drawne Ff1v 218 drawne his owne hat ſo low over his eyes, as although hee was able under it to ſee him, yet it hindred the diſcovery of himſelfe. Well Leandrus (ſaid he) thanke thy ſelfe for this; and though thou didſt offer the injury, I am ſorry for thee, and glad I did no more harme to thee. But the other purſuing their diſcourſe, he heard it reſolv’d, that if Pamphilia did refuſe him, he would uſe all meanes poſsible to win her by her friends, the laſt meanes he would uſe, ſhould be by Amphilanthus, who hee would intreate to be a mediator for him, if he denied, he might take unkindnes to him for it, if Selarinus married her, he might have a juſt quarrell to him for ſeeking her, when he was a profeſt ſuiter to her.

Theſe things troubled the Prince, and moſt to ſee ſuch ill nature in Leandrus, for the other he knew he ſhould have time enough to bee revenged of him at his pleaſure. Having heard thus much (and ſoone is enough found, when ill is diſcernd where goodneſſe ſhould be seene) he went back into the Woods, and there met Pamphilia, Urania, Roſindi, Steriamus, and Selarinus, comming together, and ſaying, they had ſent Philarchos to ſeeke him. He reply’d, thoſe Woods and walkes could give the onely account of him ſince day. Pleaſantly they paſſed a while together, when Parſelius and his Dalinea alſo came unto them, and paſsing downe towards the river, Amphilanthus turnd them backe, they wondring at it, but hee intreating them, they obayd. Surely (ſaid Roſindy) it is becauſe he will not ſee the place where hee had ſo great an injury done him, as to have me taken for him. Amphilanthus never having heard of that before, would not be denied, till hee had all the story, which the brother and ſiſter deliver’d to him.

And have you ſufferd (ſaid he) thus much for me? alas that I might live and be worthy to deſerve it. They then turnd againe towards the company, but the place being devided into many ſeverall walkes, the troope had devided it ſelfe, every couple having taken a different walke: which Roſindy ſeeing, and beſides perceiving Orilena comming alone; I will not ſure (ſaid hee) be out of faſhion, wherefore I will leave you two together, and take yonder Lady to walke with me; then were they wel placed; for Steriamus had Urania, Parſelius his Dalinea, Roſindy his siſter, and Selarinus was before gone in, to call forth Selarina.

Thus they paſſed the morning, and then returnd to dinner, where they found Leandrus full of diſcontent, but this company made him diſſemble it. After dinner the King call’d his daughter Pamphilia to him, telling her what an earneſt ſuiter Leandrus was to him for his conſent to have her in marriage, which he liked very well of conſidering his worth, and the fitneſſe of his eſtate, alleaging all the reaſons that a wiſe and carefull father could make unto himſelfe, or perſwade with, to a beloved daughter. To which ſhe humbly made this anſwere; That all thoſe things his Majeſty had ſaid, ſhe confeſſed to be true, and that he was worthy of the greateſt fortune the world had in a wife: but his Majeſtie had once married her before, which was to the Kingdome of Pamphilia, from which Husband ſhee could not bee divorced, nor ever would have other, if it might pleaſe him to give her leave to enjoy that happineſſe; and beſides, besought his permiſſion, for my Lord (ſaid ſhee) my people looke for me, and I muſt needs be with them. Why Ff2r 219

Why, ſaid the King, that is but as if it were a portion given you to your marriage? Not to Leandrus my Lord (ſaid ſhee) I beſeech you, for I cannot love him; nor can I believe he loves in me ought beſides my kingdome, and my honour in being your daughter; Antiſsia better fitteth him, who was appointed for him. The King knew ſhe had reaſon for what ſhe ſaid, and ſo aſsuring her, that he would not force her to any thing againſt her mind, though he ſhould be glad of the match, if it could content her, they fell into other diſcourſe, and then the King going in, the young Princes every one discours’d where they liked beſt. Amphilanthus was gone forth with Ollorandus, the reſt altogether; Selarinus comming to Pamphilia, and telling her what an accident happened to him the night before, when (ſaid he) I was likely to have been well knockt (but for Amphilanthus) for being honourd in your preſence ſo late. The Queene who bore diſlike enough before to Leandrus, was even inraged now againſt him, yet her diſcretion told her, the leſſe that were ſpoken of, the much better it would bee, wherefore ſhe ſaid little of it, but diſcourſed with Selarinus, as ſhe uſ’d to doe finely and plainely, being the man ſhe only truſted as a friend, and who indeed ever proov’d ſo unto her, as in many actions ſhe had triall of. Now was Selarinus in love deſperately with Philiſtella, the ſecond daughter of the King of Morea, a young princeſſe ſo excelling in fairenes, as ſnow & roſes could but equall the white, and red in her face: never was ſeene ſo excellent a beauty for whiteneſſe, for though Pamphilia had the fame for the onely Princeſſe living, yet was ſhe not ſo white in the face as Philiſtella; her beauty being in ſweeteneſse and lovelineſſe, moſt excelling, and in the richneſſe of her mind, which beautified her perſon, and yet the pureneſſe of her skinne (for as much as was ſeene as necke and hands) did farre ſurpaſſe her ſiſter, which yet was thought to bee, but becauſe the younger Ladies face, was without all compariſon ſo pure and faire, as made her other skinne (though excellent) ſhew duller by it: her haire was whiter than the Queenes, but hers was brighter, having a glaſſe upon it, matchleſſe for rareneſſe of colour, and ſhining. This Philiſtella had conquered the hearts of many, but Selarinus was the man, that ſought her with moſt hope, the others either not daring, or knowing they were not fit for her, contented themſelves with beholding her, and knowing they fruitleſly did languiſh in that love.

Now had Selarinus broken this ſecret to Pamphilia, who at this time tooke occaſion to ſpeake againe of it, which was ſuch content to him, as nothing could be more; and moov’d that paſsion in him, as his face and eyes ſpake for his heart, that it was upon the rack of hope and feare. Leandrus ſeeing this, believed it had been for Pamphilia, which mooved him to greater hatred againſt him, verily thinking it to be this Prince whom ſhe affected, ſeeing how willingly ſhee did embrace his company. Amphilanthus then came in, whom Leandrus ſtraight went unto, deſiring him, that he would give him one thing that he would demand of him. Aske (ſaid hee) any thing of mee whereto I am not engaged, and I will grant it you. I know not how I may ſecure my ſelfe in that (ſaid hee) for if you have a mind to refuſe under this, you may deny me all.

Nay (ſaid he) miſtruſt not me cauſeleſly, nor touch me with ſuch baſeneſſe, for never yet dealt I but truly with all men. Pardon me my Lord (ſaid hee) Ff2 and Ff2v 220 and I will take your word, if you will firſt except ſome number of things whereto you are ingaged. Only two (ſaid he), and on my word I wil grant any other.

Then ſaid Leandrus; My ſuite to you is, that ſince I have been a long, earneſt, and paſsionate ſuiter to your faire (but cruell) Coſin, & now having got the conſent of her father, her mother, her brothers, and moſt of her friends, that you will likewiſe joyne with them, and ſpeake unto Pamphilia for mee; I know ſhe reſpects you much, and will be as ſoone directed by you, as by any friend ſhe hath: wherefore I beſeech you grant me this favour, and by it tie me perpetually to your ſervice.