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.sculpsit

The
Countesse
of Mountgomeries
Urania.

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
Pembroke
late deceased.


London
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.

A2v
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
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 iust 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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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 himselfe,
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 sar 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”
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
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
joyn’d 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
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 bold, 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 lei-
flawed-reproductionone word’d still.

To 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
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
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.”

The King replied, that it was true, they had all seene his affection to her;
they confessed his worth and deserts to bee equall with any Prince, and to
merit any wife, whose answering love might meete his: but for his Cosin,
she was of her selfe, and as farre as he could understand by her, she purposed
not to marry: if he had gaind the consent of her parents and brothers, hee
had purchased the surest to prevaile with her: but for himselfe, although he
confessed in that his happinesse, that shee did so much esteeme of him, and
foundfound that she would heare him as soone as any other; yet it was his misfortune
in this, that he could not doe him that service he desired to doe, to make
manifest his love unto him, for he had now lighted on one of the excepted
things, since but this last night” (said he) speaking of marriage, shee said, shee
was already bestowed upon her people, and had married her selfe to them. I
urging her youth, and the pitie it would be she should die, without leaving
some pictures of her self, so excellent a piece. She said, her friends (she hop’d)
would keepe her memory, and that should be enough for her. But I striving
further to perswade her to the altering of that determination; ‘My Lord’ (said
she) ‘it is settled, and as you will ever make mee see you love mee, and would
have me confident of your well-wishings to me, let mee begge this of you,
that you will never speake to me of any husband.’
I swore it, and seal’d my
vowes on her faire hand. Wherefore my Lord Leandrus, you see how I am
bound, otherwise believe it, I would not deny your noble request, but speake
for you (I protest truly) as soone, or sooner then for any other living.”
The
Prince Leandrus was contented with this answere, believing him, as justly he
might doe, for he had said but onely truth to him.

Then parted they, Leandrus giving him many thankes for his noble freedome,
going to Philistella, who with Selarina was passing the time, Pamphilia
bringing Selarinus to them, and so pretily did discourse, while Steriamus earnestly
did pursue his affection to Urania; which although she willingly entertain’d,
yet she meant to be as wary as she could (having been once deceived),
wherefore with much modesty and mildnesse, she denied; and yet with her
sweetnesse in denying, gave him hope and heart to proceed, which at that
time they being together, he gave witnesse of, having gaind the favour of her
standing alone with him in a window, protesting all the true and zealous affection,
that a man could beare unto a woman. She told him, that these
protestations hee had so often before used to Pamphilia, as hee was perfect
in them; “for” (said shee), “my brother hath told mee, and many other,
what a power her love had over you, though shee never received it, or did
more, if so much as pitie you.”
It Ff3r 221

“It is most true” (said hee) “that your brother found me a miserable piece of
mankind, made anew by love, to be lesse then any of my sex, and yet his greatest
slave: shee rejected mee; I now thanke Heavens for it, since I was kept
for this happinesse, shee for a greater then my selfe, which I wish shee
may enjoy, and I bee blessed with your favour, which as my onely blessing
I doe wish for, and aske as my onely blisse. But what let can my
former love bee to your receiving mee? I am not the first that hath lost
my Love? What blame then can that bee to mee, my choice being so
good? did not (I pray you) Parselius your Cosin, love before he married
Dalinea? and Urania (I thinke) liked, before shee was throwne from the
Rock. Cast away then all former faults, and burie them in the Deepes,
where those loves were cured, and take a perfect one, new borne unto you,
and with you.”

Shee blushed, and told him, hee grew bitterer then lovers use to be. He
smild, and told her, none that had a spot should find fault with anothers,
unlesse theirs were cleane washed away, and the other remaining. “But I
feare”
(said shee) “you will not now bee true.”

“Nothing” (said hee) “but that water could have cleansed my heart from
that ranckling wound, nor now shall any thing alter my truth to you.”

“Another charme may cure you”, said she? “Never” (said hee) “nor helpe if
not your love.”
“It grieves mee” (said shee) “that I cannot then present you
with my first affection; yet truly may I in a kind; for I liked you before
I loved the other.”
“Give mee this second” (said hee), “which as the first
I will esteeme, and cherish it, for a new created one it is, and so shall live
in me, never more blessed then now, never truer shall any love be to one”
: “nor
more just then mine”
, said she.

Thus they giving these prety assurances of eithers affections, he presented
her with a Bracelet of Diamonds. She the next day requiting it with a much
more pretious one to his thoughts, being a brede of her haire. No day passed
that some sweet delightfull passages passed not betweene them. The Court
now fild with love, Parselius perceived their loves, and was as well contented
with it, as Urania had been with his, and as freely did they before him shew
it. Amphilanthus infinitely glad of it, and seeking all meanes for the continuance
of it, so as each day Pamphilia’s chamber swarmd with lovers: Steriamus
and Urania, Selarinus and Philistella, Parselius and his wife, Philarchos and
his Orilena, the Queene her selfe beholding them, while her heart was as
true a patient, as any of theirs, but must not shew it. Leandrus with the rest
had leave to visit her, but to see his passions, to one that were sure never to be
in such a snare, it were sport, else a terrible feare to fall into such a Laborinth.
The Queen gratiously respected him, but when he spake of love, she then was
deafe & ever found occasion to discourse of somthing els, or to some others.
Amphilanthus graced Selarina most with his discourse, which made the whole
Court judge his affection was placed there, & in truth she did deserve it, for
she was an excellent fine Princesse; but frōom al these amorous delights the brave
Prince must go, & betake himself to the field, and adventure with Ollorandus;
the next day was the time for their depart, and also for Pamphilia’s going, who
over night tooke her leave of the court, not willing (as she said) to be seene so
much a woman, as to weepe for parting. Yet Urania was witnes of it, both Ff3 getting Ff3v 222
getting up earely, and Amphilanthus, with Ollorandus comming to them before
they were ready, stayed with them till they went downe, Urania bringing
her to her Coach, with the other two Princes, when with teares they
parted on some sides: Urania wept to part with her deare brother, and cousen.
Pamphilia’s heart was pierced with like sorrow, or greater, but stop’d
her teares, as having a stronger spirit, till beholding the water in Amphilanthus
eyes ready to fall, and waite upon the least summons her eyes would
give; she then let some few slide, and drop, and so saluted him, love smiling
in their teares, to see so kind, and affectionate parting, glorying in his
owne worke, as proud in such a conquest. Part they did, taking their leave
without saying, farewell, which their hearts and eyes did for them, making
them then, and as long as they could, attend and behold each other, which
was not long, for the waies being contrary, the sight was soone lost.

Pamphilia went alone, save for her owne Traine of Knights, which were
come out of Pamphilia, to attend her thither, and quickly, with the haste she
made, arriv’d at the Sea, where shee shipped, and so passed to her Kingdome,
where with infinite joy, and troopes of people, shee was received,
and conducted to her chiefe City of Perga; where shee remain’d in plenty
of all things, but the delicate conversation she used to have in Morea, which
want, made her for a while melancholly: but afterwards shee comforting
her selfe, with hope, and resolution, shee came abroad, and followed those
delights shee was wont to affect, which was, Hunting and Hawking, and
such like.

The two brave Companions holding on their way, hating the land, chose
the Sea, and tooke Shipp at Sornesse, and so passing by Zants, and Setalonia,
went up the Gulfe of Venice, and landed in Triale, from whence without any
one adventure, worthy the rehearsing, they came into the confines of Bohemia,
when they met two knights, of whom they demanded the newes of
that place; they resolv’d them, that the King was dead, and that they (as
many more) were going in search of their Prince, and Lord Ollorandus.
Then did he discover himselfe unto them, which they infinitly rejoyced at;
so passing on, they came unto a Castle, where they would (as they said) lodge
that night, but the two Knights tolde them, that by no meanes they should
doe so, for there dwelt the cruelest man that was in all those parts, his name
Severus, and was next of the bloud to Ollorandus, wherefore by no meanes
they would advise him, (none being left but himselfe of the Stocke) to adventure
into his doores.

The new King imagining this a disgrace unto him, to let any such thing
passe for feare, would not be perswaded, saying, Hee was assured that hee
durst not attempt any thing upon his person; but Amphilanthus disswaded
what he could, yet all in vaine, for hee was resolv’d. When nothing could
prevaile against staying him, yet they obtain’d of him, that he would hold
himselfe unknowne, hee repli’d they neede not call him Ollorandus, but
he would never leave that happy name of the Knight of the Forrest, with
which he had pass’d through so many adventures; thus rashly would he runn
into danger, and which was worst, hazad the bravest Prince. To the Gate
they came, and presently were bid welcome, with many servants who attended
on them, and tooke their Horses, some of them conducting them into the Ff4r 223
the Hall, where the old Duke Severus sat in a Chaire, with a little staffe in his
hand, his thumbe on his staffe, and his mouth on his thumbe, which ever
was his fashion, when his minde was set upon any plots; Their comming
in call’d his minde a little to him, and looking on them, seeing such rarenesse
in their persons, and lovelinesse in their countenances, imagined them to be
of great quality, especially Amphilanthus, to whom he went, and welcom’d
him with the rest, desiring to know who they were, that thus courteously
had honour’d his house. Amphilanthus told him that he was an Italian, and
hearing of his bounty, by some of the Country, made him take the boldnes
to visit him, hoping by him, also to understand the manners of that place, to
which as yet, he was a meere stranger. The olde Duke told him, that he had
done him an especiall favour in it, and that (wherein he could doe him courtesies)
he should finde him most ready, in requitall of this honour. Then he
demanded who the others were, and their names.

Amphilanthus reply’d, that his friend, and himselfe, upon a certaine vow
to their Mistresses, till they saw them againe, were not to disclose their names,
but were only known by the titles, of the Knight of Love, which was himselfe;
and the other, the Knight of the Forrest, and thus they had passed
most parts of the world.

“Whence came you last, I beseech you”, said he? “From Morea”, said the
Knight of Love. “And what newes there, I pray you”, said the olde Duke?
“have you not heard of Ollorandus our Prince, and now our King, by his fathers,
and brothers death?”
“I heard of him”, said Amphilanthus, “for no eares
can (unlesse deafe) but have notice of his valour, and excellent goodnesse,
and much have I desired to be honoured with his sight, accounting it one of
my misfortunes, that I am not knowne to so famous a Prince.”
“Hath his
Acts”
(replied the Duke) “made his name so well knowne? I am heartily
glad of it, for now shall this Kingdome againe flourish, when it shall be
governed by so brave a King. But what is become of him, I pray, that you
having such a desire to see him, could not compasse it?”
“Truely” (said the
Knight of Love) “I was going to finde him, but an accident unlooked
for, call’d me from Morea, and so much against my heart, as never any
thing was more, when I could neither goe, into Albania, where they say,
he must be shortly, nor stay where I most desired.”
With that hee sigh’d
indeed, and so passionatly, as they all pittied him. Then the Duke demanded
who the others were. He answered, strangers they encountred upon
the way, but it seem’d good Knights; so the Duke tooke the Knight of
Love
on his right hand, and the Forrest Knight on his left, desiring the others
likewise to sit: so sitting downe altogether, Amphilanthus besought
him to let him know in what estate the Country stood, “for” (said he) “I desire
to goe to the Court, and see it; but hearing the King is dead, I would most
willingly be ordered by you, what I should doe.”
“Truely” (said he) “Sir, I can
direct you no better way, then to stay heere, till such time as we heare of our
King, nothing to be seene, nor safety much in this Countrey; for an Army
is providing, men raysing, and much businesse toward.”
“By whom, I
pray Sir”
, said the Knight of the Forrest, “are these men rays’d?” “The chiefe
yet”
, repli’d he, “hath not declared himselfe, but there are foure Great men,
that call these Troops together, yet none of them having right or claime: it Ff4v 224
it is thought they have some other, who yet will not discover himselfe.”
“What
is the next in bloud”
, said he? “Marry that am I”, said he, “being the last Kings
Unkle, Brother to his Father.”
“Will not you Sir then be pleas’d”, said hee,
“to withstand these forces in the Kings right?” “Alas Sir”, said he, “you see I am
old, nor ever was I a Souldier, borne deformed as you see, not for Armes
but Carpets; these shoulders crooked, and mishapen, were not ordained
but to be kept from eyes, which would rather bring contempt, then respect;
my Stature low, my body weake, all fram’d to be a Chamber-keeper, rather
then a Knight at Armes: but I have a Son, who I hope, wil be worthy of his
bloud.”
“Where is he, I pray”, said he? “Truely, now I am not certaine, but I
thinke he will be here this night”
, answered the Duke. These things netled
Ollorandus, yet he cover’d his rage as well as he could; and thus they pass’d
the time till Supper, when the old Duke desired them to goe to their lodgeings,
and unarme themselves, which they did, and returning, sate to meale.
The Duke all Supper time, curiously beholding the Knights, especially Ollorandus,
who, he imagined by his complexion, and the favour of his face, to
be the King, though it was long since he had seene him; but the ground
he had in malice made him discerne that, which otherwise had laine hidden
(envy having sharpnesse in discovering.) Thus the night grew on,
and Supper ended, the Knights were brought to their severall lodgings.

Amphilanthus desired to lye with his friend, but the Duke, out of complement,
(as desiring-they should see their welcome, by the respect done
them) would not permit them to lodge, but alone: the other two were
carried to an other Towne farre from them; they being in their Chambers,
Ollorandus safe, as he thought from discovery, went to bedd taking his rest
very soundly, his Dwarfe lying in the next roome to him. Amphilanthus,
had not so much liberty, or freedome by rest granted to him, wherefore he
went not to bedd, but walked up and downe his Camber in his old posture,
armes acrosse, and breathing in sighes, wishing his eyes might be once more
blessed with seeing, what his soule ever beheld with fervent love, that
never deviding it selfe no more then heate from fire: Passion growne such
a commander over him, as he was an Image of Loves torments, curiously
carved to the life of passionate distresse. Measure some of his thoughts
hee did, and delicately expresse his paine in Verse, but so dainty was he, as
few, save himselfe, (which was his Mistris) ever saw them, especially those
which were for his parting, and those hee made that night. But his Muse
had no more then finished that conceit, when she, and hee, were call’d to
attendance, summon’d by a fearefull and terrible noise, mixt with voyces
and armour, at last hee heard his friend say, “O traytors, thus betraying a
stranger, and Villiane to doe it in thine owne house; farewell deare friend,
let misfortune wholly be, and end in me.”

Those words, and the knowledge of the speaker, quickly made the King
prepare for rescue, wherefore arming himselfe, he ran towards the Chamber
where Ollorandus lay, but by the way he saw him fetter’d, and leading
to a Gate, where it might appeare, a Prison was. He quickely came to him,
crying to those, who led him, to stay; they refused, but he, who fear’d not
many more then they were, set upon them; they devided themselves, and
some of them held him play, while the rest went away with the King, taking the Gg1r 225
the advantage of his busie fighting: but his hands were not so imployed but
his eyes also used their office: and so well did he consider the traitors, as
he never let them be, but in his eyes, which made him soone perceive this villany,
and as readily prevent it; for they thinking to steale him away, were
staied, and made in streames of bloud to deliver their confession, and lives to
his victory. The Dwarfe in this time had so roared about the Castle, as the other
two Knights awaked, and came to the rescue (Amphilanthus throwing a
Sword and Sheild of one of the vanquished to Ollorandus), and in time
they came, for hee was then readie to bee slaine; the old Duke and his
sonne comming together, and incouraging their servants by promises,
and commanded by threatnings to kill him; but those Armes protected
him, and then furiouslie did he flie among them, the old monster reviling
his people for letting them escape death, till Amphilanthus got to
him, and as he was opening his mouth to speake hatefully to them, he thrust
his Sword into it, hindring those villanous words which hee had else delivered.
The other two also came, and saved the brave Prince from killing
such a worme, dispatching that ill naturd man out of the way, of
molesting any more good creatures. But his sonne revenged his fathers
death, killing the elder of those brothers, whose death Amphilanthus quickly
pay’d, with the young mans end, striking off his arme, whereof he died;
then getting close to Ollorandus, they set backe to backe, and so fought, till
they gaind the stepps which went up to the Hall, and getting even into it,
they pressed to that doore; but some who continued fight with them,
kept so neare, as they got betweene Ollorandus and the doore, so as Amphilanthus
hoping in the croud, his friend was come in, locked the doore, but
shut Ollorandus out, where he was ingirdled with his enemies, and past hope;
but the never daunted King espying his error, soone amended it, yet was he
forced to leape out at the window, which was but low, to aide him, the dore
opening outward, was held so close by the enemy, but when he was got among
them againe, he was like a thunder-bolt, piercing and killing all resisted
him, who but like poore feeble dogges, that snarld for their best defence
could not bite him. Once more he rescued his friend from apparent death,
and thus performed the prophecy Mellissea had made, with double joy to save
him, and thus soone to be at liberty to returne to his heart, for he found that
now he might be priviledged to part. This businesse done, the old, and young
Dukes kild, the two honest brothers slaine, having gaind the fame, to die, and
be laid in the bed of honor, allotted such as die in the Kings sight and quarrell;
they staid a while in the Castle, seeking for any such unfortunate man,
or creature, as had fallen into the cruel power of this man. Many they found,
and among them some of their acquaintance, then setting them all at libertie,
they departed towards Prage, the chiefe towne of Bohemia, attended by all
those released prisoners; Ollorandus then openly discovering himselfe, troops
of his subjects came daily in to him, and so within few daies he was crownd,
sending some forces against those scatterd troopes were raised by the dead
traytor and his confederates to oppose the Kings quiet possession: who now
setled, and all solemnities past, he sent his Dwarfe into Hungary with a letter
to his love. The Dwarfe knowing his Lords mind, as wel he might (if by nothing
but that hast gesse it) performed his part, being feareles of al things now Gg but Gg1v 226
but the Lord of Strombolly as he arriv’d in Hungary, and so by inquiry got to
Buda: thence hee was directed to a Castle some ten leagues off in a Forrest,
whither the Queene was gone to take her pleasure, the King staying
at Buda: the Dwarfe being benighted, was glad to take his lodging in
a poore house, and happy so to find one in a wild place, having lost his way.

The next morning hee had no sooner taken his horse, and rode halfe a
league, but he met some Knights, and others riding with great speed, and apparreld
all in greene, demanding of him, if he met not the Stagge: hee told
them, he met nothing except themselves, since he tooke horse. They passed
on, and still he met more, who made the same inquirie. A last hee saw a Lady
comming at full speed, attended on by many more, whose riding, and horses
shewed, they could more willingly have heard of the Staggs fall, then any
other tidings. But this Dwarfe, witty, and carefull of his charge, imagining
this Lady (by her selfe, more then her attendants, though many, and bravely
clad) to be the Queene, hee stay’d, and of one who came within some two or
three of her person, desired to know, if that were not Melisinda: hee answered,
it was: whereupon hee stay’d, and so just in her way, as shee must stay too. She offended, began to correct him: but he kissing the letter, deliverd
it unto her. Soone she knew the hand, and so commanded him to stay, and
attend her answer.

“Love, now expresse thy selfe; is the hunting pleasing, the sport she most
delighteth in, is it not now tedious and wearisome? was it feared but now
the Stagge would fall too soone? Is it not now required, and wished for?
Rude Beast”
(would shee say to her selfe) “that knowes nothing but bruitishnesse,
canst not thou finish thy dayes with my best wishes to thee, for favoring
me?”
Faine she would see what was in it, and sometimes a little slacke
her speede: but then fearing the company would know why her stay was,
guiltinesse over-ruld her, and she went on, sometimes meaning to mend her
seate, and so counterfeit cause of stay; then not liking that, againe in furie against
the beast, pursuing him.

Thus she rid, and traveld her thoughts irresolutely, till just before her,
as if to claime a pardon for the former offence, hee fell, yeelding himselfe,
and life into her power. Quickly shee alighted, and performing those
Rights required by the Huntsmen, in honour of Victorie and Funerall,
shee walked into a little Groave, while her horse was stirring up and
downe, being hot and sore ridden.

When shee was there, shee kissed the letter, then opened it; but having
read it, kissed it often. “O deare Paper” (said shee), “welcome as heavenly
blessings to mee: thou bringest mee word my Ollorandus lives;
and more that hee thinkes of his poore Melysinda: live still dearest love,
and let honour glorie in honouring thee. Happie newes to heare my
Deere is a King, but most happie that hee crownes himselfe with constancy,
the perfect lawrell for lovers. Doest thou (most loved) remember
wretched mee? Nay, make mee see thy mindfulnesse by writing
to mee, and such sweete lines, where expressions rather want then
love; and yet such loving expressions, testifying nothing but absence
makes the want. Blessed bee my Destenie, that brought me thus to hunt, mine Gg2r 227
mine eyes thrice happy that have seene these words written by the best of
men, and yet sigh’d she, when al is done the fire must consume you, that is the
cabinet must hold your truths, and you most loved, must to my beloved
and mee, proove a sweet sacrifice for our safeties. O jealousie that
spreads it selfe so farre, as onely memory can bee safe, but no reliques save
ashes remaine safe in keeping; thy ashes yet shal be preserv’d, and as most sacred,
still continued.”
Then came shee forth, and so returnd unto the Castle,
many examining the Dwarfe from whence he came, what hee would have,
and to whom he came, or whether he would goe. Hee had his errant well,
and told them he was a wandering youth, once servant to a knight, who now
imprisond, he was free, but from joy bard for the losse of him he lov’d. Many
desired to have him, but he refused all, saying, he would now returne into
his owne Countrie, and there end his daies, if so his Master could not bee set
free.

Thus hee put them all off, till a day past he was dispatched by the Queene,
whose letter was no sooner ended, but with teares with the same light shee
sealed hers, she also gave the death to the other, or rather the safer life, sacrificing
it unto their loves, carefully putting the ashes up in a daintie Cabinet,
and inclosing them within; these Verses she then made, witnessing the sorrow
for the burning, and the vowes she made to them burned.

“You pure and holy fire Which kindly now will not aspire To hot performance of your Nature, turne Crosse to your selfe and never burne These Reliques of a blessed hand, Joynd with mutuall holy band Of love and deare desire. Blame me not dearest lines, That with loves flames your blacknesse twines, My heart more mourning doth for you expresse, But griefe for sorrow is no lesse. Deepest groanes can cover, not change woe, Hearts the tombe, keepes in the showe, Which worth from ill refines. Alas yet as you burne, My pitie smarts, and groanes to turne Your paines away, and yet you must consume Content in me, must beare no plume, Dust-like Dispaire may with me live, Yet shall your memory out-drive These paines wherein I mourne. Gg2 You Gg2v 228 You reliques of pure love To sacred keepe with me remoove, Purg’d by this fire from harme, and jealous feare, To live with me both chast and cleare: The true preserveresse of pure truths, Who to your grave gives a youth In faith to live and moove. Fameus body’s still in flames, Did anciently preserve their names, Unto this funerall nobly you are come, Honour giving you this tombe. Teares and my love performe your rights, To which constancie beares lights To burne, and keepe from blame.”

This did not satisfie her, grieving for the losse of those kind lines,
but each day did shee say the Letter to her selfe, which so much shee
loved, as shee had learned by heart; then looking on the Ashes, wept,
and kissing them, put them up againe; and thus continued shee, till Ollorandus
himselfe came, to whom these daylie offerings were made; for
hee, after hee had settled his Kingdome, longing as much to see her, as
shee desired his presence, put the Government to the charge of a president,
and his Counsell, assuring them, that nothing should have so
soone parted him from them, but that hee must now performe his part
of friendship to Amphilanthus, which was required of him, who had so
lovingly, and bravely accomplished his.

None were against that, all honouring and loving him so much, as
hee had much adoe, but with kind quarrels to leave the Countrie, without
some of them to attend him; yet by his mild perswasions, and the
new Kings commanding power, they two tooke their journey, the Dwarfe
againe returning the very day before they left Prage.

Towards Hungarie they then haste, passing through Moravia, where
they met a strange encounter, and a sad spectacle, which was a company
of men all on foote, being apparrel’d in long mourning Gownes;
and after them a Chariot, beeing drawne by sixe Horses, they beeing
covered with blacke; and in the Chariot was a bodie, beeing cover’d
with a blacke Velvet covering; and at the feet of this Body sate a Ladie,
her face beeing towards it, and most pitifullie weeping; many
more in mourning likewise walking by the Chariot, round about it, and behind
it.

This lamentable and dolefull spectacle mooved the hearts of the
Knightes, who beeing verie passionate, quickly felt pitie, and riding presently
to one of the followers, desiring to bee resolv’d of this matter; the Gg3r 229
the Gentleman courteously answered, that the businesse was of so long a
times discourse, as would demaund more leysure, then hee thought their
businesse would well allow them; therefore hee besought to bee excused,
unlesse they meant to succour that distressed Lady, who most justly
might claime assistance, and revenge, for a murdered Knight, unjustlie,
and treacherouslie slaine for love. Love their Master commanded their
service, so as they said, they would willingly doe their best, to redresse such an
injurie.

Then the Gentleman going to the Lady, told her what the Knights said;
she casting up her eyes, which before she held on the Coarse, the body and
soule of her affections.

“Alas Sirs” (said shee) “what misfortune hath brought you to ingage your
selves to true misery, as in joyning with me you must do, for a more wretched
never lived to die so.”

“Our fortunes” (said Ollorandus, speaking in her owne language) “is the best
we could covet, if they may proove availeable to you, nor doe we desire any
more, then to know how we may serve you.”

“Then Sir” (said shee) “let mee bee so bold, as to demaund first,
who you are, that I may discover my estate the more freely, and willingly
to you.”

“My name” (said hee) “is Ollorandus, King of Bohemia; and this is
Amphilanthus, King of the Romans.”

“Happinesse beyond all hope” (cry’d shee). “Alas my Lord, this is the
King that of all the World I have desired to meete, and now travell to
seeke in Italy”
: then kneeled shee unto him, beseeching him to graunt
her, what hee had of himselfe so nobly promised.

Hee vowed to performe any thing whatsoever that lay in his power
to doe: then comming forth of the Chariot, and they lighting, they retired
into a little tuft of Thornes by the way side, shee beginning her storie
thus.

“Most brave and renowned of Kings, and you great King, bee pleased
to give eare to the saddest storie, that ever love, and lovers end hath
produced.
I am that miserable unfortunate woman Sydelia, passionately loving,
and being beloved of the excellent and vertuous Antonarus; long wee
loved, but a hate betweene my brother, called Terichillus, and my love
growne in their youth, hindred our enjoyings; my brother so curiouslie
watching mee, himselfe, or others, never or seldome from mee, as I was
able onely to see my afflictions and wants, but not the Sunne of my
content: for my Brother being the Heire of Moravia, and the other
the Prince of Silesia, that kept him from venturing into his Countrie,
knowing the infinite malice hee bare unto him, alas, no way deserving it.
But at last, my brother was to marry Orguelea daughter to the Duke of Bavaria,
and going thither to performe it, left mee guarded by his servants,
whom in his absence so well I wrought with, as I compassed the sight of my
Deare, who in the habit of a Hunts-man came unto me; we married privatly,
and so enjoyed the time till my brothers returne with his new Ladie, as Gg3 full Gg3v 230
full of spite, and ill nature, as a Spider with poyson: to her he had disclosed
this matter, with his hate to Antonarus, and to her gave the charge of mee,
my Father having before given over the world, and was retyred into a religious
house, having left me, and all his estate to my brother, yet during his
life, my brother would not take the title upon him, but the authority of the
County of Moravia. Now was my Hunts man to returne, small safetie
being where such hatefull spies inhabited, no more surety then a poore hare
hath in the hands of the hounds, who have long hunted to prey upon it: so
did they seeke to ruine us, the extreame hate my brother bare to Antonarus,
rising from this cause.
When they were youthes, and both in the Emperous Court, there liv’d at
that time, a young Lady of the house of Austria, excellently faire, and as
fairely condition’d, whose vertues were such, as most prizing worth, for Vertues
sake, she made choice wholy of worthinesse in conversation, choice of
companions, and the whole course of her life ranne that way, which made
her chooce Antonarus, and so much to affect him, as nothing but death,
could be ender of her affection, and yet I know not how I can say so, since
dying, shee express’d her affection to him she loved, and no question but
his goodnesse requited it in his wishes to serve her, but friendship wrought
so in him, as he would not seeme to receive it, my brother being so passionately
in love with her, as Antonarus saw, if he accepted her love, he must
with that, kill his friend, rather then to doe so foule an act, hee would seeme
cruel, and wrong, and harme himselfe, sooner then hurt him: yet oft hath
he told me, that he hath from his soule, wish’d my brother had never discover’d
his affection to him, for then ignorantly hee might have made himselfe
happy in her, whose happinesse onely consisted in him, and yet was denied,
because he loved his companion. O friendship, excellent vertue to be
embraced, and cheerished, yet herein would such friendship had not beene.
Still did Terichillus tell Antonarus how he lov’d, and how he saw she slighted
him, ‘and yet’ cri’d he, she loves; would I were the Dogge she so kindly
treats, and playes with all, or that little bird, which she still kisses, and carries
in her breast, or any thing save wretched me my selfe, so loath’d, and hated
by her.’
Then did he comfort him, telling him, patience and constancy
might solicit for him, and his still presenting himselfe in her eyes, might win,
if any thing could prevaile by love. At last my brother plainely discerned
the love she bare to Antonarus, then he grew furious, and for all these former
passages mistrusted this firme friend; hee finding it, and no way to kill this
Cancor, tooke leave of the Court, and my brother, at his parting telling him,
that whatsoever he imagined of him, he should finde him true to him. To
the Lady he went not, but privately in the morning he stole away, and pass’d
many Countries with much honor, but now comes the wofull part of this
Story.
She seeing him gone, and Terichillus stay, quickly guess’d the matter:
then grew rage in her, and whereas, before she would use him civilly, for
Anotonarus sake, now she plainely shew’d the hate, she bare him, who she beleeud
to be the cause of his going; that beliefe told her she must not suffer
such an injury, that injury being above all, where love was by it barr’d:
his sight grew odious to her, when she remembred that with him Antonarusrus Gg4r 231
us’d to come, now she saw nothing but the foule Coppy of an excellent
worke, his presence, made her see the absence of her sole content, as the
bare shelfes do of the ebbed Tyde: and as bare without liking did he seeme:
yet could she not beware of the flowing ill, which followed by his spite;
nor did shee strive to shunne any thing but his presence, he infinitly loving;
she terribly hating, let her passion grow to such violence, as it grew infectious,
and he that but now sought, still continued in search, but of what? Not
of love, but meanes to be revenged of her, whose love he could not compasse,
but whose overthrowe he meant to gaine. Eyes which lately serv’d
to bring his comfort to him, in seeing her, are employd to be curious spies
over her affections: howres spent wholly in examining her worth, and
vertues, chang’d to plott her ruine; admiration of her goodnesse, to admiring,
why hee could affect such a body of disdaine; alteration so beyond
expectation, as understanding when this happened, was to seeke, yet
did he dissemble still, and made love (the honour of noble hearts) the colour
for his wickednesse, making his malice spring and overgrow his love,
as Nettles doe Violets, or Hemlock Pincks: yet did his counterfeit affection
grow with it.
At last, he wrought so cunningly, as hee intercepted a Letter which shee
sent to Antonarus, which having opened, and read, he made the answer,
counterfeiting his hand so well, as none could discover it, or know it to bee
other then his; the messenger he made safe for telling tales, making bloud
accompany his Treason. Thus he continued, heaping more ills upon his
soule, then shels in number are upon the Sea-shore; alas that he were not my
brother, since I must thus speake of him, or rather I would his last act, had
not made me the unwilling, and unfit relater of his ill. The poore Lady, still
loving him, writ, and with all the zealous affection shee could, perswaded
his returne, with whom she would goe and bring him to the famous Duke
her father, where all honour should be done him. He still answerd with delayes,
at last, (or indeed, his unappointed Secratatary) made this answere,
that good manners had made him thus long answer respectively, but since he
found, that nothing but his company, and marriage would satisfie her, shee
must be contented to be plainly told, that he despised her forwardnesse, and
as much her selfe, his heart being set already on one, farre more deserving
then her selfe, who deserved nothing of him, to alter his former affection,
nor could merit any thing of the world, if not by marrying Terichillus,
who affectionatly loved her, and thus she might honor her self in requiting
him, and that if she desired to have so much as a good thought from him,
shee must performe this, or else to bee assured of a mortall hater of her
selfe, and house.
She (alas) whose heart love had made tender, and tendernesse, pitifull,
could not but so much pitie it selfe, as to breake with this unkindnesse; yet
died shee not speedily, but which was worst (yet in a kind, happy for her) her
woman wrought such meanes, as a brother of hers found Antonarus, to
whom he discovered the pitifull estate of the Lady, and what complaints she
indured the absence, and cruelty of him, who sought to murder her, for faithfully
loving him. This discourse made him resolve to see her, and if it might
be, to save her, dying, or shame of it working more in him, then living love could Gg4v 232
could purchase; so as he went to the Court, where he found her ready to depart,
yet not past sense, but that shee knew him; or rather having only sense
of love, tooke quick apprehension, so as she looked up, and spake chearefully
to him, desiring all else to avoid the chamber, when that was done, she took
him by the hand, and weeping, thus spake.
‘Antonarus what fault have I committed, that hath brought this cruelty
from thee? If extreame, and loyall affection can offend, then have I infinitely
offended? But alas, blame your selfe, your vertues made me choose
you, your winning eies, made me your subject; your worth, commanded
my fidelity; you onely I lovd, and you onely murder me with unkindnesse;
yet pardon me that I speake thus boldly, since I feare my former boldnesse
made you despise me. Chide Love, alas, it was he offended, and I did but by
directions, write those Letters so rejected, and despised by you.’
He hearing
her speake thus, and touch upon Letters, desired to be resolv’d of that; she
admiring at his seeming ignorant of that, yet loath, even at the last to seeme
harsh to him, told him of his curst answere, and to satisfie him, shew’d him
the Letters themselves, with the Copies of hers, ‘which’ (said shee) ‘I had
burnt, had you not come as you did.’
When he saw them, no man could manifest
more furious sorrow, for he could not speake, but wept and sob’d,
toare his haire, and remained like a distracted creature, till she urging him,
and he desiring to satisfie her, swore they were none of his, nor that ever he
received any from her; ‘O miserable man’ said he, ‘thus to be betrayd, what
have I done to be thus plagued, and insufferably afflicted? Alas, my deerest,
I never heard from thee, never writ to thee, but if I had, sweetnes, and love,
should have beene the subject, and not this.’
‘False Terichillus, this I feare, comes from thee, for this is thy hand, I
know it is the same in jest, that thou wert wont to counterfeit, and hast thou
practisd it for this? unkind, and cruell man.’
Shee seeing his sorrow and his
clearenesse, received much comfort, and taking him againe by the hand,
‘happy am I, my Lord’, (said shee) ‘that shall now ende contented, blessed
in your love, and cleare from the end, I fear’d, you had sent me; be happy my
onely deare, and live with all content, let that Lady, whosoever you shall
choose, love you no lesse then I doe; let her be as just, and loyall, but so
much more fortunate, for your sake, as to live to enjoy you longer. Had
you beene cruell, as you were accused falsely, my love had pardoned it, and
welcommer had my death beene to me (sent by you) then life, if in dislike
of you. My soule lov’d you, and loves you, nor ever suffer’d it shewe of
dislike against you, I had cleerly passed into the other world without blameing
you: yet am I happy to see you, and your truth before I part. I must
leave you, my onely love I must goe, and yet this I will beseech you to keep
of me the memory of your truest love, and let that memory bee put with
love, and not moov’d with rage to revenge these wrongs; he hath done you
a favour it may be, in keeping you for a worthyer, but never can you have
a truer.’
He weeping told her, he tooke that last ill, that shee would say, hee
could have a worthier. ‘O no’, said he, ‘that cannot be, thy worth cannot be
equal’d, no more then my wrongs reveng’d sufficiently.’
They both wept,
then spake a little, and so tooke their leaves, shee seeing his sorrow, was afflicted
for it, he finding it, sought to cover it, so he kissed her, and went out of Hh1r 233
of the chāamber, with as dying a heart as she had almost, no sooner was he gone,
but she calling her womāan to her, willed her to burne those papers, thēen taking a
ring from off her finger (which was a pointed Diamōond she ever wore, & had
vowed to doe so, till she died or married) charged her to give it Antonarus,
then turning her to the other side, ‘tell him’ (said she) ‘I bequeath this my truest
love, and last love to him, & so I conjure him to keepe these.’
She went to performe
her command, he instantly with the rest of the company came in, but
there they found her dead. It was (alas) too late to recover her, but not to
give a more happy end: how he tooke it, onely such a love can expresse,
which began but when she was dying, and enjoyed but in death. He instantly
left the Court and hearing Terichillus, had stollen away upon his comming,
guiltinesse condemning him, he went in search of him, putting on an armour,
as blacke as his sorrowes: & so he travelled, cloathed in sorrow, accompanied
with remembrance of her chast and loyall love, her death, the treason that
caused it, the injury done him, yet her spotlesse affection. All these were
motives, the more he ran from one to the other still the first held him, and
wrapt him fast in all.
Thus he went, caught in himselfe, till hee met Terichillus, in a plaine betweene
two hills to whom he sent his Squire, who was all his company, not
to discourse with him, but to call him to answere the wrongs done to him
and his love; when the Squire came to him, hee made no answer but this,
he had cause to call him to account, and he would satisfie him, so he prepared
himselfe, and they met, where they fought a cruell fight; but Antonarus having
justice on his side, got so much the better, hee had Terichillus under
him, and at his mercy, which when he had confest, asked pardon of him for
his fault, he tooke him up with these words; ‘Rise Terichillus, thy shame and
conscience are sufficient revengers, I will not shed thy bloud, which cannot
cleanse so foule a fault, or satisfie for losse of her so chaste and immaculate;
make it more cleare, and purer if thou canst with true repentance, while mine
eyes, and heart drops, fulfill and serve for her funerall.’
Then leap’d he upon his horse leaving my brother hurt, and wounded,
more with scorne, and hate of himselfe so to be saved, then kindly thanking
him that had done it. Away Antonarus posted, and came into Moravia,
to visit me, who indeed was onely his servant, Infant Love on my side haveing
made me so; he stayd not long but told me all this story, for which I
lov’d him better then before, gratefulnesse having large command over my
hart. Hee never by my words had knowledge of my love to him, till two
yeares after passing by that way, and privately desiring to see me, (unfortunately
for us both) I did confesse it, hee embraced it, and so wee lov’d, my
brother still continuing his hate, but in my Fathers time of life, did make no
publique shew of it.
Upon the death of him he tooke the title, and first began with open proclamations
of his hate, and the first forbidding me his company, yet where
were these proclaimd, but in his house, and to his private friends? yet I
went further, and did warne my love of him; this was the cause hee
came not in his sight, nor to his knowledge: and in hunts-mans habit
was the last time I did see him; for my brother returned with his wife, the
watches were made new, and stronger over me, yet love made them fruitles, Hh for Hh1v 234
for on a time appointed we met, and meant to keepe together; then boldly
I writ to my brother, telling him what I had done, and that I hoped he would
excuse me, since I had taken him for my husband, whom love and youth had
chosen for mee, and now was gone with him, whom most I loved to live
with, and whom I now was happily to obay. My brother grew infinitely inraged
with this, and straight sent out many horses to stay, and interrupt our
passage; but in vaine, for we were passed, and had laid such spies for them, as
kept us free. Into Selesia we came, finding, and bringing with me all content,
in having my owne hearts desire with me. Antonarus welcommed me with
gift of all his estate; I returned that to him againe, taking a farre greater (as
I esteemd it) which was himselfe and his true love, my best and only fortune.
Terichillus this while imagined himself highly injured, wherefore he sent Antonarus
word, that so ill he tooke this affront, as he would with armes regaine
his honour touched. He replied, that he had rather in his opinion, done him
honor to match with him, nor did he do it for other cause then his affection,
which begun in our youths, had growne to this perfection; therefore he intreated
him rather with love, then Armes to end the businesse; if not, hee
would prepare to attend his comming, as hee pleased. Within some few
moneths, Terichillus with an army entred Selesia, but onely enterd it, when an
army led by Polisander brother to Antonarus, met him, giving him battaile,
and life also, for he in an encounter might have killed him, but mercy more
then judgement governd him, so as he spared him, on condition the warres
should cease, which he promised, and a firme league should be made between
us, which Polisander should have the glory of.
Thus agreed, hee came with him where wee were; Armes dismist, and
swords laid downe, he was nobly entertaind, and received by Antonarus,
who ment truth; and after some dayes were passed, an oath of friendship was
taken of both sides. Then Terichillus returnd into his Country of Moravia,
Polisander bringing him to the confines thereof, there committing him to
his owne safetie. Antonarus was glad of this conclusion, because it joyed
me, and I for his quiet did rejoyce. One whole yeare this lasted, in which time
we had a sonne, after whose birth, and my recovery againe, Terichillus invited
us unto his Court with all love (or better to say, show of it) we believing,
went thither, trusting, as not meaning to bee false. Into Polisanders hands my
Lord put the government of the State, and also to him gave the charge of his
sonne; and well might he doe it, for a more noble honest man lives not, then
he is. Into Moravia we went, met we were in the confines by noble men and
Ladies, and still by more, and greater, till wee arrived at the Court, where
at the gate my brother and his wife met us; no state, nor welcome wanted,
which outward testimony could expresse, nor doubted we; but like the silly
birds, who hearing the sweet singing of other birds set for stales, thinking by
that mirth they had no imprisonment, fall by innocent beliefe into the nets:
so did we, seeing smiles, and hearing nothing but welcome and joy speake,
grew confident and bold upon our harmes. Some daies wee staid there,
Feasts, Tiltings, and all braverie that the Court could yeeld, shewed it
selfe unto us.
After those sports were past, Terichillus would have us goe a hunting,
which we did, for two daies having excellent good, & great variety of sport; the Hh2r 235
the third day we also were to goe and conclude our delights, which indeede
wee did: for in a great Wood (and the same where my Antonarus was
accustomed, when hee was a Huntsman to bide in, and from whence I heard
his Horne, which was the signe of his being there, and of call for me to him)
this unnaturall man Terichillus (for longer I cannot call him brother) had
laid traytors in ambush, with command to execute his will, he in the meane
time telling us, that a mighty Stagge was within, harbored of purpose for us.
Then carried he us into the thickest of it, placing the traine on the out-side,
farre enough from helpe or hinderance; with him wee went to rouse the
Deere, and so we did the too costly beasts that murdered my content, for
then they shewd themselves, suddenly rushing on Antonarus, who had onely
a little hunting sword by his side, with which he killed one, but they many
soone possest themselves of his sword and him. Then Terichillus reviled, and
scoffed at him and me, telling us, that here was a youth, had wont to walke
those Woods, and call a Nimph unto him by his Horne: but Satyrs found
their wantonnesse, and so had vowed revenge, ‘and thus doe we’ said he. Then
those men, who were disguised in that shape (and the fittest for so savage an
act) murdered him, making mee behold the cruelty for the greater torture.
When all was done (which ended with his life) they went away, lifting the
body only up upon a horse, and setting me upon mine owne againe, gave me
the bridle of the other to leade with me, as the substance and demonstration
of my miserie. Out of the Wood I went with this pitifull, and yet my beloved
companion; excessive sorrow had so shut up my senses, as I wept not at
the instant, nor till I was to tell the Tragedy, which was presently after my
comming into the Plaine, meeting some of the Selesians, who accompanied
me in mourning, little else we could doe, for in the County, where the murderer
ruled (and alas our company a handfull, in comparison of his people),
what could we doe but weepe and wish? Then got we our small troope together,
and with as much haste, as our heavinesse could allow us, wee gained
the Country of Selesia; to Polisander we related this villany, whose sorrow and
sadnesse was such, as hee was not able to give or take counsell, sometimes hee
did purpose to revenge this treachery himselfe, cursing himselfe for sparing
the murderer, when he might have killed him, blaming his Fortune that let
him live to slay his brother: lamenting the time he made the reconsiliation,
accusing himselfe as much as Terichillus, for having been the unfortunate instrument
of this mischiefe. ‘Alas’ (said dhe) ‘how happy had Selesia been, if I
had been slaine in the battaile, and how more blessed I, that had not lived to
see this day: deare Antonarus, hath thy brother, beloved so much of thee,
been the cause of thy losse? accursed creature that I am, yet pardon mee deare
brother, I lament thy death as much as heart can doe: Selesia, yours is the
losse unrecoverable in loosing such a Prince, punish me then, I am ready: and
dearest Sister’
(cry’d he) ‘take this life from mee, how can you see mee, who
brought your worthy Lord this misfortune? O Antonarus my soule
dies for thee.’”

“His infinite griefe was such, as most were forced to watch him, lest he made
himselfe away; yet such was, and is his vertue, as I hope will protect him
from using violence on himselfe. Much adoe we had to perswade him from
going into Moravia, to revenge his brother: but at last I gained thus Hh2 much Hh2v 236
much of him, to leave the reveng to mee, whose losse was greatest, and cause
demaunds most pitty, to gaine some brave Prince to right me; upon counsell,
and my petition he granted it, whereupon I put on these robes, he providing
this Chariot, and all other things necessary for our journey, appoynting
the mourning in this kind. The same day that I tooke my journey, hee
proclaimed my sonne, heire and Prince of Selesia, himselfe protector, and
so have I traveled now two months, Terichillus giving me leave to passe
through this part of his Country, to goe to finde a Knight, whose vallour
and pitty will assist me. To find you most brave and excellent King, I tooke
my way, with hope to beg such a favor of you, whose compassion and worth
all toungs speake of, and harts admire; none but magnifying Amphilanthus
for true noblenesse, excellent goodnes, perfect vertue, and matchlesse valour.
Wherfore I beseech you, as you may be, or are a lover, in that regard, aide
me, as a King, asist me against a murderer of a Prince, and as the best of
Knights, against such treachery. The cause is strange, and the businesse, it
may be, will to some seeme nice, since a sister urgeth revenge of a brother;
but weigh with all, that my love, and husband is murder’d, and by my brother’s
owne hands, that will wipe away all doubts, and cleere me to implore
your aid.”
The King, and Amphilanthus much pittied, and admired the
Lady, who had related this story, with as much passion, and fine expression
of witty sorrow as could be; Amphilanthus moved so much with it,
as he presently consented, and gave his promise to asist her: so they pass’d to
the Court in the same manner as she before had travel’d, for she had vowed
never to leave the body, nor to bury it, till she had his death reveng’d. When
they came where Terichillus was, she sent unto him, to let him know she
had brought a Knight to defend her wrong, and to call him to account for
his Treason, hee made his wonted slight answers: but the List, and all things
were prepared; then entred the Lady with the body, and the two Knights
accompanied with the mourners; the Princesse of Moravia, because her
husband was one, would not be present, the other Ladyes were plac’d to see
the fight. Then it was proclaymed, that if the Knight were overcome, hee
should loose his head, and the Lady should be at Terichillus disposing, if the
Knight overcame, then the Prince, if vanquished and alive, should be disposed
of by the Lady, and the Knights, with all the troope, should have safe
passage, without stay, or disturbance in returne.

Thus all agreed on, the Trumpets sounded; Terichillus furious, and ambitious
of victory and peace, encountred Amphilanthus with such strength, as
he made him bow backwards on his horse, but the King strooke him flat on
his backe upon the ground, having meanes by this, to aske pardon from heaven
for his offence: but he least thinking of so good a matter, quickly got up,
and with his Sword in his hand, did attend Amphilanthus, whose noble curtesie
was such, as not to take advantage of him, lighted also to fight on foote.
Terichillus was valiant, strong, and now to fight for life, and honour, so as hee
held Amphilanthus longer play, then many had done; yet at last he acknowledged
with all others, the King to be fittest to be yeelded unto, and so perceiving
his life at an end, curstly set his sword on the ground, and brake it, desirous
as it seemd to die unarmd, rather then disarmd by Amphilanthus; which
was to no purpose, he making him openly make confession of his fault; ask pardon,don Hh3r 237
direct, that al should obay his sister as their Lady and Princesse; weep and
lament his fortune without compulsion, and according to his ill life, hee frowardly
and peevishly concluded his daies, leaving behind him this certaintie,
that such treasons are never any more left unpunished, then Countries
without Princes: for straight was his Sister proclaimed, and he as soone forgot,
as she speedily received.

The King of Bohemia, and the King of the Romans were carried into rich
chambers, but they since the last busines in the Castle, would never lie alone,
so as they were lodged together, and as soone as Amphilanthus was recoverd
of some slight wounds, he received in this combat, they took their leaves, following
on their journey for Hungary. But as they were even ready to leave
Moravia (hard by a Wood which grew from the bottom of a hill to the
top, the hill steepy, craggy, and ful of rocks, and places where stones had been
cut for building of a stately Abby, which was among meadowes, not farre
from the foote of this hill, betweene two dainty rivers, but then decaied by
warre) they met a Lady running, her haire loose, covering her face, her cries
loud and fearefull, her cloathes halfe on, and halfe off, a strange disorder in
her words, she spake as if danger pursued, and helpe requisitly demanded; a
little from her were some men, who hastily followed her, one especially from
whom it seemd, she sought to be delivered. Amphilanthus willing to aide, and
she seeming to beseech it, rid to her, to demand the cause; she fled, he pursued
till they came to the bottom of a great quarry, there in some thicknesse she offerd
to cover her self; but he lighting, desired to know the cause of her flight
and danger. She, as if her enemy had been at hand, amazedly, and frightfully
answered; “Alas Sir? what meane you? what injury have I done you, that you
should thus follow me? I never wrongd you, why seeke you my dishonour?”

He reply’d, that she was deceiv’d, and therefore intreated her to looke up againe
upon him, & she would see her error. Then beholding him wishly, as if
she had been till then in the wrong; “Pardon me my Lord” (said she) “for I mistooke
you, my misery being such, as hath quite destracted me, I am a poore
Lady dwelling here, not farre hence, in yonder old Abbey, Lady thereof by
the death of my Husband, since which time a young Lord hath been an earnest
suter to me; but my love and fortune dying with my husband, or but living
to his memory, I refused him, as many other that have sought me, wherupon
he vowed to have me by force, since no other meanes would prevaile,
and this day to performe his vow; he came, found me but slightly guarded,
and newly out of my bed, tooke me out of my house, bound my servants, and
thus farre on the way hath brought me: but when I saw this thicke Wood,
and being acquainted with the hidnest parts of it, I slipt from behind his servant
that carried mee, and with all speed possible ran (as I thinke you must
needs see me) towards this wildernes, here I hope I am secure, and shall assure
my selfe of it, if it might please you, to take me into your protection.”
He
curteous beyond expression, promised to defend her. “I pray Sir” (said she) “let
me yet ask some things more of you, which are, what your name is, and how
long you have been in this Country?”
“My name” (said he) “is Amphilanthus, my
being here, hath bin some time, being brought hither by the Princesse Sydelia.”
“Let me be so bold, I beseech you, to demand one favour more, which is,
Whether you were one of those two that came with her, to revenge her
quarrell?”
“I am indeed” (said hee), “and the same who fought with Terichillus.” Hh3 Then Hh3v 238
“Then am I blessed”, said she, “for I may assure my selfe of the valiantest man
alive.”

While they were thus discoursing, an other Lady, with as fearfull cries, &
shricks passed by, running from the Wood-ward, with such haste, as her feare
had made her so light, as shee left no print, so much as pressing the grasse
whereon she ranne, the impression it seem’d being in her, and no weight but
switnesse allowed her feet. Ollorandus followed her, shee fledd still, till shee
had lead him a good distance from his freind. Oh Ollorandus, what misfortune
now befalleth thee? What Witchcraft made thee forget thy vowe,
and Melissea’s command? Thy friend was carefuller of thee, and with
more constancy accomplish’d thy desire, how hast thou abandon’d him in
greatest neede? For he sitting by the Lady, as she had done speaking, out
of the deep part of the Quarry came many armed men, and all set upon the
King. He thinking they had beene her enemies, defended himselfe, and
willed her to take heede, “take that counsell thy selfe”, cride shee, “thou hatefull
murderer of my Husband, and dye for killing Terichillus.”
Then he found
he was betrai’d, wherefore taking the best courage he could, (and that was
the best of the world) he resolutely withstood their fury; but at last their
company still increasing, and his wounds, and weakenesse growing with
them, the place besides ill to fight in, being uneven, full of bushes, and all
disadvantages that might be to him, he was brought into infinite danger, and
so much, as giving himselfe lost, he recommended his last love, and best wishes
to his deere selfe, and so resolv’d, bravely meant to end.

But what did Ollorandus all this while? He was held with discourse by a
like deceiver, as his friend had mett, till he heard the noyse of the Dwarfes,
who calld him to that place with fearefull, and lamentable cries; where he
found Amphilanthus, now ready to fall among the bodies of those he had
slaine, as if he had kild them, to lye the hansommer on their bodies, in that
ill favored place, and to have an easier bed in death. When he saw this sadd
sight, how did he curse himselfe? Then remembred he what he had been
warn’d to doe, then sawe he the fault committed in beleefe, and their treacherie;
all these togeather made such a full consent of fury, as hee flew amongst
them with blowes, like shame for villany, heavy, and thicke, and
such good did he, as what with his valour, and the new courage his presence
brought Amphilanthus, his weake lims, they gave a little respite to him,
who sate downe within the clift of the Quarry; but then an other mischiefe
followed, for that divellish causer of all this, beholding him, and having the
power as she thought to hurt him, shee rolled a stone (which was loose, of
great weight, and bignesse, staying but upon the edge of a clift) downe upon
him, which gave him (though falling not directly, upon him, but a little
part upon his shoulder) such a cruell stroak, especially to his weakenesse, as
he fell with it on his face. Ollorandus seeing it, verily thought hee had beene
dead, whereupon he cried out; “damn’d Countrey, that must be the death of
that, which all the world envied Italy for, the blessing of nursing brave Amphilanthus,
farewell, and farewell all worth with thee.”
Then did his fury
encrease, and to that height, as but two being left of all the number, the Neapolitan
Prince having brought them from many, to almost none, yet fewe;
too many then for him sore wounded, he dispatched the rest, one onely surviving,uiuing Hh4r 239
who much molested him, & soarely handled him, going as he thought
to take up that unmatched King, he saw him stirre, and rise. With greater joy
he then ranne to him, who embraced him, and welcomd him as the saver of
his life; but the other craved pardon of him even upon his knees, acknowledging
his unpardonable fault. Amphilanthus quickly forgave him, and
seeing the one surviving man againe, set on them, finish’d that noble dayes
worke, and kill’d him with his owne hand.

Then did Ollorandus looke about, and with wonder admire that exploit,
wondring that such a multitude set upon the King, and that his strength and
courage had withstood, and overthrowne so many; this indeed being one
of the greatest victories, and without comparison, the most hazardous and
dangerous that ever he fell into. As they were thus beholding the slaughter
and thinking how to goe thence to cure their wounds, they heard one speake
these words; “Accursed fortune, that still hath crost my desires, now will I
not be more crossed in this wicked world; farewell cruell men, all mischiefs
attend you both, and curst be your best wishes.”
With that shee threw her
selfe from the topp of that huge Quarry, into the place where Amphilanthus
sate, when she (for this was the Princesse) threwe the stone upon
him, and against the same stone, stid she breake her necke. Then did they
strive to bring some of them that lay on the ground to life, if but to tell the
plot, but in vaine for they were all dead, yet for their better fortunefortune, the
same woman who had lead Ollorandus away, they saw againe, wherefore he
ridd unto her, and not purposing to be any more abused by her, brought
her to Amphilanthus, then did she confesse all the villany, but yet not till
she saw her Lady dead; the Treason was when the Princesse saw her Husband
dead, kild by Amphilanthus, she one of the wickedest living, set some
to enquire what course these Knights would take, and so gaining
notice that they were to goe into Hungary, shee appointed one of her
servants, (a fit creature for such a mistresse) to offer his service to them. They
not knowing the way, were very glad of such a conveniency, and so entertain’d
him, who brought them to this place, where they mett this terrible
encounter, the Princesse her selfe contented to act a part, for the getting of
her devillish purpose, and as a perfect actor did performe the last act best of
her Tragedy. Then did she warne them of passing on that way, “for” (said
shee) “an other ambush is layd for you, but if you will credit me, though
(I confesse) I may be ashamed to expect it, having beene already one that deceiud
you, yet as I have any faith, I tell you now but truth, and will advise
you to the best, goe not this plaine way, for by yonder Abbey, is as dangerous
a troupe layd for you, but crosse this Hill, which though rough and uneasie,
yet is the way secure and safe.”
They thanked her, and for her punishment
onely appointed her to goe to the new Princesse, and to her discourse
all this businesse, and then if shee could turne good from so much ill, as she
had been bred in, they should be glad, and so they parted; the false and
treacherous Princesse having no other Tombe then the Quarrey, nor rights
but her owne actions, nor monument but the carkasse of her wicked servants.

The Knights following the Gentlewomans directions, passed with much
difficulty the hill, and craggy rocks, getting on the other side, which was a fine Hh4v 240
fine and pleasant Country, to a grave Knights house, where they continued,
till they were cured of their wounds. The Gentlewoman performing their
command, arrived at the Court, where she related the whole treason, danger
and successe of it, telling withall, how that was the onely punishment allotted her.

The kind Sedelia grieved in her soule for this mischance, yet was comforted
when she was assured of their safeties; then sent shee some to visit them,
but they could not meet them, though they found the noble memories of
them in the slaughter, but heard by a Pastor that they were wel, & gon from
the old Knights house perfectly whole, and recoverd. At their returne, the
Princesse rejoyced, and in remembrance of Amphilanthus, and his friend,
set up a piller in that place, of excellent richnesse, and bignes, in which was
curiously engraven that famous victory: the Abby being daintely seated, &
having al delights of pleasure, either solitary or otherwise, she built anew, &
much more glorious then before, wherin she made the tombe for Antonarus,
laying his body there, leaving a place for her selfe, and as soone as her Son
came to yeares, fit for government, she put the whole rule into his hands,
retyring her selfe to this place, where with loyall love, and sincere faith, she
ended her dayes, beeing after buried with him, from whom living, shee
would not be parted, nor dead, severed.

The noble companions beeing recovered, tooke leave of their kinde host,
who would not be contented, till Amphilanthus entertained his onely Son
for his Squire, which he did, and so they pass’d towards Hungary; ryding by
a faire and pleasant rivers side, which Ollorandus knew, and welcomd each
drop which passed by him, knowing, the place where his Mistris most commonly
lived at, was seated on this streame, his thoughts were busied on her,
and Amphilanthus as passionately contemplated his love: thus they rid together,
yet their thoughts so farre asunder, as might have made them strangers.
As thus they passed among some Osiers, which grew by the side of
that River, some of them within it, or the water in love with their rootes,
chastly embraced them, making pretty fine ponds betweene each other,
the armes, and bodyes of the trees, lying so kindly to each other, as
with much ease, and fine coolenesse, one might passe from one to the other.
A dainty Maide among the trees, had taken up her abiding, having made a
kind of bed among them, upon their boughs, which twind within one anothers
armes made the lodging secure. She had an Angle in her hand, and
lay as if fishing, but her mind plac’d on a higher pleasure; she little regarded
the byting of the fish, beeing her selfe deceived with a cunninger baite, the
hooke of love having caught her so fast, as nothing could release her, and
as she sate, she would make pretty, and neate comparisons, betweene her betraying
the poore silly fish, and her owne being betrayed by the craft of love,
which some times she commended; and yet againe would condemne. At
this time she was in a reasonable good conceit of love, & favorable enough
to him, as appeard by this song she sung, the voyce beeing the cause of their
seeking any body in that place.

Love Ii1r 241 “Love peruse me, seeke, and finde How each corner of my minde is a twine woven to shine. Not a Webb ill made, foule fram’d, Bastard not by Father nam’d, such in me cannot bee. Deare behold me, you shall see Faith the Hive, and love the Bee, which doe bring, gaine and string. Pray desist me, sinewes daines Holds, and loves life in those gaines; lying bare to despaire, When you thus annottomise All my body, my heart prise; being true just to you. Close the Truncke, embalme the Chest, Where your power still shall rest, joy entombe, loves just doome.”

The Song ended, they went towards her, desiring to discourse with her,
she curteous and excellently witty, gave them entertainement, her apparrell
was such, as said for her, she was of the best sort of women: her Gowne was
of greene Satten, with long sleeves to the ground; they, and her gowne buttoned
to the bottom, with buttons of Diamonds, so were her wearing sleeves;
but by reason the weather was warme, they were left open in spaces, through
which her cut worke Smock appeared, and here and there, her delicate skin
was seene; shee held her angle as neglectively, as love the ill causer of her
paine held her, when the poore little fish did plaie with the baite, or offer to
swallow it, too big for them, yet made the corke stirre: so” (would she say)
“doth Love with me, play with me, shew mee pleasures, but lets me enjoy nothing
but the touch of them, and the smart of the hooke that hurts me without
gaine, and only gives as light a good to me, as the hope this floting corck
did give me of the fishes prison.”
But these imaginations were laid aside by
the two Princes comming, to whom she presently rose up, and with fit and
excellent respect she saluted them, throwing downe hetr rod, wherewith she
had thretned, but executed little hurt, & passing over her transparant bridge,
went unto them, whom she used according to their merits, when shee understood
who they were, conducting thēem along that river to a most curious garden,
and so into another, and then into as rare a place for building, as they
in all their travels had ever seene, being a house of white Marble. Varietie of
all delights were there, and shee desirous that they should enjoy them, giving
all the free and noble welcome that could be afforded. Ii After Ii1v 242

After they had been a while in the house, shee desired them to be pleased
to unarme themselves, which they did, being brought into a rich chamber,
wherein there were two marvellous faire beds, they having before intreated
to lodge together.

Then did she leave them till supper time, comming then againe to attend
them; but when she beheld them, she could not but extreamely admire the
lovelinesse of Amphilanthus, for no woman, were shee never so passionately
in love with any, but confessed him fittest to bee beloved, though such were
his worth, as few had the honour of his affection, and most of them gratefulnesse
woed more for, then his owne choice. Thus they went together to the
roome where they were to eate, the King of Bohemia using all respect unto
the Lady, who he thought did much resemble his Mistris: but as a true lover
thought shee came farre short of her perfections. At supper there were many
Knights more that came to visit this Lady, she being much honoured, and
beloved of all: her husband was likewise there, but such a man to bee her
mate, as if hee were made for a punishment to her, for being so excellently
perfect above the common rate of her sexe, her fashion such, as no stranger
could but commend to be full of modesty, and judgement towards him; but
as it was discreet and observing, so was it to be discernd distant enough from
affection, yet as farre from neglect as fondnesse, his likewise to her, as if shee
governd both parts of love. He entertained these Princes with much kindnes
keeping them company, and shewing them al the rare delights he had about
his house, which were many: but the greatest rarenesse they saw, was the
Lady, who so much Amphilanthus marked, as he discoverd her to be one of
their fellow prisoners in the Castle of love; wherefore desirous to heare that
discourse, especially loving to heare love described, and related by a woman,
out of whose lipps those sweet passions more sweetely proceeded, hee gave
occasion for it, as they walked along a dainty pleasant brooke, the bankes
whereof were of such sweetnesse, as the plenty of the most delicate smelling
flowers could yeeld unto them, being shadowed from the Sunnes parching
by Mirtle, and that Mirtle preserved by high, and brave trees, whose breadth
and large boughs spread to give content to those, who under them would
submit to solitarinesse. “This place” (said Amphilanthus) “were fitter much for
lovers, then such free Princes as live here.”
“Is there any free from that passion
my Lord”
, said she? “Only such” (said hee) “as you are, whose sence of love
doth rather from you command harts to your service, then presume to bring
you into the fetters, being rather his commandres, then subject.”
“An untoward
government”
(answered she) “assuredly I have yet had, I never having enjoyed
quiet minut, since I knew this state, but that rebellious passions have ever tormented
me.”
“Can that be”, cry’d Amphilanthus?? “I am sensible of them”, said she.
“Alas”, said Amphilanthus, “that I might be so fortunat to merit so great a happines,
as to understāand the way, that bold love takes to cōonquer such perfection.”

“That may soone be gaind” (said shee) “for requite me with your story, and
I will truly discourse my fortunes to you.”
“Never let mee bee rewarded for
my paine”
(said hee) “if I refuse this noble offer.” “Begin you Sir” (said shee).
“I will obay in that also” (said he): and then did he tell her the whole story of
his affection, onely keeping her name secret, because Ollorandus knew her, and
had mistrust of it, but no assurance; after which she began thus. My Ii2r 243

“My Lord, so ill it seemes love hath carried himselfe, as it is a kind of fault
in a woman to confesse any such matter; yet I knowing my selfe innocent of
ill, and now ingaged by your freedome to make a requitall, I will venture to
speak of this Lord, Love. My father had a sister married to one of the noblest
and greatest Princes of this Countrie, as rich in possesions as any, yet possessed
he not so much treasures, as hee did vertues, being richer in them, then
any other of this land, true noblenesse and noble hospitalitie abounding in him. He had to inherit his estate, two Sonnes and one Daughter, children
fit for such a father, truly and lawfully being heires to both his estates of
riches, and vertuous qualities.
Many yeares this good Lord lived, but age claiming the due belonging
to time, and a sore disease taking him, hee dyed, leaving his honours, vertues
and chiefe estate to his eldest sonne, called Laurimello, who had been much
in my fathers house, his father putting that trust in his brother in Law, as to
leave his dearest part of comfort with him: besides, my Fathers estate lay
neare to the Citie of Buda, which was a conveniency, by reason of the Courts
lying there, for his seeing, and frequenting that: by reason whereof, after
his fathers death he brought his sister likewise thither, betweene whom and
my selfe, there grew an entire friendship. She being great, and her brother
beloved, and honoured above any other Prince, many sought her for wife:
but shee knowing her perfections and greatnesse, was nice in accepting any,
nor indeed had shee much mind to marry, loving her liberty more then marriages
bondage.
Among others that offered their service to her, there was one called Charimellus,
who by his friends and parents, was sent to sue for her favour; thither
hee came; but I comming with her into the roome where her suiter
was, and her brother, with many more, hee cast his eyes on mee, which
brought him that misfortune, as to bee so suddenly surprised, as he knew not
scarce how to salute her, which made her scorne him, laughing at his bashfulnesse,
which caused so much blushing and trembling in him. I regarded not
his traunces, beginning so much as to thinke from whence it proceeded, but
out of good nature was sorry for the man, who in troth deserved much pitie,
and merited great respect: but my heart else where placed, held mine
eies in their set way, not marking any thing but mine own fortunes, no more
then one starre troubles it selfe with anothers course: but my cosin, who
would not keepe her thoughts from imparting them to her friends liberally
used her wit on him, whose part I tooke, ignorant of the cause I had, till some
dayes being passed, in which she gave him refusall; he discovered his love to
me, and withall, protesting how he was surprised at my first sight. I told him,
I could not believe one sight on such an instant could worke such an alteration;
nor if it were true, that I would so soone accept of a refused suiter, since
my fortunes I trusted would not be such, as to bind me to take my cosins leavings.
This answer griev’d him, yet did it no way allay his affection, but rather like
snow, which plaid with all, doth make ones hands burne: so did the cold despaire
of my words make his hart hot, & glow in love towards me, my friends
liked and lov’d him, he being of a sweet and mild disposition, valiant, and
accompanied with many brave, and noble conditions; and such a one, as Ii2 none Ii2v 244
none, I thinke, could have disliked, that had been ordaind to marry with
judgement onely, or had not their heart before settled as mine was. Long he
pursued his love, at last he gained my fathers consent, my mothers, and most
of my friends, the estate, and antiquitie of his house, besides his person, meriting
any subject for wife. When I saw this, and the danger I was in to bee
bestowed; I then wholly employd my time, in studying how I might gaine
mine owne desires, and finely put this off. While this was in my mind, a third
businesse came in, which was another match offerd my father for me, whose
estate was greater, and neerer to our dwelling: to which my father (being
more then ordinarily affectionate to me) quickly harkned, and willingly embraced.
Then was I in more danger then before, my heart so perplexed, as I
knew not what I did. Poore Charimellus came unto me, wept to me, presented
his affection to my memory and eies: I pittied him, and truly had as
much compassion upon him, as I, or any other (whose soule was in anothers
keeping) could have of him; and so much favour I did grant him, as to promise
to speake with my Father, and directly to refuse the new proffered
match.
This contented him, hoping my refusall had been onely for his good: I
performed my promise, and spake with my father, telling him, how much
he was afflicted, how passionately he loved me, what reasons I had rather to
accept of him then any other, how the world had taken such notice alreadie
of his two yeares suite, as it would be a disgrace to him, and a touch to me, to
take this new one; nor did I find that I could affect him, therefore I besought
him to graunt me that blessing, that I might not be thus yeelded to every
great match, but that the businesse might be carried more to my honour and
content. My father I confesse was vext with these words; yet being as kind
as any man, he moderated his furie something, more then I might expect,
bringing forth at last these words. ‘The confidence I have had in you, I hope
may still continue in that strength, since I cannot thinke, you dare for goodnesse
sake commit so great a fault, as to deceive, especially your father; therfore
I doubt not, but your freedome is as ever sure; yet I must needs say, the
suite of Charimellus continued thus long, hath given occasion of discourse, I
dislike not your care of that, nor be you afraid more, then reason wills of the
worlds reports, which are like the discharging of pieces of Ordinance, where
fire, smoke, and noise, are the companions, but one bullet hurts but in one
place, and often times misses: so may harme by loud talking people misse
hurting you, although the bruite flie; yet doe I not condemne, but prise your
care, honour being as necessary to a womans happy life, as good Lungs to a
healthfull body: but yet I trust you are not ingaged by promise.’
I assured
him I was not, though I could not deny, but my affection was setled. My father
imagined hee knew the place, thereupon proceeded in the former
match; then was I to worke my end, having no meanes, save mine owne industrie,
and strength of mind busied like a Spider, which being to crosse from
one beame to another, must worke by-waies, and goe farre about, making
more webs to catch her selfe into her owne purpose, then if she were to goe
an ordinary straight course: and so did I, out of my wit weave a web to deceive
all, but mine owne desires.
The last plot I had, was to make Charimellus intreate my Cosin, to bee his meanes Ii3r 245
meanes to me for him, which he (good man) fulfilled; the discreet and brave
Laurimello speaking to me as earnestly, and affectionately, as if for himselfe:
I received his words, and accepted his counsell, as a patient doth the advise of
his Phisition: and so wrought it in me, for he was able to cure me, and only
he, yet not weighing what, and whereto my answers were directed, hee let
them passe, my accounted servant remaining secure, as it was imagined in my
opinion and love, but contrary it proved; for soone after he seeking to have
assurance from me of my grant to be his wife, I refused it, telling him I had
privately vowed unto my selfe, never to be betrothed, nor assured, untill the
time I married. He was troubled with my refusall, yet so civilly I used him,
as he was reasonably contented there withall; never were Bees so busie in a
Swarme, as my thoughts were how to set my mind, and ends aright; sometimes
I resolv’d to speake, but bashfulnes with-held mee, casting before mine
eyes the staine, that justly might be laid on me, a maid, and of so tender yeeres
to wooe a man: then how often I had heard him say, that hee hated forward
woman, and could love none but such an one, who he must win by suite and
love, and who would love him so, as though most earnestly, yet pretily to
make him thinke, neglect did governe her, which would be like Cordials to
his heart, or a diet to increase the stomack of his love. These hindred me, and
I continued like a branch placed to the wall of faithfull affection, while the
blasts of desire did move the leaves to speake, or shew so much, as might be
called love. While these doubts rul’d, Charimellus fell sicke, being then many
miles distant from me. for his estate lay in Austria. I hearing of it, sent to visit
him, but so late, as my messenger could onely deliver, as to his last senses my
message, and he for his last words returne me thanks, and so he died, sending
me a token, which he tooke from about his arme; with that, and the newes,
my servant came, in troth I was sorry for him, and found that I could weepe
for him, and did so too; yet was there no roome left for any, but my first
chose love to inhabit. After his death, the second came againe, and with his
friends, and all apparent meanes, did set his rest to win me; but I freed, meant
so to hold my self, nor could there be left color for thēem so soone to move me;
hope began then to flatter me, & I saw (or that deceitful thing did see for me)
that no bar now did lie between my joies, & the obtaining, save a little nice, &
childish modesty, which would a vertue prove in shewing modest love. But
so long did I feed my selfe with baby fancy, till the truth was lost, for he not
once imagining my end, married another Lady, rich, and therefore worthy.”

“This misfortune past repaire, and falne on mee, I privately lamented,
moan’d my state, griev’d and still quarrel’d with my self, and then when all
was lost, and hope of joy quite dead, I yeelded to my second suiters mind,
with the consent of all my friends, and publique feasts, I marryed him, with
whom I now (thanked be Heaven) happily have liv’d these many yeares.”

“But doe you not sometimes” said Amphilanthus, see your best chosen friend?”
“Oft times” said she, “and in that am I bless’d, for heere wee have all pleasures
we can wish, content, and love, and happines in that.”

“No happinesse can bee compar’d to that”, said Ollorandus, “where love
meets, and mutually is blessed with one, and the selfe kinde. But how doth
the good-man like of this?”
so wel” said she, “as if he made the choyce, being secure
in my chastity, yet this I needs must say, I liv’d an ill, & froward life with Ii3 him, Ii3v 246
him, for some two yeares, while ignorance held me, and willfulnes lived in
him; but when wee came to know, or better, to bee cleane deceived, wee
grew good friends, and like kinde mates, have lived these last three yeares.
Humors hee had of jealosie, which I could not blame him for, my fashion
beeing free, and such as having still beene bred in Court, I carryed with me,
but since he discerned, that more innocency lyes under a fayre Canope, then
in a close chest, which lock’t, the inward part may be what it will. Hee accused
himselfe, and is now growne so free, as I doe rather doubt my selfe
then him, and in truth I needs must say, I am so much a servant unto love, as
I discover more in outward shew, then grave discretion can permit me with,
yet alwayes have I, and still will rule my affection by vertue.”

By this they were arrived at the wall of the garden, having still followed
that pleasant brooke, which was an arme of the large and brave Danubia;
being enter’d the Garden, they met her Husband, and with him the sweete
enjoyer of her free given joyes, none neede to tell the Princes who hee was,
for who but hee could hold her eyes so fast? so eagerly did they behold
each other, as if they fear’d one part of sight had fail’d to make a full conclusion
of their blisse, or as if they through them would looke into their hearts,
to see the setled dwelling of each others faith: there was affection discovered
at the height, and as true love would wish, freely given and taken. “Most
blessed paire”
said Amphilanthus, sighing in him selfe; “alas, may I not live to
see such good? may not my deere behold me with such lookes, such smiles,
such loving blushes? may not her vertue freely grant this to me? yes I have
seene such, but accursed man must not enjoy, but what curst Desteny wil allow
my wants.”

Then made he some excellent verses, the subject being desire, and absence,
and so much was he transported, as he stood not like a beholder, but as an
Actor of loves parts: Ollorandus talking this time with the husband, returning
all into the house, Amphilanthus passing in his accustomed manner,
the brave Laurimello leading his beloved Lady by the hand, after supper they
walked abroad againe, and so till bed time, pass’d those houres in pleasant
sweete discourse, the Lady making her owne words true, for never did any
woman make such free, yet modest shew of love as she did, yet exprest with
such fine judgement, & sweet chastity, as that love, was in her deem’d a vertue,
and his wanton faults commended by the witt, and dainty manner of
her earnest love. The next day the two Princes tooke there leaves, and so
for Buda tooke their journey, Ollorandus contenting himselfe, with the hop’d
for joyes he should receive in the conversation of Melisinda, and Amphilanthus
thinking how to returne unto his deerer selfe, blaming, and condemning
himselfe, for being so long absent, and accusing fortune for such cruelty,
as not onely to make him loose the comfort others had, but also to
make him witnesse of their gaine, & by that to behold his perpetuall harme,
and unbearable want. To Buda at last they came, where they were entertained.
Amphilanthus as his merit, and dignity required; Ollorandus with
such affection, as all the schoole of love, could instruct Melysinda with: Rodolindus
with triumph, and feast, giving them testimony of their welcome.
Many dayes the feasts continued, and still increased the banquet of love, betweene
the King and his Mistris, when Amphilanthus was intreated to shew his Ii4r 247
his skill in armes, which he did in a just, wherein he encountered the King
Rodolindus then unknowne for the manifesting of his vallour, would disguised
meete the incomparable Prince, who not understanding any reason why
to spare him, but to adde to his honor, gave him such unkind greetings, that
although hee were as valiant, and strong as any in Hungary, yet at the fift
course, he was throwne to the ground much brused: which hurt he never
recover’d, but within some few months after deceased, leaving his delicate
wife, as perfect and excellent a widdow.

These justs being done, Amphilanthus desired liberty of Ollorandus to returne,
who, though infinitely griev’d to yeeld unto it, yet judging by himselfe
the causes that mov’d him, he consented, telling him he would also accompany
him, but by no means would he consent to that, no more loving
to part, then to be parted from his love. Alone he resolv’d to goe, but for
his dwarfe, who attended him, sending his new Squire unto his Mistris, to
advertise her of his safty, and of his speedy repayring to her. The first dayes
journey, the Queene, with the two Kings accompanied him, then parting,
Amphilanthus tooke toward Stiria, and so, that way to goe into Italy, in
which Country, hee mette a very fine, and strange encounter, in a delicate
meadow, (being newly entered Stiria) there was a fountaine, about
which were many Ladyes sitting, all apparrel’d after that Country manner,
but in one colour, which was willow colour, imbrodered with gold, neately,
but not extraordinarily rich; they were, (as hee perceived being neere
them) some singing, some playing with the water, others discoursing one to
an other, all busied; and yet none busie, but in play. They hearing his horse,
look’d up, hee saluted them, and alighting came to them, with whom he had
many pretty passages of witt; at last he disired to know who they were? they
answer’d servants, as their livery might testifie, and Ladyes of honor to the
Princesse of Stiria, who was absolute Lady of that Country, being subject to
love, and yet not free. “Where is that Princesse” said Amphilanthus? “not
farr hence”
, answered one of them, “being walked into yonder wood, where she
is the sadest, and most discontented of any Princes living.”
“May the cause be
knowne”
said he? “To such an one as will offer his helpe”, said the first of them.
“I will doe my best” said he, “else shall I forsweare armes, when I am so unworthy
a man, as not to serve brave Ladyes.”
“Then Sir”, answered she, “I will tell
you the matter as well as I can, but not so passionately, as my Lady her selfe
would doe, if she were to relate it. Emilina (for so is the Princesse cal’d)
having beene sought of most of these Princes, which are neighbours to this
Country, and many more neighbours to love, refus’d them all, some of them
so loving, as love might have pleaded, and won for them, others have conquer’d
by their valour, some have gaind pitty by their afflicted passions, but
all were as one thing, a lover rejected: she having wholy resolv’d within her
selfe, to give her possessions, her heart, and all to the renowned Prince of
Naples, and lately King of the Romans, Amphilanthus, whose fame had won
more in her, though in person then to her never seene, then all they with
their continuall petition. At last this Prince came, whose name had so sovereignis’d,
as she stood not to behold, or examine what causes might in him
moove her affection, but as Amphilanthus she lov’d him. He subtill above
all men, and as any, faulse, flatter’d her, and so much wrought with her, as hee Ii4v 248
he gain’d what he desir’d, and what he most esteem’d: for had she given him
les, she had, as she beleeved, wronged her fervent love: hee seem’d as passionate
as she, and surely was so, but unconstant creature he did change, and
so will all you doe.”

“While he lov’d, none loved more earnestly, more fondly, none more
carefully, but how can loyalty be where varyety pleaseth? scarce cold hee
indure any to looke upon her, much lesse, suffer or permit her to use any but
himselfe familiarly; which hee need not finde fault withall, for so did shee
love, as she never look’d on other, with the eyes of more then civill curtesie.
Some while this continued, the marryage was expected, hee gaind her promise,
to have onely him; she never doubting, prest not for his vowes, more
crediting his word, which she assured her love of, then seeking by desire of
stricter vowes, to make him thinke she did mistrust, least action of his, gave
her steddy trust, and so she trusted, till shee was deceived, for after hee had
gain’d her firmest love, and so by vowes obtained what he sought, most vildly
he beganne to change, and fell inamour’d of a Princes maide, who being
neere allied unto my Lady, often came to visite her at Court; this Gentlewoman
truly was most faire, and I thinke good till then, if not then too; we
sawe it, and were vex’d with it, yet knowing that no curster cor’sive can bee
to a lover, then to be dispised, especially by him that once did love; at last
she found it, (miserable knowledge,) how then was she grieved? if I should
offer to discover, I must say I am a lover, and forsaken to, otherwise can none
or ought any to presume to tell a farlorne creatur’s woe. First, in silence she
did beare her paine, and with attendance, and continuall kindnes, strive to
win him back, or rather, that he might not thinke she did mistrust, she strove
to hold his love, But that ungratefull man, (which name is more then her
gentle affection will yet permitt her to give him,) discerning her respect and
love, would seeme to see neither, yet faild he not in all outward shewes, to
manifest his change. She writ unto him, she wept before him, she complayed,
she bewailed others that were forsaken; he heard, and not regarded, he
answer’d but slighted, he joyned in pittying them, but neglected her that
most wanted; she lost her beauty with sorrow, with weeping whole nights,
and sobbing, that I have my selfe come in, uncalled but by those sorrowes
to her, the greatenesse of her heart, though able in the day to cover them, yet
was forced at night, to borrow assistance of breathing out what her spleene
was over charg’d withall, and what, save teares, sobs, and silence would shee
trust for her associates? Forgetfull man that so abused her, who wrong’d her
selfe alone in trusting him, nay wrong himselfe in such a base unworthy
change. I adventured to advise, when I saw all misery over take her; shee
tooke my counsell, which was, to urge the marriage. He slighted her, and
told her she was growne old, and her beawty alter’d, willed her to recover
that, and when he return’d from a journey that he had in hand, he would be
as he was.”

“Alas, what torment was this to her, who was only his? she tooke it to the
heart, though hee smilingly delivered it, as if in jest, till all considered it
aprooved true; then faign’d he an excuse, that the King his father sent for
him, and that at his returne he would not misse to performe what hee had
promised, so he found her as he expected. His leave he tooke of her, which went Kk1r 249
went as neere her heart, as marrow to the bones, yet staid he afterwards with
the other wench som certaine daies. We used al meanes to hold her ignorant
of that, and many more his passages: but what more cleare and perfect sighted,
then true love? She knew all, and yet knew her faith so cleare to him,
as she would blind her sight, rather then touch his truth. O faithles Amphilanthus,
accursed man, that brought this hard insufferable wrong and harme
unto the faithfullest and the worthiest lover, that ever love did wound. But
to proceed, he went and left my Lady quite forsaken and forlorne, who since
(unhappy woman) lives in groanes, and daily sorrowings.”
“But where now is
the Prince”
, said Amphilanthus? “Truly Sir” (said she) “where the falsest, ficklest,
waveringst, and unworthiest man doth live, and there is hee, and else where
know I not.”
“No such unworthinesse lives in that Prince, I know him well”
said he, “and lately saw him, but I will not say ’tis the same you speake of, for it
may be, some such creature hath abused his name, and for these ends given
out to be the man.”
“Know you the Prince then”, said she? “if you doe, hee is a
faire false man, a treacherous well shap’d man, not tall, though high in mischievous
ill nature, slender, but full in wickednes, curld haire, and thicke; yet
auld in vertue, and this is Amphilanthus, as he cald himselfe.”
The Prince
knew straight it was another man she meant, yet grieved to heare his name so
much abused, and that a Princesse should beare wrong for him. This, besides
his owne interest in the matter, made him vow revenge, wherefore hee desired
to see the Princesse, the first Lady told him, that if hee would attend her
comming forth of the Wood, hee should be admitted to her sight, he would
not further urge, and so with them sat downe, while one of them sung this
song, telling him it was made by her Lady, who was as perfect in all
noble qualities, as subject to love, and so to bee for too much faith deceived.

“From victory in love I now am come Like a commander kild at the last blow: Instead of Lawrell, to obtaine a tombe With triumph that a steely faith I show. Here must my grave be, which I thus will frame Made of my stony heart to other name, Then what I honor, scorne brings me my tombe, Disdaine the Priest to bury me, I come. Cloath’d in the reliques of a spotlesse love, Embrace me you that let true lovers in; Pure fires of truth doe light me when I moove, Which lamp-like last, as if they did begin. On you the sacred tombe of love, I lay My life, neglect sends to the hellish way, As offering of the chastest soule that knew Love, and his blessing, till a change both slew. Kk Here Kk1v 250 Here doe I sacrifice worlds time of truth, Which onely death can let me part with all, Though in my dying, have perpetuall youth Buried alone in you, whereby I fall. Open the graves where lovers Saints have laine, See if they will not fill themselves with paine Of my affliction, or strive for my place, Who with a constant honour gaine this grace. Burne not my body yet, unlesse an Urne Be fram’d of equall vertue with my love To hold the ashes, which though pale, will burne In true loves embers, where he still will move; And by no meanes, let my dust fall to earth, Lest men doe envy this my second birth, Or learne by it to find a better state Then I could doe for love immaculate. Thus here, O here’s my resting place ordain’d, Fate made it e’re I was; I not complaine, Since had I kept, I had but blisse obtain’d, And such for loyalty I sure shall gaine. Fame beares the torches for my last farewell To life, but not to love, for there I dwell, But to that place, neglect appoints for tombe Of all my hopes; thus Death I come, I come.”

“Did Emilina” (said the Prince) “write this, sure Amphilanthus could never
be false to such a creature.”
“He was, and is” (said she), “and truly doth hee make
good his name, that signifieth the lover of two.”
“That name” (said he) “was given
him, e’re he knew what love was, or himselfe.”
“The latter sure he knowe
not yet”
, said shee. “You will I doubt not shortly have a better opinion of this
Prince.”
“Neither of him, nor those that be his companions”, said she, unlesse I
grow so unfortunate, as to be a lover of all variety, and so for that, I may like
changing men, or delight in Camelions.”
With this the Princesse came, a Lady
not of highest stature, nor low; so hansome, as one well might see, there had
bin excellent beauty, but decay’d, as love was withered to her, who now resembled
the ruines of a fair building; her countenance grave, but curteous,
shewing rather retirednes, then much given to conversation; her pace, slow,
and her apparell careles: her clothes were of Tawny, cut with Willow color,
and embroidered with Willow garlands of that color, and gold to shew
the forsaken part was noble. She came towards them, and with a modest gesture
saluted the Prince, who with his helmet off, presented the true Amphilanthus
to her eyes; she desired to know of whence he was, and what adventure
brought him thither. He told her, he was of Italy, and that his blessed
fortune had brought him, where he might repaire an injury done to a wronged
Prince, and serve her in the busines. “Alas”, said she, “what service can I have
in that, since none lives wrongd so much as I? nor can one of that countrie, or Kk2r 251
or all that Nation, right the injurie received by one, and yet deare one to me.”
“That one that wronged you” (answered he) shall right you, or my life
shall pay for it; tell me where you thinke he is.”
“If I did know” (said she) “and
with all understood a danger to him by revealing him, for all the harme I
have received, I would conceale him, and thus haplesse live, rather then be a
meanes to harme his person, which still I hold deare.”
“How happy is that
Prince”
(said he)? “and yet unfortunate to be so injured, as to be defamed by a
suborner, and a traiterous man, falsely assuming thus a Princes name.”
“Wrong
him not with that taxe”
(said she), “for sure I could not love a meaner man, not
any but that Prince, and so the bravest Amphilanthus. But you it seemes,
have heard of his light love, his change and falshood. Alas heare, with that;
what man, nay, even your selfe hath lov’d and never changed? may not then
Amphilanthus doe the like?”
What a perplexitie this was to him, judge bravest
lovers: but she did proceed; “What shame then is it to him? and to whom
can harme insue, save to us wretched trusting women.”
“Madam” (said hee) “I
seeke to cleare the Prince, and to let you discerne the wrong he beares, that
one so base and so perfidious, hath taken his name on him.”
She was speaking,
when a Knight, who newly there arriv’d, kneeled to him, telling him he was
most glad to find him so neare home, but sorry for the newes hee brought,
which was, he must repaire with all the speede hee could into his Country,
for otherwise he could not enjoy the blessing of his aged fathers sight, who
then was ready to yeeld unto death; withall hee gave him letters from the
Lords, and from his brother. While hee thus discoursed, the Prince tooke
them, and then the Lady askt of the stranger, who this Prince was, to whom
he had used such reverence. He answered; Amphilanthus of Naples, Prince,
and now he thought, the King. She then turning to him; “My Lord” (said she)
“I must needes blame your name, that hath brought me my discontent, yet honor
your person, though the love to that, was the sweet betrayer of my blisse.”

Then did she freely confesse, what the Lady before had related, which being
heard by the young Prince of Venice (for it was he that came unto him with
the newes), he assured Amphilanthus, that hee had met the Knight, and by
him had been overthrowne; so as truly Sir” (said he) “he is valiant, and as strong
as a man need bee, to maintaine so bold a charge, as to counterfeit your
strength; he hath also now got a companion, who calls himselfe Ollorandus;
and thus they passe, your fame makes few, except strangers, meddle with
them. But I seeing his face, and with that his falshood, ventured to fight with
him, having justice on my side, which I hoped would bring me victory; but I
see, that a good arme must hold the ballance, else sometimes truth may fal (as
I did) to the ground.”
Amphilanthus confident of the truth of the deceit, took
his leave of the Lady, who earnestly desired his presence to her house, but he
taking the occasion of the Venetians comming, would excuse himselfe, and
keepe him free from temptations, till hee saw the perfect commandresse of
his dearest love. The Lady was troubled, yet at last, like other crosses, shee
did beare with that, but in the night she thus lamented. “Wretched woman,
above all accursed, must my affection first be placed on worth, & that worths
name abuse me and my trust? which were I better hope of, that I was betraid
and cousned by a false and treacherous man, then by the Prince? No sure I
was deceived, for none but he that did betray me, spake of him; here one cals Kk2 him Kk2v 252
him away unto his country. O I was deceiv’d, and am, and shall be, haplesse
Emilina, borne to ill, nursed to misfortune, and must die by change. Alas Amphilanthus,
I did love thee most, best, and my youngest love, and most innocence
was given to thee. I knew not love, when I did find, that I loved thee; my
heart was thine, before I knew it was mine owne to give: thou tookest it, I
thought did prize it too; thou calledst it thine, thine owne best heart, didst
cherish it, and kindly made of it; said, I did arme the God of love himselfe, giving
him sight and power; and when in Verse I once did waile a little absence,
which I was to suffer by thy going for one weeke from mee, in that
small space thou didst repay my lines, calling me sweet more kind; & telling
me, if I did harme mine eyes, I should disarme love, and undoe the throne of
him and his; and yet all this is false, and thou (O thou) untrue. Deceived I
am; yet why didst thou plot for my ruine? If to gaine by me, why didst thou
not make all the Country thine, as well as me? No, I doe see thy conquest
was but me, and I was only for a prey to satisfie thy will; variety of loves, not
faire possessions, are thy aimd at-games. Yet Amphilanthus true or false, I must
still love thee best, and though thou wrong me, I must love thee still. What
torments have I alas for thee indurd? How have I searched my heart, and
found thy Image, as if lim’d in each small corner of it; but all joyn’d in that
service, made it round, and yours, yet are you false; O me that I must live and
say, Amphilanthus is proved false, and unto me; yet this brave Stranger saies,
hee is abused; well, bee it so, I loved him as that Prince, and so my crosses
came.”

“Is it not possible, O cruel man, Prince, or whatsoever els, that thou wilt back
returne? Come home againe, and be thy first sweete selfe, kind, loving; and
if not a Prince, I’le make thee one; and rather would I wish thou wert not
one, but with that title throw thy fault away, and bee a lover, just and excellent;
thou maist be so, for where doth lodge more abilitie of good, of valor,
vertue, and all else, but constancy, which I wil pardon: come unto me, I forget
that ever I was left, that thou wert false, unkind, and will remember onely our
first joyes, thinke all this other time was absence, or a dreame, which happines
likely contrary to what appeares. O let this be so, my deare, and (only deare)
I doe forgive thee: I invite thee, come accept my state, a gift laid at thy feet,
my selfe thy vassall, these are worthy thanks, and these I will performe. Leave
those inticing beauties, and great wits, that snare-like catch, & hold for meere
advantage to them, and their ends; ticing thee by fine Brades of vowed locks,
and plaited haire, a dainty shew; nor didst use with me, my haire unworthie
of the honor to be worne by thee: thou thinkst I know not this; yes, and do
grieve for it, yet will be silent to thee. I am a woman free, and freely offer, I
not begge, but give, and aske but love for principality, and rule of me: many
I know doe seeke thee, and thy gentle disposition (apt to bee deceived, as I
was when I loved) will be abused. Beware, cast those deare eyes that wonne
my freedome on my faith and zeale, and then discover what a difference
there is betwixt fervent love, whose ends are love; & such, where only use &
gaine attends desier. But if thou wilt continue thus, be yet still safe, let their
loves to thee, bee as firme as mine; let dangers flie from thee, saftie bee
neere, and all ill shun thee, blessings prosper with thee, and bee thou blessed
with them.”

Then Kk3r 253

Then turnd she sighingly within her bed; al night she thus did passe those
houres, with such distracted passions: and so full her mind was stor’d with
memorie of him, as shee did call all actions into mind, and as new done, did
lively make presentment to her eyes, and so of all past happinesse shee knew.
Then mixt she them with her new discontents, and so comparing them, make
her poore selfe the stage, where joy and sorrow acted divers parts, her
heart the sad sceane where the storie lay; oft did shee call him false,
then love inraged, made her recall that, and complaine of spite, concluding
still, “I cannot yet but love, though thus forsaken, and forelorne I
live.”

Amphilanthus gone, he fell into discourse with the young Venetian, who
related unto him what he had heard of the counterfet Prince, then did hee
proceed, how hee understood, hee had taken his way by sea into Greece, and
thence for Asia, “and there no question” (said he) “the dainty Pamphilia will
be”
; “the kingdome he’le first visit, and good welcome surely” (said Amphilanthus)
“he’le find there.”

Thus they rid on, the King contemplating his Mistrisse, beholding her as
present, as if by; and the Venetian plotting how to gaine the loving Emelina
to his wife, but that was difficulter to bee gaind, then their arrivall without
more adventures into Italy; so as being thither come, the King was met with
many, who were going, some to seeke, and some from seeking him, were
return’d.

At last he came to Naples, where he found his father sicke, and past recovery,
yet so much comforted to see his sonne, as life in the last power did expresse
it both with face and smile: but that as joyfull newes crost by the next
unlucky messenger, is as a greater crosse, then if at first time knowne: so did
his death more heavily incounter the good hope his sonne did then receive.

He dead, the Lords and Commons all with one consent (and that consent
accompanied with gladnesse in their good) received Amphilanthus for their
King. A marvelous brave funerall was then prepared, within which time
the Princes neere and farre, as fast as notice came, sent their Embassadors to
condole and congratulate his happy beginning. The funerall once passed,
straight followed the Coronation, where the Embassadours did assist of Morea,
France, great Brittany, Bohemia, Romania, and the sweet, and delicate
Pamphilia; all being done, the Embassadours tooke their leaves, the
King presenting them with presents rich, and fit for him to give, and
them to take: then the next businesse was, to settle all his estate in
good or quiet government, to which end he did appoint the Prince his brother
to be Regent, and setled such a grave and honest Counecll, as he was secure
(though absent) of his Kingdomes good.

Then went hee with some forces hee had raised, which were in
number twentie thousand Foote, and five thousand Horse to the place appointed,
to ship them for Epirus, directing them the time of putting forth,
which way he resolved, the rest would passe into Albania: the Princes of
Florence, Milan, Ferrara, Naples, Modina, Apulia, and many more officers of
this Field in this brave army went: but he trusting the army with these commanders,
himselfe accompanied onely with the Prince of Venice, landed in Kk3 Morea, Kk3v 254
Morea, from thence being able easily to meet his men, and time enough,
for any service. Being landed, hee heard nothing but Drums, and Trumpets,
and such warlike musique, which well pleas’d his eares; much hast hee
made, till he came to the Court, where he found great sadnes for an unhappy
accident befalne Selarinus, which was this, going (as hee thought safe enough
because disguis’d) into Epirus, the proud Queene of that Country,
who had denyed passage for the Armie, got notice of him, and that notice
gave danger of his life, for her Mother beeing Daughter to one of the
Kings, or Lords of Albania, treachery, and falshood, having devided it into
five parts, he and the other Townes, had made a combination, never to suffer
eyther to be harm’d, but contrariwise to harme any should molest the other,
and to seeke all meanes to ruine the two brothers, whose fame had,
though with honor, unluckely come to their eares, vertue in them, having
brought the worlds companion, malice, with her.

This was not only agreed of among this wicked confederacy, but also
taught as a necessary lesson to their Children; this Daughter, having marryed
her selfe to the like vow, else a maide, and faire, but proud, insolent,
and as those creatures, are commonly ignorant enough. She first to give occasion
of offence, denyed passage for the Armies, having so much foolish
pride about her, as she was blinded from knowledge, that those forces could
passe with her losse of her Realme, if they pleased; but she, who saw but as
through a prospective glasse, brought all things neerer or farther, as shee
pleas’d to turne the ends to her sight: so she drew danger to her, and put assurance
with judgement, and goodnes from her, laying waite through all her
Country for either of those Knights, or any other who belonged to the united
kings, that by chance, or hope of disguises, surely might offer to passe that
way. It was Selarinus his mishape, first, and onely at that time to adventure,
and having rid two dayes journey without let, or any kind of hazard,
the third day, he unfortunatly hapned into a house belonging to a Keeper,
and standing in a great Forrest: this Keeper, had in his youth beene an Esquire
to an Epirean Knight, slaine at Mantinia, at a great just there held, after
whose death he return’d, and putting himselfe unto the Queene, hee gain’d
the keeping of this Forrest: this man fell into discourse, being crafty, and so
fitt for so ill an imployment, as he was used in; by discourse hee gain’d knowledge,
that this was one, belonging either in place, or affection to the Morean
Court; then having enough to worke upon, as if he had eaten much poyson,
hee must breake, so brake he into the open way of destroying Selarinus;
for sending his boy to the Court, which was then but ten miles off, by the
next morning he had forty Knights to secure him, and conduct the Prince,
trecherously made a prisoner, to the Queene, who mistrusting no Treason
under greene clothes, nor falshood, where so faire language and welcome
dwelt, at night being weary, unarm’d himselfe, and went to bed, where hee
slept, till hee was awaked with the paine, which hard cords cast about his
armes brought him, he did after confesse he heard some noise, but thought
it had only beene his Squire puting up his Armour, or making it ready, and
fitt against the morning; but when he saw how he was deceiv’d, and heard
his poore servant cry also out against them, he only with Princely patience
said this; suffer imprisonment with mee, poore boy”, said he, “as well as thou hast Kk4r 255
hast enjoyed freedome, and content, witnessing that Fidelius can serve Infortunius
in all estates faithfully.”
By that the youth knew his Lord, would not
be knowne by other name then Infortunius, wherefore hee resolv’d to dye,
rather then betray him. Till morning he was thus held, then delivered to
to the Knights, who straight carryed him to their Queene; shee hating all
that had but seene Morea, or any of those Countryes belonging to them,
she cal’d enemies, went into her Hall, and with all magnificent state sate to
behold, & so to scorne the unfortunate Knight, who was brought in chaind;
the Queene sitting with a setled resolution, to manifest hate, scorne and contempt,
but seeing his sweetnesse, and lovelynesse, his tender youth, his modest
countenance, tryumphing as it were over his misery: with noble patience,
only shewing stoutnesse in bold suffering, and giving way to Fortune,
as subject in that tyranny, yet inwardly his estate molested him, & shame to
see those brave armes fetterd, and bound, brought some blood into his face,
which though shewed upon such an occasion, yet it provoked an other conclusion,
for he being naturally some what pale, this made his beauty appeare
more delicate, as if of purpose to purchase his libertie; thus was hee forced
to be beholding to that womanish part, to restore his manly power to liberty,
that working for him, which his worth held least worthy in him, for
the Queene (though most ambitiously, raised in conceit of her selfe) now
found there was a greater Prince, and a higher authority, which might, and
would command. She gazed on him, shee blam’d the small respect their
rudnesse had shewed to a Knight, to bring him like a theife, chain’d, shee
caused his bands to be taken off, and strictly corrected them, (who expected
thanks) telling them the disarming had beene an honor, but their taking
him naked was a shame unto them, and to all brave spirits. Then called shee
the Prince to her, desiring to know his name, and Country, kindly smiling
on him, holding him by the hand, the softnesse, and fairenesse, of which she
grieved should handle a sword, or be used in fights, fitter to bee held by her
like-loving selfe; withall she assured him, his imprisonment should be no
other then content, if he would but yeeld to her desires. Hee answered, his
name was Infortunius, nephew to the Lord of Serigo, who was killed at the
King of Morea’s Court, in his presence and many more, having thither
brought a faire Lady, whose love he was to winn by fight, but he was slaine
by Selarinus, younger brother to Steriamus, for whom the great preparations
were now made to winn Albania. “Are you of their party” said she? “Truely
Madam”
said he, “I wish good to all just causes, otherwise, I being but one,
am little able to asist any, therfore dare I not venture to say I am of any side,
but I did intend to see the warrs.”
“If you did but intend that, you may” said
she still continue to that purpose, nor will I hinder you, yet I must enjoyne you
to some things for my sake.”
Hee answered her, his life was in her hands to
command. “Not but to save, and cherish it”, replied she: “therefore goe with
this Gentleman, who shall direct you, and convey you to a chamber fitt for
you”
; then did one of her cheife officers conduct him to a marvellous rich
roome, which she had appointed him to carry him unto, where hee had all
things necessary, and brave, save his armes, then did he leave him there,
and his owne Squire to attend him, with many more, whose respects, and
officiousnesse was such, as mov’d trouble, and proved such liberty, a true impri- Kk4v 256
imprisonment, yet at night he had freedome, for by the Queen’s appointment
they were not to lye in his Chamber, but in an other roome, where
for his safety, & no way to trouble him, they might conveniently remaine.
Supper was servd unto him, with all servicable duty, infinite rich, and sumptuous
fare, glorious plate, and nothing wanting, that so proud a woman
could to satisfie that humour, thinke of; to gloryfie her selfe, and obleige him. He fed, and after supper went to bed, the doores were shut, and hee
layd downe to rest, but what quiet could he enjoy? fearing all these faire beginnings
would turne to his greater harme, for no end could he see, but dishonour
to him, as himselfe, and certaine danger, as Infortunius abuse; and
what was most as Philistella’s servant, shame, and just reproach if hee falsified
her trust, or his affection. Tormented thus, he did remaine til towards midnight,
when a doore opened at his beds head, out of which came sixe Ladyes,
each carrying two white wax candles, which they set downe upon a
cupbord, placed of purpose before the bed; then they returned, when the
Queene, as rich and glorious as Juno, came in, her mantle was Carnation
sattine embroder’d with gold, and round pearle, fastned with a faire Ruby;
her wastcoate of the most curious worke could bee made with needle, her
pettycoat suitable to her mantle, her head dressed with a dressing fram’d of
the same worke with her wastcoate, through which, her haire was delicately
drawne in many places; daintely she was apparrel’d, able to winne any,
but such a spirit as Selarinus: for never did curious carelesnesse better adorne
creature, then it did this Queene, who with care sought to bee neglective in
her apparrell; To the bed side she came, and sitting downe upon it, so as
the light might serve to shew her beauty, she thus spake.

“Your name, and comming into my power, so nearely agreeing, cannot
give you other hope, then to follow them, who have before runne into this
danger of breaking my commands, which are not without death to be satisfied,
especially, if you, like those wilfull men, will not obey me: yet this
favor you have to lead you to happinesse, that I never honourd any before
with thus much kindnes, which in an other (if not so great a Queene) might
be called love. But I, that scorne subjection, cannot allow such a power, only
confesse my liking you, hath made me pitty you, and pitty, brought mee
to offer you an unusuall honor, for till this time, did never any thought wherin
ill might lurke inhabit, nor ever was I mov’d to thus much shew of immodesty;
yet flatter not your selfe with thought, of over much gaine, since my
attendants witnesse my truth, and such boldnes, as durst not bee matched
with loosenes. But indeed, I must say, I did like you, when I saw you first,
and so well, as I then resolv’d to be courteous to you, that hath made mee
willing to speake with you, and to be truely resolv’d of you; the night time I
chose by reason my spirit having hitherto ever commanded, and not in
the least, yeelded to any authority, I should now be ashamed to give occasion
of the contrary conceit, either by my countenance, or fashon, which I doubted
would be so much more alter’d, as my desires to faor you, might purchase
mee; yet hope not more then your duty, and respect to me, may lawfully
challeng, least you fall into as great a hazard, as a Larke doth, who to shun
the Hobby lyes downe, till the nett be laid over her, and so is caught by her
owne folly, or base yeelding. But if you yeeld to me, it shall bee noble, if you Ll1r 257
you refuse death: honour will not permit mee to demand ought but noble
things, honour likewise ties you to obedience, you a Knight, I a Queene, able
to crowne you with the title of a King, as it may bee with the honour of my
love; feare not, noblenesse dares adventure any thing that’s noble. I come
not to you with threatning Armes or weapons to indanger you, only with
love arm’d fully, and so I would conquer.”
“What needs Armes” (replied the
distressed Prince), “where such unmatched power raignes? weapons where
beautie dwells: or can refusall live, where such perfections authorise yeelding?
Command mee great Queene, I am your servant, your prisoner;
what use of words when the heart submits? or speech, when I am in your
royall hands a Vassall at command?”
She was pleased, and well liked this answere,
her pride and power satisfied, yet out of pride ordering her actions, so
as calling her maides, she went away, assuring her selfe, that his love must bee
answerable to her ambitious coveting it, and servile to her will: but her maids
comming to her, they brought a marveilous lovely banket of severall sorts of
fruites, both preserves, and other as that time afforded, and the delicatest
wines Greece did know. Then tooke she him by the hand, with a countenance
of majesty and love mix’d, neither too high in state, nor with shew of submisse
affection. She was no sooner gone, but Selarinus shut the doore, grieved
to the hart, that he should be so tempted to injure Philistella, whose love was
so ingraven by truth in his breast, as he vowed to die, rather then consent to
any greater kindnes, then that night he had yeelded unto. The rest of which
time hee spent in thinking of his love, and weeping out compassion on his
woes, that were remediles; yet such were his teares, as they made prints in
his soule, for every one shed seem’d like a drop throwne on fire, that makes
it blacke, but quencheth it not: so did those spots of falshood (as hee tearmed
them) disgrace, not disanull his vowed faith. “Deare Starre” (said he), “which
onely gives me light, how maiest thou darken thy selfe from favouring me?
and how justly may I condemn’d demand no pardon? My dearer life, hadst
thou heard my words, or seene my manner, mightst not thou too justly censure
me? I am unworthy of thy smallest grace, and unable to excuse my error;
yet this consider, I must get liberty to serve thee, and how but by deceit?
if each one may use deceit, it will be surely permitted, if not allowed, to enjoy
their loves; then for that purpose beare with me, but let me deceive her, to
bee true to thee, and to bee with thee. Pardon then this ill, and give leave to
use Art to be more plaine with thee; my bodies liberty lies in her to graunt,
my heart’s in thine to kil or save, sweet now be like thy like, gentle, and sweet,
and be assurd, I will not live to be untrue unto thy loved selfe.”
Then turnd he
in his bed, sigh’d, and wept, and so continued till the day appeared, then rose,
and drest himselfe, his Page, and the attendants first appointed by the Queene
waiting upon him. When he was ready, he walk’d about the roome, at last he
looked out at the window, not to see, but to be unseene to lament, breathing
his private sighs into the aire; the chiefe of his attendants, thinking hee had
stood admiring those sweet fine delights, told him, if it pleased him, hee
might goe into that Garden, for such leave he had. Hee willing to have
any signe of freedome, quicklie gave consent, so little a place as a Garden
being like fresh-water, comfortable to stenched fish: so this to a prisoner.
Ll Downe Ll1v 258

Downe they went, the walkes were extreame high, and no way to bee
climb’d, gave them certaine assurance of his safety, wherefore they left him.
When he was alone, he threw himselfe upon the ground, beate his breast, and
still cried out; “O me wretched of all men, why am I thus punished for ambitions
choice? Love, thou didst choose, or say I did, why Love, I doe that
more deserve thy favour, when choice and love are honourd in the choice.”

Where he had cast himselfe, it was under a faire shade of Oranges, a purling
brooke whispering close by him, which still he thought, said; “Philistella see,
see”
; “I see my wrong”, cry’d he, “but better consider my true love to thee; avoid
temptations poore distressed Selarinus, and proud lascivious Queen, forbeare
thy shame, and mine.”
Then came she in, for from her cabinet, she might behold
that garden plainely, and perceiving him, she said within her selfe, “my
love is there, my love commands, my love invites, the time allowes, and all
things with my longings now agree.”
As she was thus resolud, she left her Cabinet,
and hasted towards the Garden, to win, assure, and so enjoy him, whom
she found enjoying as much griefe, as absence, and imprisonment could bring
a loyall lover. He saw her not, till she threw her selfe downe by him, he started
up, and with humilitie demanded pardon for his boldnesse, in not rising
to her Majestie, which fault might be excused, by not perceiving her, till shee
downe was laied.

“Your fault is greater” (said she) “in rising, since that witnesseth your desire
of leaving me, no ill proceeding from kind love and stay.”
He then kneeled
down, and so they did discourse, she making love, he coldly answering it, yet
covering still his backwardnesse with feare, and his respect unto her greatnes,
not daring to have an aspiring thought to rise so high, till almost shee was forced
plainely to wooe, which hardly he did understand, wherefore ignorance,
and duty begge his pardon: which so liked her, being assured to hold him
till she had what shee desired, and then might dispose of him according to
her mind and will. She bravely wooed, he humbly entertained, and thus
that day passed.

Night againe was come, when he afraid of such a loving visitant, lay musing,
and beseeching love it selfe to keepe her from him. This his prayer was
heard, for shee came not, but in the morning sent to speake with him, who
was conducted to her chamber by many Gentlemen through brave Galleries,
and stately roomes. When he was arrived at the place where shee was
to give audience.

“I sent” (said shee) “for you about a businesse, which may bring good to
you, and which is more, liberty if you performe it.”
“My life Madam” (said
hee) “is in your power, command, I will obay.” “There is” (said shee) “a
proud vaine man, so over-esteeming himselfe, as he dares thinke himselfe
a match for mee, a subject, and what more, is my Vassale: this arrogant
creature hath often sued to mee, now threateneth (if I refuse) the
winning mee by force, how hee will bring the Army that is going to Albania
through my Country, which I have gain-said, and sent refusall to the admired
brothers, whose part hee boasts that hee will take, and by their helpe I
shalbe made his wife. These, though only threatnings, yet are much unfit for
me to suffer; wherefore I desire that you will undertake the quarrell for
mee, and defend my state against the insolent subject.”
Selarinus was loath Ll2r 259
loath to fight with one, who he found by her relation was his friend; yet liberty,
the comfort of ones soule, went beyond all other considerations, so as
he undertooke the businesse. She comforted with that, answered the letter
he had sent, which was this.

“‘Terenius of the Castle, to Olixia, Queene of Epirus, sends this word,
that if my affection bee thus still slighted, and forgetfulnesse rule, where
fondnesse once remaind, I will no longer endure wrong’d, but by force obtaine
right. I have lov’d you, proud Queene, these many yeares; you lov’d mee likewise,
or told me so, expressions some I had, as my chamber and yours can witnesse.
I honour you too much yet to defame you, if faire meanes may prevaile,
happinesse may succeed to both, if not, expect sudden shame, and cruell force.’”
“‘Olixia of Epirus, to Terenius. Presumtius Vassall, abuse not my chastitie
with thy foule reports, which cannot be hid under the few touches you
give me, of your chamber and mine, where God can witnesse, no thought of my
side tended, or looked towards ill; the only offence I have committed, being the
good usage I gave to so base a deserving creature. Your threatnings I feare
not, and scorne your unworthy selfe so much, as I almost hate my selfe for answering
you, which honour you never should receive, were it not to let you know,
that I will have men ready, to bring you, and your rebellious company captive
to me, as soone as I heare you dare moove in armes: or if your pride will let you
defend your honor alone without an army, I have a Knight here shall defend
me from you, and make you confesse you were insolent, but by his might, and my
justice, againe my vassall.’”

This letter was sent, whereupon Terenius conceived such disdaine, as giving
order for his raised men to attend Steriamus (what ever became of him)
he went to the Court, where hee found the Queene like her letter towards
him, telling him, that were it not for the honor she bore to Armes, he should
have bolts, and a hard prison, rather then liberty of combat, for his presumption;
but comming upon her summons to defend his unjust cause, he should
have leisure to fight. Then was Selarinus preparing for the busines, his armour
being brought him, likewise his good sword, whereof he was infinitely glad:
but comming downe into the lists, as soone as he saw Terenius, he knew him,
having seene him doe very bravely in Morea, in a Just there held for the arrivall
of Amphilanthus, and his friends after the enchantment. This, and besides
the love he heard he bore his brother, and himselfe, troubled him to fight against
him, yet no remedy there was as he could yet perceive, which afflicted
him, till Terenius saying, that he for many yeares had not fought with any,
but he spake some few words with him, upon a vow made after encountring
his owne father; he desired therefore to see the Knights face, and to say somthing
to him. The Judges gave leave, so comming together, Terenius knew
him, then wept he for griefe, and unkindnes, that hee should forget him, and
fight for her, who hated him, and true worth, especially against his friend and
servant. Selarinus told him, hee was there a prisoner, not knowne, but would
faine get liberty, for if he were once discoverd, nothing could save him from
death. “Be ruld by me” (said he) “in the fight I will make shew to run away, followLl2 low Ll2v 260
me close, and I will leade you out of the lists, being content to be held
a coward for your service and good, what then shall hinder us, till wee come
to my men, which are but sixe leagues hence, armd, and armd for you.”
Hee
consented to it, but then speaking aloud; “Villiane”, said he, “dost thou thinke
to make me betray my Queene, and Mistris?”
With that the Queene smild,
thinking her selfe secure, and assur’d of her servant. They met with the sound
of trumpets, but both missed breaking their staves, though so fairely they
ran, as had it not been meant to be in earnest, they might have given content
with great shew of fury: they threw away their Speares, and drew their
swords, fighting most eagerly to show, but the blowes falling flat-long, did
no harme, like clouds threatning stormes, but in pitie breakes up againe
to clearenes. Then did Terenius retire a little, and Selarinus presse much on
him, and so much, as being neere over-comming (as the people judged, and
all laughing at Terenius) he turnd his back to the Princes, and fled, who with
all speed, and loud cries will’d him to stay; but he heard not, the other still
followed. The company attended the returne of the Victor, till he staying
longer then the custome was, a certaine place being limited for one that
fought on such tearmes, to returne with honour from slavery, some ran after
him, to let him know the fashion, and the acknowledgement of the victorie,
with intreaty to come, and receive thanks from the Queene, for the honor he
had done her: but all this needed not, for they that went, might see the two
late seeming enemies appeased, their swords put up, & riding together, as fast
as their horses could carry them towards Terenius Castle. The messengers returnd
with this ill newes, the Queene stormd, tore her haire for meere anger
and vexation, men were presenty raised to raze his Castle to the ground, and
summes of mony offerd by proclamation to any could bring in Terenius, or
Infortunius his head. Thus, was Selarinus deliverd, by the vertue of worth,
from inticement, and by love from danger to be tempted, to wrong a constanter
lover of him. Philistella, how art thou ingaged to praise Terenius, and
his fortune, to bring freedome to thy love? but how much more to honour
that chast affection in him? which could not be wrought to wrong thee, nor
to give consent so much as to it. Thus he free, the Queene in her rage and fury
sent for the Youth his Squire, who she threatned to execute, if hee did not
vow, and performe it, to deliver Infortunius into her hands againe, dead or alive;
or if she had his head, it would be sufficient satisfaction. Hee swore hee
would, and so tooke his leave, following his Lord, till hee gaind the Castle,
where he remaind some dayes to consult upon the affaires of Albania, where
it was concluded, that the army should passe that way, and joyne with them,
and if they had resistance to begin there. Thus they concluded, by which
time infinite numbers of men came unto them. The Squire to performe his
promise, got a head made to the life for Selarinus, which so justly resembled
him, as none at first could thinke it was other then his fleshly, pale, death-like
was the complexion, the eyes settled, the mouth a little opener then usually,
the haire of the same colour, but so much wanting the cleare brightnesse, as
a dead mans haire will want of a living mans, the bloud as trickling downe
out of the vaines, some spinning, and so naturally was all done to the life, as
cunning could not performe more. When this was ready, and the army marching
to the confines of that kingdom, to welcome the Moreans, the Squire
tooke this head, and wept to see it, being so like, though he knew the contrary,ry, Ll3r 261
and saw his Lord by. Into a coffer of Ciprus, of purpose made, he shut it up,
with some lines written by his Lords directions; then gave he charge for the
delivering of it, to a yong desperate fellow, who cared not for his life, or had
so much wit, as to know how to save himselfe, withall, some mony hee gave
him, gold blinding all sight of danger from him. This mad man went to the
Court, when he arriv’d there, and demanded for the Queene, answere was
made, she could not be seene. “Shee must be seene by me”, cry’d he, “and so tell
her, for I have brought her a token she wil joy to see.”
This being told her, she
rosse, and sending for the man to her, he deliverd the present, naild and sealed
as it was given him. She demanded what it was? “The head you desird”, said
he, sent by the Squire”; then claimd he his reward, she granted it, and having
discharg’d him, he departed, glad of his good fortunes, & so hasted away for
feare of recall. She straight cald the Court together, and being al assembled in
the hal, she came in, two of her greatest Lords carrying the coffer before her;
then she made a solemne speech, telling them what wrong she had sustaind by
the cosenage of the stranger, and yet that none of them would (to right her)
take so much paines, as a meere stranger had done for her, faithfully discharging
his word unto her, “for here” (said she) “is Infortunius his head, the head of
that traitor, who betrayd my love and content.”
Then was the coffer opened,
one of the Ladies (who attended her that night of her loving visit) holding a
bason of pure gold to receive it in, framd of purpose to hold it for ever, shee
determining to keep it, as a testimony of falshood, to be shewed to all men,
and the cruell example for it. All at the first sight imagined it his, but handling
it, found the deceit, which she did not so soone as others (yet durst none
be the discoverers, but her owne eies which proceeded in cosening her) for
shee was busily reading some lines, which were laid upon the face of him,
which were to this purpose.


“To witnes faith is eternal, I performe this part, in part of your commands, the head
of Infortunius I send you, which may be cald so, since he is dead, and that brave body
gives to the honour of the earth, and Albania’s goood, famous Selarinus. The first
name as counterfeit, so is this head, the other true, will let you and Epirus know, the
wrong he suffered by imprisonment.”

“How now” (cryd she) “nothing but treason and deceit? Infortunius turnd to
be Selarinus, and my shame for rashly loving discoverd to mine enemy?”
then
flung she away into her chamber, vowed to make no shew of revenge, since”
said she, “nothing can come to me but misfortune.” Vext & angry she remaind,
fed on her owne curstnes and scorne, hated food, as being too meane a helpe
for her to receive after such an affront; in sum, she pind with meere ill nature
and disposition of body & mind, so as she fel into a fever, and willfully would
not be ruld, who she said, was borne to rule, and so brought her selfe to the
last act: then beholding deaths uglines, she would not die, nor could she hansomly,
for she would have lived, if possibly; but ’twas too late, & so too soone
by her owne desire, and yet unwillingly she ended her daies, just as the armies
met; but Selarinus had in the meane time assur’d Philistella of his safety, which
was so welcome to her, as the other was contrary to Olixia. Now had Epirus
anciently belonged to the Kings of Albania, being annexed unto that
Crowne by a match, which the good and honest Terenius alleaging, and none
standing for the Crowne, nor heire being left of those, who unjustly held
it, the Crowne was by Steriamus consent, and the whole Armie, set Ll3 vpon Ll3v 262
upon Selarinus his head. Then went they to the cheife Citty, and after
marched toward Albania, all wishing for Amphilanthus, and none
being able to tell what was become of him; most conjecturing, that hee
was gone to release Selarinus, but then he must have beene heard of in those
parts; others that hee was calld away upon some adventures, because the
night before, a strange Squire delivered him a letter, since which time hee
was not heard off.

Steriamus was loath to beginne without him, the rest advised not to stay,
being assured hee would make all hast after them. Then met they with the
Italian Army, and so joyn’d; then likewise came the Romanian Army,
led by the King himselfe, who told Parselius, that Antissias was gone to visite
Pamphilia, wherof hee was very glad, since his sister might enjoy so
good company. With him came Dolorindus, for after hee had beheld her
picture which Polarchos brought, hee was never free from her affection,
he being the yellow Knight, that had the ill fortune to receive the worst in
the Court of Morea; yet was that service a meanes to bring him to Antissias
favor, for hee taking that occasion to let her know his affection, she entertained
him, being assured of her first loves losse, yet vowed she to see
him once againe, or write to him, before shee would wedde Dolorindus.
Besides, shee had engaged him by oath, to performe one service shee
would employ him in when shee demanded it, and that done shee would
marry him. He contented himselfe with that hope, which proved as empty
as it selfe; without gaine, so farr as that promise did ingage her, yet hee
after enjoyed her.

All the famous Princes met, the question was, who should command in
cheife over all. Parselius had the Moreans, Amphilanthus was to command
his Italians, which without comparison were the bravest, and best
order’d, Rosindy the Macedonians, Leandrus the Achaians, Selarinus the Epireans,
Antissius his Romanians, Dolorindus those hee brought from his Kingdome
of Negropont, wherof hee now raigned King. Other troops there
were, wherof the chiefe of their owne Country commanded, but over all,
as it was then resolv’d, Steriamus, for whom all these were joyn’d, should
have the power, and name of Generall. Hee was loath to take it upon him,
so many Kings there, and himselfe having no army of his owne. All his
arguments were turn’d to his honor, and gaine of that place, which he with
much respect, and care accepted. Imagine how brave a Prince he now is, and
what joy this would be to his Urania, to see her Steriamus command five
Kings, besides innumerable Princes, Dukes, Earles, and valiant Knights.
But the first and bravest King her brother, was not yet come, nor could
there be just guesse where he was; yet on the Army marched, newes being
brought them that Plamergus had taken a strong passage, to defend, and hinder
their passing further into the Country.

This Plamergus was one that enjoyed a part, and that part of Albania, having
in times past beene a servant to the last true King: but ingratitude, of
all faults the greatest, beeing such as it reacheth to a sinne, he was infected,
and possessed with. The brave Steriamus call’d his magnanimious Councell
together, where it was resolv’d that he should be fought withall, and that
Antissius with the Romanians should have the honor of the Vantguard, and Ll4r 263
and so it was agreed upon. The next daies march brought them within sight
of their enemy, but together they could not com, a great River parting them,
and he having throwne downe the bridge in spight. On the other side the
Country was hilly, (if not more properly to say mountaynous) and not one,
but many straight wayes, so as judgement was heere required to equall valour
and direct it. Their first resolution therfore was alter’d, & as there were
five wayes, so they devided themselves into five devisions. The Italians Steriamus
tooke, joynings Dolorindus with him, and so determined to take the
middle way. The King of Macedon was to take the first way on the right
hand, and Parselius on the left. Antissius to goe on that side with Parselius;
and Selarinus with Leandrus, were put to the last on that side with Rosindy.
Much did Leandrus grudge at this, that his rivall (as he deem’d him) should
bee matched with him, whefore he began to repine at it, till the rest told
him, that he was joyned with him, only out of respect that he was one of those
two, for whom all this quarrell was. Hardly this could prevaile with him,
wherfore Steriamus discerning it, chang’d the order, taking the forces which
Selarinus had there of Epirus into his division, and sent those of Negropont
to Leandrus: but because Dolorindus was a King, his Leiuetenant went with
them, and himselfe stayed with the Generall.

The next care was how to passe the River, which might have beene the
first, considering that was like the barr, let downe at Barryers to stay the
combat, and such a barr was this, as all their judgements were called to councell,
how to avoyd the danger, and passe the water, on the other side wherof
was the desired fruit. At last Steriamus gave this advice, that they should
cut downe part of a wood, along the side of which they had marched, & lay
those trees close together, then fasten them with chaines one to another, and
so lastly all together, and passe over some first in the night, who might both
helpe to fasten the trees on that side, and if they were discovered, hold some
play with them till the army pass’d. This was well liked, and his advice applauded,
so was the practise instantly put in hand, and by morning (many
making quick worke) the Army passed. At breake of day the Enemie discovered
them, which amazed them, for so many they went in front as they
covered the trees and so thicke they came, as if they had walked on the water;
the enemie apprehended feare, which was as terrible to them, as if a
wife went out with confident to meete her husband, to joy with him, and incounters
him slaine: so were they wedded to assurance of safety, and unmarryed
by this stratageme.

But Plamergus gathered his spirits together, and so drew his men into
the heart of the straights, where he could compell them to fight, and most
wrong our men, not being able to goe above three in front; besides his horse
he placed on the side of the hills, most advantagiously for them, but harmefull
to us, had not fortune favored, and made Antissius the instrument; for
hee something forwarder then the rest, having got his Army over, and put
them in battell, marched on, and comming to the entry of the passage, perceived
the place filled with the plāanks, & posts of the bridge, which they had
enviously pull’d downe, those hee tooke up, and as a certaine foretelling of
their successe, made use of the benefit, commanding his soldiers to carry
them to the River, and laying them upon the tree-made-bridge, made a reasonablesonable Ll4v 264
way for the horse to goe on; now was there noe want, horse, and
foote being placed. Then were the horse likewise divided, and the hills
given them, so as on hills, and in the valleyes, the enemy was answered with
forces. But now it is time to leave these affaires to Mars, and let his Mistris
have her part awhile who alwayes, and at all times hath some share in businesses,
Pamphiliia in her owne Country contented, because as shee thought
safe in the happinesse of her love, though tormented with the burthen of absence,
one day walked into a Parke she had adjoyning to her Court; when
shee was within it, shee commanded her servants to attend her returne, her
selfe taking a path which brought her into a delicate thicke wood, a booke
shee had with her, wherin she read a while, the subject was Love, and the
story she then was reading, the affection of a Lady to a brave Gentleman,
who equally loved, but being a man, it was necessary for him to exceede a
woman in all things, so much as inconstancie was found fit for him to excell
her in, hee left her for a new. “Poore love” said the Queene, “how doth all storyes,
and every writer use thee at their pleasure, apparrelling thee according
to their various fancies? canst thou suffer thy selfe to be thus put in cloathes,
nay raggs instead of vertuous habits? punish such Traytors, and cherish
mee thy loyall subject who will not so much as keepe thy injuries neere me”
;
then threw she away the booke, and walked up and downe, her hand on
her heart, to feele in there were but the motion left in the place of that shee
had so freely given, which she found, and as great, and brave an one in the
stead of it, her servants dwelling there, which more then hers she valued, and
deerely held in her best dearest breast, which still sent sweetest thoughts to
her imagination, ever seeing his love, and her’s as perfectly, and curiously
twined, as Ivye, which growne into the wall it ascends, cannot but by breaking,
and so killing that part, be sever’d: not like the small corne that yeelds
forth many staulks, and many eares of wheat out of one, making a glorious
bunch of divers parts: this affection was but one in truth, and being as come
from one roote, or graine of matchlesse worth, brought forth but one flower,
whose delicacy, and goodnesse was in it selfe. Many flowers shewes as faire
as a Rose to the eye, but none so sweete: so were many loves as brave in
shew, but none so sweetly chast, and therefore rich in worth; this inhabited,
and was incorporat in them both, who as one, and as it were with one soule
both did breath and live.

“Sweete wood” said she “beare record with me, never knew I but this love.”
“Love”, answered the wood being graced with an Echo. “Soft” said she, shall I
turne blabb? no Echo, excuse me, my love and choyce more precious, and
more deere, then thy proud youth must not be named by any but my selfe,
none being able to name him else, as none so just, nor yet hath any eare (except
his owne) heard me confesse who governs me; thy vast, and hollow
selfe shall not be first, where fondest hopes must rest of secresie in thee, who
to each noise doth yeeld an equall grace. As none but we doe truly love, so
none but our owne hearts shall know we love.”
Then went shee a little further,
and on a stub, which was between two trees, she sate downe, letting
the one serve as the backe of a chayer to rest upon: the other to hold her
dainty feete against; Her armes she folded on her breast, as embracing his
brave heart, or rather wrapping it within her armes. “Deere hart” said shee, when Mm1r 265
“when shall I live againe, beholding his loved eyes? can I in possibility deserve
ought? he not here, am I alive? no, my life is with him, a poore weake
shadow of my selfe remaines, but I am other where. Poore people, how are
you deceived, that thinke your Queene is here? alas tis nothing so, shee is
farre off, it may be in the field performing famous acts, it may be on the Sea
passing to fetch more fame, or indeed speaking with thy selfe, as I discourse
to him, his time employed in thoughts of love like mine, and so he thinking of
me, brings us both together in absence, present when distance is, and absent
oft in greatest companies. But dost thou thinke on me deare love? thy heart
doth tell me so, and I believe it as tis thine and mine. Sweet hope to see him
flatter mee, but pay for such an error, and make good the joy I take in thee;
blesse my poore eyes with seeing his, that make mine lowest slaves to his
commands, yet greatest Princes since so prised by him; Let these hands once
be blessed againe by touching his, and make this Kingdome rich by bringing
him, the truth of riches to her; let mee enjoy those loving lookes, which in
me force content beyond it selfe, smile in those eyes, which sparkle in desire,
to make me see, they strive to expresse, what flames the heart doth hold of
love to me. Doe I not answere them? let me then straight be blind, deprived
of that joy of sight, and happinesse of joy, for that alone in him, and from
him can I have.”

“And thou most kind and welcome memory, adde to my soule delight, the
sweete remembrance of our perfect loves, bring to the passionate eyes of
my imaginary sight those pleasures wee have had, those best spent houres,
when we each other held in sweet discourse: what wanted then but length
of deare enjoying, when his deare breath deliverd unto me, the onely blessing
I on earth did covet, telling me he was mine, and bid me be assured when he
was other, he must not be living, death must only alter him from mee, and
me from him, for other can I not, or will I be. Sweete memory tis true, hee
vowed this, nay tooke mee in his armes, and sware, that he embracing me,
had all the earthly riches this world could afford him; so thought I by him:
thus still you see one thought, one love still governs him and me, are wee not
most properly one? and one love betweene us, make us truly one?”

Further she had proceeded and run on, to infinitenesse of content in these
imaginations, but from them she must be taken, to be honord with the presence
of her bravest Cosin, for then came one of her servants (who knew,
that breach of obedience in such a kind would bee pardoned) telling her,
that the King of Naples was come to visit her. She quickly rose, nor did shee
chide the man, who surely had been sorely shent for troubling her, had any
other cause brought him, and so disturbd her amorous thoughts. As shee
returned, Amphilanthus met her, their eyes saluted first, then followed all
the other ceremonies that do befit so fit a welcome.

To the Palace they came, where nothing wanted to manifest the certaine
governement that hee held there, hee being the Prince shee most
respected; but whom shee loved, shee never would to any other once
confesse. With delicate discourse they passed the time, shee never satisfied
with hearing of his acts, yet never ungrieved when she heard of danger, although
past, still curious of his good. Some daies they thus remained, when
newes was brought, Antissia was arriv’d. “My Lord” (said shee), “are you Mm not Mm1v 266
not happy now, that in this place you shall behold your love?”
“The assurance
of that happines”
(said he) “did bring me hither from that royall Campe.” She
was no whit displeased with this reply; the next morning Anitssia came to
the Court; the King holding the Queene by the hand, met her at the gate.
Antissia was so much joy’d, as she was but that cosening thing it selfe, ravished
with false delight; she triumphed in the blaze, while the true fire burnt
more solidly, and in another place. She was conducted to the Palace, Pamphilia
with her left arme embracing her, holding Amphilanthus with the right
hand. Into the Hall they came, where choice of musick entertaind them:
Antissia never more pleased, Pamphilia seldome so well contented, and Amphilanthus
eunjoying too his wish. Antissia gazed on him, and happy was when
she could catch one looke cast on her, out of which shee found millions of
sweet conceits, conjecturing, that by that looke he told her, she had still the
whole command of him, as once she had. Dissembling enemy to perfect rest,
vaine hope thou art, why didst thou cousen her, and after thy deludings, let
her fall from that height to cruellest despaire? As the variety was great, and
pleasing of the musick, so were their thoughts every one mooving in their
owne Spheare. Antissia as her joy was most excessive, as more unruly to bee
governd, by how much her strength of judgement was inferior to the other
two, she could least keepe silence, but began discourse, and still continued so,
as she contented them exceedingly, who while shee talked, discoursed with
eyes and hearts, her over-esteemd good fortune, taking most of her judging
sences from her. Amphilanthus with gratefull respect carried himselfe to her
liking sufficiently, whose belief was such of him, as she tooke all to her selfe,
and so tooke the injuries for courresies.

Some dayes this continued, but now the time for the Kings departure
drew neere, the day before which hee spake to Pamphilia for some Verses of
hers, which he had heard of. She granted them, and going into her Cabinet
to fetch them, he would needs accompany her; shee that was the discreetest
fashiond woman, would not deny so small a favour. When they were there,
she tooke a deske, wherein her papers lay, and kissing them, delivered all shee
had saved from the fire, being in her owne hand unto him, yet blushing told
him, she was ashamed, so much of her folly should present her selfe unto his
eyes.

He told her, that for any other, they might speake for their excellencies,
yet in comparison of her excelling vertues, they were but shadowes to set the
others forth withall, and yet the best he had seene made by woman: “but one
thing”
(said he) “I must find fault with, that you counterfeit loving so well, as
if you were a lover, and as we are, yet you are free; pitie it is you suffer not,
that can faigne so well.”
She smild, and blusht, and softly said (fearing that he
or her selfe should heare her say so much) “Alas my Lord, you are deceived in
this for I doe love.”
He caught her in his armes, she chid him not, nor did so
much as frowne, which shewed she was betrayd.

In the same boxe also he saw a little tablet lie, which, his unlooked for discourse
had so surpressed her, as shee had forgot to lay aside. He tooke it up
and looking in it, found her picture curiously drawne by the best hand of the
time; her hair was downe, some part curld, some more plaine, as naturally it
hung, of great length it seemd to bee, some of it comming up againe, shee held Mm2r 267
held in her right hand, which also she held upon her heart, a wastcoate shee
had of needle worke, wrought with those flowers she loved best. He beheld
it a good space, at last shutting it up, told her, he must have that to carry
with him to the field. She said, it was made for her sister. “Shee may have others”
said he, “let me have this.” “You may command, my Lord”, said she. This done,
they came forth againe, and so went to find Antissia, who was gone into the
Parke, they followed her, and overtooke her in the Wood, where they sat
downe, every one discoursing of poore Love, made poore by such perpetuall
using his name. Amphilanthus began, but so sparingly he spake, as one would
doe, who would rather cleare, then condemne a friend. Pamphilia followed,
and much in the same kind. Antissia was the last, and spake enough for them
both, beginning her story thus.

“I was still sixteene yeares of age so troubled, or busied with continuall misfortunes,
as I was ingrafted into them; I saw no face that me thought brought
not new, or rather continuance of perplexity, how was libertie then priz’d
by me? envy almost creeping into me against such, as felt freedome; for
none was so slavish as I deemd my selfe; betraid, sold, stolne, almost dishonored,
these adverse fortunes I ranne, but from the last you rescued me, and saved
your servant Antissia, to live fit to be commanded by you; yet gave you
not so great a blessing alone, but mixt it, or suffered mixture in it: for no sooner
was I safe, but I was as with one breath pardoned, and condemned againe
subject, and in a farre stricter subjection: you brave King deliverd mee from
the hands of Villians, into the power of Love; whither imagine you, is the
greater bondage, the latter the nobler, but without question as full of vexation.
But to leave these things, love possessed me, love tirannized, and doth command
me; many of those passions I felt in Morea, and whereof you most excellent
Queene have beene witnesse, but none so terrible, as absence hath
since wrought in me, Romania being to me like the prison, appointed to containe
me, and my sorrowes. One day among many other, I went to the sea
side through a Walke, which was private and delicate, leading from the
Court at Constantinople to the sea; there I used to walke, and passe much time
upon the sands, beholding ships that came in, and boates that came ashoare,
and many times fine passengers in them, with whom I would discourse as an
indifferent woman, not acknowledging my greatnes, which brought mee to
the knowledge of many pretty adventures, but one especially, which happened
in this kind,
A ship comming into the Harbor, but being of too great burden to come
ashoare, in the long boat the passengers came, and landed on the sands; I beheld
them, among whom was one, whose face promised an excellent wit and
spirit, but that beauty she had had, was diminished, so much only left, as to
shew she had been beautifull. Her fashion was brave, and confident; her
coutenance sweet, and grave; her speech mild and discreet; the company
with her were some twenty that accompanied her, the number of servants
answerable to their qualities. Thus they came on towards us; I sent to know
who they were, and of what Country (for their habits said, they were not
Greekes). The reply was they were of Great Brittany, and that the chiefe
Lady was a widdow, and sister to the Embassador that lay Leigeir there for Mm2 the Mm2v 268
the King of that Countrey. I had heard much fame of the Ladies of that
Kingdome for all excellencies which made mee the more desire to bee acquainted
with her, yet for that time let it passe, till a fitter opportunity, which
was soone offered me, for within few dayes she desired to bee permitted to
kisse my hands. I willingly granted it, longing to heare some things of Brittany;
when she came, I protest, she behaved her selfe so excellently finely,
as me thought, I envied that Countrey where such good fashion was. After
this, shee desirous of the honour to be with me often, and I embracing her
desire, loving her conversation, we grew so neere in affection, as wee were
friends, the neerest degree that may be. Many times we walked together,
and downe the same walke where first we met with our eyes; one day wee
fell into discourse of the same subject we now are in, freely speaking as wee
might, who so well knew each other, she related the story of her love thus.
‘I was’ (said shee) sought of many, and beloved (as they said) by them, I
was apt enough to beleeve them, having none of the worst opinions of my
selfe, yet not so good an one as aspired to pride; and well enough I was pleased
to see their paines, and without pitty to be pleased with them: but then
love saw with just eyes of judgement that I deserved punishmēent for so much
guilty neglect, wherefore in fury he gave me that cruell wound with a poysoned
dart, which yet is uncured in my heart; for being free, and bold in my
freedome, I gloried like a Marygold in the Sun. bBut long this continued not,
my end succeeding, like the cloasing of that flowre with the Sunnes setting.
What shal I say, brave Princess? I lov’d, and yet continue it, all the passions
which they felt for me, I grew to commiserat, and compare with mine; free
I was in discourse with my rejected suiters, but onely because I desired to
heare of it, which so much rul’d me, like a Souldier that joyes in the trumpet
which summons him to death. Those houres I had alone, how spent I
them? if otherwise then in deare thoughts of love, I had deserved to
have beene forsaken. Sometimes I studied on my present joyes, then
gloried in my absent: triumphed to thinke how I was sought, how
by himselfe invited, nay implor’d to pitty him, I must confesse not wonne,
as most of us by words, or dainty fashion, rich cloathes, curiositie, in curiousnes,
these wonne me not; but a noble mind, a free disposition, a brave, and
manly countenance, excellent discourse, wit beyond compare, all these
joyned with a sweete, and yet Courtier-like dainty Courtshippe, but a respective
love & neglective affection conquered me. He shewed enough to make
me see he would rather aske then deny, yet did not, scorning refusall as well
he might; free gift was what he wished, and welcom’d, daintynes had lost
him, for none could winne or hold him, that came not halfe way at the least
to meete his love, I came much more, and more I lov’d, I still was brought
more to confirme his by my obedience. I may boldly, and truly confesse, that
what with his liking, and my observing, I lived as happy in his love as ever
any did, and bless’d with blessings, as if with fasts, and prayers obtain’d.’
‘This happines set those poore witts I have to worke, and so to set in some
brave manner forth my true-felt blisse, among the cheifest wayes I found expression
in verse, a fine and principall one, that I followed, for he loved verse,
and any thing that worthy was or good, or goodnes loved him so much as
she dwelt in him, and as from ancient Oracles the people tooke direction, so gouernd Mm3r 269
governd he the rest by his example or precept, & from the continuall flowing
of his vertues was the Country inriched, as Egypt by the flowing of the Nile
gaines plenty to her fields: But I a poore weake creature, like the Ant, that
though she know how to provide, yet doth it so, as all discerne her craft: so
I, although I sought the meanes to keepe this treasure, and my selfe from
sterving, yet so foolishly I behaved my selfe, as indaingered my losse, and
wonne all envy to mee; I considered not, I might have kept, and saved, but
I would make provision before such, as might be certaine of my riches.
This undid mee, carrying a burthen, which not weightyer then I might wel
beare, was too much seene, an empty trunke is more troblesome then a bag
of gold; so did my empty wit lead me to the trouble of discovery, & changing
the golden waight of joy to the leaden, and heavy dispaire; but that came
many yeares after my happines, for seaven yeares I was blest, but then, O me,
pardon me great Princesse’
cryd shee, ‘I must not proceed, for never shall
these lipps that spake his love, that kiss’d his love, discover what befell me.’

‘Speake then’ said I, ‘of these sweete dayes you knew, & touch not on his fault’;
‘mine deere Lady’ cryed she, ‘it of force must be, hee could not err, I did, hee
was and is true worth, I folly, ill desert; he bravenesse mixt with sweetnesse,
I ignorance, and weakenesse; hee wisdoms selfe, I follyes Mistris.’
‘Why what
offence gave you’
said I, speake of your owne?’ ‘I cannot name that, but it
must’
(replid she) ‘bring the other on, for how can I say I saw the clowd, but I
must feele the showre, therefore O pardon mee, I will not blame him, I alone
did ill, and suffer still, yet thus farre I will satisfie you. Having search’d with
crurious, and unpartiall judgement, what I did, and how I had offended him,
I found I was to busie, and did take a course to give offence, when most I
hoped to keepe, I grew to doubt him to, if justly, yet I did amisse, and rather
should have suffered then disliked. I thought by often letting him behold the
paine I did endure for being blessd, tooke away al the blessing, wearying him,
when that I hoped should have indeered him: but that though somtimes is
away, yet not alwayes to be practised, too much businesse, and too many excuses,
made me past excuse. I thought, or feard, or foolishly mistrusted, hee
had got an other love; I under other mens reports as I did faigne did speake
my owne mistrust, whether he found it, or being not so hot in flames of yong
affection, (growne now old to me) as once he was, gave not such satisfaction,
as I hoped to have, but coldy bidde mee be assur’d, hee lov’d mee still,
and seem’d to blame me, said I slact my love, and told mee I was not so
fond.’”

“‘This I did falsly take like a false sier, and did worke on that, so as one
night hee comming to my Chamber as hee used, after a little talke hee
was to goe, and at his going stoop’d and kiss’d, mee. I did answere that
so foolishly, (for modestly I cannot call it, since it was a favour I esteem’d,
and nere refus’d to take:) hee apprehended it for scorne, and started back,
but from that time, unfortunate I, lived but little happier then you see me
now.’”
Pamphilia smild to heare her come to that; the King was forc’d to cover
his conceits, and wish her to proceed. “She tooke her selfe, pray God”
said shee, “I doe not play the Brittaine Lady now.” They both then did intreate
to heare the rest; that soone you may said shee, for this was all,
only in a finer manner, and with greater passion shee did then conclude. Mm3 They Mm3v 270

They found she was not pleas’d, therefore they sought some other way to
please, and rising walked into an other wood, and so unto a pond, which
they did fish, and passe the time with all, while poore Antissia thought
herselfe each fish, & Amphilanthus stil the nette that caught her, in all shapes,
or fashions she could be framed in.

Then came his going, all the night before, his whole discourse, and manner
was to purchase still more love, greedy, as covetous of such gaine; hee
wished not any thing that he enjoyed not, all was as hee wished. At supper
poore Antissias eyes were never off from him, she did lament his going, her
heart wept; hee looked as glad to see she lov’d him still, (for what man lives,
that glories not in multitudes of womens loves?) so he, though now neither
fond nor loving to her, yet seem’d to like her love, if only that his might
be the more prized, wonne from so brave and passionate a Lady; and thus
she often caught his eyes, which on what condition soever, yet being on
her, were esteem’d, and gave content, as debters doe with faire words, to
procure their Creditors to stay a longer time,: so did she, but prolonging
the time in her torments to her greater losse. Amphilanthus being to depart,
offer’d to take his leave, but Pamphilia refused it, telling him she would bee
ready the next morning before his going, which she was, and with Antissia,
brought him a mile or more from the Court into a Forrest, then tooke
leave, hee making all hast to the Campe.

The Ladyes to avoyd idlenesse, the Queene especially to prevent frivolous
discourse, called for her hounds, and went to hunt a Stagg; it was a
sport shee loved well, and now the better, presenting it selfe so fitly to her
service. The Rainger told her of a great Deere, which he saw in a wood as
hee came to her; she followed him, and so uncoupling the Dogs, put them
into the wood. The Stagge came forth with as much scorne, and contempt
in his face, and fashion as a Prince, who should rather be attended then pursued,
hating that such poore things as hounds should meddle with him, as if
hee were rather to be attended then hunted. But quickly he was made to acknowledge
that he was Pamphilias subject, and by yeelding his life as a sacrifice
for his presumption, shewed if hee had not beene a beast, he had sooner
acknowledged it, both in dutie to her, and for his honor, which he could
receive but by letting her delicate hand, cut open his breast, there to see it
written. But during the hunting he was yet more unhappy, for the most
excellent Queene after one round, scarce made him happy with pursuing
him, taking into a Grove, faigning an excuse, and there lighting, pass’d
most part of the time in calling her thoughts into strict examination, which
when she had done, she found them so true, as she could see none to accuse
the least of them, or the busiest, for being a thoughts time sever’d from her
love.

When shee found them so just, “Deere companions in my solitarynes”, said
she, “furnish me with your excellency in constancy, and I will serve you with
thankfull loyalty.”
Then tooke she a knife, and in the rine of an Oake insculped
a sypher, which contained the letters, or rather the Anagram of his
name shee most and only lov’d. By that time the Stagge came by, grieved
at her unkindnesse, that shee would not honor his death with her presence;
which shee by his pittifull countenance perceiving, tooke her horse againe, and Mm4r 271
and came in to his death. As shee returned, Antissia told her she was much
alter’d, for once she knew her so fond of that sport, as she loved it more then
any delight: shee desired her to have a more noble opinion of her, then to
thinke she was subject to change, which was a thing she so infinitely hated, as
she would abhorr her owne soule, when it left loving what it once had
loved.

“That was not hunting sure” said Antissia, “for you love not that so well as
first you did.”
“Enter not into my love sweete Princesse” said she. “I will never
offend you”
answered the other; so home they went each going to her
Chamber, Antissia in as great a rage as when she mistrusted Rosindy to bee
Amphilanthus, but more discreetly she now carried it, Pamphilia to her
lodgings where shee remain’d till they were called to dinner; the Queene
with the greatest respect in the world entertaining Antissia, whose heart now
fill’d with envy, received it with no more delight, then one would doe a bitter
potion, yet was her fashion sweetned with discretion: for the time shee
stayed which was not long, taking her way to Romania: whither being arrived,
she cald her sad but froward thoughts together, thanking her Fate,
that brought her to see Amphilanthus, but cursing her Desteny that gave
her assurance of his change. “Oh my heart” said she, “how canst thou beare
these torments, and yet hold, continually furnished with new discontents?
accursed eyes that made thee subject to so excellent falshood, & so pleasing
deceit. Pamphilia, I confesse that thou art most excellent, and meriting
all, but yet not comparable (were thy selfe only vertue) to make up the losse,
that Amphilanthus hath lost, and broken in his faith, and worth, Faire, and
deere gaining eyes, why smile you still in your disguising love, betrayers of
my liberty? why joyne you hope together with your selves not to be seene,
much lesse beheld with freedome? only like the fauning Crocadile to win,
and kill? deere lips that seem’d to open but to let the hearts desirs to come
unto mine eares, severd you deceitfully your selves to ruine me? that onely
excellent, and loved breath, could it be thought it should prove poyson to
my choycest blisse? far-well delights, the truest flatterers, and thou dispaire
infold me, I am thine.”
Then writ she certaine verses, they were these.

“I Who doe feele the highest part of griefe, shall I be left without reliefe? I who for you, doe cruell torments beare, will you alasse leave me in feare? Know comfort never could more welcome bee, then in this needfull time to mee, One drop of comfort will be higher prized then seas of joyes, if once despiz’d, Turne not the tortures which for you I try upon my hart, to make me dye. Have I offended? ’twas at your desire, when by your vowes you felt loves fire. What I did erre in, was to please your will can you get, and the offspring kill? The Mm4v 272 The greatest fault, which I committed have is you did aske, I freely gave. Kindly relent, let causlesse curstnes flye, give but one sigh, I bless’d shall dye. But O you cannot, I have much displeas’d striving to gaine, I losse have seaz’d. My state I see, and you your ends have gain’d I’me lost since you have me obtain’d. And since I cannot please your first desire I’le blow, and nourish scorners fire As Salimanders in the fire doe live: so shall those flames my being give. And though against your will, I live and move, forsaken creatures live and love Doe you proceed, and you may well confesse you wrong’d my care, while I care lesse.”

With great spleene against him, and affection to her selfe for her bravenesse,
she read these lines over againe; but then whether judgment of seeing
them but poore ones, or humble love telling her she had committed treason
to that throne, moved her, I cannot justly tell, but some thing there was
that so much molested her as she leap’d from her stoole, ranne to the fire,
threw in the paper, cryd out, “pardon me great Queene of love I am guilty. I
plead no other; mercy take on me thy poorest vassall, I love still, I must love
still, and him, and only him, although I be forsaken.”
The sweete Rivers
she visited and on their banks continually did lye, and weepe, and chid her
eyes because they wept no faster, seeing them but drop unto the streame.
“My heart” said she “yeelds more plentifull & deere shed teares then you. Alas
Antissia how doe I pitty thee? how doe I still lament thy hap, as if a stranger?
for I am not she, but meere disdaine, yet then she stayd, soft fury, cry’d she,
I must not permit your harshnesse to creepe into my heart; no I shall never
hate, I lov’d too much, and doe to alter now.”
Then tooke she forth a picture
hee had given her willingly when she did aske it; that she wept on, kiss’d it,
wip’t it, wept, and wip’t, and kiss’d againe. “Alas that thou alone” said she “the
shadow should be true, when the true substance is so false; cold Cristall, how
well doth thy coldnesse sute his love to mee, which once was hot, now colder
then thy selfe; but were it chast like thee I yet were bless’d, for ’tis not
losse alone but change that martyrs me.”
The picture she then shut, and put
it where it was, which was upon her heart, she there continually did cherish
it, and that still comfort her, when by it shee did see hee had loved her, and
though now quite bereaved of happines in that, yet did that cleere her from
the folly, idle love without reward had else condemned her in. Oft would
shee read the papers she had gaind from him in his owne hand, and of his
making, though not all to her, yet being in that time she did not feare, shee
tooke them so, and so was satisfied. Read them she did even many millions
of times, then lay them up againe, and (as her greatest priz’d and only blessing
left) kept them still neere, apt many times to flatter her poore selfe with hope Nn1r 273
hope he had not cleane left her, who did so kindly let her keepe those things,
contrary to his manner with others, as he reported to her self, for from them
he tooke at varying all they had of his; as from Lucenia, who hee told, shee
could not esteeme of his shadow, so little prizing the substance; but thēen as many
bold assurances told her, she was deceived. The Meads she much frequented,
walking in their plaines, especially shee did affect one, more then all the
rest, a Willow tree growing in the midst, and plentifully spreading branches,
witnessing forsakennes round about, so as she might be held in that sad shade
from the heat of Sun-hope-joy. “Miserable Antissia” (waild she her selfe), “in
how few yeares hast thou made a shift to see the whole world of misfortune?
yet of the worst, and the only worst, is disdaine and losse in love.”
Then carved
she in the trunke of that tree, till she had imbroiderd it all over with characters
of her sorrow: in the crowne of this tree she made a seat big enough
for her selfe to sit in, the armes, and branches incompassing her, as if shee were
the hat to weare the Crowne of Willow, or they were but the flowers of it;
and her selfe the forsaken compasse, out of which so large and flourishing a
crowne of despised love proceeded, so as take it either way, shee was either
crownd, or did crowne that wretched estate of losse, a pitifull honor, and
griefefull government: but this was the reward for her affection, and which
most poore loving women purchase. Melysinda was yet more fortunate, for
within some two moneths after Amphilanthus his departure, her husband
by a bruise he received at the Justs held there, had an Impostume bred within
him, which was not discoverd, till helpe was past, so as he died, leaving her
a brave and faire Widdow. Good nature made her sorry for him, but shee
tooke it not so heavily (though teares she shed) as to give cause to the world
to lament the marring of so excellent beauty for the losse of a husband, who
if he could have been by sorrow brought againe, there had been reason for
it, but otherwise shee must have run into the danger of being thought unreasonable
too much to sorrow, and as if dislike, what heavenly powers willd:
wherefore obediently to them, and discreetly to the world, she grieved sufficiently
for him, keeping as strict a course of mourning as the most curious
could not thinke it in any place or manner too little.

She saw no man in two moneths after his death, the first were the
Counsell, in which time they had governd; then came shee forth to them
into a private roome, where they onely were, her face coverd below the
eyes with a Scarfe throwne carelessely over (not a Vaile, for so much
finenesse had been much, and too little mourning) another piece of mourning
came, and covered her chinne to her lippes, and a little past: her
Gowne made with a wide long sleeve to the ground, was of blacke
Cloth, a Mantle over it of the same, to which was a Traine, carried
by two Ladies of her Bed-chamber likewise in cloth, but their faces
bare; the whole Court hung with Cloth; no Roome that mourned
not, as if each had a particular losse, no people of the Court, or that came
to the Court, but were in that dolefull livery, Embassadours from all kingdomes
to condole.

And thus she lived, till Ollorandus came unto her six moneths after, which
hindred his going to the army in Albania, love ever having, or taking the liberty
to cōommand, scorning then but to be obayd, which the faire cosins, Urania, Nn and Nn1v 274
and Philistella made experience of, to whom the newes of Selarinus his imprisonment
came, and presently after the happy delivery, and Coronation
of him to mitigate the fury of her sorrow, which was such as tormented Urania
to see, whose heart was perplexed especially for parting and absence, often
bursting into passions like these. “Can you tell mee, you poorest eyes
where my loyall heart remaines? have you not perceived it in his loving,
and still answering lookes; from which, and in which truest beauty smiles?
did it not there descry the joy it selfe, striving to let you knowe the place it
happily obtained; playing, and making baby pastimes as it lay closed in that
shrine of glory? but much more triumphed it, when you might knowe his
breast embraced it, surprising the run away, as by sweet force made his, while
greatest hearts for pitty cries, and wailes neglected nay, so dyes. If thus you
then be placed, no marvell sure you leave my poore afflicted body desolate,
where nothing but distemper, or loves paines inhabite; yet cast your lookes
this way, see my petition for your safe returne, heare mee make vowes that
none but you can bring content, your absence mastring mee, your presence
bringing blisse; yet absent, your loved Image, and your dearest selfe remaines
infigured in my chastest breast, and myrrour-like presents you to my sight,
yet coldly, like a Statue made of stone: or as the picture, while loves sweetest
race runs to the warmth of sight. If then remembrance, or the perfect memory
of you be but a picture, whereof I am made the lively case, faithfully keeping
that rich portraict, still from change or thought that relique to displace,
nourishing, and with it living, as oyle, and lampes doe simpathise in life: each
looke alluring wishings to our joyes. Restore that life-peece now and make
me bless’d, crowne my soules longing with thy grant, and come to see mee
triumph in thy dearest sight, my onely selfe, my onely love.”
These passions
was she in when Philistella found her in the walkes, speaking unto her selfe,
and walking with so fast, and unused a fashion, differing from her grave
and discreet manner, as if love had lay’d a wager with discretion, yet hee
would make her at that time (to fulfill his will) forget her selfe and wholly
serve him; he won that, and judgement made her asham’d, when Philistella
came unto her, and told her shee wonder’d to see her so. “Love, love
faire Philistella”
(cryed shee) “can doe this, and more, but happy you can
keepe your paines more secret, and more close”
; “that is not, not e’er yet hath
beene my hap”
(said she) “for no eye hath beheld mee, but together sawe my
love.”

“No sweetest Cousin” saide Urania, “wrong not your great wit with taxing
it unjustly, have I not seene how prettily and with an excellent disdaine
you did refuse his humble suite in love? his eyes have beene even ready
to burst out in teares, when you have smiled, and changed your first
discourse, as if of purpose to deny his plaints. Alasse, would I thinke happy
Philistella, how art thou above thy sexe most fortunate? poore me, had
I but one such, or the like content, it were for mee eternall happinesse
while she rejecteth love; did Steriamus love like as his brother doth, were I
not of all women blessed? but his affections, are in an other seate enthronised;
these thoughts, (while you like Summer florish’d) nipp’d my dayes, yet now
I praise my desteny nothing except sad absence grieveth mee, while you,
whether not griev’d, or not so loving I cannot well judge, feele not, or shew not Nn2r 275
not that you have the sence, which absence brings us lovers.”
“Sweetest Urania”
answerd she, “my soule can tell you I dissemble not, nor did my manner, or my
face cover yet my flames, when I did heare my deare and only Lord imprisoned
was, did I not faint, and loose my strength, as hating that, since not sufficient
to release my love? Was not the Court distempred, and my Parents
grieved, fearing my comming danger, when the harme was neerer to mee,
then they could imagine? Wept I not, when the mastring griefe was passed?
sighed I not still, & cryd against proud, and curst treacheries? how did I hide
the boyling heate of sorrow I containd? Wav’d I not with each passion up
and downe, as boughs blowne with the wind, some times resolv’d to die, other
times to live for a revenge, and still distracted? more I sought to turne,
more fast tied still, my heart like leade in fire, melting with the heate of fury
call you this discreete, and wise behaviour? could love no better bee dissembled,
or the sparkes no finelier raked up in discretion? But now I see you
smile at me, while you indeed doe better, and more curiously, like cunning
workemen best beguile our eyes. Its well sweet, daintiest Princesse, you may
flout your friends.”
“But” said Urania, “when did you see me one whole day, and
not sigh, or weepe, or steale away to do them? I heere vow unto Love, which
vow I will not break, that never creature felt more paine, nor ever any more
discoverd it; I doe confesse it as a weaknesse in me, but I cannot helpe it; if I
did see him one poore instant space alone, me thought it was my duty to goe
to him, if he spake to another, was I not, nor am I not thinke I as worthy, or as
fit to talke with, as her selfe. Almost suspition oft-times grew in me, but absolute
fondnesse never was away, I doe not thinke in houres, while I have
stood at audiences, which the King hath given, I have been one minute altogether
joyned with my eyes held from him, I have looked off tis true, but like
a Deare at feede, start up for feare, but straight againe returnd unto the food,
which from his eyes I tooke, yet I am secret, and discreet in love. Never
credit mee deare Cosin, if I speake not truth, I found not that you did
requite his love, till your owne lippes to honour me delivered it.”
“I shall
the better credit this, and love my fashion so much more”
(said Philistella),
since you commend me, but in troth I spake as guiltinesse forced mee: but
now wee are so free, let me be bold to aske this question; In this heate of
love, did not your former passion never come glancing into your eyes?
could you behold Parselius with freedome, and Steriamus with affection?”

“I will”, said Urania “(as to my confessor) tell you the truth; it was mee
thought a wonderfull odde change, and passing different affection I did
feele, when I did alter: for though I were freed from my first love, and
had a power to choose againe, yet was I not so amply cured from memorie,
but that I did resemble one newly come out of a vision, distracted,
scarce able to tell, whether it were a fixion, or the truth; yet I resolved,
and so by force of heavenly providence lost the first, and live
in second choice, and this deare soveraigne good received I from Leucadia.”

“But when I had thus far proceeded, then did feare accompany my change,
lest Steriamus should despise my second love, not having given him my
first as the best, which in troth in some sort he had obtaind, for I liked Nn2 him Nn2v 276
him, before I loved the other. Oft did I study, how I might compasse my
blessing, when for my most, and future happinesse, hee was as much engaged
unto me, and so was Melisseas Prophecy performed, for wee from death in
shew rose unto a new love; he feared likewise, that I would scorne his gift, and
after many vehement and affectionate suings, hee presented me with a little
booke of Verses, among which were many to excuse himselfe, and to commend
a second love, I remember one Sonnet, being this.”

“‘Blame me not dearest, though grieved for your sake, Love mild to you, on me triumphing sits, Sifting the choysest ashes of my wits, Burnt like a Phœnix, change but such could shake. And a new heat, given by your eyes did make Embers dead cold, call Spirits from the pits Of darke despaire, to favour new felt fits, And as from death to this new choice to wake. Love thus crownes you with power, scorne not the flames, Though not the first, yet which as purely ries As the best light, which sets unto our eyes, And then againe ascends free from all blames. Purenesse is not alone in one fix’d place, Who dies to live, finds change a happy grace.’”

“These I did learne, for these did fit mee best, and from that time contented
was to let him see, I entertaind his sute, which was his kingdome wonne
in sweet delight; then was that as an Empire to my gaine, when I first saw
him rudely, yet innocently clad, like a Lamb in wool for colour and softnesse
to the eye, or touch his face blushing like modesty, after his arme had showed
manly power, his delicacie asking pitie, but his commanding absolutenes,
disdaining it as much, as the bright Moone, if we should say wee were sorry
in a frostie night, to see her face in the water, least she might bee cold: rather
might I say, I feard the Sunne would burne him, when hee enamourd of his
dainty skinne, did but incloase him with his power from other harme, touching
him not to hurt, but to make difference twixt his favours, shind, and shielded
him, while others he did burne, kinde in embracements, and soft in his
force. The language he did speake, was milde, so were his lookes, love shadowing
all himself within his eyes, or in his face, keeping his greatest Court,
because most gaining.”

“Ah sweet Philistella, had you seene the un-relatable exquisitenesse of his
youth, none could have blam’d me, but even chid me, for not instantly yeelding
my passions wholly to his will; but proud ambition, and gay flatterie
made me differ, and love your brother: thus if I changd, twas from sweete
Steriamus to Parselius, for his excellency wonne me first; so this can bee no
change, but as a booke layd by, new lookt on, is more, and with greater
judgement understood.”
“You need not” (said Philistella) strive to make me see your Nn3r 277
your love, and cause thereof to Steriamus, since (I truely speake) I thinke
none worthyer to bee truely loved (except my Lord) then I imagine him,
nor can I much, or any way defend my brother, who, (had you still continued
loving,) I should have blam’d he proving so unjust, yet this only salve
and good excuse is left, Desteny did, and ever still must rule. Now for
mee deere Urania, all I aime is love, if I discourse, what is it of but love? if
I walke out, what travell in but love? if I sit still, what muse I on but love?
if I discoursed be withall, what answere I but love? so as being made, maintaind
by love, and in love shaped, & squared only to his rule, what neede excuses
but plaine truth? and say if I doe speake from purpose, or extravogantly
fly from the matter we were talking of, if cleave to other subject divert
the proferd speech, say this, and only this, Love who is Lord of all brave
royall minds, hath like the heavens beheld my lowly breast, and in it taken
lodging, gracing it with humbling his great Godhead, to embrace a true,
and yeelding heart, in comparison of his supreame authority most meane,
should I not thus without excuse be freed, nay even respected when love is
adored? As if hee spake from me, so heare me now, love dwels in me, hee
hath made me his hoste; then if I only doe remaine (as sure I shall) wholly
affection, and his humblest slave, scorne mee not, but still reckon mee a servant
nearest wayting on great Love. Others like Painters better can set him
forth in his coulers; Kings we see have pictures drawne to be eternised by,
but tis them selves for which the picture is drawne, not for the workemans
skill: so favor me for Love, nor blame me though an ill peece, ’tis the best
though by an ill hand drawne; tis to the life, others may smoother bee, and
fairer, none more like, nor just unto the perfect true resemblance of pure love;
& thus see you before your royall selfe, the humblest vassall Cupid cherisheth.”

Urania in her soule cōommended the pretty confession, faire Philistella made,
admiring her sweetnesse of disposition, as much as before she wōondred at the
beauty of her person, embracing her, “my deere companion in true love” said
she, “now shall we with more ease, and freedome serve our Master; dayes
must not passe without our service done to him”
; “nor shall, my deere Urania”
said the other, “let our most private thoughts be to each other plaine and open,
seacrysie to all others held, and only love, and we, know what we think”
,
thus they did live and love, and love, and live. Nerana still remaining in
Cicely, now growne as humble, as before proud, and ashamed as before scorning,
living in a Cave alone, and feeding on hearbs, roots, and milke of
Goats which fed on those rocks: playing the milke-mayd better then before
the Princesse, extremity forcing her, contented with patience, and patiently
contented, nothing troubling her but her love, which was, and is enough
to vex the greatest, and best governd Spirits, hers being none of those
the exactliest ruld. To bring her from her misery, (Love having sufficiently
tyrannised) the King Perissus came thither, who in love to his friends, the
brave, and matchles Princes, meant to assist them; journying towards
them, hee happned to that place where he beheld the sportfull exercise of
Fortune, a Princesse without a Country, cloathes, or servants, a Lady that
must tell her selfe to be one, else not to be mistrusted, a miserable woman,
and the more so because she felt it, experience, and sufferance making her sencibleNn3 cible Nn3v 278
of misfortune. She sought to shunne the King at first, but afterwards
considering her good might come from him, her hurt likely if kept close to
abide with her, she came unto him, and with much humility made her aproach,
who beheld her with a gratious, and pittying eye, seeing in her more
then ordenary behavior, and a countenance that might carry greatnes with
it, and had in it, though shadowed under poverty. Perissus tooke her to
him, and demanding some things of her, shee answered with these like
words.

Said she, “this estate may justly merit contempt, and scorne from you,
or so great a Prince as you appeare to be. I am a creature living by ill chance
able to relate my misery, which if you please to give an eare unto I shall tell
you. I am cal’d Neræna Princesse of Stalamina, made in myne owne Country,
and in the most perfect time of my rule, subject to a stranger, both to me,
and I feare good nature so far scorning me, as it brought me to this estate
you see me in; for after with curst, and scornfull words, he had refusd my
love, and loving petition for pitty, left me, and with his friends as courteous,
as he was proud, and kind, as he cruell, the renowned Princes Amphilanthus
and Ollorandus tooke shippe. I could not but pursue in folly, as in love,
and so tooke a troublesome, and tedious journey; to Morea I came of
purpose to see her who was my undoer, for hee loved Pamphilia, and shee,
would I behold, desiring or so gayning my end, no more contented with
hearing it, but like Procris, would seeke it, and gaine it. There I had entertainement,
like my search, smiles in scorne, and losse in hope; for in that Princesse
I confesse worth to conquer hearts, and thus I yeeld his choyce most
perfect. But this could not hold me from accusing my want of judgment
in going thither to behold her, as if I would wash mine eyes the cleerer to
see my ill.”

“‘What folly’ said I, ‘led me to this Rocke of mischeife, to be cast downe,
and ruin’d on the ground of scorne?’
yet did not this hinder my journey, for
me thought I was more deserving him, then the rare Princesse, so partiall
are we to our selves, that I could almost have belived she seemed excellent,
because mine eyes, like a flattring glasse shewed her so, yet againe thought I,
why should I commend her, who undoes my blisse? My spleene then
swell’d against her, and I was sicke with anger, that I as abruptly left Morea,
as Steriamus did Stalamina; thence I was by the brave Amphilanthus directed
to Saint Maura, but a storme brought me hither, where with a greater tempest
I was molested, falling into the hands of a mad-man, who dress’d me as
you see, and with diversity of franticke fits, perplexed me. I have since lived
in these places, and seene Winter in cold despaires, and Sommers heat in
flourishing misery: nor saw I any, of whom to demand favour these many
months, first shuning all, till now; wherefore from your hands I implore it,
let not my outward meanes hinder your noble mind from pitty, but rather
shew it where most want claimes it. I confesse contempt is likelyer to bee
my reward, whose pride was such, as that punishment best fitteth me, but I
am humbled, and my former fault looks more odious to me, then thought
of this fortune would have done, in my height of greatnes.”
The King had before
heard of her, and tooke compassion of her, carrying her to the Towne,
where that night she was to lye, in his owne Charriot which was led spare, shee Nn4r 289279
she rid thither, where he cloathed her according to her dignity. But when
she had her greatnes againe in good clothes put about her, she began to grow
to her wonted accustomed humours, like a garden, never so delicate when
well kept under, will without keeping grow ruinous: So over-running-weedy
pride, in an ambitious creature proves troblesome to governe, and rude
to looke on. Feare to see her poorenes, held her from looking in either the
face of a fountaine, or River, but now her eyes tels her, shee is her selfe,
which is enough to make her remember, she was, and must bee againe as she
was directly.

“Shall I” said shee, “change from lownes to noblenes, and not come to my
noble spirit? then were I more unfortunate to have such an alteration, then
if held in raggs; the mind is above all but it selfe, and so must mine bee.
Ought I not to glory in my good, that I am redeemed from a private
life? nay must I not love my selfe, who I see Heaven hath such care of, as
not to let me be obleiged to other then one of mine owne ranke for the favour,
as esteeming none other worthy to serve me? Steriamus, would thou
didst but see this, and thy disdainefull Mistris behold my honor, it might
worke good upon you both, and teach you, how to esteeme of those, (or indeed
her) who the highest powers observe, and reverence. Alas, what a
foole was I to be molested with my former fortune; had I beene able but to
see what I now discerne, I should have rejoyced at it, since without question,
it was done for my greater honor, and of purpose to shew me, how much
the highest would expresse affection, nay respect unto me. Marke but the
whole carryage, did not all adore me? the mad-man were his fits other then
worshipping me, as Sheephardesse, Nimph, or any thing? did he not humble
himselfe most respectively unto me?”

“Then bee thy selfe absolutely bless’d Neræna, all creatures made to secure
thee, and of all kinds, command then, and shew thou art worthy of such happy
authority; Soare like the Hobby, and scorne to stoope to so poore a prey
as Steriamus, who now looks before mine eyes, like a Dorr to a Faulcon; my
mind preserved for height, goes upward, none but the best shall have liberty
to joyne with me, none Master me. Ignorant Prince what glory did’st
thou shunne, when thou didest dispise the most reverenced of women, the
favorite of the loving Gods, and Goddesses? Dull man to love any but
Neræna, the most love-worthy of her sex, and her whom all may glory in
for affecting, and that judgement I discerne in this King, who was even at
first sight ravished with beholding me; true love that only regards beauty,
not apparrell, & to that end did love cloath me in ragges to conquer a King.
Poore Perissus I pitty thee, that thy constancy must loose the strong power
it had till now, and yeeld to my victory, who cannot requite thee; yet faine
would he cover his affection, but tis plainely seene, how doth he steale looks
on me? cast up his eyes, then sigh? these tell me that his heart is my prisoner,
and the contention is twixt his difficulty to part from so long a fixed
affection, and feare of my refusall, which he must finde, if hee pursue in it.
Alas, I faine would helpe it if I could, but constancy (though a fruitlesse
vertue) governs me.”

With that the King came to her, whom she used after the same manner,
as if he had beene in love (as she imagined) which was nothing so, but made him Nn4v 290280
him conjecture that she had beene with good feeding growne into her fury
againe, and fullnesse had renewed her madnesse; he was sorry to see her so,
that she accounted passion, which was pitty of her, hee being the worthylest
constant, and who would not let one spot come to touch, or blemish that
purenes which remayned in him: like the fixed Starrs, shining with joy, and
giving light of purest content unto his excellent soule; but at last he found
her false imagination grow troublesome, to avoyd which, hee meant to bee
rid of her, wherefore at the Port where he was to take Shipping, he appointed
a Barque of purpose for her, to carry her to her owne Country, and
some servants to attend her, besides some of her owne who came unto her,
when her finding was noysed abroad, and upon submission were received.
When shee saw her selfe thus slighted, as she term’d it, because the King her
new servant as she called him, did not attend her in his owne person; shee
froun’d; Hee found she disliked it, and therefore sought to excuse himselfe,
the more he proceeded in that, the greater grew her insolency, so as at the
last she answered his complements, with unmannerly replyes, and in the end,
flat revilings.

Hee noble, and courteous, would not be seene to wrangle with her, nor
suffer her follies to offend him, wherefore he Ship’d himselfe and his company,
commanding the Mariners to saile for Greece.

When she was with all her greatnes thus left on the Shoare with a trayne
of twenty, instead of a King, and five hundred Knights, which she flatterd
her selfe should have waighted on her, she storm’d extremly within her selfe,
having such a tempest of rage, as it could not be told, whether prid, or scorne
blew highest in her fury; but time brought a little calme to her, so as cursing
Ceicili, Perissus, and all men, but such vassals as were to serve her, and almost
her selfe, for having neede of such vassals, she ship’d with resolutiōon to exercise
her just anger upon her people, where she found a new businesse; for being
landed in Lemnos, and going to the Citty where she expected solemne entertainment,
bon-fires, and such hot triumphs for her welcome, contrarywise
she encounterd the cold face of neglect, and losse of her Country, being
possess’d, and governd by a younger sister of hers, who she had so contemned
in times past, as she disdaind to let her appeare before her presence, but held
her inclosed in a strong Tower, many times to molest her, making her prepare
her selfe to dye.

This had so temperd her, (who it may be had some sparks of the fire of
pride which flamed in Neræna) as she was as humble, and mild, as her
sister excelld in the opposite, and so had she wonne the harts of the people,
who after Neræna was lost, quickly fetched out the other, and as soone acknowledged
her their Princesse.

But now she is return’d, what diversity of opinions were among them,
some out of honest dispositions, and good plaine conscience would have
their true Lady restored; others for feare wished the same, but all joyning
together, and every one having spoken, the chosen resolution was, shee
should no more governe; pride could not gaine obedience, nor scorne, command,
but what most urged against her, was the pollitique feare they apprehended
of her revenge on them, who had given them selves to an other Governesse
in her absence, so as they chose rather to commit a fault unpardonable,donable Oo1r 291281
then to venture under her pardon, as if one should burne all
the furniture of a House, because one Roome was infected with the
Plague.

Now Neræna, where is thy greatnesse, but in miserie? where the so
often named title of Princesse but in bondage? where all thy glorie but
in subjection? and where thy subjection, but in thy brave Stalamina, and
under thy dispised Sister? punishment justly allotted for such excessive
over-weening: but how shee was imprisoned in the same place she had
made her sisters abode, attended on but by one Jaylor, fed neately, and
poorely to keepe downe her fancy, told still shee was mad, and threatned
to bee used accordingly, if shee raved, accused of fury, and that made
the cause to satisfie the people, who ignorant enough, had sufficient
cause to believe it, seeing her passions, which though naturall to her, yet
appeared to their capacities meere lunatick actions; how these things proceeded
and increased, after some time was expired, shall bee related.


The end of the second Booke.

Oo Oo1v Oo2r

The
Countesse
of Mountgomeries
Urania.

The Third Booke.

Amphilanthus being now to be spoken of, after he had left
Pamphilia, past along the sea, purposing to goe to Morea,
and so to Albania; but one in the Ship advised him
rather to take a nearer course, and undertooke to be his
guide, so he resolved, knowing him to be of Macedon,
and one who knew all those parts perfectly wel, besides,
a servant to his Cosin, the King and Queene thereof,
gave credit and trust unto him, and so they sailed, directed
by him: yet Amphilanthus remembring the adventure in Cyprus, called
to mind his acquaintance and friend Polarchos, wherfore he would needs put
into Rodes to visit him, and take him along (if he could) with him. This was
a happy thought for that poore Prince, who all this while continued in the
Iron Cage weather-beaten, and almost starved by the crueltie and ingratitude,
of his once best, and only beloved. When the King landed, he demanded
of one that hee met, where Polarchos was; he being of a good nature
(though a Rodian) answered, “Alas Sir” (said hee) “where hee hath been ever
since his returne from Greece, in an Iron tower prisoner.”
The King admired
at that, never having heard one touch of it, so as desiring to bee resolv’d, hee
particularly demanded the causes and reasons; hee as freely answered, so as
the truth and manner being knowne, the King altred his purpose of going
like himselfe, and a Visitor, changing it to goe as a Knight of Ciprus, and one
of purpose come (hearing of his imprisonment) to release him upon any condition.
Then changed he his Armor, taking one of Azure colour, his Plume
Crimson, and one fall of Blew in it; the furniture to his horse being of those
colours, and his Device onely a Cipher, which was of all the letters of his
Mistrisses name, delicately composed within the compasse of one, and so was
called, the Knight of the Cipher. Being arrived at the Court, and his comming
made knowne to the Princesse, she gave him hearing, and after some
words delivered with neglect enough, she told him, that he should have the
honor to encounter a Knight of her appointing, whom if he could overcome
Polarchos should be deliverd him free out of prison; if not, hee should yeeld
himselfe, if vanquished to her power, and that “I rather believe” (said she) “will Oo2 happen Oo2v 294
happen, and that my Knight will make you as little, and of as little account, as
your Devise and name signifieth.”
He made her answere, that although a Cipher
were nothing in it selfe, yet joyned to the figures of her worth, whose
name was therein, it was made above the valew of her selfe or Country. She
was mad to heare him so bold with her, yet having given licence before to
his demand, shee could not by the lawes of that Country, doe him an
affront: so as shee was forced to content her selfe with hope of his overthrow,
and vow of the cruellest revenge, that might bee inflicted on
any (who had so much offended a vaine woman). The day come
which was the next that followed, the night she had passed with so many
frets, and distempers against the stranger, as she thought him, who had been
once so neare of her acquaintance, as shee confessed onely from him to have
received her content, and happinesse, when he gaind her fathers liking to Polarchos,
now her enemy, then her friend. She came forth in all the magnificence
that Country could afford to serve her foolish pride with all; the
Court as glorious, as if going to a wedding, not a funerall, as that was likely
to proove. Poore Polarchos was led forth in his chaines, and by them fastned
to a Pillar, not having so much favour allowed him, as to be permitted to sit
or lie, to ease himselfe, griefe onely shewed in his face to be predominant.
Amphilanthus beholding him; “Alas brave Prince”, said he, “must those excellent
armes and hands be bound to her cruell ingratitude, and inhumane with
kindnesse? must thy worth bee chained by her unworthinesse? and thy
excelling selfe, a prisoner to her pride?”
Then hasted he the combat, wherein
he encountred a valiant and strong Gentleman, being one fit to defend of
ill cause, by reason that strength is most required, when weakenesse governed
by Justice will be strong enough; but his strength, though Justice had been
joyned, would have faild against this King, who had so soone ended the businesse,
as it appeared rather a thought of a combate, then the executing of
one. The Princesse in infinite furie flung from the window, commanding
that the strangers with their gaine, quickly left her Country, least they obtained
Polarchos Cage. The King was offended with her arrogancy, yet being
slightly attended to oppose a whole Country, went quickly thence, glad of
his happy adventure to have his friend with him, and in that manner redeemed
by his hand from such a bondage. On they passe toward Greece, determining
to hold that name, the Princesse had been so bold with all, having
had so great fortune with it in the beginning, and so to goe unknowne towards
the Army, where with some prety fine adventures, they arrived, one
being this. Not farre from Athos where they landed by a delicate Woods
side, they saw a Forrest Nimph lie on the ground, and hard by her a youth,
who as he beheld her (with as much amorosnesse as his young yeares could
entertaine, or love be pleased to inrich him with all) sang this Song.

“Love among the clouds did hover Seeking where to spie a lover: In the Court he none could find, Townes too meane were in that kind, At last as he was ripe to crying, In Forrest woods he found one lying Vnder- Oo3r 297 Under-neath a tree fast sleeping, Spirit of Love her body keeping, Where the soule of Cupid lay Though he higher then did stay, When he himselfe in her discrying, He hasted more then with his flying. And his tender hand soft laying On her breast his fires were playing, Wak’d her with his baby game, She who knew love was no shame With his new sport; smild as delighted, And homeward went by Cupid lighted. See the shady Woods bestowing That, which none can aske as owing But in Courts where plenties flow, Love doth seldome pay, but owe, Then still give me this Country pleasure, Where sweet love chastly keepes his treasure.”

She was faire, and he lovely, being apparreld in greene made so neately,
and fit to him, as if he had been a Courtier, or one of those finer people had
had his cloathes, might have been calld curious; his legges straight, and of
the curiosest shape, were in white stockins, Garters he had none, his Hose
being fastned above his knee; under his Girdle stuck his Arrowes, his Bow
he held in his left hand; in stead of a Scarfe he had the line and coller, where
with he was to leade his hound baudrick-wise athwart his slender body, the
Dog lay at his feete, waiting on him, it appear’d willingly he attended, for he
needed no bands to tie him to his service; his haire was thick, somthing long
and curld, the Sunne had made it something yellower, then it naturally was,
as if he would have it nearer his owne beames, so much hee loved the Lad,
& used to hold him neare, for he had kist his cheekes too hard, leaving the remembrance
of his heate, which yet did well with him, manifesting the better
his manner of life, and the practice of hunting, wearing that liverie. Such
quicknesse he had in his eyes, which were full, and blacke, as they looked like
sparks of Diamonds set in Jet; his lipps red, his teeth white, and such an one,
as might truly bee called a lovely youth. She every way meriting such an
one, being as delicate, as he hansom; she was partly in Greene too, as her upper
garment, white Buskins she had, the short sleeves, which she woare upon
her armes, and came in sight from her shoulders were also white, and of a
glistering stuffe, a little ruffe she had about her neck, from which came stripps
which were fastned to the edges of her gowne, cut downe equally for length,
and breadth to make it square; the strips were of lace, so as the skinne
came stealinglie through, as if desirous, but afraid to bee seene, knowing
that little joy would moove desire to have more, and so shee might
bee wooed to show her necke more bare. Shee was as curiouslie proportioned,
as all the Artists could set downe to make excellent.

Oo3 Her Oo3v 296

Her haire was not so white or yellow as others, but of a dainty, and lovelike
browne, shining like gold, upon blacke, her eye browes thick, and of so
brave a compasse, threatning, that the arrowes which those bowes would
shoote, were not to be resisted, but yeelded to, as a Deere, shot to the hart,
falls downe, and dyes: so they must overthrow, and conquer; her eyes gray,
and shining like the morning, in each of which a Venus Starr did rise, and
dwell; her lipps as delicate, and redd, as if they were angry at him, and
would have no other satisfaction but by meeting, for shee did love as much
as hee. So fine a couple these were, as Love did glory in them, and they joy
in him, happines beyond all others, loving, and blessedly being beloved againe.
When he had finished his song, she smild upon him, asking him how
he came to be acquainted so perfecty with loves wants, or gaines; “My heart”
saith he “hath so long served him, as that tels me what my Master doth, when
he conquers, when he failes, as not being able to subdue your breast, he cryes
for want of power, but martyrs me in fierce revenge of his unwinning force.
Yeeld then deere Nimph, if but in pitty, and that pitty will proceede to
love.”
Love then did speake so lively in his eyes, and made it selfe come forth
of such deere lipps, as she, (poore she) could not, though armd with womans
greatest strength resist so good a charme; she look’d, and blush’d, and was about
to speake, then cast her eyes upon the ground, but straight look’d up againe,
and faine would say, “I must requite your love”, but loath shee was to
speake it, and yet kind pitty mooved, and so at last with pitty, love,
and Mayden blushing modesty, shee said. “If you prove just, I will
yeeld to your love; but bee so, since I leave this habit, and the chastest life
to live with you, and in a forrest state.”
Those eyes that first had won her, hee
cast up to heaven, before which he did vow truth, and pure love then brought
them to his blisse, beholding her as timerous, as loving, not knowing what
she had done, innocent and passionate, was betweene those two, a delicate unknowing
creature. Nature taught her to be carefull, and yet kind; thus she
beheld him now with love, and such respect, as she must beare him, whom
she had made her Lord (for Lord the husband is in all estates from Shepheards
unto Kings). Then did the pleasing difference begin, each striving
how to shew the most respect, she to maintaine what she had gaind, he to requite
what shee had given. Amphilanthus and Polarchos admiring them as
much, as either had in former times themselves, when first in love, calling
their passions round about them, wrapping themselves in them, as in their
mantles, but closer did they fit to them; Amphilanthus being so much love
it selfe, as he might be compar’d to be it selfe, as neere as a round glasse made
of the clearest temper, and fild full of the clearest water; turne it any way, you
see thorow it, yet both seeme one colour, and clearenesse in agreeing; so did
the clearenesse of his love shew through him, or was it selfe onely love, and
purely cleare, no vacant place, least turning of the glasse might make a bubble
to appeare a change; no, he was round and true.

Poore Polarchos, hee stood like a blasted tree, the blossome of his
affection killed, and withered; yet hee called to minde how hee had
loved, and how shee used him. No more expression had this daintie
Lasse given to her forrest Lad, then shee had made to him, but now
decayed, and all her favours dryed, and wrinckled like the last yeares fruite: Oo4r 297
fruite: poore Prince turnd to the lowest slavery, of Loves meanest cast-awayes,
hee wept, while the other smil’d, the Forrester joyning in present
gaine. Amphilanthus feeding on the knowledge of his absent loves affection:
heere did love play his part in divers kinds, & made himselfe this mirth,
sporting like wantons with the babye, loves of these poore prisoners. Amphilanthus
pulled off his helme, and went unto them, who with a fashion
not rude, nor Courtly, but fine, and civill received him; the like they did
unto Polarchos; Amphilanthus giving them the welcome salutation of the
first wished joyes, being (as hee did tell them) witnesse of their vowes:
they both seemd glad, that such brave witnesses they had unknowne til then
obtained; the Forester replying thus.

“Sir, never could a better or a richer gift be given me (except her selfe)
then this wish, which from you doth bring the joy we hope to find & keep,
and which two yeares affection hath ambitiously desired, now by her grant
enjoyed; but may it please you to grace us with this a second honour, wee
shall have just reason to acknowledge our poore selves your servants, and
our lives your owne to be commanded. ’Tis the manner heere that when a
Nimph doth change from that strict life, to be a happy wife, if shee bee such
an one, as length of time, or honor hath ingaged, shee must by two brave
Knights, be brought unto the Temple of Diana, where shee must remaine
that night alone in prayers, and then cast off her weeds, and offer them:
and leave them with the Priest; the Knights then come unto the doore,
and call her, with whom she comes forth, they then do give her to her chosen
mate, and so conduct them to the Temple of Venus, where they are received,
and there by Himen’s Priest are marryed.”

“This if wee may obtaine of you, so fitly come to us, brought by that Fortune
which hath made me bless’d, aptly to give conclusion to our woes, and
faire beginnings to our happinesse, you shall make us the happiest to pray
for your enjoyings that ever lovers had; and sure you must be one Sir, for
love shines in you.”
The King made answer hee would doe that kindnesse,
and any other to so fine a payre; then tooke he the sweete Nimph, who now
must change her name, and gaine the best, and blessedst estate. Unto the
Temple they directly went, and there without the gate attended, till the
time of going in; till she must returne, which at the ringing of a little Bell,
did summon them to call her; her they tooke, and Amphilanthus gave her
to her love, wishing even from his soule the time were come, to have the
deerest gift hee most did long for, given so freely to him.

Then to the other Temple straight they went, which was not farre, but
in a dainty wood, this other standing in a plaine, hard by a coole, and christall
River, there she was received with joy by Venus Priests, and Hymens
Priests came, and cloathed her in wives weeds, and so even laded with content
they left the Temple, and went to his Lodge, which was in a Forrest,
whereof he had the charge under the King, who loved the desarts, and those
sports most of any thing, the first, and cheife cause being his affection to a
Lady living in a Forrest, and wholy affecting that life: every man seeking
to please him, tooke the estates of Forresters on them, and so made a delightfull
kind of wildnesse please them, and him, who thus enjoyed pleasures,
and his ends, coveting to appeare like their living, but the true roote of vertue Oo4v 298
vertue, and good breeding shun’d savagenes, and only made roome for a
little neglectivenes to cover them with all, so as the great men were but
Courtly Forresters, and civill wild-men. The Lodge was a faire house
built on a Hill, at the foote whereof ranne a River, over which was a bridge;
from thence they passed through a delicate walke made by Art, and at the
end of that (which still ascended) was a garden, through which they came
unto the House, furnished with furniture fit for a Court, the servants all in
greene, and in good number, shewing fellowshippe in their apparrell, but obedience
in their fashions. There the Knights were welcom’d like themselves,
and then the brave young Forrester desired to bee so much graced, as
to know their names, “nor would I” said hee “aske this favour untill now, that
you might see your servant my selfe could entertaine you for the honours
done, and to be worthier of them Ile first tell you who I am, although appearing
outwardly more meane.”

“I am the third sonne to an Earle, who is cheife Forrester unto the Prince
of this Country; this Forrest is the daintiest, and the best beloved of any by
his Majestie, being calld by him selfe his garden: this hath hee given mee as
my charge, and heere I serve him, and doe please him well, by leading of this
life; this Lady is the Daughter of a Lord, neere neighbour to this place, but
being thought too worthy for me, as I must confesse they err’d not in that,
though did commit high treason unto love, seeking to barre us from our
wished joy, they gave her to Diana, being then under the yeares which they
might rule her in, shee was constrained to doe as they commanded, and was
sworne a Nimph, dedicated to the chast Goddesse by her friends, but when
she came of yeares, by the lawes of this Country, she might choose whether
shee would continue so or no. Two yeares shee wanted of the age of freedome,
in which time they hop’d she would forget, and by example love
faire chastity; but she never ordain’d for such a dull concluding of her dayes,
by the example which was shewed of stricktnes she loved freedome, for
Chastity affection, and so wee met, and still increas’d our flames, till now
that you were brought to our eternall good to see us joynd, and to knit our
blisse. Now Sir I doe beseech you tell me who you are.”
“My name (brave
Sir)”
answered the King, “is Amphilanthus, this Knight Polarchos”; “my Lord”
said hee, “I humbly crave pardon for my rudenesse, yet may you the better
pardon it, since but that, you could expect from wild men, and Forresters:
but I have not so lived, that your fame hath not come, and spread it selfe into
each corner of these parts, as the sweete west-wind doth grace each flower
with a kisse: so live you honord by each hart, and lov’d as hee, who glories
mankind with his excellence.”
The King replid, those words did shew his inside
still remaind most noble, and like so delicate a Prince he was; then hee
did salute the Lady, who feasted them with all delicates, staying them two
dayes, in which time the marriage was divulged, and all his neighbour Forresters
came in to joy with him; his friends, and hers now met, were forced
on all sides to shew great content.

Then Amphilanthus left them, and pass’d on toward the Campe, the
brave Forrester bringing him through his command to the next towne from
whence he had a guide. “O love” said Amphilanthus, “how pretious a Prince
art thou, that thus command’st over all, mak’st Kings Forresters, Forresters Kings Pp1r 299
Kings in happinesse, and leavest us to travell up and downe neglected, roaming
like Beggars, still asking of thee: but thy gifts are slow, and sparing, one
ves sight, or one poore houres discourse with much petition thou wilt
grant mee, and to others, lives-time of comfort. Why didst thou not make
me a Forrester, or a Shepheard, or any thing, so I might enjoy my love?
What life would I despise to undergoe, or danger shun, so she might like, and
love in her eyes; for in her heart I know I doe, and thus am doubly grieved
much for my want, and her deare, yet impatient suffering, my absence working
in her, as upon my heart with sorrow for both parts. Pitie us, great King
of hearts, we will beseech and beg of thee; if not, most cruell let mee justly
call thee.”

Thus perplexed hee rode, not speaking all that day to any of his companie.
Polarchos was content, as well with silence as the King, so they rid, as if
they had vowed not to speake, or to trie how they could performe such a
vow, yet still did they dispute with love, and all for loves deare sake. Many
pleasant adventures they passed, finding one evening a delicate Lady following
a Hauke, attended, or accompanied with many brave Gentlemen, and as
gentle in behaviour, as bloud, being the chiefe and principall of that Countrie;
the Lady affecting pleasures, they loving her for that, and her fashion,
which was full of spirit, sweete, and mild discourse, temperat and respective:
by her they passed, and so by many more such meetings; they staying no
where, till they came to the skirts of Albania, where they encountred two
Knights, of whom they demanded newes; they told them, that they could
give them no certaine notice of any thing, since the last battaile which was
fought against Plamergus, wherein he was slaine, and his onely sonne; Steriamus
having behaved himselfe so bravely, and judicially, as he had gotten immortall
praise; the other kings and Princes deserving to be eternised for their
valour and judgements.

“Were you there (I pray Sir)” said Amphilanthus? “Yes indeed Sir”, said the
first, “we were both there, and hardly escaped the fury of that day.” “How was
the battaile, I beseech you”
, said Amphilanthus? “Marry Sir” (said he) “the place
was first troublesome, and very full of disadvantage to the strangers, Hilles
and little Bottoms betweene them, wherein Plamergus the king of those
parts had placed his men, a great River before him; the bridge he had pull’d
up leaving no possiblitie for the army to come to him; but they by meanes
and advice of Steriamus, passed the water, deviding themselves in fine parts, as
the passages were in number.”

“It was Steriamus his fortune with the Italians, whose skill and valour was
matchlesse, and guided by such a Commander, who did well, and best in the
absence of their Lord, not to bee resisted, he met Plamergus; Rosindy and the
Macedonians encountred his sonne, the rest the other troopes; it was my
happe to be where the furious Italians met us, but they made quicke
worke with us, running through us, and over us, as Lightning, killing
as they went so fast, as I had but speede enough to runne away, not resolution,
or heart to stay, for it seemed to bee more then humaine force,
or speed they came with all. Parselius with his Moreans did as bravely, Antisius
and Leandrus no lesse, and Selarinus as well.”

“Then got wee over a Hill, and joyned with the kings sonne, who was Pp fighting Pp1v 300
fighting with Rosindy, but soone saw wee an end of him and his army; so as away
againe we went, as if but to behold our party lost, which when I saw, and
the battaile won, Trumpets sunding the retreit, we went away, resolved in
my heart, never to draw Sword against the rightfull King. Steriamus was
proclaimed King, and so by that name now is calld; but though I will not
fight against him, yet I will not take his part, till I see the next encounter pass
which will be more terrible, by how much the army is greater, led by brave
and stronger men, and the other army something lessned by the last, and many
of their best men hurt.”

“How shall we gaine so much favour of you, brave Knights”, said he, “as to
direct us the nearest way to them?”
“Truly Sir” (said he) “by this I believe they
bee met, but if you will goe and trie your fortune, I will bring you within
sight of them.”
He gave him many thanks, and so he conducted them according
to his promise.

Steriamus after the battaile, had cald his Commanders together, and too
a certaine note of the number lost, and hurt in the battaile, which in comparison
was nothing to their gaine and victory. Then marched they on towards
the second let, and King of the middle Albania, called Pollidorus, and
who was a brave man for courage and force, Antissius gaining the honour
leade the Vantgard, as it was at first granted him, but altred by reason of the
place to fight in. With great courage they march on, and with as much
solution the other attend them; for except strengths were equall, no glorie
by victorie can be esteem’d.

The strange Knight performed his promise, and brought the King with
his friend to a great Lakes side, the armies being on the other side, he desired
to passe that, and to bee able to assist (if neede were), the Knight then
guided him by the bankes of it, and brought him to a hedge, where
were many high trees which shadowed them well; they standing up to
the bodies of them, there they saw the charge given: but as he was beholding
them, another Knight was seene by him on the other side of the
hedge, wearing his owne Colours; whereupon Amphilanthus demanded
of him, who he was, and to what end he stood close in that manner. “To see
the battaile”
, replide he, “and to doe as you doe, spare my selfe from fighting.”
“It may be”, said Amphilanthus, “wee doe the better, since there is no jesting
(as they say) with those Ladds.”
“Tis not for feare I assure you” (said hee)
“that I am not among them.” “I believe that” (answered Amphilanthus) “nor
is that the cause of my being here, but to see what service I may doe my
friends if occasion serve, else stand as I doe.”
“The better and the nobler side”
(said the other), “will hardly want your company, or mine, unlesse wee were
able to equall their valours, which I make doubt of.”

“It were modestly spoken of your selfe” (said Amphilanthus), “but if I bee
not mistaken, you might have had better manners, then to compare those
together which you know not.”
“Why? what chollerick Knight are you”, said
hee, “that takes this exception, Parselius, Rosindy, Steriamus, Selarinus, Leandrus
and Dolorindus, besides the brave King of Romania being there: but since you
now know who I meane, I must bee satisfied by you, who you are, that
dare compare with them. I make no comparisons with them, but only answer
you, wherefore tell me your name, and I will satisfie you with the like, and some Pp2r 301
something else to make you know, curteous answers better fit Knights.”
“I am
not”
said he, “ashamed of my name, therefore know, I am Philarchos of Metilin,
newly from thence come to serve my friends.”
“I see” (answered the King) “that
your extreme affection rather mooved your care and haste, then ill nature,
therefore pardon me, and take this satisfaction for the other, which I threatned,
that Amphilanthus loves Philarchos, and will be his servant.”
With that
they both saluted with such love, as Cosins ought to beare one to another,
and such who were so like, as they were. Then stood they ready to behold
what happned, which was this. Antissius with his troopes charged the enemy,
but they were led by a young man, who rather rash then valiant, came
with such violence against them, as he disordered the ranck, and brake Antissius
order, whereupon their men were in routs, and Antissius in some danger,
whereupon the three Knights ran in, and rescued him, Amphilanthus fighting,
while Philarchos remounted Antissius.

Then came to them twenty thousand, led by Leandrus, which were encountred
by as many, led by the Kings favourite, who was Martiall of his
Kingdome. The two Commanders met, and Leandrus was unhorsed, whom
Amphilanthus (killing first the Martiall) againe mounted, and told him, hee
was sorry Pamphilias servant had so ill fortune. He knew his voice, and replide,
that the honor was greater, to bee aided by him, then if he had kept his
horse, and won the day; these men shroudly set to, so as the brave Princes
stood at last all on foote, like the towers of a mighty Castle, the rest of the wals
ruind, and throwne downe: so the dead bodies lay round about them in rude
heapes. Then came up the rest of the Albanian army in grosse, which Steriamus
perceiving, went downe with all the forces and Princes. The encounter
was terrible betweene them. Rosindy came with some horse, and helped
the other five to fresh horse, and so together charged in, but such was their
force and cunning, compassing their enemy, and charging on all sides, as they
brake them, and put them in the like disorder, they had brought that part,
which Antissius had: all brave men, all equally resolved to fight for victorie,
resolutely made proofe of their wills and powers, as had not the last three,
come in happy time, the victorie had been doubtfull.

Twise Amphilanthus was unhorsed, by the death of his horses, and once
helped by Rosindy, whōom he requited in a greater measure (though almost the
same kind) taking him from under his horses belly, ready to be smotherd by
the multitude, that were pressing on him; the other time hee was furnished
with a Horse, which Selarinus brought him; he saved Parselius and Steriamus
besides from death, one having his Helme strooke off, hee covering
him with his Sheild, till a new one was brought him. The other
hee rescued from many mens hands, having broke his Sword. Antissius
hee horsed, and many brave acts hee did, so as all attributed the happinesse
of that dayes Victory (which then was gained) to him, who unknowne,
they came to salute, but hee not willing to hide himselfe from
them, besides wanting ayre quickly discovered himselfe; then, if any envy
were in them before to the deserving stranger, when Amphilanthus
was the man, all was roooted out, and supplanted by true affection to
him.

The Princes of Italy, and his souldiers were over-joyed at their Kings Pp2 arriuall Pp2v 302
arrivall, and ravished with his magnanimous valour and courage: then the
Trumpets were sounded, and all retyred to a Plaine close by, keeping the
field that night to witnesse their Conquest. The King was taken alive, but
hurt to death, dying within five dayes after, but hee heard Steriamus againe
proclaimed by the Army, as a salve for his wounds. This was a sharpe and
terrible fight, wherefore they went to the next Towne, which was the
chiefe, and yeelded to their force: there they rested their men and themselves,
never an one having escaped without some hurt or other: the Usurper
died, and was buried.

When all were refreshed, they began to thinke of marching forwards, and
the two Knights which had guided Amphilanthus, undertooke to bee the
guides to the Army, putting themselves dutifully and affectionately under
Steriamus, serving him with all loyaltie. Amphilanthus and Selarinus with as
much comfort, as absence could afford them, got by themselves, to give account
to each other of their passions; for none else were made fortunate to
know their sufferings, nor did Amphilanthus for all his trust in him, impart his
Mistrisses name, holding that too deare, even for his friend to heare. Into a
Garden they went, but that, because the chiefe windowes of the house were
upon it, was thought not private enough, they went into an Orchard beyond
it, in which was a place raised with three ascents like, a triple Crowne, the
trees being Orange and Lemond trees, then in their pride, having blossoms,
unripe, and ripe fruite upon them. In the midst of this place was a stone, not
unlike a Tombe of red Marble, as high from the ground, as a large chest, and
of that proportion; round about it, or better to say, on three full sides incompassed
with Ciprus; on the other side was a Ring of Gold, as if to open the
Tombe, like the Ring to a Latch.

The amorous Kings sat downe upon it, being so inriched with their passions,
as other thoughts were too meane for them to suffer. Amphilanthus
relating the blessed content he felt in his fortunate enjoying, truly and affectionately
discovering the expresse knowledge of her love, by the sincerest expression
made unto him, and such, as Selarinus grew to be jealous hee should
never compasse; for it seemd unpossible, that any more then one woman
could bee so excellent and perfect a lover. As hee was ready to make reply
in that kind, they heard a voice (as if within the Tombe) bring forth some
words, which made them at the first hearing it, start up, afraid of discoverie,
or as if troubled that they had hurt her; the speech betraying the heart to
suffer excessivenesse in misery.

Unfortunate woman” (said it) “that cannot die, having such occasion. Is it
possible deare Tombe, that thou canst hold, and inclose my woes, yet keepe
them safe in thee, and with the multitudes of them? at last conclude my
griefe, let my sorrowes swell against themselves in justest rage, and with
their furies choke my breath that serves to speake them, and to bee drawne
contrary to my onely desires, to save my weary and afflicted life; tedious, unpleasing
time, finish thy labour, and my woes, let this bee my last minute of
unquietnesse, redeeme me from the cruell slavery of living, and bring mee to
the excellent libertie of dying; for how can life be pleasing, when Polidorus
is not? My dearest, and alone deare Lord, I know that thou art dead, else
were I fetched by thee, to joy with thee, where as now I remaine in my livingving Pp3r 303
death. Would I did know the truth, then might I give thee my last
farewell, and with that joyne my soule with thine, but twixt these violent despaires
how am I tortured?”

Then was shee quiet a little space, while they perused the place: but long
continued she not so, like to women spinning, staid but to fasten the thread to
begin againe to turne, and twine her sorrowes: but now she had spun them
into Rime, like the Swan in a most weeping Verse: they hearing her, stayd
from the releasing her out of the Tombe, till she had said her Verses, being
these.

“Infernall Spirits listen to my moanes, From Cavy depths, give hearing to my groanes Great Pluto, let thy sad abiding move With Hellish fires, to flame for fires of love; Let Charon passe my woes unto thine eares: His boate if empty they shall load it well, With tortures great, as are the paines of Hell, And waightier then the Earth this body beares. Take downe my spirit, cloyd with griefe and paine Conjure the darkest Pits, to let me gaine Some corner for a rest; if not, let mee O Pluto wander, and complaine to thee: Nor corsive can make wounds have torture more, Nor this disfavor vex a forelorne soule; (If all thy furys were put in a role) Then Love gives me; ah bitter eating sore. Call thy great Counsell, and afflicted Sp’rits, Examine well their woes, with all their nights, And you shall find none there that are not mine, Nay, my least, with their greatest joyntly twine. Let saddest Echo from her hollow Cave, Answere the horrid plaints my sorrow gives, Which in like mournefull, and vast caverne lives; Then judge the murdering passions which I have. My Judge is deafe, then, O thy justice prove, Mend thou the fault of proud forgetfull love, Release me from thy Court, and send me out Unto thy Brother Jove, whose love and doubt Hath oft transform’d him from his heavenly kind: So now from thee transforme my killing care To blessing, and from Hell into the Ayre, Darke griefe should not a loving fancy bind.” Pp3 Yet Pp3v 304 “Yet, love thus binds me even unto my death, and welcomest were that,
might I obtaine it, but yet that must not bee. What joy did I ever know?
yes I did love unknowne, then knowne enjoyed; enjoyed, how long? the
quarter of the time I lov’d in vaine, and that poore quarter how oft cross’d,
afflicted, and tormented with all varyeties of paines? yet my deere Lord
thou ever wert most kind, and so true loving, as one death is too too little
now to have for thee, although a wasting lingring end. Would tenne times
more I might beare, so thou wert safe; unfortunate, but bravest Prince to
bee embraced in such a busines, where not only honours, Crowne, possessions,
but thy life, must bee a sacrifice, unto the pleasure of two young
men.
My sweetest love, thou must bee the poore Lambe, offered for others
faults. O my deere Polidorus, thou didst merit fame, and love, not trouble,
and revenge; thou didst not erre, but if thy Father did, must his sinnes lye
on thee, and thou be punished for his pride? yet deere thou hast required
my best love, and made provision for thy other selfe, for after thee,
none should ere have had my love, since with thee it ought to have, as first
creation, lasting buriall, and that assurance thou hast given: but keepe thy
promise, which was, if with victory thou didst returne to bring mee unto
thee, if thou wert killd, to be brought unto mee, that in this vault we might
have our graves, and that red Marble serve for such a Tombe, as might best
witnesse, blood did cause our ends. Thou art ore-throwne, I find it deere,
and hindred I am, confident else, none could keepe thee from remembring
thy poore love; but if thou wert so hindred, cursed be the causers, and my
Desteny, to barre my last enjoying of my best lov’d Lord, & let those never
joy in happines of love that be the parters of our bodyes; a poore gift it had
beene to give a chosen grave, alas he must be buried, and if so, where easier,
and with lesser paines, or fitter then with her, that lives to dye, when shee’s
certaine what becomes of him? Deere Polidorus, heere I live to thy deere
memory, feed on the sweetest word thou gavest mee when we parted, but
will live no longer then thy end bee knowne to mee. If thou beest living
quickly come to me, if dead, assoone the tydings, then shall I witnes my constant
woe, and pay to thee what thou deservedst, and only unto thee will I
commend my love, and dying paines; others to others yeeld their last made
vows, my first, and last were dedicated, and so given to thee, and thus a dying
life doe I continue in, till thou or thine release me unto thee.”

When she had ended these lamentable speeches, they tryed to open the
Chest, which easily they did; she seeing it open, her heart even opened
with it, as embracing the joy her loved Lord should bring her, ready as it
were to take, or love, or death, equally fit for either; the place by opening,
being fit to be discovered, they found the stone to be like an upper box in a
Cabinet lesser then the other, but part of it as the light to the ancient Halls
in Princes houses: but this was darke; the lower part was a bed of gold,
upon which she lay; her apparell a Roabe of purple, imbrodered as the Kings
Roabes use to be, under that a petticoate, or round kirtle of Crimson; her
armes, fingers, and necke, adorn’d with the richest Jewels; her buskins were
of white, laced up with Rubies, her hayre comb’d downe, and a Crowne
of infinite valew on her head; a Scepter in her hand, which at the opening of Pp4r 305
of the Tombe she cast downe, raysing her selfe a little up, and throwing her
armes abroad, ready to welcome her heart unto her, as if before gone thence.
The sudden light to so much darkenesse, at the first daseled her eyes, but
when she recover’d and saw instead of Polidorus, two strangers, she crossed
her armes, lay downe againe, seeming so like a dead body, as they were afraid,
they had but heard a voyce which caused their search, but that she had
beene dead, that spirit which shee once had, had guided them to her. But
soone were they put beyond that amazednes by her speech. “If” said she, “you
be of Polidorus servants, directed by him to bring me his death, quickly give
me mine likewise, and then most welcome, or doe but favour me so much,
as to shut me up againe; this is the Throne, and Tombe which I must have,
and only will enjoy.”

The Kings, whose hearts were mollified with love, were so tempered to
pitty, as they were not able to know what to doe, but gazed on her, who
appeard the most peerelesse Tombe their eyes had ever beheld, and the
strangest; they saw shee lay still, like her owne monument curiously cut. “Alas”
said Amphilanthus, “what comfort can a victory bring, that finds such a
conclusion to accompanie it selfe with all”
: “A victory” cryed shee, then raised
she her sweete saddest selfe a little on one arme; “I beseech you both, or either”
said she, “bee so charitable to tell me the truth”, they loath to tell her what
must bring her death, yet still besought, and that implor’d with teares, they
look’d on one another, sigh’d, and with their eyes intreated each to speake;
at last brave Amphilanthus as kind, as excellent in all other vertues gave
these words.

“Madam” said he, “to obay you, whom we must after sue to for a favour, I will
discover that, which my soule, (as for you, doth grieve for.) The Army is
overthrowne, and your beloved Lord, who wee have heard you so much
speake of.”
slaine”, said shee, “I see it in your face, though you will not in pitty
speake it. Charitable Sir, how am I bound to you? but I beseech you, add
one favour more unto your first, and then an other as the last to that, where
is his body?”
“Laid” said he “in the cheife Church among the other Kings,
by Steriamus owne command.”
“It was an noble act of him” said shee, “whom
Heavens protect for it, mercy in Conquerors being as excellent as their fortunes:
the last request Ile make Sir is this, that by your favours I may bee
layd by him, since I will not aske to have him brought to mee, I am, and was
his wife, deerely beloved of him, and heere for safety, and by mine owne
petition left by him. I was Daughter to a King, the unfortunate Plamergus,
but my greatest happinesse I ever gloryed in, was his true love, lay me then
brave Sir, with my Lord, and only deere Polidorus, and thus my deere, my
soule to thine doth flye.”

Amphilanthus did beseech, Selarinus weept to her; all would not serve,
shee stretched her selfe straight out, and by curious Art laid her selfe forth,
fit to be carryed to her buriall, dying as if the word dead had kild her; excellent
griefe, and most excellent strength of passion, that can bring so resolute,
and brave an end. The Kings then chang’d their discourse from love
to sorrow; they stayed by her, seeking all means to recover her, but finding
she was gone, and so all hope of life in her, they went into the Court,
where they found the King new risen from Councell, and all his Princes, and Pp4v 306
and Lords about him. He went to meete them, but seeing such sorrow in
their faces, wondred, and a little feard, but soone he was brought out of that,
they telling him the cause, and sad adventure. Then he sent for the Guard,
who had kept the late King Polidorus, of whom he understood, how he with
teares intreated to be laid in a Tombe made by himselfe in the Orchard; but
they, though he besought them to goe to the Conqueror, (as he calld Steriamus)
and beseech that honor from him, to performe a vow which hee had
made, they unwilling to busie themselves, fearing to distast the King, had
never let his last request knowne; some said they thought his wounds,
and paines of them, had made him rave, others, that being dead, what matter
was it where his body lay? comparing him unto himselfe, who being
gone said he, “what care I where my body is bestowed?” But these things Steriamus
liked not, being so infinitely offended with them, as had it beene a
fault, they might have dyed for, they had surely payd their lives for such
neglect, but not ascending to that height, he banished them, hating neglect
to any creature dying, imagining his soule that dyes unsatisfied, must part
with trouble from the body, and for that was grieved; and this Justice did he
unto love, for which, love must be just to him.

Then made he Proclamation for their banishment; and straight himselfe
went with the whole assembly of Kings, and Princes fetching her, and went
as the cheife mourner with her, weeping to her grave; the other Kings did
carry her, and were as they thought, honourd with the waight of such
worth, and constancy, she seeming on their shoulders like her Efigie, carryed
to her owne Funerall. The Tombe was graced that night with her lying
on it, the next morning with solemne state opened, and she layd by her
Lord; this noble act did Steriamus as the first in Albania, & the beginning
to his famous life. This being past, and a Commander left in that towne,
which was the chiefe seate of the Kings of those parts, and from whence all
the Auncesters tooke their claime, the new and rightfull King, marched againe
towards the third king, guided by his new servants, and followed with
many great men of Albania, who like the world ranne with the streame of
Fortune, and left the overthrowne party, as soone as it was made miserable
with that knowledge. Antissius had had his time for leading: Leandrus
now desired to have the next; it was granted him, and so they marched;
Amphilanthus, now in the head of his owne troups, Steriamus having a
Guard of them, next his person, as their Country woman guarded his heart
safe from hurt, or change: the Albanians next to them, which were in
number that went forth with him after the two victories as many as were
lost, so the Army was of the same bignesse, as when it came into Albania.
Perissus after hee had left Nereana in all her rages for his neglect, yet salving
it, as desirous to deceive her selfe, with saying that the danger hee found
him selfe in of change, to his first, and only love, made him for feare leave
her, not being able to withstand her power in love; but hee in the contrary
part pittying her, and weary of her frantique discourse left her, and with
five hundred Knights tooke Shipping, landing in Epirus, where he mette
the glad tydings of the victoryes, and winning Princes: then hasted he, guided
by many, every one desirous to doe service to him, or them that came
to serve their King; he passed on quietly, for there was no resistance, but desirous Qq1r 307
desirous to bee with them, he commanded the rest of his trayne to come
with more leasure after him, he posting away only with his Squire, and two
guids. As he rid, it was his chance to meete two armed men, and two
Squires, carying each of them a great Sword, and Speare, they came to him
with these words.

“Sir” said they “we be two young Princes, sons to the Duke of Corinthia, desirous
we are of Knighthood, but such hath our fortunes beene, as not being
able to gaine it as we desired, we resolved to take this course, and from
the first Knights hands we met, (that was fit to give it us) to demand it; you
looke like such an one, wherefore from you we require it, yet wee beseech
you, tell us who we shall have it from.”
“My name” said he, “it may be, will rather
make me seeme uunworthy of the honor you offer mee, being scarce
knowne in these parts, yet because you so civilly desire the knowledge of it,
you shall have it, I am Perissus of Sicily”
; “That name” said they “is come with
wonder to our eares, and happinesse to us to gaine this honor from so royall
hands”
; then lighting all on the ground Perissus tooke their swords, and girt
them to them, putting on their Spurrs, and so finishing their Knighthood,
kiss’d them, being two delicate, and lovely youths.

“Now Sir” said they, “let us beseech one honor more from you, which is to
run one course with each of us, not that we will seeme ungratefull for this favour,
but only to see what wee may bee able to doe against you before wee
fall, since that wee are to encounter the bravest man of the World, as hee
is esteemed, and for that cause we demanded Knighthood.”

“Truly” (said Perissus) “I should bee wonderfull loath to harme you, so
much I affect you; but first tell mee who that brave man is, and if hee bee
none of my best friends, I will serve you against him.”
“That wee doe not
desire”
(said they) “for hee having kild our father, wee must revenge it our
selves, or die in the quarrell; therefore wee beseech you first, let us bee
graced for our first triall to runne with you, and wee shall esteeme it a happinesse,
though throwne by you: but to satisfie you, the Knight which wee
must fight with, is Amphilanthus, who comming to my fathers house, used
himselfe so insolently, as he a grave man could not like it, boasting of what
gaine he had of the honours of Ladies, in that dishonouring many, one amongst
that number being the Princesse of Stiria, a Lady my father honored
much, and was his Neece, whose honor he could not leave touched unrevenged.
But he ancient, the other strong and young, got the better so much, as
he slew my father: we being then too young to carrie armes (for ist is three
yeeres since we were with poore & miserable patiēence, forced to be at quiet).
Now we have travelled, halfe a yeare wee have spent to find some worthy
Prince, at last by storme were cast on shore in this Country, where we heard
of these brave warres, & now we were going to receive the honor from one
of those Kings, and straight to challenge Amphilanthus, who we heare is there.”

“Truly” (said Perissus) “you have undertaken a very hard task, but I pray tell me
what manner of man is that Prince you speak of.”
“He is”, said he, “much of your
stature, faire, and curled haire hee hath, and in troth such an one, as may
well win Ladies, and such is his fame, as wee desire to die by his hand,
for wee cannot hope to overcome him.”
“To this end” said Perissus, “you
shall excuse mee from running with you, and assure your selves, you are Qq infinitely Qq1v 308
infinitly mistaken in him, for the true Amphilanthus is neither of the stature
nor complexion you speake of, but as excellent a creature, as can, or hath
beene framed by Nature, free from these things, hee is accused of, therefore
be perswaded by me, goe into the Army with me, if when you see him
it proove to bee hee, I will then not onely fulfill your desire in this, but
bring you to call him unto account; yet trust me on my honour it is not he,
for he is as wise as valiant, and just as wise.”

Thus satisfied they ridd together towards the Army, which then was
marching, and making hast to the third encounter, which was to bee had
with Nicholarus, an other partaker of Albania’s miserie, and Steriamus injury.

As they rode, Perissus thinking of his Limena, the two young Knights
of nothing more then how to attaine to some encounter to trye their valour,
it was one of their chances (being the elder, and riding neerer a wood
side then the others did) to heare two within discoursing in this manner.

“I wonder” said the one, “that Amphilanthus, the worthyest, bravest Prince
for all noble vertues should let ingratitude live in him, (a thing I have so
often heard him despise) especially to a Lady, who (as by her letter you
may see) for his sake hath refused all matches offered her, wholly reserving
her selfe for him, now to forsake her, and not onely so, but in her fight
striving to let her see her losse, and to use her with such scorne, as her affection
is forced to change love to a friend, to an enemy; Yet to move me
to revenge her, who am most bound unto him, I more marvell at; for hee
onely hath set my Crowne upon my head.”

“Must I be made to fight with him, who fought for mee? Shall I feele
to take that life from him, which was so willingly and bravely ventur’d to
keepe mine? Or to make mine fortunate; from a Run-away and poore
Fisher-boy he made me a King, for one whose head was at sale, he brought
a Crowne unto it, and royall dignity to the poorest Subject. Shall I (I say)
turne against this man, as if the longer I knew vertue the more I should
dislike it? No Antissia, love is full of variety of Passions, and many false
conceits will arise; which, when discovered, sorrow is the period, but
repentance may follow this.”

“Besides, Love tells me I must love these Kings, else how shall I obtaine
my wished blessing to enjoy sweet Selarina; but indeed truth saies, I must
not be unthankefull. I would venture farre for thy good sweet Antissia, and
preferre thy gaine equall with mine owne, but neither must make me ungratefull.
From Amphilanthus I have got my life, and fortune, to him they
both belong, and they shall be payed to serve him, not to offend him, my
Sword to attend him, not to hurt him. Shall this bee requitall for his last
care of me in the battaile against Polidorus, where he rescued me, and hors’d
me againe? That had beene enough to winne respect, and truth in love,
both together set as obligations never to be broken, nor shall bee touched
by me. I love my Aunt well, but my honour more; then must she pardon
me, I will not fight with him for her.”
“Amphilanthus”, reply’d the other, “hath
beene so blessed with fortune, as hee hath obliged the best to bee his
servants by his favours done them; who lives of all these Princes in
the Army, that hath not (at some one time or other) directly taken
their lives from him; the bravest hee hath saved, and the valiantest rescued Qq2r 309
rescued, my poore selfe released from cruell, close, and dangerous imprisonment.
These I consider and allow, but then comes love, and tells me, he must
be obeyed, my vow unto your Aunt commandeth me, and that I must observe;
she wills me to kill Amphilanthus, and then she will marry mee.”
“And
this you wil attempt”
, said Antissius? “Attempt, win or die in it”, said Dolorindus.
“You must first begin with me”, said Antissius, “if you bee resolute in it, and will
suffer the canker, ingratitude, to rule: but thinke againe; for rather had I do
any reasonable matter, then breake friendship with you, yet rather that, then
where I am so infinitely bound, and more contentedly die thus, then live to
have a thought to hurt that Prince.”
“I love Antissia”, said he, “yet must I consent
to withstand you, since you leave the due respect to Antissia, which bloud
and her affection to you may claime, it frees me who loved you most for her
sake; nay it commands, and threatens me; wherefore I am ready to encounter
you first.”

As they were going to venture an end to their lives, two Knights more
arrived, and seeing them ready to fight, stepped in betweene them. They
furious, and inraged with their let, demanded who they were. “I am”, said one
of them, “Ollorandus”: “and I”, said the other, “Amphilanthus.” With that Dolorindus
turnd on him; “And you” (said he) “are the man I looked for”: with that
they fell to blowes, his Companion did the like, but Antissius a little paused,
and having asked a question or two more of him, was assured by his voyce
and gesture, it was not his friend Ollorandus. Dolorindus so furious, as his
senses had left him to ignorance of voice or knowledge. Then hoping the
other was that counterfet Amphilanthus, he willingly entertained the combat,
which was sharpe. Dolorindus did well, but had the worse; for how
could it other be, that name being enough to vanquish without force. Hee
fell, and his enemy being ready to cut off his head, the brave Perissus came to
the young Knight, who had heard all this, and stepped in; “Nay Amphilanthus”
said he, “hold your hands, here is another hath as much to say to you for
killing his father, Prince of Carinthia.”

He remembred that, and hee turned unto him, and a new fight began,
wherein the young Knight did so well (helped too a little by his enemies
wearinesse, the which gave advantage to him, who had otherwise been too
hard for him) as hee brought him to the like passe Dolorindus was in: but
when hee had him thus, less favour was shewed in more speed, for hee had
got off his Helme and Head, before helpe could come in, although Perissus
hearing the name, made all the meanes hee could to save his life for names
sake onely, hee came to heare the young Prince say, “Farewell Amphilanthus,
I am now revenged of thee”
; “and I”, said Antissius “for the abominable treason,
in taking such Princes names upon you.”
The Prince of Carinthia held the
head in his hand, which when Perissus saw, hee was sorry, because it had
carried that name, but could not but much praise Fortune, who had so cunningly
wrought the satisfaction to the Princes, the punishment for falsehood,
and the revenge of love. They tooke up Dolorindus, who was wounded
with shame, as much as with the Sword, weaknesse from fury getting
place; he wept, and petitioned for favour from Antissius, hee confest his fault
to be fouler then sinne.

Antissius replied, he must first satisfie Amphilanthus, then he should answer Qq2 him Qq2v 310
him. Hee vowed never to fight with him. The brave young King told him,
hee was contented with that, so he submitted to the king of the Romans, and
that should be the satisfaction he would take. Perissus in the meane time had
gotten the slaine Knights Squires to him, to be resolv’d of this cosenage, they
had not full knowledge of it, but the other Knight not being dead, hee conjured
him to relate it, and why? to have as he told him the happinesse to end in
more quiet, when hee might with a clearer conscience depart. Hee yeelded
unto him, and made a true and plaine confession to him in this manner.

“My friend” (said hee) “being in love with the excellent Princesse of Croatia,
neither having meanes by estate to gaine her, nor hope to win her by his love
or service, she having resolv’d to love none but Amphilanthus, love having
conquerd an unusuall way on her, when only fame, not sight, or knowledge,
but by reports had grounded such an affection in her. Hee obtained to
know where that brave Prince remained, hee was certified, that he was in a
search for a Sister of his, some time unheard of. In this unlucky season hee
tooke his name upon him; after hearing of his Companion, Ollorandus, hee
injoyned me to take his name likewise on me; truly I must confesse it was an
unexcusable fault, and the greater, because those names, especially his, was so
honored, as wheresoever we passed, we had our owne wills. Knights refused
to combat with us, Ladies soone yeelded, believing they ought not to refuse
what hee demanded, who commanded all hearts. I also had my share in
this pleasure, as now in death. He won the Princesse of Croatia, left her afterwards,
keeping the same name, finding such sweetnes in it: but now being
here, and the true Amphilanthus his fame flourishing for his incomparable
glory, we purposed not to tarry, knowing it would proove too hot a busines
for us, if once it came to his eares. Wherefore we made what haste we could
to get to the Sea, and so meant to leave these parts to his true light, and carry
a few flashes with us in farther remote places. Into great Brittany we meant
to passe, but now are stayd by your force, we were Gentlemen of noble houses,
but such hath been our ill living, as I desire for him, and my selfe we may
be privately buried here, never more enquired after, nor if you please to favour
your owne worth so much henceforth mentioned, letting our shames
die, and be inclosed in the earth with us.”

Perissus promised to fulfill some of those requests, the rest were not in his
power, such a businesse depending upon their knowledge, as the reconciling
of such Princes. There they were buried, and the three Kings tooke
their way to a little house in the Wood, where they more freely discussed
of the matter, which was this.

Antissia after her returne, filled with hate in stead of love, never left plotting
for revenge, till this came (as often it doth in her sexe) into her mind;
whereupon she writ to her Nephew; but if that failed, shee trusted on her
servant, and therefore likewise did she write to him: a letter from her was
a comfort sufficient, but a command, his honour, and happinesse. This was
the cause, and nothing but death would satisfie her, as at that time her furie
was nothing being so revengefull as a forsaken woman, shame like love provoking
her; and that he freely granted her, though it had fallen out to be
his owne to have paid her.

Antissius Qq3r 311

Antissius mistrusting as much by his distemper, led him foorth of
the Towne to this place: the same day the Army marched thence
toward Nicolarus; there they had remained till Perissus his finding them;
Antissius striving to diswade Dolorindus persisting in his resolution,
which had end by this adventure. They stayed there till he was something
recovered, in which time the Sicilians arrived with whom they
all followed the Army, but Dolorindus afflicted doubly left them to their
will, hee following a course to redeeme his honor quenched. They arriving
found the Kings ready to give battell, the Army was ordered before
their comming, wherefore those troops stood by them selves to watch
when they might assist, and not trouble them.

Antissia after shee had fedde her selfe with this fury, was more then
satisfied, for Envy being a little appeas’d, shee came to her good nature
again, or love, or feare, or, and indeed all passions, whirling about like
a wheele they draw wyer out with all: so drew shee painefull thoughts,
longer then before, lengthned, with dispaire; “for now” said shee, “wretched
Antissia, what hope can be so flattering, as to shew it selfe in any colour
like it selfe to helpe thee? Amphilanthus must for ever hate thee, and all his
friends dispise thee. Thou hast engaged a loving King, who will (I am
assured) bee so oreruled by thy commands as hee will loose his life for
thee.”

“How can Negropont forgive mee? but most I have offended mine
owne Country deere Romania, in seeking to make thee a widdow by loosing
her King, who if hee meete Amphilanthus in the field, is sure to dye
for it; if not, yet have I sought to murther his honor, in desiring to make
him ungratefull: either way I am a Traytor to my Country, and deserve
the sharpest punishment. Yet I hope they will consider what unquiet passions
may produce, and like men, have stayder judgments about them, then
on my request to indanger themselves, or let their honors perish for my wil.
This hope pleaseth me, but now againe, I doubt; O fond Antissia, wicked
Antissia, to let so vilde a thought inhabit in thee: it had beene too
much to bee nourished, and brought to the ripenesse of so much mischiefe.
Alas sweetest Pamphilia, how maist thou curse me, for having a thought
to hurt thy love? much more to plot his ruine, and so thine in his; yet thou
art the cause; for had hee not changed from me to thee, all had been safe,
yet I may wrong thee this way too: how know I that hee loved mee first,
may it not bee, that hee did love thee long before I saw Morea? His
fashion at the first encounter ’twixt you, when wee came to Mantinea, expressed
a deare respect, and familiar love, then I wrong’d thee, to purchase
him. If from thee he did change, the blame is there, and I aske pardon for it;
but pardon cannot bee, where so much ill remaines.
What shal I do most miserable creature, wretched beyond all women, and
not fit to live? How ever businesses passe, thou art a meere shame to thy sex,
and the disgrace of lovers. Die cruel Antissia, and abuse not this place with thy
vild living in it. How can this earth beare without swallowing thee up? considering
that he brought quiet peace, the blessing of a Country unto it. But
thy hate is such to me, as thou wilt not let mee lodge within thee, but rather Qq3 doth Qq3v 312
doth cast mee out, like the worst weeds, to ease thy selfe of the poyson I am
fild’d withall, and to expose me to the end, worst serpents are brought to,
which ought to be destroyed, least they infect the earth; and should I bee
slaine for my venomous practice, and have no buriall, I were justly used,
who could not bury a little losse without the grave were lined with murther.”

“A little losse said I, noe sure it is the greatest; yet love should still be love,
& not let malice be the Hyæna to so sweet a Prince. Perplexed wretch, what
shall I doe? wander away? abide not heere for shame, the ayre cannot afford
thee breath, the grownd rest, nor thine ownelost selfe quiet. Curs’d be
thy dayes, and thou the most accursed soule living; end, or be transformed
to miserie it selfe, and be any thing rather then Antissia. Sought I to make
Antissius ungratefull? curs’d was the act, and I accursed in it. Would I have
Dolorindus kill Amphilanthus? why did not that desire murther, or indeed
justly execute me? Hate is above all, and highlyest to be hated, and if that
to be misprized, what must the Nurse bee that nourished it? As a mother of
a brave good sonne, is reverenced, and sought: so may I be hated, and shun’d
for this birth. Romania I am a Traitor to thee, thou canst not but abhor me.
I am guilty, accuse my selfe, and know what thou must doe in Justice to bee
revenged on me. I will flye from thee, and ever blame my selfe.”
Then went
she downe out of her chamber, taking to the walke she had describ’d to Amphilanthus,
and Pamphilia, there shee walked like a hurt Deere, staying no
where, vexed, and tormented, thinking stirring, and running would helpe,
but all proov’d contrary, she must yeeld to her hurt, and lye downe with
her harme. There she pass’d up and downe till a boat came in: she asked of
what place they were; they said of Metelin: when they returnd, they answer’d
instantly when they had unladed. In conclusion, shee agreed with
them, and so return’d better quieted, because businesse employed her. She
was now resolv’d to goe, who to take with her she must thinke of, what manner
to goe in, what provision to carry with her. These employd her wits,
so as shee grew to be a little pacified, and these things to put the other out
of minde, at least the mindes trouble with perpetuall vexation. But when
she was ready to take her journey, many great Ladies came to visit her, as if
sent to hinder her; she tooke it so, and although a Princesse who loved noble
conversation, yet comming unwished for, it now perplexed her; her judgement
commanded, and she entertained them, discharged her Bark, and staid
with them. Her sorrow she cover’d, or masked, with the absence of her
Nephew; but Lucenia was one, and one bred in Loves Schoole, she knew
her paine, and the cause of it, and wrought so well on it, as she had what
shee came for, and left Antissia, a more unquiet woman then shee found
her adding to the aptnesse of her amorous nature, correcting her thoughts,
and making dangerous additions to her passion; if one womans hate bee
harmefull, what must two bee, and specially two such? for she had merited
ill, though Lucenia revenged not.

Amphilanthus I pittie thee, who for all noble parts oughtest to be admired,
and aobscured1 lettert reverenced of all, being matchlesse in all vertues, except thy
love; for inconstancy, was, and is the onely touch thou hast, yet can I not
say, but thou art constant to love; for never art thou out of love, but variety is Qq4r 313
is thy staine, yet least is that blame of any, were not perill to ensue, plots laid
to destroy thee, yet wilt thou passe them all, and be thy selfe; Women are
ominous to thee, shunne them, and love her firmely who onely loveth thee.

Her secret journey, or pilgrimage thus put by, she remain’d like a Nettle,
hardly scaping the weeders hand, but growing on, turnes to seede, and
from thence springs hundreds as stinging: so did she, (scaping out of good
Natures corrections) overgrowe by envious absence, to the feeding plenty
of all mischiefes growth, Now she commends her first action, prayes for
the proceeding: loves Dolorindus if hee performes her command, vowes
hatred to him if hee attempt it not, and so farre it spread it selfe, as when
she confessed him too weake to encounter her Love-growne-enemy, she suffered
Treason to say he ought to be employed, and that hee should revenge
her wrong, so as she was so farre from fearing his harme, as she studied waies
how to harme him, & having found them, wished them al presenting themselves
before Dolorindus, that he might chuse the most mischeving & most
speeding hurt for him. Sometime Lucenia staid with her, and so bewitched
her with her witty person now, as she would returne with her; vertuous
friendship never linked so fast, as those conditions tied themselves together,
and all employd against the worthiest man the earth carried, the true summe
for excellent light of his time, and for whose sake the Sunne would hide
himselfe, in griefe hee could not shine so bright as his glory did; Fame
spreading like his beames about him, rich, faire, clear, and hott equally,
and surpassing him,

Lucenia and Antissia knew this, this encreased love to breed envy, and
malice, because they enjoyed him not, and so in the end, all his vertues were
but waies for their ill to travell in, the more to hate him; for, the braver
they confessed him, the greater worth to be in him, the fuller happinesse shee
was blest with that held his love, made them to see their losse, and as from
twilight to Sunne rising they increased in fury, and so built their ill, upon
his excellent deservings; thus may goodnesse be a ground to ill, and thus
wrought they. They that before heard not his name without heart-leaping,
now with scorne to thinke that cruell thought of being left, his remembrance
is with cursings as with prayers, with blames as with joyes, and all
chang’d like Snow to durty water, wherein they drown’d their amorous
thoughts, and brought forth cutting Sedges of hatred against the exquisite
Prince, springing out of the foule mud of their devilish dispositions. At
last it was agreed on, that if he escaped from their hands, hee should be invited,
or trayned thither, (being assured of the secret carriage of their plots)
and to some other place where they might have their ends. Envy, what
canst thou bring forth more in abundance, then the richest roote of goodnesse?
like a staulke on which diverse colours, and severall flowers grow:
not like a pure Lilly of chaste, and vertuous love. Pamphilia in this flourished,
who longed for nothing but power, or meanes to expresse her love
by; She now in her Country, alone spent her time as a faithfull lover doth,
never but thinking of him, calling all delightfull times they had enjoyed, to
mind, joying in them, as in blessings, never thinking of blessednes, but when
shee might thinke of seeing him; to which end, and to cover her longing
with some probable occasion of bringing her neerer to him, shee calld her people, Qq4v 314
people, and after she had gained their consents for a journey to visite her aged
father, being mooved unto it, both by reason of his weaknesse, and the
desire he had once to see all his children together, which hee should doe, at
their returne from Albania; besides to meete her most honord friend, the
widdow Queene of Naples, whom in many yeares she had not seene; these
were faire motives, had there not been a fayrer, and more deere one, which
darkned these with the greater light of love.

Well, she prepares for the journey in infinite pompe, she goes attended
on by the best of the Kingdome; a grave, and good Councell she left behind
her, to governe in her absence. As she was ready to Shippe, there arrived
Orilena, of purpose come to visit her, but finding her ready to leave Pamphilia,
she consented to accompany her into Morea. As they sayled, all their
discourse was of love, Orilena being as fit a companion as might bee for the
sad Queene: both their loves absent, both extreamly loving. While they
were at Sea, they made verses, comparing the evening to the coolnesse of
absence, the day break, to the hope of sight, and the warmth to the enjoying,
the waves to the swelling sorrowes their brests indured and every thing
they made to serve their turnes, to expresse their affections by. By the Sun
they sent their hot passions to their loves; in the cold Moones face writ Characters
of their sorrowes for their absence, which she with pale wan visage
delivered to their eyes, greev’d as to the death, she could not helpe those amorous
Ladyes; yet Pamphilia was most to be pittied, because her love was
most, and most painefull to endure, as being haunted with two hellish Spirits
of keeping it secret, and bearing the waight it selfe. The other Lady had
more libertie, so more ease, for she might boldly say she wanted Philarchos,
and bewayled his absence, yet never did shee so, but Pamphilia sighed
with her, and so sister-like condoled with her, as she exceld her in passion,
which made some eroniously say, that counterfeting was more excellēent then
true suffering, because judgment governs where passions are free, when fully
possest they master beyond, and so expresse not so well, as if ruld with
discretion; for an Actor knowes when to speake, when to sigh, when to end:
a true feeler is as wrapped in distempers, and only can know how to beare.
Many of these passages there were in dispute, none scaping censure, how
great, or good soever.

These Ladyes standing one day upon the Hatches, they saw a little Barque
come towards them; Pamphilia commanded the Boat to be called to them,
which was done, when out of her came a well knowne Squire from him, she
most lov’d, he kneeld, and presented her with letters, and in them a token
from him; she tooke them with such joy, as her heart, did like the waves,
swell: her colour came into her face, and she was so surprized with content,
as she could not tell what to say unto him; at last she remembred that she
was not alone, but that she must consider all, eyes were not her servants, she
corrected herselfe, yet could not blame that passion for so deserving a cause.
“My deere” said she, “I cannot hide my happines, nor am I sorry for it, since it
is for thee, I suffer this, unlesse that holding it so deere, I may grudge any
should partake of it.”
Yet calling her sences more about her, to avoyd suspition,
she demanded how Parselius, Rosindy, “and Philarchos did, and Amphilanthus”
said she, “I hope also doth well.” That came out so sweetely, and louingly, Rr1r 315
lovingly, as one might judge, shee asked for the rest for his sake, because she
would name him, or named him last, as more to sticke in memory. Orilena
was so desirous to know, how her Philarchos did, as shee nere heeded how
Pamphilia carried her selfe. Surpassing passion, excellent, still governe, how
delicate is thy force? How happie thy rule, that makes such excellent
women thy subjects? made so by thy government, instructed by thy
skill, taught by thy learning, and indeed made by thee. Bee thou still,
and worthily adored, and this Pamphilia doth agree to; excellent Queene,
the true paterne of excellent affection, and affections truth. Shee then
called the Messenger, and having called her Spirits to her, asked particularly
of the estate of Albania.

Hee related the whole discourse, as instructed to set forth his Lord to
his owne love; shee needed not much inviting to that banquet, this
discourse fed her day and night. They talked of the warres, and of the
brave Champions, whose honours were never greater, then when extolled
by her. At last to Morea they came, the King and Queene comming
two dayes journey to meete her, the most perfect Queene her Cosin,
joying in her sight, as in heavenly happinesse, for so she held her Deare.
Great joy was made for her comming, and still augmentations of that by
the newes from the Army ever bringing good. Urania rejoyced, and
Philistella was overcome with content: sweete Selarina was as glad as any,
but her passions were moderate, and discreetelie held themselves
within, yet shee would finely (though in shew carelessely) inquire how
Antissius prospered. The other Ladies would smile at it, and sometimes
to make sport so pretily anger her, as was delightfull pastime; every
one envious to have each others passions knowne; not doubting but
their owne were equally discovered, jealous onely of each others power,
for being better able to conceale their flames then themselves; here did
Love truly, and royally triumph.

Pamphilia gotten alone, looked as often on the token, as her hearts
eyes looked on the sender; it was his picture: shee kissed it, shee laid it
and wore it continually in her breast; carefull shee was, least her Chamber-maide
might see it, because it was more then her reservednesse did
warrant, yet rather had shee all should know and see it, then bee one
minute hindred from the enjoying it so neare; “My deare selfe” (would
shee say) “what happinesse find I in thee? how am I blessed alone in
thee? and above all by thee? Deerer part of my soule, take the other
to thee, pure love calles thee to acceptance, and thou doest, I hope, take
what I so firmely give thee. What shall I say? thou sayst thou wilt not
bee ungratefull, I assure my selfe of that, and blame my selfe extremely,
if I said any thing might make thee thinke I doubted thee; thou knowest I
never urged so much, as by question to know, if thou diddest love mee. I
saw it, what needed I to aske, much lesse to feare. No sweetest love, I love
too much to mistrust, and love thee more then to demaund assurance. which
needes not, where such confidence remaines, nor is fit, since if man-like
thou shouldest once live to change, thy change would grieve my heart,
but kill my soule to know, thou wert both changing and forsworne, falsehood
were double here, and single even enough to murder me: but those deare Rr eies Rr1v 316
eyes allure mee, those lippes swell in anger I should thus dispute then, and
grow dearest, take mine unto thine, which with whispering let my breath say, I
doe long onely to see them move againe, and tell mee of thy love, soules comfort;
how I see in my soule spirit-like cleare, and bodilesse from corruption,
governe and command like love; a thing adored and reverenced, but not
seene, except to lovers: so art thou to me, my spirit, and my All.”

While she was thus in loves best clothes apparreld, the bravest of Ladies
of her time came to her, finding her in her ancient loving walk; she met her
with joy and respect, knowing her so worthy, as she was onely fit to bee mother
to such a sonne, who alone deserved so matchlesse a mother. To her
shee went, who in her armes entertained her, that humbly tooke her favour
with a low reverence, which love made her yeeld her. No time was lost betweene
them, for each minute was fild with store of wit, which passed betweene
them, as grounds are with shadowes where people walke: and the
longer they discoursed still grew as much more excellent, as they, to nightward
seeme longer.

Among other speech the Queene of Naples asked Pamphilia what shee
heard of the warres in Albania. Shee discoursed it all unto her, but the last
busines seemd the strangest, & unusuallest, said she, although Polidorus his fortune
in his wives affection was rare, the discourse was this. “Nicholarus (being
one of the Kings of Albania, as they falsely termed themselves) a Gentleman
indued with all vertuous parts of learning, courage, and in truth, al that could
be required in a brave man, yet was encountred with a stronger enemy then
his judgement could resist, which was love, and love of one, who for his misery
loved another. Nicholarus came oft where she was, oft shewed his affection,
the other came with him, as if to glory in his mastery, or to enjoy with
triumph what was refused this King, as a prisoner led, is a more glorious
spectacle, then to know he is in a Tower: so are injoyings before refused
more happy, and prized, then if by stealth, or kept in private, though love
can bee held as deare and best. The poore Prince having a Scarfe by cunning
love throwne over his eyes, never misdoubted anything, still loving
and cherishing him more then any, because he saw she respected him. Once
to her house he came, where they were entertained, as their places and dignities
required, but the lover as love commanded. The Prince, or King, or
what you will call him, because in his Neighbours Countrie, watched as
hee thought an opportunitie, and in the morning when they were to meete
the other Kings who were neare to that place, assembled about an especiall
businesse of hunting: her husband loving that sport wel, was soonest up and
called the King; hee employed him in some other businesse, while hee
went unto his wife, whom hee found in her chamber in bed, attending (not
his Majestie) but the King of her heart. Shee rose up in her bed, and opened
the Curtaine with love, and joy in her face and eyes. Hee tooke it
meant to him when hee perceived it, for hard was such a joy as shee expected,
to bee drawne backe on the suddaine; but when, like violence
followed, for her smile was frowning, her joy displeasure, her rising to embrace
him, to turning her face from him, her speech to welcome him, to
crying out, ‘I wonder’ (said shee) ‘my maids have thus betrayed me, leaving
the Chamber open to my shame. Alas, my Lord, I wonder what you Rr2r 315317
you meane to come this way, it is an ill one, and unfit for you.’
‘I have not
mistaken’
, said hee, ‘I come to visit you, and to intreate you.’ ‘What to doe
my Lord’
, said she? ‘To pittie mee’, said hee. ‘To dishonour my selfe’, cryd
she. ‘Why? if you can but pittie mee, you may’, answered hee. ‘Pittie of my
selfe makes mee refuse you’
, replyed shee. ‘What can your pittie in your
selfe’
, said hee? ‘to denie mee for?’ ‘The honour’ (answered shee) ‘which
calls to mee for respect, and care, which borne with me, is my fathers, and
my brothers, and my houses, these claime my care and pitey.’”

“‘None neede know your favour to mee, but your selfe and my selfe,
who with all affection aske it, and with all truth will keepe it close. I
cannot, nor will not trust mine owne soule with unworthinesse, lest accusation
justly merited, fall on mee, and inwardlie afflict mee; therefore
my Lord I beseech you’
(said shee) ‘bee satisfied, and as you protest to
love mee, make demonstration of it, and leave mee pure from touch of
any ill, but your discourse, which so farre hath troubled mee, as I truly
sweare, I never was more molested in my dayes.’
Hee with that drew his sword, whether to threaten her with harme,
if shee consented not, or to make her yeeld, by offering violence on
himselfe, I know not, but shee was distemperd with the manner, and
wished her love, or husband, the worse of the two by much, had been
present. The better happened, for her servant came at the instant, hindred
it seemed onely by higher powers to stay, to serve her, his affection
else bringing him usuallie rather before, then after time, and so
soone some times, as hee hath been forced to use his best wits for his
excuse, yet now hee came late, but in best time for her. His comming
in, made the King start, and straight put up his Sword, making some
kind, and so idle cause for drawing it. Hee straight left the roome, and
the other attended him, till hee saw him horsed; then returning to his
love, came to excuse, and to bee certaine; excuse himselfe for stay, and
to bee resolved of his being there in that sort. She wept for both, telling
him, that hee had betrayed her, hee grieved to bee taxed so, yet
with much adoe gaind the truth; then was hee joyed, and tormented,
joyed with her loyaltie, vexed that his negligence had given such advantage
to his Rivall.
All or both causes of trouble at last were ended, and concluded with
the summe of blessednesse, content in affection. The King yet left it not
thus, but pursues with faire words, and letters what hee sought; Shee
with as faire (but not so kinde) replies, gain’d that hee troubled her
not in some moneths with such importunitie.”

“At last hee writ some Verses to her, wherein hee commended varietie
in love, as inviting her unto it, being the most pleasing and fruitfull, telling
her whom hee could love, on all causes and reasons, as either beauty,
greatnesse, wit, or for varieties sake it selfe could move him. The coppie
of his I have not, but most excellent Madam”
(said shee) “by hers you
may see what hee hath said, and hers bee these, and these your most
excellent Sonne hath sent me, for Nicholarus is his prisoner, taken, and saved
by him in the last Battaile, that Countrie wholly by the matchlesse King of
Naples conquered, and won, for by his comming, Polidorus was vanquished, Rr2 and Rr2v 318
and Nicholarus quite overthrowne, now remaining but one more to be subdued,
and then Steriamus hath all, and for that, all must thanke Amphilanthus.”
“And hee your love” (said the Queene) “who thus commendeth him.” She
blushed to heare her judgement so free with her. She kissed her, and willd
her not to feare, though she discoverd her, “but proceed sweet Neece”, said
shee. “The Verses Madam” (said she) “were these.”

“The joy yon say the Heavens in motion trie Is not for change, but for their constancy. Should they stand still, their change you then might move, And serve your turne in praise of fickle love. That pleasure is not but diversified, Plainely makes proofe your youth, not judgment tried. The Sunnes renewing course, yet is not new, Since tis but one set course he doth pursue, And though it faigned be, that he hath chang’d, Twas when he from his royall seate hath raing’d: His glorious splendor, free from such a staine, Was forc’d to take new shapes, his end to gaine. And thus indeed the Sunne may give you leave, To take his worst part, your best to deceive. And whereof he himselfe hath been ashamd, Your greatnesse praiseth, fitter to be blamd, Nothing in greatnes loves a strange delight, Should we be governd then by appetite? A hungry humour, surfetting on ill, Which Glutton-like with cramming will not fill. No Serpent can bring forth so foule a birth, As change in love, the hatefullst thing on earth. Yet you doe venture this vice to commend, As if of it, you Patron were, or Friend. Foster it still, and you shall true man be Who first for change, lost his felicitie. Rivers (tis true) are clearest when they run, But not because they have new places won; For if the ground be muddy where they fall, The clearnesse with their change, doth change with all, Lakes may be sweet, if so their bottoms be; From rootes, not from the leaves our fruit we see. But love too rich a prize is for your share, Some little idle liking he can spare Your wit to play withall; but true love must Have truer hearts to lodge in, and more just, While this may be allow’d you for loves might, As for dayes glory framed was the night. That you can outward fairenesse so affect, Shewes that the worthier part you still neglect. Rr3r 319 Or else your many changings best appeares; For beauty changeth faster then the yeares: And that you can love greatnesse, makes it knowne, The want of height in goodnesse of your owne. Twas not a happinesse in ancient time To hold plurality to be no crime, But a meere ignorance, which they did mend, When the true light did glorious lusture lend. And much I wonder you will highly rate The brutish love of Nature, from which state Reason doth guide us, and doth difference make From sensuall will, true reasons lawes to take. Wer’t not for Reason, we but brutish were, Nor from the beasts did we at all differ; Yet these you praise the true stile opinion, By which truths government is shroudly gon. Honor by you esteemd a title, true, A title cannot claimd by change as due. It is too high for such low worth to reach, Heaven gifts bestow’th as to belong to each. And this true love must in revenge bestow On you, his sacred power, with paine to know: A love to give you fickle, loose, and vaine, Yet you with ceaselesse griefe, seeke to obtaine Her fleeting favours, while you wayling prove, Meerely for punishment a steddy love: Let her be faire, but false, great, disdainefull, Chast, but to you, to all others, gainefull, Then shall your liberty and choice be tide To paine, repentance, and (the worst sinne) pride. But if this cannot teach you how to love, Change still, till you can better counsell prove: Yet be assur’d, while these conceits you have, Love will not owne one shot (you say) he gave. His are all true, all worthy, yours unjust, Then (changing you) what can you from him trust. Repentance true felt, oft the Gods doth win, Then in your Waine of love, leave this foule sin: So shall you purchase favour, bannish shame, And with some care obtaine a lovers name.”

“These Verses being sent to Nicholarus, by the same messenger that brought
his, he fell into so violent a despaire, and hate of himselfe, as being more subject
to passion, then strength of judgmēent, or power of vertue, he grew distracted,
or indeed stark mad, so as care was had of him, and governors set about
him, as over his estate; til at last by dilligence, & faithful Phisitions, & servants,
he recoverd; but how; only to be made more miserable, or to have juster cause
to be mad, as if the other were not sufficient; for then succeded the invasion Rr3 and Rr3v 320
and he gaind his wits to see his Country lost, and feele his weaknes in estate,
as before in sence, yet was he happier then, for that want, made him not want
it, this finds it. In his mad fits hee once writ to her, and would needs convey
it by a Romanian, who then wayted on him. He honestly delivered it
but more honestly wept, and bewailed his Lords misfortune. She caried it
bravely, and that is all can be said; for what should shee, or could shee doe
loving an other? She was (no question) sorry in a noble sort, but not in respect,
that had he beene other she must have runne a greater danger in hazard
of her honor, and breach in faith to her beloved. This made her imagine
the other the lesse, and her fortune the better.”

“The same Lady, and her lover likewise, (but at severall times) were
brought to the victorious King, whose pardons he gaind, being as mercifull,
as brave; and this relation have I from the Prince of Savoy, a Gentleman excellently
bred, and discreetely living, good as any, learned above ordinary
Princes, and delicatly skill’d in Poetry. This discouse hee hath put in
verse, which is that I meant hee sent me, and daintily expressed all the
passions”
: The Queene of Naples desired to see it, shee promise the performance;
then walked they a little farther, still taulking of love, the brave
Queene longing to heare the young Queene confesse, shee willing enough
if to any shee would have spoken it, but hee, and shee must only bee rich
in that knowledge.

In the evening the other Princesse came unto them, and so all attended the
rare Lady into the Palace, who was as perfect in Poetry, and all other
Princely vertues as any woman that ever liv’d, to bee esteemed excellent
in any one, shee was stor’d with all, and so the more admirable. Within
a short time after the King of Morea intending to meete the Princes,
who hee imagined would bee in that time upon their returne, determined
to encounter them, (more cleerely to see his love) for hee tooke a
journey towards them, and so resolved to remove his Court to Corinth,
that famous, auncient, and fayre Citty; there hee purposed to stay, and
to have the fitter opportunity to entertaine them: how happy a resolution
in shew this was for the amorous Ladyes, lovers can well, and best
conjecture.

Being arrived at that beautyfull place, the young loving Princesses must
needs see the Sea, and not only that, but goe upon it; Pamphilia went to
the shoare with them, but then considered her gravity was too much in
the opinion of the world to enter into so slight an action, wherefore desired
pardon. They would not allow it her, but with sweete perswasions, and
inticements got her a bord with them; they sayled some leagues from
the shoare with pleasure, (and as they cald it) content, Pamphilia and
Urania discoursing, Philistella, and Selarina: Orilena was at that time
with the Queene of Naples, whom they would not call, least their journey
might bee hindred; thus they plotted to deceive themselves, and
ranne from safety to apparent danger, for what is the Sea but uncertaintie.

Why should Pamphilia, (unlesse on necessity) venture her constant selfe in
such a hazard, as if to tempt her enemy? which surely shee did, for she grew
angry to see she was made to serve her perfectiōons, & in fury waxed inraged, the Rr4r 321
the Shippe grew kindly with bending her selfe to each wave to aske pitty,
and bowing with reverence to demaund safety, and returne. But shee the
more fought to, like a proud insolent woman, grew the more stout, and
haughty, regarding nothing more then her owne pride and striving to molest
those beautyes. The Ladyes cry’d; the Sea unmercifully stubborne, was
deafe to their laments. They besought, she came up to the very sids of the
Ship, as if to harken, but then slid downe, and smild at their feare, and rose
againe in glorious height to behold more of their sorrowes. “O” said Pamphilia,
“when did I ever play so foolish a part? justly may I bee condemned for
this error, and blamd for so much lightnes”
; how she despisd her selfe, and
complaind to her love, how she accused all but him, how she wept, and as it
were saw by the course, a comming harme to her soule, which then, and after,
for a long space best knew the hurt, wayling in condemning her. The
storme continued, the winds calling loud to the Sea, to assist, or continue her
fury. To the shoare of either side they could not get; Fortune would not
permit ought but misfortune to governe; at last they were quite carried out
of the Gulfe, and being in the Adriatike Sea, the Shippe was tossed as pleased
Destiney, till at last she was cast upon a Rocke, and split, the brave Ladyes
saved, while she a while lay tumbling, and beating her selfe, as hoping
to make way into the hard stone, for those, who could pierce the stoniest
heart with the least of their looks.

When they were got upon the Rocke, and seeing no place but it selfe,
(which appear’d to be at first but small) they were in an excessive perplexity,
wishing rather in the storme to have beene swallowed, then brought thither
to some hope, and then cast into the depth of Dispaire, except it were to be
famished there.

Pamphilia mostly patiently tooke it, at least most silently: She climbing the
Rocke till at the top she discover’d a fine Country, and discerned before her
a delicate plaine, in the midst whereof was a most sumptuous building, of
Marble, shee joyfully cal’d to the other, who followed her, and viewing it,
“I feare this storme, and adventure” said Urania “ever since I was carried to
Ciprus; if it be an inchantment, woe be to us, who may be bewitched to the
misery of never seeing our desires fulfil’d, once was I made wretched by
such a mischeife.”
“Let it be what it will” said Pamphilia, “I will see the end of
it, led as in a dreame by the leader, not with bewitching dull spirit but craft.”

“You may” said Urania, “having had such successe in the last, yet take heed,
all adventures were not framed for you to finish.”
“Not for you to be enchanted
in”
, answered shee. So they went on, the two other marking what they
did, who sent some one, or two of their servants to discover what this was.
They found a round building like a Theater, carved curiously, and in mighty
pillars; light they might in many places discerne betweene the pillars of
the upper row, but what was within, they could not discover, nor find the
gate to enter it. With this they returnd, the Ladyes proceeded, and arriving
there, found it just as the servants had described; but more curiously beholding
it, they found in one of the pillars, a letter ingraven, and on an other,
another letter. They understood not the meaning, while Pamphilia
(more desirous of knowledge then the rest) went as far behind that pillar as
she could, and there perceived a space, as if halfe of the pillar, and then a plaine Rr4v 322
plaine place, & so halfe of the other behind it had left a passage through thēem.
She came backe and finding her imagination likely, she look’d upon the middle
plaine which made the space, while the foure pillars making a square,
and therein found a key-hole. She looked for the key, while the other three
did likewise busie them selves in such search, having found in every plaine
such a place, Pamphilia at last found the key, at the foote of one of the pillars.
She tooke it, and tryd to open it, which presently it did, as if opening it selfe
willingly to her power, or renting it selfe asunder, to let her goe into it. Instantly
appeard as magnificent a Theater, as Art could frame. The other
Princes seeing it open came to Pamphilia and all of them stood gazing on it;
there was a Throne which nine steps ascended unto, on the top were fowre
rich chayers of Marble, in which were most delicate, and sumptuous imbroider’d
cushions, a Carpet of rich embrodery lying before, and under
them. Needs this richnes must be neerer beheld, and (like women) must
see novelties; nay even Pamphilia was inticed to vanity in this kind. In they
goe, and venture to ascend the Throne, when instantly the sweetest musicke,
and most inchanting harmony of voyces, so overruld their sences, as they
thought no more of any thing, but went up, and sate downe in the chayers.
The gate was instantly lock’d againe, and so was all thought in them shut up
for their comming forth thence, till the man most loving, and most beloved,
used his force, who should release them, but himselfe be inclosed till by the
freeing of the sweetest and loveliest creature, that poore hahits had disguised
greatnesse in, he should be redeem’d, and then should all bee finished.
To say these brave princes were in paine, I should say amisse, for all the comfort
their owne hearts could imagine to them selves, they felt there, seeing
before them, (as they thought) their loves smiling, and joying in them;
thus flattering love deceiv’d the true, and brought contrary effects to the
most good, and this those brave Princes felt, when at the concluding of the
last battel, just as they had takēen possessiōon of the greater townes of that Kingdome,
and setled all things in quiet, received the people into subjection, taken
their oaths to Steriamus, crownd him as their manner was in the Army,
and so returnd to the cheife Citty, resolving thence to send newes to Morea,
and every one to their loves, of their brave and happy successe, there arrived
a messenger with the heavy tidings of the losse of the whole worlds beauty.
Steriamus fell into such passion, as none thought he would have enjoyed the
Kingdome, longer then one doth their love in a vision, crying out, “have I
lost the Kingdome of my hearts content, to gaine a poore Country of earth,
and durt? have I gain’d to loose more then earth can give mee? must I bee
crowned King to dye a begger?”
never was man in such perplexity; nor any
so molested as Amphilanthus, who wisely covered his passions, much condemning
their indiscretions that went with them to Sea, lamented, and hartily
greeved for the misadventure, and so resolv’d to goe instantly in search
of them. Olorandus had arrived there some weekes before, and well, for the
last battaile was hard, and terrible, as being the last the Rebells could hope
on, all but this last overcome; He helpd well, and so had Perissus in the former,
without whose asistance, the businesse had not so cleerely pass’d, yet
did they not fully end with their victory, but with the losse of almost as
many men as the other partly lost in that battaile: so as only their gaine was by Sſ1r 323
by the noble valour of the peerelesse Kings, but now must they undergoe
a more dangerous busines. Amphilanthus and Ollorandus went together, Steriamus
and Selarinus parted, Antissius going with him, Steriamus would goe
alone, and by none could be disswaded; Leandrus with Parselius; Dolorindus
was gone before, never shewing his face after his folly concerning Amphilanthus.
Perissus and Philarchos joynd companions. Excellent care was taken in
the choice of the Lieutenants, the two first met Knights by Amphilanthus had
the charge as principall of the Counsell of Albania, being of great bloud, and
Tireneus of Epirus, Philarchos, and Perissus went to Morea, to comfort the
King and Queene, and to see Orilena. Rosindy and Polarchos tooke together,
but first went to Macedon, to see Meriana. Thus all devided, Amphilanthus
must first be attended, who having the part allotted him to goe to the Sea
(as if the businesse most concerned him, and the hopefullest) shipped in Epirus
as soone as he could, and came all along the Coast, visiting every Iland, and
searching in all ships for tidings, complaining in himselfe, that such misfortune
should be, and at so much an unlooked for time, when all happinesse appeared
ready to embrace them. As hee passed, his heart on a sudden leaped
within him, but straight againe teares followed, to see how he was void of all
comfort, yet did it truly offer him helpe, but he must not take nor give it, for
by the fatall Rocke, he passed, when that joy was in him, and no sooner passed,
but was possessed againe with sorrow. Alas Pamphilia his helpe was
neare thee, but thou must not have it lent thee, but loose more. A ship at last
came towards him, to demaund newes, and if they came from Greece, of Amphilanthus.

He made answere himselfe, that he was the man they sought. “My Lord”
said he, “your brother by me salutes you, and desires your speedy returne, the
cause you shall by these letters understand.”
He tooke them, and found that a
great warre was begun betweene two famous, and great houses in Italy, by
reason that the Duke of Milans younger sonne, had stolne away the Duke of
Urbins onely daughter; the businesse at first was but betweene themselves,
then grew further, all neighbours taking part with them, so as Italy was all on
fire, and the Regent no more respected, then as their kings brother, but power
he had none, or very little, so as hee remained at Rome in the Castle, and
thence sent to his brother to returne and governe, whose sight they all
thought would appease the fury. He was grieved to goe from seeking her,
and them he loved so dearely, yet this was an occasion to bee looked unto,
nor could it bee long that it was likely to hold him; wherefore by Ollorandus
his advise, and the care hee had of his poore Countrie, for
her sake more then his owne to prevent the ruine, hee bent his course that
way.

Alas unfortunate Lady, what will become of you? this is the last time
for some moneths, hee shall come so neare, but yeares before his affection
bee so much. Unluckily did Fortune provide for thee, when blessings only
kisse like strangers, but have their dwellings other where.

Hee arrived in Italy, presently letting his comming be knowne, all flocked
unto him, and as when a civill warre in a Country hath made parties, yet
when a common enemy comes, they all joyne against him: so did they flee
now from the partakings, but runne to happinesse and welcome. He examined
the cause, found matters ill on both sides, yet at last with power, love Ss and Sſ1v 324
and judgement, appeased them all, and setled Italy in as brave peace and quiet
as ever it was, flourishing now doubly, as in riches, and the joy of such a
King. While he remained there, much people frequented thither, and the
fame of his acts, brought most eyes to behold him, and as he returned, so flew
the report of his being there with them; whereupon the King of Dalmatia
sent Embassadors to treat of a marriage, twixt his daughter, and Amphilanthus,
a thing long before spoken of, and wished, but his father would never
heare of it during his life, now revived againe, and with much earnestnesse
pursued. The King made a courteous, and civill answer to the Embassadour,
but said, for marriage, hee did desire to be excused, till he knew by his owne
labour certainely what was become of his Sister and Cosin, then hee would
come himselfe into Dalmatia, and satisfie the King to his full content. This
answer was sufficient for the time; thus resolved he to goe in the search appointed,
and to that end (having called the Princes together, who were all
met, and those from Albania returnd) gave charge of his estate to the Counsell
making an old grave man of much reverence in the Country, and of the
house of Florence, President of the Counsell; his brother he would have setled
againe, but he desired to bee excused, and to have the order of Knighthood,
that with the rest of the brave Princes, hee might seeke his sister, and
Cosins. The King refused him not, but himselfe gave him the order, and
then parted he one way with Ollorandus, the young Leonius another way by
himselfe, having none but an Esquire with him. Amphilanthus changed his
armour, and colours, making all tawny, as if forsaken, which was but the
badge of the Liverie hee gave her soone after, who best deserved from him,
and therefore least merited that reward; he also gave himselfe another name,
as cald the Lost Man. Ollorandus must likewise alter, else one would
make the other knowne, wherefore he contrariwise cald himselfe, the Happy
Knight
, carrying in his Sheild Victory, crownd with Love. Thus they
travelled uncertainely where to stay, or land, letting the Marriners guide
them as they pleased, who were strangers to them, and of Dalmatia, whither
they carried them; they asked no more questions, but landed, and so went
up into the Countrie, comming into a Wood, which was great, and every
way thicke and desart; they yet traveld, when they came to a way that parted
in three, they stood in question what to doe, at last they resolved to take
the middle way, and by no meanes to devide themselves. The course they
tooke, brought them to a mighty Hill, whose curled sides were so thick with
trees, as no possibility was to go downe, being so steepe, as they must hope to
do a miracle, and walke on the crownes of trees, or els fall to their ruine, like
Icarus, melted for presumption: so they might bee bruised for proud hope,
and broken in their fall. They lighted from their horses, to trie if so they
might goe on, but all was in vaine, so as they kept the Hill, till they came to a
place where trees had bin cut; this was little better for their horses, yet some
thing more easie for them. Here with much difficulty and paine (which to
adventurous Knights is called pleasure, their life being a meere vexation,
wilfully disguised to content) they got downe, and then came into a most
lovely Vally, which had been the perswasive part to their descending, lovelinesse
being as attractive, as the Adamant, having a property in love to Iron:
so lovelinesse hath to affection.

In this vally they rid a prety space, but not one word past betweene thēem; to a River Sſ2r 325
River they came, fierce, and violent in the streame; no way might bee found
to passe it in many miles riding, till at last they came unto a Bridge, which
was defended by two Knights. They would passe; the Guarders refused,
unlesse they would fulfill the orders there. They desired but to know what
they were, and they as willingly would obey, as they demand. “The orders”
(said they) “are these: you must just with us two, one after another; if you overcome
the first, you must proceed to the next, and if vanquish both, the
passage is free, but one must venture first”
: nor his companion helpe, but stay
his turne, and so fight with both. The unmatchable King would take that
taske on him, his companion standing by, he began, and bravely concluded
it with the Victorie. Then seeing no more to be done, he tooke the Swords
of the vanquished, and hung them on a Pillar hard by, commanding them
not to touch them, but to goe to the King of that Country from him, and to
tell, what had befallen them, and sweare to carry no swords for two yeares,
nor ever more to defend so slight a cause. They desired first to goe to the
Lady, who had set them there, and tell her, then to doe the rest; desiring to
know who had overcome them. Hee answered, “the Lost Man”; they found
some thing was in that name, wherefore they would not presse, but left him,
promising to observe his commands.

The two Companions rid, till they came againe to a Wood, but not so
thicke as the other, but of great huge trees, and such a place it was, as offerd
delights, to most hearts to stay, and receive it there. The bodies white as
snow, testifying innocency; and their tops so large, and thickly spread, as
expressed glory for their purenesse. In this place they lighted, giving their
horses to their Squires, and the very content of that solitarinesse brake their
silence. “Here” (said Amphilanthus) “is a place fit for such a creature as my
selfe to dwell in; here alone am I fit to inhabit, and leave all government to
him that can rule, shunning that, when I cannot rule my selfe.”
“When did I
euer see you my dearest friend”
(said Ollorandus) “in this tune? What have you
done with your spirit? where drownd your judgement? and how buried
your selfe? What if you live to bee crossed in your desires? believe it, it is
not to other end, then to make you happier with the sweet meeting, of what
she misse will make dearer to you, when passed. Pamphilia cannot bee lost
Urania drowned, Philistella cast away, or Selarina stolne. What vexeth you, if
they bee carried to a farre place; if the worst, as those parts are full of enchantments?”

“Enchanted” (cryd Amphilanthus) “deare friend, tis we that are enchanted
from finding the truth of their losse: they are lost, and wee led by the same
Devill in ignorance, the more to torture and scorne us.”
Ollorandus perswaded,
and spake houres to him, but he was deafe, or speechlesse, for not a word
could he get of him; his sighes were his answers, his groanes his speech, and
thus they walked, till they met a Lady (as she seemd to be) in mourning attire,
her faire eyes shewing more griefe, then her apparrell sadnesse, yet had
they red cirkles about them, threatning revenge for their sorrow; her traine
was only one Page, who shewd as little mirth, as his Mistris did content; they
came one a little before the other, as if sorrow could have most liberty in
lonelines, and therefore although but two, would goe asunder. Amphilanthus
sad, found, or sadnes found for him, that distresse in her demanded his Ss2 helpe; Sſ2v 326
helpe; wherfore he went to her, curteously demanding, if his service might availe
her. “Sir”, said she, “your tawny livery so wel suits with my fortune, as if I
saw, but that I might from thence ask help; but alas Sir, my misery is but one
way to be redrest, my woe no way equald, nor can my afflictions see end, but
by the end of me.”
“Miseries face”, said he, “is so perfectly (yet in delicacy unfortunately)
presented in you, as would make one wish, rather to be thus miserable,
then free otherwise affected; but as in you excellently are these perfections,
so in me are as excelling crosses. I knowing these, can with more feeling
understand yours, and with a more revengefull mind serve you, having that
abounding in me; for behold here before you, the man, who never saw morning
joy, that was not nipt by cold evenings malice.”
“Comparing griefes”, said
the Lady, “are but to augment sorrow, without helpe comming to extremity,
but in your discourse I find by you, that you want helpe as well as I.”
“And help
only of one like your selfe”
, said hee, “can make me blessed.” “I will not touch on
that”
, said she, “though thus I might, since if she were like mee, shee would bee
much more pitifull.”
“How can I know that”, said he, “but thus I may gesse it, that
none being able to compare with her, except her owne excellencies, they governd
by her selfe can suffer no comparisons.”
“This shewes you to bee a lover”
said she, “and for that, I bewaile likewise your fortune, for hell cannot inflict a
more terrible torment on a heart, then loves power settles in him.”
“Do yours
spring from that ill”
, said he? “I thought only my starrs had directed me to such
distresse.”
“They spring and flow”, cryd shee, “increase and dwell in this subject.”
“May I know the cause” said he? “Yes” said the Lady, “if you will promise me pardon
for my boldnes, and tedious discourse which it will prove, and other assistance
I need not.”
“Alas” (cryd he) “that shal be most willingly lent you, though
I may feare as little to helpe you, or my patience being a poore, though necessary
vertue.”
“Tell me who you are”, said the Lady? “I am” (reply’d he) “cald the
lost Man, my name little famous here, not having done any thing, but against
two Knights at a Bridge, from whom I won passage.”
“If you have done that”
answerd shee, “the more assurance have I of your worth and valor, for they
were two, counted the strongest, and most valliant of this Kingdome, and
part of my story toucheth on them, but now have I cause to be ambitious of
your knowledge, and by the want of it, reason to distrust the continuance of
mine own unblessed destiny, which increase in harmes, pursuing and following
me.”
“Alas”, said the lost Man, “what hope is there left, where two such fortunes
encounter.”
“Onely this” said she, “that the extremity may change to good
out of that confidence, you shall know the unkind fortune that governs
me.”

“This image of griefe, or rather true griefe, my selfe am called Bellamira,
my father was called Detareus, a great Lord in this Country, and Steward of
the Kings house, favoured by him, but at last sent in an Embassage, wherein
he was lost, wherewith my misery ran on to this height. He had many children,
but most borne to misfortune, my self being his first, as sent the sooner to
taste of miserie; for being much at the Court with my father, before I knew
what love was, I was his prisoner. I pined, sigh, wept, but knew not what the
paine was, till at last the Tyrant shewed from whence the danger came, but
with it shewed the impossibilitie of obtaining, hee having setled his affections
in another place, nor had I pride enough to thinke my selfe able to win him Sſ3r 327
him from the Princesse, for she it was, hee did affect, a Lady deserving the
title of excellent, had not her pride, and other defacing imperfections,
throwne a blacke Scarfe over her outward fairenes. This Lady hee loved,
but (as afterwards I found) no more constantly then your sex useth, not
meaning to bee a Phænix among men-lovers, for feare of envy. When I
perceived his eyes somewhat favourably to bend themselves to me (unhappy
foole that I was) I held and valued it, my certaine comming fortune, giving
mee such hope, as perswaded mee without feare to see the end; which
brought mee to the ambition, to bee at a great marriage, which was at the
Court, the King gracing a young Lord so farre, as to have his Nuptials performed
there. Then did I more plainely see his respect to me, his shifts and
meanes to bee neare mee (certaine proofes of love), his alluring eyes tel
mee, his heart appointed them the messengers, to discover what he sought,
which was, that I should understand, I believed them, and blame mee not
brave Sir, for never was man Lord of so many womens soules, as this my
Lord had rule of, who without flatterie, did deserve it, never being unthankfull
for their loves.”

“Thus my beliefe gave my faith, I ever after constantly loving him, hee
shewed as much to me: thus we loved, or thought we loved, which no sooner
had possession, but freedome followed, as the second to love, and this
brought mee to my onely playing part of miserie. For being young, and
full of joy, inriched with the treasure of his affection, I fell into a snare,
closely covered, and so more dangerous, being caught by the craft of one,
whose wit was to strong for mee, being as plentifull in wickednesse, as excesse
could make, or execution demonstrate in fulnesse. I so true a lover, as I
thought on nothing else, if ought, it was how to indeare my selfe in his favor,
by respecting and loving those hee loved (a way much used, and to some
profitably practised) this yet threw me into the Gulfe of mischiefe, giving
welcome to that Wretch, who under shew of respect, spoild my only comfort,
stealing like rust, and eating my heart, with as marring, and harmefull
deceits. The love I saw my Lord bare him, was the chiefe cause that made
me like him, trusting his choice above mine owne judgement, for I knew him
once thanklesse enough to another, from whom my Lord tooke him, to bee
his companion-like servant. His discourse was delicate, and so unusuall his
wit, not lying the same way, that other good ordinary ones did, and so excelling;
for what pleasinger then varietie, or sweeter then flatterie? which hee
was filled with all, and made mee give, or credit to a treacherous deceit,
which perswaded mee, hee was full of honest plainenes, so prety, and familiar
his discourses were, as shewed a pleasing innocency, yet indued with admirable
learning. This moved me to trust, considering that the greater his
knowledge was, the more he should know truth, but contrariwise, he was the
breach to my misery. My Lord imploid him in some occasions abroad, whether
by his own desire to see, or his wil to be certaine of some forraine knowledge,
he went away, leaving me secure, and happiest in my Lords affection.
Many letters I received frōom him, wherein he witnessed his truth, which indeed
did wel, for only paper and inke said it, not being worthy, or honest enough
to blush for his shame; but in the time of his absence, my loved love,
did (like all men) alter: it may bee caused by greater beautie, it may Ss3 be Sſ3v 328
bee provoked to it by my imperfections; but some thing it was, (I dare not
say a naturall inconstancy, butbut rather taxe my selfe with the blame, then
touch him,) made me unfortunate. This unworthy man found it; and as
vildly pursued it, smoothing me with flatteries, while he glos’d with him,
and her, to whom he had chang’d, as long as ever hee discernd curtesie in
him towards me, (which at last most cruelly was likewise taken from mee)
hee followed mee, but then look’d on me as a rainy day doth on the earth,
after a flattering morning: I was deceived, and indeed undone, but twas
by him, and for him whom I lov’d, yet after some respect I found, therefore
I pardon, & forgive him? Sometime this lasted, succeeding as I should
have told you, the death of my husband, and sonne, by him; for marryed
I was, and having ambition enough to hold mee from that, in hope of obtayning
him for my husband, while the King still favour’d mee, and (if I
might with arrogancy say) loved me. But my love to my chosen, refus’d
all others, and he at last refus’d me; which, when the crafty unhonest man
directly saw, hee not only (as I told you) left observing mee, but proudly
sought my love; if I scornd his basenesse, a thing raised by my Father to be
knowne, but made by my Lord to shew in light. Consider you, who needs
must know, what can be yeelded by a spirit true to noble birth, and more
noble love to a worme boldly crawling before the best, and lifting up an
unvalued head as if a brave beast; but a beast indeed he was, and I the misfortune
had to be a taster of his Villany, under colour of visiting me after
my losse, he gaind still in my true heart a confidence of his renewing respect
to mee, which I prized him for, confessing still, and purely all the flames I
felt for his Lord, and soone after this, he shewed his dishonesty, and such
neglect, as if I were a blab, or one desirous to doe ill, I might yet mischeefe
him. But I am farre from that, and will doe well, let all other ills succeed
that can, for goodnesse and truth shall governe me; yet because all his falshood
shall not remaine hid, or be unknowne. I will tell you some what
that hee did, for some-thing it concearns this story. Hee came to me, and
found me apt, or tooke occasion to thinke so, for hee spake of love, and
proceeded so farr, as he brought it to my fortune. I answered moderatly, yet
so home to my owne hart, as he saw, I was the same, how ever he was changed,
for whose change my affliction was, and so I discover’d my paines, and
sorrowes, as he said, I complain’d fitly to be commiserated, and that he pittied
me. ‘Doe not so’ said I, ‘for I contemne pitty’; from thence hee grew to
aspire to winne me, and so boldly, and saucely at last carryed himselfe, as if
my deerest knew it, (though he now shunns me) he much more would scorne
him, that durst attempt to winne her, whom he had once loved, and yet
holds as his owne, though in despised sort: And more to shew his villany,
he only serves, and seekes, and sues to have her grace, who hee perceiveth
keeps my love from me, thinking himselfe (base villaine) good enough for
me, who now doe weare the wretched livery of losse, & what is ever shun’d
I have in store, forsaken and forlorne in love. Yet be it as it is, and they continue
as they doe, I am, and ever will be my selfe.”

“But what”, (said Amphilanthus) “is the cause of this extreamity of griefe?”
“Have I not told you Sir”, said she, “being forsaken and despised? and why?
only for loving. Dull I have beene called, for constancy is now termed so, and Sſ4r 329
and his assurance of my faith made him leave mee, a thing hee thinks soone
wonne, or rather held at pleasure, confident assurance of firmnesse, growing
to cōontempt; & this course doe unfortunate poore cōonstant lovers run.”
“What
is become”
, said Amphilanthus “of this man?” “He lives” said she “I hope to shame
himselfe.”
“Where is your love” said he? “Fixed truely in my heart, other where
I can give a small account of: but as I have heard, living with a new love, bewitched
sure with some charmes, else could he not continue closed alone
within her armes, while armes, and all true noblenes is buried in his losse:
for lost he is, since hee fell to her power.”

“Why did those Knights maintaine the passage” said hee? “To defend
poore mee”
cryd shee, “who since now left ungarded on that side, I beseech
you will convey me to my house, which when you see, you will find likewise
cause of pitty there.”
Then brought she them unto her dwelling, which
was in a Cave, of great bignesse, and large proportion, a Monument in
the mid’st of it, of the most pretious stone of that time wherein shee lived,
being the Tombe of her sweete, and last deere love, her sonne. Devided
the Cave was into pretty roomes, finely furnished, but such as seemed rather
to affect delicate cleanlines, then sumptuous ornament yet were they
rich enough. Her attendants few, but their service shewed them sufficient
for that place; with a modest, and sad kindnesse shee bad them wellcome
thither, and instantly asking pardon that she must leave them for such a
tyme, as she might performe her vow of mourning over the Tombe, which
having finished with numbers of sigh’s, groanes, and teares, she returnd to
them againe. Amphilanthus, was not yet satisfied with the discourse, wherefore
againe he urg’d her; “Then Sir” said she “you shall have all: I was borne to
be betraye’d, for before this cunning ill man came, I was undone in former
hops by one, that had beene with my Lord almost from his birth, who with
flutterings had seald up my heart to his use, never hiding any thing, (not
my love it selfe from his knowledge, he making the greatest shew of obligation
to me for my confidence, that might bee expressed by so rare a witt:
striving by subtill meanes to make me thinke hee usd all wayes hee might to
make me happy; still urging me, who needed no inticement to thinke how
worthy the love was, how fit the match, and then shewed me the liknesse
of it, our loves being so perfectly, and reciprocally embraced: the strong
bond of friendship, twixt our fathers, and the continuance of that, betweene
him, and my father, as inheriting it from him; lastly of our breeding together,
which though in our infancies, yet the more naturally bred love, and
increased it, adding to love, as the smalest sticks doe with momber to the
fiers of triumph: but what above all indeed was the earnestest moover, (as
he treacherously protested) was the true, & even consent of our dispositions,
which seem’d so neere being one, as though by birth made two, yet created
so, as to be joyned in one, for the more direct, and unpartiall strength of perfectnesse;”
“and thus were you made to be one” said hee, “in all fortunes and beings.”
“Heaven I confesse I held his love; Father, Mother, friends, all were
strangers to me, in respect of the nearnesse of my affection to him, and next
to that did I thinke my best spent time was with those he most affected, in
his absence, in that kinde serving him. Fortunate I thought my selfe and
honour’d, when his companions accompanyed me, and so much I loved him, as Sſ4v 330
as being forsaken, I now the more am tortur’d with just cause of cōomplayning.
This Creature, (loath I am to name by other title, and yet grieved to give
him his due, and to call him spoyler of my blisse) too diligently attended
me, never left me, when any time might be permitted for man to see me
in, I embraced his conversation, but it chang’d to my affliction, and contents
destruction seeing oft times my passions, which were too vehement for
mee to hide, or my weakenesse cover, hee advised, yet still inticed mee on.
At last a match was offered me, many had beene so before, but all refused,
my conscience being such, as never to marry any, that I could not love, especially
knowing it before, yet was this more earnestly pursued then any other
before, the Gentleman himselfe too much, and unhappily affecting
mee. My Parents (looked without loves eyes) or rather saw, (while that
child was blind) the goodnes, and greatnesse of his estate, the hopefullnesse
of the man, his vertues, and noble conditions, much perswaded mee unto
him, yet could not more moove me, then it is possible to stirr the most
renowned Albion Rocks: and in as much chast whitenesse, remain’d my
love to my Lord, while this Divell who promis’d his helpe, aymed at a farre
fowler end, beeing gaind, (I will not say by bribes) to the friends of a great
Heire, whose estate might make one, how unworthy soever before a covetous
minde, seeme beautifull. This was his fire, and by this hee wrought, destilling
the offence of Villanie, through the Limbeck of his wickednesse,
and this was the beginning. My only love being gon a journey with the
King, loved infinitely by Deterius my father, and hee staying had left his
chamber, and servants to his dispose, and command; a stranger came in, (the
plot ordained so by this Villaine) while my Lord was dressing him, hee desired
to speake with the Traytor; he went unto him, cōomming in againe with a
paper in his hand, & amazednes in his face, which made my deerer selfe demand
the cause, he tēenderly loving the wretch, because he had instructed him
frōom, & in his tender youth. He counterfetted loathnes to speake, as if unwelcome
newes would follow his words, the more he was troubled, & silent, the
more perplexed was my deere; wherefore he privately called the messenger
to him, of whom he demanded the newes; he answered he knew none, but
that with much joy, and content, Bellamira was betrothed to her long loving
friend, though not till then beloved of her, he then loved, and so may you
the better judge of his paine.”

“When he heard I had given my selfe to another, yet thus discreetly hee
caryed it, that hee spake not any thing unto it, though some while after he
demaunded of his favour’d servant, as if but by chance, if he heard any thing
of Bellamira, he would not answere but with a sigh, and these words; ‘It is
impossible I now find for any woman to be true.’
‘Why’ said my Lord, ‘is Bellamira
marryed?’
‘No’ answered hee, ‘but as ill, for shee is betrothed. O
women, O love, how fickle and false are you both?’
My deere hearing
the death of my love confirmed in this (likely but untrue) manner, said
little, only turned himselfe to a window, where some teares he shed; yet having
the noblest spirit in the world, would not suffer himselfe too long to
be governd under sorrow, turned againe, and so walked into an Orchard
where they conferred, and at last he gained his consent to his desired end.
I ignorantly lived, not daring to make other expressions then by looks, or Tt1r 331
or humble, and willing services offered him, which with as much affection
were embraced; yet was I grieved I heard not of him, which still, till then I
did by every one that saw him, he as willing to send, as I to receive kindnesse.
The earnest suiter, and falsely supposed betrothed man, still did pursue, and
so hotly, as at last I resolved to stretch the limits of modesty, and to acquaint
my Lord withall by letter, and so ambitiously hoped to gaine one from him;
but considering many dangers, I fell into the greatest, fearing the delivery of
my letter, I sent it to him, who was the only bar of the delivering of it, or thēen
I sent, as at his death I found in a Cabinet, delivered by his owne hands unto
mee with teares, and humble petition for pardon, that so hee might die
quietly, which as he lamentably protested, hee could not doe, nor peaceably
leave this world, I forgave him, and in that Cabinet found three of my letters,
which close me in the misery I now suffer; thereby I saw manifestly I
was betrayed, loosing the enjoying of what the losse brought my utter ruine:
for I assuredly confident in him, sent my letters still to him, trusting him contrary
to judgement, never receiving answere of them, but excuses from him
selfe, as since I find were framed by him, sometime saying he could not then
write, but in short time he would send one of purpose to me. I remained as
lovers enjoying their like quiet. But many weekes having passed, I writ againe,
setting downe, how I was solicited by him hee knew of, almost threatned
by my parents, yet had they, nor should they gaine more then this, that
he like all others should be refused for his sake, if it would please him to accept
of me, and my truest affection, wholly dedicated to him. This unfortunately
I sent, as the others, and so kept, comming the same morning, before
hee was by his Villany contracted to the greate Heire of the Forrest. Twise
I was sending it by a trusty servant of my mothers, but Desteny prevailed and
I destined to mischiefe could not withstand my ills.
Perplex’d I was with my fortune, when I saw, or thought I saw my faith
rejected: mad at my patience that forced me to beare such injuries, cursed
the harme, yet loved the harme maker, till one night my father, and many
of his friends at supper, the procurer of my miserie came in, who
was beloved, and respected by my father for his learning, and for his
service to his friend, and so was entertained by him, placing him next
unto himselfe, while I with uncertaine lookes, and doubtfull blushings
cast mine eyes on him, yet stayed them not long there, lest they might
bee understood my heart guiltie of the love my soule bare to his Lord,
causing such a mistrust of discoverie in my owne conscience, as that modestie
hindred mee from discovering my harme, which his countenance
had else been ready to bewray (as since I understood by some that marked
him, as they sat at meate). My father asked how his most noble Lord
did fare.
‘Well, my Lord’ (said he) ‘but growne of late too cunning for us al; for would
you thinke it? he hath finely got a wife.’
This made me boldly to looke up, for
what would not such a deadly wound cause in one, if it were but only to look
boldly on their end: life lasting in mee, but to know certainely my death, being
so eager of it, as I my self had demanded it, had not my father soone prevented
me, asking who it was. ‘Why’, said hee, ‘the sly Youth hath got the
mighty Heire of the Forrest.’
I hearing it, discernd my hast to bee like theirs, Tt that Tt1v 332
that run to the top of the highest Rock, to throw themseluesthemselves from thence: &
so did I; for those words strake me dead, my spirits falling, and failing me, encountred
with the depth, and bruise of fortune adverse to me, I fell from the
table in a swound. All ran to me, or about me, none (because none thought
I loved) being able or willing to guesse the reason, except the Serpent, whose
poyson strake me. I was with care and diligence brought to my selfe againe,
which when I had sense to know, I blamd that sense that brought that knowledge
to me, condemning fortune, who would not permit one of her owne
sex, so much favour as to die, having such cause. Then came my speech againe,
which I onely employd to this purpose, to desire some of the servants
to leade me to my chamber, beseeching the company not to stirre, assuring
them that there was no danger, for usually I had had such fits; my father and
mother, especially whose loves were most unto me, and dearest to me, would
have gone with mee, but I prevaild; the moover of my torment looking on
me with as much pitie, as the Master of a good Dog doth on him, when he is
hurt by his owne setting on, upon either Bull or Beare. When I came to my
Chamber, I pretended a desire to rest, which made me abler to dwell in any
unrest. Sir, if ever you have felt love so perfectly, as to deserve your name,
imagine to your selfe what I felt, seeing scorne, disdaine, presented to mine
eies, nay (what of all is cruelst) unkindnes.”

Unkindnes to a perfect loving heart, is indeed” said he “of all miseries, the
cruellest, and most murthering.”
“Have you (alas Sir” said she) “felt that griefe?”
“That only” said he “perplexeth me, I cannot say I was disdain’d, for I was cherished,
I was not scorned, but received, I lov’d, and was beloved, but now
I feare she is unkind.”
“Let not feare without assurance” said shee “molest you,
lest it make you indeed loose by mistrust, what is yet but mistrusted to be lost.”

“I beseech you” (said hee) “proceede, and let my misfortunes remaine in me,
by none else thought on.”
“Yet” (said shee) “being forsaken, is a greater miserie,
for such a losse, is losse of all hope, or joy in life; the other may bee helped againe
with kindnesse, and this I finde; for had I not enjoyed a heavenly happinesse,
I never had complained.”

“But to goe on, being come to my chamber, and having liberty by privatnesse
to exercise my sorrow in the absence of all but it selfe, I thus began to
mourne. ‘O love’, cride I, ‘was it not enough that thou didst win mee to thy
power, and that thou didst possesse me in those yeares, when first it was possible
for maiden thoughts to entertaine thee, to make mee chuse, guiding
mine eyes to the choice of one, where perfections linked themselves to
chaine my powers, and envy from all such, that thinking I loved thee, maliced
my happinesse, as if I had enjoyed? Yet cruell you cannot thinke all that
I suffered by passion, hatred of others, envy, paine, torment, and all miserie
sufficient, but you must turne crosse, and find a greater to afflict me. Why did
you grant me Paradise of hope, to throw me downe to bottoms of despaire?
Why did you glory to invite my heart, to yeeld unto the winning power of
eyes? eyes which were able to gaine more, then hearts thrice doubled could
repay with love?’
‘Fie intising eyes, why wan you mee? onely of set purpose to kill me with
your frownes? this was pretended murder, your sparkling conquest seemd
to gaine, by unresistable darts, soules to your will; and their smiles promisedsed Tt2r 333
unresistable darts, soules to your will; and their smiles promi to save when
won, but triall proves, you win alone to spoile. Was it a victory sufficient to
get, and worthlesse of keeping? It seemes so, since you leave me: leave me,
smarting affliction, scourge to loyall hearts, yet leave you hold me, being left
by him, who onely holds my love.’
Thus passed I part of the night, the rest in an exercise mine undoer taught
mee, putting my thoughtsthoughts in some kind of measure, which else were measurelesse;
this was Poetry, a thing hee was most excellent in. That night,
and many more were ended in that manner, till at last, taking a resolution,
which was made by necessity, I came abroad againe, meeting at my fathers
chamber one day with my still deere, though forsaken. He wished me much
joy; I told him hee might best wish it, having caused so much sorrow to me:
hee told mee, my chosen love (hee hoped) would bring content unto mee.
‘Then had you been more kind, and true’, said I. ‘Treborius is the man must hold
your affection’
, said he. ‘The Forrest Heire’ (cryd I) ‘hath made you change,
and mee forsaken, living thus unhappily, made free.’
‘Free’, said hee, ‘and
betrothed?’
‘Pardon mee my Lord’, said I, ‘I neither am, nor will bee till I
wed.’
‘Will you begin’, said hee, ‘to use that vice you ever till now contemned,
dissembling a thing protested against by your vertue?’
‘It is that thing I most
abhorre’
, answered I: ‘but if I would use it, my faith should hinder it from
you.’
‘Heaven then beare witnesse of my wrong’, cryd hee: ‘and pitie mine’,
said I. With this the company came about us, so as for that time wee said no
more; then did hee seeke meanes how to regaine my affection, which he feared
was lost to him, while alas my labour was how to cover that, which so
truly was his, as I doubted my selfe for being a safe keeper of it from him, determining
all chastitie in love, not so much as entertaining his outward complements,
farther then civilitie commanded.
Treborius followed his sute, my father urged mee, and I, cast away by fortune,
threw my fortunes at his feete, to bestow them, truly then not worth
the accepting: yet love in the man, made him seeke me, and with as much joy
receive me. The time was appointed, all our friends and kindred invited,
and as a principall guest my lost love was intreated to come: who obayed, but
his sad demeanor shewed, it was no pleasure to him, to see me given to another:
if hee were troubled, how was I afflicted? In the morning before I was
quite dressed (according to the manner of our Countries libertie) the chiefe
strangers came into my chamber, permitted by custom to see the Bride dresssed;
among the rest, or before the rest, he came in, yet said nothing, onely
lookes spake for him. I was to the soule perplexed, and being ready to enter
into my miserable estate, I went into a great window, which had a curtaine
over it. A Lady whom I most respected (and so did all those, whose happines
was to know her worth, being for all noble vertues, and excellent parts to be
admird) would not be denied to go with me. Before her I performd a vowed
sacrifice, which was of a lock of haire that I had worne constantly many
yeares; this haire was his, though not given to me by himselfe, but by an ancient
servant of his, unknown to his Lord. The vow was, that if ever I should
be so unfortunate, as to marry any but himselfe, that morning before my
marriage to burne it to my losse and love.
Tt2 this Tt2v 334 This next my heart I ever carried, and with the losse of that, finished my
vow that fatall day before the perfectest of women, not without teares, as
since that noble Lady hath told me, when with her favour shee would give
libertie to her selfe, to speake with me unworthy of her judgement, making
mee often call my selfe to mind, yet I thinke rather to bee resolved, of what
shee could but conjecture, then to renew my torment with memorie of
my distresse. But this finished, the marriage followed: what torture was it
to mee, standing betweene my love, and Treborius, when I was to give my
selfe from my love to him? How willingly would I have turned to the other
hand: but contrary to my soule I gave my selfe to him, my heart to my first
love. Thus more then equally did I devide my selfe: within a short time after
I went with my husband to his house, wishing never more to see any light
or company, which in some sort I enjoyd for one whole yeare: but then the
King going to see his Country in Progresse, my husbands house was found
fit in his way, so as he lay there, and was by him freely, and bravely entertained,
he being as bountifull in his house, as any man: but this brought further
trouble, for such a liking the King had to the place, as often in the yeare
he visited it; much his Majestie was pleased to grace mee, I thinke for my
friends respect, but howsoever, mine eyes ascended no higher then a subjects
love. Many times by the Kings command, I was after at the Court, once I
remember, being at the entertainement of the King of Slavonia, brother to
his Majestie, there was tilting, course of field, and many such brave exercises,
but so farre short all the Gallants (and the King himselfe being one) came of
my loves perfectnesse, as they seemd but foyles placed, to set forth the lusture
of his excellence. The sports brake up, and the King, Queene, and Court accompanied
the Slavonian King to the Sea, who was from thence to take a further
voyage; with my husband I returned, my heart so filled with love,
as nothing but it selfe could find biding, or entrance there.
Treborius out of love to me, loved my friends, and those he saw I most respected,
which made me so willing to requite his affection, as I studied how
to content him, ever saving my first love perfect to the owner; and truly such
I found his kindnes, as I have been sorry I had no love left for him, yet could
I not in the kindest humour spare him any from the other. By the way as we
returnd, how would the good man praise his person, his fashion, speech,
horse-manship, conversation, pleasing mirth, concluding still, he was the only
exact piece of man-kind, and framed alone without equall, and as if hee were
made to honour all vertues, and they framed to serve him. I tooke such joy
in these, as still I bore him up in them, seeing in his words the picture of my
heart and thoughts lively drawne; he maintained them to content me, while
I best satisfied seemed to commend his witty descriptions, as if they, and not
the subject pleased me. Thus did I dissemble, and thus onely for my love, and
with him that loved me, yet this may be pardoned (if pardon may bee given
for such a fault) since love did warrant mee, and I obayd my Lord. Other
times (though for it I blamd my selfe, because I wrongd his kindnes) I would
commend his ordinary talke, when hee praised rude sports, or told the plaine
Jests of his Hunts-men, yet the best their vocation could afford, laugh and bee
merry with them, but why? because oft-times they brought discourse of my
best love, who delighted in those sports.”
Thus Tt3r 335

“Thus I continued, firmly, and chastly loving, but then pleasure envying
my good, call’d misfortune into company, for my husband dyed, and not
long after, my only sonne slaine in this unfortunate Grove, following those
sports his father loved. This was not all my losse, for afterwards succeded
my last, and greatest; for he, whom I so much esteemed prooved false; all
the paines I suffered left unrewarded, not thought on. What hazards I had
runne for his love, what dangers pass’d? and never shun’d, to satisfie his
mind, his owne soule shall demonstrate, my tongue never relate; but this he
must give me leave to say, that never man was more unjust, nor causlesly unkind;
Into this Cave I then confined my selfe, and hence I have not stirred,
further then you finde me, nor will, heere purposing to end, and with my
deerest son be laid, who only was to me constāant in affection; & to him, daily
doe I perform those rights belōonging to the dead, after the māanner of our country;
In these parts you can finde no more then now you see, my miserable
spectacle, and this Cave, but at the end of the plaine you shall finde an other
Bridge kept by two strong Knights, as any this Kingdome yeelds, yet I think,
to you, will be but like the others, if they try them selves, which I desire they
should not doe, but that you will for my sake passe them.”
“So I may doe that
with honor”
answered the King, “I shall willingly doe this, or any other service
you shall please to command: but in requitall, I must beg one favour of
you, which must not be denyed.”
She protested she would obay him in anything.

“Then” said he, “leave this sad abiding for a while, and your dead love, to
goe to a living friend; nor will I urge you to goe from sadnesse quite, having
such cause of sorrow, but to a sad abyding, yet a joyfull meeting. Your father
Detereus is not, (as you imagined) lost in his Ambassage, though lost
to all content, but lives an Hermits life on a Rock, before Saint Maura;
much he desires to know of your safety, and injoyned me to enquire of you,
if ever I hapned to this Country. I promised him I would, not being able
to perswade him from that place: goe you then to him, and carry comfort
with you to his age; if you cannot bring him thence, you may abide with
him, and thus not leave sorrowing, having still so sad a subject before you,
as to behold so worthy a mans low state, but if true judgment rule in either,
to over rule passion, I hope to see you both, againe your selves.”
She was
strook with amazement to heare this newes; but so perfectly hee discoursed
of her fathers affaires, and so truly described him, as shee knew hee spake
but truth: whereupon shee resolved to goe thither, and upon that, sent
for her Knights that kept the other Bridge, to attend her, while Amphilanthus
againe desired to heare more of the sad story; “then Sir” said shee,
“heare the last.”

“When I was a Widdow, and suffered so many crosses, my poore beauty
decayed, so did his love? which though he oft protested to bee fixed on my
worth, & love to him, yet my face’s alteration gave his eyes distaste, or liberty
from former bands, to looke else where, and so he looked, as tooke his
heart at last from me, making that a poore servant to his false eyes, to follow
still their change. I grieved for it, yet never lessned my affection blaming
such cruelty, and cruelty for lodging in him, not himselfe for being cruell;
so as my love grew still, and in a strange manner, to affect where losse was, Tt3 where Tt3v 336
where unkindnesse, ungratefulnesse, scorne, and forsaking dwelt, (odd motives
to love) yet lov’d I the keeper of these wrongs, lamented the sense of
them, pined in my misery; and yet Sir, truly can I not hate this man, but
love him stil so wel, as if he could look backe on me with love, all former ills
should be forgotten, but that cannot be, such an unfortunate strangnes hath
beene betwixt us, as wee never meete or if we did, what can this wrinckled
face, and decayed beauty hope for? yet were I blessed, if hee did but thus
much, speake kindly to mee, pittie me, and use mee courteously, who have
suffered enough to merit this respect: but I thinke selfe accusing falshood
makes him shunne me. Alas doe not so, for I forgive all, and affect thee still,
and dye will in this love.”
“You did” (said Amphilanthus “in your discourse)
touch upon a quality rare in women, and yet I have seene some excellent
things of their writings, let me be so much bound to you, as to heare some
of your Verses.”
“Truely Sir” said she, so long it is since I made any, and the
subject growne so strange, as I can hardly cal them to memory which I made,
having desired to forget all things but my love, fearing that the sight, or
thought of them, would bring on the joyes then felt, the sorrowes soone
succeeding.”
“This is but an excuse” said he; “Truly Sir” said she, “it is truth, yet
I thinke I can say the last I made, which were upon this occasion; one time
after he had begun to change, hee yet did visite mee, and use mee somtimes
well, and once so kindly, as I grew to hope a little, whereupon I writ these
lines lying in an Orchard, under a great Quince tree, the weather being
as if it did threaten my teares to follow, the drops then following; they
were these.”

“‘As these drops fall: so Hope drops now on me sparingly, coole, yet much more then of late, as with Dispaire I changed had a state yet not posses’d, governe but modestly. Deerest, let these dropps heavenly showers prove and but the Sea fit to receive thy streames, in multitudes compare but with Sun beames, and make sweete mixture, twixt them, and thy love. The Seas rich plenty joynd to our delights, the Sunn’s kind warmth, unto thy pleasing smiles, when wisest hearts thy love-make-eyes beguiles, and vassell brings to them the greatest Sprites. Raine on me rather then be drye; I gaine nothing so much as by such harmeles teares, which take away the paines of loving feares, and finely winns an everlasting raigne. But Tt4r 337 But if like heate drops you do wast away glad, as disburden’d of a hot desire; let me be rather lost, perish in fire, then by those hopefull signes brought to decay. Sweete be a lover puer, and permanent, cast off gay cloathes of change, and such false slights: love is not love, but where truth hath her rights, else like boughs from the perfect body rent.’”

“And perfect are you sweet Bellamira”, said the King “in this Art, pittie it is,
that you should hide, or darken so rare a gift.”
His commendations brought
the fruite of gayning more, and so they pass’d some two dayes, till shee was
ready to take her journey; the Kings then parting from her, and following
their search, being discoverd to the Lady by unlook’d for meanes; for
Amphilanthus at his first comming into the Cave, being confident of not
being knowne, pulld off his Helme, while Bellamira was gone to the monument,
at her returne seeing his face, she fell on her knees, blushing at her
errour: “My Lord” said she, “the afflictions which make me ignorant of all
things but themselves, have caused my forgetfullnes unto you, which I most
humbly crave pardon for.”
He admired how she knew him, desiring to bee
made certaine of the cause, and meanes of her knowledge, (being extreamely
sorry to be discovered.) “Be not displeased great Prince” said she, “that your
servant (my poore selfe) knowes your excellency, since heere you shall command,
what it shall please you, and be knowne but as you name your selfe;
only give me leave to expresse what joy my afflicted heart did little expect
in beholding in this my sad dwelling, the most matchlesse Prince the earth
carryes, and may glory in bearing.”
“But Madame” said hee, “how doe you I
beseech you know me?”
“My Lord” said she, “I attended on the Kings Neece, in
a journey she was pleased to make, out of too much pride, and conceit of her
beauty, being enough to be liked, but too little to be defended in field. Into
Italy (among other places) shee went, and then it was my happines to see
you, and the honor of chivalry in you, which the poore Prince my Ladies
servant found; for after you had cast him to the ground, she cast him out of
her favor, scorning any after but your selfe, yet not loving you, because you
wonne the prize from her beauty to your Mistris.”
The King did very well
remember that accident, and so discoursing a little more to that purpose
they concluded, with her promise not to disclose him, or to know him to be
other then the Lost Man, and that was the reason she so freely disclosed her
passions to him. She tooke her way towards Saint Maura, the two Kings
higher into the Country, though no way likely to finde the Ladyes, yet first
for them who could lay those memories apart, travelling through the delicate
parts of Greece, till they came to Romania, passing many adventures under
the name of the Lost Man, one being necessary to be remembred.

On the skirts of Romania they came into a place, Rockey, and hilley nothing
but Heath, and some small shrubs to shelter rayne, Sunne, or any thing
from one; the mighty Rocks which shewed their swelling sides, appeard
like Swannes in their neasts, when breeding, and angry at passengers for troubling Tt4v 338
troubling them: white as they, and fringed with Holly trees, the wayes stony,
and troublesome, so as they walked on foote, and their Squires led their
Horses. Desirous to see rarities, Olorandus went among them, Amphilanthus
keeping on in a path. The brave Bohemian seeking among them, at the last
hapned to one, which was wonderfull to behold, a Rocke of great height
and bignesse; the midst of which, was cleft to the bottome, so even, and just
as if cut by hands, yet was it impossible for hands to doe it. Nature shewing
how neere she can come to Art, and how far excell it. Beyond this was
an other Rocke, in which was a little Cave, and in that a man lying, it
was so shallow in the body of it, as he might discerne him to lye on his
left side, his face from the light, in Pilgrims cloathes, his staffe and bag by
him, and to add to this sad sight, his voyce agreed to make him knowne miserable,
breaking into these complaints. Ungratefull wretch, monster of
man-kinde, why live I still to poyson the sweete Aire with my vild breathing?
what wickednesse is there, that I abound not in, and have committed
false, trecherous, and ungratefull I have beene; dye then with shame,
wrap’d round about thee: dye Dolorindus, and never let thy unworthy face
be more beheld, nor thy false eyes behold the light; let darkenesse, (not so
blacke as thy sinne) infold thee, and be as thou art, a creature unfit for Heaven
to looke upon;”
Olorandus knew he had beene lost strangly, the manner,
and cause was unknowne, the other Kings keeping his councell til they could
finde meanes to worke for his good; He stole away softly, and calld Amphilanthus,
who presently came with him, where they heard him continue in
his moanes, crying out, “O Villaine that had a thought to wrong thy worthyest
friend, to be ungratefull to al-deserving Amphilanthus, nay more, to
plot his ruine, and conspire his death. Antissia, thou art the cause of this, and
I the more miserable to be brought by a woman to be a Beast. Amphilanthus
pardon me, my soule begs it, & let the fault be where it is laid justly, on unjust
commands in love. But what excuse can I make? say Antissia bad mee
kill Amphilanthus, is that enough? O noe, truth tels me that he saved mee
from ruine, from starving, from death; shall a woman then make me forget
these benefits, and only because I loved her? love should not extend to
hurt, or procure murther. I have offended beyond pardon, mercy must be
shewed if I continue, but mercy cannot I aske, so far having forgone truth,
as my offence flyes higher then any hope can ascend to. Antissia, I now hate
thee more, then once I loved thee, and more justly, for thy love hath made
me worth-lesse, and spoyled my name, honor, and content; shame is the reward
I have gain’d for my love to thee, and the heavy waight of ungratefulnesse
lyes on my heart.”
They were both amazed to heare these words, not
being able to conjecture whence they came; the voyce they knew, and
the name, but how this sorrow was, could not imagine. In the end they concluded
to speake to him, and Olorandus began: “Repentance” said hee “merits
pardon for the greatest ill; if you truely repent, doubt not but you shall receive
what you seeke, and the neerest way to that, is to confesse freely your
fault, and then pardon will follow.”
“Pardon” cry’d he, “I cannot be pardon’d,
I cannot hope, I cannot be forgiven.”
“You may” said he; “And for that, I will
ingage my honour, if you will be ruld”
said Amphilanthus. With that hee
rose, and looking on them, knew them, which so much oppressed his weake body Vv1r 339
body, as he fel to the ground in a swound. Amphilanthus took him up, and Ollorandus
went to the next Spring for water, wherwith they rubd his temples,
and brought him to himself; but to what end? only to die again, for so was he
afflicted, as impossible it was for him to live, as they doubted: then Amphilanthus
vowed unto him (at his second comming to himselfe) that whatsoever
he had done, or thought against him, was then forgiven, desiring onely to
be resolved of the griefes cause. “My Lord” (said he) “how shall I dare to tell you
what I have done, when no shame is so great, so infinite, so ill, as my fault? I
am a Traitor to you, take revenge, or let me give it you.”
“Stay Dolorindus” (said
he), “fall not from one ill to a greater, speake to me, plainely tell me what perplexeth
you, and had you sought my life, I doe forgive you.”
“You have (brave
King”
, cry’d hee) said, what I grieved to name, it was your life I aimed at, commanded
by Antissia to kill you, and then to take her for my wife: love made
me undertake this hateful practise, now you have it, use me as I merit, and never
pardon so foule an act. Love Antissius, and hate me, for he was likewise solicited
by her to murder you: but he refused, and would needs hinder mee,
whereupon we should have fought, but then were stayd by two, who told us
they were Amphilanthus, and Ollorandus. Antissius more in sense then I, knew
they had taken your names upon them, and were not your selves; he undertooke
the named Ollorandus, I the other, whose name had that power, as he
overcame me, laying me as low, as my sinne hath puld me. Wounded I was
taken up, but saw his death given him by a young Gentleman, whose father
he had killed in a quarrell concerning the Princesse of Croatia, whom he had
under your name abused. With the sight of his death, shame straight possessed
me, and selfe-accusing infolded mee: for then your noblenes came into
my mind, your clearenesse shewing my foulenes, your worth my blame; my
heart I cannot say brake, but clove in sunder: never lived any man to say, he
was afflicted, that more truly left affliction. Soules that condemned are, cannot
be more tortured, my soule feeling what can be felt of miserable torture.
Antissius, with whom I would but a little before have fought withall, I threw
my selfe at his feete, I petitioned Perissus never to think of me, nor name any
name might sound like mine, that you especially might not know my falshood,
lest your condemning mee might proove worse, and a heavier punishment,
then all other torments: for your blaming me, and so justly would bee
more terrible, then condemnation from any other.”
As he spake those words
he sunke againe, and they againe recovered him; but then Amphilanthus chid
him, that he would not believe him. “Why”, said he, “can Dolorindus think that
any wrong can be done Amphilanthus, which he cannot forgive; and by Dolorindus
whom he loves, and for loves sake: be patient deare friend, and grieve
not thus, for that is not to be grieved at. Love commanded you, when you
were his subject, twere treason to have disobeied, or refused to kill a traitor to
his Crowne (as I was esteemed). Comfort your selfe I am free from anger, or
spleene; I will not say I forgive, I say you erred not, nor I remember ought,
but our first meeting, and our friendship, let all other (like Phansies) passe, I
am thy friend, and will cherish thee, and love thee as I did; yet must
I blame Antissias forgetfulnesse, and causeles fury. When did I offend
her so much, to be so irreconciliably displeased? how did I vex her, to
bee unsatisfied with ought, but my life? or what could my death bring
her?”

Vv Dolorindus Vv1v 344

Dolorindus as much over-waighed with joy, and kindnes, as before pressed
with sorrow, could with as little power withstand the fury of the kind passion,
so as with teares, and deare love, he fell at Amphilanthus his feete, kissing
them with such affection, as hee was forced to throw himselfe by him, to
make him leave, and in his armes hold him as fast, as his love tied him to
him. “O Amphilanthus”, cri’d he, “why doe you thus exceede all possibilitie for
man, how noble soever, to be a shadow to you, much lesse to equall you? will
you gather together all perfections in you to be admired, and envied by men?
or indeed be as you are, fit, and only deserving to bee eternized for magnanimious,
and glorious spirit.”
“Your kindnes exceeds my act”, said he, “and such
expressions of love find I in you, as I am glad rather of this accident, whereby
I enjoy them, then of the want of this cause, should I have missed the truth
and knowledge of your love.”
Never was more kindnesse shewed in offering
and accepting, in confessing and forgiving, then betweene these two. Ollorandus
(when they had for a while continued their discourse, and all former businesses
razed like Castles belonging to Traitors) desired to know who they
were that had taken their names upon them. “Truly”, said Dolorindus, “I know
not, for one kild, the other dying, desired that he might be so much favord,
as never to be spoken of, nor his companion, being something neare mee in
shame: but as his fault was lesse, the lesse sensible.”
“Speake no more of this”, said
Amphilanthus. “I have done”, said Dolorindus, “for little joy can it bee to mee, if
not by that to see your gratious favour.”
But so he died, saying onely they
were Gentlemen, and had taken those names for their honour, and his companions
gaining the Princesse of Croatia, whom after he vildly left, and forsooke.
Then did Amphilanthus relate his finding that Princesse, her discourse
to him and his conference with her women; which much pleased Ollorandus,
especially when he heard what gaine they had by those names, being glad to
heare such reverence was done to them. Amphilanthus was contrary, for
though hee loved best to doe well, yet he cared not how little he was told
of it, hating flattery, as much as hee loved worth, and that was best of
any man; nay so nice he was, as he would rather doubt flattery, then let himselfe
thinke he heard but truth of himselfe. He left not till he had made Dolorindus
leave his habits of a long Gowne and Staffe, to change them (as come
home againe) to a sword and armour, his travaile on foote to horse-backe,
and contrary to his expectation, or resolution to be once more a warrior. But
this he gaind, to be licensed to travell unknowne with them, which they also
were resolved to doe, and so from this rude Rockey place, as from despaire to
comfort, they took towards Constantinople. Into the Towne they went privately,
and furnished themselves according to their humors: Amphilanthus
in Tawny, embroidred with Black and Silver; Ollorandus in Grasse-greene,
and Gold; Dolorindus in Haire colour, or a kind of dead leafe colour, and
Gold, they hapned there just at a time, which was solemnly kept every yere,
which was the day of the Coronation of Antissius, and the restoring of their
Countries liberty. Here they saw their honors blazd, and remembred fame
to flourish: among the strange Knights they put themselves, and as Macedonians,
whereof there were some good number; they came to the Justs, having
made their habits after their fashion.

The Presidents was present with al the Nobility; and the other brave men
that returnd from Albania, the King himself having sent thēem home, when he tooke Vv2r 341
tooke his journey in the search: what Amphilanthus, and the other two did
in these exercises, may be imagined, by the knowing they were Actors, else
his acts as impossible to be expressed, as the starres numbred. Much inquirie
was made after him and his companions, but unknowne they passed, and took
their way from the Court, after they had seene the fashion of it, and well understood,
where, and how Antissia lived in greatest distresse, for the report
of the false Amphilanthus his death came to her eares, which attribute shee
imagined to be given him for his falshood to her, whereupon shee put on
mourning, and all her servants were clad in that Livery, leaving the Court,
and betaking her selfe to a Castle, not farre from the sea, where she beheld nothing
but Rocks, hills of Sand, as bare as her content: Waves raging like her
sorrow, and indeed little but companion-like Spectacles, shee thinking her
selfe those solitarie places, and looking on Antissia, as she in her sadnes looked
on them; and thus had she continued from the time of the newes comming.

Amphilanthus, and Ollorandus with Dolorindus passed farther into the countrie,
and tooke their way by Amphilanthus direction towards Neapolis, where
they were to visit the faire Musalina, who by meanes made by Allimarlus
was reconciled to Amphilanthus, betweene whom an ancient quarrell ceased
thus. With all delicasie they were entertained, and feasted, shee being so
excellent a Lady for spirit, wit, rare discourse, and the most unusuall vertues
for women, as she merited affection from any man, and some yeares before
had injoyed his, and such an one indeed she was, as Pamphilia could not but
confesse, fit to be beloved, and therfore never blamed her, but Amphilanthus
for leaving her, not for againe loving Musalina. Hither it was appointed,
that Antissia and Lucenia should come, and give him satisfaction by repentance
and submission; Musalinas husband being Duke of Tenedos, and where
Amphilanthus had spent much time, loving her; but after leaving her, destiny
so commanding, and his obeying to those powers sometimes against himselfe.
They came, and he as soone forgave, as they heartily asked pardon, yet
did he but conditionally forgive Antissia, being for that to marry Dolorindus,
who with her sight forgot his hate conceived before, and with much love
embraced the match, Musalina must not be questioned. The marriage was
performed at Constantinople. Amphilanthus comming thither then as himselfe,
her old Uncle gave her to Dolorindus with good content, who soone
after tooke their journey to Negropont, she discreetly loving him, but he doting
of her.

Amphilanthus was like the King, received and followed by all men, acknowledging
their peace, gaine, and liberty to come from him. Then backe
againe to Neapolis he, and Ollorandus went to conduct Musalina, one of his
first Loves in his youthfull travailes, where some time they spent in all sweet
and studied for delights, the search being quite forgot, or left to them, whose
memories were better of the enchanted Ladies, Pamphilia being left to the
times deciding of her deserving, Ollorandus like his friend lived and loved.
Rosindy and his companion making what haste they could, arrived at Thesalonica,
where his dearest Meriana was, who with as much love, as hee had
affection, met him: but when he told her of the misfortune, and losse of his
Sisters and Cosin, shee grew sorrie for it, and had been sad, if hee had
not been there, resolving to goe with him to Corinth, where the Kings Vv2 and Vv2v 342
and Queenes had determined to stay, till they got tydings of their children;
but it being impossible for Knights and Ladies to travell without adventures,
this befell them.

A Lady of beautie sufficient, but of behaviour insolent, they encountred
in a Chariot of blew Velvet, embroidered with Gold: sixe browne-bay horses
drew this Chariot, covered with clothes, and trappings suteable, set forth
with feathers for the greater state, and for bravery one each side went eight
Foote-men in those colours. She rid alone, as being beyond companions,
having two Chariots more following with her Women, a troope of knights
and Gentlemen attending, answerable in all points to this beginning of
pompe, and meetenesse agreeable to waite on such a Mistris. Bare face shee
rid, threatning all beholders, and as if contemning the Sunne, or being so well
assured of his respect to her, as she carelesly slighted his heate, as either not
being able, or not daring to harme her. Disdainefully she cast her eyes upon
the other more excellent company; her horses not so much for fast going, as
with pride stamping, and trampling, raised the dust in passing by, so as Meriana
and Rosindy drew the curtaine, this proud woman seeing it; “What” (said
she) “is the nicenes of that poore troope, such as our dust may not come neere
them? draw backe the curtaine againe”
, calling to one of her foot-men, “and
let them see their error, with the honour to behold me.”
Meriana started at
the suddennesse, Rosindy was angry at that rudenesse, that troubled his Love,
but seeing it was a footeman, bad one of his men knock him, which hee did
whereupon the Troopes began to bussell, the Knights belonging to the other
Company, being so peremptorily commanded by their Lady, as they
flew towards Rosindy, and from her, as if her words had stung like Vipers; but
Rosindy quickly getting on his horse, made them know, their haste was but to
an ill end, and with as much speed, sent those that escaped, backe againe to
their Lady, who seeing their turning, began to revile them; but they now
fearing his blowes, more then her tongue, stood round about her Chariot.
She infinitely perplexed with it, calld to Rosindy, who comming a little nearer
to her, gave her ill manners the hearing of these words.

“Pride and neglect being the beginners of this action, me thinks submissive
satisfaction should ensue from you that caused it, to mee, before whom
you presumed to attempt it; wherefore let mee see that, and I shall favour
you so farre, as to leave you, and account you a valiant and civill
man.”

“Madam” (said hee), “had that fault been mine, which proceeded from
the rashnesse of your servant, set on to (I believe) by your commands, I
might have seene more reason to yeeld to your demand, then now I find;
howsoever having the Victory, I am to give no satisfaction, but have it in my
power to receive it, or force it from you; yet I am content, so you acknowledge
your error to this Queene, that you shall passe, and withal I shal esteeme
you a discreet Lady.”

“Acknowledge my errour, as if I can erre”, said she? “Alas poore man, how
hath a little gaine made thee over-value thy selfe, and dis-esteeme her,
whom thou art not worthy to looke on, if not, as the Ethiopians doe
the Moone whom they worship.”
“And such an uncertaine thing is Pride”
said Rosindy, “which it appeares governs so much in you, as will make with Vv3r 343
with many Changes, the Waines of your fortunes equall with your increasings,
but take heed the conclusion happen not in that quarter.”
Shee was infinitely
offended with him, so as turning her face from him, and swelling
with anger, shee bid her Chariot-man drive on, which Rosindy forbad, and
whether she would or no, brought her out of her seate, and to the ground,
Meriana beholding her at such alike distance, as her former pride looked on
her withall; then did shee say (but terribly against her heart) shee was sorry
shee had given them that distaste; other Phrase shee would not use. Then
did shee take her Chariot againe, but discharged all her Knights as unworthy
to attend her, and with her Women, and Footemen continued her journey
to the next towne, where she entertained new servants, one of her old
ones travelling with Rosindy, telling him this story.

“This Lady you saw, and once my Mistris is Queene of Bulgaria, but Empresse
of Pride; shee is married to a Prince, who only out of affection sought
her, being a discreet brave Gentleman, and for his vertues chosen King of
Bulgaria: shee was daughter to a Duke in that Country, no lesse arrogant
then shee, so as it is a successive ill hanging over, and inheriting in that Family.
She at first loved the Prince shee married very well, or seemed to doe
so, and shee still doth use him kindly, but often have they quarrels, shee no
way yeelding to him, accounting her selfe farre above him in birth, though
his honour have gained the precedence; hee is infinitely fond of her, nothing
being too deare for her, but lately hee hath been abroad in Hungary, and other
parts that way, going to visit Ollorandus, when he came to the faire Melisinda,
in which time she carried her selfe farre better, then in his presence,
shewing what shee can doe, rather then what shee would doe; for wee all
know shee loves the Prince of Jambolly much better, then the King; and introth
for my part, I excuse her, since no greater difference can bee betweene
men for outward beautie and sweetnesse, then is twixt them; yet on my conscience
shee is untouched, and just to her Husband, it may bee Pride holding
her honest, for much she is laid unto. At the Kings going away, she
got leave of him to goe into Morea, to visit an excellent Lady there, being
her Cosen-german, and married to the Prince of Elis, there shee hath
been, till within a short time, and now is returning with all speed to
meete her Lord, and if shee can perswade him to goe with her, to trie
the Inchantment of the Rockie Island, whereall the beauties of this part
of the World (except her selfe) are said to be enchanted.”
“Where is that Iland
I pray Sir”
, said Meriana?

“Madam” (said hee) “in the Gulfe of Venice, not farre from the mouth of the
Gulfe of Lepanto.”
“Who are all there”, said shee? “and how are you certaine
of their being there?”
“He nameth them; and the certainty of their being
there”
(answered hee) was brought by some of their servants, “who after
they had seene them inclosed, came stored with griefe to the Sea side againe,
where they stayd til a ship came by, and in the Cock-boat took them aboard,
landing them at Corinth, where the king of Morea is, and al his Court, attending
the end, which he hopes for as soone as his sons and cosins returne from Albania,
who he purposeth to intreat, and command to adventure for their delivery.”
“Doe you know the manner of it”, said the Queene? “Truly Madam”
replyd hee, “onely, as I have heard my Mistris speake it, it is a place by Vu3 their Vv3v 344
their relation of Marble, built like a Theater, round and curiously wrought,
at their comming thither they discerned nothing on the gate, but now there
is an inscription which shewes it an inchantment, and the end how to bee
gained, which must be by the man most loving, and most beloved, hee shall
partly doe it, for hee shall release them from their charmes that holds their
senses as it were sleeping, but cannot bring them forth till the fairest creature
in disguise come, and she shall finnish all: many are gone thither, and
some put on disguises of purpose, but that will not serve, surely Fate hath no
deceit.”
“My Lord” said Meriana, surely you may end the one part?” “I beleeve
you thinke so”
said he, “but shall I try it?” “I cannot consent to that” cryd she, “for
so I may be (God knowes how long) bard from you, no my deere heart we
must not so be parted, Charmes shall not try our loves, we are assured, what
need we farther venture.”

Thus they rid till they came to a plaine where they found one peece of
Armour, then an other, so many, at last a sheild which was presently
knowne by Polarchos, who tooke it up and cryd out, “alasse” said hee “heere is
Parselius his shield, and armour, what is become of him?”
Rosindy was instantly
call’d up with that voyce from the lipps of his Meriana, and seeing
it, also knew it, then tooke he his horse, and kissing his deere wife gallop’d
along the plaine, following the tract of horses and some blod which hee
fouund in the way: to a wood he came, by the side thereof were some horsemen,
Polarchos demanded of them if they could give them any notice of a
wounded Knight, or of any combat that lately had beene fought in the place
behind them.

They said they were not to yeeld account to any, but if they desired
to try them selves, they were Lads would shew them sport. Rosindy replyed
that they were strangers there, and ingaged to attend some Ladyes,
therefore they were not hasty of fight, only having found an armour which
they knew, they desired to know what was become of the Master of it.
“Why he Sir”, said one of them “is hurt, and his companion likewise, both of
them being carryed into a Castle within this wood, where they are likely
to remaine a while, for their wounds are great & held dangerous.”
“May we see
them”
said they, “at least heare of the adventure?” “You may doe both if you
please Sir”
, said one of them, “but know and remember I told you so, for
there is hazard in it.”

“I feare nothing” said Rosindy “to serve my friends”; “be they of your acquaintance
and friends”
said the Knights? “yes indeed” answered Rosindy; “then” said
hee “you shall heare the story first, and after you may the better resolve”, so
they lighted, and sate under a Tree, the stranger Knight (the rest leaving
them) beginning thus. “I doe never use to tell a story to any, but I first know
to whom I discourse, wherefore I pray Sir let me be so much favored by
you, as to have your name, and you shall have the relation”
: Rosindy began to
doubt, therefore meant not to trust too much, wherefore he answered, his
name was Caudalus a Bulgarian, the other his companion Larchos. “Then”
proceeded the other, “this wood is called the Forrest Gulfe, that plaine you
pass’d, the pleasant way, for there doe all delight to ride, and yet none
but are swallowed up when past that plaine, and arrived heere within this
devouring throat, a Lady dwelling within heere, who maintaines her selfe and Vv4r 345
and her pleasures, with the overthrow and death of such miserable Creatures
as passe this way, being ambitious of the destruction of all that call
themselves, or are called vertuous, but she is my Mistris, and I am one of her
unfortunate servants, held in a manner a prisoner, a Guard still on mee, yet
I am appointed one to guard her, I was of Morea, and the worse doe I
thrive for that, since she hates all of that Country, for having beene refused
her desires by the brave Prince thereof, on whom shee will now bee
fully revenged, having got him in her custody, and no hope is there of gayning
him out alive, for she will hold him close prisoner in such a place as no
force can get him thence till shee have her ends, and at last his death; the
Castle is impregnable, and she unwinable, and thus his misfortune fell;
passing along this way, in search as it seemed of his Sisters and Cousen, hee
met some of our troops who encounter’d him, having demanded first who
hee was, then knowing him, and how acceptable a present hee might bee
to their Lady, set all upon him, and finding them selves too weake, blew
a Horne, at which came many more to their succour, and so at last with
numbers, and his faintnesse loosing bloud he fell, and into their unmercifull
hands, his companion was taken before him, and both caryed into the
Castle; with welcome they were received, because shee was glad in her
malicious heart shee had him, and there hath hee remained now some ten
dayes; his Armour they threw about they card not where, taking care
only of his person to bring him alive, which was all they could doe,
yet I heare since by a wayting woman of hers, that hee is yet living, and
some (though little) hope is of him.”

“Is there no way” said the King “to come at him, or to purchase his delivery?
mee thinkes you being of his Country, and his fathers Subject,
should study how to doe him service.”
“Truly Sir” said hee “I love him as my
Prince, and admire him as his worth meriteth, and could I but tell how to
gaine his liberty, were it with the losse of mine owne life, I would venture
it.”

“Have you no power” answered Rosindy, “with that wayting woman you
before named? she might assist you.”
“It is true” said hee, shee may, and will, I
assure my selfe, but Sir”
said he, “I am but one, and this Castle is full of strong
men, and so dangerous it is to acquaint any with such an enterprize, as death
were all wee could expect, and shamefull death, in such a sort as would be
inflicted without gaine, but assured harme to him, if it were discoverd, it
were plotted for his release; besides, so weake the two Princes are, as they
cannot performe any thing in their owne defence, and if wee stay till
they be strong, it may bee (for my Lady is extreame suddaine) they may
be dead before our helpe come.”
“For their assistance” said Rosindy “were they
but able to travell I would aske no more”
, “nor I Sir” said the other, “were you
two Amphilanthus and Steriamus.”
“I am neither of them” said hee, “but if I
may without boasting say I have tryd my selfe in their companies, and have
come away without any shamefull affront; and for my companion he is little
inferiour to any living.”
The Knight began to mistrust something, yet being
indeede honest, and meaning what he said, desired to see his face, Hee
not once fearing any thing from him, who so freely had discoursed to him,
lifted up his Bever, but instantly let it fall againe, whereat the Knights heart euen Vv4v 346
even leaping with joy, “Ah my Lord” said he, “now shall we release the Prince,
but you must venture a great hazard for it, you must goe to the Castle,
offer your service to my Lady, court her, refuse her nothing, which fondnes
will worke infinitely on her, and so much as you may by that meanes win
the sight of them, and let me alone then for the rest.”
“I cannot doe this” answered
hee, “being a harder matter for me then winning the Castle, for I cannot
be unjust to my owne deerer selfe, but deerest friend you may, you are
not ingaged but to hate all women, what neede you care then what you
doe to hinder their sexe.”
“Must I make love to her” said Polarchos? “Yes Sir”
said the other. “But if when this is done and I have playd my part, we should
faile, I should hate my selfe, and vexe incessantly at my fortune.”
“Never
doubt it Sir”
replyd the other, “but be sure you make enough of her, and then
prevaile, for although she be crafty and devilish, yet so much she loves her
pleasure, as she will rather be made a foole in enjoying them, then misse of
them, and so passionate she will be, as you may have any thing of her, and
but satisfie her minde.”
Polarchos undertoke the busines, and Rosindy went
but as his friend; this agreed upon, they went to the Castle, the Knight being
Nephew to the great Marshall of Morea, held there as a prisoner to
serve her, conducting them, telling the rest that this was one of purpose
come to serve their Lady hearing of her rare beauty, and vertues.

Being arrived at the Castle, they went up into the Hall, every place seeming
strōonger then other, & so the harder to win. In a withdrawing roome above
stayres this Venus sate, dressed as an inviter to those pleasures useth to
bee, her necke all bare as low as her brests could give her leave for too much
immodestie to shew, her sleeves loose, and as she stir’d her armes they woud
rise up and discover their nakednesse, and surely white, otherwise she shewed
too much for an ill skinne, although never so much delicasie, wanting
chastity will make men distract, for how ill soever men be in their discourse,
or living, yet they love modesty best, and most prize it in their breasts,
though their tongues say other. She had her haire curled, and dress’d up
with Jewels, and Rings, and many pritty devises, as wantonly, and phantastically
placed as her eyes, which laboured in twinckling to moistnesse,
giving occasion for beliefe, that that humor was most ruling in her. Unsteady
she was in her fashion, her head set upon so slight a necke, as it turnd
like a weather-cocke to any vaine conceit that blew her braines about: or
like a staulke of Oates, the eare being waighty: her feete never but mooving,
as not willing to stand, or sit still; her gate wagling and wanton, businesse she
had perpetually in her selfe, and with her selfe, the looking-glasse being
most beholding to her for stay; this woman (thought Polarchos) is fit to bee
the subject for this enterprize, hee saluted her, and most affectionately
looked upon her, shee straight imagined shee saw love in him, and felt as
much in her selfe for she never wanted that, amorously she entertained his
salutation, her servant whispering to her that hee was a fit servant to bee
employed by her, shee knew he knew her, and therefore gave credit to him,
after she cast her eyes upon Rosindy demanding who he was. They replyde
his name was Cautulus, & that he was of Bulgaria cōomming only in company
with Larchos: if ever love did soveranize at first sight, heere it was, for so passionat
was she of the new guest as she even almost hung upōon him to beg pity He Xx1r 347

He refused no favour shee asked, but so temperately carried himselfe as
she sought and he granted; when he had done sufficient to make her sure,
and finding himselfe so deare to her, hee tooke occasion to demand many
things of that Countrey, and of her Castle. She to indeare her selfe to him
told him of her power, and at last, all her secrets concerning the Prisoners;
he counterfeited an admiration of her witt, and seem’d so highly to esteeme
of it, as if it rather were a miracle to be told then found in a woman, shee to
make him assured of it, carried him into the Caves, and Prisons, where she
shewed him many so miserable, as they appear’d their owne Ghosts, their
bodies quite consum’d. In a Cave a little lightsommer, but no more pleasant
was the worthy Parselius, and his friend Leandrus, both chain’d togeather
in chaines, and in each others armes, complaining and weeping their
sorrowes to those walles, and dismall roomes. “O Parselius” said hee, “how
wretched art thou thus to be held, not onely in fetters, but from thy sweetest
love, what will become of her, when she shall heare that I am lost? What
will my friends say of me? how will all accuse me? yet, how can I right my
selfe or they succour me? Brave Rosindy would thou didst but know my estate,
I know thou wouldst free me, or if not, thou wouldst yet certainly comfort
my wife, thou art to succeede me, likewise be mine heire in loving Dalinea,
& cheerishing her dearest soule, my afflictiōon is nothing to me, must not she
suffer too? I could beare all & more if thou wert not likewise to endure; paine
unsufferable, to know that Dalinea must be afflicted, death were nothing, nor
these dying paines, if I could be sure she, dearest she, could but be patient, whēen
I consider her affection to me, the torments and violent passions she breath’d
in my first absence, doe not they make me see her death? Oh my sweet soule,
I would rather forgive thee for forgetting me, then for dying for me: yet the
latter were the worthier, and none indeed is worthy of thee, for none but I
can so firmely love thee, must this body so lovingly embraced, and kindly
held within her purest armes, be bound in yrons like a thiefe? must I cherished
and daily tended by her, lye here naked on the bare stones, and die like
a vaslsell? these armes that have conquer’d, be sham’d like a murtherer? these
eyes that have seene all the world’s beauty, nay, Dalinea, & have bin kiss’d by
her, must these eyes now gaze on dead walls, & expect sight but to see death
instead of all my former happinesse? O Leandrus, had I died, and by it kept
thee free, my soule would have rejoyced, and Dalinea bin better contented;
but to die here, and thee with mee, shee can never absolve me.”
“Deare brother”
said Leandrus “comfort your selfe, and if it be but to be the abler to die bravely,
what neede we lament, our fortunes doth that for us? be patient, and
death, if not dislik’d will seeme enough pleasing; make it to us desired, it will
then be welcome, and beleeve it, the more we pitie our selves, the more we
shall hate that which we shall goe to, and therefore the more to be sought;
thinke but how fine a thing it is to be free from all vexation when wee shall
neither travell, nor feare misadventures, neither be taken by misfortune, nor
shaken with the harmes of others, when neither love nor hate afflicteth us,
where all things are at one stay, no fall to hurt us, nor rysing to corrupt us,
when friends shall neither discontēentd, nor contented”
, “but in death Dalinea
wil be held from me”
cry’d he, “else I like al the other wel.” “Could you wish her
here with you”
said Leandrus? “No cursed were I then” sigh’d he, “but I would Xx faine Xx1v 348
faine once more behold her ere I died.”
“To be more torture to her” saide Leandrus,
“content your selfe dearest Parselius” said he, “and be confident, the Heavens
ordaine all things for the best, then doe not repine, you have made your
selfe already famous sufficient to gaine sorrow for your end and revenge; be
then brave and resolute, and make bold Death (by your constant suffering)
quake to assaile you.”
“O my Dalinea doest thou thinke of me thy poore, but
loyall Parselius”
said he, thus did he waile, and Leandrus discreetly, comfort
being in equall misery. Polarchos and his Mistris harkning to them, she glorying
in their distresse, he in soule lamenting them, but must counterfet till fit
oportunity was offer’d, which in short time he gain’d, for so fond hee had
made her of him as she gave him the keyes of the Prison, and what else hee
demaunded; Then did he provide armours for them, and one night, in the
dead time of the night, when all save his carefull eyes, and Rosidi’s were shut,
stole downe into the vault, and there discoursed with them, letting them see
both hope and joy in them. Soone did this worke so with them as they recover’d
strength, and after some time were fit to goe with them; the night being
come for their escape, the honest Morean (who yet without his Wench
would not goe) and Rosindy went for them, & carried them into an Orchard
thicke & close where they were to tarry his cōomming, which was about some
houre before day. She loth to part with him as being the last time of enjoying,
her soule foretelling some harme: but being so ill, not able to tell her any
good to her selfe, or to prevent hurt, was onely troubled; he as willing to stay
for the same reason of being the last, for she was pleasing; but when he rose
and put on his mantle and other cloaths, he againe sat down on the bed, and
taking her hand kiss’d it, she tooke him in her armes and kiss’d him, “farewell
deare Lady”
said hee; “my better selfe” cry’d she “farewell.” Hee presently went
downe (having the keyes) a back-way into the Garden and Orchard where
they stai’d with his Armor, then arming himselfe he toke his way with them
to their horses which attended them at the further gate. A litle sad he was
to goe, though glad considering the cause; but so long had hee dissembled,
and so feelingly acted his part, as he was caught indeed, such were her allurements,
her sweetnesses, lovingnesses, delicasies, and pleasures, as shee was fit
for any servant, and yet such her changing she deserv’d none that had worth
in him & yet had he plaid himselfe almost into love with her. Being farre enough,
the rest made sport with their companion to see his passions, and he
truely confessed he could willingly have stayed with her, “but if ever” said he
“one more be made such a stale as I have beene, love will bee undone, for it
will turne that way, more delight lodging by halfe in this sort then in twenty
marriages.”
They were glad he had his content, and they by that their liberty,
so they posted till they overtooke Meriana, who was much molested
with Rosindi’s stay, and well contented when she saw him, and happily did esteeme
of her comming that way which brought such good as the delivery
of Parselius, who at her intreaty delivered the misfortune he ran into in this
manner, “Most excellent Sister after we had devided our selves to followe in
search of the lost Ladies, it was our ill chance to take that way that led us
hither (into this country I meane) where first we met a pretty adventure, a
lively Shepheardesse blaming a lusty Lad for falsehood, she chid him, he answered
for himselfe, and so cunningly, as though he surely were faulty, yet he Xx2r 349
he cleared himselfe so finely as she grew patient, but then he waxed surly, so
as introath some houres we were pleased with their discourse: especially to
see that when they had used their best wits, they concluded with kissing, and
friendship.”

“After that, wee met a Lady extreamely amorous, and of her wee
had a story, whom afterwards we conducted to the town, from thence wee
fell into the plaine where you found my Armour, and where wee lost our
selves, for nothing doe I remember after I fell, till I saw my selfe in the cave,
where I was visited by the chast Lady of the Castle finding me so weake as
she pitied me she said, for me she knew, and after Leandrus. I had, I confesse,
once before merited her displeasure, but now surely had died in it, had not
your husband succour’d me, the manner was this. I in my youth passed this
country, and was brought with much kindnesse to that place where as shee
dwels, entertained I was like any King, and cherished like a Lover, shee invited
me to love by lookes, and alwayes that an amorous woman can intice
withall, but I requited not: she yet more charitable to mee then I merited,
would perswade her selfe it was want of experience made me so slacke in
not understanding her, wherefore at night she came unto my chamber, the
doore I had made fast on the inside, she pulled hard at it, and was no question
angry to be deceived in her hopes. At last I waked and suddenly asked
who was there, but in such a voyce, as she conjectur’d some other had also
laine in her chamber, whereupon she went backe, and the next day told mee
of it. I answered, I was sorry for such a losse, but it ever was my fashion to
have one of my Squires to lye by me in the roome where I slept. ‘Truely my
Lord’
saide shee, ‘had I imagined that I should not have attempted, but love
urged me, and the better may you thinke of that love which never before
was offered, nor till that time had I ever any ill thought.’
I saide I trusted she
did not blame her selfe for that favour shee had shewed to me her servant,
but I had cause to curse the ill custome which caused my losse, shee tooke
that well, and so kindly as I might have received recompence for the former
misse; but I was honest, and after kept my doore fast for two nights more
that I lay there, brought thither by a Cousen of hers, with whom I got
thence, but since I heard how she ever railed at me, saying, I had dishonour’d
her with telling the story of her, and thereupon vowed revenge, which now
she had taken.”
Meriana smiled to heare Parselius tell the tale so hansomely,
and all but Polarchos liked, who cried out for his part he liked her forwardnes
nothing ill; “give me such a Lady still” said he “that needs no busines
to woe her, but merrily yeelds love for love, and rather before then after it
is asked.”
This love matter held them all that day with talke, making good
sport with Polarchos and his opinion of loving, while the Lady was in all the
disorder in the world; for first she wanted her woman, then rising and going
into her chamber finding her bed made and unus’d, she grew somewhat troubled,
sent another of her servants to call her Morean Knight, his chamber
doore they found lock’d, then they thought she might be there, for they had
perceived love betweene them, they call’d, she vow’d to put them both to
publike shame if shee found them together, the fault consisting in not well
ordering their affections from sight not in affecting, but the doore broke open
there was onely found on the table a letter to the Lady, and in it nothingXx2 thing Xx2v 350
but this, “live better, and speede better”; search then was every where
for him, when it grewe towards Noone shee went her selfe to the roome
where Polarchos had laine to tell him of this businesse (being loth to awake
him any sooner) there she found losse, and so in the Cave, and every
where missed what shee sought, and found what shee shunn’d, which was
want: then she tore her haire, called her Knights, sent them all abroad severall
wayes till they got knowledge which way they went, and with so
brave a troupe; then all was discovered, the Bulgarian knowne and the other,
she was as madde as rage could make her, vowing nothing but death
should satisfie her.

Meriana held on her journey and all happily arrived at Corinth,
where they were with as much joy as that sad time could afford entertained;
the Queene being so excellent a woman as she won all to love her, and
strive to deserve her favour. Dalinea grieved and joyed, and all at once, as
her passions present and passed rann about the round of her thoughts.
Orilena wished for Philarchos, who with Perissus had taken likewise their
way in search, but made some hast to Corinth, knowing it was bootlesse
to travell in those further Countries to seeke them, who no question
were either carried by Sea to some remote place, or Kingdome farre
off, or else by shipwracke cast upon some Iland neere the Gulfe. As
they came towards Corinth they met a Lady much distressed, complaining
of a Knight that had abused her, Philarchos was willing to ayde her, and
so demanding what the matter was, she thus told it unto him, (demaunding,
and being satisfied who he was) “I am” saide she “Wife to a Knight married
against my will unto him by my brothers command, whom I obayed
having no father; he was a man of great esttaate, but no way hansome: neither
was he deformed but in his disposition which was crooked, with him I lived
an unpleasing and discontented life, suffering his jealousie and all other froward
humours which tooke away the litle show of love I bare him. I fell
then into the way that discontented, (and so unfortunate women often doe)
for not able longer to abide his fury I parted with him, hee being forced
in recompence of my portion to allow me a certaine stipend during
my life, which hee at last was brought to with willingnesse as hee saide.
Some yeeres wee passed in this manner, I going to a friends house where
I remained some time, and was kindly intreated by him, but his courtesie
was at last discovered, and finding to what end it tended, I purposed to
leave his house, and did so; yet like a woman did not so much dislike his
love making which was the cause I tooke against him, as I flatteringly
commended my selfe for being able to winne a heart, hee frequented my
company after vowing all respect, and begging liberty to see mee which
should be without touch to me, or my honour. Under this civill demaund I
perished, for then did his second Act please better then the first, and I yeelded
though he asked not, and so I was made an unfortunate creature, for
what danger such love could procure I fell into; I neede say no more,
I’me sure by this you understand me, I was carefull of my reputation to
the world, though to my selfe I knewe how it was wracked, all possible
meanes to avoide reproach I tooke, as I thought, safely and cunningly
I carried the matter, yet walked I in net, or like the fowle, that when the head Xx3r 351
head is hid thinkes all is safe, though his body lye open to sight: So did
I blinde my selfe, while my action was brought to light, trusting an
unworthy woman, who for covetousnesse undid mee, leaving others unsatisfied,
that for meere revenge spred my shame, which came to my husbands
eares, and to my brothers, who inquired the businesse and found it so likely,
or it may bee true as hee left mee; yet I writ to him, and so faire a
letter for likelihood, and comming from a Sister as might have got credit;
but it prevailed not otherwise then to bee forsaken of him. Then did my
husband take a disgracefull course against mee, that Country being very
strict in punishment for such offences, I was condemn’d, and censur’d, and
indur’d my punishment, but then I thought how this man for my paines suffered
for his sake, I should have found affection or continuance of his love,
hee also left mee, and in such case as I have no money or meanes, but to
starve for want, my estate being againe seased on by my husband and yeelded
him by censure.”

“I writ to Amphilanthus to assist mee, which his noblenesse I make no
question, in tendernesse to Ladies, would have done, but hee was call’d away,
and I feare informed of my fault, which now I am doubly asham’d of,
and griev’d for: Alas Sir, I have made a free though a briefe confession
to you. I am the wofull’st woman living, of a good house, but ill life, of
noble parentage, but meane disposition; yet, O Sir, for mercy sake pitty
mee.”
Philarchos beheld her, of personage tall and well shaped, faire of
complexion, good eyes, sweet favour, and of so modest a behaviour, as if
her owne tongue had not accused her, she had passed unblam’d for any show
of ill in her fashion, or lightnesse in her countenance. Hee pittied her, and
demanded what he might doe to helpe her. Shee told him that if he would
ride with her to her brothers Castle, which was within a leaugue, she doubted
not but hee might obtaine her peace; “yet dare not I adventure within his
gates”
said shee, until you have prevailed”: towards the Castle they went,
being within sight of it, Philarchos spake to Perissus to goe first. “Nay” said
he, since you have undertaken the matter, I will not be so hasty to take it
out of your hands, therefore do what you thinke best”
: on he went, and met
the Lord of the Castle her brother, with whom he spake a good space, a civil
fine Gentleman he seem’d, learned and stored with noble qualities, unmarried;
but a Cousen germane liv’d in his house to governe as Mistris: Shee was
not so young nor beautifull, as one might imagine any other cause then to
order his houshold was the motive of her living there; yet she was a brave
Lady, more manly in her demeanour, and discourse, then the modestest of
her sexe would venture to be, and so much that fashion affected her, as she
was a little too unlike a well governed Lady. Shee had beene hansomer, (a
cruell word) but is true; and yet she might well beseeme a faire houses government:
the Lord was courteous, and so kinde, to his Sisters honour,
which likewise was his, as hee tendred it above the rate his Cousen
would have him, who out of care of all womens credits, as shee pretended
raild bitterly against her, reviling her for immodesty, for dishonouring
her house, shaming her bloud; more adoe shee kept, then he who
it did more neerely concerne, yet at last so fairely Philarchos spake, and Perissus
so well wrought with him, as they got his favour so farre, that he was Xx3 contented Xx3v 352
contented to see her; but by no meanes in some time to have her abide with
him: they satisfied themselves with that for the first, and so brought her
in to him; the next day all parted, some one way some another, the
two companions together, till they came to the neerest part of Achaia, to
Corinth; then Philarchos meant to crosse the Gulfe, but Perissus advised by no
meanes to venture it, yet he prevaild; and so they got a little Barque which
was no sooner under sayle, but with great speed made way, till they were
encountred by a Ship, which would needs take them as prisoners. They
were not made to yeeld as they thought, never having beene bred to any
such thing, wherefore they bravely fought, and at the boarding got into
their ship, fighting with such valour, as they amazed all that saw them, and
made their party good a great space; at last they were so hardly laid unto
as they found yeelding must bee their best defence, but contrarily it hapned,
for another Ship made towards them boarding them likewise, the fight now
anew begun, the strangers fierce, and the others a little wearied; yet what
most troubled them was that the two first encountred Knights got new
heart againe, and fought as freshly as at first. Discouraged with that, and
vexed with the blowes of the last succourers, they would have shewed them
a trick by suddden falling off from them; but the device was discovered, and
they for their deceipt punished with no lesse then death. The two last were
knowne to be Selarinus and Antissius, so the foure tooke their course to
Corinth, where they were bravely entertained. Now were all the eight
Champions together, none missing but Amphilanthus, and Ollorandus, and
Steriamus, who was alone, who will in short time likewise arrive; Rosindy
and Selarinus the two deare friends, having beene long (as their love made
them thinke) asunder, renewed their kindnesse, and manner of friendly conversation;
into a walke private and sweete they passd, where love possessed
Selarinus so farre, as hee brake into these passions. “Alas Rosindy”, said hee,
“did ever heaven thus punish lovers? was any soule tortur’d like mine, or so
unjustly condemned to death? what did that chast deare soule merit, to
bee taken away and carried from his brest that held it dearest? Why
was sweet and dainty Philistella deprived mine eyes, and all my sense of
hearing of her, accursed Sea that brought this misfortune, dambn’d Barque
that betraid her, and wicked vanity that inticed them to such harme.
Was ever beauty so treacherously handled? Did ever eyes see such mischiefe?
or eares have hearing to so wofull a misfortune? O Philistella treasure
of the truest sweetnesse; why art thou lost and I in thee? Why was
ever cruell fortune turned on thee, and why alone wert thou made excellent
to bee fallen into this misery? Deare love, canst thou not yet send
thy spirit to mee, to tell mee where thou art? I feare thou hast long
since parted from it, and too highly is it prized where it remaines
to bee permitted mee. I mourne for thy losse, I dye for thy want,
and assure thy selfe will indeed end, when I shall know that thou art
not, which yet, I trust I shall not doe, nor live to that hearinghearing.”
“Why
waile you thus”
, said Rosindy since shee is but inchaunted?” “But enchanted,
why call you that nothing? Shee is your Sister, and you
should thinke it a hard fortune for her to suffer such a mischance; but
to mee it is death; but inchaunted, and but for ever for any thing wee see Xx4r 353
know what old fables blind you, left by enchauntments? when shall the best
lover and best beloved be found? till then which will be never, never being
able to decide it, she must live inclosd in dull walls. Were not my loving
armes fitter to embrace her? Am not I a more proper Keeper for such
excellencies then a marble house? and is not Epirus a more convenient
place for her to passe her time in, then a stone Theater? where should shee
play her part, but with her love; where live, but in his brest? and yet you
make nothing of this but an enchantment. When Meriana was injur’d, it was
something, when her head appear’d, then there was cause of mourning: but
now that Philistella the earths star is lost, she is but enchanted”
, “This passion”
said Rosindy, so well fits your love, as I must commend it, and be no way angry
with your choller, your constant affection to my sister, moves in mee as
much love as I desire to have from my best friend; yet I would have you
temperate in your sufferings. Why should not the best lover be found? Never
was any such thing made (for I dare not name it againe for feare of displeasing)
but to be ended: was not that at Cyprus concluded by Amphilanthus
and my Sister?”
“Yes”, said Selarinus, “but there bee now both your Sisters
in this, and Urania and my Sister, who shall fetch them out? never think
of it, there lives none now they are there that hath worth enough to venture
to have a thought of gaining end to it. A disguised creature, I sure disguis’d
fortune hath caused all this, let me not live if I beleeve this tale.”
“Wil you for
more certainty goe and see it”
, said Rosindy? “With all my heart”, said hee, “if I
were sure to be shut up where I might but still behold Philistella.”
“That you
may doe if you please, and I will carry Meriana to adventure it.”
“Ah”, said he,
“now doth truth in friendship shine in thee most brave Rosindi, when shall we
go?”
“as soon as I can provide” said he, thēen went they back into the court, where
Rosindy acquainted the Queene Meriana with his purpose. She, who would
not refuse any thing he lik’d or mov’d, gave consent, and so appointed habites
of purpose, disguising her selfe into the shape of a Forrest-Nymph; to
Sea they went, and by the directions given by the servants, arriv’d at the
rocky Iland, the Pylot knowing the place, being able to bring them the safelier
to it without danger. To the Pallace they went, and round about it, beholding
it with all curiosity and care, at last came to the gate againe, which
as soone as Meriana touch’d, opened to her, who no question, had ended it
for all points but the disguise which was forced. Rosindi and she passd to the
Throne and Selarinus with them, who would not be shut out, nor can any be
that will venture though alone, he strait ran to Philistella, who met him, and
together fold in each others armes, sate downe upon one of the ascents right
before the other, Rosindi and Meriana in her new habits hard by them. No
content can be compared to these happy people, because they esteeme themselves
so. Polarchos would not attempt alone for feare he should sit likewise
alone within, therefore he wish’d for his sweet Lady he last parted from, or
any other would be alike to him, so she were faire and kind, he walk’d up and
downe alone in the Iland til he saw another ship arive, then he went towards
her to see what company she had in her, he found many, & all determined to
try their fortunes; glad he was of that, and they rejoyced to finde one could
direct them, but among these, who should be one but his old love and late
enemy the Princesse of Rhodes: shee was asham’d and grieud to see Xx4v 354
see him, he was angry & as much displeas’d to see her, and therfore was leaving
the cōompany, almost ready to forswear the adventure, because he should
behold her too long in one hower, for his hate. She sought by meanes
of her selfe and friends there, to purchase some discourse with him, he shun’d
it, and despised the humblest intreaties shee made; hee saw her weepe, and
smil’d at the falling of those teares, shee quak’d for feare of his frownes, hee
said he shooke so long time in his iron Cage for colde: she sigh’d, and
pittifully beg’d with eyes and heart for pitty. He scornefully said there was
not a more foolish thing breathing then a loving woman, nor lesse to be pittied;
“for”, said hee, “their sorrowes are but like exhalations in a hot evening,
odde to behold, but neither hurt nor burne like lightening: no more should
womens passions touch our hearts to scorch them, or turneturne them to any pitty.”
Shee confessed her fault to bee unpardonable. Hee answer’d, it was
strange then her judgement would let her aske impossibilities; hee alone,
shee cryde, might absolve her; shee alone, hee said, deserud no good from
him. Shee offer’d to throw her selfe at his feete for pardon. Hee said hee
would take her up, but to no commiseration from him. Shee protested her
heart had suffer’d innumerable stormes of passionate sorrow since his departure.
Hee answer’d, his body and heart both had suffered by her tyranny.
Shee repented, and implor’d pitty. He slighted and denyed what ever
shee petition’d for. Could there bee such cruelty imagined against such a
Suiter? none but cruell man could doe it, and yet was not hee to be blam’d,
for what punishment could bee sufficient to bee inflicted upon a woman,
that not only left loving, but hated to that extremity: none can be enough;
and yet surely shee now beares the greatest this world can let her know.
The other Ladies that were with her, were the Princesse of Samos, (the refused
love to Philarchos) and the Lady of Stalamina Sister to Nereana, all
Iland Ladies, and of purpose joyn’d to try their fortunes: the Princesse of
Rhodes was like a Pilgrime, of Lemnos like a Pastora, and the other like a
Shepheardesse, they had servants or lovers as you men call them, who by
their mistresses favours aspired to hope of winning; but the Rhodian Lady
must trye alone, Polarchos flatly refusing her, who wish’d shee might for
ever bee shut up, and from all light, having such unhappinesse. They adventur’d
and Polarchos sees them all like the others inclos’d. Now hee begins
to bee desirous to see the manner of it, and how they sit within; yet
alone hee feares to goe, lest he must bee placed with the so much despised
Lady. Dayes hee stayed and none came, then he resolved to trye his fortune,
and so comming to the gate, finds there a young Lady in whose face
hee saw love, for hee will that his government should bee seene, and little
cause to doubt the refusing of it to one that kindly would aske it, hee taking
the boldnesse of the long knowledge of that place, began to discourse
with her of it. Shee, free in discourse, and as willing to answer as hee to
demand, they grew so well acquainted as they left the adventuring the adventure
for that night, and the next day made themselves believe they lov’d
enough to try for the winning of it, which they did, and very lovingly were
together placed in the row below the other two paire; but so, as his forlorne
Lady still beheld their kindnesse to her heart-renting torment. Parselius,
having now long enough solaced himselfe, would needs bring his Dalinea to Yy1r 355
to adventure, and Antissius, who had drown’d himselfe almost in sorrow,
having visited each place where he had beene happy with seeing Selarina,
and kiss’d the windowes with his eyes, where she had wont to grace his love
with her looking on it, would needs goe with Parselius. Dalinea, she put on
the habits of a religious woman and so tooke her journey. Philarchos and
his Orilena likewise went, she in habite of a Country lasse; at the Rocke
they arriv’d, and as the rest were receiv’d and shut up in the inchauntment;
Antissius taking his Selariuna to him, Pamphilia and Urania sitting in the
throne, beheld by the rest, as fittest to be admired. Perissus went to Sicily
to fetch his Limena, resolving to try, and with as much cause hee thought as
any. Steriamus who was alone in his travels, hapned on a fine and unusuall
adventure; for hee having taken shipping, came downe the Gulfe, and passing
by a Rocke, casting up his eyes, he saw, as he imagined, Urania sitting
upon the top, in a Pastours habite; whereupon he willed the Pylot to goe
to the Rocke, which hee did, and he landing at the foote of it, scrambled
up till hee came to the top, where hee found an excellent fine woman,
her staffe and bagge lying by her side, and shee combing her hayre, her
thoughts busied so as she tended nothing but themselves, and as she comb’d
her hayre, she sung this Song.

“You, who ending never saw Of pleasures best delighting, You that cannot wish a thaw. Who feeles no frost of spighting, Keeping Cupids hand in awe, That sees but by your lighting. Bee not still too cruell bent against a soule distressed, Whose heart love long since hath rent, And pittilesse oppressed: But let malice now be spent, And former ills redressed. Grieve I doe for what is past, Let favour then be granted, Theeves by judgement to dye cast, Have not of mercy wanted; But alone at feasts I fast, As Thiefe of pleasure scanted: You accuse me that I stole From you your hearts directing, All your thoughts at my controule, Yet passions still rejecting; But you place me in the roule Of left loves new electing. Though I kinder was to it, My heart in place bestowing, To make roome for yours more fit, As just exchange truth flowing, Yy Till Yy1v 356 Till you fondly gain’d the bit, And flying, left love owing. Which debt resting still unpaid, Let this at last be gained, When your new loves have you staid, With welcome choyce obtained: Let change on your brest be laid, While I live still unstained.”

By the voyce hee knew it was not his Urania, neither was her hayre,
though faire, long and bright like hers, nor so delicately shining as it selfe
once had beene, hee was sorry and griev’d his hopes were fruitlesse, yet he
spake to her, and shee putting her hayre aside with her delicate fine soft
hand discoueringdiscovering a beauty fit to be belov’d and pittied, that it was no more
cherished, as by her song it appear’d by him on whom she had bestowed it,
mildly made this answer.

“Sir”, said shee, “this place so sad and desolate should not, me thinks, invite
such a stranger unto it, which is onely acquainted with sorrowe, and distant
from all joy.”
“My arrivall”, said he “was caus’d by seeing you, a power able
to command all passengers to stay, and pay tribute to your deservings: and
this you may beleeve I speake for truth, since I was invited to land by a
strange beliefe, that you were a Princesse whom I seeke, once in Shepheards
attire, once lost before, and now againe fallen into that ill fortune, I thought
shee might againe put on such disguised habits, and so excellent a creature
she is, as you must needs be so too, or could I not have mistaken.”
She look’d
upon him, and seeing his teares run downe his cheekes, when hee spake of
losse she pittied him and finely made this reply. “Alasse Sir, such is your sorrow,
as I must (were it but onely for that) wish I were as you are pleas’d to
say I am; for then I should hope to have something in me to serve you: but
so unfortunate a woman I am, and a long time have beene, as I can but lament
with those I would doe service to, nor, except with my teares, assist
those I most honour.”

“How came this fortune to you”, said he, “for no doubt but you were borne
of better ranke then the estate you appeare in shewes you to be”
: “Love”, said
shee, “hath tyranniz’d over me, as well as plaid with you.” “His sports, if but
such as I yet feele”
, cryde he, “are rather racks and tortures then delights, unlesse
you will call them playes, as Dogges and Horses are taught by stripes
and blowes, and such pastime I have in love, and so love playes with mee”
:
she that time that he discoursed, wound up her hayre in strings of tawny,
to shew her chance; then as if to hide it a little, or rather her selfe from the
Suune, shee put a dainty strawne hat on her head, appearing like Ceres
crownd with her owne plenty. Hee was desirous to know the place, the
name of it, and under whose rule it was; but loth he was to trouble the sweet
Pastora too much, who understanding his minde, led him all about the
Rocke, which was some halfe a mile in compasse: in the middest was a
pretty fine house, or rather a Tower built round; she had therein three
roomes one over another, the top was covered with lead, and there shee
used to walke and view the Sea, she had two maids that attended her, and a Yy2r 357
a Heard of Goates, which shee for her pleasure, or rather to passe her time
withall, bestowed looking to; it was for the quantity very pleasant & sweet,
flowers naturally growing there among the stones, as Pancies and Violets,
and others, what could be there shewed him concerning the place, she willingly
let him see, and told him it did belong to the Lord of Corfu, an Iland
not farre off, but within sight of it, more it seem’d she was unwilling to tell,
but this the truth of the story was; shee was by birth a great Lady in the before-named
Iland, belov’d and wooed by many, but shee lov’d onely one,
who lov’d her as much for many yeares; she was married to a Knight, but
her affections were wedded to her owne choyce. He whom shee lov’d
was also married; but, like her, to one he car’d not for: Their love (for
what love can be kept secret where such barres bee for enjoying) was seene
and spoken of by many, yet few blam’d them, but wish’d they were free, and
married together; there was another Lady in the same Country, with
whom shee did much keepe company, and at her house had the happinesse
to meete her love; shee being acquainted with their affections, for what
could shee hold from this Lady, who was her chosen friend? carefull shee
was to keepe their counsels, desirous to aid them in their desires, and as
kinde a friend as a true one; but heere began the harme to smother like wet
hay in fire, smokes, but the flame was longer in breaking forth. This Lady
call’d Silvarina had a cousen whom shee did dearely love, deserving from
her what love could bee express’d from one to such a kinsman, who was
both that, and a loyall friend to her, nothing so deare to him as her love,
nor of what did hee take care in comparison of her: but being young, (and
young men bee wanton) he fell in liking with a servant that belonged to the
Lady, where they lay, cald Diania, shee had others fairer; but this was by
him chosen for lovelinesse, shee was of as passionate a disposition, as hee
apt to receive, which was to the height of love, he gaining as it seem’d,
that he required as it also was found he did not sparingly demaund. After
this, he was perswaded by his friends to go see a Lady, a great marriage, and
to wooe her; he consented to it, and brake with his Cousen about it, she very
wel liked of it, & incourag’d him in it: the spiteful woman seeing that, thought
she would have her time to act her part, & therfore having got a false key, one
night when the lovers had appointed a meeting, (as many they had, though
full chast) she opened the dore, and going into the chamber, being certaine by
the watch she made that she was gone forth, tooke the lampe which hung
on the wall at the beds feete, and hung it in a chayre hard by the beds side,
of purpose to give her at her returne occasion to looke on the removing of
it, and to take a paper which she had laid at the bottome of it, wherin she had
written the most vilanous letter for threatnings & revilings of her for her sin,
as she cal’d it, as it a little troubled Silvarina, though she had a great spirit, but
that told her she had a husband, and so the knowledge would be dangerous,
she had honour that would she be overthrowne: lastly, her love might suffer,
which most greev’d her; for if all the harme had fallen on her, shee had the
lesse cared: to avoid this and keepe all safe, she resolv’d to speak with her the
next morning, for the hand she knew; but first her servant comming into the
room to see her before he went a journy he was determined to make for some
daies, she shewed him the paper. Hee was vexed, withall being afflicted that Yy2 she Yy2v 358
she should be in hazard for him, and in such a kinde, as his paines and stirring
in it, would bee the worse for her reputation. Shee was more griev’d to
see him perplexed then with the businesse, wherefore shee did comfort
him, and assur’d him shee would finde a meanes to salve all. Hee tooke
his leave of her, enjoyning her to send him word how things passed; Shee
promised that, and willingly would shee doe it, had it beene for no other
cause then so to heare from him whom so dearely she lov’d. Hee gone, she
rose, and being ready sent for the Gentlewoman to her, to whom she brake
forth into these words. “What offence did I ever give you? or what cause
of malice have you against me to worke such a treacherous practise seeking
to ruine me and my honour?”
She replyed that her Cousen was assur’d to
her, and therefore she did it, “that you”, said shee, “having such power with
him, should not seeke to marry him to the Lady mention’d to him,
or to any but my selfe; which if you doe, assure your selfe I will
not spare you either to your husband or any els, but the whole world
shall bee fill’d with your shame.”
“Threaten not base woman”, said shee,
“I feare not; nor thinke thou shalt make mee so neere thy selfe wicked,
as to wrong my Kinsman or bloud so much, as to let him fall to such
mischiefe as to bee thy husband: I know you wrong him, for he cannot
have that litle worth to be so fond of so vile a creature, or forget himselfe
so farre as to thinke of marrying you, or were it so, never thinke tricks can
fright mee; of any ill knowne by you that I have committed, I am as
cleere as ayre, onely suspition you may urge, and that was brought to light
by you, and the cause knowne to be malice, who will beleeve you? my
life hath gained a settled opinion in the world, not to be stirr’d by your ill
tongue; my husband is so just, as when he shall heare you and me, he wil, I
know, right me so farre, as you shall be punished and whipp’d for slandering
me: What good then can you hope for; if you doe talke? which doe
if you have a minde to it, and beleeve it you shall bee no more spar’d then
you threatned me; What witnesse can be brought against me? an envious
railing woman your selfe onely: What will that worke against me, when
differences will be justly made betwixt you, and me, and malice overbalance
the report?”

Shee hearing her so fearelesse, and knowing those things she spake to be
true, found shee was deceiv’d in her plot, and Diania in her invention, encountring
another manner of woman then she look’d for: shee therefore
turn’d her speech, protesting how much she had ever honour’d her, that
there should be nothing to the value of her life neglected to serve her withall,
desiring pardon for what she had said, excusing her selfe with madnesse
that possessed her for feare her Cousen would forsake her.

Thus they parted, shee carelesse of her danger in outward show to her
in whom the danger lay; yet wished she for all her great spirit, that shee
were fairely dead, and so her honour safe: it continued thus, her servant
returning backe againe, and meeting her at the same place, Silvarina having
in the meane time visited her husband, and her Kinsman the Lady hee
was to court, at her lovers returne, they discoursed of all the passed
businesse: shee contented because hee was pleas’d, and hee to finde
her faith and affection best contented, the Gentlewoman affraid, who thought Yy3r 359
thought to bring the brave Lady under her power, but her spirit was onely
to submit to love; happy she accounted her selfe even to blessednesse in her
loves requitall, but within one yeere after, whether fully satisfied with her
love, or inamoured (which if I might speake what I thinke was the truer
cause) of another in that place led him astray from his first, and fell into the
other as violently, if not lesse discreetly. Shee sweete Lady first condemned
the choyce, but when she saw she could not by strong hand hold him, she fell
to petitioning his returne of love to her; she writ to him, she spake to him;
she did all that a perplexed woman could doe, but all prospered alike. To
her companion and friend she complained, she wept to her, she comforted
her, nor would she beleeve a long time that it was so, but chid her, as if guilty
of false accusing, but when she sawe it as plainly as all others did, she then
pitied her, but could not helpe her; when she found no hope nor helpe, she
vow’d to die a constant, though unfortunate lover: griefe made her loose all
rest, that made her distemper’d and so sicke, as none had hope of her life, her
husband was tender over her, and tooke such paines, as hee himselfe fell as
sicke or worse then she, who recovered, but he died; then did she sorrow for
him whom before she scarce cared for, but noblenesse made her gratefull, and
to have that vertue in her selfe, the want of which at that time in her other
selfe caused her torment. When she had performed those rights belonging
to her dead husband, and held her selfe according to the manner unseene for
such a time, she was visited, and by her friend and lover who came together,
bringing likewise his new love, & her Rivall, who neverthelesse she used well
though she loved her not in that respect, but as her selfe she held a kind opinion
of her, but her losse made her seeme unpleasinger in her eyes, especially
to see him as if in cruelty so cherish her before her face, which he continued
in to the height of neglecting, and scorning her who best deserved him
before the other, as if to merrit the more from her, but herein was his fault,
not for loving (that being a passion cannot be resisted) but for hating where
he was sought, beloved, and had loved, for if he had not, he could not have
used that fashion he did; some will say it was to make himselfe free from her
importunity; he might have sued from that, and have dealt more justly and
plainely, told her what he strove by fashion to expresse publikely, yet when
some time he came to visit her privately he used her better, showing hby that
he would not loose any thing though he did esteeme of it as nothing, this
more then cruelty, and she suffered with more then patience, a rare but ill
example, that a woman who could contemne all passions, must yet be such
a slave to one, and one that slavishly used her. What could be lost she parted
from, content, quiet, honour, rest, reputation, fortunes to succeed, for no
match was offered her that was not resolved of refusall, nor at last any, all
agreeing her love was so fixed, as it was but vanitie to seeke to remove
it or gaine it from the place. She being in this estate setled, what meanes she
had by friends, and her owne suite to the Lord of Corfu, this little Island or
Rocke was bestowed upon her, whither she came, & there lived in solitarinesse
once, & not long before Steriamus his arrival, her stil loved, though not
loving Lord by a storme was cast there, she not at first knowing it to be him,
tooke him up halfe dead, tumbled with the Sea and wracke, she restored
him to life and health againe, bringing him home to her house, and with Yy3 her Yy3v 360
her wonted affection, as forgetting all unkindnesse, or rather to make her
vertue in constant loving approved, she cherished him, and without showe
of discontent entertained him, but nice she was to speake or touch of love.
He used her with all respect, and much kindnesse seeing her fashion to him,
and having (as he might well doe) seene her teares for his harmes which she
with care repaied; he staied there till he was well, but thence was fetched
by another Lady, who hearing of his being there, and the danger hee had
escaped, came thither; she was kindly made welcome to her, although that
she knew she at that time was his Mistris, and this knowledge she had from
her traine-layer, who out of hate I imagine rather then love told it her, but
the storme of her tormēent was passed, & now loved this Lady for loving him,
her quarrell being but to her, that had wonne him immediately from her, so
as this Lady was embraced by her, and as a friend received; for so she counts
all that loves him, or that he loves, a strange expression this is of a love, yet
true it is, for this the Lady doth; she brought them to the Boate, bid them
farewell, cheerefully he told her the former strangenesse should be no more,
she said then should she forget it ever had beene, thus without passion, but
with true friendship they parted, who could not in times pass’d have said
farewell but in teares, and such end hath likely so hot and passionate beginnings
to end in ashes, what began in flames; and therefore this last is the surest
love which will hold while the truth of friendship is esteemed. This
Steriamus got knowledge of by peeces from her who would not complaine,
nor tell the story her selfe for feare of misconstruction of the hearers, least
the relation so rare should have beene taken for an Allegory, and not a story
wherein her vertue should be painted, and not found: or indeede the true
cause was, that although she had with all earnestnesse, care, and study
striven to forget her love, and miserable fortunes, having at last obtained all
but hating him which her soule would never consent to, so wel she still loves
him, as she will not let her tongue accuse him; nay, it is so to be feared she
will rather blame her selfe then him, were it not for making her selfe by
that unworthy, and so that way likewise wrong his judgement, the eare she
hath is to preserve his worth, no revenge in her but what her owne heart indured,
certainly she resolves to love and respect him most, she did with
excellent discourse, and respective fashion use him, who told her all the adventures
of the lost Ladies which he gained by the servant of Rosindy, who
was sent to tell him of it, and after as just as he landed also arrived to his
great comfort, perswading her so perfect a lover to goe also and try it, but
she excused it with her vowe to live and die in that place, concluding her
dayes with her former resolution.

He parted thence, and so left he Lady Pastora on the Rocke as hard as
her fortune, and as white as her faith. Steriamus holds on his way, and at
last is within sight of the Rocke whither he must goe, being there arrived he
came to the house, and at the gate he found Leandrus fearefull to attempt,
least he should not gaine the honour of concluding, but he hartened him,
and so together adventure, Steriamus absolutely thinking it belonged to
him, and Urania who had beene disguis’d, and therefore that might be enough
to answer those things, that like Oracles are never without antiquitie:
As soone as they entered Steriamus like the other his Leaders ran to the Chaire Yy4r 361
Chaire and tooke Urania, who with him went to the others, a place being reserved
for her; now were all almost in couples as they wished, Rosindy and
Meriana, Selarinus, and Philistella, Antissius, and Selarina, the rest as they
would, and came coupled, Polarchos and his soone wonne Lady, Parselius
and Dalinea, Philarchos and Orilena, but still Pamphilia sits leaning her
cheeke on her hand, her eyes lifted upwards as asking helpe, at her feete lay
Leandrus gazing on her, and as much imploring pity from her, as she begged
it from another, with whom her heart was, her eies not in the absence of her
heart turning to any other lower then the top of the roome, and there staied
by the roofe, not with desire to behold any thing but her love, and now his
memory; all joyed in others loves, and a fine sight it was to see them in their
various habits, yet all to one purpose, imitating the world, which for all the
changes and varieties she hath, must have but one conclusion, and one end.
Perissus arrives in Sicely without any adventure, and with as constant a love
as he brought Limena met him, to whom he related all his fortunes, and the
accidents in the late warr, there he encountred the two young Princes of Corinthia,
to whom they came of purpose to shew their thankfulnes for the honor
done unto them, both in Knighting them, & bringing them to the knowledge
of the wrong doer, and to be esteemed & accounted friends to the true
and excellent Amphilanthus; He feasted them, & with great kindnes intreated
their stay & company to the inchantment, which they consented to, & before
their going thence (which was not in three months) were fit for the advēenture,
being both surprised by that secret serpent Love; the elder falling in love
with a sister to Limena, borne many yeeres after her, and by a second Wife
whom her father tooke after the death of her mother; she was a most delicate
young Lady, and worthy of a brave servant which he proved, both loyall,
and for his valour deserving fame. The other with a Lady neare of kin
to the King who as an heire, and willingly bestowed upon him with consent
of all, especially liked by Perissus, who by this meanes held him alwaies
there with him, giving him great preferments and offices about his person,
proving a Gallant Gentleman, and a faithfull servant to him and his
Crowne, fighting a hard and cruell combat in defence of the Kings honour
against a Traytor in that Country, whose head he brought and presented to
the King. This he did in the journey towards the Rocke passing by the Castle
where the ill man lived, who came forth, and chalenged the King, but
the youth of Corinthia begg’d the liberty of the combat, and bravely performed
it; in the end they came to the Island, and there with the rest were shut
up, the places being almost full, for daily some or other came. By this was
newes of the inchantment come to Amphilanthus, who with Ollorandus
were newly returned from their journey going into Hungary to visit Melysinda;
they had raised some pretty adventures in their travels, and had a more
pleasing time of it, then in any they had made before; being free, and better
disposed, and having got againe some of their old passions, or memories of
them about them, which made Amphilanthus willinger to try the adventure,
and release Pamphilia, of whom he had let in a more courteous opinion then
he had when he first blamed her, or thought she had done amisse, yet no further
it passed. Musalina must needs see this inchantment, with her went Lucenia
to see this also, and to be an Actor in it, so like an Amason Musalina attires her Yy4v 362
her selfe, though unfit habits for her, who was no hater of mankind; Lucenia
like an Ægyptian, and towards the place they travell, Lucenia used among
them like a countrey Lady in the progresse having on to see, but little respected,
meeting with the proud Queene of Bulgaria; but now Leonius must
be spoken of, who going directly into Greece, met nothing there for many
dayes but the sorrow for the lost Ladies, hee had no disposition to sorrow,
therefore meant not as yet to visit the Court, but as others did, he being as
much as many ingaged in good nature to follow the search, determined upon
that, but then he came into a part of Arcadia, not taking the directest, but
pleasantest way to the Sea; at the entring into this Paradice on Earth for
sweetnes, delicasies springing there as plentifully as Primiroses in other
poorer places, he liked, and wonder’d, not sufficiently as he thought, being able
to contemplate the fulnes, and richnes of the bounty of that Province,
riding sometimes, sometimes walking, beholding the rarenes of it, yet when
he had seene all the varieties encrease in varying to pleasure, he was yet set
uppon by a more admirable sight which was the most delightfull object
for man to like, and this as well to be liked as any, being a faire and daintie
woman, appearing a Shepheardesse, but such an one as Ænona was in her
time framed as if but to be remembred, and set as a foile to the excellency
of the perfections in this creature, so much surpassing description as conceit
doth commonly excell expression. The young Knight beheld this shining
Starre with amazednes, while she past not farre off from him, her aparrell a
gowne of gray, cut square, a fine ruffe about her necke: a litle before it was
open, the rest covered with pure white strips, but a more pure whiteness appeared
when the skinne was seene as white and soft as Swannes downe on
the breast, her haire carelesly throwne up, neither tiyde, nor untyde, but cast
into a delightfull neglectivenes, some pretty flowers, and knots of ash-colour
ribon, being here and there placed between the loose fastenings of her haire;
gloves she wore none, shewing the innocent vertue she was inriched withall,
her legges and feete so delicately shaped, as they would rather seeme fram’d
for showe then use; yet were they but fine enough to carry the body they
were made to serve. She went with a modest, but cheerefull pace, and being
a litle pass’d looked backe againe, with which he was (alasse) strooke, and all
his senses ravished, his love onely a senselesse passion, especially when so
suddenly surprising, and at best but a sportfull madnesse possessing, and taking
the place his better wits till that instant dwelt in, her bright and faire
gray eyes looking as if the Moone in all her glory of brightnesse could have
a companion, together her commanding beauty wrought so in the Prince,
as he was a new creature, yet part of the olde man, which was boldnesse
got so farre into him as he followed her, knowing that a man who ment to
followe adventures must not feare any thing: especially a woman, and so
sweete an one. They passed the plaine, and so entered into a litle Grove,
where he heard as at her comming exquisite Musique, drawing neerer hee
discerned a Fountaine made in the fashion of an Emperiall Crowne with a
Globe on the toppe, out of which like a full shower of raine the water came
so plentifully, and showringly, as it resembled such plenty, so finely
was it counterfeited, and the trees grewe so, as who hadde stood in the
wood would not suddenly have knowne whether it had rayned or no, so Zz1r 363
so powringly high, and sweetely it fell like an Aprill shower and so farre, as it
came upon the boughs of the circkling trees, ratling among them to second
the musicke. Underneath was the place where many sat round, the water
falling beyond them, as if ordained for a coole Canopy to shelter them from
heate, and not to offend with one teare-like drop, lest that might make sadnesse
thought on: there did she with her companions in that life place themselves,
the Grove was much of Sicamore trees, the rootes of which, and betweene
which were set with Roses, and other sweete Flowers, Violet, Pinck,
and many such; without this was a fine circle, paved with severall coloured
stones, into which the water fell, and made a pretty murmuring brooke, the
waste of which devided it selfe into two lesser, running as with paine to part
from those excellencies, in teares kissing the bankes for parting from them.
Mirtle and Lawrell was also flourishing, to shew them, that although Venus
were Lady there, yet Apollo was often called, and for his sake his tree was
honoured among those beauties. Many faire Maides were sitting about her,
and such as had shee been away, might have been commended highly; such
possession had this sight gaind on the Prince, as he gazed even to blindnes,
like one too long looking on the Sunne: he admired, till he lost sense to admire,
yet went his senses but round, for comming to the first place, hee had
sense againe to love in wonder, but out of that he was put, for the heate a little
slacked, she rose, and the rest attended her, shee leading them, and one
more then her wonted troope, the Italian Prince prisoner. He durst not follow
neere, yet did his eies kisse every step she took, while he imboldned with
love, yet a little with-held by feare, went sadly and softly on, a prety young
Shepherd came smiling to him, using these words.

“If Sir” (said hee) “this sight hath any way displeased you, the same may
make you amends, for surely you see not such every day; or if a former cause
molesteth you, looke on these Lasses, and assuredly you will be cured?”
“There
can”
(said hee) “be little hope of cure from them, where such danger dwells.”
“You should not me thinks” (answered the Lad) “doubt, nor is it for a man of
your profession to feare, especially Beauties; yet indeed I cannot blame you
since al eies that have seene these, have yeelded their hearts as slaves to them.”

Leonius made no answere, the Shepherd proceeded; “But Sir be not afraid, for
believe me, they are not more faire then courteous.”
“Alas” (cryd he) “how can
I who am a Stranger, yet a possessor of a lost liberty, and imprisoned hart, presume
to come where such perfections rest? Who dares approch lightning, no
more dare I into her presence, neerer then to admire and behold her.”
“I must
needs say”
, replide the Youth, “it is the lesse strange that you are touched, since
all our hearts are subjected to the lowest of despaire.”

“I would I were but touched” cryd he, “then might I scape, but I am wounded
unto death, would I had beene a Shepheard as you are, and tended
flockes, so I had not knowne the torment of lost joyes, or so happy as to
have beene borne among you, or destined to live for eternall good with you.”

“Why may you not”, said the Shepheard; “many good Knights have after
great honors gain’d retird, and taken our lives upon them.”
“It is true”, answerd
he, “and had I done any thing yet to answere my birth, or now taken
order I would doe so too.”
“Heere are” (said hee) “many occasions to exercise
your strength in, wee have games which when you trie, you will
say, cleare force must bee found in the best performancers of Zz them Zz1v 364
them; besides wild beasts that often spoile, and vexe our flocks; nay, the last
day, that rare creature you (I am sure) most and only admire was in danger
of a fierce Beare by misfortune let loose.”
This stirred up his thoughts, “O” said
he, “why was I so unfavoured by fortune, as not to be here, and being here, to
deserve by my service, at least one kind looke from her, who holds my soule,
and it should seeme yours: but if so, be not angry that I adventure to confesse
my selfe your Rivall, you have already a little encouraged me, in telling me,
all hearts yeeld, then I trust I shall not fall into your displeasure for being one
of the Company.”
“In all true respect I confesse I am” (said the Lad) “her servant;
but such are her perfections, as teach us not to aspire higher, then to
behold, and obay her, other thoughts wee are not permitted, but banish as
treasons; and no more able are wee to give birth to so high desires, then to
looke on the Sunne, without having our harts throwne downe condemned,
as our eyes cast wateringly for presumptuous gazing, begging pardon for
such attempt.”
“Dare you not love her” (said he)? “can feare appeare before bold
love?”

“My hardinesse” (said the Lad) “ascends to serve her with my life, my hopes,
to be accepted as her creature, and this will be farre beyond my merit,
if I gaine so much; and that I feare, as something makes you doubt.”
“I doubt
indeed”
(said he) “and feare to give offence, because I love”; “I likewise love” (said
he) “and love you for your love; for had I not been a lover, I could not so
soone have found your disease; I judged you straight by my selfe, I pittied
you as I doe my selfe, who fell in love directly as you did, the first sight strake
me, I was wounded with the first dart her killing eyes did shew towards me,
alas, she meant me as she vowes, no harme; but what wretch could I do when
I was hurt? I durst not aske ought but pardon: she granted that, and weekes
did passe, before I sought her favour, and moneths ere I did venture for reward;
but all this makes you (I perceive) run further in your error, therfore
not to hold you any longer in this doubt, it is the Shepherdesse that sat on
the right hand of the fairest that I seeke to gaine, and now I hope shall win, for
she lookes kindly on me, takes my presents, smiles upon my flockes, cherisheth
my Dog when he fawnes on her, who as if he knew his Masters mind, stil
waights on her, lyes at her feete, when God knowes I could be he, and oft do
envy his good luck, when she doth stroke him on the backe, and playes with
him; she takes my Songs, and sings them, happy lines that ever gaind such
blisse, to kisse those sweet lippes passing into ayre, as scorning other place then
her breast, when she will expose them unto eares should harbour them; she
sometimes likewise will give mee some of her making, and commends my
voice, makes me sing to her, which I doe, and yeeld her owne words to her
best knowing judgement. She requites mee presently, and sings mine unto
me; then I say they are only good, when she doth grace them so; she answers
best our songs befits our mouthes, and eares, these are not onely signes, but I
doe thinke, or much doe flatter my poore selfe, they are assurances, and thus
Sir now I hope that you are satisfied.”

“I am” ( said he) “doublie tide to you for your relation, which doth speake just
truth, and for your love which in this shews to me.”
While they were thus discoursing,
they heard a pitiful cry, & as it were the shriks of womēen, which made
them hie to the Plaine, where they saw the same fierce Beare hastily pursue the Zz2r 365
the glory of those parts, ready almost to close her in his jawes, the rest of the
women crying, and assisting her onely with their lamentable voyces, the onely
helpe that sex can yeeld in such a danger, yet now came it wel, for the noise
brought Leonius to her aide, who only sought to save her selfe by flight, but
cryde not like the women. No neede there was to desire, or intreate him to
assist, for carried by the wings of love, he flew to her succour; she seeing him
runne to helpe her, turned her course that way, as shee ran, her dainty leggs
were seene, discovering such excellency in shape, and swiftnes, as that had bin
enough alone to conquer; she passed by him, hee standing still to encounter
her enemy, yet did his eyes cast amorous wishes after her, his spirit raised in
hope to meete the Beast, who gaped, as wanting breath to hold the joy hee
had in expectation, to devoure that sweete portion of excellent daintinesse;
furious to be deceived, he sought to execute his furie on him, from whom he
got a sharpe, and sower encounter, Leonius his sword passing into his throate,
wherewith he fell, then strake he off his head, for having let a presumptuous
thought enter to hurt the delicatest Shepherdesse, now Urania had left that
habit. This blow being given, the before flying beauty returnd, but in a more
quiet and soft pace, which let the Italian with more leisure behold her, crying
within himselfe; “Oh that she had but as much affection, as I have love, then
would she with as sweet swiftnes run to me, as from the Beare”
, which sight
did in feare yet content so much, as he could have found in his heart (but for
her harme) to have indured the Beast, and have clasped her in his armes as
she ran by him, her danger hindred his attempting pleasure, and so shee was
saved, taking her sight into his heart, in stead of her longed-for selfe into his
breast, passions were as full in him, as Motes in the ayre, flying up and downe
like flies in a hot day; buzing and swarming like Bees, that for all their profitable
hony bring stings with them: or like a neast of Waspes, that one time
beset one with their fury, and give no profit if shund or overcome, except
their owne poore bodies, worthlesse and gainelesse: those thoughts hee gathered
together, as like a Fisherman, that in his net catcheth all that comes
within it, yet pickes hee out the choicest, and appoints some to keepe, some
to sell, some to give, and some to throw in againe, as not fit for keeping: so did
he cull his severall passions, some he chose to present her withall, some to
hold in himselfe, to please her withall, others not to be seene by her, he cast away
into the floud of his forgetfulnesse, whence none should arise to give her
distaste; a commendable vertue in Youth, to shun what may by Youth shame
to offend; hee loved, and therefore was curious not to displease his best beloved,
his highest desire being to content her, by whom hee must only bee
contented, hee shunnes all else, as she did the Beare, which yet he loves, because
hee brought him meanes to doe her service.

When hee had killed the Beast, hee tooke the Head, Paw, and Heart to
present her withall; Speeches hee framed to deliver to her with those won
reliques, Prose and Verse hee summoned, doubtfull which should please, he
stood as if musing what hee might doe to please her best; hee feared one
while the hideous face of the Beast would fright her, therefore thought the
heart fittest, and enough to shew her, as her prey, the Paw hee thought fit,
because it was lifted up against her, and if that, the Head as necessary which
hatched the treason, of these three, and with these three he danced the Hay in Zz2 discourse Zz2v 366
discourse, and still ended just as uncertaine and apt to begin againe, as to conclude;
a faire victorie made him thinke a fairer acceptance must be yeelded
him, a bold attempt to save her, boldnes might be waranted in that respect to
speake to her, desert then claimes reward, how should the claime be answerd
if not made? he must then adventure, and aske it, refusall cannot bee, where
knowledge, and instant sight sayes, it is requisite. Valor must be adored, and
love cherished. Tremblingly hee stood, as if afraid of that dead which hee
kild, his hands shook that held the head, his other hand strake off, his eies uncertainly
rold, that were fixt to his ruin, his leg shakes under him, that against
his enemies like pillars, uphold his strength and courage: and this is love that
made him seeme so weake a piece, and it was love that made him so fierce
against her enemy, he looked towards her, and sigh’d within himselfe these
lamentations. “Alas”, said he, “that that face the heaven of mildnes and sweetnesse,
should carry with it such cruell force, as with delicacy to destroy; why
should those eyes my soules only comforts looke, and not with as much love
as mine, since they are fairer, mine more loving, they more beloved? those
dearest lipps, let them not sever, if not to speake requitall to me, let them not
tel my bane, yet rather then not suffer me to heare that voice speak any thing,
but if possible O speake but love; those feete and leggs, the rich, and matchlesse
supporters of this our heaven, bring her not to murder mee, lade your
selves with pitie and compassion, then come apace, and give life to the most
perplexed lover.”
All this while she was comming, while he attended, as a passionate
man doth the breaking of the day, when he is to visit at that time
his love. Dawning and leasurely shee came, hee thought shee made small
haste, yet came too fast if love did not accompany her, and that love to him
like a delicate young Courtier, who is to make his estate by the marriage of
a greate heire; when hee comes before her, is at first timerous, loth to offend,
yet dressed up in all richnes and finenes: so was hee, his Helme hee tooke off,
rubd up his Haire, wiped his face, set on his most manly, yet amorous
countenance, knowing women love not childish men, how much soever they
commonly like lovelines, and the choicest beauties. Poore man to see what a
busines he kept with himselfe were strange, that hee who but newly come to
know passion, should bee in so much variety, and skilfull manner of learned
knowledge to win, as those who after their naturall inclination change, and
wooe daily, but to such it is pleasure and delight, to this young man torture.
He sighed, he looked, he prayed, he wished, he did all, and yet nothing that
might helpe him, for so long he was in these distempers, as either ignorance,
neglect, or ill manners were like to be laid to his charge, who indeed was an
exact fond lover taken, and spoild at first sight; the loving Country of Italy
could never make him thus passionate, the beauties there were as ones owne
Country, esteemed nothing so pleasing to one, as the thought of others, till
they be tried, Arcadia is the place can onely captivate his heart, and there
must he tast the paines, makes him wish to be in Italy with freedome. “O sweet
place, heavenly Paradice”
(said he) “what delights be in thee, but what serpents
keepe them from enjoying? stories I have heard of waters; and trees kept by
Monsters, but what rarenes was ever thus kept, as love keepes her, and mee
from asking pity”
, while he stood letting his imagination twine out the time,
which he might, if acquainted with love, or bred in his cunning Schoole, have vsed Zz3r 367
used to farre more gainefull purpose. She past feare of danger, secured by the
death of the Beare, her before threatner, turned back, and came to thanke
him; but what with her sight and words, he stood in as still a Posture, as if the
Beast in death had also wounded him, which made that excellent Shepherdesse
take him by the hand, and kindly demaund how he felt himselfe; but the
touch of her dainty skin, with the rare softnes, gave a more cruell hurt to his
heart, then the hard sword had given (though death) unto the Beast. Hee
could not answer but with sighs, his eies raining showers of teares, and yet as
through a wet cloud gazed on her: She was sorry for his sorrow, and wished
her helpe might pleasure him, it was she alone that could doe it, but he durst
not hope for it, nor adventure to demand it; then were the rest come unto
them, who stirred not, but looked like metamorphosed creatures, their hands
fast in one anothers, she pittying, and hee that had what he could wish, yet
fearing it, enjoyed it not, which the Shepheard Youth perceiving, loving
Leonius as much, as man could love another with no more acquaintance,
stepped to him, “Sir”, said he, “it appeares that the sudden joy of this brave victory,
with the releasing of this rare beauty before you from such danger, doth
too much possesse you, or else the same fit which this day I found you in, hath
againe overcome you.”
He now who shame instructed to be carefull, starting
as children doe at Bugbeares, told him, that it was true, his fit had taken him,
and held him worse then it had done before, which had caused that stilnesse
in him, for which he asked pardon of the most faire Shepherdesse, and kissing
her hand, assured her, that nothing was more comfort to him, then the rescuing
of her; nor anything more grievous, then that he had been so rude, as
not to acknowledge the favour she did in comming back to thanke him for
that, wherein he did but the due of any one to serve, and preserve such beauty,
thinking himselfe most fortunately borne, and brought thither at that
time so to doe her service. She mildly and modestly blushing told him, the
good fortune was hers, which had gained not onely safety, but that from the
noblest hand and heart; so taking away her hand (which was a death-like
blow to him) courteously bid him farewell, with millions of kind thanks,
and sweet words unto him, every one of which were wounds unto his soule,
because with them she left him.

They gone, he alone but for the Shepherd, began his complaints, partly to
himselfe, partly to his new friend in this manner. “Is it possible O Arcadia, the
most sweet and delicate of all these Provinces, that in thee there should live
so dangerous a creature, as at first sight should wound, and kill with the first
touch? alas my friend, what peril doth abide in these most dainty dwellings?
were these places ordained excellent, and alluring to draw men to their
ends? are you made happy with seeing delicasies only to see them, but to
taste none other then sharp murders? O my father, how hast thou left thy son
in thine owne friends dominions to bee slaine, and by a woman? how will
you bravest brother, disdaine my bloud vanquished by a looke? O Arcadia
in your sweetnes I am martyrd, and one of your Kings blood thus you kil, are
you not then guilty of treason?”

The Shepheard who now perceived this Knight to bee a Prince,
and by his words an Aliance of that Country, hee kneeled downe, and
thus spake, “My Lord” said hee, “blame not this place for that, for which I Zz3 doubt Zz3v 368
doubt not but you shall have cause to love it, accuse not your friends, since if
they saw your vallour and brave destroying that fierce Beast, they would
without question glory in your vertue, nor be displeased with your fortune,
or love, since fortune hath brought you to love one the most love-worthy,
and I beseech you what cause have you thus to complaine, not knowing
whether you may be favourd, or disgraced, I see no reason you should bee
discontented if not, that you would not receive kindnesse, she so mildly, and
sweetly affording it.”
“Love; Love it was, and is” cryd he, “makes mee thus
wretched, what can I doe when my senses in her sight faile me? how can
I have comfort when deadly dispaire makes me not dare to hope? what shall
I joy in, when I scarce may venture to looke on her, who must deliver mee
from this bondage? noe I see no remedy when I am not able to aske, or
take it. I am lost and only found by dispaire, and desperate love.”
Then
did his teares follow those words, and groanes those teares, till the Sheephard
began againe.

“My Lord” said hee “yet heare me, there is a way whereby you may let her
see your love, and yet not speake it, your teares thus continually shed, your
sigh’s still breathing out your passions, your groanes foretelling death, will
all truly witnesse your affliction, and sue for you; pull off these habits unfit
for these passions, & put on such as I wil provide for you, so well agreeing to
your humour as the cloathes, and the action shall make her unable to withstand
so much pitty as must breed love, and that love if you then discreetly
governe it, will procure your happinesse.”
“Direct me deere friend” said hee,
“and let me enjoy her love, and be assured I will make thee see I am not ungratefull.”
“Then my Lord” said hee, “you shall put on the habit I will tomorrow
morning bring to yonder Grove, but be sure you be there before the
Sunne appeare, least they be there before us, and after follow my advice, so
shall you I feare not come to your wishes end, but withall you must promise,
and performe assistance to me.”
Leonius could but with kind teares, and
straightly embracing him, give him thankes, and promise; thus they resolved,
the youth went to the next towne to buy things fit for the Prince,
while he with sad thoughts, uncertaine wishes, and wrestlesse passions spent
the time till his returne.

The Sheepheardesse who (poore soule) before knew but her owne beauty,
now found anothers to master her, “I would” said she “the Beare had devoured
me, rather then this torment should perplexe me. Why did this
Stranger succour me? of purpose was he sent to torture mee, must I be made
a subject to one I know not? and suffer afflictions for one I shall no more behold?
fie upon this strange love, which makes me so strangly love as to affect
impossibilities, but I see I am but justly punished for disdaining all the
Youths of these parts, thinking none worthy of me, now I must love one
that knowes me not, will no more see mee, and surely loves an other. Pride,
it is you have undone mee, I confesse my fault, I sorrow for it, yet Venus
helpe me, Pan our Sheapheard-God assist mee, let not one of your servants,
nay poore me your servant thus distressed live; I recall my former scornings,
I repent my disdaines, I accuse my selfe more then you can blame
mee; O ayd me then.”
Thus she pass’d the night in millions of such like
complaints, till morning being come she rose, and hastely dressing her, raysedsed Zz4r 369
her flocks before their usuall time, as shee was raised by this unusuall passion;
to the plaine she went, there awhile she stayed, yet rested no where,
sometimes shee walked apace as if she would leave that paine behind her, but
seeing it so closely follow her lay downe embracing it, yet blushing would
turne her face on the ground, and seeme ashamed of her owne thoughts. “O
Chastity”
said shee, “why doe you wholy possesse mee? deere Diana take me
to thee”
, but then did Venus as in rage increase her flames, making her forget
all but her affections. Then rising, to the next tree shee went which was a
Willow, and of those branches she puld, and with them crowned her selfe,
casting off her strawne hatte, her Sun-beame haire falling downe at the full
length, which with a little fine, and naturall curling reched to the small of
her leg, and the rich thicknesse spread it selfe over her shoulders; there awhile
she stayed, graving some few words in the Barque of the tree, agreeing
to the paines shee felt, and condition of that tree, whose softnesse
concurd with the yeelding hearts of lovers, but the Fate given it to be forsaken,
and made it to be the Garland for such haplesse creatures. “Well poore
Willow”
said she, “thou shalt yet be my companion: and I will honour thee,
though happier folks despise thee”
; then went she into the Grove, but as little
stayd shee there, flying the company she saw there assembled, seeking new
places, as all doe that seeke ease, and hope for it by travell; so shee pass’d along
the side of one of the little Brooks, her eyes still fixed upon it, speaking
sometimes, at last shee said these words. “Poore Brooke” said shee, “how like
my paines are yours, I seeke to flye from the Spring of my sorrowes, so fall
you from your head: how fast sweete Brooke you runne in hope of ease, so
fast doe my poore hopes flye from my hart: stay, turne your course, and I
shall hope to live, no twill not be, you runne, and I continue in my paines.”

As she went on sadly bemoning her solitary thoughts, she heard as pittifull a
voyce utter these unperfect joyn’d words, “Leonia poore Nimph” said it, “where
is thy vowe? must Venus make thee change? O love, coward love to steale
thus to my heart, couldest thou not have come bravely, and contended
with me in the Chase, or taken me in the time when I did revile thee, and
scorne thy power, but to set upon me when I was quiet, and safe as I thought,
treacherously to lye in wait and betray mee when I was unarm’d, naked,
and without power to resist, and more for my shame when I had sworne to
Diana, what punnishment will that chast Goddesse lay upon me for this offence?
But foole why talke I of these poore things which in comparison
of my woe are but blossoms. I love, and must love, what then? I will love,
and die in love, then shall that Cruell see written in my heart that murther
thus committed, unkind, alasse my soule melts as these teares, and yet to
thee my paines are no more waighed then bubbles, my hart weepes blood,
pitty me then, say you do pitty and save me”
, “pitty” said the Sheepheardes “is
that I want; what new companion in my woe have I found heere?”
with that
she went towards the place from whence as shee imagined that sad voyce
did proceede, when as little from the banke under the shade of mirtle
trees, which made as it were a Cabine of them selves, lay a Forrest Nimph,
her apparrell of colour and fashion like Diana, buskins upon her leggs of
white, her haire tyed up, only some of the shortest, and about the temples
curled, crowned with Roses, Hyacinths, she lay with her head toward her, who Zz4v 370
who with a soft pace went on till she came just behinde her, then viewing her
earnestly, her eyes being so full of love, as all loving creatures found a power
in them to draw them to her call, especially those eyes which were so much
hers as they could not stirre but to her will, commanding them so, as shee
could with her looking on them with loving force, bring them to her owne;
and so it now prooved, for those eyes which full of teares were seeing themselves
in the streame, shewing their watry pictures to each other, her earnest
viewing the Nimph with a naturall humblenesse to hers, drew her lookes to
her, joy then appear’d in the Nimphes face, yet straight was that clowded
with sorrow; She rose, and with a timerous (though she imagin’d bashefull)
countenance and fashion, saluted her.

“I did thinke faire Nimph”, said the loving Shepherdesse, “that it had been
impossible for me to finde any so like my selfe unhappily wounded.”
“Why
are you hurt faire Shepherdesse”
, said shee? “alas I am sorry for you, and wish
your remedy, for none knowes the torment of dispaire like to my selfe, and
therefore in charity would have none else afflicted with it, but it is very
strange that such beauty should complaine.”
“Alas” said shee, “oft times perfection
is turnd to the contrary, and so is it in me, if in me be that you spake of:
but I pray sweet Nimph, let me take boldnesse to demand of you, of whence
you are and what hath brought you hither.”
“Love” said she, “for this must be the
first, and last of my discourse, all other matters how great soever, being but
dependances of this. My name”
(said shee) “is Leonia, my profession was
what my habits tell me to be, but love hath altered me, no more must I abuse
my Mistris who I served, since I have left her and an new one now have
gain’d, a poore change, (yet the fruit of change) when for liberty and pleasure
I get beggery and slavery: Then this passion, rare Shepherdesse, for
nothing but misery followes it.”
“Alas it is too late”, said shee, “you give this
counsellcounsell out of time, for I am in the prison too fast locked, by any meanes,
but by love to bee freed.”
“Are you in love then” said Leonia? “Oh haples me,
why”
, said the Shepheardesse, “doth that grieve you?” “It grieves me that such
sweetnesse should be vexed.”
“It grieves me more” (crid shee) “that I love in despaire.”
“Thus both afflict me”, said Leonia, “and on these doe I plaine, and in
them die.”
“Let us sit downe and tell our woes” said she? “Mine are all endlesse”
said the Nimph, “yet I will not refuse to doe what you command, for you
may helpe me if you will but pitty mee.”
“I pitty you”, said shee, “and love
you, for in you I see (O deere remembrance) many things which report
sent my love unto mine eyes”
; with that the Nimph did blush, the Shepherdesse
went on: “Be not offended sweetest Nimph”, said she, “for he was excellent
whom I did love, and doe love, rare for true beauty and valour, and O
too brave for me”
; “none can be so” (sigh’d shee) “faire Shepherdesse, for the
fairest, and bravest must sue to you for grace: but I did blush to heare that
I should seeme so favourably blessed in your all-conquering eyes, as to bee
thought but to resemble him that happy man whom your great goodnesse
loves. But to goe on, I was by my own sute to my parents chosen a Nimph,
and accepted into the number and service of Dianas servants, being given to
all those sports that Goddesse did affect, but especially, to throwing my
Dart at markes, and shooting in my bow at beasts, or any thing, so cunning
I was in that exercise, as I could hit a bird at great distance; oft times I would take Aaa1r 371
take my Grayhounds, and course the Deare, or Haire, being so nimble, as I
could follow them where ere they went; these, and many other harmelesse
delights I lived in, till one day sacrifising to Diana, unhappily for mee, there
came a Youth, who having kild a terrible Beast, offered it to the Goddesse, as
the Princesse of the Woods and Desarts, this offering prooved strange, making
my heart the Victim bleeding, and lying on the Altar, dedicated to his
love, thus doubly had hee conquerd, I fainted, fearing the chast Goddesse, yet
I was rescued by Venus, who promisd her assistance, but not so well armd by
her, as not afraid of Diana, I fled from those parts, and since have I roamed
about, directed by mine owne despaire, for never since have I seene my love;
the forgetfull Goddesse having enough in winning, but scorning too much
care hath I feare forgotten me, contented with my yeelding, but carelesse of
my proceeding; I seeke still, but I know not with what hope, I have wept, and
grieved, and so I feare still must, and thus lives, and perpetually laments the
poore unblessed Leonia.”
The Shepherdesse catching her in her armes, “Ah my
companion in my woes”
(said she), “let us still live together fittest for our fortunes,
let our teares be shed together, our sighs breathed together, and let us
never part, but alwaies keepe together.”
This was what the Nimph desired,
being so glad of that embracement, as she could have found in her heart to
have forgot her habits, but danger of loosing all, if not governd with modestie,
till apter time gaine fitter opportunity of discovery, she only with an affectionate
kisse, and that shee would not suffer her selfe to misse, being such an
one, as liked Veralinda (for so the Shepherdesse was called) better then any of
her fellows kisses, for this seemd more passionatly kind, gave liberty to that,
and then began her owne discourse thus. “My name is Veralinda, daughter
I am to the Kings Shepherd, who dwels upon yonder Hill, his place, estate
in goods, and some kind of thing in me, which these people here call beauty,
hath made me to be sought by many, but I have still refused all, truly I must
say with some neglectivenesse; for which I am punished, and if I flatter not
my selfe above my merit, the paine being more then the offence, for I am
made to love in dispaire, to hope in losse, and affect one I know not, or can aspire
to thought of ever seeing him againe, Destiny prevailing in this, & I am
left a poore example of the Fates tyranny: for how can I hope, that if I meet
him, hee could fancy mee: he a Knight, I a poore Maide; he a Prince it may
be, and surely is, for Princely vertues dwell in him, beautie unexpressable, and
such as but in you I never saw any like him, and so like are you, as I love you
for his sake so much, as love can command love to the Image of their
Deare.”

“Valiant hee is above expression, and mild, and curteous; but what doth
grieve my soule most is, hee surely loves.”
“And surely would love you”
(said the Nimph) “if he could bee but happy with the knowledge, in
the meane space grace mee with your favour, which I will strive like him
to merit, let mee enjoy those sweete embracements you would yeeld to
him and thinke I am your love, which I will doe by you, and in that
thought till wee bee blessed with perfecter enjoyings, we shall have some
ease.”

She condescended, and so they kissed againe, wishing, and loving, they remained,
passing many such pleasant times, till at last the wonder of such Aaa affection Aaa1v 372
affection twixt women was discovered, and it may be, had then bin brought
to light, had not the Shepherdesses arrived to his griefe, and no way to her
content, who truly loved the sweete conversation and discourse of this
Nimph: to the Fountaine they then altogether tooke their way, the Nimph
setting her selfe so, as she might both see and touch the loved Shepherds, all
the rest beholding this stranger with as much admiration, as shee did their
Mistris, thinking no difference betweene them in beauty, save that the new
guests fairenesse seemed more masculine, as fitted with her estate, yet full of
grave, modest, and seemely bashfulnesse. Thus they beheld each other, the
Shepheards passionately beholding Leonia in memory of her love, and the
Nimph amorously gazing on her in her owne passions, till the musick a little
awaked them, making their eares prove traytors to their hearts, for letting in
any thing to them but love. Love is a subject so delightfull, and alluring, as it
not onely winns, but commands the very soule to the hearing, or writing of
it, so wholly possessing, as it caused this amorous accident, and yet will not
permit a resting here, but proceedes to Amphilanthus, and his company,
who lived in all pleasure outwardly, yet fed sometimes with a bare hope, as
others were, and this oft they felt, and after learned to know; they passing along
a prety time without adventure, it was their chance to meete the same
proud Queene of Bulgaria, whom Rosindy had encountred, but upon fairer
termes, for she knew Lucenia, and she did (as she was an excellently wel fashioned
woman) give her respect answerable to her heart. Amphilanthus beheld
her, and thought her as faire as she was, yet not a woman (at least as hee protested)
to worke wonders on him; yet shee doubted not, nor was afraid, to
shew, that shee thought, he was her servant, if shee pleased: but wrong hath
been done to that famous and excellent Prince in that kind, many times by a
noble free fashion hee had, which gave ignorant or bold people liberty to
speake of him: but to our purpose.

After they had discoursed some dayes together, much intreaty having prevaild,
they obtained her company to the Enchantment, the noble Amphilanthus
assuring her, that the King would not be offended, when he should be
told, with her journey, that shee had taken it upon his request; they came
downe still, till they were neere the Gulfe of Lepanto, where they meant to
ship, and so to goe for the Rocke: but as they were one hot afternoone sitting
in a shade, a lovely sweet creature as those parts yeelded, apparelled
as that Country fashion was, for the better sort to weare, passed by
them.

Musalina would not let her goe so, but walked to her, who with much
civilitie staid, and attended her commands. Shee demanded some questions
of her, shee answered them with sweet and pleasing truth, at last good breeding
made her know, that curtesie was not to be contemned by the greatest,
wherefore she invited her, and her company to rest them in her house, which
she said was hard by; and though not worthy of them, yet better then that
place.

She took her invitation, and went for the rest, who straight came, and accompanied
her to her abiding, which was a faire house moated about, but
strong and hansome, Gardens and Orchards within the moate delicate and
pleasant, a Bote to goe over it into dainty Meades, Woods, and Groves, so Aaa2r 373
so pleasant this place was, and so kind her entertainement, as quickly they agreed
to her civill request, which she seeing the day far passed, made to them,
for lying there that night, Musick they had of divers kinds, and such mirth
possessed them, that place having ever been blessed with that fortune, as few
or none could be melancholy in it, except the Mistris, whom commanding
all there, appointed that passion wholly to attend her, who not naturally, but
accidentally was the saddest noble Lady in those parts. Dance they did, and al
other things that orderly mirth would permit; yet still the Lady walked up
and downe, as if her soule were absent, and the body guided but by a Deputy,
who did not so well governe. Musalina marked it, for the brave Queene
marked little but her selfe, and the glory she tooke in that, she asked the cause;
but with much fine and cunning respect, not so finely insinuating her selfe
into her, but that she found her, yet meant not to be too curious, wherefore
she answered her thus.

“Madam, if the cause of my sadnes were worthy to be heard, or knowne by
you so perfect a Lady, I would not bee the delayer of the happinesse to that,
and my selfe in holding it from you; yet some part, as all, is too long to tire
you with all, I will say I loved, and was beloved; I chose, and am forsaken;
I love, and I thinke shall dying say so, and do so: I lived a while nourished
with the bewitching foode of hope, but that hath now left me to the opposite
partie, Despaire; despaire, the spring of all love-lost teares, and the
Tombe of constant lovers, whither I haste as fast, as my ill fortunes can carry
me.”

By this they were got a prety way from them, and hard by the Moate side
where Musalina would lie downe, and heare more of her plaining: then
said she; “Madam you shall heare some more, by that judge the rest, for my
lippes shall not speake all, though truth of him; I dare not call him any thing,
for his name makes me still love him, and ready to forget all injuries, and
that love will not let me give him any curst title; but I went one day a journey
from his house, with a Cosin of his, he not being able to goe with me, his
eyes then fild with water, mine as full, hearts being equally stored with love;
words we had few, his being these; ‘Farewell my Deare’ (said hee) speaking
this on my lippes, and carry my heart with thee in thy journey.’
‘I will’ (said
I) ‘both keepe it, and cherish it, doe the like for mine that I leave with you’:
his eyes told me hee would; I thanked them with mine, and so parted, not
fearing that, which now too strictly holdeth me, but since I never will trust
man, that when he will can weepe; my soule did at the parting strangely misgive
me, that some ill would follow, but I guessed not what, though I confesse
a little while before, I had somewhat been touched with care, I wil not
call it Jealousie, though ’twas as violent a paine, but how did he seek to cleare
himselfe, and satisfie me? I came in once, when they two all alone were sitting
on a bed, shee looked angerly, as having hindred her, and red with fury,
he I thinke with shame, that so I found him, yet I went away, nor did I challenge
him for that, though hee did seeke to make mee thinke no hurt was
meant, or harme unto our loves, this made mee more suspect, suspition
bred more griefe, the noblier he strove to give mee satisfaction, the more I
was enaged to believe, and did at last truly repenting, as if I had erred, and
as clearely loved as at first, and as fervently.”

Aaa2 Oh Aaa2v 374 “Oh what eyes could with freedome looke on him? could any heart
hould out against the siege of his alluring sweete beguiling love? no ’twas
impossible, all were created to be made his prey, and hee too pittifull, and
so by pitty to receive, and then to ruine, and such chance befell mee, come
now remembrance helpe to molest me in thine owne distresse, and please
this Lady with my misery, tell her the sweete, and amorous words hee
gave me, and wonne mee with, when hee did meete mee in that sad fine
Grove, the third time my sad eyes were blessed with seeing him, with what
finenesse, and yet subtiltie did he expresse sorrow for me, and my passions,
yet comfort mee because they were for him? how did hee conquer me with
love, and his respect which I saw so curiously sought for my yeelding love,
yet still preserved mine honor; this made mee so willingly his prisoner, as
I tooke care how to expresse it.
What witch-craft lay hidden in those smiles that so inchanted mee? and
what power had those instruments sweete speach, more sweete and unrefusing
conversation over my heart? tell me poore heart, did I take joy in
ought else but his love? did I not dispise all other things campared with
the high rate of his sight? thought I of any happinesse if distant from his
presence? did I not thinke the Court a Jayle, whither wee were committed,
till his sight gave me liberty, with blessednesse in his returne, whose
absence if but for the space of one dayes hunting, did shut up all delight
in that time from poore mee? did I apparell my selfe but with
neglect, if he were not with mee? none but himselfe though a full Court
I did behold, (for Madame I have beene a Courtier,) and if he miss’d
I saw none there, and thus much hath he sworne to mee; such was my
love, and is, and being such, far bitterer is the losse.”

More the faire Musalina would have heard, but shee was unwilling
to say more, and therefore shee urged no more, then went they to the
others who were pleasantly talking; Amphilanthus welcomed Musalina,
taking her by the hand, and so they sate, the Lady beholding them, “thus”
said she, “have I sate too, once blessed with such like kindnesse, now cast
into a hellisher distresse”
, Musalina tooke occasion againe to heare her
speake, shee granted it, and proceeded.

“Madame” said shee, “you neither now have, nor ever had such happines
that mine equalld not, tis I confesse bouldly, but I thinke truely said;
What did a Lover in passion ever vowe, and sweare, and after breake,
that hee hath not done the like? none ever more amorous, none more
unkind.”

“Have you not seene him lately” said Musalina? “yes” said shee, “I see him often,
but his scorne hath so longe ruld, and I have with such care, and paines
sought to put his neglect, and disdaine (because it was a fault in him) from
mee, as now I am in a kinde free, I confesse not altogether, but indifferently,
for I can with lesse violent griefe suffer his loving, and courting others before
my face then at first I could, but yet I had rather mee thinkes still have
those favours; the beginning of my miserie had truely almost killd mee,
and the more greevous it was when I perceived hee gloried in my paines, I
have bin about then to call him ungratefull, but my love stayed my tongue,
and yet but like an intermitting Pulce, beat doubly on my heart.”

One Aaa3r 375

“One night especially I was afflicted with it, when I was (with his beloved
Mistris, who was a greater Lady, though not a more true Lover then I was,
(and himself) invited to a supper; there all he could doe, was to expresse his
affection to her, and his scorne to mee, I was in an Agony to see it, my bloud
rise, and all my senses were sensible, but of disorder; I sweat with very vexation,
and for all this at our parting, this cruell man smild, and bid mee take
heede, I caught no cold. It vexed me to heare that slighting, and before mine
enemie, yet my hate turned more on her, whom I was content rather to accuse
in mine owne heart for bewitching him, then consent to truth, or
confesse him uungratefull, for I had deserved, and that hee begins to professe.”

“What if hee should sue againe to you” (said Musalina) “would you not receive
him?”
“That were unlikely surely Madam”, said she, “and I have studdied
so long to bee out of love, and gaine liberty by forgetting, as I thinke it
would bee as hard a thing for mee to love, or rather trust (for indeede I
dare scarce trust my selfe with loving him) as it was to hate, yet so neere I
was once to it, that there was scarce the breadth of the finest spunne haire betweene
me and that curst humour, but good, fond ignorant, kind disposition
came crosse the way, and so I came no further, then to leave loving in shew,
but never could attaine to hate, or to leave truth in love; this was, and is my
state, take heed brave Lady, trust not too much; for believe it, the kindest, lovingst,
passionatest, worthiest, loveliest, valiantest, sweetest, and best man,
will, and must change, not that he, it may bee, doth it purposely, but tis their
naturall infirmitie, and cannot be helped. It was laid to our charge in times
passed to bee false, and changing, but they who excell us in all perfections,
would not for their honours sake, let us surpasse them in any one thing,
though that, and now are much more perfect, and excellent in that then wee,
so there is nothing left us, that they excell us not in, although in our greatest
fault.”

Amphilanthus heard her, but answered not to it, thinking an ill matter
better left then stirred. Lucenia was touched to the quick with this, yet dissembled
it, and so they rose, resolving to goe thence, the Lady bringing them
through the walkes, and over the Mote, being the pleasanter way to their
Horses and Chariots; but by the way, Musalina againe mooved her to discourse,
asking her, if it were possible for her to hold any correspondency
with that Lady her servant loved, and left her for. “Yes truly Madam”, said she,
“I have brought my selfe to it; wee doe often meete now adayes together,
and hunt together, and eate, and converse.”
“Doth she know you loved him”,
said Musalina.

“The whole Country did” (said she) “and therfore she could not be ignorant;
shee knew it Madam, and knew a bracelet of haire shee saw once about mine
arme (against my will) to be his, though I would have excused it, by saying,
twas my husbands, whose was something of that colour, but as much difference
betweene them, as betweene silke and woollen.”

“What satisfaction can she give you for entertaining him?” “Embracing and
cherishing his affection”
(answered the Lady) “for which I can love her”. “Did
she never urge any discourse concerning it?”

“Yes” (said shee), “and lately tooke occasion to speake, I am sure shee Aaa3 meant Aaa3v 376
meant of that, but cover’d it with the third person, an ordinary course in
such businesses, and this she said, that so much she could love a woman friend
as if she should be in love with the same man that shee loved, and had no other
meanes to obtaine, but by her leaving him, she would to doe her a pleasure,
and ease her torments yeeld him to her, at least leave him at liberty to
take her: I found what she aym’d at, and told her it was a new and an excellent
manner of expressing friendship but I should thinke she seemd a very
ignorant woman that would trust in that kind, and should shew more indiscretion
then perfect friendship in trying it, thus she could not catch mee”
;
by this they came to their Chariotts, and so they parted. Musalina asking
her, if she had a husband, “I had Madam”, said shee, “which was none of my
least afflictions or molestations”
, then kissing her, the rest likewise tooke leave
and so went on their journey, the Lady returning to her house, they directing
their Voyage towards the Gulfe, where they shipp’d, and sail’d towards
the Island Rocke, the Ladies in their disguises. Musalina an Amazon,
the Queene a Persian, but they were hindred a while by an other Ship, the
manner was this.

One standing upon the Hatches, sawe and knew Amphilanthus, who was
discoursing with the two brave Ladies, and commending the Queene of
Bulgaria for her choice of habit, becomming her so well, as it was a great
pitty, he said, she was not sole Lady of those parts, that dressing so well befitting
her; she tooke it like her owne conceit, and so as shee loud him better
for commending her, then for his owne worth, prising her selfe above
any worldly treasure, which he as finely made sport withall; by this Gentleman
causd his ship to lye aboard of the other; kneeling down to the King
he presented him with letters, then standing up delivered these words.

“The earths glory, and Italys blessing, famous Amphilanthus, receive these
from your friends, and Allies in Germany, it hath pleased Tyme to give period
to the Emperours daies, since whose decease many have made themselvs
competitors for the Crowne, but Ollorandus your worthy friend, having
the greatest stroake in the election, making all the assembly remember your
right hath chosen you, and truely Sir not only hee, but all, as soone as you
were named gave an equall consent, as if borne and made of one temper to
serve you, having justly chose you to it. Olorandus called me, who have the
honor to bee his kins-man, and in my youth his companion, but more honourd
mee in the Ambassage to bring this newes unto you, with all injoyns
you by the love betweene you two, not to refuse this gift, and Crowne;
he told me where I should finde you, and according to his directious I have
ordered my course, he feares the former made vow will carry you to the performance
of that; if so, he assures you he will hold the Empire safe for you
till you come, and therefore himselfe will not adventure the inchantment,
but if love doe not over-rule, he could wish you to leave all vaine attempts,
and come to Prague where he will attend you, and so waite on you to your
Coronation, if otherwise, you shall be secure, and hee your humble servant,
and loyall friend; my selfe Sir, am fortunate to bee commanded in this service
to you, whom above all men, I most honour, your own true vertue
causd that respect in me.”

Then did the King with much kindnesse use the Prince of Transilvania, who Aaa4r 377
who he understood this Embassador to be, by the letters he brought, hee accepted
the Crowne, but with a little nicenesse, professing himselfe not to bee
capable of such a dignity; but in conclusion, his answers being but complements,
he tooke the title given him, and gloried in nothing more, then that he
was so contentedly, and without one opposite voice chosen, onely he desired
to be permitted to conclude his first vow, which finished, he would repaire
into Germany, and to that end dispatched the Prince of Transilvania againe,
telling him, that love it was true did force him to this attempt, but what love
was it, except the desire he had to constant truth in holding vowes, and besides,
to have those famous Princes his friends, and Allies that were there inclosed,
to accompany him in his journey, for his greater honour, and the glorie
to the Empire. This satisfied the Prince, and so with letters of credence,
acceptation, and promise of his presence, hee returned a happy man; and so
had those parts reason to esteeme the like happinesse, when the excellent
Amphilanthus was to rule over them, who proceeded in his enterprise, and
landed on the Rocke, passing directly to the Theater, which opened to them,
and as he was the man most loving, and best beloved, so was part of the
Charme ended, al at his comming receiving their best senses, like their owne
cloaths about them, they ranne to welcome him, and begann to be ashamd
of their follies for being in disguise: but shee, whose minde knew onely
truth, rose likewise to salute him, and with such loyall love as joy of his sight
sprang like spring time in her face, before pale and Winter-like in sorrow.
He complementally saluted her, heeding none, but with civility used all, and
her little kindlier, though more respectively then the rest; then againe they
tooke their places being brought into a worse Charme then the first, because
now they perfectly saw and knew, misery to them that were subjects to
it, and such did Pamphilia feele, who returning to the seate, she had before
sate in, not only as she did alone, but viewed by all to be so. They infinitely
wished for the finall end, and she for hers; directly before her sat Musalina,
and the halfe fulfiller of the Adventure, a sad spectacle, but she must and did
indure it, though how, with such unquietnesse, affliction, and multitudes of
teares as what succeeded? losse of so much beauty, as made many have
cause (I meane slight lovers) to see her lesse amiable, then lesse love-worthy,
and so she was left, and this is the truth of mans affection, yet did hee not imagine,
or rather would not consider this was caused by his leaving her, she
poore Lady beholding nothing but affliction, and making her selfe the true
subject to it, yet did shee not, nor would accuse him, who was altogether
so faulty as condemnd to be, though more then she deserved unkind. Next
to Amphilanthus sate the Queene of Bulgaria, and by her, her husband
who arrived there just at their landing, glad without expression to see her,
her servant likewise of Jamboli came thither the next day, and according to
the manner sat downe on her other side between Amphilanthus and her
selfe, she would not, or might not, it may be, shew too much kindnesse to her
beloved in his presence, who though he were as loving a Husband as any, yet
his love was mixed with discreete care over her actions, and the more discretion
she was bound to use; she was not displeased to have her servant sit by
her, and because he should have no reason to remoove, shee still itcht neerer
her husband, holding him by the hand, which he took to be done out of perfectfect Aaa4v 378
per or fond love, while her head was prettily toss’d first to one side, then
to an other, as if she were choosing a looking-glasse, betweene two, which
to have, wherein she might see her faire follies best, yet if ever prid were to
be commended, it was there to be esteemed, for certainely that held her
vertuous, and so by that meanes one of the greatest sinnes grew like a vertue,
but no neerer being one, then the shadow of the purest Lilley in the
water, is one; neither having colour or sweetenesse of the Lilley, only shape
but blacke, and nothing of it selfe: no more good is in pride, but as it is sometimes,
and here, especially used, for a shadowed vertue. Ollorandus when
Amphilanthus resolud to adventure this place, did likewise thinke to doe so
too, for such a friend he was, as he imployd himselfe wholly to be his imitator,
& then did he best in his own opinion, when he did any thing, or said
any thing, like Amphilanthus; but yet he kept an unviolable affection to his
Melysinda, whōom he went to fetch to the adventure, but as he went, he met the
newes of the Emperours death, which hastned him home faster if it could
be, or if wings can be given of more speed then those of love with which hee
flew, yet hee had the fortune that travelling Princes have, for this chanced
to him.

A Gentleman he met all in mourning, his face more expressing it then
his cloathes, though in the exactest fashion for shape, and blacknes: armes
he had none, but his owne armes foulded within each other, his hat downe
in his eyes, his pace slow, his sighs many, his teares had spent themselves so
liberally before, as now he had none left to shed, the spring dry, and stop’d
with heavy sorrow, his speech when urg’d by Ollorandus to speake, was as if
frozen, and only melted, or thawed by good manners to give answere,
though but no deeper the thawe peirced then to make a little moistnes to
freeze the harder on it, for so few was his words, and so long before gain’d,
as it was almost like a hope of great content a lover promiseth himselfe when
he thinkes, after a long absence he shall enjoy his loves sight a whole day,
when that day comes his fed imagination, in conceit is so soone made to
sterve againe with the speedy passing of that time, as it is worse then if not
had, and indeed scarce is it had, because the expectation so much excells the
enjoying: so did the King in this, for when he had got him to answere once,
he provoked him with such discourse, as he thought should procure a large
scope of replye, but he only looked on him, sigh’d, & cry’d; “I am the perfect
scorne of fortune, what neede I, or can I say more?”
The Bohemian would
not thus be satisfied, but stil urged, the Gentleman stood still bare-headed
in respect to him, but more words hee got not of him for a great space, at last
fearing that too great incivility would bee layed to his charge, hee thus
spake. “Sir” said hee, “what offence have I given you, that you should seeke
this revenge on mee, to make mee wound my selfe with my owne miseries
relation? Alasse, consider when misfortune is befalne on, how
doth every one that loves him strive to keepe his discourse from his friends
eares, if hearing bee painefull? what is the telling it when the soule every
word that is spoken feeles torment? insencible tasting the harme,
knowing every corner of it, as an Architecture doth in the framed
building his imagination casteth: yet seeing their satisfaction can be obtained
but by this, I will speake what I am loath any but my owne heart should Bbb1r 379
should know, out of two reasons being so deare to me; one, because my dearest
deare was the Actor; the other, that the fulnesse of the griefe stor’d up,
might choake and kill my heart, and so send me to her; but your importunity
hath prevaild, and I have now set open the two gates of my silence to the
ruine, the enemy speech will bring to my soule.”

“I was borne to honour and dignity; wealth, and what men most esteeme,
I had plenty of; I was favoured by the King, imploy’d by his Majesty in office
and command; but what did I governe, when I was overrul’d by love?
A Lady I affected, she loved me, and spar’d not to give me all testimonies of
it, another sought me, I grew proud of it, and accepted her affection likewise;
the former saw it, wept to me, and tax’d me for it, I protested against
it and yet was guilty: shee at last (by my unpardonable offence) being certaine
of it, for I neglected her; this second I doted on, bewitch’d by her
charmes, she onely had power over me, shee could onely make mee doe any
thing: I left the Court almost for her, never thinking my selfe at rest, but
when I was with her; businesses were tedious to me, sought before by mee,
for I did love imployment til I imployed my selfe so ill, as to bee her servant;
shee, as I thought, as fond of mee, I joyed in that, and to satisfie her,
left all the world unsatisfied of me, and as many to scorne my weaknesse, as
in former time admir’d and loved my readinesse; my poore true love liv’d
this while disdaind, forsaken, and almost contemn’d, more wretched creature
I, who was ordain’d to doe that ill to spoyle my selfe with all. In this
time of my blindnesse another got my place in my masters brest growing so
powerfull and dangerous, as I was forced to oppose him; for hee spared
none to worke his owne ends on: I was unfortunate in that likewise; for
then was hee so mighty, and besides so ill, as hee forgetting all but himselfe
brought many into the Kings displeasure. I repin’d at that, and seeing at
last no remedy, tooke armes with many other, my friends, but too weake
wee were, and I taken by composition in mine owne Castle, yeelding on
condition all the rest should bee spard, that was granted, and I alone carried
to the Prison the greatest Traytors are carried unto, being called the Kings
Prison, there I lay ten dayes till every thing was ready for my arraignment,
then was I brought forth, and after by the great men condemn’d. I could
not say they did unjustly; for a subject ought not upon any termes to weare
armes against his rightfull King: I was contented with the censure, setled
my selfe to dye, and was grieved for nothing but that I should not kisse my
love before my death. The night before my appointed execution, when I
was meditating on my end, my Keeper came unto me, and with teares told
me the compassion he had of my estate; I desired him to forbeare putting me
into thoughts that might withdraw me frōom those more necessary & befitting
me at that time. He would not (as having a furder purpose) give over, but proceeded
till at last I found by him he had some plot for my delivery: then I
was more troubled between two doubts, one of the truth of this thing, whether
it were for my good, or only a trap to take me in, & so to make my death
more terrible & ignoble, when joyed with feare and base stealing a life, or if he
meant really, how it might be effected. These cōontrarieties put me into a great
perplexity; yet I stil held convenient discourse with him, who finding me uncertaine
in my answers, and suspitions of my selfe, brake out in these termes. Bbb I Bbb1v 380
‘I see, my Lord, my fortune to be so ill, as you (whom I most desire to serve)
mistrust me; alas, if love moov’d mee not, what plot should I have to put
my selfe into so eminent a danger? it is onely that hath wrought mee
to this, and yet I am mistrusted by you.’
I sought to appease his passion,
he then went on: ‘I have, my Lord’ said he, ‘layd the way, and a youth of my
acquaintance stayes below with the cords, shall (if you please) deliver you
from death and this place, it is more then time wee were about it, therefore
resolve what you will doe, and that speedily.’
I, hearing this, and looking on a clocke was in my chamber, found it
past midnight, straight led by a bold beliefe, gave consent to goe up and
downe at all houres, went forth, telling the watch hee was sent for a Gowne
for mee to weare the next day at my death; under colour of this, within a
long robe hee brought the ropes, which hee fastened to the barres of the
windowes, which were not so thicke placed, but one might easily get out;
the reason was the heighth made the feare of getting thence nothing: At
the bottome stood the youth hee spake of, and made the lower ends fast;
out hee went, first to shew mee the way and try if the cordes were fast,
then came up againe and helpd mee forth, staying till I was safely on the
ground, then untyed the cordes, and the youth loosed them below, so hee
drew them up, and in a fire in my chamber burn’d them, shutting the window,
and himselfe comming downe the ordinary way againe without suspition:
to any Gate hee durst not bring mee, for they were all so strongly
guarded, as no safety would be there; but, knowing all the passages, brought
mee to a little Garden then upon the wall, and there was a Posterne doore
low, and little, but bigge enough; but then another danger was how to goe
downe on the outside, the Castle standing on a maine Rocke; but the danger
wee soone passed, for with some scrambling wee got down holding by
one another; the youth, though weake, yet having a strong heart to save
mee, help’d beyond expectation: this man, my keeper, had a brother dwelt
hard by this place, thither he led us, and telling his brother hee was sent of
earnest busines concerning the State, got horses of him, and so wee posted,
the youth riding behinde me, holding me with so much affection as I imagin’d
it had beene his care for feare of slipping, but I injur’d him in that, for
his worthy selfe could never slip.
Wee rid thus, till wee arriv’d at a Castle of mine; but that not being of
strength sufficient, wee left it, and our wearied horses, furnishing our selves
better: the youth rid well, and I was carefull, though hee still besought
mee to heede my safety, hee weary, as weake, his horse being little lesse,
they fell, wherein hee was hurt; but at last hee sure wounded and tyred,
I pittied him, and more, when I saw his teares, which were not for his approching
end, as after I saw, letting some from mee to accompany his: hee
seeing them, ‘my Lord’, said hee, ‘weepe not for mee, nor shed those deare
teares for one who once might have had a life given by one of them;
but those dayes are passed, and now my ending as fast as may bee,
the bruise and death this fall brings mee, not being yet so cruell to mee as
the fall of your favour was; nor unwelcome, since chanced to mee in your
succour, I am to tell now the cause of my service: Love (my Lord) hath
brought me to this, and all other miseries, your scorne never having had power Bbb2r 381
power sufficient to make mee leave loving you which procur’d this action,
censure me then a lover and not immodest, no disguise could ever disguise
me, but still I lov’d you, nor put I any on but for your good, and so forced
to alter my habits, what have I taken but habits of the much worthier
Sexe? the noblier to serve you, not out of any wantonnesse, which heaven
can witnesse; for had I escaped this harme and you once safe, you
should not have knowne mee but as a poore youth affectionate to your safety,
I would againe have returned after the time of your imprisonment; I
tooke this resolution, putting my selfe to waite on one of the guard, and
never left prying up and downe to finde how I might assist you, till happy
fortune brought me to this man, whose affection I saw such towards you,
as I ventur’d, and hee likewise to attempt what now I joy to see perform’d;
and more, that my end is brought by so loving an occasion: farewell my
Lord, and I beseech you mourne not for mee, whom you thought so little
worthy of your love; cover any fault in this I have committed, with the
vaile of fervent affection; then shall I bee secure, and you noble. Weepe
not (deare Lord) for mee, I must bee gone, and in going shall bee molested
to see you sorrow for mee; bury mee, I beseech you, not heere, but in
some of your owne commands, that as I am yours, my dust may bee also
held in your ground; and then, lest you shall grieve for mee, I can now
give you leave to forget mee’
; then did shee faint, for this was my first and
truest Love.
I got her with much paine againe to life; shee blam’d mee for it, yet told
mee, such kindnesse had preserved us both if timely given: then with many
prayers for my safety, wishing all the blessing that heaven granted to any,
to bee powred on me, shee dyed in mine armes, breathing her last into my
breast; for I kiss’d her when her breath left her.”

“I buried her, as she desir’d, at a Castle of mine, whither we rid that night,
and there remained till my peace was made with the King, which hee was
willing to, and honour’d me so much, as I had satisfaction of my enemy; but
what was this to my losse, having lost the wonder of her Sexe for loyalty?
Besides, my second Lady, for whom I had left the faire patterne of vertuous
love, did shew me my ill by requiting me according to my merit; but not
from her, for of her I had deserved well, she never sent to me, never seem’d,
as I heard by all, sorry for me, but superficially, quickly chose another, and
like the worst of her Sexe, thought sorrow would hurt her complexion, and
so she might live unlov’d, grew merry, and thought no more of me, though
at the first she wept; but why? onely to shew how sweetly shee could looke
in teares, not shedding more then became her, & were safe from hurting her;
though every one, because they were hers, had, if seene, wounded mee.
When I came abroad againe with my pardon and the Kings favour, I met
her; shee, as not guilty, cheerefully and smilingly saluted mee: but I that
could leave the worthiest for her without a cause, could justly bee offended;
so as I spake not to her, nor since have looked on her, truely hating her very
sight, and in these habits have I continued, in this place doe I live this life,
if a life you will call it; yonder is the Castle shee lies buried in, with whom I
have buried all content, and with whom I will also lye, the Court I have left,
and all company, joying in nothing but my misery, and this I never relatedBbb2 ted Bbb2v 382
before, nor have I spoken so many words since I first suffered this unhappines,
nor will any more: therefore Sir now I beseech you permit mee
to bee silent, and to passe to my dying living.”
The King, who was a perfect
lover, could not but lament with him, and sorrow that so they should
part; but necessity compell’d, and he granted his demaund: the sad man
going in his wonted mauner, and the King holding his journey, still thinking
and musing of this adventure, till another put him out of it and brought
him to a little more mirth: A dainty young wench came led betweene two
hansome young men, one browne and lovely, the other faire and beautifull,
many Lads and Lasses attending them, some carrying flowers, others Garlands,
some fruite, some wine, every one having something to doe, and extreame
busie in that businesse, because it was love.

When they saw Ollorandus they ran to him and desired him to alight; for
hee was by the agreement to give judgement and end to this adventure:
hee wondred why they had chosen him, they said it was to be finished by
the next Knight they met, and that was himselfe; then they set a kinde of
Chayre up, which they carried with them, having joynts, and with engines
to bee placed any where, over his head they hung the flowers and garlands,
except one that was held for him to whom the prize was given; the
grownd they also strewed with flowers. Ollorandus sate still, admiring
what they would do with him, smiling within himselfe to thinke what Amphilanthus
would judge of him, if hee should finde thus attended and
set up so like a May-game Lord; but patiently he suffer’d them: When they
had done, the Speaker appointed, which was hee that held the Garland,
began thus.

“Excellent Judge may it please you to understand, this businesse consists of
divers matters, yet all the matter is love; a thing possessing all, a vaine passion
afflicting most; and yet this Gentleman M. Love hath no abiding, but
a meere run away when hee hath done mischiefe, and if followed, where is
hee found but in hearts? and there such straying harbours hee hath, as hee
is fortified even with strength against the masters of them. This youth
who will never bee old, hath wounded these two youths with one arrow,
for they love this Lasse: her hee hath wounded; but it seemes loving women
better then men hath taken more paines with her, and bestowed two
of her, for she loves them both; not being able to say whether she affecteth
most: it is no strange thing for a woman to love two or many; but the rarenesse
is that one of that nimble loving kinde, cannot take both and use them
after her own phantasie: to say women can love often is no wrong to them;
for who would not please themselves? and what greater pleasure then variety?
Is it possible for one to bee contented to live his whole life in one
roome, to heare but one speake, to converse but with one, to feede
but on one thought: if this bee hard, where is womens fault that delighteth
her selfe with change of Lovers? being but for that whereto
wee were borne to seeke our owne happinesse, and surely in that are
they most happy; for variety is their servant, waiting on them so diligently,
and so cherished by them, as they are the excellent Mistrisses
of that excelling pleasure: To prove this Sir, heere is a dainty
example in a dainty subject; rare in all parts, because rarest in it selfe, heere Bbb3r 383
here is a woman loves so equally, as shee cannot chuse betweene these, if
beauty want in one, lovelinesse chalengeth her liking; if beauty abound in
the one, sweetnes speakes for the other, she loves both, and so much as shee
wishes (if it were not for extreame losse) they were but one, and then shee
could satisfie her selfe, and that one; her’s yet a greater wonder, these two
Rivals are friends, not to say friends as not being enemies, but affectionate
friends, and such as it is almost hard for either of them to tell whether hee
loves her or his friend better, yet both are enamoured of her; This hath
continued two yeeres: now it is agreed on that the matter shall be judged
by the first Knight, you Sir are the man, and to whom you give her she shall
be contented with him, and leave the other.”
Ollorandus made answere that
the matter was nice, and a busines he no way desired to meddle in lest hee
might offend, not being able to judge to please all parties, but hee thought
that such mutuall affections were better held still as they were, lest division
might divide the perfect love betweene those friends; for said hee, “a wound
given in the arme, or body will heale, and grow together if the sides be kept
close, but kept open, it will (though heale) yet be in sundry parts; So if shee
be given to one, and from the other, it will breede a division in love, if not
still to be as at first enjoyed”
, They all then spake and desired judgement,
being resolute to stand to his censure, “Then must I” said Ollorandus, “require
one thing more for my perfecter ability, you must each of you speake for
your selves, and tell what you can claime to merit her, and what proofes
you can alleadge of her affections to you, and she must likewise tell her opinion,”
they consented, and the fairer youth beganne thus. “As I was one day
after hunting somewhat hott, and weary, having laide my selfe upon the
grasse under a large Oake, this beloved soule came tripping with such daintines
and sweete carelesnes, as I was surprised with her finenes; she cast her
eyes on me, but so, as if chance, not purpose of favour had procured mee
that grace, but howsoever, as dearely was her looke prized by me, and my
eyes as gladly met hers, as in old time the Gentiles held, the Sunne did kisse
the lippes of Osiris; she held her course, I rose, and followed her, shee turned,
and started a litle like a fearefull dainty Deere, and my deere she proved,
I tooke occasion to offer her my service seeing her alone least any rudenes
might be offered, she accepted it, and so I attended her home, she thanked
me, I tooke those thankes so kindly, as they bound mee I told her to
waite on her after to deserve the favour, not then having merited so much.
She disliked not of it, but welcommed me till she robb’d mee wholly of my,
heart, and then was I forced in good nature to goe still to visit that which
I had kept close, and untouched till that time in my breast, cherished I thinke
of purpose to make the perfecter, and purer sacrifice of it unto her love.
Then grewe we much more familiar, till at last I found I was her friend, for
she trusted me, and I was not curious to give her meanes to let her see I had
confidence in her; then would she ride, and sometimes as the seasons were,
goe a hunting, and made me beleeve she loved that sport for me. I was apt
enough to credit any thing that pleased me, and so I turned a very Novice
in love, and a blab to my fortunes, for I could not hbe contented with my
happinesse, being nothing me thought, if onely by my selfe enjoyed, and that
it were not likewise knowne to some friend of mine, who with mee might Bbb3 like- Bbb3v 384
likewise rejoyce. What were the stolen and sweet delights we had, if a
third did not also heare of them, and the discourse make the memory as
deere as the sweete obtaining? joy for enjoying at the instant is so full as
wraps up all sense in content, but absent a litle the consideration comes, and
presents these blessings so perfectly before our eyes, as then is the enjoying
of what with blisse was before gained; to give my selfe likewise this contentment
I discover’d all these passages to this my friend, hee at first smiled
at my follies as he call’d them, being free from passion. I was tormented to
see his dulnes, and could have chid my selfe for bestowing so many passionate
expressions, and pleasing discourses on him, at last he desired to see the
Tree from whence these loving branches grew. I brought him into a grove,
where I intreated him to lye close and not stirre upon any occasion, hee did
so, then came my Mistris, and my selfe alone together, and properly may
I say alone, for we were but one, though like two staulkes, or flowers of one
roote. We sate downe, we kissed, and he beheld us so well contented, as he
did wish himselfe the like, and I thinke the same fortune, which wish he after
gained; when he saw me take her hand and play with it, ‘Oh’ said he ‘that I
might but doe so while hee may have her lippes to doe him a pleasure’
, I
was as familiar with her as modestly I might, I intreated to see her legge,
she refused not, he being just before us saw it too, then did his love increase,
while I ignorantly and foolishly strove to make him see excellencies to robb
my selfe of them, yet he very discreetly covered his passion a pretty while,
still commending her, and so cunningly working into me, as I brought him
like mine heire to see my possessions; she beholding him lovely, and so winning,
as he fail’d not to win her, she as crafty as a woman ought to be that
will deceive, made much of him for my sake, and as my friend did make shew
of kindnes to him, I tooke it so, and this tyde me doubly to her. What I
thought would please her I studied and obtained, she commended Songs,
‘I am no Poet, but my friend is excellent’, said I, then did I desire him to say
some of his owne Verses, he did so, shee desired to heare more, hee still did
please her so, and at last made some to her, telling me he made them as from
me, and I most innocently gave them to her, and still did make him say
them, sounding sure farre sweeter in his mouth then any others. Her heart
being changed, or changing, but craftely she grewe more fond of me, and so
as I was me thought then too happy; strangely her love grewe to him, and
so violent, as he must either yeeld or be unkind, an odde occasion offered to
trye friendship, but love above all must have rule or wrong ever, he loved
as much as shee, shee loved as much as I, we both loved her, shee loved us
both, yet long acquaintance, and conversation having rooted affection twixt
us two, would not allow so foule a treason in a friend, wherefore he told
me of it, and withall confessed how much he loved her, ‘yet’ said hee ‘I will
leave what I love, and may obtaine, rather then my truth to you.’
I loved
his faith so much, and prized his worth so farre beyond my owne particular,
as I did freely condescend to his enjoying her if she would yeeld; alasse,
she had done so in her heart long before, and now with gladnes did embrace
his love, but still she held me on, and with as much delight accepted
me as ever. We had both what we desired, and she was free to both, at last
we spake but in the third person before her of such a woman, she discoursed as Bbb4r 385
as we did, & concluded as we did, that one woman might love two men lawfully,
and constantlier then one, and that it were much safer for a man to
have his friend his Rivall then to be alone. From this we came to particulars,
and so we were agreed, and then most friendly did continue loving, but
lately we desired to have our loves each onely to himselfe, for a litle suspition
is fallen between us that she doth not so equally carry her love as heretofore,
yet we will not fall out, but have put it to judgement, both resolved
to stand to the doome shalbe given us, and the other to leave her for ever to
his friend if he can keepe her so, he that hath her given to him shall have this
Garland with her as the triumph gained, she cannot her selfe decide the businesse,
her equall affection she sayes is the cause, but I beleeve she is still willing
to hold both, now Sir you see what my love was, and the beginning, the
middle, and almost the end”
, the other then with a pretty sweetnes beganne.
“Sir”, said he, “my friend and Rival hath truely related to you most part of our
loves, he was the cause of my affection, and my love-tye continues as firme to
him as ever; ’tis true I fel in love after him, and by his bringing me, but ’twas
his fault, for he told me his blessing with such feeling as me thought he took
paines to teach me to seek the like, and how nearer could I come to the likenes,
then to the same, like might faile therefore because my friend should see
no error in my choice, or carriage of my love, but to appeare as cleare unto
his eies of judgement as before when he made me his friend, I chose as he did
lov’d as he did, and with her consent & his, enjoyed as he did, the wonder
of this businesse consisting in this, but herein is no strangenes as I conjecture,
for we were so directly one in friendship, as we were but one, and therefore
though she had us both, she had but one, so excellent a woman lover she also
is, as she can bring her eyes, and heart to looke on both as one, and one as
both. I was against this I confesse in other times, but now thinke no such
love as when we may discourse of it, and in our discourse know how she behaves
her selfe, and so be able to discover which she most affects, and so strive
to gaine the others part: but she most loving, most discreet, judicially carried
her hand evenly, when he kissed one, I had the other, shee sate betweene
us still, and ever gave us even and indifferent graces, but now being cloyde I
thinke with this blessing we must divide, and she take one which she cannot
doe, therefore Sir, you must decide the question, shee sayes she will take either
with equall love, we will with equall content take or misse.”
She then
was to say something for her selfe, who thus did speake. “My Lord” said she,
“you heare by these two the story related of my love. I cannot but confesse
it is true, onely I beseech you not to thinke any lightnesse was more in these
affections then in the indifference of my choice, I loved this faire man I confesse
first, I had not then seene the other, but when I perceived his lovelines,
beauty me thought was more ordinary, and therefore I prized him dearer,
but when the faire youth came againe, brownnes appeared nothing so pleasing,
both together mee thought they were both fit to be beloved, and the
flawed-reproductiontwo charactersther both, because different complexions would hold one still to love one
of them; when affection to sweetnesse and delicatenesse possessed me I looked
on him, when love to fairnes, and whitenes claymed place, I turned to
the other, thus mee thinkes I loved equally, and so it was but one love being
still to one end, content and to be contented with those had made themselvesselues Bbb4v 386
one in all things, even love to me. It is most true, I am now brought
to choose one, for my father will have me marry, I cannot find in my heart
to refuse either, or have power to choose whether, I hope this freedome
which hath continued with us will not be a cause now to make mee lesse esteemed,
my love is the same it was, and therefore Sir, which you will allot
me to I must take.”

The first then spake againe, “doe not (great Judge) I beseech you favour me,
although I first did tell my tale, and first did love, to wrong my friend, hee
more deserves her then my selfe, and him she chose, I did choose her, therefore
bestowe her Sir on him.”
“No” said the other, “I lov’d her for your sake,
and love to you made my affection grow to her; therefore Sir, as hee first
did love, and chose for loves sake onely of her selfe, be not so cruell to bestow
her from him, he most, and best deserves her, let him have her.”
This
while she cast her eyes between them as they spake so amorously, as it seem’d
she cryd within her selfe, sweet Judge, adjudge mee both”; hee sate a while
still, at last, he brought forth this judgement.

“Both loving, both beloved, treason it were to part such blessednes, nor am
I able to cut so evenly by a threed, as to goe just in the middle way between
these affections: to give her to either, I can hardly doe it, since they beg
for either; You faire indifferent creatures, are not it seemes to bee displeased,
nor will I offend either, therefore this shall be my judgement. Take the
Garland, and you who hold it now, tye her scarfe over her eyes, then both
shall come at once to you, and to which you give the Garland hee shall bee
your husband, blinde Love made this equality, blinde fortune is onely fit to
decide it.”
She tooke the Garland, when the other two both at once kneeld
to the Judge, and at once spake these words all one, and so justly deliver’d,
as shewed their hearts one, beseeching him, that since the Garland did so
well in her hand, she might keepe it still, and crowne her selfe as Lady of the
oddest passion, they would as before passionatly loving, equally leave her,
“and now faire Mayde” said they, “to avoid your trouble in choyce, or after
choosing, we will both leave you; seeke and take a third, and crowne him
with a single love if you can.”

Ollorandus liked the oddnes of this best of all, she blush’d and faine would
have spoken, but they went away, and left her like all-changing women to
glory in her owne folly, or to cover her selfe with her owne shame, yet shee
tooke a changers boldnesse on her. “My Lord”, said she, “I humbly thanke you
for your judgement, and your noble care of me, I am no more troubled
with their leaving, then I should have joyed in having them; onely I am sorry
that you must be a witnesse, that the fault lyes on your sexe, when you
come (if ever) againe to censure Lovers, be more pittifull to us, and this is
all, I liv’d before I loved them, and shall (I trust) live, and love againe without
them”
: So they parted, Ollorandus having had sport for his paines in sitting
so long, and the standers by satisfied with uncertainty, and so all parted:
The King towards Prague, he met his Melysinda three daies journey
neerer, having knowledge of his comming, by the messenger that brought
him the newes of the Emperours death.

Then they together went to that ancient brave City, thence to a place
where all the Princes by a generall consent met, and chose Amphilanthus their Ccc1r 387
their Emperour, who by being King of the Romanes might claime it; not
one voice was against him, but all like one cracke of Thunder sounded his
name.

Then was the Prince of Transilnuvania dispatched to him, who met him as
is before said, and returnd with the answere, whereupon Ollorandus was his
Deputy till his arrivall, which was not long after: the fine Nimph, and delicate
Veralinda lived together this time, passing the heate of the day at the
Fountaine, and in the shadow, the rest abroad, never weary of any time but
night, which they accused of too great cruelty in holding thēem asunder, which
faire Veralinda often would have helped in her wish, but her Father would
not permit it. One day as shee was sitting alone, expecting her deare companion,
the grave Shepherd, her Father, came unto her, and looking steedily
on her, wept; she was amazed, and sweetest soule weept too, to see his teares;
he then embracing her, “my dearer heart” (said he) “I must leave thee, and this
makes my teares.”

“Alas Sir” (said shee) “let mee never see that day, or heare those bitter
words againe.”
“It is most true”, said he, “I am commanded and I must obey,
the God that gave mee thee, appointeth this, grieve not for this, it will (I
hope) bee for eternall joy to you. I am warned in my sleepe to send you
hence unto an Island, where you shall be blessed with happiest successe, goe
then and take this Cabinet with you, but open not the Boxe untill the adventure
you shall see be ended, then open it, and remember me.”
She was amazd
but he did comfort her. “How shall I goe”, said shee, “alone unguided? Will
you cast me out? Have I deserved so ill, thus to be throwne away? O Father,
keepe me with you, or else let me stay but by you, that I may but see
your face, and therein shall I be most blessed.”
“Alas sweet, and deare Veralinda,
I must not agree to thy demand, but yet beleeve me, you will not repent, alone
you need not goe, you shall have servants who you will, besides, the
Nimph will goe with you, she met me now, and I acquainted her, and shee
is gone a litle hence, to send the Shepheard, her deare friend, to provide horses
for you; now lament no more, nor grieve to see my teares which are to
part with you, not that they can fortell least harme to you, but losse to me of
your loved sight.”
Veralinda wept againe, other faire Shepherdesses came, but
none of them she would so farre grace as to tell her fortune to, save onely
to Melantha the same Lasse the Shepheard lov’d. Shee straight resolv’d to
leave Archadia and all else, to goe with her, so this concluded, they staid in
the Grove till fine Leonia, and the Shepheard came, with whom they went
away, and straite to Corinth tooke their journey, there they Shipp’d, and
passd unto the Rocke, where landing, she went to the Theater, and looking
up she read the words, Leonia reading in her eyes, at that instant the Gate opened,
but with such Musicke as amazed them all, as wel those at the entring,
as the troopes within, all they at that time falling into a sweet slumber with
the delicacie of the charming Musicke. Leonia went in with her, and passed
along viewing each one, and knowing most, pittying some, and grieving for
their Fates, not knowing what should come when Apollo appear’d, commanding
Veralinda to touch them with a rod he threw her down; she did so when
they all awaked, and held each one his lover by the hand, then stood they up,
and as amazed gazed on the Shepherdesse, and Nimph. Amphilanthus at Ccc his Ccc1v 388
his waking tooke Musalinas hand, but quickly let it goe againe. Pamphilia
rose, and Leandrus from her feete, but touched her not, though gazed
on her face, Musalina did the like on Amphilanthus. When this was done, and
all the couples stood round as the roome was, suddenly the Chaires were vanished,
and a Pillar of Gold stood in their stead, on which hung a Booke, every
one there strove to take that down, but none could gaine it; Pamphilia and
Urania came, they both resolved to try, but the first place was given by their
consents unto Urania, who tooke it downe, wherewith the inchantment partly
ended as the Musique and charme, but the house remayning and the Pillar
of Gold, as memory of the bravest inchantment that inclosed the number of
the worthiest the world did ever know. The Booke Amphilanthus tooke and
tryed to open, but though Urania had got it, she must have Veralindas help to
open it, which being lent her she got, the house then vanished, & they found
in the Booke the whole story of Urania, and how that after shee was stollen
by the Duke as before was confessed by himselfe, and then from him by robbers.

This wise man who had made this inchantment preserved her, tooke
her from those robbers, left the purse and mantle with her to be the meanes
for those that took her up to cherish her, & then being Lord of this Island, framed
this inchantment, whither he knew she should come and give part of the
conclusion to it, & so appeare fit to deserve his care, which she might thanke
him for; the next story was of Veralinda, which was this. The King of Frigia
had many children by his first wife, then married he againe, and by his
second onely had one daughter, whose nativity being cast, it was found shee
should rule a great people, and weare a Crowne; this made doubt that she
should governe over that Kingdome, that bred jealousie, & jealousie hate, so
as her brothers when she suck’d, laid a plot to destroy her, & brib’d a servant
of theirs to kil the Infant. He undertook it, but was prevented likewise by the
same divine power Urania was protected by, for he that should have murther’d
her, onely tooke her from her Nurse, whom he had enticed forth into
a wood to walke, there he left her bound & muffl’d that she could not speake,
and so fled with the Babe unto the Sea shipping himselfe, and with the reward
he had for the supposed act, he desyring to have it before hand, that
he neede not tarry after the execution, hee got into Morea, and so into
Arcadia, warned in a dreame to doe so; for the Kings Shepheard hee inquired,
and to him gave the childe, which hee (having no childe) willingly
tooke, all things agreeing so well, as plainely shewed the divine providence
ordained it. Hee bred her up untill that time that hee was also in his
sleepe appointed to send her thence to the Island, the Lord of this Island
a learned man knewe all this, and made the delicate adventure for her
discovery, and the tryall of love. When this was discovered, all they
that before envied, and almost hated her, who appearing meane, had the
power they wanted, came and saluted her; the Nimph knowing her
to bee a Princesse likewise came, and with a pretty blush discovered himselfe,
shewing that hee was ashamed of his habite, and yet that habite
became that blush. Amphilanthus was glad to heare that his brother
hadde shewed his valour upon so cruell a Beast, and in the defences of
so excellent a creature, but could have chid him els for disguising himselfe,selfe Ccc2r 389
had not Love, and as hee saw Destiny appointed it so; but Leonius
in his mans habits, againe came with more feare to Veralinda then before,
to whom he spake in this manner.

“Fairest Princesse, I hope your estate will not make you forget the estate
you lived in love, I am the Knight you loved as a Knight, I am the man, who
for feare you lov’d me not, to move your love made my selfe a woman, and
the same man that loves if you cheerish, else dies if you forsake.”
“I am (my
Lord)”
said shee, “the woman that loves you as much, or more, if possible,
then I did, having so many more bonds to tye me unto it; my life I owe
you, I will pay it you, by spending it in being yours, and now I know my
selfe to be a Princesse, the freelyer will I say this, being the fitter for you”
;
then opened she the Cabinet wherein she found a writing in the Shepherds
hand, made betweene him and the other who should have kild her, therein
had she conditioned, that he should bring her up most carefully, call her Veralinda,
not to discover this secret to her, but when shee was to leave the
place, not to suffer her to marry any but a Prince. These conditions he kept,
and so gave her the Cabinet, the Nimph he knew made to confesse himselfe
to him, out of care of her, and then he consented to the journey, thus was
she preserved and in her true love had a faire dwelling.

Pamphilia was glad of her being her neighbour by Pamphilia, and glader
her Cousen should have such a fortune, for now they knew her to bee heire,
for her brothers having envy more abounding then good nature, fell out,
first with their mother in law, then with one another, lastly with their Father,
tooke armes against him, imprisoned him, then in two battailes one
against another, some taking part with the Father, they were all kill’d, the
old man outliving them, and shame him, grieving that he was their Father,
though their faults were nothing a kinne to him, for he was vertuous.

The Lord of the Island, a grave old man, came to the royall company,
to every one he gave his blessing at their parting, and to Pamphilia, he promised
to assist her when she should have most need, so they parted, shee thinking
she had already neede enough of him, but most of anothers ayde. All
returned to Corinth where triumphs were made for their comming, Amphilanthus
presently after taking his journey towards Italy, and so to Germany,
accompanied with all the men Princes, the Ladies appointed to stay
there with the King of Morea till their returne, when as all the lovers should
be made happy with their long desired loves in marriage, for the Parents and
friends of all were agreed, onely Pamphilia was unpromised, for she was her
owne, but as she had unfortunately given her selfe. They being all departed,
the Queene of Naples, & her Cousen the Pamphilian Queene walked abroad,
she sad, her noble friend comforting her, not being able on such a sudden to
mistrust the cause of her griefe which she onely attributed to parting, and so
wholly touch’d on that string she was loth to satisfie her, because her spirit
disdained to say she was lost, but most because she could not say so, but the
saying blemished his worth; this made her more carefull then any other respect.
Much the excellent Queene admired at her sadnes, and uncertaine answeres,
oft she was about to urge her, but againe she let it passe, purposing by
circumstance rather then plaine dealing to worke it out of her, or by some
other to gaine the knowledge, which at last by the Queene of Bulgaria Ccc2 who Ccc2v 390
who but newly was come amongst them, and onely had hard of Pamphilia,
but never seene her till the conclusion of the Charmes, speaking of many
things came out with Amphilanthus his especiall respect to Musalina. This
judiciall Queene had enough then, and too much, having a wound, for shee
loved Pamphilia, who, poore Lady went up and downe like the shadow of
her selfe; into saddest walkes which were there shee often went, and with
her owne thoughts discoursed, “What have I done”, said she, “that makes me
thus unfortunate? Dearer then my selfe to me deale yet but thus kindly, or
if it be too much for me, all kindnesse being bereft me, doe justly, and therin
like your selfe, and let me know my fault. Alas, is it I, by you once made
blessed, was not, or am not fit to enjoy it? if so, slake, but not deprive me
(wretched me) quite of your favour, and in so curst a sort as gives folkes
leave to say, I am abandoned, and shun’d. I have beene more esteemed.
Cruell remembrance will you also add to my misery: flye me, or if you
stay, serve then to vexe me while I accuse onely you”
; then shee cast some
Verses Sonnet-waies in her thoughts, which were these.

“Cruell Remembrance alas now be still, Put me not on the Racke to torture me: I doe confesse my greatest misery Lives in your plenty, my last harme your skill. Poyson, and Venome onely once doe kill, While you perpetually new mischiefes see, To vexe my soule with endlesse memory, Leaving no thought that may increase my ill. Els have you neede to tell me I was blest, Rich in the treasure of content, and love, When I like him, or her had sweetest rest But passd like daies, you stay and vexings prove. Chang’d from all favours you add unto despaire Who under these waights grone, most wretched are.”

“Most wretched indeed”, cry’d she, “and such an one am I; cruellest (yet
worthy still for all your scorne) What have I deserved to be thus tormented,
and forsaken? Tell me, and use mee crueller if that may be, so you
then make an ende, and againe receive me into favour: my soule vowes I
am ignorant of any offence willingly committed: did my slight going to
to the Sea offend you? Alas, I went but with others, and drawne against
my will, my heart still remaining cleare: no, it was not that, but thither I
was carried to be absent for wicked change to worke in that time in your
heart, and so to ruine mee.”
Urania then came to her when shee seemed
to cease her complaints, but shee found her sorrowes, and strove to advise
her. She still put it off, and would not (unto her) confes, but
dissembled; Urania would many times give occasion, as then she did, to
discover her melancholy. “I would” (said Pamphilia) “we were gone from hence I Ccc3r 391
I hate this Corinth, and long to see Arcadia againe.”
“Soone” said Urania, “you
will be there as I heare; but will your sadnesse end then?”
“No”, said shee, “I
should hate my selfe as ill as I doe this place, if I should doe so, change cannot
nor must not aspire to worke such effect in mee.”
“Change” (said Urania)
“deserves no honour; but discretion may make you discerne when you
should bee constant, and when discreete, and thus you doe not change but
continue, judiciall as alwayes you have beene.”
“Were you so discreet”, said
Pamphilia? “when time was, as I remember, you were forced to bee wash’d
before you could manifest your judgement in leaving: but (sweet Urania)
doe not you prove an enemy to mee, though mine owne eyes and heart have
turn’d to my destruction, bee still a noble friend, and make proofe of it by
pittying, not by striving to make mee more unhappy, which I shall bee, if
I let in that worthlesse humour change, which I can never doe till I can
change my selfe, and have new creation and another soule; for this is true
and loyall.”

Urania did grant her request in her heart before shee asked it; for shee
did, and had pittyed her ever since shee saw her misfortune grow upon her,
but feare lest it would too deepely root in her, made her (though against her
owne minde) advise, for that thing her excellent selfe ever hated, love made
this in her to strive to preferre a servant she would not entertaine; but severall
bodies must have severall cures, yet this is no cure; for Pamphilia will
not change.

As they were thus discoursing, came Musalina and the selfe-loving
Queene. Urania was glad, because shee hoped company would assist her
desire in her Cousens good; but shee was deceiv’d, for Pamphilia was in company,
and alone much one, shee could bee in greatest assemblies as private
with her owne thoughts, as if in her Cabinet, and there have as much discourse
with her imagination and cruell memory, as if in the presence. Musalina
with great respect and shew of love, did put her selfe often into her
company; shee, after her sad fashion, did entertaine her, few wordes serv’d
her turne, and yet because shee would not bee thought too covetous, shee
gave them store of sighes to counterpoise the want of speech. The Queene
of Bulgaria one day would needs tell Musalina, Pamphilia of so much an
admired Lady, was the dullest shee ever saw. Musalina desired her for her
owne sake to speake that but to her, “for” (said she) “the world will doubt much
of that judgement, that taxeth her for dulnesse”
; so she againe urg’d discourse
to the sad Lady, shee answer’d short but smartly enough: at last Musalina
ask’d her what was become of the Rhodian Lady? “return’d”, said shee, “with
sorrow and sufficient shame, if there can bee sufficient for such a fault.”
Then
did Musalina desire to know the story, which so daintily and sharply Pamphilia
related to her, as in it she made her see, she understood love in all fortunes
perfectly; this discourse might have made the Queene see her error, but shee
never went so farre as to weigh the excellency of the discourse, but heeded
only the tale fitter for her capacity. Then came Meriana, who but newly acquainted
with Pamphilia, yet had given so full a love to her, as if growing
many yeares, and with her best lovers pittied her: with her Pamphilia often
discours’d, and with a younger and halfe Sister of hers, who was a Lady
of that sweetnesse and delicacie, as she was indeed the most delicatest of that Ccc3 time Ccc3v 392
time for admirable beauty, having a minde answerable for excellency to
that body, which was without compare for exquisite perfection. They two
were the onely Ladies (except Urania) that she would keepe company withall;
for these were so discreet, and free from the vanities of other women,
as were onely fit to accompany so much worth in sadnesse. Musalina would
come in for one; but Pamphilia would seeke them if absent. One night after
supper, Meriana and Pamphilia went from the company by themselves into
the Garden, the Moone shin’d, and the evening was sweet and pleasing, both
were (if pleasure could be to either one of them, troubled with absence, the
other with losse) pleased with that time, and walke, Meriana intreated Pamphilia
to favour her so much as to say some verses to her; “for”, said shee, “I
heare deare Sister, you are excellent in Poetry”
: “I have written something”,
said Pamphilia; “but so sad they are, as onely fit me to heare, and keepe”: “Not
so deare Pamphilia”
, said she; “for, beleeve it your Sister hath no joyfull heart,
what face soever I show, therefore saddest verses will please me best”
: “you
shall have such”
said shee, “but I seldome make any but Sonnets, and they are
not so sweet in rehearsing as others that come more roundly off; but if you
will heare some, I that can denye you nothing, will say one to you which
I made not long since, and so is the freshest in my minde.”

“Unquiet griefe, search further in my heart, If place bee found which thou hast not possest; Or so much space can build hopes smallest rest: Take it, ’tis thine, mine is the lodge of smart. Dispaire, dispaire hath us’d the skilfulst art, To ruine hope, and murther easefull rest: O me, dispaire, my Vine of hope hath prest, Ravish’d the grapes, the leaves left for my part. Yet Ruler griefe, nor thou Despaire deny, This last request proclaimes ’twas not suspect Graffed this bud of sorrow in my brest: But knowledge dayly doth my losse descry. Cold love’s now match’d with care, change with respect, When true flames livd, these false fires were supprest.”

Meriana lik’d them extreamly well commending them above measure,
and earnestly desiring the Copy, the other promised her it and many
more; so they walkd on a while, when the delicate Ladyes Perselina and
Philistella came unto them, and telling them it grew late, they went in for
that night, the two Sisters together, and Pamphilia with her Sister to her
lodging, where likewise they parted, Philistella to rest, but the distempered
Pamphilia to her nightly complaints, to teares, sobbes and groanes, and this
was her quiet: Seldome would these brave Ladies let her bee alone in the
day time, and Veralinda would bee much with her, all indeed seeking her
contentment, but she must not have it; the Queene of Naples as earnestly
as any, or above any wishing it. Dancings and all Court sports were daily in Ccc4r 393
in action among them, while she sate with much adoe beholding them, but
her selfe none of the number, shee that before was excelling in her apparrell
more delicate then any, and none comming neere her for daintinesse in that
kinde, now wore only black, and in wearing that as carelesse, as before extreame
curious, her hayre that was before, but with greatest care dressed,
shee onely kept cleane, and neglectively wore it, no jewels came about her;
so as she was a mourner in stead of the most sumptuous habits shee was wont
to honour the Court withall: with her trusty servant the Duke of Pergamus
she did only converse, for the men kinde, and would sometimes let him
see her weepe, who did heartily pitty her and best might; for hee had seene
her bless’d, and knowne the time shee was as much happy as now distressed.
When she did sigh and grieve, he would also mourne; “never” (would he say)
“could I have imagined to see this change, had beauty wonne him, worth invited
him, beyond either in you, more tollerable had this beene”
; “but pray
thee torment me not”
, cryed she, “with this; she is (I confesse) as worthy as
any, and deserves as much as woman can doe to be belov’d, and so much, as
were I a man, I should love her; no fault is in the choyce, but in his unkindnes
to me, unkindnes, which is the only murderer of my blisse; had he done
any thing but so unkindly leave me, I had been satisfied; had he by degrees
given me my death, more easily I had gain’d it; or, had he plainly told me his
determination to love no longer, it had more justly come; but suddenly and
undeservedly to cast me off; in stead of love, to give me frownes; for smiles,
scornes; for respect, contempt; and all unlook’d for, or, unmistrusted; it
wounds my very soule. I innocently like my love went towards him, smil’d
with the same true joy I alwayes felt in his sight; hee held his countenance
grave, and saluted me like a Queene, but not as a friend or lover: this was
strange, as I at first thought, it strooke me to the heart, yet would I not see it,
but spake as I was used, telling him I hoped that poore Pamphilia should be
honour’d with his presence once againe. He soberly, I am loth to say, curstly,
replyed, it was too late, my soule shook with those words, and too soone did
they shew my misery. Who did, or could ever thinke to see him thus cruell?
what did he seeme to delight in more then me, or in comparison of me? did
he take comfort in any thing else? this is the crueller to me now he is changed,
& like given to the heart, strikes sure for curing; yet is this, though most
true, vanity in me to remember I have done.”
Thus shee would complaine,
but only to him who knew the continuance of her love, and had seene her
once to be coverd; but like flames, the more pressed to rise the higher, and
now blowne elsewhere by a wavering winde. The Ladies had every day letters
from the travelling Court, Pamphilia had some from her brothers and
Cousen Leonius, but else shee heard no newes. Amphilanthus had forgot to
write; but she at last gain’d one letter from him, by one from her which was
respective, and yet sad; his answer was short, but complementall; “this”, said
she, “was not wont to be his stile, but I must be content”: nothing did she see
or heare, but still of his glory and his love. “This was once”, said shee, “belonging
unto me, but I was not worthy of them, sure else he had not alter’d.”
Meriana
likewise to make her discourse, & passe away the time, would often tell
her stories she had knowne of his affection. “Alas”, would she say, “would some
good body would tell her he was once, and but lately as kindly mine; for it grieves Ccc4v 394
grieves me more to heare her speak of it (since each word wounds my soule)
then if all should only talke of it, because I know she loves me, & unwillingly
will hurt me: she is deceiv’d and betrai’d in this course, she would not be
a meanes to cut my life-strings with this cruelty; some noble body tell her
how hee lov’d me, how I still love him, and then she will no more molest me,
nor abase our loves. Sweet Meriana, those dayes now are pass’d of my best
delights, be not you an increaser of my woe, but curst remembrance, for no
new act of his in this change presents it selfe, but gives a deaths blow to our
ancient loves. I could almost be brought to tell it her my selfe, and would,
were it not to discover his forgetfulnes and cruelty; but rather then my lips
shall give the least way to discover any fault in him, I wil conceale all though
they breake my heart; and if I only could be saved by accusing him, I sooner
would be secret and so dye: no, my love will not let me use thee ill; then be
it as it is, Ile live forsaken and forlorne, yet silently I will indure this wrong,
nor once blame him to any others eare, for deare (alas) he is to me, deare to
my eyes, deare to my thoughts, and dearest to my heart; since he will ravish
that poore part of all the joy and sweet content it ever had, converting it to
bitter lasting paine.”
Cruelly she thus remain’d perplex’d, and cloathd in the
wofull’st robe of griefe: what a miserable spectacle was this, to see her, once
the comfort of the Court, the starre that guided all the sweet delights, now
the poore testimony of another creature, griefe having so decayed her, as
she seem’d scarce so like her selfe as an ill picture to the life, her chamber &
her thoughts were only bound to her, or rather she to them, and thus did she
remaine the sad example of forsaken love. The other Ladies loving in mirth
and happinesse, wanton with it like Kids in the Sunne, for blessing shin’d on
them, and that, this afflicted Lady did (she said) once know. The Emperour
and all his Kings and Princes held their way for Italy; at last ariving at
Rome, where the Pope sent the whole Clergy, and Nobility to meete him
without the Towne, and with great pompe and joy conducted him to the
chiefe Church to give thanks, & then unto the Castle. Triumphs began that
night, and the next day continued, and many dayes, to expresse the content
of the Emperours arrivall; but by his command, all dangerous sports of the
field were forbidden, because he would have no bloud mixed with his entering.
Just they did, but their speares had burs at the points for feare of piercing:
after Supper they had Barriers, and all imitation of that brave warre
they had lately bravely beene in, and the Concluders of it.

To Naples he went to see his owne Country and People, where hee was
affectionately and sumptuously entertain’d, surpassing all other places in
magnificence, as in affection to their owne Prince: thence hee went to most
parts of Italy that were in his way, or not much out of it, till he came to the
neerest part of Germany, and so passd without any adventure, carying the
keyes as one may say, of all those places to open his passage which way hee
pleas’d, never so pleasant a journey, all hearts contented, leaving discontent
as an unprofitable thing at home; Buda, Prague, Vienna, all places he saw that
were of worth, & traveld over the most part of Germany to see the strengths,
& sometime for pleasure visited others. At Franckford he was crown’d with
the greatest applause & content that ever Emperor was, & with the best reason,
for he was the most worthy, and famous that ever reign’d onuver them; but to Ddd1r 395
to all this joy, a little sorrow, would needs come in, for Leandrus after the
Coronation, whether with heate, or over-exercising himselfe at these triumphs,
striving to excell all in shew of love, fell sicke of a Plurisie, a disease
little known then, which not being seene time enough, or then taken, he died
thereof, before his death writing a letter to Pamphilia, and inclosing an infinite
rich Ring within it, which he besought her, although he believed, shee
cared not for it; yet to keepe in memory of him, who most affectionately and
loyally loved her; so as though her love should not suffer in his death, but
as he loved her, yet she might, when she looked on that, say, the Master of this
loved me. These he gave in charge to Leonius to send her, which hee did,
comming to gher one morning, after she had endured a sad and unquiet night;
for she having got away from the company, shut her doore, pretending to
sleepe; but poore Lady little rest did shee enjoy, carrying the enemy within
her selfe, that held her eyes unclosed: her heart oppressed, and befriended
her in nothing, except furnishing her with teares, and new cause still to shed
them. “O Pamphilia” (cride she) “was thy creation for thy ruine? was thy birth
given thee, to have a life wholly in affliction? were all contrarieties to pleasure
joyned together for thee to possesse, and vertues given thee to be undone
by? else why was this rare excellent qualitie of constancy alotted thee?
was judgement given me, to make the worthiest choice, wholly to discerne; I
chose well, but to bee rewarded with that leane benefit, and losse to bee my
gaine. Did I reject the firme, and spotles love of that excellent Prince Steriamus,
the humble suites of all the greatest subjects, and neighbour Princes,
slighted the earnestnesse of the noble Prince Leandrus, refused all, and made
myselfe a Vassell in affection to him, that weighes neither mee, nor these expressions
of love? I have done all this, and I yet have not done enough; for,
O how worthy is he? though unkind to mee, you might yet most cruell man
have shewed more gratefulnesse, and I had been contented, no colour you
have to excuse that with all, for you knew my love, you seemed to cherish it,
all eyes saw it too, for my face shewed it, I strove for nothing more then
meanes to declare it, mine eyes did looke but for meanes, to shew how they
and I were won by you, my lipps have parted from themselves to let my
tongue make true confession of that you then seemd with expressefull joy,
and content to entertaine. Where is that love now gone? where is that
content you embraced, departed, and with that instant forgotten? the Heavens
will yet for me witnes my unchanged heart, and unstained affection: the
aire hath been, and is so fild with my complaints and protestations, as I wonder
it doth not like Ordinance rattle in your eares: the Sunne hath blushed
for you, the Moone been pale, and wan, nay hid her face from my teares
which I have shed for your inconstancy. All things heavenly and earthly pitie
me, except your selfe, from whom onely good by pitie may arise. Why
did I open my heart alone to your love, shutting it to all other motions to be
thus carelessely throwne off? but I am well enough requited, since had I fortunatly
held these passions in me, the fiercenes of them might by this have rid
me of these during torments, & have left this poore body a loyall sacrifice to
love, & the love of the most ungrateful. Ungrateful, why do I cal him so? pardōon
me dearest, though despising deere, I wrong you more in this title, which is
the worst that can be given to māan, then you have injur’d me though with unmeritedDdd merrited Ddd1v 396
deceit; it was a certaine and too great confidence, joyned with assurance,
of what I most desired, that betrayed mee, and my joyes with it, else
I might sooner have seene, if not maskt with innocent belief, and abusd with
trust, or am I punished for aspiring to the joy, soules on earth can best, and
chiefliest covet, as blest with injoying, in having your fixed love. Oh confidence,
I feare tis you that I must curse, you are the honest, though unfortunat
chanced-ill that have untied my hope. Was it good nature made him so refraine
my sight and presence, nay, unlesse by force my words, and that because
you cannot love still, nor wil say so in charitie, you will avoide all, if so be yet
more mercifull, and multiply your pitie with this free increase, kil me at once
for all; torture me not with sorrowes, I will truly and religiously confesse, I
am not worthy of you; but it is not my fault, I wish I were so fit, as you might
ever love, and such an one as all the world might thinke fit for you, then I
know you would be just: nor wish I this for any benefit, but for your love;
for else in the comparison of other gaine unto my selfe, or any other then
your loved selfe, I rather would wish to be a Black-moore, or any thing more
dreadfull, then allure affection to me, if not from you; thus would I be to merit
your loved favour, the other to shew my selfe purer, then either purest
White or Black: but faith will not prevaile, I am forsaken and despised,
why dye I not? it is not fit, no, tis not fit, I still must live, and feele more
cause of woe, or better to say, to see my cause of woe.”

“Cruell forsaker, looke but once on mee, or rather on my love, there you
shall find if unremoveable affection, and zealous truth can seeme deserts, I
will, and doe deserve you in them better then any, and more then any, if not
not, my selfe againe shall doe; my ceaselesse plaints may some way claime reward,
my nights spent wholly in salt floods of teares, eyes turned to swelling
Rivers, may lament that they and I should thus regardlesse passe: some other
motives, which your selfe best knowes, might tie you in a bond more
kind and gratefull: but these I urge not, be your owne best selfe, and as once
you were, then will you still be free from cruelty, if not accused by Justice
selfe, and then too large a punishment will second the offence. Offence, alas
I cannot call it one, for I am yours, and may not you dispose of yours, as best
doth like your selfe? Yet is there meanes to helpe, if you please to assist, if not
condemned, I will remaine, till I may have my end, which most I wish, and
speedily I trust to gaine, then if your once most vallued, vertuous gratefulnesse
be sent, twill be too late, only this good I may receive, or my cold ashes
for mee, that when my death shall come unto your eares, your matchlesse
heart may be content to let a sad thought hold you for a while, and if so, too
too much for mee, who still do wish your blessednesse.”

In this manner unluckie Princesse, shee passed that night, till day appeared;
“Ay mee sad night”, said shee, “have you now left mee too? shall light
afresh perplex mee? my waylings fitter were to bide in you, afflictions sounded
best in you, darke, blacke and terrible, as you were; is my state, uncomfortable,
and affrighrted howers, suted better with my woes, my fortune
like your face, my hopes blacker then your saddest Mantle, whose dulnesse
changeth them into despaire, yet liked I you farre better, then this
flattering approaching day: you truely shewed my selfe unto my selfe,
you were mine eyes to make mee see my selfe, and how farre distant I remained Ddd2r 397
remaind from comfort in my want.”
Then turned she in her bed, and put her
sad afflicted face into the pillow to hide day from her, which she needed not,
her eyes labouring so fast to deliver themselves of her teares, as their shewers
were sufficient clouds, to dim all sight with them.

As she thus lay, her Maide that waited next unto her, came in, but not daring
(though so bold as to come into the chamber, being more then without
extraordinary businesse she durst doe) to speake to her, a little opened the
curtaine, and laid a letter by her, shee started at it, and asked from whom it
came: “from the Prince Leonius”, said she. With that she instantly went out againe.
Pamphilia opened it, and finding another within, her heart rise a little
in deluding hope; but by the little day that was (her bed standing to the
window) she saw quickly what it was. “And is it come to this” (said she) “most
true Leandrus? I could (me thinks) for thy sake blame my selfe, for being cruell
to thee; yet maist thou rather thanke me, who would not dissemble with
thee, not having any love for thee, that I would not deceive thee. This token
of thy earnest faith and love Ile keep for thee, and weare it for thee, nor ever
part with it, untill I die, and then bequeath it to that Person I shall most affect,
and make my choicest friend, these teares I shed for thee, and pay them as
the offerings to thy death. O love, O crueltie; see how you governe
mee.”

Then came the King and Queene, and all the brave Ladies, some to comfort,
some to advise, some and many to gaze; most verily believing, her sadnesse
before had been for absence, now expressed for his death, but that
death-sorrowing-cause was before happened, that molested her, yet she took
this upon her, though in respect of his faith to her, shee was sorry to set a colour
of deceit upon any thing that concerned him, but this businesse never
concerned her self, and yet her noble gratefulnesse chid her for it. She wept,
they comforted, they counselled, shee lay silent, and grieved beyond their
helpe; her parents most lovingly and kindly advised, she shewed both humilitie
in the suffering, and humble thankefulnesse for their cares; yet did modestly,
and respectively let them see, twas lonelines she desired, which they
granted her.

No sooner were they out of the doore, but they were called againe by a
shrike her woman gave, for she with violence of passion held in before them,
having no vent, would burst, overcame her: they strove to recover her; Father,
Mother, Friend, Sisters, Urania, al did their best, at last they brought her
out of her swound, when she sighed, groaned, and cri’d, “O cruell”; then againe
fainted, and thus did shee thrice; but at last comming to her selfe, shee was
saying more; but her senses comming apace to her, she found it unfit, and
too many Counsellors by; wherefore she againe desired to be alone, and that
was all she required of them, which for her satisfaction was allowed her, and
being alone she thus began, or rather continued her complaints which could
have no new beginning never having end.

“What have I done but sorrow? nay, what shall I ever else doe? salves I can
have none to ease me, nor so much as give me shew of it. O Urania, how maist
thou in thy heart chide the murderer of thy affectionate, but miserable Cosin?
Parselius how wilt thou deny acquaintance, and friendship with so wavering
a creature? did not he say, and write he loved me? did not his still winningDdd2 ning Ddd2v 398
eyes assure me, and his sweete charming speech confirme me in this beleife?
I am not then deceived; deceived, O yes, but not in judgment, but
by faulshood. O faulshood, what pitty is it that thou shouldest invest thy selfe
in so sweete, and delicate attyre? once I remember I told him of his change
when he left Antissia, he denyed it not, but excused it with having chosen
better, and so to chuse was no fault, but it seemes the best is not found, unhappy
I, must behold these dayes, and be left, who most unchangeably love
him.”
Then came Urania againe unto her, whose hand Pamphilia tooke, and
wringing it, wept, and sighed, having scarce breath left her to breath her
sighs with; Urania seeing her passion, and the assurance of her end if thus
she continued, whom as her selfe she loved, like such a friend, and a discreet,
Counsellor joyned in commission with her friendship, she thus spake.

“My deerest Cousen” said shee, “let neither my presence (having put my
selfe contrary to your seeming desires of lonelynes into your company) nor
my speech wholy proceeding from affection be displeasing to you: Stoppe
these teares which else will find no stay but in your end, give not occasion
for love to see so much his victory, and to tryumph over your brave, and
matchlesse spirit, or for Man to glory, that our weaknes meeting their faulshood
can submit so low as to their tyranny.”

“Where is that judgment, and discreet govern’d spirit, for which this and
all other places that have beene happy with the knowledge of your name,
hath made you famous? will you now fall under the low groanes of the
meanest esteemed passion? Where is that resolution, which full of brave
knowledge, despised the greatest Princes when they wore loves livery; must
this sinke, while his tossing follies swimme? shall your excellent vertues
bee drowned in the Sea of weaknesse? call your powers together, you
that have been admired for a Masculine spirit, will you descend below
the poorest Femenine in love? If he be dead you loved, love his memory
discreetly: how would he grieve, if he could into that joyfull place where he
is, see you torment your selfe; nay, sorrow infinitely to see such inability in
her, whom he had chosen to rule himselfe and his? if your people knew this,
how can they hope of your government, that can no better governe one
poore passion? how can you command others, that cannot master your selfe;
or make laws, that cannot counsel, or soveraignise over a poore thought? yet
it may be you are not in some kind faulty altogether in this, since it may bee a
living love perplexeth you, if so, it is worse, for will you lie here wasting your
dayes and hopeful time in this tormenting fashion, keeping that secret, which
told, it may be would helpe you? let passion since possessing you, breathe it
selfe forth; and though you will not demand helpe; yet if the blessing of
your affection were knowne to him, who it may be, lives ignorant of the happinesse,
all content without question would be offered you: speak then, and
as to your selfe if you will not trust mee, and I will but by chance over-heare
you, I am sure you cannot affect impossibilities. If hee be false, will you vex
your selfe, when you may rather bee glad you discover it before too far misfortune
assayled you, as longer ingagement would produce? if cruell, were it
not better he matched else-where, then that you had fallen into that unhappinesse?
if unconstant (which is a thing familiar with men) take a good heart,
and hate that humour by your owne worthy constancy, and seeke to preserve your Ddd3r 399
your excellent beauty, and let not so uncertaine a qualitie hurt you: beautie
is besides a vertue counted among men of that excellent worth, as it wil draw
their hearts as Adamants doe Iron: yet in this the comparison is not so proper,
their hearts too tender to resist an easier invitement, but I say beauty will
sooner compasse ones desires in love, then any other vertue, since that is the
attractive power, though worth is often made the glosse of their change,
which they are in many places forced to take such paines to find, & found is
scarce enough to be called so, not being more then just will serve turne to be
termed worth, not worth the travell of seeking, yet if some, better then no
shadow for their fault. Preserve your health, then that must continue your
beauty, let not the world blame you with just cause, you have grieved enough
for men everlastingly to curse themselves, that one of their kind should give
occasion of sorrow to the most deserving woman; all is yet well, you may
with care, recover what is something touched, and in time see his repentance
which you may pity, or bee more wise, and respect in stead of loving
him, who how worthy in all else, deserves not one of these teares, if false to
you, let him goe and rejoyce, you see his imperfections before you were tyed
to them, yet bee sure you mistake him not, or unmeritingly condemne
him, for then the falshood will be laid to your charge, and his clearenes will
make you more blame worthy. This I advise as my selfe would be advised
if in such extremity, and this I say to you my dearest Cosin, and would say,
though I knew it were mine owne brother had caused this mischiefe.”
“Your
brother”
(said Pamphilia) “if faulty, might yet challenge more care from you,
and testimonie of love, who ought as a sister rather to hide, or cover his imperfections.”

“So I would to any, but to you” (said Urania) “who suffer I perceive so
extreamely for him.”
“Pardon me”, said she, “I accuse him not, farre is it from
my heart to blame him, which causelesly I should doe. You therefore conclude
too briefly on my words, but for me my onely friend and dearest Cosin,
this world hath no helpe left for mee in store, but a speedy end, which all
that love me, with me should soone wish it to me; yet I must say some thing
in loves defence, whom you so much condemne that I have read in all stories,
and at all times, that the wisest, bravest, and most excellent men have
been lovers, and are subject to this passion.”
“I grant you that” (said Urania) “but
have you not withall found by just observation, that it was a blemish to their
other excelling vertues?”
“Why sweet Urania” (said she) “what hath love done
to you, to make you thus bitter against him? do you not happily enjoy what
you desire? are you ambitious to any thing within his authority, which hee
brings not to your wishes end, yet you revile and despise him, who but plaid
with you in hurts, and cloyes you with his favours, while I tormented with
his fury, prove not ungrateful.”
“I am not ungrateful”, said Urania, “but fortunate, I
am not his slave. I love Love, as he should be loved, & so deare Lady do you,
and then you will plainly see, he is not such a Deity, as your Idolatry makes
him, but a good child well use flattred, an insolent thing comming over our
harts, as children over the poore birds they catch before they can flie, thinking
they master them, when indeede it is their want of wings makes their
bondage; and so deare Cosin it is our want of courage and judgement makes
us his slaves: take heart to your noble, and knowing selfe, and let him bee Ddd3 as Ddd3v 400
as he is now a proud, then puling Babe.”
“Alasse my friend” said she, “how sorry
am I your excellēent counsell is bestowed on one so little deserving it, as not being
able to right it by following it, which I am not able to doe, but some
answere I must make to you, I am so wholy his as it is past mistaking, the
wound being given mee deepely by his unkindnes which martyrs mee, not
that I am forsaken doe I lament, but my true loyall forlorne heart within
me, bewailes the misfortune it undergoes, by being displaced from that
most loved, being which was in his breast, once cherisht, or flattered there;
now to returne to this miserable prison my body, which is nothing
but dispaire.”

“Thus you see it is truth, and such truth as only shall have end by my
miserable dayes conclusion. To leave him for being false, would shew my
love was not for his sake, but mine owne, that because he loved me, I therefore
loved him, but when hee leaves I can doe so to. O no deere Cousen I
loved him for himselfe, and would have loved him had hee not loved mee,
and will love though he dispise me; this is true love, and if not this the contrary,
should I rejoyce for misse of any ill might from trusting, or being true
to his amisse, in such bond had my blessing beene, and my curse the fayling
of them, or had they hapned. Pamphilia must be of a new composition before
she can let such thoughts fall into her constant breast, which is a Sanctuary
of zealous affection, and so well hath love instructed me, as I can never leave
my master nor his precepts, but still maintaine a vertuous constancy.”
“Tis pittie”
said Urania, “that ever that fruitlesse thing Constancy was taught you
as a vertue, since for vertues sake you will love it, as having true possession
of your soule, but understand, this vertue hath limits to hold it in, being a
vertue, but thus that it is a vice in them that breake it, but those with whom
it is broken, are by the breach free to leave or choose againe where more
staidnes may be found; besides tis a dangerous thing to hold that opinion,
which in time will prove flat heresie. Rise now deere Cousine, and if not to
receive, yet to give comfort to the King and Queene who are afflicted excessively
with your sorrow; dissemble not with me, for you may see by my discourse
I know the roote of your distemper, yet this satisfaction I will give
your mind, that so secret I will be in my knowledge, as I will not speake of it
to your selfe if not to serve you with all, yet I will ever accuse, and blame
unworthy inconstancy.”
“To fulfill your desire, and obay your counsell as much
as I can, I will rise”
, answered Pamphilia, “but only to content my Parents, and
please you, else little joy or pleasure can I take in this world, but when you
have me with you, you must permit me to complaine unto my selfe, I will
never trouble any eares but those of mine owne soule with my sorrowes, otherwise
should I deale unkindly with mine owne heart”
, “come abroad and
doe what you will”
said Urania, “nor will I hinder, or seeke to alter you from
griefe so it be moderated with judgment, expressing in some sorrowing your
matchles goodnes, and noble disposition.”
Thus did the divine Urania againe
by her excellent wit conquer, having brought Perissus from a desolate and
sad life to a fortunate, and now Pamphilia to let the Court bee happy with
seeing her though in sadnes, yet a joy to all harts. The Emperour being at
Prage, Leonius desired leave to returne to Corinth, and thence to carry his
beautyfull, and beloved Veralinda to her father, not doubting but to gaine his Ddd4r 401
his consent for their hoped-for marriage, and so to bring her bake into Morea
against the other marriages, where his might make up one of the blessed
number. His request was granted, and so he tooke leave, desiring to
travell alone, trusting to doe something fit for his birth and bloud, to make
his meeting more welcome to his friends. He parted as hee desired, onely
one Squire attending him, hee pass’d the rest of Germany without adventure,
those parts so wrapt in joy, and content, as an adventure durst not appeare,
for feare of beating; but in Bulgaria he had one sufficient to answer,
for all the rest of his quiet passage.

Riding through a great Forrest, for many daies he met no man, or creature,
but heard wild beasts roare, and make hideous noyses; his Squire and
he pass’d on, he thinking of his Love, the other how to avoid the danger of
that place if suddenly surprised by those fierce inhabitants. As thus they
travelled, a Gentlewoman came riding very fast towards them, her countenance
shewed distresse, her apparell good, and comely, but her face sad, and
perplexed, shewing frightfulnesse so perfectly, as shee was (one might say
truely) disturb’d, or a very exact dissembler. When she came nere Leonius,
she cast her eyes upon him, “O” cry’d shee, “that courtesie were lodging equall
to beauty in this Knight”
; hee hearing her, “Faire Gentlewoman”, said hee,
“what reason have I given you to doubt my desire to serve you, should not
answer any outward person?”
“Truely Sir”, said shee, “my owne misfortune
makes me doubt, which hath beene such hitherunto, as never any could so
justly say, lived forlorne of happinesse, and this makes me suspitious of any,
but misery.”
“Alas” said he, “how can it be, that you should bee made faire, to
fall into so foule mischance?”
“I am” (said shee) “the most afflicted living, and
will let you see it, although you assist me not, for you shall heare my story,
and if that may moove, I may be bless’d; but first, I beseech you tell mee
your name.”
“I am call’d” (said hee) “Leonius, Sonne to the King of Naples”,
“and brother” said she, “I hope to the famous Emperour.” “Yes indeed” (said he)
“it is my happines to have that honour.” “You are most happy in that”, said she,
“and now have I a little share, me thinkes, of content, that I have mine eyes
bless’d with the sight of his brother, who wants no harts, but tongues sufficient
to set out his praise, having all that are created already to the full that
blessing can enjoy.”

“My fortune Sir” (said shee) “is this, I had a Father, and he many children,
but in the number had, as MerchantsMerchants have among their wares, some good,
some bad, mixed as the mothers were of disposition, which being many had
severall heires: for foure wives he had, my mother the last, by whom he had
my selfe, and one brother, who liueslives and is all (if any) comfort I have; this
youth and I bredd together increased affection and love most betweene us,
so as we loved more then any other two: the elder scorning us, what for our
young yeares, and so want of discretion fit to accompany them, or for
being but halfe in bloud, had but halfe affection shewed towards us. I know
not the truth, but sure I am, I feele the hurt and want. At last my father died,
leaving us to the eldest sonne, who used us well and kindly, but hee died soone
after, leaving the second to succeed him; which he did for the estate, but not
for goodnesse, hee being as unkind and curst, as the other was affable and loving;
he kept us, tis true, but how? only from starving; for plenty wee were scanted Ddd4v 402
scanted both of meanes and content, while frowardnes and ill natures was in
aboundance. Then did this brother marry, and wed more ill humours, for
she was richer in ill nature, then he that was like a sacke of woole, stuffed with
wickednes. A third, and then second Brother lived, whose ill out-sprung
(though an after plant) the elder; hee went so far as hee left no ill unpractised,
not so much as that he ventur’d not once to attempt the staine of my
chastity, and his shame in me. This indeede made my hate uncurable, and
like a fire hapned, where Oyle, pitch, rosin, flax, and all such cumbustable
matters are together, can be quenched with nothing till the ruine shewes
the tryumph: so my wrong can be heal’d by nothing but the deadliest reveng.
This I was not able to obtaine my selfe, but I was forced to demand
helpe, and acquaint my deere brother withall, who twise met him in the
feild, but both brought home hurt alike, and like resembling death, none
knowing the quarrell but my selfe, or had all beene assured of it, none like
me could have grieved; now perceiving that thus no end would be of the
injury, we alone but for our selves travelled from that place to a Castle not
far hence, the desertnes of it, and this place only furnished with wild
beasts, making it abandoned of them, and most that love pleasure. We were
suffered to be quiet heere, whether out of love to themselves, or hate to us,
hoping to heare daily of our ruine, but contrary to their wish we have continued
heere three yeares unhurt, yet not unharmd, because I have beene
the cause of hurt too many brave Gentleman like your selfe who have honour’d
me, and truth with adventuring cheering yet have perished, my brothers
being infinite strong, and lucky in their adventures. This I confesse
hath so much perplexed me, as I have almost resolved never to entreat any
more to favour me rather then that they should dye to revenge me so worthles
a creature; yet Sir you are of so brave a Stocke, and brother to so happy
a King, as I may me thinkes hope on you, yet as you are bound most for
these, besides the hopes your owne person may give, I will not urge you
least I should be so luckles as to procure least harme to you, for Sir there is
no pitty, nor good to be expected frōom them if you fall into their hands, wherfore
I will sooner, & more willingly consentconsent to remaine thus wronged, dishonor’d,
& overthrowne, then seeke to be ayded by your harme”
; Leonius the more
cunningly, and finely she insinuated by intreating, and denying, won
more on him, so as he told her if it pleased her to put that confidence in him,
he would lay that life at her feete, and the feete of Justice which she seemed
so much to respect, and that he would encounter her brother to right her
honour touched by him. She humbly thanked him, and so led him towards
a Castle standing in the middest of the wood, where he was received with
much respect by him who was her Lord, and brother to her as she said; into
the Castle they went, the gate shut againe, and a Mote being about the
Castle, a Bridg was drawne up, Leonius liked it not extreamely well, yet she
telling him twas for their safety, he pass’d on satisfied with her answere; the
Lord with al respect, & kindnes in a friends part acted, welcom’d him: at supper
delicate, and fine fare was set before him, no truth in affection, nor exact
counterfetting could better be acted; sad Leonius was, whether foretelling
his danger, or the hideous noyses and roaring of the Beasts, made as melancholly
a passion on his minde, as their voyces were to the eares of the hearers Eee1r 403
hearers. After supper he walked up and downe, seeming just the picture of his
brave brother, who seldome was other then a noble retired spirit to it selfe,
demanded. To his chamber he then was carried by the Lord and Lady, there
found he a brave roome furnished with stuffe, and Plate fit for a Prince his
lodging, he weary, and willing to see the time when he might againe be blessed
with Veralindas sight, he went to bed, folding his armes, wishing his Mistrisse
instead of her imagined selfe, had been betweene them; he sighed, and
turned as if from vaine hopes, and put himselfe within the clothes to cover
his folly, as impossible wishes ever are. Long he had not rested, when from
that he was cald, as a little being too much for him, many men came in, the
first carrying Candles, the rest a Banket; he sat up in his bed admiring the
maner, when the Lady came to him, & drank to him, willing him to be merry,
“and” (said she) “rejoyce, for now you are fallen into the hands”, with that
making a signe, & his eies being fixt on her, besides a little heavy, so quickly
discernd not the treason, as otherwise he had; cords were throwne over his
armes, and he made prisoner. “Vilanous treason”, cryd he, “of any, and most destable
of any other, what is the cause, what is the meaning of this? I am indeed
falne, but how? by treachery and falshood in a faire Counterfetter, but foulest
in the being false.”
She laughed to see him tide, and told him, she never saw
chaines better become a Knights armes, then his, especially they ought to sit
best on the Emperours brother next himselfe, whom she wished in his place,
though he were on that condition free. He said no more, but was tormented
inwardly as much, as so noble a spirit could be, but he with all careful and desirous
to free himself, if he could catch opportunity. They careles desird him
to rise and go with them, heedles of his watch, which they repented; for he rising,
found the chaines so loose, as he slipt out of them, and getting his sword
which lay ever with him drawne, such a busines he made among thēem, as many
were hurt, and some kild, the Lady he kickt over, & with al contempt told
her, that he would die like a Prince, hating her abominable trechery, & Iscorning
more her falshood, then plot. Some of the servants ran to their Lord, to
let him know the accident, and to know what should bee done; hee in his
Gowne and only his shirt under it, his sword in his hand following the servants,
who when they came to the chamber, let him (as being their Master)
have the place to enter, they indeede not daring to venture againe into the
roome. He went in, finding Leonius then upon one of his men, and him he best
loved, ready to strike off his head; “Hold your hand”, said he, “brave Prince, and
end your quarrell on me more meriting the blow.”
“All of you”, said he, “equally
merit punishment for disloialty, but you indeed most, being the greatest, and
therfore most unfit to be ill, but ill beeing most punish-worthy”
, still holding
his sword over the man. “What may I do” (said the Lord) “to satisfie you?” “To
give me liberty”
(said Leonius) “although it be my due, being brought hither to
serve your faithlesse Sister: I will not bee so poore to aske; yet if I must
make my choice, I will be content with this, let us two as we are in our shirts
fight for liberty or imprisonment, if you overcome, I will remaine willingly
your gaine, if I vanquish, let me have liberty to depart, and on these conditions
I will save the life of this creature.”
“I am content”, said the Lord. With
that he threw his Gowne off.

“Nay stay” (said the favourd man), “my safty shal not prove harme any more to Eee him Eee1v 404
him that gives me life, call your sonne, and your other servants, conjure him
and them to performe this condition”
; well was this liked, and so performed.
Then did Leonius, and the Castle Lord fight so daintily and valiantly, as never
was any combat like it, naked men bravely performing, what discourses
or Romancies strive with excellentest witty descriptions, to expresse in
Knights armed, curious in their arming, and carefull. Here is no defence but
vallour, and good fortune; armour, but delicate shirts, and more delicate
skinnes; sheilds, but noble breasts of steele sufficient, being strong in worth
yet the noblest must overcome, so did Leonius, who having kild the Lord, having
himselfe received some wounds, but none very dangerous, stood still
looking on the young Lord, who with teares beheld his father dead, and casting
his eyes like a noble Gentleman on Leonius, “Sir” (said he) “you have now
the conquest, and shall have the conditions kept with you, which were made
by my father.”
In weeping he cald for a Chirurgion, who dressed his wounds,
seeking first for helpe for his father, but there was no hope; he nobly deliverd
the Armes againe belonging to Leonius, to him: when he had received
them, and saw all things justly performed, which was by the mankind promised,
he desired one thing more of the Gentleman, whose harme brought him
good, which was, to know the truth of the busines. “My Lord” (said he) “the
truth is this, there is nothing true which she related unto you but faigned, a
divers others have been to worke her end: She is not sister, nor any thing that
good is to my dead Lord, but a creature kept by him, this my young Lord
being sonne by his vertuous and worthy wife, whose heart was broken by
his immoderate affection to this woman; she hated all worth, and now surely
was cloyd with him, striving by all meanes to put him into dangerous adventures,
not caring what shee did, so she had her pleasure. No weeke had
passed, that she hath not had one, or two of such like businesses, faigning falshoods,
and discourses as she found their Persons shee met withall, especially
hating the Emperour for his, and your fathers sake, who gave offence to her,
by having in his youth a while liked her mother, and for necessity of the place
surely more then affection having enjoyed, after left her. This (as leaving is
a hatefull thing to women upon what termes soever) and she doubting her
end would grow unto it, vowed all hurt to your illustrious family, and to the
end she laid this trap for you.”
Leonius took his leave of the young Lord, who
brought him out of the Castle to see him safe, permitting his Chirurgion to
goe with him, turning the vild creature out of his gates alone, and unprovided
of any thing but her wickednesse, wherewith she was plentifully furnished,
and all that with her selfe enjoyed by the wild beasts. Noble was this act,
for a brave enemy gaines equall fame by nobly using his enemy as by cherishing
his friend. Leonius tooke his journey, and way still, as he pretended to
his Mistrisse; he passed Bulgaria, hating it for this mischiefe, and without any
save neate adventure, which was this, gaind right against Corinth. A passionate
man walked up and downe the Sands, being upon the Strand of the Gulfe of
Lepanto
, somtimes viewing Heaven, craving aide from thence, then the earth
blaming her cruelty; “alas”, cryd he “pitiles Heaven that could view, and permit
such extremity, to suffer so chastly loyall a Love to end in so sad a sort. Who
could (but you) have beheld her dying, and not succour her?”
With that the
Prince went to him, desiring to heare the whole discourse, who having urgd, the Eee2r 405
the passionate Man spake thus. “I am not tied” (said he) “to make the relation; but
I must know one thing before I speake, which is, whether you bee a lover
or not, if you bee, I shall the more willingly speake, because you will understand
mee, else I shall bee loth to bestow much passionate breath so much in
vaine, to one that will no more esteeme of it, then of an old tale.”
The Prince
gave him full satisfaction of his being a lover, when the Man said thus. “This
unfortunate piece of mankind you see here, is called Cilandrus. I am of Corinth
borne, and bred a Merchant; a Knight in that City had a daughter cald
Lendrina, of admirable beauty, and such as by the just admiring it brought
many, and most to be her servants, all gazing on her, as on a Meteor, she knew
her perfections, otherwise she had not deserved them; but being too exact
in knowledge was proud of their rarenesse, and so farre as she thought them
not fit to be bestowed on any, none being worthy of them. Men of all sorts
sued unto her, she had answers of all kinds answerable to their estates to bestow
on them; but the Prince he saw her, and liked her, she thought he must
not for her owne honour being an assured credit, as shee esteemed it, or bee
sought by him, who shee falsely imagined might command all, entertained
him, but how? not fondly, nor so kindly, but as she used him respectively, yet
she made him sue, and labour for his ends. She would meete him at places
appointed, but as if she were without him to have gone to them, & by chance
met him. Out of the Towne she would goe to a house of her fathers, thither
would he goe to visit her, and to see how the aire (the pretended cause of her
going) agreed with her. She accepted of his visits, and tooke them as graces
to her, and would favour him so farre, as to come to the Towne with him, so
as he attended her to her house, for she loved the noise of love, as wel as love
it selfe, thinking it a brave thing to heare it said, ‘the Prince visits Lendrina,
the Prince seekes, and sues to her, the Prince is in love with Lendrina.’
This
folly puft her up, so as she in time grew like a Rose over-blowne, loosing her
more in youth exquisite beauty, yet her mind was as full of ambition, and
pride. I yet reverenced her, for surely she was honest, folly and vanity rather
working, then want of vertue, though stoor’d with those vices. A Nobleman
also of that Towne fell enamoured of her, although he would not have
had it, said so, because a brave, but unfortunate Lady lov’d him to that height
of expression, and length of time, as gratefulnesse boldly challenged love, but
that she scarce had being forced to be contented with a few good words seldome
visits, and cold promises, she poore Lady loving so fervently, as if nothing
else did moove. That made Lendrina proud to have his love from her,
but when her beauty began to fade, the Prince his affection grew like a coole
evening after a hot day, yet still showing love; this discoverd, how did shee
jumble up her wits, and not only hers, but also the best braines of her friends,
or helps in her affections busines? What poasting was there up an downe?
what consultations, plots for meetings, but with whom? with the other
Lord, and he (brave Gentleman abused by their crafts) made believe her affection
was such to him, as for him she would leave the Prince, and in comparison
of her love to him, hated all else. Hee began to believe it, and some
reason hee had, because shee made her high mind stoope to come to places
where shee might encounter him; his true lover heard of it, and so farre it
wrought in her kind heart, as she fell sicke almost to death: but something he Eee2 did Eee2v 406
did comfort her, although so faint his words were, and weake his protestations,
as but that she willing to cosen her selfe with good opinion of him, shee
might have thought them dissemblings, which for the good I beare her, and
deserved honour she meriteth, God grant she find not so, and this should all
Lovers wish, for when she dyes, love will never find so certaine an habitation,
and that want he will shortly have, for the noble Lady cannot long sustaine
with this induring, and this grieves me, for I honour, and love her most
of any woman, except her for whom these my sorrows are; deep, and remedilesse
are the wounds unkindnesse brings in love, grievous the cruelty ungratitude
brings forth, but these are as usuall now among us, as faire seasons in
Sommer: He came one day into a roome where she remained, and woare a
colour which she had procured him once for her sake (hating it) to leave, and
never more to weare, she looked on it as he doth on the Axe, whose head is
to be taken off with it: her heart smarted, and shee was perplexed, yet durst
she not find falt, but sadly told him, she had not seene him weare that colour
in many yeares before. ‘No’ quoth he, ‘nor now but a little’, ‘it is in great request’
(said she) ‘at this time’; ‘is it’, said he? ‘Why, who doth love it?’ She feared to tell
him whom she doubted, and was well assured affected it, but put it off, and
laid it on another. Alas, poore and pure love, what governours hast thou,
and fond commanders, that thou canst not bee just unto thy selfe for feare of
overseers? and yet what overseers feare you? but those that oversee their
true respect, and makes you blind to truth? I saw her another time (for being
a lover like her, I loved solitarinesse) alone laid by a River side the most
pleasant place that my eyes ever saw, and fittest for passion to gaine libertie
in, having all such delicasies in sight, and varietie, as these her speeches will let
you understand to be sweet, but silent hearers of her paines. ‘O Heavens, Earth,
Plaines, Mountaines, Hills, Forrests, Rivers, Springs, Caves, Feilds, Hearbs,
Vines, Woods, Groves, Flowers, Masse, Rocks, Trees, witnesse my faith and
love, and say for me that you grew not, spring not, runne not, flow not, sencibly
increase, nourish, graze, prosper, and inrich but these, and they oft told
have bin in me, and my estate; I have been happy like your best rich yeere, I
have despaird, and do like dearth I have flowed, and swom in pleasure, I am
dried in sorrow and despaire, I have bin all, and now am nothing but a poore
sad thing to say I was; force me not deare remembrance to these harmes, if
you helpe not I shall waste enough, and doe.’
These tooke I to my selfe, and
paraleld my fortunes with her woes: but what availd? shee cryd, and grieved
remedilesly, so do I too.”
“My thinks”, said Leonius, “you rather, or as willingly set
forth her sorrowes, as your owne, the strangenesse of her worthines in truth
makes me to speake so much of hers, mine being but as shadowes to them,
though true substances of miseries, and the more perfect in being like hers,
who is the perfectest lover”
, she I say” (said he) “who never yet saw storme to
stirre her thoughts, though Shipwrackt in his scorne; no wind blew her to
change, nor change had gliding neare her, much lesse stay, but to my
paines, Sir this it is. The Lady beloved and sought, had a Gentlewoman
attending on her, who had, and hath full rule of mee, shee faire
and delicate, knew shee might bee, or ought to bee beloved, looked
like a Princesse secure in her estate, where all hearts were hers, so shee
smiled on mee, as on a subject, I tooke it more kindlie, and so wrapped my selfe Eee3r 407
selfe willingly into the Snare; for when I came to her, and out of hope imboldned
craved her favor, she told me she was not Marchandise, nor to bee
gaind that way, but her love was free, and freely should be given. I quaked
at that instant like a child before the rod; but after I tooke courage, and againe
persued, but yet prevailed not, for her affections were placed on a
Gentleman Steward of the house, a fine man, and such an one as meriteth
the title, delicate in his apparell, Courtly in his discourse, and as a young man
passionate in shew, and curious in his behaviour like a Courtier, these prevailed
with her; his perfumes ascended above my desearts, his neatnes beyond
my estate, and his fairenes exceeded my merits, but I envy not his fortune,
nor did I hate any thing but my misfortune, nor have I reason, for hee
enjoyed her not so much as to marriage, which would he had though I had
ever lost, and gaind but only sight of her, deerer to me then millions of injoyings
of Kingdomes were they offer’d me, while I must still want her, who
being too too rich a prize for man, or Earth, is calld away, and only Heaven
fit for her, she doth injoy that place, Hells tormenting furyes lying still in me,
shee’s dead, deere love and perfect beauty ending with her.”
“But by your favour”
said Leonius, “I should lesse lament her losse since she was an others, then
had shee beene mine owne in part, what is an others treasure to mee? but
more, what is the griefe to see that which my selfe most loveth and coveteth,
to be possest by an other? the possession would so much afflict me, as the second
losse would never trouble me.”
“You assuredly Sir” (said he) “are no lover,
if one, but a faint one, and such an affecter as gaine is your love, nor can losse
trouble you, for you being a selfe lover, love but for your owne ends, if they
be denyed the love removes to an other place, as we of our profession, if our
Trade faile in one Country, we transport, and transplant to an other; but
love can have no such liberty, removes are not suffered there, one place containes
the scope of one mans love, and my hart is the staple of fruitlesse Constancy.”
Thus he lamented, telling Leonius that that place pleased him best,
because he could from thence view Corinth, or part of that where his affection
lived in life, and death. The Prince then tooke his leave of him, and taking
Shipping arrived on the other side, and shortly at the Court, which
was held at Corinth; great content was shewed generally in all mens eyes,
and their hearts did answere it, the Ladyes were glad because they all love’d
him as a brave young Prince, and received from him the assurance of their
servants well-fare, but long he stayed not, carrying Veralinda his deerest selfe
to her father into Frigia; this gave fit opportunity to Pamphilia to desire
leave also to visit her Country, which with much importunity was granted
her, but first she resolved to goe into Arcadia to find Silviana, drinke the
water with her, and then visite Pamphilia. These delicate, and matchles Ladyes
tooke their way leaving the Court like the Skye when the Starrs only
shine, and the nights fairest light appeareth not: in this voyage they shall be
left, being time for Bellamiras journy to be spoken off. After she had provided
her selfe of all necessaries fit for her, she travelled towars Saint Maura,
arriving there within short time being neither hindred by wind nor adventure;
her Father shee found, and her finding him gave such joy to
the aged Lord, as he thought all those passed yeares renued againe in youth
in him. Quickly she got him thence leaving that place only possess’d with the Eee3 richnes Eee3v 408
richnesse of well wishes, both of his and all that know it, especially those
who had received the excellent benefit of forgetfulnes in it. At their returne
into Dalmatia, the King hearing of his arrivall sent unto him, intreating his
presence, which he obayed, his Daughter going with him, and both receiving
all honour from his Majestie; hee looking on her, as one would doe
on a faire field after the Corne is reaped, so was the harvest of his affection
to her passed. There she met a Gentleman in good place then under the
King, who had formerly served and beene Gentleman of the horse to her
yet loved love; this Gentleman out of old acquaintance and beloved familiarity,
brake somewhat boldly with her concerning her affection, the continuance
of it, and lastly whether she would bee so kind as to accept of his
love againe if he offered it, assuring her that hee was in far better estate for
his affections returning to her, then she seemed to credit. Much shee marvelled
at this discourse, and his new boldnes, who had never before adventured
to speake of it in all his time of happines; feare shee might have done
but that she weighed his honesty, never in any thing touched, being al waies
held, and found a sinceere man, and just; yet so finely she carried her selfe as
she found by him he had commission to say what hee did, yet not to let it be
knowne, she would not be too busie, but answered them as she thought fittest,
concluding upon much urging, that no earthly blessing could bee such
to her as his love, and the returne of it. He only smild, and bid her take heed
she was not the losse of it. She was so wary, and her former beloved, and
loving Lord so passionate, as quickly they were as once they were, no injuries
pass’d remembred, no recounting of pass’d unkindnesses, but as if only
absence had held them assunder, so meeting made their loves as at the beginning,
happines above it selfe, and this shee felt, going soone after to her
owne house, whither her father went, and her love, with many others, no
joy nor content like theirs. Her Father was called againe to serve the King,
and made Marshall of Dalmatia, thus Dettareus is againe a Knight, and Bellamira
once more contented, which she shall continue, but Dettareus must be
yet punnished for his former fault and offence. Pamphilia being in Arcadia
went to seeke her friend and companion as she call’d her in her sorrowes, but
as she pass’d along those pleasant plaines, remembring that she had seen them
in her flourishing time of fortune, and when she was richer in blessings then
they in plenty, fuller of happines then they of sweetnes, more joyfull, and
hopefull then they delightfull or greene, “O Playnes” cry’d shee, “how doth
constancy protect, and gard you in delicasie? how doe miseries change, and
wither me? deere Arcadia I love you yet because my constancy suits with
yours, pitty me then that pines in that vertue, and if ever I see you decaying I
will waile with you.”

“Alasse, heere have I breath’d my blessings among you, now must I reveale
my losses, yet continue as you were, and I shall thinke misfortune only reserved
for mee as best, or fittest to deserve mischeife; yet deere, I love thee
still, though faine would blame (as justly) thy unkindnes, but love forbids
me, & I must for truths sake in love suffer all without condemning; cruell yet
I may call thee, and thou hast no cause to blame mee for that, for thine
owne soule tels thee I speake truth, mend then or kindly with more violence
end me.”
The grove she then arrived at, where sitting downe hard by, where first Eee4r 409
first she met Silviana, “here” said she “once lived a poore true forsaken lover to,
her I come to finde, and with her conclude my dayes”
, then behoulding those
places, and her thoughts more perfectly setting them selves before her eyes,
which as the streme she made her glasse, she with many sorrowfull sighs, and
deepe groanes uttered this Sonnet.

“Losse my molester at last patient be, And satisfied with thy curst selfe, or move Thy mournefull force thus oft on perjurd love, To wast a life which lives by mischeifes fee. Who will behould true misery, view me, And find what wit hath fain’d, I fully prove; A heaven-like blessing chang’d throwne, from above, Into Dispaire, whose worst ill I doe see. Had I not happy beene, I had not knowne So great a losse, a King depos’d, feeles most The torment of a Throne-like-want, when lost, And up must looke to what late was his owne. Lucifer downe cast, his losse doth grieve, My Paradice of joy gone, doe I live?”

“Yes I doe live”, cry’d she, “but to what end? only to mourne, lament, and
moane a state all pitty wants, since musing in that place from whence it claymed
is by due. Would I could not accuse thee, yet my love is such, as I
would rather blame my selfe then thee, deere, this I must not doe, for then
my merrit so small could not aske reward, I still am just, and purely love thee.
O wert thou but unstaind for thine owne worths sake, my soule doth
wish it thee, ’though thou were cruell still.”
Among the trees and bushes
then she walked plucking of flowers which adorned their roots, and then as
a little higher thoughts did rise, she saw inscriptions in the barke, and under
them left some of hers, to witnesse her distresse, where she found the letters
intwined of Alatina, and her love, she under them set hers, and her deere
love: thus spent she some howers till a pleasant tune, and joyfull voyces
called her a little from her sadnesse; going to the edge of the Grove, shee
perceived a great troupe of Shepherds of all ages, the young men with
flowers on their heads, the old with Ivy, then came a dainty creature shee
might thinke to be Silviana, but loathe she was to imagine, she, or any worthy
woman would change, nor indeed was willing to thinke her the same,
but some other delicate Lasse, but at last she was forced to confesse it was
Alarina, and so she thought Silvianas vow was still unviolated. This woman
came crowned with Roses, led between two fine Shepherd youths, after her
followed all the Shepherdesses apparelld neatly, & finely after their custome.
She admired them, and gazed like men on a miracle, yet resolv’d not to stir,
nor discover her selfe, commanding only one of her trusty servants, to watch
what the conclusion would be, who brought her word that they were all enterd Eee4v 410
entred the Temple, and that it was for the solemnizing of Alarinas wedding.
“Alasse” said she, “can there not live two canstant women all at one time?
yet Pamphilia be thou still just, and though but thy selfe, and so alone to suffer
glory in such martyrdome.”
Home shee then went, thinking Alarina no
companion for her, when she was in her Chamber looking out of her window
upon the Gardens she had used to breath her passions of joy, as often
as of paine in, “alasse” cry’d she, “why doe all my old friends as it were turne
the hand of my wretched Dyall, to make me see my unfortunate houres by?
I will”
said she, “leave these enemy-turnd-friends, and goe into my owne
Country, where at least I may finde new, and unknowne places, though
perhaps no more easefull, yet before I goe, I will see Alarina, and so what
change that change hath wrought in her.”
Then gave she order to the officers
to provide for her journey to Pamphilia, and commanded the same servant
of hers, to find out Alarina, and desire her to attend her in the Garden
walks. This was performed, & the sweet Shepheardesse attended the Queen,
who taxing her for her lightnesse in change, thus answered her. “Brave Queen”
said she, “I confesse this most true that you have said, if onely truth in steadfastnes
lived heere, but if you will vouchsafe me the hearing, you shall see I
am not faulty, though the appearance to your judging eyes may judge me
so; had I broke my vow, and my vow to truth in leaving Diana, and loving
a new love, I had unpardonably err’d, but Madam I am free from touch of
fault in this, and only Fortune is guilty of all. I was beloved, and lov’d againe
devoutly, I was forsaken, and for it grieved unmeasurably; I changed
my state in dispaire, tis true, heere was I faulty to change at all, but you imagine
my fault is this alteration, no Madam, this is no changing, but a happy
returne to my first blessed estate, for had I taken a new love, I could not have
beene pardoned any more then for refusing my old one when he offered his
affection againe: thus am I free, and once more fortunate, for now I have
my love tyed by his owne, and marriage vowes, never such content as requitall
of love brings forth, but yet returning love exceeds it, and so you will
say when you shall find this happinesse, of which I make no question.”
“Would
your promises would prove true”
said Pamphilia, “though I then were taxed as
I did you with change, but I expect it not, yet sweete Alarina, how did hee
prevaile against your resolution?”
“By strong force of love” said shee,
“for Madam, let us flatter our selves never so much with thought of
power, to resist, and set determinations to refuse while wee are alone,
or absent from the sight of him, whose charms bewitcheth us, his sight
againe gives life to our first passions, and turnes the strength of our imaginations
to powerful servants of his will; as the strength of ones body in a hot disease
works against it self: thus experience, the truth of knowledge teacheth
us. I once thought what a foole am I to seeke, where I am rejected, to sue
where I am scornd, and petition where I am disdaind; shall I sink to this basenes?
shal I forget my own merits, and beg of an ungrateful creature, who triumphs
in my wrongs? no, I wil let him see, scorne can have children as truly
borne as love, & those are bred in me. I wil make him see my sencible disliks,
and his false eies by my despising them, shall find his error in my truth, and
resolutenesse. These brave conceits I liked, and meant to practise: but when I
saw him, O me, I was like a thiefe caught in the act, I hung downe my head, asham’dshamed Fff1r 411
of mine owne thoughts; I hated my selfe, and pleaded guilty, ready
standing to be condemn’d, as I was in his opinion: wee are fine creatures alone
in our owne imaginations; but otherwise poore miserable captives to
love. Flatter not your selfe deere Princesse, for believe it, the greater your
minde is, and the braver your spirit, the more, and stronger are your passions,
the violence of which though diversly cast, and determined, will turne still
to the government of love; and the truer your subects are to you, the firmer
will your loyalty be to him.”
“I grant all this”, said Pamphilia, “but these things
concerne not me further then the gladnesse I have for your good; since I protest
truely that no scorne, nor any cruell course whatsoever he can use, or
hath used, though to the extremity of ill, could, or shall alter my heart from
being his, or from fulnesse of content with all true and affectionate acceptance
of his love, if hee would blesse me againe with it. But I cannot hope,
my despaire out-weighs all such thoughts, and makes me dryer in losse then
blasts doe trees, though they kill them.”
Alarina strove to comfort her, assuring
her that she could not have more cause to sorrow & lament then she had
had, nor be further from hope or colour of it then she once was; “yet” said she,
“now I have pass’d all those sad misadventures, and am arriv’d at the happy
harbour of enjoying.”
“Long may you so be blessed”, said Pamphilia, “and soone
may like blessings befall you”
said Alarina: from this they grew to discourse
of Poetry, the Shepheardesse saying merry songs of her making, since the
turne of fortune, the Queenes continued in the same straines they were of
lamentation.

Some dayes were thus passed, till her journey call’d her thence, when taking
leave of Alarina, the Queene went towards the Shipping all the next
Port, and soone after arriv’d in Pamphilia, where no sooner the newes of
her arrival was spread; but the people from all parts came to see her, and
joy in her presence, while she joyed in nothing, nor communed with any
but her owne sad selfe, which she cal’d her losse, and passions for it: the saddest
places were the most pleasing to her, the solitariest Caves or Rockes
her chiefe abiding places, yet she lost not her selfe; for her government continued
just and brave, like that Lady she was, wherein she shewed her heart
was not to be stirr’d, though her private fortunes shooke round about her.
Leonius this while with his faire Veralinda travel’d towards Phrygia; where
being arriv’d, they sent unto the King as strangers, to beseech liberty to see
him, and to present some things that they knew would be most acceptable
to him. He was an excellent wise Prince, and as any, courteous: wherefore
he soone consented, and they apparel’d her after the manner of Italy as his
Country, and she according to the Greeke fashion for Shepheardesses as having
had her breeding there, and from those habits would not be altered, till
she was received as a Princesse. They enter’d the Hall where the King was,
being a brave old man, holding as majesticke a countenance as his state requir’d:
Leonius beheld him curiously, thēen made this speech unto him, holding
his eyes fix’d on him, & the Lady of his soule by the hand. “Great K. of Phrigia,
whose renown hath spread it selfe unto all eares, give your servant leave
to say this unto you. I am a stranger borne farre hence, son unto the King of
Naples, and brother to Amphilanthus, Emperour of the Romanes, of
whom after I had received Knighthood, I gained leave to goe abroad Fff to Fff1v 412
to try my fortune. Into Morea I went to visit the King thereof, who for my
honour, I have the grace to be his neere Cousin, but in Arcadia, it was my
happines (as I hope) to meete this Shepheardesse whose true and loyall servant
I vowed to be, for her sake I chang’d my habits, and from a Knight became
a Nimph, with her I conceald, liv’d, she nor any other mistrusting me
for other then my outward shew gave them cause to thinke me to bee. Still
my affection increased, and the daily conversation made this beautifull creature
affect my company, at last she was by the Kings Shepheard, (whom she
had till then taken for her father) sent thence, my selfe discovered to him
only went with her into an Iland in the Gulfe of Venice wherein were inchanted
the greatest, bravest, valiantest men, and the excellentest Ladies of
the whole world, by this divine creature they were released, & the charmes
finished. At the cōonclusion of thēem, a book of gold upon a Pillar of the same appear’d,
which being taken down & read, therin was found the whole story of
this rare Shepheardesse, which brought her to the knowledge that shee is
your daughter, & I am hither come as hers, & your humblest servant to conduct
her to your presence.”
The King rose and with moderate joy kiss’d them
both, joyfull of the newes; yet having had so much misfortune, could not
but doubt the truth of what was so much desird. She then on her knees deliver’d
the Booke unto him, wherein he found what Leonius had related to be
true: the Prince deliver’d likewise unto him letters from his brother the
Emperour, to desire the marriage. The grave old King heartily rejoyced at
this blessing, but bore it, as he had done his afflictions, with equall temper;
then tooke he Leonius by the one hand, and his daughter by the other, calling
his Lords round about him, to whom hee delivered these glad newes,
withall, the Emperours desire, concluding, that his consent was gained, and
therefore demanded their allowance to the marriage. They consented, and
ratified it with full joy and contentment; then joyn’d he their hands in that
assembly, contracting them, and promising himselfe to accompany them
back to Morea, where they should be married as Amphilanthus had intreated,
for the honour of the other great Kings and Princesses. Robes of state were
soone brought to Veralinda, in which she appear’d like Venus when she won
the Apple from the other two Goddesses. Triumphs were presently made,
and she proclaim’d heire apparant to the Crowne. Thus was Leonius and Veralinda
made happy with that they most on earth required. A brave Fleete
of Ships were straight prepared for their Voyage; feasts continuing till that
time in all the Kingdome, joy now like the Summer flourishing bravely among
them. Amphilanthus having bin long enough in Germany, & so lawful
an occasion offer’d him for his return into Morea, established Ollorandus, whōom
he made his Deputy with the Princesse to governe in his absence, which
hee promised should bee but short, and his returne speedy, his way he tooke
of purpose through Dalmatia, to see the King and the Lady had been offer’d
him for wife, being after many adventures arrived, there hee was entertain’d
like himselfe, which is expression enough for the rarest entertainments.
Dauncing there was among the Ladies, one appearing as
much excelling, as she deserv’d admiration for her beauty and that quality.
All the Kings and Princes beheld her with one favourable opinion;
but Amphilanthus did enquire who she was, and how bestow’d in marriage. He Fff2r 413
He was informd that she was Daughter to the Master of the horse, married
to a great man, but wedded in affection to a young noble-man in the Court,
who also had a brother that lik’d her, they both loved her, shee us’d them
both so indifferently, as they could not in two yeares tell whether she loved:
The elder doubted the younger, he feard his brother, both were affraid to
offend her, and so remain’d unsatisfied: till at last whether more boldnes, or
truer, and cleerer affection grew in the elder, having beene beloved, and likewise
loving one another, though desiring this Lady out of a covetous humour
of enjoying all that worthy was in love, he found it was himselfe shee
affected: he embraced it, she then liberally declared her selfe, and so they
were both happy. The younger from the first doubting could not be more
then formerly, since now he saw but what hee fear’d, and by this might the
better avoid a further danger, which he did choosing an other leaving this
couple most contented in themselves, though discontented with many others;
for his other Mistris grew spitefull, his wife froward, and suspitious,
her husband jealous and troublesome; yet what were all these? only meanes
to make them love the better, & their loves to be the more pleasing, like stoln
fruit, which is alwayes sweetest. In this estate they then were, but the question
may be asked, how these secrets were knowne? it may be easily answer’d,
and not unjustly said, that surely it came from the happy lover, who with
fulnesse of joy and content could not be so neere miserablenesse, as to keepe
such a treasure hid to kimselfe, and thus doe many times such discoveries
come. The Emperour commended them all, and especially the Lady, whose
part he was apt to take: the newes of his being there brought Dettareus to
kisse his hands, and to see his fellow-Hermite Parselius, with the other two
his good companions; but one of them he miss’d, for Dolorindus was gone
to Antissia againe. He had not beene long there; when one day the royall assembly
being in the Hall, and ready to see dauncing, there came in a grave
old man of good fashion and birth, as he after proved, his beard and hayre
white, his face something with sorrow and age wrincled, resembling a faire
tree in frost: he kneeled unto the King beseeching justice; hee promised it,
and bound it with an oath, being urg’d unto it by this Gentleman; then rising,
“Sir” (said he) “hee that hath done me injury, and the man I secke revenge
of, is Dettareus, who I know will not, nor can forget the wrong he did me,
which although I will not particularly name, not loving to take up the ashes
of the dead, or staine a long quiet grave with guilt or infamy: I will onely
touch thus farre as to remember him of the breach of hospitality, and the
noblest band of friendship, in trust; this is that I call revenge for, and these I
must bee satisfied in.”
The King call’d Dettareus forth, who covered with
shamefull sorrow, appear’d like the sonne had rob’d his father of his greatest
treasure holding his eyes on the ground, as justly condemn’d: The King was
sorry to see him so dejected, but his word was ingaged; wherefore hee demanded
of him what he wouldwould answer to this. He replied, that is life was not
sufficient to satisfie so foule a fault as he confessed himselfe guilty in; yet he
was to answer none for that businesse, since the wrong’d was dead. “Dead indeed”
cryed the other “to all content, and yet saw his honour dye before him,
otherwise Dettareus I am the man injur’d by you, not kil’d, as you imagin’d,
but recovered againe by skilfull Chirurgions from all your blowes, but one Fff2 which Fff2v 414
which cannot be cured, but by the balme of your heart bloud or mine: I
therefore desire that you will in the presence of these brave Princes (then before
whom none can have a noblier end) fight with mee and honour mee
with death, which I assure you shal be as welcome to me as your overthrow;
we are neither so young as to undertake a rash businesse, our age hath made
us perfect and free from that, nor are we so old, that death should claime our
suddaine yeeldings; let then the life and strength wee have bee spent before
this royall company, and let Justice at last have sway.”
Dettareus casting his
eyes up, beholding him, knew him and wept; yet would not deny what the
other demanded; so they went forth and arm’d themselves: the King and
all the Court did greatly pitty them, and especially Dettareus, who appeared
already dead to their eyes, kil’d by his owne foretelling ill. In stead of dancing
they went into the lists where the strangest Combat was fought that ever
in Dalmatia was seene; yet did they seeme but like brave old armes of
trees, whose fruite was yet faire and good: so was their strength, and the
maner of their fight so exact and perfect, as young men had more cause to
admire and learne then scorne their skill or courage: but Dettareus though
in sight and fight continued a good space with the better; yet a conscience
he had gnawed within him, and made his outward powers like an inward taken
poyson, shake and faint, so as the other got the victory and life of Dettarreus.
This had been hard and much to be lamented, if Justice came not in to
tell us ’twas her act, and right, which made the Court satisfied, yet did they
lament and mourne for his losse, the Emperour, and the other Princes his
old friends going with his body to the grave. The other with as much content
as could be for such an accident, where honour was gain’d from the
death of an once loved friend, return’d with liberty from the Court; but
soone after in Apulia, from whence he strayed, after the certaine tidings of
Dettareus living was discover’d, and never stayed any where till hee learn’d
where he remain’d, hearing his religious life he would not molest him, nor
call him out of charity from his Beads to the sword, but like him lived in
that manner in S. Maura on a mountaine till he was advertised by the people
who dwelled at the foote thereof, and whence hee fetched his food, of
his going thence with his daughter, and of his taking armes againe. Then
did he againe prove his imitator, and like him use steele, and so followed his
tract, tracing him as men doe hares in the snow, till hee found him at the
Court, the end of which journey is related, and his own end soone followed,
having got enough as he thought, in having honour restored, and satisfaction
to his minde. From Dalmatia Amphilanthus and his friends tooke
their way towards Morea, where being happily arriv’d, they found the
King and his beautifull Court at Corinth, from whence they tooke their
journey to Mattinea, sending to Pamphilia to meete them; but shee humbly
excused it to her father, and for the rest, they must beare with her absence.
What joy Meriana, whose heart was only her husbands, felt for his comming,
such another, if such there be can onely expresse? Urania, as a meere
lover, Philistella, Selarina, Musalina and Lucenia, was also come from the inchantment
to accompany Musalina home (who was the best knowing & practis’d
servant in passions court) did make testimony of their affectiōons, though
severally, yet all amourously & contēentedly to their servants, longing only now for Fff3r 415
for the day of happines which soon follow’d: Leonius & his new father with
the beautifull Veralinda comming soon to them. All now but Musalina & Lucenia
married women must have matches by lawfull vowes; but an unfornate
match held her from a more blessed one, and so she must live. Amphilanthus
thought Morea was also the Empire of Germany, such a Court he
found, and so brave company, as nothing was missing that might yeeld, or
nurse content; but except Musalina, the Ladies had little conversation with
him, sometimes his Sister who was as much, and willingly entertained by
Steriamus, yet would he, and all of them, speake often of Pamphilia, most
wishing her there, while she onely spent her daies in sorrows, which was the
Court shee gloried in, her delights, were sadde thoughts, her companions,
teares, and groanes, and these lived, and yet still decaied the unblessed Pamphilia.
Haste was made of the marriages, which were performed with all
joy, and content, such trymuumphs being there, as never had before beene seene
in Morea. Perselina carrying away the honour for the delicatest, sweetest,
and bravest Lady of her time; the others, though excellent above relation,
yet had their times before her, shee being but a blossome sprung late, but as
rare, and exquisite as ever any had beene.

The Queene of Bulgaria grew a little better, as company workes on all
creatures, and makes the wildest indure mens sight, as Staggs will be tamed,
and Lyons abide handling: yet her own nature remain’d with her, and that
was an honour to her, for in nothing, nor for any thing one ought to leave
their old familiar acquaintance, till they leave them, and yet not then neither,
for worthynesse is onely ones owne, and as neerely toucheth one, as
the bone doth the marrow that lyes within it: so this assures her vertue.
She used all civilly, but Amphilanthus respectively, and the Prince her servant,
who excceeded all the other of his rancke in dauncing, kindly, and
generally all friendly.

But now comes the time for their depart, the Queene of Naples stayed to
be conducted home by her Sonne, who first with the Romanian Ladies, Lucenia
having her old minde to Amphilanthus, went to Negropont to see Antisia,
Steriamus, and his most deare Urania went towards Albania, Selarinus
and his most beloved Philistella to Epirus, Antissius and Selarina to Constantinople,
Rosindy and his chastly loving, and truely beloved MerianaMeriana, with Perselina
to Macedon, Parselius with Dalinea to their new Kingdome of Achaia,
which (by Leandrus his death, and after his Fathers, who with his losse ended
his daies) was falne to them: Philarchos and Orilena to Mytelin, Perissus
and Limena stayd with the Queene of Naples by her entrety, till shee
went to her Coutrey. Polarchos was made Chamberlaine of the House to the
Emperour, and so attended him, the King of Bulgaria and his great Queene
also tooke for Bulgaria, the rest, every one as their occasions call’d them, so
as Morea remain’d bare like a roome after a great feast, the guests being
gone, looking as unfurnished, the brave rich furniture gone out of it: and
thus was poore Morea. The Queenes of Naples and Cicely kept alwaies together,
and never failed walking in the sweet woods, once inriched with
Pamphilia, and her love; there they passed the time together, telling stories
of themselves, and others, mixed many times with pretty fine fictions, both
being excellently witty, and the Queene of Naples rare in Poetry, which Fff3 Limena Fff3v 416
Limena loved though she were none of the writing number her selfe. But
one day they would needes have Perissus with them into the Forrest to hunt
after their manner which was but in a Charriot, while sometimes with crossing
they met the Deere. In this dayes sport it happened to them that they
lighted on the same Grove, and place, where Pamphilia had first found Silviana,
the place invited them to stay in it, the stay procured dainty imaginations,
they as delicate expressions, which made, and gave birth to these Verses
framed by the most incomparable Queene, or Lady of her time, a Nightingale
most sweetly singing, upon which she grounded her subject.

“O That I might but now as senselesse bee Of my felt paines, as is that pleasant Tree, Of the sweet musique, thou deare Byrd dost make, Who I imagine doth my woes partake. Yet contrary we doe our passions moove, Since in sweet notes thou dost thy sorrowes proove. I but in sighs, and teares, can shew I grieve, And those best spent, if worth doe them beleeve. Yet thy sweet pleasures makes me ever finde That happinesse to me, as Love is blinde, And these thy wrongs in sweetnesse to attire, Throwes downe my hopes to make my woes aspire. Besides, of me th’advantage thou hast got, Thy griefe thou utter’st, mine I utter not. Yet thus at last we may agree in one, I moure for what still is, thou, what is gone.”

Perissus protested that he never had heard any like them, and in so saying,
he did right to them, and her who knew when she did well, and would be unwilling
to lose the due unto her selfe, which he gave her, swearing he never
heard any thing finelier worded, nor wittilier written on the sudden. Limena
would onely desire to have them, for shee yeelded in that, as in all other
things to her Lords judgement. Up and downe they walked, the Grove being
so delightfull as gave content to all, and all sorts of Lovers. Going along
the Spring they found many knots, & names ingraven upon the trees, which
they understood not perfectly, because when they had decipher’d some of
them, they then found they were names fained and so knew them not. But
Perissus remembred one of the Ciphers, yet because it was Pamphilias hee
would not knowe it. As they pass’d they saw a handsome, and well cloathed
woman, neither walking, running, or staying, but as if she had made a motion
of them all, and imployd them to her vanity; shee one while cryed, another
chafed, smil’d, scratch’d her head, stamp’d, rail’d, and all at Love;
“blind foolish thing”, said she, “be thou for ever hated and abandoned, have I
not better deserv’d of thee then thus to be handled? Must I be a miserable
Testimony of thy cruelty, when I merited thy best favours? I hate thee froward
Childe, and will never leave reviling thee, till thou doest requite mee,
if never shame light on thee, and thy Baby government. Have I beene a quiet
patient of all thy follies; Suffered my selfe to fall under thy Tyranny to Fff4r 417
to serve thy wilfulnesse, and obey thy vaine employments? Are these tollerable,
or am I not fit to be rewarded? Peevish Boy, either speedily requite
and pacifie me, or be sure to be set forth in thy colours; no Bird beares so
various, or severall calourd a Plume as thou dost in changeablenesse, which
shall not be neglected but set foorth to the life; then Sir it may, you will say
I am bitter, but the world shall see that you are unjust. Waiward Babe, I admire
thou hast a face to doe all this withall; ’twas well faign’d at first, that
thou hadst no eyes, which indeed is the true face, for thou canst neither see
truth, nor be seene truly by it. Unworthy creature, an invention fram’d, a
thought lighter then thought, a Bubble made by breath in a Shell, blowne
by a straw, fired with a frowne, revived by a smile, and ruin’d by an neglect,
a stately and constant building that breath can destroy, that looke can establish,
or the least of dislike sacke.”

In this fury shee would have persisted, but this Troope had beene, and
were Lovers, wherefore they went to her, who seem’d like a mooving, or
stirring water-worke: she turn’d to them, and from them againe, shee cryd,
and groan’d, then scornfully seem’d to defie passion, and with a faint forged
countenance would have appeared sociable. No greater diversity is
there in womens dispositions, (who are richer in that vanity then men) then
she had in her selfe, so as good women might hope all the superfluous vanity
of that sexe had beene collected, and setled by uncertainty in her. The
Queene of Naples intreated Perissus to speake to her, he did so, she answred
just like her demeanour, at last the Queenes drew neerer to her, and demanding
some questions of her, she answer’d them thus. “I am” said shee “a Gentlewoman,
though ungently used by Love, my name not worthy of Knowledge,
my estate overthrowne by misfortune, my friends not to be named as
being unfit to consanguinate with miserie, and indeed, such a wretched forlorne
soule as I am, onely the shaddow of that, kind men most contemne, but
for their owne sakes, and necescities sometimes respect. I have most of my
time beene among those of highest ranke, but meanest requitall, else I had
not thus suffered; I am a cast-downe-wretch, not worthy of life, or your
presence, let me then on these reasons petition departure, you shall be noble
in granting, and I happy in being permitted my owne course.”

Limena well liked this odd manner in her, and would not license her to be
freed from them, but desired to heare more; “for”, said shee, “I have beene as
you are afflicted, and never felt more felicitie then in discoursing my woes,
besides, I see you are apt to discover your passions to these places, why not
then as well to us, who are, and ever will be sensible of passion?”
She lookd
upon her, and with a noise betweene sighing, and long breathing scorning
directly to sigh, she answered her, that shee should have what shee sought.
“Then” said the Queene, “I desire to know your losse, your despiser, and yet dislike.”
“It is this” said she, “I loved a Gentleman, who was brother to the Dutches
I serv’d, hee loved me, and swore it, (perfidious man) I believed him, and
granted what he asked; he made of me as we doe of the best fortunes, and
was contented with nothing so much as with my Love, nor did I joy, or
indeed glory, in any thing but his affection: this undid mee, and I a poore
yeelded creature, and spoiled by him, remaind the poore Trophy of his victory,
and my losse. I sought yet long time, after I writ to him both in Verse and Fff4v 418
and prose, but alike to his understanding, and alike taken and receiv’d. Hee
remembred my kindnesses and thank’d me, but yet rewarded them no further,
like a King that takes a Present and likes it, but thinks it was his Subjects
due to present it, and so meanes not to reward the bringer, scarse the
giver: no more did he, for I was both giver, and bringer, and yet as one cast
off, and forlorne. I urg’d Faith, and constancy, hee confest it with faire
words, but alas, his rewards were miserable and dry. I then after a long and
most laborious suit and toyle to winne, or rather keepe but part what I once
had had, recover’d not so much as dammages, but all lay still on me. I then
writ some Verses to him, which I have in memory, having made them upon
the subject of many unhappy Women, but bringing them all to my sadd estate,
the Verses are long and teadious, therefore if you please, I will let them
passe, and continue my discourse.”
“Nay I pray” (said the Queene) “let us have
them, and the story too, we have time enough for both, and no time being
able to be better spent, we can affoord the evening into the bargaine, rather
then misse such a relation.”
“Then Madam”, said shee, “when I saw no merit,
no love, no remembrance, nor any thing could worke against a newe
choice which he had made, I framd these lines as my last peece, resolving, if
they prevailed not to let all goe, and fall to the resolution, or indeed, more
properly, distraction I am now in, the Lines be these.”

“Deare, though unconstant, these I send to you As witnesses, that still my Love is true. Receive these Lines as Images of Death, That beare the Infants of my latest breath, And to my tryumph, though I dye in woe, With welcome glory, since you will it so, Especially, my ending is the lesse, When I Examples see of my distresse. As Dido, one whose misery was had By Love, for which shee in Deathes robes was clad; Yet lost shee lesse then I, for I possest And love enjoy’d, she lik’d, what was profest Most cruell, and the death-lik’st kind of ill, To lose the blessing of contentments will Faire Ariadne never tooke more care, Then I did how you might in a safety fare, Her thrid my life was to draw you from harme, My study wholly how I might all charme That dangerous were, while pleasures you optain’d, And I the haZzard with the labour gain’d: Yet shee this his life sav’d, he her honor lost, That false Prince Theseus flying, left her crost With his abandoning her truth, and love Leaving her desolate, alone to prove His Love, or ended, or but given for neede, Caus’d her with misery to gaine that meed. I Ari- Ggg1r 419 I Ariadne am alike oppress’d, Alike deserving, and alike distress’d: Ungratefull Demophon, to Phillis faire A Thracian Lady, causs’d by like dispaire, Or greater farr, for after fervent love, In which bless’d time he freely still did prove: What is desir’d, or lov’d, he left this Queene And bliss, for a lesse Kingdome which had beene Before his fathers, and by reason right, For Theseus for his Sire that King of spight. Thus did he both inherit state, and ill, While Phillis selfe, her lovely selfe did kill, Making a Tree her Throne, a Cord the end Of her affections, which his shame did send. I strangled am, with your unkindnes choak’d While cruelty is with occasions cloak’d. Medea Witch, with her enchanting skill Did purchase what was craved by her will, Yet was by Jason left at last, which showes Love only free from all bewitching blowes. But his owne witchcraft, which is worst of ills, Never absenting till all joy it spills. Charms it may be, with-held you now from me, Breake through them, leave that Circes so oft free, The Syrens songe, Calypsoes sweete delights And looke on faith, which light is of true lights. Turne backe the eyes of your chang’d heart, and see How much you sought, how fondly one sought me, What travell did you take to win my love? How did you sue that I as kind would prove? This is forgot as yester dayes lik’d sport, Love winning lasting long, once won proves short. I like Penelope have all this time Of your absenting, let no thought to clime In me of change, though courted, and pursu’d By love, perswasions, and even fashons rude Almost to force extending, yet still she Continued constant, and as I am free. Ten yeares a cause was for Ulisses stay While Troy beseiged was, but then away Was homeward bent by all, save him who stayd, And ten yeares more on forraine beautyes pray’d. Against his will, he oft his will enjoyed. And with variety at last was cloy’d. Chainge wearyed him, when weary he return’d, And from his wandring then to staydnes turn’d. Come you now backe, I thus invite you home, And love you, as if you did never roame: Ggg I Ggg1v 420 I have forgot it as if never done, And doe but thinke me a new to be wone. I shall appeare, it may be, as I did, And all passd falts shall in my breast be hid, Try me againe, and you shall truely find, Where fairenesse wanteth, clearenes of a minde; Fairer, and richer then the masse of all Their persons, which from me have made you fall, If joyn’d together, and from thence to frame A minde of beauteous faith, fit for the name Of worthy Constancy inrich’d with truth, Which gave me to you, and so held my youth In young desires, still growing to your love, Nourish them now, and let me your love prove. Leave the new powerfull charms of strangers tongus, Which alwayes truth with their faire falshood wrongs. Come backe to me, who never knew the plot To crosse your minde, or to thy will an nott: Come, I say, come againe, and with Ulisses Enjoy the blessings of your best blisses; Happy the comfort of a chaste loves bed, Blessed the pillow that upholds the head Of loyall loving, shame’s the others due, Leave those for me who cannot be but true. Come, and give life, or in your stay send death To her that lives in you, else drawes no breath.”

“What bands had you to tye you this much”, said the Queene of Naples?
“bands of faith in me, and vowes from him of zealous truth” said she, “privately
made to me, and for greater satisfaction given before witnesses for marriage,
which made me (foolish, & confident) trust, & yeeld, & now wander, lament,
and pine.”
The Queenes pittied her, and promised their helps to assist her. She
thank’d them, but answerd, none but love had injur’d her, and none els could,
or should helpe her: so she as strangely went on, and from them as wildly she
had come to them, they returning home, she walking & breathing in distembers.
At last resolving to go to Pamphilia, offer her service to the Queen, who
ever from her iunfancy lov’d and trusted her, & was hindred from her company,
& attendance; by reason, or rather this folly in affection which had power
to make her dissist from all resolutions how fit or worthy, to please that, the
most vaine, and troublesome of any. Now she could discerne her errour, but
how? as if she lookt into a glasse, and behinde her saw her miserie, which to
her face abusd her: so her passed time had wrong’d her, never to be righted
or cleered, if not by death, forgetfulnes, or charity. The Queen Pamphilia received
her with all kindnes, & with her she livd as in her former daies in much
respect, and us’d with all courtesie, the better being joyned, and more acceptable,
because neerest agreeing with her passions, and miseries, as shee calld
them, and indeed were, for none can be compared to forsaken love.

Nerena was left in miserable state, imprison’d in a Towre, locked up in
conceit of maddnesse, and made a poore, imagined distracted creature where Ggg2r 421
where she was absolute Princesse; little Justice was in this; yet she as a woman
must suffer, although in time be released, as shee at last was, and now is the
houre come for her safety. Her Sister, as you heard, went to try the Inchantment,
in her absence, desire of change, and so hope of liberty (as most times
is gain’d in absence of the Prince) grew among the people, but most lay
in the breast of a noble man, whose conscience, one may well say, slept quietly
from troubling his businesse till now hee had awaked it, protesting that
the wrong done to Nerena concern’d them all, and lay alike, to his imagination,
in their hearts as in his, which moov’d him to urge restitution, and
submission, with establishing her in her former government, their latter Princesse
being but to succeed her Sister, and the injury done to her who ought to
reigne, besides, what follies did live in her, more, and not as amply abounding
as in the elder, & their rightful Lady; besides, as a woman, why should she not
be permitted both her vanity, & the nature of her Sexe, their fidelity to their
late Master was lost, their loyalty to Succession forgot, the oath to truth broken.
& they guilty to all foule Treasons, having deposd their Princess, and established
another, whose merit were not far beyond their own Mistrisses, nor
whose staid worth ought to claime too strickt an obedience, wher right challenged
the contrary. He was a great man welbeloved, infintly followed, feared,
& therefore cheerish’d, he swayed much, and so far proceeded, as hee with
the rest of the Counsel, fetched Nerena forth, solemnly againe establish’d her
had pardons for all things past, & all was made up with a kind & gratious cōonclusion,
she by her poore living, and neglect being now invested in so staid an
habitation of gravity, as she was fit for the honour they recalld her to; her sister
shee provided for, but she returnd no more, but with a young Prince shee
grew so enamourd of, although a married man, stole away & ended, so as her
friends did desire all good people should forget her, or that she never had bin;
thus may you see that none can run so far that shall not have some time to returne,
nor any how much soever condemn’d but may live to be fit of commiseration,
and respect; this was verified in her, & she deservd their due restoring
her prooving an excellent Governess, and brave Lady, being able to overrule
her old passions, & by thēem to judge how to favor, licence, & curb others, & this
experience, though late, is most profitable to Princes. Amphilanthus with the
brave, & once hating, now loving Ladies, comming to Negropont, were by Dolorindus
& Antissia infinitly welcom’d and feasted, yet Antissia was not wellplesed,
for although she had directly lost the love she most prized, yet so much
she lov’d him still, as she was sorry he should do amisse, which she did cōonfes he
did in leaving Pamphilia for Musalina. “Alas”, said she, “the most excellent Lady did
not I fortell your harme; yet I protest I am truly sorry for this, and wish I had
said false, so you had still beene bless’d, it was not my fortune to be happy in
what I most sought, yet wish I you had injoyed what your worth and constancy
had merited; no envy I beare to you, nor ever did, but to my destiny
which would not favor me.”
Of purpose shee would urge discourse of her,
which the Emperor tooke wel enough, and was contented so far with it, as to
think of her, and at last resolv’d to see her; but one day walking alone in a delicate
walk of Birches, set by art upon the top of a hil, both sides being sowed
with wheat. Harvest not yet being come, though the corn ripe for it, hee beheld
the even & perfect growing of them. Ggg2 Can Ggg2v 422
“Can we” (said he) “possibly be as even in our owne brests to truth as these
things which are sowed, or set by our hands? No, and for our shame our own
works, must wittnesse against us; for, I confesse, I have done amisse, and against
her, deserved best of me for love, and constancy, and yet none have I
payed with so much neglect, I am faulty, but I will mend, and she I hope wil
pardon.”
“Sweet Corne” (said he) “when the wind stirrs, how doe your heads
bend humbly that way you are blowne? how evenly, equally, and patiently
hath she borne my neglects? I will give satisfaction, and she shall bee requited.”
As he walked thus, he heard a Ladd pipe meerily, on a Pipe he had
made of one of the stalkes of Oates, not farre off growing: he stayd to heare
him, and when he thought he had done, went toward him, desiring to heare
some thing; which, though low in respect of his understāanding, yet would now
be pleasing to his passions, as he drew neerer to him, he heard him use these
words. “Love, since thou art thus gratefull, be thou ever blessed, I now am
sorry I did call thee ill, I doe repent that I did thinke thou hadst beene wayward
or ungratefull: all is passd, and I doe pardon crave. Ile sing unto thy
praise, as I did cry agaiunst thee; Ile make songs, in thy honour, as I did in
reviling thee; Ile sweare thou art alone worthy, and fit to be honour’d, as I
lately vow’d thou wert the onely Serpent, and hatefull humor to be cheerished:
If humble submission can merit favour, I will gaine it of thee; if not
punish me and spare not, for I must, and doe confesse I am guilty, and deserve
more ill then thy noblenesse will inflict on any, give me my freedome from
thy favours, and I wil ever be thy vassell for it.”
Then tooke he up his sling &
walked a litle farther, that being his weapon to defend himself, and to molest
the Birds or other enemies to his charge in that delicat Corne. Amphilanthus
thus followed a farre off, as hope doth despairing Lovers: when he saw him
sit downe againe, and take up his Pipe, then againe proceede in his commendations
of Love, and then sing. The Emperour liked that humor well,
wishing he might have the like cause to praise that passion; upon which hee
was pleased to make most excellent Verses, and then return’d to the Court.
Musalina and Lucenia whose humble submission had gain’d pardon and love
in some kinde had them, as they had most he had written, but still his minde
ran on his journey, not doubting of his welcome, yet knowing his fault wished
the first encounter passed. Musalina took her leave to returne into Romania,
much sorrow was for parting, but those things are so usuall, as the relation
were like telling a tale so often till all eares were tyred with it. Musalina in
her journey had as many severall thoughts a love could bring forth; sometimes
suspition came, then anger, and revenge followed, yet these were salved
againe with hope, and trust; She was grown likewise a Poet as being a necessary
thing, and as unseparable from a witty lover as love from youth: When
she arriv’d at home, the poore trees felt the cruelty which she said was inflicted
on her; sad rimes came often into her thoughts, some of her own, others of
Amphilanthus his making on parting, and of divers others, contenting her
selfe, or rather forcing content to be shewed, when no remedy was, her love
being gone, and which was worse in a kinde never to returne, which gave
forme to these lines following a great drought being in that Country, and every
one wishing for raine.

Why Ggg3r 423

Why doe you so much wish for raine, when I,

Whose eyes still showring are, stand you so nigh?

Thinke you that my poore eyes now cannot lend

You store enough? alas, but rightly bend

Your looks on me, and you shall see a store

Able to moisten Earth, and ten earths more:

Sighs to make Heaven as soft as tender wooll,

And griefe sufficient to make up the full

Of all despaires, then wish not, since in me,

Contained are teares, griefe, and misery.

Many times she would goe to the solitary woods, and grieve there freely
crying out her woes; but all return’d alike to her for gaine or reward; for
how can helpe be now expected? only absence will assist, and that at last in
this distrest Lady prevailed, wherein she was happy, though many sad daies
and nights passed before the cure could be wrought, Time being for this disease
the best Phisition. Amphilanthus tooke his way towards Pamphilia,
taking with him only twelve Knights, whom hee chose, and his and their
Squires; them he injoyned not to disclose him, nor cal him any other then the
Just in hope: Pamphilia, not hoping for any redresse, was one day in certaine
walkes with her ancient friend, and servant the Lady, who the Queenes
met in such disorder for love, and was the same Lady that was so pleasant
with Steriamus when he was passionate for Pamphilia, she was called Dorilina,
then who there was not a discreeter, though a true lover. As they walked,
discoursing of their loves and torments of it, Dorolina besought the
Queene to honour her with the repeating of some of her verses. Shee answer’d,
she was growne weary of rime, and all things but that which wearied
her life; and yet for cruelties sake would not take it. Shee would not bee
answer’d so, but urg’d her againe, hoping to take her this way something
from her continuall passions, which not utter’d did weare her spirits and
waste them, as rich imbroyderies will spoyle one another, if laid without
papers betweene them, fretting each other, as her thoughts and imaginations
did her rich and incomprable minde: but as yet Dorolina could not prevaile
for the part of Poetry; yet she gain’d so much, as Pamphilia sate downe
and told her this tale, faigning it to be written in a French Story.

“There was”, said she, “in France for many years, many Kings, that Country
being divided into severall Kingdomes, severall Nations there were likewise
which spake different languages, some of these had Kings, the others onely
Princes; but in successe of time, all came happily under the rule and government
of one King, care onely had then by marriages to make a perpetuall
union, which onely length of time could doe: among these marriages there
was one, from which grew both good, and ill, a brave young Lord of the
Ile of France, second sonne to a famous Nobleman, and one who had great
imployment under the King, being counted the bravest man of the Kingdome,
was by the meanes of a brother in Law of his, married to a great
Heyre in little Brittany, of rich possessions. This Lady was wooed & sought
by many, one she affected and so much loved, as she was contented to thinke Ggg3 him Ggg3v 424
him worthy to be her husband, and so for worth, hee was. Miserably hard
her father kept her, and close; yet so much liberty she gain’d, as she had almost
tyed her selfe never but by death to be released; yet her fortunes were
not meant thus to be disposed of; for her father dying, and she thinking she
was a little, or much neglected by her first servant, who came not according
to appointment to attend her, she chang’d her minde, and gave her selfe
to valiant & lovely Bersindor the Frenchman, leaving the other, as he had her
at home to learne better breeding. Into France she came, where she was by
Bersindors father and mother cherished with all affection, and love; her husband
kinde, and as respective as she merited, many faire and sweet children
they had to their comforts and their friends, and so bred they were, as all
companies coveted their presence, being like sweet delights to sad eyes. The
eldest daughter was called Lindamira, shee was so much favour’d by the
Queene of France, as by no meanes she must be absent frōom the Court, which
indeed was the fittest place for her, being a Lady of great spirit, excellent
qualities, and beautifull enough to make many in love with her; but shee loved
onely one, and that one she had loved many years before any mistrusted
it, or himselfe knew it. Hee was likewise favoured by the Queene Mother,
whose husband dead, had leysure to bestow her eyes upon the loveliest object,
and this Lord was well enough contented, spending his time after his
owne desire. Lindamira served the Queene faithfully, and so affectionately,
as she had no love but them two of either Sexe; yet was she carefull to give
no dislike to her mistris, whom she would not injure, or indeed at that time
her selfe, for she was married, he not thinking that it was himselfe she loved,
though he knew she was somewhere bound in those fetters. A carefull eye
he carried over her, not that it appear’d he loved her much more then as her
deserts, which her noble and free carriage deserved; yet he was desirous to
finde her love. Once he thought it was the husband of a Lady, she had made
her chosen friend; but after he found the contrary, to his owne comfort;
for the Queene, how well assur’d soever she was, or rather might have
beene of her fidelity; yet love she knew had commanded her, who borne a
Princesse, and match’d to a King, yet could not resist his power, might with
greater ease soveraignize over a subject: but in Loves Court all are fellow-
subjects; and thus her Majesty was deceived in her greatnesse, which could
not, as she thought, be subject: and therefore, though others must be Vassals
when they are all companions and serve alike. This suspition was first put
into her minde by a malicious Lady, who envyed sweet Lindamira; but so
was it beleeved and follow’d by the Queen, as all her favour was withdrawn
as suddenly and directly, as if never had: Lindamira remaining like one in a
gay Masque, the night pass’d, they are in their old clothes againe, and no appearance
of what was; she yet was grieved to the heart because she truly lov’d
her mistris, as her disgrace went further then only discontent for the losse, or
the note the world might take of it, which must like their reports be wiped
away, or washed like linnen, which would bee as white againe as ever. But
these pierced her heart, and she was inly afflicted, at all times shee neverthelesse
attended, never failing her duty, yet desirous to know the cause of this
her misfortune: She imploy’d many to move the Queene, only to know why
she was offended, that if she were guilty she might aske forgivenesse, and make
humble submission, but this would not serve, she poore Lady ignorant of the cause, Ggg4r 425
cause, desired the Lord for whom she suffer’d to doe the like for her; hee did,
but return’d as the others did to her, telling her the Queenes answer was, that
she should not know the cause, therfore willed her to be satisfied with that, &
with knowledge that she was, and had just cause to bee offended. Lindamira
then asked leave to retire, she had permission, and withall her Majesty, when
she gave her her hand to kisse (which favour she was contented to allow her)
she told her she should doe well to stay till she was sent for. She humbly, &
with teares in her eyes answer’d she would obey, and so shee departed going
home, and soon after with a husband like her last fortune, went to live with
him, whither soone came all her friends to visite her, and by him were nobly
entertain’d. The Lord, whom she so much loved, and was accused for, likewise
came with that Lady her deare friend: among many discourses they fell
upon this of her disgrace; Lindamira saying, that the thing it selfe did not
now so much afflict her, as the ignorance of it: ‘None’ (said he) ‘that dares tell
you the cause, knowes it, and some that do, dare not.’
‘What should feare them’
said she? ‘if mistrust of my secresie, I will give them cause to take away that
suspition of weaknes in me, other reason I cannot guesse’
: ‘if I should goe further,’
said he, ‘you might imagine me one could tell.’ ‘I am verily perswaded of
that’
, said she. ‘But I feare your displeasure’, said he. ‘Why’ (said Lindamira) ‘concerning
none but poore me, how can any thing trouble you?’
‘It may be’, said
he, ‘it toucheth others, and so much as you will hate them for suffering for
them.’
‘I have no reason for that’, said shee, ‘though it may be I shall bee angry
with my selfe for giving cause.’
‘Then’ (said he) ‘with your pardon, I will tell
you that, I am injoyned not to let you of any know, to secrecie I will not
binde you, for the businesse it selfe hath power to do that’
, wherewith the
friend Lady rose, and he proceeding told her all that had passed, ‘but now’
(said he) ‘I feare you will hate me for this.’ ‘Pardon me my Lord’, answer’d
she, ‘I am onely sorry that you should suffer for me, so unworthy of your favour,
but for being offended, I protest I love her displeasure, since shee hath
honour’d me with this worthy opinion, rather then I lov’d her greatest grace,
& more noble is my fall, then my time of favor was’
, he did not it seemed lose
that opportunity, nor was she nice to let him know her long love, expressions
of it, and embracing affections wanted of neither side; what happines this was
to sweet Lindamira that constant woman, if such an other there be who lov’d
five years undiscover’d, & then on such an unlook’d for occasion revealed so
great a secret, may judge, this shewed a strange happines to befal them, that a
jealous woman whose doubt of losse brought her losing & Lindamira’s gain:
thus you may see the effects of that base humor: but alas, what succeeded all
this? your fortune, deare Dorilena, and mine, for after she had lost the Queens
favour, indured an unquiet life, & miserable crosses from her husband possessed
with like, or more furious madnes in jealousie, her honor not touched,
but cast downe, and laid open to all mens toungs and eares, to be used as they
pleas’d. Lastly, after fourteen years unchang’d affection, she cast her off contemptuously
and scornfully, she complain’d, which complaint, because I lik’d
it, or rather found her estate so neere agree with mine, I put into Sonnets, this
course I might call ungratefulnesse in him, and give all ill names to it; but I
will with the story conclude my rage against him; for thus the Booke leaves
her, the complaint is this divided into seaven Sonnets”
,

Linda- Ggg4v 426 “‘Lindamira’s Complaint. 1. Deare eyes farewell, my Sunne once, now my end, While your kinde willing grace I felt, all joy In soule I knew withdrawne, you now destroy. The house that being gave to loves best friend. You now alas to other objects bend That warmth of blisse which best delights enjoy, Striving to win an oft won idle toy, By falshood nurs’d, such creatures seldome mend. Try your new loves, affect the choyce of store, And be assur’d they likewise will choose more, Which I yet grieve; for though the losse I beare. I would have none with you to challenge right; But beare you must for making choyce so light: Yet still your beames Ile love, shine you elsewhere. 2. Odeadly rancour to a constant heart, Frownes, and neglect, my only favours be: Sometimes a cold respect is granted me; But hot flames to those eyes joy in my smart. Once yet for Justice sake weigh my hard part, In gratefulnesse I should kinde usage see; For being tied alone to you, els free, Till by your wrongs now joynd with heart-broke smart. A glorious triumph you no doubt shall have, To crowne your victory on murders grave, While falshood beares the armes my life hath won. I onely for twise seaven yeares love shall gaine Change, worse then absence, or death’s cruelst paine: The last yet got, you have your labour done. 3. Asurgeon I would aske, but ’tis too late, To stay the bleeding wound of my hurt heart: The Hhh1r 427 The roote is toucht, and the last drops depart As weeping for succeeding others fate. Alas that my kild heart should waile my state, Or leisure have to thinke on ought but smart, Nor doth it, but with pitie beare a part, With her embrac’d yours like a loving mate. But now unmarried by a new disdaine Cold death must take the body from her love And thou poore heart must end for my unworth. Conscience is lost, and outward fairnes gaines The place where worth did, or else seemd to move, Thus world like change new triall still brings forth. 4. O Memorie, could I but loose thee now, At least learne to forget as I did move My best, and onely thoughts to waite on love, And be as Registers of my made vow. Could I but let my mind to reason bow, Or see plaine wrongs, neglects, and slightings prove In that deare Sphear, whcih as the Heavens above I prizd, and homage to it did allow. Canst thou not turne as well a Traitor too Since Heaven-like powers teach thee what to doo? Canst not thou quite forget thy pleasures past; Those blessed houres, the onely time of blisse, When we feard nothing, but we time might misse Long enough to enjoy what’s now off cast. 5. Leave me vaine Hope, too long thou hast possest My mind made subject to thy flattring skill, While Aprill mornings did my pleasures fill, But cloudy dayes soone changd me from that rest; And weeping afternoones to me adrest, My utter ruine framd by Fortunes will, When knowledge said Hope did but breed, and kill, Producing only shadowes at the best. Hhh Yet Hhh1v 428 Yet Hope this true, thy faults did faire appeare And therefore loth to thinke thou counseldst me Or wilfully thy errors would not see But catch at Sunne moates which I held most deare Till now alas with true felt losse I know, Thy selfe a Bubble each faire face can blow. 6. Though you forsake me, yet alas permit I may have sorrow, for my poysn’d crosse; Thinke not, though dead, to joy I cannot hit Upon a torture, for my soule-pierc’d losse. Or if by chance I smile, I hopes ingrosse, Nor for I die not, I doe bliss admit, Most griefe will oft give leave for show to toss Upon the waves, where Shipwrack’d comfort split. Thinke then your will, and left, leave me yet more Vexe not my loathed life, to ruine bent; Be satisfied with glut of your bad change: Lay me unthought on, in the love-kill’d store, My griefe’s my owne, or since for you ’tis sent, Let me have that part from you while you range. 7. Some doe, perhapts, both wrong my love, and care, Taxing me with mistrust, and Jelousie, From both which sinnes in love like freedome, free I live, these slanders but new raised are. What though from griefe, my soule I doe not spare, When I perceive neglect’s slight face on me? While unto some the loving smiles I see, I am not Jealous, they so well doe fare. But doubt my selfe lest I lesse worthy am, Or that it was but flashes, no true flame, DaZzl’d my eyes, and so my humour fed. If this be jealousie, then doe I yeeld, And doe confesse I thus goe arm’d to field, For by such Jealousie my love is led:’” Dorelina Hhh2r 429

Dorelina admired these Sonnets, and the story, which shee thought was
some thing more exactly related then a fixion, yet her discretion taught her
to be no Inquisitor, so home againe they went, the Queene giving order the
next day to hunt a Stag, but she was hindred from that by unlookt for news,
which was, that the young and proud King of Celicia, being her neighbour,
her Wooer, and refused by her, would not as it seemd endure the scorne, or
goe without her, wherefore he with an invincible Army, was come neare
the confines of her Country, by force to win, what he could not by love, or
faire meanes gaine. But how much was he deceived in this? for force must
not prevaile against such a spirit, if not to bring death for hate, but no affection
or submission, threats can worke with her no more, then to command men
to give resistance. Into a strong Fort by the Sea-side she put her selfe, one
Army attending her, another sent to encounter him, led by Melysander. Her
Counsell admired her magnamity, she was no more troubled, then if no such
thing were, nor could any thing but unkindnesse, nor from any but him much
molest her. She dispatched a Messenger to her father for aide, another to Mitelin,
and all her friends that were within compasse of helping suddenly;
for sudden was the matter, thoughts of love for all this had
their place, as wishes that Amphilanthus would come,
but as much was that wish to see him as for
helpe, though she was confident to
have had victory by his
presence.


The end of the third Booke.

Hhh2 Hhh2v Hhh3r

The
Countesse
of Mountgomeries
Urania.

The Fourth Booke.

One of the Messengers lighted upon his ship as he came
from Negropont, relating the newes; haste was then
made to the succour, but still he must be unknowne. At
his landing hee met some people sad, and their countenances
telling some misfortune; he was loth to aske, till
one of his company desirous to know, and perceiving
the Emperour wished the knowledge, yet would not
aske, demanded the businesse; answere was made, that
the first Army was overcome, the Duke Melisander taken prisoner, and the
King marched with all speed towards the other Army, and Pamphilia: “Alas
Sir”
(said he) “if you saw how our poore Country is already spoiled, defaced,
and ruined, where the Army passeth, it would grieve your hearts, and most,
that the wofullest end of warre is likely to happen; for the other Army are
all young men, who though bold and valiant, yet raw and unexperienced; tis
to be doubted, the Queene will fall by this ill fortune into the Kings hands,
wanting all forraine aide: for could her Brothers, or Cosins know of it, and
but some of them here, we should not feare.”
“Why is the warre”, said Amphilanthus?
“Because our Queene will not marry the King.” “What is her reason”,
said the Emperour? “Want of love in her”, replide he; “and as it is believed by
most, and is the generall opinion, her affections being placed on some other,
but who it is, we are ignorant of, yet would he were here; for surely she cannot
love but worthily, and so like her most worthy selfe.”
Amphilanthus was
glad of this, and so got him to guide them to the Army, where they were wel
received, as all shall be on such a necessitie in time of warre, if they come to
helpe and succour.

The King of Celicia puffed up with pride for this Victory, came on with
speede and joy, till he came within sight of the Army: Amphilanthus perceiving
that, and having discovered himselfe onely to the Counsell and Commanders,
sent forth a Drum to desire a parly: it was granted, then went forth
one of purpose chosen by the Emperour to deliver this message, that since the
King had already obtained the Victory over one Army, to the great hurt of
that Country, he desired to have as his own, out of that respect, and no other Hhh3 it Hhh3v 432
it was fit as they held it to offer him this (not chalenge) but humble intreaty
to encounter in person one single man of the Qu. side, who shuld be in birth,
honor, & al other dignities, fit to wait upon him, and bravely before the wall
to fight with him, who if he overcame, he should have the Queen deliverd to
him; if not, he and his army should depart as they came, having had enough in
the bloods of so many brave men, and true subjects, al which might have bin
his, if this offer had bin time enough made, the rest now spared if accepted.
The king, whose own pride could not wish a more respective challenge, answerd,
that he desird to know the man should meet him. The messenger answerd,
that his name was conseald frōom most, and was known by no other, then
the Just in Hope. The king replied, that he must know more, or he might, and
would be excusd from ventring his roial person against one nameles man: the
messenger then kist a little paper, & deliverd it, wherin he found a plainer chalenge,
but as nobly curteous, and therto the Emperors own most honord and
feared name. The king took it wel, and was glad he should (as he told the messenger)
cōombatwith him in the sight of his Lady, both for the honor he should
gaine in overcomming Amphilanthus, and that he was assured he was the
only obstacle in his way; for these two reasons he would fight with him with
hope of conquest; the houre should be left to him, if he pleasd, or as being his
due to chuse. In the morning following, about nine of the clock, the messenger
returnd with much comfort to Amphilanthus, who now had another, and the
best part of the busines to doe, which was, whether she would consent, that
her giving or freeing should be left to his fortune in the combat, how to compas
this, he doubted the accomplishing, and feared infinitely how shee would
take the bold offer, which had bin made without her knowledge; at last he did
resolve, that he would adventure, and so with the Counsell entred the Castle
where she was; but thus he orderd it, that they should move it to her, & have
her resolution, as if yet it had not bin determined. Amphilanthus this while
should stand where he might heare al, & when he pleased, to shew himselfe.
Thus it hapned, they came to the Queen, where she was in the Gallery under
a Cloth of Estate, sitting as sadly, as her fortunes told her it was fit for her; yet
of all fortunes, his losse was the greatest. When she saw them, she smild, and
askt how matters went: they told her the worst, because she should agree to
their desire. “If that happen”, said she, “I shall be sorry to leave you in danger, to
whose loves and respects I am so much bound, nor is there need of that, since
peace may be made for you, but none for me, on such conditions as he offers;
for never wil I be unjust unto my former vow, nor to my selfe, and such as wil
go with me, shalbe usd no worse then my selfe.”
They humbly thankt her, but
protested, that no other fortunes should satisfie them, then her service & attendance;
yet was there a way, they said, how she might save her self, free her
realm & them from ruin. She repli’d, such a course she would with al willingnes
undertake; then they told her their opinion, naming the Champion only
by his framed name: “if” (said she) “my brothers were here, or either of the kings
of Albania, I might put my fortunes in any of their hands: but alas what speak
I of that, I merit such a happines.”
“Could no other please you”, said they? with
that she sigh’d, “Yes God knows”, said she, blushing, & turning her self frōom them.
They went on; “how if Amphilanthus”, said they, “were here?” “If he”, said she, “were
here, there were no question, but life, estate, & al might be put into his hands:
but this I protest truly and sincerely, that I had rather perish, then bee the cause Hhh4r 433
cause of the losse, or danger of the losse of one drop of his blood, or of my
brothers, so much I love, and respect them.”
With that Amphilanthus step’d
out, and presenting him selfe to her, told her that while he had blood, and
life they should serve her. She was amazed, surprized, with joy and feare,
blush’d, and looked pale, passion working so in her as she could not tell how
to looke, how to speake, or expresse the blessed comfort possessed her.
Heaven-like joy to her it was to see him, Death-like smart so to see him to
his danger, her heart bled to thinke that hee might bleed in her quarrell,
and yet his quarrell caused in love, had withered hers with sorrow, till now
refreshed with this balme, like a body furnished by the perfectnes of a sound
Liver with blood, and so life; He was troubled with her countenance, least
it had beene out of offence taken against him, when God knowes it was but
the violence of her passion, which when happy or crossed, could never suffer
her to utter it selfe. She could imagine what to say, and resolve of it,
but never could when time was offered to performe it, timorousnes ruling
in her towards him, when over all others she could soveraignize: divers the
sorts, divers the passages, and gevernments of love. Hee tooke her by the
hand, shee affectionately beheld him, at last telling him that shee would rather
petition him to let any end befal her, (but yeelding to Asdrusius) rather
then he should venture his life for her deliverie.

Hee said there was not in the world, next her selfe that hee respected
more, or in any degree of comparison with her liberty, and pleasure, therefore
she might assure her selfe, that her honor, and safety should command
his life, which could never be so well imployed as in serving her. They then
together sate under the cloath of State, shee beholding him with as greedy
eyes, as one at the last doth the Haven in a terrible storme, driving from that
whither they desired to goe, and well could she in her mind have consented
to have dyed in that blessednes. He as lovingly beheld her, and thought hee
saw her former beauty lately decayed renuing as his favour was to, and in her
againe. Thus they were till supper, which being past she conducted him to
a delicate chamber, where he lodged all night, resting well till time was for
his going to the field; the excellent Lady lay all that darke time like one
wrapd into the third Heaven, her soule only working, she knew not how to
beare her joy accusing prosperity, for being more unsupportable then affliction,
a Feaver of contentment held her in a fit without intermission, and thus
she remained till day, or her care of him, or thoughts, or joy, or altogether
called her up, and so she appareld her selfe to be ready to blesse her eyes
with his sight before he went forth, for no suite, perswasion, or any petition
of hers could diswade him from the combate, telling her at last that hee
must doubt by her importunity, and feare shee seem’d to have of him,
that her opinion of his worth or vallour was deminished. She was then forced
to be patient, and all her refuge was to her teares and prayers for his delivery,
and safety, he is determined to vanquish, the other opinionated to
have the victory, the honour, and the Queene, both are now ready to try it
out, Pamphilia attending her Knight to his horse, her soule wayting on him
with all her strengrth of spirit, and good to assist him, so as thus hee that needed
no helpe, had two spirits joyned together in and against one, and one of
them maliciously bent against him and perfect love, bound to his ruine; Vrania Hhh4v 434 Urania, Philistella, Steriamus and Selarinus, on their way in Epirus met a dainty
troope of Ladyes, and Knights in a Meddow, the Knights to passe away
time till they met the Kings, and Queenes which was the cause of their
journey, had found out a pretty pastime to please their Mistrisses withall; unarmed,
only with the Launce they were to take a ring of gold which was
hung to a staffe, and which side (having devided themselves into the number
of twelve, and twelve) did oftnest take the ring, was to win a Jewell
which the Ladyes was to give, and then the whole side that had wonne the
prize must run sixe courses a peece, and which Knight oftnest tooke it, was to
have the Jewell free to himselfe, the Ladyes to draw lots who should pay
for it, and shee that lost it was to accept the winning Knight for her
Servant.

It was agreed on by all, as contented, till the lots being to be drawne, and
the chance lighted, the Lady who was to loose or winne, grew into an infinite
rage, cursing Desteny, reviling the blind Lady Fortune, crying out against
unjust lucke, and rayling at all men, and mankind: in that chasing at
her selfe as furiously as at any other thing; Urania was desirous to know the
cause of this her dislike and fury. “May it please your Majesty” said she, “I should
hold it, an undeserved favour received from you, to be let alone to my passions,
and not forced to relate that which must be most displeasing to mine
owne eares, and as harsh as my lucke hath beene cruell, yet if there bee no
remedy, I wil not disobay you, although I desire that my story may bee rehearsed
but to your selfe, and our Queene your sister.”
This was agreed on
while the Kings went to see horses ridden, and to ride themselves, the Lady
then tould her discontents thus.

“This Knight whom I have now by Fortune given mee, I have many
yeares since given my selfe, I meane my best, and truest affections unto; hee
did so amorously, and with such just, and even love receive me, as I cannot
tell whither of us loved most though I knew I lovest as much, and fervently
as any woman; expressions I could make of his deernesse to me, and mine
to him, were it not for feare of seeming too vaine, and boasting of my happines,
therefore I will with your permission overpasse them, and follow the
high way to my misfortune. Hee loved a farr greater Lady then my selfe,
when I aspired to winne him, I prevailed, & she grew infinitely despised,
but I was blessed, and with little pitty at last compassion beheld her, though
with much respect, joying to thinke I had cōompass’d my desires, & crossed my
Rivall, after this had cōontinued some time, & I thought I saw my selfe cheife,
how was I joyed, and how triumphed I in my victory? but then as a brave
Hauke having seazed the prey after a delicate flight is taken off from it, as if
she gained but for another: so did I but get him from another, and to another
must leave him; yet held I chiefe a while, and thought I had got a preferment
in being the Lady, his respects were shewed unto, the rest but as I
had been second, and to receive favours by stealth, which are surest, and heartilest
given from the soule, as I too well know, which grieved mee to see any
other have; but I was to be patient, and obedient, love taught me observance,
this was an affliction, but nothing to that which followed, for then hee fell in
love againe with one, to whom either his affection so subjected him, or her
peremtorie power abased him, as he quite left me, and looked upon me, if by chance Iii1r 435
chance I came in his way like a Judge on a Thiefe, or offender, sternly and
curstly: I melted with sorrow, I pined and starved with unkindnesse; but all
this prevailed not, I then gave Hope quite over, and embraced Despaire, and
with much adoe got quiet in unquietnesse. Into the Country I retyrd, leaving
the brave City, resolving never to see Court or company more: but one
time a neare Kinsman of his, and one most inward with him came to my
house where I dwelt, I bid him welcome after my old manner, but hee found
sadnesse in me suteable to my state, he disliked it not, yet after supper sought
to perswade me from such melancholly, and retirednesse, which (he said) was
not onely hurtfull to me, but to my honour, the world speaking, and guessing
strangely about it. ‘What is that to me’, said I? ‘Is it not as fit the world should
see my sorrow for my losse, as my content for enjoying? I never was sparing
to manifest the one, I will not bee ashamed, or afraid to suffer for the other
with as much confidence as sorrow (which truly felt) will licence me.’
He said
refraining the Towne and my Parents would bee too meane a part for mee,
therefore it were much better and nobler to shew it, if I desired that, then to
sit at home, as if I would cover it, for thus my bravery in bearing appeared
not.”

“I finding him presse me so farre, began to draw so neere to hope, as to
thinke it might be he was set on; then my thought I saw he had commission,
and heard directly the words of my love delivered by him as a Bird taught, repeating
his lesson; yet I dissembled a while, till so long we had discoursed, as
I was forced to discover my conceit, which thus I did. ‘If’ (said I) ‘these speeches
have proceeded only from your well-wishes to mee, I must be sorry for
them, since they tie me in a stricter band, then I willingly would bee oblieged
in my merits, or power, being so small, as I shall alwaies be forced to remaine
indebted for it, and so much, as I shall not hope to be able to pay the due; but
if they come from another, favour me so much to let me understand whence
they are, that I may make my resolutions according.’
He that had not bin nice
to declare what concerned me, especially if good, plainely told me, that hee
could not be just in this to us both; yet because he would begin, as he wished
the succeeding might be happy; ‘therefore Madam’ (said he) ‘I was commanded
by my friend, and Cosin to perswade you to come up, and he will if you
please, to accept of his service deserve by love to be yours againe.’
‘May I beleive
this’
, cryd I: ‘as you will believe any thing spoken by your truest friend
and servant.’
I gave credit to him, and with him as onely to visit my Parents,
and taking the opportunitie of having his company went to the Citie;
as soone as I came to my fathers house, I saw a well knowne servant
of the Knights I loved, I felt instantly my blood even spring in my
breast, as warming mee with hope, and almost joy, soone after he came,
and supped there, carrying so fine, and curteous a fashion to me as might
have wonne a new heart, but mine was his before, and if ever I was
sorrie it was bestowed, it was at that time when my thought he deserved
the noblest, and best heart to bee given him for that gentle returne
of love, which as my onely content and hoped for blessing I most willinglie
embraced; then did I forget not onely all my sorrowes before, and
my paine, but was an new creature made of joy. All perceived the alteration,
and joyed with mee, some seeing the cause, others that knew Iii not Iii1v 436
not the first chance admired me, and grew merry at my pleasures, but long
had not they this cause of mirth, nor I the happines, for after a confident and
setled beliefe of his constancy, not then ever to remove, he grew a little slacke
again, & by degrees, as one that dies with bleeding, looseth the outward sense
of sight, & so by little & little growes to death: so did his favors to my death
of parting with thēem. I finding this, grew to my late estate again and sorrowed,
at last fell sick, in which sicknes he came unto me, I then spake some thing to
him, not so freely I confesse, as I thought to have done, but so much as hee I
saw understood me sufficiently, but so coldly he answered me, his fashion being
so different from love, as if he had but heard a tale, not the truth, nor so
much as looking on me like the complainer, or suter. At last he said, that I
should have no cause to doubt him. I made my selfe (for all mine owne eies
& judgement strove against me) believe he meant justly, which indeed I cannot
say he then did, but after proved it true, for he tooke away all doubt, and
gave me certaine knowledge, but of what? alas my perpetuall misery; for such
a stranger he grew, as hee seemd either ashamd to know mee, or disdaind the
knowledge of me. One day I found him with his love, I comming to visit her,
Lord what a poore salutation he gave me, yet at last as I was going away hee
spake to mee, taking occasion of doing something neare the place, where I
stood. I answerd him, but thought I to my selfe, am I, or must I ever be the
Vicar of the Empire to his love, never enjoying but in a second place, unlesse
the first be gone, and then in the interim raigne, but by a new creation fall to
my old place againe? These and some other open disgraces truly changed
my heart, or wrought so much in me, as I grew to love lesse, then not to love,
and now am come to be more careles of him, and faine almost would shun
him, yet I cannot directly do that, though I hate the fortune I am fallen into,
and this is the cause I am vext with having this Lot.”
Urania and Philistella pitied
her, especially when she cryd; “Alas”, said she, “why was love so cruell, or rather
to clothe love in such cruelty, as to give hope of purpose to ruine? as if
one would give a delicate banket, and poyson the Guests when he had done;
els might hee have left mee despaire for charities sake, and not luld me with
hope to martyr me againe.”
The Queenes perswaded much with her, and so
at last she was pacified so farre, as to give him the Jewel, and accept the name
of his Mistrisse, as other faire Ladies doe the like name; further, their friendships
increased not so long as this story lasted.

Philistella was left heere with her deare Selarinus, shee being crowned
with all solemnitie, as hee had been before. Steriamus and his Urania journied
on to their Kingdome, where likewise shee was crowned, and lived the
rest of their dayes in all happinesse and joy: the like did Selarinus and Philistella.

Antissius and Selarina in their voyage by Sea, met a fine Adventure in a
sweet and dainty Iland, where they staid, the Queene not well brooking the
Sea, in which time they walked up into the land, comming into a delicate
Pallace, built curiously of white stone, a brave River, or arme of the Sea running
a little on the other side of it, Gardens were round about it, or walkes,
which made it appeare the Pallace of delight and much perfecter had it bin
but the Lord of it was called by lifes concluder to obedience, dying,
and leaving two sonnes, and one most faire Daughter, with his noble Lady, Iii2r 437
Lady, whose vertues were such as shinned in her for the honor of all other
women, and examples to Maydes to live Virgins, and wives, and widdowes
as she had done, and did. She met the King and Queene at the first Gate, being
enformed who they were, & with all reverent respect welcommed them,
attending them into the Gardens, shewing them the pleasures of them, and
giving them such fruits as that time yeelded, then waited on them into the
house, which they admired for curiositie, sitting downe to rest them in a
brave Gallery, which delighted them infinitely, by reason of the sweete prospect,
which though not so far as others, yet was it as pleasing beeing able to
judge of what they beheld, which was one way delicate meadowes, and that
great River, beyond it fields, and hills, downe the River an ancient, and famous
Citie, well built, and of many miles compasse; up the River pasture
grounds and fine inclosures, thus were all sorts of delights round about, and
in sight of this place, but the richest, and finest sight was the grave Widdow,
the sweet youthes, and the excellent young Lady, whose perfections were
such as no description can come neere, or anything but admiration tell,
whose fulnesse will not permit expression. Her stature was of the bravest,
and best chosen height, her skinne (although her hayre was browne)
white as milke, soft as downe, and fine as silke: her eyes black, as if mourning
for the murders they would commit, yet so spritefull, as gave comfort, and
blessed content to him should bee honourd with their favours, and hope of
life to the dying, if they repented their ambition. She was sixteene yeares of
age, but of such beauty as if each minute had bin employd to fetch excellencies
to her; a grave and brave fashion she had, which to strangers seemd pride,
but to them that knew her true noblenes abounded in her, which they published,
else she had bin undeservingly condemned. With the King there was
a brave Lord, but somewhat in yeares exceeding her, he yet had a young and
new desire to obtaine her, his worth would not seeke her, but as her worth
warranted him, a strangers name hee feared would be distastfull, yet he was so
neare a home borne man in affection, as that might speake for him; he was
an experienced man, and therfore knew time the most pretious of any thing,
wherefore he applyd himselfe unto her.

Her fashion was discreet like her self, respective according to his owne hart,
which was not the meanest, but such an one as might have dwelt for noblenes
in a king, but being in him, made him a king for bounty. A Cosin-german
shee had, who travelling with this Lord, was so imped into the quills of his
love, as he was himselfe, and so wooed for him; she was confident of her Cosins
love, and trusted his judgement, & so received the Romanian, as on trust
from him; he was in great favour with the King, who spake for him, and of
purpose stayed in that Island (belonging unto his Crowne) till his servant
had gaind his desire, the weather so temperat and pleasing, as his Majesty resolved
to stay there, and lodge in tents for pleasure, and the more commodiously
to let his Favourite court his Mistris, although the Lady most earnestly
besought his gracing her house with lodging in it; but the delightful Island
carryed him about to view it, and so left him to woe, and win if he could. In
his Progres he met many fine adventures, the Island being large, and plentifull
of all delicacies, but the king fel to sports, the Queene affected only prety
delights, & none so violent as hunting; the house where they then kept court Iii2 was Iii2v 438
was a large and auncient house belonging to an Noble-man, built square of
stone, standing rather upon a flat then a Hill, for the highest of the ascents
was scarce sencible. There ranne behind the Garden, and Orchard wall, a
sweete Brooke, on each side whereof fine and enamiled Meadowes lay,
shewing their finesses to each eye, in this place Selarina tooke delight, and
heere walked, but she was with-drawne a little from the Brooke, and plaine,
to a little hill, which had some few trees to grace it selfe withall, and helpe others
from the scorching heate; a voice to this place invited her, whither being
arrived, she found two men in Shepheards weeds, their countenances
spake for them, that they were not borne to that estate, yet their complexions
shewed that they had not beene curious to preserve them selves from
the Sun, but followed their fortunes, or choyce, as men ought to doe any
profession they take: they were not so young as it might bee said, they had
wantonly taken that life, the ripnes of their yeares tooke away that suspition,
for they were towards forty, so as judgment to content them selves, or discontent
one might see had brought them to it; they were together when
the Queene first saw them, but they seeing her soone parted, one as if flying
company, the other remayning to yeeld account of his going. Selarina drew
neere to the Shepheard, who with low reverence welcomed her. She demanded
many things of him, he gave her true, and witty satisfaction, at last
she desired to know the cause of the Shepheards shunning her, hee answered
that he did the like, when he discerned any company, being urged unto it by
a violent melancholly, which would not permit him time for recreation, if
any but himselfe came neere him. She asked the reason. He replyed that secret
was his friends, and therefore besought pardon, “if mine owne” said he, “I
should be happy in having such royall eares to give hearing to my story”
; she
still urged, & so much, as he was forced to obay. “Then Madame” said he, since
your Majestie will have it, I must yeeld, one’s Princesse having power to
search all Subjects hearts. This man my companion, and my selfe, were sonns
to two of the best men in this Island, he was called Sirelius, my selfe Procatus,
we were bred together at Schoole first, after we went to the Court of your
Lords Grandfather, where we lived, and in good reputation, hee meriting
all mens good oppinions by his owne noblenes, and excellent parts, my selfe I
thinke for his sake was respected, expecting something in me, who was friēend
to so much worthines. At last he fell in love with a young Lady, the only
daughter of her father, & mother, a great marryage she was likely to be, but
the true riches he sought, was her love, answerable to his affections. She was
very young, having so few yeares as her Parents were loath she should heare
of a husband, yet at last his deserts, and store of friends brought the marriage
about, and some honours were given to the father in requitall of his consent.
The Lady grew on, and the time of marryage came, which was solemnized
by the Kings command at the Court, where great tryumphs were, Masques
and banquets, and such Court delights, never man with greater joy received
a wife, nor any woman expressed more comfort in a match; but where such
violence is, seldome is their love lasting, for within lesse then two yeares
after the marryage, whether his fondnes ran to Jealousy, or her youth, and
love to change gave occasion I dare not judge, but discōontents grew, & disliks
of all sides spread them selves, the father tooke part with the Son in law, the mother Iii3r 439
Mother with the Daughter; to that extremity this flew, as no fire flamed
or sparkled higher. Most mens eyes were upon them, to see whither this
would come, and for whom all this storme was raised; it was discoverd, that
this stir was about a young Lord, who deserv’d alas not the least suspition for
any goodnes, that for himselfe could invite love from any above a common
creature, such an one he might purchase, or shee, because hee was a Lord take
upon trust to find more then promised, his pride was such, as he would loose
rather then beg, his ignorance such, as none that had understanding of worth
would or could accept, his uncertainty such, as he was alwaies making love,
and his fortune such, as he was still refused, and his insolency requited with
scorne; yet of this fine Gentleman my noble friend was mistrustfull, his wife
I must confesse carrying a little too much respect to the other, and yet on my
conscience it was more out of her spirit, that disdaind to be curbd, then extraordinary
liking of him, and that often is seene, and proves the way to make
truth of mistrust. He forbad him his house, and her his company, she refused
to obay, if by chance shee might meete him. Her Cabinets hee broke open,
threatned her servants to make them confesse; letters he found, but only such
as between friends might passe in complement, yet they appeared to jealousie
to be amorous. He was so distemperd, as he used her ill; her father a phantastical
thing, vaine as Courtiers, rash as mad-men, & ignorant as women, would
needs (out of folly, ill nature, and waywardnesse, which hee cald care of his
honour, and his friends quiet) kill his daughter, and so cut off the blame, or
spot, this her offence might lay upon his noble bloud, as he termed it, which
by any other men must with much curiositie have been fought for, and as
rarely found, as Pearles in ordinary Oysters: but what time chose he to execute
his fury in, but before her husband? whose love though crackt, was not
quite broken, nor so much crusht, but that hee held his hand, which with a
Dagger was giving her a cruel & untimely end, yet a little scratch he gave her
just on her hart, which otherwise had laine opēen to the disgrace of an unmerciful
& unworthy father. She cryd out, the husband held his wife, who poore
Lady was ready to fall under the weight of unkindnes and danger. It was a
strange sight to behold a father incensed for a husbands sake against an onely
child, & that husband to be the shield of her defence, from whom, if at al the
wrong was to rise. This at last with much ado was appeased, & a seeming content
sprung out of these blusters among thēem, the Lord left to his pride, wherwith
he pufft himself up, & was fild with it like a dropsie, or a blader blowne
with wind: the quarrel was taken up too between them, & easily might it be,
for my friend could not by any meanes provoke him to fight, chosing rather
to give satisfaction by oath, & promise never of seeing her more, & to be tide
to any conditions, then drawing his sword. Matters thus pacified, God blessed
them with a son and daughter, after which she died, leaving them as witnesses
of her love, and to speake for remembrance of her after her death. A
widdower he continued long, his children bred with much care and affection
with the Grandfather; travel he did both out of his own love to it, and imployment
from the State, but all this could not roote out the aptnesse of his
disposition to love, so as hee fell enamoured of a beautifull young Lady,
daughter to a great Duke in Romania, whose perfections and yeares called al
eyes to admire her, and his to be her Vassels. With much sute and meanes he Iii3 courted Iii3v 440
Courted her, employing all his friends to his assistance of gayning her, shee
was not allowed the greatest liberty, but affected it as much as any,
shee saw how brave his former wife had lived, and in what liberall fashion
she might also with him continue, these were sweete motives to a great
minde, and a low estate of meanes, where honour call’d for plenty to supply
what she was indued with. Her father was against it vehemently, and
shut her up; but these courses prevaile no more with a lover, then to increase
loves force in fetters, as any Creature for keeping close, growes the more
furious when libertie comes: and so did her love grow to that heate, as
wheras mild perswasions might at first have beene acceptable, now nothing
but marryage will content her, which so much gayned in my friends breast,
as he vowed she should have what his fortune would allow her, and himselfe
a loyall and affectionate servant and husband to her. This was agreed on,
and they marryed with such joy as none can expresse but lovers, who meete
with equall affections, and so lived sometime; but now three yeares being
pass’d, the heate resonably cooled, other passions have crept in like Mothes
into good stuffe: and discontents have risen, so as he hath left her attended
on like her selfe, meanes to the height of his estate, and all things according
to her owne mind, himselfe only retyring to lament his misfortune, living
to out live her love as he feares, although I am confident of the contrary, &
tooke his life likewise on me to divert him if I could from this course, which
I trust I shall doe, and have prevailed thus far as he hath promised to weare
this Summer out only in his sorrowes, and then to returne, but company
he will not yet admit of, so as I feare when he come abroad againe, hee that
before was the most absolute fine Courtier will be a new learner in that Art,
but let it be as it will, so he come forth of these woods, and plaines, put on
Court apparrell instead of this Sheephards coate, a scarfe for this Scrip, and
a sword for this hooke, and I trust we shall be gallant once more, for my part
I am tired with rurall mirth, and passionate ditties, I had rather heare a horse
neigh, then all the Sheephardesses in this Island sing; quarrells have also risen
in our absence as I heare, all which will breed ill blood if wee stay out,
wherfore I pray for returne.”
The Queene smiled at this Story, thinking how
fit it was to be compared to the grave Suter they had left at the Widdowes
house, and how likely such a conclusion was to happen, which some sayes
did afterwards fall out of their great discontents, but againe concluded with
love, and more love then ever had beene before, at least in outward shew, so
as these storyes may bee called one. Selerina left the Sheephard intreating
him to use his best meanes to comfort his friend, and to carry him backe to
his wife, which she desired as a woman, and hee premised to performe. To
the Court shee returned, meeting the King as hee came from hunting, to
whome she related this discourse, Antissius knew them both, and resolved
to cal them to the Court as soone as he return’d, for he had ever lov’d them,
and then had employment for them. The Progresse ended he return’d againe
to his first welcome, where he did find his amorous servant a fortunate man,
wanting nothing but his Majesties presence for the whole consummation of
his blessing, which was concluded by his marryage before the Kings going
thence, he assisting at the wedding, and thus was he happy in having what
he most coveted. To Constantinople the King and Queene soone after went, where Iii4r 441
where Selarina was with all joy, and ceremony by her deerest loving Antissius
crowned Queene, living as happily as ever Queene did. Antissia, and Lucenia
came, only to visit her, the other stayed, and attended her daily in the
Court, being cheife of the Chamber. Parselius with his Dalinea, being got
into their owne Country of Achaia, once more remembred the sweete, and
pleasant time they at first injoyed, when Parselius grew a lover, and shee as
passionate a receiver of his affection; they called to minde many more passages,
as his sadnes, and parting, yet neither of them they stucke long upon;
the cause, one not desiring the remembrance since for that occasion, the other
for feare of offending let it passe, nothing appeered before them but content,
he striving for nothing more then to please her, nor she ambitious of
any thing more then his affection: both thus equally bent to love, and satisfaction,
happines must needs be the end. If she had a mind to goe abroad, he
could never know cause to stay him from accompaning her; if hee liked any
sport, or pleasure abroad that she chose to please her selfe withall, his desire
was her will, and her will desire to serve him. Thus was love observed, and
served by these, who one day going into a greate Desart, after their manner
in that Country to take delight, carrying Tents where places so desolate
would not afford conveniencie or civill lodging, in a faire plaine the Pavillions
were placed, hard by a wood, a dellicate brooke running before them,
over which was only a ford but no bridge; there the Queene fished, while
the King hunted. As she was at her sport, an ancient fine woman appeared on
the other side smiling, and calling her by signes unto her, the Queene was at
first carlesse of her, but she still following right against her, calling as shee
went with her Angle fit for the streame, shee at last marked her, and was so
intised as she resolved to goe with her, sending straight for her Horse, and so
with some few in her trayne, one of her servants taking the old woman behind
him, rod into the wood, and a great while in the Desart-like wildernes,
till comming within a place thicke, and scratching, ful of bushes and thornes,
catching as longing to hould her, and so into a little round place, greene as
fresh grasse could make it, and as circular as those places faigned to be made
by the Fairy company to daunce in, she leaped from behinde her guide, and
comming to the Queene besought her to doe so likewise; she obeyed as led
by Fortune; then alone, save with the old woman, she went into the thicke,
from thence into such another little round, in the midst wherof was a Stone,
white as white could be, a Ring of silver on the top wherby it seemed to bee
lifted up; the Queene looked on it, and admired it, when the old woman bad
her lift it, she seeing the bignes thought it impossible, yet as come by her desire
she would not disobay her will, wherefore lifting at it, she easily tooke
it up, and then appeared a rich, sumptuous, and brave Staire of stone, carved
and guilt with gold. Those Staires she was to descend, which she did, entering
then into a delicate fine Gallery, as curious and costly all on Pillars of
Gold; out of this into a Garden, such as the perfectest was described to be,
thence into a Tarras, the railes, pillars, and all of the same continued richnes,
out of that into a large, and spacious Hall, the inside for ingraving, and curiosity
like, or surpassing the others, the very Benches, and Thresholds being
pure Gold, the walls inriched, & adorned with pretious Stones. In the midst
of this, or rather at the upper end, was an Altar, or the proportion of one, sixe Iii4v 442
sixe Candlesticks with wax lights in them upon it but not burning; a Booke
in the mid’st lay open which she tooke up, and reading in it, instantly a delicate
sound of Musicke was heard, and then appeared an ancient gravefull old
man speaking these words.

“Great and rightfull Queene of Achaia, blessed be your dayes, and happy
may your issue be; know from me, that you were here foretold us many
years since, to witnes which: this booke shall give you understanding”
, (takeing
that on the Altar, in his hand) “but till your owne, and by your selfe chosen
Lord come, I must not discover the secrets unto you.”
As thus they were
in discourse, a strange noyse of severall sorts of Trumpets, and other wind
Instruments were heard, whereat entred the king Parselius, who hunting was
brought by a like traine into that place. He beheld her, and she him, but as
two Statues, set with their eyes one upon the other without power to speak:
so stood they, admiration filling them as they were but wonder. The old
man thus said, since my Lord the King is now likewise present, I may lawfully
goe forward, and fullfill the charge left unto me, which hath laine in my
hands these many yeares. Your Grandfather brave Queene, had a Brother
named Distantes, he was a brave, and valliant Gentelman, as this Kingdome
ever knew, but his misfortune was to fall in love with a Lady, wife to another
man, whose deserts especially for love and truth to him, (worthynes above
all to be prized) merrited what? so much love as was in him, (and that
was as much as ever man carryed, or suffered for woman) could demaund,
and she had such requitall from him: he had loved her before her marryage,
she had likewise deerely loved him, and gave so lively proofes of it, as he was
made possessor of what was most desired by him, and the other only made
a colour for their loves, losing what was by marriage his due, but the others
by the right of love, so as he was the right Husband, the other the servant
that had but by stealth, Distantes possessing freely.”

“This proceeded, & she was with child, the good man rejoyced at it, she was
hartily glad, and the Prince thought himselfe blessed, who at the same time
also had his wife with child, who dyed in child-bed, leaving a faire and delicate
daughter as yeares after manifested; his Mistris had a sonne who were
brought up together, the Prince desiring her as a friend to bring up his
daughter, having by that a faire occasion to visit her whom hee loved more
then any other, or himselfe which is easily to be beloved, since himselfe, he,
nor any lover will spare in comparison of love to the beloved. These children
continually nourished, fed, and conversing together, did breed, feede,
and discourse affections by this meanes, growing like trees incensible yet to
perfection, and florishing: such rootes they had planted, as could not without
perishing both branches be decayed, yet time made them fearefull, by
reason that she was so much greater, & above him; in her it made her love the
stronger, thinking it an honour to her, to advance by her favour a man fit in
worth, though below her in dignity, the other being above all degrees. One
day she was in the Garden by a delicate Fountaine, combing her haire, and
braiding it into severall breads, tying at each end a delicate rich pearle, hee
came neere her enough to behold her, but not so neere (for his owne happines)
to hinder her, or make delayes from so delicate a worke, with which
shee knotted, and tyed up his heart in as many bonds as her fingers made plats Kkk1r 443
plats, and wound them at last all round to crowne her victory, and his bondage.
When shee had done, hee went to her, shee with smiles and pleasant discourse
welcom’d him, with such sweet and familiar affection, as had him
boldly sit by her, take her hand, kisse it, and so discourse of love: so farre
he proceeded, and so willingly shee imbraced his desires, as shee yeelded as
farre as chast love did warrant, promise of marriage passing betweene them.
This continued till the Prince having provided a fit marriage, for her, came
and propounded it unto her, little imagining what had pass’d betweene his
children: glad hee was to see their loves, which nature told him was necessary;
but not (alasse) the least misdoubting the mischiefe committed, til she
seem’d so nice, and unwilling to bee perswaded, as hee grew offended, yet
feared not such a misadventure: then did hee set his Mistris, her husband,
and the youth their sonne to worke with her; they all promised their helpes,
except the young man, who modestly excused it as well as hee could, confessing
his want of power with her, and unwillingnesse to offend her. This
did not dislike the Prince, who went away hoping for all that, to winne her
in time, which hee was resolv’d not by force to purchase; but if by perswasions
not els to compasse.
The love increased between the two young ones, as warmth in the Spring:
but the misery at last grew to their losse; yet gaine in this kinde by sad discourse
making them know the ill they had runne into, and the sinne they had
committed, which by this chance happened unto them. The Lady, Mother
to the youth, and Governesse to the Princesse, began to discerne they
lov’d, then doubted where, then guessed, and so griev’d, and more was perplexed,
not being able to finde a way out of this maze of trouble, nor an
end to winde the skeine upon any bottome, but destruction and ruine: shee
could not finde a friend to trust with it, to reveale her suspition to her beloved,
not being sure of the ill, shee thought it not fit, since a just taxe might
bee laid upon her judgement, and an uncurable wound given to him to
thinke of the offence, and deepe, though deserved punishment on him and
her, whose sinnes had bred flowers to poyson themselves with all, and
brought forth joyes to be their overthrowes.
In these perplexities shee remain’d till a night or two before the Prince
was to come againe, in the evening, or rather so late as might be called night:
shee went into the Garden to breath her complaints in the sweet and silent
ayre: but what hower can be so late or early, that (if profitable) Lovers will
not finde convenient?
Shee had not walk’d one Alley, but in a close delicate cover’d walke, she
heard a whispring which made her stand still, and not unmannerly, but onely
for knowledge sake listen who they were, when against her will, (as often
that happens) shee heard these words. ‘My deare’, said one of them, ‘what
strange mistrust is this, that lately is fallen into my mothers breast, to make
her so curiously watch, and as it were strive to deprive us of our loved meetings?
Can shee bee unkinde to her owne sonne? or thinkes shee that I am
not worthy of thee? Can shee which cherished mee with such hearty love,
envy, or seeke undeservedly to barre my chieftest blessing? the earth holds
not that treasure I prize like thee, the Heavens but in themselves can give Kkk mee Kkk1v 444
mee such content as thy presence fills me withall: joy is not but in thy sight,
nor am I ought if not with thee, barre mee thy conversation and imprison
mee; let mee bee banished thee, and murther mee; let mee not injoy thee,
and let mee perish in perpetuall accursednesse. What shall I say? I cannot
say I am worthy of thee; then should I flatter my selfe, and wrong thee.
I cannot thinke I merit speech for mee; yet since thou gracest mee, why
should any els envy or grudge my fortune? As thou art matchlesse, so are
thy favours; and I am blessed, inriched, and enobled with them: why then
should purblind chance or fond policie hinder me? tricks of state, as being
tricks, are to bee condemn’d; I am true, thou excellent; I loyall, thou affectionate:
what Crocodile treason should howle to bewray, and destroy
our contents’
; ‘weepe not deare eyes’, with that hee kiss’d the teares, and like
Nectar dranke them, corsives to see her shed them, but cordials as shed for
him, and hee permitted to take them. ‘O my deare life’, cryed hee, ‘teare not
my soule with thy sorrow, let mee not see thee mourne unlesse I may with
that dye: hee still kiss’d her, I know not whether more molested with her
paine, or joyed with that liberty of kissing, shee at last kissing his eyes which
likewise accompanied hers in showres.’
‘My joy’, said shee, ‘why make you
these questions? may there be any accident that can hinder our loves? our
wills and desires, ’tis true there may, but be confident no further then absenting
can gaine; for never shall I bee in heart and soule but yours: the least
thing that belongs to you is deare to me, how infinitely deare then is your
selfe; mine eyes are not so deare, my heart so well belov’d (but that you
cherish it) as is your sight and dearest selfe to me. I thinke not of a fortune
which is not with you and for you, I dreame not but of you, I joy not but in
you, nor am I ought els but your selfe metamorphosed wholly into you, and
your love.’
Then sate they downe by a delicate Fountaine at the side of that walke,
there they wailed againe, there testified their woes in sighes, and teares: ‘at
last’
(cryed shee) ‘but if my Father take mee hence, will not you forget mee?
shall not absence worke in you?’
‘Yes’ (said hee) ‘in admiration of thee, to
think how chast, how excellent thou art, how happy I was in thy loved sight,
and so by that, see more and more cause alwaies to lament: other effects when
absence brings to me, let ruine follow, or come joyntly with it; if roome be
found for foule forgetfulnesse, let mee of Heaven bee unremembredunremembred; thy
beauty printed in my heart, shall still before my soule call thoughts of love:
mistrust not me sweet life unlesse thou meane to martyr me, I can love none,
I nere lov’d any, or ere will live to think so shamefull & detestable a thought,
as change in love procures: no, I was borne just, I am just, and will dye just.’

Shee wrung his hand, and these am I, cryed shee, they then embraced, with
which the Mother came unto them, who seem’d like a great showre in harvest,
grievous to their covetous desires of being by themselves: the Moone
shin’d so as all things appear’d as cleare as in the day. They were in innocence
asham’d to bee heard and found alone, yet love made them onely desire
that, affection in a Mother made teares to fall for feare, and love for
him; respect unto the other, as childe of him she most loved, made her weepe
also for her; both brought passions, as for both shee suffer’d, shee could
not speake, her breath was stopped, and shee was choaked with kindnesse, shee Kkk2r 445
shee fell upon their necks as they together kneeled unto her, their eyes did
say they faine would speake, and they begged for them, hers promised will
to grant, and sorrow to deny; all three were in an extasie, not knowing what
to doe, speech failed, senses lost their use, and they were like the Images, that
in resemblance of the substances implored good, but dumbe as they were,
gain’d little, and thus did they remaine till hee spake. ‘Madam’ (said hee) ‘the
bringer of me forth, the kinde nourisher of me in youth, and till this time;
undoe not your first worke, nor make mee wish I never had beene borne,
which I must doe if I bee hindred from injoying this sweet Lady, Mistris of
my life. You have tenderly bred me with affection, and can bee as tender
over me still, then let my sufferings in love be as the dangers you sought to
prevent, and so protect me still; I did amisse in beginningbeginning without your
knowledge, but she loves me (Madam) that speakes for me, and therein am
I richer then in Kingdomes, if els where; she wishes what I seeke, and desires
what I wish; you have charity to strangers, let not your sonne bee a greater
stranger to yonu; his life lies on it, and so yours; if you doe hold mee but as
deare as yonu did lately protest I was: you have power and meanes to effect
this. What can you desire of my Lord that he will not consent to? what
intreat of her father that he will refuse? we both petition, both beseech your
ayd, you may assist and save ys, els let us faint and perish in dismay.’
The Lady
then grew more passionate at his speeches, then before the plaine sute, &
confession being delivered by his own tongue, desirous she was to helpe, and
succour him; but assured she was it lay not in her power; nor had she use of
speech, only teares freely serv’d her, so as if one would dreame of the ancient
changes, one might think she had been instantly ready to be transform’d
into a Fountaine; her silence gave the young Lady opportunity, who thus
discoursed her passions. ‘Mother’, said she, ‘to my perfecter selfe, disdaine, no
nor refuse the petition of my heart thus made, while that is prostrate to
you, heare and grant my sute, use the power of love that no question you
have imployed by your own sufferings judge mine, and for them both command
redresse; Love dares not deny you, who can, and have in my hearing
given proofes of his respects due unto you, let him now show what is your
dure; and allow it you, but imploy it to our profits; seeing thus before you,
the two purest Lovers his power ever touch’d, or brought under his obedience;
behold our pains as yours, for so they are since joyntly his, and pitty
mine as hers, bred by your hand, like a Lambe, till seazed by the wolfe of
Love, which (though fierce) yet kind and sweet are those clawes that hold
me fast to him; he hath told you your power, I can but beseech your favour,
and beg it for love, & your own Love’s sake; thinke how miserable the death
of Lovers will be, & how unfortunate when caused by a mother, & a friend
to love?’
‘A friend to love’, cryd the old woman, ‘and a mother? ’Tis true I am
both, & they bhave brought my miserie. O my children how miserable am I in
this? I might (did not my own guiltines condemne me) think my selfe, & call
my selfe your mother, but my shame makes my sorrow, and your losse must
proceed from my infamy; griev’d I am in soule to tell the truth, for you must
and cannot choose but hate me, when I shall say, what yet my heart, loth
to let me speake? my eyes will waste themselves in streames before I can
utter it, and my soule rend when I must say, you cannot bee blessed Kkk2 in Kkk2v 446
in love, your wofull and sinfull mother being the cause, and roote of all this
mischiefe. I blush in foule guiltinesse, I mourne in the knowledge of my
sinne, I am more faulty then ever woman was, and a meere staine to my sexe:
you cannot, my dearest heart, enjoy this Lady, nor you (sweet Lady) have
your love: I am the Monster that keepes the gates against you, and the Serpent
that deserves death from you for double injury.’
Then kneel’d shee
downe; ‘pardon mee’, cryde shee, ‘you perfectest and best, though most unfortunate
Lovers, I am the wretch that hath undone you and my selfe; your
love’s unlawfull, I am the shamefull cause thereof; your loves cannot imbrace,
I am the Divorcer; your wishes, if granted, would bee wickednesse,
and I am the groundground brought forth this poyson; wonder not, but shun me as
the Pestilence. I am not to bee neerer suffer’d then the Plague; for such I am
to you, to you (deare two) the life of my poore life: the reason of all this
was love, and your love by this sinfull love is cross’d; you are, poore soules,
deceiv’d and couzened; turne your affections now to chast and just desires,
for you are (ah that I must say so) Brother and Sister, children to one man.’

They, miserable soules, could not looke upon each other, the ground was
their highest object, swell and almost burst they did with griefe, their senses
shut up as in an Apoplexie: at last, all rose from the earth, into which they
rather would have gone, the old woman to her chamber, where falling into
passions her weaknes could not sustain: but she with heart afflicted, oppressed
with shame and unsufferable woe, dyed, being found in the morning in her
bed a pittifull corps of an afflicted minde. The youth and his Sister wept, and
sate that night together wringing their hands, as their hearts and soules
smarted for this harme: In the morning, for feare of spies, they parted their
misery, being to shew themselves as carefull as before, their honours and
the Parents lying on it, though their wofull fortunes might have given liberty,
which was their greatest Prison, liberty they before did covet, now had,
is onely hated. Sobs and groanes were the words they said farewell withall,
their eyes so fill’d with cloudes of teares, as if yet pitty were had, not to
let them see their extreamest misery, but through a scarfe of love shed water.
The noise of the Ladies death was soone spread abroad the house, comming
to the young Lords eares, who with much sorrow, which hee dissembled
not (his supposed father being absent) tooke order for her buriall, himselfe
soon after went thence privatly, like Caunus from Biblis; yet the comparison
holds not clearly, because these Lovers were chaste and pure after the
secret was disclos’d. Wandring about, hee happened on this Desart, and into
a little round place in proportion, like this you came from, where you descended
the stayres: Shee follow’d him, or fortune whither she would guide
her, who was so kinde as to bring her to this place where they continued
some short space, life not allowing too much sorrow, to such unfortunate
though worthy creatures, but would, to assist them, loose it selfe, parting
with them, leaving their bodies cleare reliques of spotlesse truth, and cross’d
affections malice. They saw each other, and bewail’d their chance, but to
favour each other, came no neerer then through those bushes to behold their
wofull selves, as in Mooneshine glimmering, and as colde: At last, as they
had justly at once begun their loves, they justly at one instant died a little before
meeting, pitty not letting the one outlive the other; or love covetous, would Kkk3r 445
would receive both parts at once a gaine into possession loth to spare any
part of such perfection. The bodies by divine providence kept safe, the
woefull Prince, Father to them, by destiny brought to them, having
searched, and all his servants for them. Under a great Cyprus Tree which
grew where the stone is now, they lay intwined in each others armes, dying
with as chast, and in as chast embracements as they had lived; her
groanes of death called him, who had as little life, yet some thing more
strength, finding her end comming, hee kissed her hand, and dying lippes,
then tore some of those branches downe, honouring againe poore Caparissus,
wearing his Funerall memory, making two Coronets, one for her, another
for him selfe, and so Crowned, but most with loyall spotles love,
they ended, leaving no staine but misfortune to touch them withal, & much
honour to be rendred to their loves.
The Prince finding them thus, fell downe on them, and as it were breathing
his last likewise into them, but hee was to out live them, and to
grace their Funeralls: he therefore rose commanding that stately Tree to
be cut downe, whose pride had beene such, as not to let any tree grow within
the compasse of his armes; of the body hee made a Coffin, into which
with precious balmes he layd the bodies as one; then did hee get the rarest
workman, and by his directions make this place, the comming to it he would
have this way, as most unusuall, and strange as their lives, the place els on
the other side would have suffered another, and finer comming to it, though
painefull, the ascent being so highe, for indeed, it was a place as cut out of the
maine Rocke, and wrought into the heart of it, all of one side having light
in aboundance, but hee had, as it were, made his way in the middest
thereof, as if to pierce the Center, as that part in their hearts had beene
sealed.
When this stately and sumptuous building was finished, he went into Chios,
where dwelt an ancient and rare Magitian, this man he made his instrument
to fulfill his intent, who did so well performe it, as hee accomplished
what Art could frame; my selfe, my Wife, the old woman that conducted
your Majesty and my Sonne that brought you hither, were heere established
by them; this booke hee gave mee to deliver to you when you came, and the
time appointed when a woman should raigne heere, loving as well, as much
deserving, but more happily enjoying to her comfort, which is your selfe.
I was commanded to tell this story to none els, nor deliver this Booke, wherin
this is more exactly expressed, and yet all this in the presence of the King
your chosen mate”

“These I have observed, and now have but two things more to do, which
are these, to shew you the Tombe”
; then opened he that place which seem’d
like an Altar, wherein lay the two Lovers adorn’d as they dyed, with the
same Garlands whose honour was to continue greene still, as hopefull of
their memory. The candles hee then lighted, telling them that hee and his
were ordain’d to doe that office, while any of them remained alive. The
King and Queene lamented the Lovers, pittying their miserable estates, and
unfortunate adventures, giving large allowance to the place to maintaine
lights for ever over them, and the keeping of the place to them and their
heyres. All charmes were now finished, and yet the memory of the charme Kkk3 of Kkk3v 448
of such a love never could be but extant.

Thus Parselius and his Queene were made happy with the rarest accident
of love, and the richest Tombe Love in the world had, they return’d with
all content, honouring above all other places the Tombe of Love, returning
soone after to their setled Court. Rosindy, Meriana and Perselina having
left the Court, and returning with their best and convenientest speed,
passing through a part of Achaia, which was pleasant, but slightly inhabited.

Perselina by reason of the heat, intreated them to stay a while in those
places; they agreed to her demand: Rosindy and Meriana like two new married
people for fondnesse and affectionate kindnesse, walking in the woods
which were but small heighth, though thicke, being like Copsies all of
Birch, save heere and there an Oake would shew himselfe in pride, and peremptorily
tell them hee commanded; in this place the King took great delight,
so as they sate downe where fearnes grew, as if of purpose to bee their
cushions, and then with sweet and loving discourse they let the time steale
away, delight increasing while that little addition of age grew on them unfelt
or thought on.

The delicate young Lady went by her selfe, her thoughts farre higher
then that solitarinesse, could have rais’d them, had shee not carried a more
aspiring and brave minde continually about her then ordinary women, or
the most extraordinary had, her fortunes were so farre short of her spirit,
as shee suffered that to descend, to wish an increase, and sufficiency
of estate though shee bought it with her marriage, and so grow subject
to an HusbandHusband, which, though loath shee was to doe, yet rather then want
meanes, shee would venture her limits of absolute freedome; yet such
her conceit of her owne judgement was, in which shee erred not much,
as shee thought shee should doe well enough with such a Husband as she
would choose for free living; many had beene named, but one onely
shee liked, who had but one barre to hinder his desires, which was that
hee was a stranger, and no Macedonian; besides, of that Nation which
in former times had beene enemies, though neighbours; and this was
the chiefe obstacle, her Father a man of infinite spirit, and having had
her by the widdow Queene of Macedon, after whose birth shee soone
dyed, hee thought none worthy of her, especially, an Achayan, but acquaintance
with Rosindy, and service to Parselius had brought him so
neere, as shee resolv’d in her selfe, if hee remained constant, what ever
came of it to bee his wife.

In this resolution shee walked up andand downe the Cops, plotting as many
severall waies to compasse her desires as plentifull love could furnish
her withall, at last an highway being through the Cops, and shee heard
by that way, heard some comming downe towards her, and one to sing this
Song.

From Kkk4r 449 “From a long way, and Pilgrimage for Love, I am return’d weary’d with Travels paine, Not finding ease, or those vexations moove: First, to my soule they are, where to remaine They vow to setle; then alas, can I Thinke of a rest, but travell till I die.”

When she had finished her song, Perselina standing among the bushes by
the way side saluted her, who was a delicate, but distressed creature, in habits
of a Pilgrime, but carying a countenance that said for her, shee was noble,
her traine halfe a dozen servants of all kindes, two Gentlewomen, and
foure men, all on foote with staves in their hands, bare footed and carrying
their owne provision in baggs at their backs, she onely had hers carryed for
her. When she saw the Princesse (who in apparell Greene, and among the
bushes appeard like Diana when in greatest perfection) she stayd, and with
a modest salutation, according to her estate, answered the honour shee had
received, by her saluting her. The Princesse desired her to rest her selfe a
while with her. “Madam” said shee, “then should I hope for that which yet
I have beene denied, rest never knew I any, one stop or other crossing me in
it.”
“I would not” said she, “have you stand upon the word, but agree to my desire
and meaning, which is, that you should stay with me, and so a little desist
from travell.”
She humbly gave thankes, but said, her habits admitted
but journeys. “Eate and drinke” said she, “you must, let me but have that time,
and lawfully may I demand it, since your song tells mee your Pilgrimage is
finished.”
“Madam” said she, “in a kind it is indeede, but not perfectly, for till I
finde my selfe in mine own home, I shall not think it done.”
“Are you far from
that?”
“No indeede”, answered the Stranger, “within a league, and this my
ground.”
Perselina againe urged, and civillity made her consent, so as thus she
proceeded.

“Madam”, said she, “to whose commands can bee no refusall, say what you
will have your servant, my selfe, performe for satisfaction to your will, I must
and will observe you”
, “come in” said shee “into this thicke, and there let us conferre.”
She obeyd, and willed her servants to attend for her in that place, shee
attending Perselina. Both in the thickest part as close as their sufferings were
to themselves, they sate downe, the Princesse desiring to know the cause of
her travell. She with as much desire of keeping that secret, which must bee
knowne, answered thus: “Alas Madam”, cryd shee, “what torture doe you put
me, a poore vassell to your authority, and love, to rehearse that, which every
word strickes to my heart like daggers; hath my first sight given you such,
dislike as you purpose to molest me? Or my little conversation such distaste,
as you resolve to afflict me? Otherwise, why should you lay this waighty
Crosse upon me?”
“Not to bring any of these, faire Pilgrime”, (said the Princesse)
“but to know exactly what I already mistrust, led to it by your exellent
speech, and manner”
; “then” said she, “like a woman I will be pleased with your
commendations, and as fond of them, follow your requests, I will yet by
your favour reserve some things to my selfe, and they are these, my name and
Parentage, onely I beseech you let me call my selfe as I appeare.”

Poore Kkk4v 450 “Poore Pelarina your creature lived in this Countrey when it was in that
happinesse, and innocency, as those dayes were, when Satirs, Nimphs,
and Shepheards liv’d free with one another, fearelesse of harmes; Wolves,
Foxes, Sheepe, and Lambes, fedde, liv’d, and were as one Flocke, neerer
in familiarity then Goates are with the tamest now. Plenty grewe for
men to reape, and they reap’d but what grewe for them. In this time I found
my selfe made, mee thought, unto love, and I did love, accursed bee this
Grove for it; for heere, O heere, I lost my liberty, heere I walk’d, and
discoursed with my selfe how happy I was, and all these parts that liv’d
in that liberty where none felt straitnesse from the best man to the lowest
flower, not so much as that the Cowslip look’d one whitt yellower in suspition;
that the Rose, Violet, or Lilly, were sweeter, delicater, or beautifuller
then themselves: all were good companions, and strove but for society
without suspition, the true and perfect golden age was then, when
riches consisted in truth, since skipt to the hard cold Iron where rusty disquietsquiets
eate, and spoyle, devouring like Vipers their owne kinde, and now
doth love imitate that ill.
New come from hunting, in a Castle not farre hence, I first saw my first,
& last love; he was tall and slender, not so curiously shap’d, as extreame lovely,
and amiable, his haire browne he wore in good length, his apparell hansome,
not to curious, nor so neate, that discoverd not, hee rather affected
ease, then fond Courtly vanities; hee was neither forward to discourse,
nor sparing, when hee was acquainted to honour the company where hee
was with his wit, which was incomparable, and so pleasing a way hee had
in conversation as made all hearts and eares his owne; what perfection was
in all that sexe hee had united in him, and yet to this excellency as necessary
to make him perfect man, hee had the most usuall humous of change, and
falsehood; woe is me that I must say so, but it is truth, and that can neither
blush nor looke pale.
He came thither with a Lady hee seemd much to respect, and so much, as
I was angry, and envied her, before I knew I loved him, but that gave mee
cause to thinke it, and that thought to beleeve, and beliefe served to condemne
me, to the chaines. I was young, and some said hansome, but that
was not it I hoped upon, desert I meant should bee my meanes, and on that
ground would I lay my foundations, which proud so good, as I gaind his
love; and truely may I say so, for he did affectionatly love me, and cheerish
mee as his eyes, which never were so well pleased, as when looking on mee,
where hee said, and joyed for it, that hee sawe as pretty expressions of love,
as women could discover. Visitations hee caused to bee betweene his brothers
wife and my selfe, and why but to the ende of our meetings? Were
I not forced to tell this, the more to shewe his disloyalty I would not mention
it; both to avoide doubt of vanity, and austentation, and my owne
torment to say this was, and should I leave it out, how should you know
what you desire, which is truth, and my story? This conversation wrought
a love, and untyed affection betweene us two; so as we were, and are called
the true loving women friends, a rare matter (as men say) to bee found
amongst us.
Journeyes to our severall kindred and friends wee made together, when feasts Lll1r 451
feasts were made, wee three were invited as not to bee seperated, and so
much his love and mine was noted, as none would at any time in Coaches,
or at the Table devide us, love being a thing so beloved, as every
one loves it for it selfe, in what place soever it be found to bee setled: so
much I saw it marked, as had not my entire affection beene so violently
raigning, I might my selfe have beene nice to have it so publike; but
what did I heede save his love, the embracing of it in equall flames as given
to mee, and so wee gave the world cause to admire us, rather then after
their fashion, to accuse, of scorne us. If hee were missing from Court, or
any place where he had occasion to be, to mee they would come for him,
and then was I best able indeede to yeeld accoumpt of him; but what
shall I say? All things growe, and live to change, not my selfe, but am
changed from youth to yeares, from beauty to decay, from blessing to all
miserie: what I or the World held strange but yesterday, this day makes
us know, and taste; Plaines are where Woods were, Sand onely, and barrennesse
in the fruitfullest places. Asia is barren that flowed in much plenty,
Cities wasted, ruin’d, and lye desolate that were the Earths glory,
and for mine owne particular, I am undone that once was highest in Fortunes
Paradise.
What shifts would hee make to hold us together, or if a day absent to
meete againe? How unkindly would hee take the least looke of mine, if
sadd, lest it had beene to him? And how kinde was he to me, never quarelling,
if not, that I was not as hee thought fond enough, or some time lesse
fond of him then I was, which I never knew, nor could, unlesse I would, or
were able to leave loving my owne soule, for little lesse dearer was he to me,
or yet is. One night he came unlook’d for to our house, but not unthought
on by me, nor undesired by him: How did he joy in his countenance to see
me, and I rejoyce to have his sight? I was strooke with so much content as
I was speechlesse, he blush’d with kind affection, I with agreeing love, all
Supper our eyes fed on one anothers lookes, writing our mindes in them as
with Diamonds in Glasse, and no more permanet did his proove. After
Supper he would needes (onely to have me with him neerer then he thought
hee could in the roome) goe walke into a Garden to heare the Nightingale,
I obeyed with as much willingnesse as he desired, and so calling the Lady,
my friend, with us, we passed away the time till night calld us to rest, but a
little rest tooke we, for our Chambers being neere, we sate and discoursed all
night in a little Gallery betweene the Lodgings; the morning comming we
parted, but like the first part of it with dewye teares, though but for some
houres as we thought, yet it proved longer in a kinde, for many weekes passed,
before we could enjoy so much happinesse as that night wee had, yet
were our eyes blessed with each others sight, and our hands made happy
with being linked within each others sweet, and softest prison, loving so
much the bandes, as they would almost in kindnesse hurt, with hard, but
kindest holdings. O me, how blessed was I then, and now how haplesse?
Hunt we did together, and Hawke with such pleasure as drew envy on us
both, but what did we except our owne contentments value? He delighted
in my company, I would have dyed but hee should have had it, nothing Lll thought Lll1v 452
thought I on but to please him, my study onely bent that way, nor tooke
hee liking to any thing more then how to delight mee; thus agreede,
what happinesse did wee live in? Favourites in their Princes eyes are
not so great, nor happy as we were. This continued (alas, why use I that
word continue, having experience of the contrary?) but this blessing was
for foure yeares space; then, I know not what Devill, but the great one
himselfe, Change, put in a spell, and wicked power against mee, bringing
Beauty and Youth in excellency before his eyes, to make mee excellingly
unfortunate; hee was caught with those faire allurements, and I tyed to
mischiefe by that taking.
Woe is mee, I lost all my comfort, all my joy by that; but at last a greater
ill tooke mee, for another got him from us both, who had long sought
it, but while he held fast to me, she could not gaine him, beauty was the untying
of my blisse, and wit her losse, yet I had the fairer share in loosing
that, a faire creature was my undoer, like the fortune of Paris, she a terrible
harme to have her joy, and hopes bereft her by a witt, which gaining discover’d
her want. But I pittied her, though shee had robbed mee, as if I
should have compassion of a Thiefe that another causeth to be executed,
who hee had before stolne from me, and was forgiven: so I forgave her,
and was sorry for her, who long outlived not her losse.”

“Was shee a marryed woman”, said Perselina, “when shee dyed?” “Shee was”
answered Pelarina. “Did shee much love”, said the beautifull Princesse? “Like
Women that love the ordinary way of love said the other, whose affection,
greatnesse, gifts, or such ends entice, not the vertue of love it selfe; after
her death hee used mee a little better then before, as if againe casting his
eyes on me, for love, or use.”
“Why”, said Perselina, “could you have patience
to endure him after hee had used you so vildly, as to change?”
Patience
“Madam” said she, “yes, and a greater wonder, in me affection continued strong
towards him, and doth, though his Mistresse call’d it dulnesse, when I
told her, good natures would have given it the title of patience, but I excusd
her for it; to witnesse my patience, I have beene with her in companies abroad,
nay at her owne house, and seene all what I had once enjoyed given
to her, my eyes looked not on as if blear’d, my hand untouched as if poysonous,
hers kist, babies look’d in her eyes, smiles flowing to her, frownes
plentifully shewing themselves on me. I have hunted with them, I have gone
(as one day I must needs remember above the rest) a Fouling with them,
where so much favour I received from him who was once mine, as she being
a little parted from us to shoote at a Fowle, he went as fast from mee as hee
could without running, while his scorne rann to me. An other Gentleman
was there, and none els, he was of his Family and kindred, and as true lover
of me, as I was of his cousens, but him I as much shunn’d, and rather then
goe softly with him. I went apace after my flyer, the way of necessity leading
me to follow my disdainer. When they met, with what love did he take her
hand and kisse it? I following unmarkt, but weary, and dabled like a hunted
Hare in Winter, tyred with my disgrace, and weary of my wrongs, sweeting
with passionate paine, and durted in despaire, yet loved I still. A bracelet he
wore of her haire braided and tyed about his left arme, a peice of it one day hung Lll2r 453
hung out, I saw it, and griefe with it, and yet a little joy tooke me when I discern’d
he knew it should not be seene by me, and that he had so much shame,
or pitty as hee turn’d from me, blushd, and put it up out of sight, I would
faine have said, your newe favours too much discover themselves, but I
fear’d, or rather was loth to displease him; at first, he was a little, or much
more strange, but after he grew sociable, and I continued humble, finding
fault with nothing, but embracing all small curtesies, or the lookes like them
as welcome, and so used them; yet so much it was marked, and I discern’d
my losse publikely noted, as I grew sensible of it, and so a small deale wiser,
for needes I would be free.”

“I tried all meanes possible, but what force can pervaile against an impregnable
strength, or steely heart of Faith, and love? Yet I used all instrumentall
meanes that could be thought on, I look’d off as oft as my heart could
let me, I look’d then when I could not choose, with resolutoin to dislike,
saying in my selfe, have I suffered this for you that scorne mee? I would
faine have found fault with his shape, his fashion, or any thing, blaming my
selfe for doting on suchsuch an one, but these would not serve, for the more I looked,
I saw more cause of Love, gazing though to death; willingly I absented
my selfe, and in absence, had got so much heart, as warranted me to see him
againe, and have my desire of carelessenesse; I ventured, assured as I
thought, but couzened I was meerely; for though I came in like a Giant
swolne with pride of my owne power, and assurance of my conquest,
the true Knight Love came armed against mee in armes of fire, and
truth, I yeelded, and could but like a poore miserable Poet confesse my
selfe in Rime, thus finding my error, with the blisse (I confesse) of seeing
him who I found I could not but love forall other resolutions.
Did I boast of liberty? ’Twas an insolency vaine: I doe onely looke on thee, and I captive am againe. And so indeed I was, for I never knew love stronger in me, as then of
necessity it ought to bee, contending with judgement; multitudes I could
reherse of his favours, and disgraces to mee, of his mistresses feares, and
smiles, but to what ende? All can but shew I was blessed, and am unfortunate,
my face and life say that for mee, onely this appertaines to
the Story.
I at last was againe made beleeve he loved me, and I was (ever in thata wavering
religious) glad of it, proud of it, joyed with it, and utterly ruin’d by
it. He was in shew as he was wont to be, I saw it, gladed at heart for it, others
told me of it, I was like a Birde nice, and blusht, yet receiv’d it willingly;
ad so, as I had cause, after finding his neglect againe, to grow with shame,
and teares to repent my credulity, and to manifest it with my true penitence.
I therefore tooke this Pilgrimage upon mee, which now I have
in a kind ended: I have seene Hiersalem, confest my sinnes, asked forgivenesse,
and remission, which I hope my desire of pardon, though
not my merits, hath purchased mee, and thus I am returnd?”
Lll2 But Lll2v 424

“But are you free from love”, said Perselina? “In troth no Madam”, said the other,
“I love him stil, but I hope it is now but charitably, yet I am afraid to try
my selfe lest I should finde my spirit like my selfe, fraile.”
The Princesse smiled
at her pretty innocent confession, thinking that shee had learned so truly
to confesse as shee could doe no other, yet in that shee was deceiv’d,
for unlesse shee would, shee could bee silent. But was your journey and
vow wholly made upon this, wherin you were faulty but in vertue, or beliefe
to it? “Mix’d Madam”, said shee, “I professe, and mixture made it, I
did so farre beleeve, as I granted what I may lawfully repent, and necessarily
also, but Love my ruler commanded, and I obeyed. I could in my
selfe say, why should I yeeld, I must deny; but when I saw him, my soule
flew to him, he but asked, and I yeelded, yet this I repent not, but a vanity
I had about mee, which because once liked by him, and admired by
our Sexe, or those, of them that I durst make my follies seene unto, a
fond humour of writing, I had set downe some things in an idle Booke
I had written, which when hee saw, hee thought touched, or came too
neere, or I imagine so, because in some places he had turnd downe leaves,
and onely at such as he might if hee would dislike, and were those I thought
hee would take notice of, yet he neither did by word nor writing, not honouring
me so much, who was his slave, as to finde fault, or to seeme
pleasd. I was me thought left to conjecture, and the further I went in such
conjecture I runne into feare and sorrow that I had offended, yet I can
cleare my selfe if I might come to answere, but I cannot, not could,
so as finding my selfe thus miserable, I tooke my Pilgrymage willingly.”

“What could you say to offend?” “In troth Madam”, said shee, “I discover’d
how neere I was to bee an ordinary lover after losse, which is to grow
neighbour if not inhabiter with hate; and some two Poeticall and neate
expressions I made of it, yet I came off, though hurt as it seemes in the action;
but let him make the case his owne, and I doubt hee will rather
cut the cord then untye the knots: but I have done, I forgive all,
and wish hee will also doe so with mee; I pray for him, and truely without
faigning I love him for all this, firmely, and shall doe; let him use his
worst in scorne, which he hath prettily practis’d: I thinke hee can neither
shew, nor, assure my selfe, study that cruelty which can make me hate him;
nay, in earnest leave loving, though it may bee I have err’d in saying so, boasting
rather then having such strength; for which, great love and you dearest
beloved, pardon mee, I aske it with a repentant and clensed heart, and (if it
please you) remember what cause you gave; if not, nobly forgive.”
Perselina
found in her selfe she should never come to that excellency of constancy;
wherfore she admired, thogh scarce commended her richnes, in that plenty,
and fulnesse, & being call’d by Rosindy, left the constant Lady to her vertuous
vowes, and religious truth, who lived the rest as she had begun her dayes in
fervent zeale and affection.

The King and Queene with the delicate Princesse arriving soone after
in Macedon, where they rul’d both with power and love, loved with feare,
because they fear’d they could not love enough; the young Princesse soone
after tooke her minde and former resolution, marrying her selfe with her
chosen love: some busines there was before it could bee effected; but the effect Lll3r 421
effect came happily to their owne resolutions conclusion, & peace, the Nurse
of love was among them. Philarchos with Orilena going for Mytelin, met a
Ship riding, or rather floating, for unguided she was, unrul’d, and unman’d,
tumbling up and downe, like the Boates boyes make of paper, and play withall
upon little brookes: onely a Dogge, to shew some live creature was in
her, came on the hatches, and walk’d with much gravity, like an officer or
kinde of watchfull servant, he bark’t not, nor fawningly sought ayde, by leaping,
whining, shaking his head, or wagging his tayle, or other such dog-like
expressions, but look’d soberly, & entertainingly, like a steward on the strangers:
the Prince came and laid the Ship aboord; when Philarchos saw none
but this guardian, he leap’d into her, and some of his Knights with him, the
Dogge look’d on them, and as one might say, discreetly went before them,
(as their guide) into a Cabin where a Lady lay on the ground weeping and
wringing her hands, all in mourning, and more sorrowfull yet in her illustrious
expression then the mourning could shew mournfull, and therefore shee
more then their habits mourn’d. Shee onely look’d up, and cast her eyes
downe againe, and her face against the ground, crying, “Alas, have I not
beene miserable enough? must I in this assured quiet bee molested? can I
not have a restfull dying time allow’d me? shall not the Sea nor a cast-away
Barque have power to let mee dye in peace? then yet endure more, and
know thou must (poore woman) dye, as live in perturbation.”
Philarchos
went to her, tooke her by the arme, and gently lifted her up a little, using
these wordes: “none heere purposeth to molest you, wee are, and will bee
rather your servants then disquieters, by chance we came to succour you,
and now by resolution will, if you please to accept of it.”
“Sir” (said she) “your
noble disposition appeares in this, and God (I hope) will reward you for it,
I am so lamentable a soule, and so unable to thinke of ability (though gratefulnesse
rules mee) as I am onely able to pray for you, and that I will not
faile to doe; but Sir, you must leave mee, for I am appointed to dye, and
by him that hath power to doe it, if he had but onely commanded me, without
leaving me to this assurance.”
“There is no necessity” (saith Philarchos) “in
obeying you in this, who though condemn’d (as it seemes) by a power over
you, governes not us, nor can, though soveraignizesoveraignize over you, subject us
to his law: therefore I will not obey him nor you in this; fortune brought
me fortunately to the finding you, shee shall likewise bring you to life, for
wee will save you, you are our prey, we will not in complement let you destroy
your selfe, it seemes you are dead to those condemn’d you, you may yet
lawfully live to us that redeeme you, howsoever, bee confident wee will
conduct you hence and place you somewhere where you shall bee safe
from a certaine ruine.”
“That will more ruine mee” (cryed shee) “when I shall
bee bar’d from obeying him whom I must ever observe.”
“What obligation
binds you”
, said hee: “Soveraignty of Love”, said she, “and loyall subjection to
his will.”
“Tyes”, said Philarchos, “fit to bee durable, and affection indure, but
else a bargaine is not to bee made onely of one side, you are free when hee
breakes”
: “to dye”, said shee, “never to live disobedient to him who is my
Lord.”

The Prince knew such things as love and loyalty were or had beene, yet
hee was willing to divert her from those courses because running to perill, Lll3 and Lll3v 456
and therefore hee replyed, these were the expressions of purest zeale in love:
but love was never ordained to be such a monster as to destroy, if hurt by
change, tryall judicially should helpe, not harme directly pursue. Shee
sigh’d and lamented. Hee comforted and disputed, at last tooke her up, partly
by will, partly by force from the ground, and carried her to his dearest Orilena, who kindly, like a brave noble Lady, welcom’d her: her Dogge
would not part from her, but still attended her, lying when shee sate or lay
on the ground at her feete; when shee stir’d, hee followed (servant-like)
her motions.

When shee was out of her Prison, which should have beene after
her death, and buriall, like one come forth of a fainting fit; shee look’d
about and star’d like a Hauke that had beene hooded when shee comes first
to sight againe: a decent and yet Princely salutation shee gave to Orilena,
which was repayed her with the like, and much courtesie. Philarchos commanded
to put off from the other Barque. Two of his Knights that were
brothers begged her, and went away in her upon an adventure with his
consent, while they sailing towards Mytelin, gained so much of the sad true
Lady, as shee brake silence so long as to deliver this discourse. “My native
Land (though unnaturall, because such cruelty was in the Countrey) is the
sweet Iland of Nycaria, my parentage of the best bloud, next the chiefe Lord
and his children, and of his house I am, though not of the same name. I fell
in love with a young Noble-man, much esteemed, and as any, honour’d for
his bravery and courage; no spirit in the Island excelling his, if equalling,
no wit comparable to his; nor no Nobleman endued with more vertues, as
learning, horsemanship, and what els can bee required in such an one, whose
noble descent answer’d or demanded these excellencies.”

“Hee loved mee like wise as passionately, and fondly, which at last
was and is my overthrow. I liv’d with my father most commonly, but
oftentimes I went to the Court, more (I confesse) to see him and joy in his
presence, then to see any vanity there; yet I both saw those sports the Court
affects, and are necessary follies for that place, as Masques and Dauncings,
and was an Actor likwise my selfe amongst them, though never affecting
them further then to content him I lov’d, who I saw well pleased with all:
many banquets I was the cause of when we met, and to my Fathers hee ordinarily
did come, a strict friendship betweene them: never was hee, if
absent quiet, if still one or other of my servants were not with him, nor was
I without some of his perpetually with mee; not that I thought or
could let so wronging a conciept come into mee that hee mistrusted mee; but
out of sincere affection to have ever some of his followers wth mee, to give
occasion when I durst not else to speake of him: none neede bee kept to
make mee thinke of him; for my thoughts never strayed from him, or staid
one minutes space.
At my Fathers, (which was as fine pleasant and sweet a seate as any in
that Countrey, there ran a delicate wanton River, twining it selfe into every
dainty meadowes armes; not deepe but fit for Dianaes Nymphes to
have used: in imitation of whom, my selfe and Sisters often went into it.
this River came favourably to grace the place, close under the Orchard wall:
A backe way wee had through the GardensGardens, out of which wee went, and there Lll4r 457
there bath’d our selves: an old Gentleman, a servant to my Lord,
watched us, and so neatly carried his businesse, as wee never doubted him:
but not being able to continue truer to himselfe then to us, hee told mee of
it, describing so truely all our fashions (being eight of us) maner, wordes,
and actions, as I knew hee spake truth, ‘and’ (said hee) ‘had it not beene for
one thing, I could have wish’d my master in my place.’
I ask’d him what that
was? He said because one of us kept her smocke on them, he would, he was
sure most have wish’d to see, I knew her whom he ment; for none but my selfe
did so, and privately I said in my heart I did beleeve him, and wish’d it too,
so it had beene by the like chance.
This old man whose thoughts were young, and toung-nimble in such a
kinde, loving the remembrance of what he was then past, at his Lords next
comming told him of it: Hee straight wish’d his fortune. ‘So did I’, said hee,
‘wish it for you, and told my Lady (for so hee call’d mee.)’ ‘What’, said she,
‘answer’d my Lord?’ ‘Nothing’, replyed hee, but smil’d, and walk’d on. Hee
came imediatly to mee, telling mee what hee had heard, and urging mee to
know what I thought when I smil’d. I truely confest, and hee as truely lovingly
tooke it, loving joyfull thankfulnesse shining in his eyes. Twenty of
these passages wee had, and as many severall Ladies, and of as severall complections
and dispositions almost fell in love with him, in that time hee loved
mee: thousands of curses I had among them; but as long as I prosper’d
in his love I cared for none of them, but sped (mee thought) the better, rather
wishing so still to bee prayed for, so I enjoyed the righter way. Such
pretty testimonies hee gave mee, as I must have beene (unlesse I had beene
unreasonable) forc’d to bee assur’d of his love, shewing almost contempt to
all others.
I was so, and with all faith imbrac’d and cherish’d it; so modest hee
was besides, as I lov’d that in him, and saw it there a greater vertue then
it is ordinarily esteemed. Proofes I had of it, for being alone, hee never was
uncivill, nor did offer what I as willingly consented not unto; yet at last my
father finding (as easily hee might of any, having beene a great Lover) that
I was intirely his; hee conjecturd, that I could deny nothing, therefore
would rather seeme to trust him, or els it was to binde him to him, if any
such bonds can serve, or prevaile where true love is. As one day when hee
was to goe a journey leaving him with me, farewell daughter, said he, and the
like to you my Lord, and I pray you bee honest. Hee blush’d, what did I
then? conjecture noble Lord and Lady, truely I was heartily asham’d; and
yet soone got courage againe, when I remembred wee were not guilty: but
the word honest made mee thinke of the contrary, that thought moov’d my
blood into my cheekes, and stir’d occasion in him to discourse with mee of
it; so as I feare that did more harme, which should have prevented, if but in
thought then before was thought on; for beleeve it, it is a dangerous matter
to bee forbidden a sweet in love, as I have heard it credibly said, and
know it in some kind exercised; but wee did fulfill his desire, and hee found
us as hee left us, chast, but affectionately loving, which all forbiddings could
never have hinder’d or lessened, my father himselfe even envying us, for
his love, (though to many) had never brought him so true an one as
I was. This Lll4v 458
This lasted as long as it was possible for a man to bee just, and longer
then (except few) any have beene; and yet I thinke truely hee had slip’d
sometimes, but I knew it not, or had no cause, out of want, to mee to
finde fault: But this fault came on his side, how easie was it for him
then to take exceptions, who before would be readier to answer for mee,
or my friendes, then our selves; yet hee did not absolutely in two
yeares give over his former fashion, though (alasse) his love was dryed,
and like Roses by mee kept for the colour they had, and sweetnesse,
the remembrance still held, but wither’d, and not themselves to
bee knowne by sight.
At last such a quarrell hee had against himselfe (as if for ever loving mee)
as hee grew discontented in my company; snapt mee up, if I adventur’d to
speake; frown’d, if hee caught mine eyes on him, and withall plotted disgrace,
carryed himselfe to mee, that his brother and his owne friends said
it was too much. I bore it, and truely for all that left not loving nor
grieving for it; yet at last I got so farre, as my sorrow exprest it selfe, not
so openly in show, though as neere in acquaintance; for it was an houshold
guest with mee.
But so it happened at last, that this Lady hee had taken, and cast mee
off for, loved another, which was to him discover’d; hee liked it not,
yet made no show of it, because hee had said, when ever hee mistrusted
his love hee should hate her, and that might hee, for heere hee was assur’d,
or might bee: but other reasons held them together, yet it gave him leave
to look on me a little again, and to me those lookes were like the sweet eueevenings
wherein the Larke delights her selfe so much, as shee flyes into it, never
satisfied with the delicacie, till at the height shee is forced to retire, bidding
that farewell: So did I, for I was forced to part againe from
that; but in that halfe day of blisse hee tooke occasion to speake of old
matters.
I was as willing to that as hee, and so wee discoursed temperately, ‘in
the end’
, hee said, ‘for that cause’, said hee, (speaking of a frivolous and unwaighty
businesse God knowes) ‘I lost you all’, ‘You had left us’, said I, ‘before
that time’
, with that hee sate a little neerer to mee, and (it seem’d)
would have proceeded, which I wish’d, for I made no question then of satisfying
him if ever wee came to speake: but one of the wicked Ministers
of my overthrow, as destin’d to spoyle mee, had such a spell, as in absence
shee had a spirit able to ruine mee, sent for him, hee went, but promised to
come againe. I attended, as resolv’d never to give cause of dislike; but hee
was stayed, and I in a mighty fret return’d to my lodging. Another time
he tooke occasion being invited, (which then he must have beene, if he were
desir’d at my fathers, which before had been his ordinary table) to a dinner
my father made to many of his friends, and hee esteemd by him so, hee was
solemnly invited. He came, and at dinner sitting by me, fell into discourse of
love, and of womens inconstancie, as if I had beene guilty: I, knowing my
innocencie, spake like that, and so understood him not in shew.
Then hee fell to other kindes, yet on the same theame, and at last hee
came to say, how poore Paris was us’d for choosing well; ‘for’ (said he) Juno
because a Queen would be belov’d. Pallas, a boystrous woman would fight, if not Mmm1r 459
not chosen, poore Venus onely loved, and for Loves sake wan the Aple, thus
was he punished for love.’
‘I thinke not for that so much’ (replyed I, by your
Lordships favour) ‘that he was distresse, but for being false before to Enona.’
He said no more, and by that I saw he understood me; yet after againe he had
another Jerke at it, but in another sort speaking of love, and returning to their
former loves. ‘There may be hope then’, said I. ‘Introth little’, said he: ‘for if
ever, I shall come tatterd and torne, not worth looking on.’
‘Yet then’ said I, ‘if
to me you come, I will welcome, and cloath you.’
He looked pleased with me
for yet, it opportunitie gained by the other, lost by mee, held him as shipps
tossing in a Haven, but winde-bound. Well, I grew desperate and indeed
heeded nothing that befell me; in the conclusion I spake something, or something
was said for me, which brought me under the compasse of the law, as
farre as life came to. I was condemned, but he though an Officer, sat not on
my Judgement: some thought out of pitie, yet I tooke it not so, for his presence
(in such a cause, wherin I protest I was altogether wrongd) might have
ayded me, at least his sight would have comforted me in the condemnation,
so much I loved him; but he was absent, and my misfortune so present, as
I was adjudged to death; yet the Prince of Nicaria being mercifull, would
not take my life according to the Countrie Law, but after another fashion
would have it as hee meant; for hee censured me to this, from whence you
have relieved me.
When I was to be put into this Tombe, as was meant me, the chiefe Lords
and Officers came to see me (according to the Prince his order) committed
to the Sea, into the Ship they put me with meate for three dayes, no man nor
creature with me but my Dog, which would not forsake me, and they allowed
with me, not for love, but hope of harme to me; for my Victuals they imagined
he would have share of, and at last devoure mee, being one of the fiercest
in all the Country. But in this they deceived themselves, for since wee
came aboard, which is now eight dayes, he hath satisfied himselfe with very
little, and never troubled me. A Fisherman came by, and would have had
the Dog, he entised him, but his faith to me (more then I ever found in man)
his distressed Mistris, held him with me; hee threw him then a large piece of
meate, which though stale, was good enough for a Dog, he tooke that, and
fed a little on it, but as if weighing his estate, left part for other times; the man
also gave mee something, pittying my case, but not daring to helpe mee, left
me.
Among the Officers that came to my living execution, my Lord was one,
though he stayed not to see it performed, but came among us hastily, stept to
me, whispered, and bad me farewell, ‘and be like your selfe’ (said hee) ‘resolute,
die confidently, and cherfully, this will comfort you, and honour your end.’

I heard him, but could not answere him, onely I looked upon him, and
with teares told him, his censure was harder, then the Prince his, for I
loved him, the cause of all my miserie: but he scarce looking on me, as hastily
went away againe, leaving mee to the favour of the Windes his constant
Rulers, to the Seas furie, and Fortunes hazard, yet all kinder then
hee, have joyned for my good: and I am saved by you brave Princesses,
yet would I beseech you again to let me obay his commands, which because
his, I would doe.”
Mmm They Mmm1v 460

They refused that, yet so neare they came to fulfilling it, as they left her
on a Rock in a little Iland with an old religious father, there shee remained,
and spent the rest of her dayes in prayer, her Dog still garding her, which at
her death brought her (who out-lived the old man) to have a Christian buriall
by his howling and crying, calling passengers in, and buried her, but
could not win the Dog from the grave, but there he died.

Philarchos and his deare held on their way for Mytelin, where with joy,
and feasts they were welcomed, and lived ever, till their ends happily, but Philarchos thought his end the crueller, because faire Orilena was taken from
him, desiring to die together. The King of Bulgaria with his brave Queene,
as sumptuously as their owne minds required, and their minds were no lower
then such Princesses should be, but as much higher as ambition, and all the
dependances of that folly could carry them, and that was high enough to
make them above judgement proud; such Coaches, Liveries, furnitures for
horses were never seene before, yet they but poore as her Majestie esteemed
them, who surely would have been contented to bee starved, so all shee had
touched had been Gold and Diamonds. In this magnificence they tooke
leave of the King and Queenes in Morea, and so tooke their journy towards
Bulgaria, they only riding in one Coach, two other went spare, one for each,
the traine so richly provided for, as ordinary Kings and Queenes, would
have been well contented with that furniture, but yet these were scarce
good enough for their servants.

Out of Morea they went without adventure, and so passed, till in Livadia
this fine accident befell them. A young Gentleman attended on by six Pages,
apparreld in coates of Grasse-greene Velvet, laid with gold Lace, and
twelve footemen in the same colours, all with Plumes of greene and yellow
in their Hatts, the young Gentleman in a sute of those colours imbroidred
with Gold, the trappings for his Horse, and all furniture answerable, came
towards the most glistering troope of Bulgaria, then being instructed accordingly,
he presently allighted, and on foote presented himselfe to the Queen,
humbly making a reverence to her liking, the like he did to the King, then he
delivered these words.

“Great, and most happy King enjoying such a treasure, as having the worlds
riches composed in this unestimable Jewell, the Earths admired Starre, and
mans wonder, your Queene, I am sent unto you both; but if I faile in performance
of my message, blame your owne glorious aspects, that take from mee
the true abilitie of speech and boldnesse, a Messenger should be armed with
all; but who can without trembling speake to the Gods, or touch the Sunne,
if he descend within reach? no more can I speake to you, whose Majesties
strike me dumbe, or make me (to say better) faulter like an unperfect Schoole-
Boy saying his lesson.”
They heartned him with joy, flattering pride nourishing
their proud hearts, when he proceeded. “Pardon and grace” (said he)
“from you so heaven-like creatures gives life with speech to me againe. I am
sent from the Prince of Livadia my Master, who hearing of your comming
this way, doth desire the blessing I his Vassaile have already enjoyed, humbly
beseeching you to honor him with your royal presence in his fathers Court,
an old Prince, but good, where hee is within two dayes to have a Triumph,
by meanes of manie strangers, and happie he is to have such an occasioncasion Mmm2r 461
at this time to be the fitter to give entertainement to such persons, he
earnestly desires not to be refused, and I pray I may not be sent, but with the
soules-like comfort of blisse, which is your grant.”
The King was the finest
speaker in Court language of the World, and so complemented, as the youth
had enough to doe to returne halfe his good language to his Lord; for the
Queene, shee soone had granted to shew her beauty, and scarce could hold
within the bounds of expressing what she felt of joy, knowing shee must bee
admired, but at last said, she would obey her Lord, and accompany him to
waite on his Prince; thanks she returned none, for she esteemed this honour
but due to her, and knew it should be offered her. Forwards they passe, till
within the sight of the Court, where the Prince, and many Noble-men attending
him, met them in arming suites, and conducted them to the Court:
but yet there wanted, though all this honour was done, that whereto her Pilgrimage
was made, her Saint was not among them, and yet unproperly that
is said, for she respected him but for adoring her; it was but earely in the day,
being scarce foure in the afternoone, wherefore the Prince asked her, if she
pleased to goe first into a rich Pavillion, raised from the ground at one end of
the Lists, and see them practise, for that was their houre. She was very willing,
yet stayd till her husband with curious words and phrases had consented;
so they went in, from whence at the other end they discernd the old
Prince and Princesse, with the grave Lords with them; then did the Prince
arme himselfe, and the Prince of Jambolly, as not thinking of the good fortune
to see her, but as if by chance led thither, came into that place to arme.
She would needs goe forth, and leave the roome to him, but so she did it, as
al eyes might see, good manners, not wil to leave him, made her offer it. He as
curteous would rather (he said) arme in the field, then be so rude. She blusht,
and smiled & simperd, & all to avoid expression, expressed what hee desired,
and she granted. Her husband was gone with the Prince, and so saw not this
encounter. Well, he at last got another roome, right over against that, and armed,
came downe into the lists his Beaver open; but to see how he stood gazing
on her, and she in what perplexity shee was, to the window shee would
come, and a while stand still, looke on him, he stare on her, then retire; red
with content, and yet finding fault with the heate as that the cause of her distemper.
Many Ladies were there likewise to see the sport, who lost not that
better pastime in marking her, yet took no notice of it, lest offence might follow,
but shrewd wits there were, that after made pretie mirth at it. To the
place againe she would come, and looke though over them, and see in spite of
seeing, and as if whether she would or no take content. The Prince came also,
and stood there beholding as the rest did, while some others ranne; at last
came a great man of that Country, and desired one of the Ladies there to bestow
a favour on him. She did so; “Now you are engaged” (said the Prince)
“to runne well, else your favour will be shamed, and you for not better maintaining
it.”
“I will doe gallantly”, replyd he. The Jambollian then cast his eyes
cravingly towards her, she onely lickt her lipps, that when they returned to
sight, they might looke like cherries after raine, red, and plumpe, and totterd
her head, which made a feather shake she had on it. Hee with that it seemed
understood her, and lifting up his Bases a little of one side, as if to take out his
Handkercheif, shewed her his points were of same the colour. Then shee Mmm2 smiled, Mmm2v 462
smiled, and he most joyfully put downe his Beaver, and prepared to run, casting
up his eyes first to her, from whom he hoped to have gained strength; but
she was so weake in bearing passion, as againe she had retyred, and so often
she did it, and so tumble her selfe up and downe, wallowing in pleasure, and
unsufferable content, as she was in such a heate, as that angred her, because she
thought she looked not well, having too much colour; then did that heate
her with chafing, so as betweene those two fires of love and pride, shee burnt
so much, as all the Ladies warmd themselves at her fire, and rubd up the remembrance
of their old passions, so as it might have been dangerous, and
the heate so great, and spreading, as might have fired many hearts not to bee
quenched againe. Fairely he ran, and fairely and friendly shee beheld him,
which made him never wearie, nor would he have given over, but that the
Prince went in, and night grew on. Then came hee up to her, and kissed her
hand, which she told him by her love bestowing eyes, she willingly yeelded
him. Stay shee did as long as was fit, and after most in that place, wishing
I thinke to have been his Armorour to unarme him, else she might have gone
with the rest: at last away shee went, and was by Lords, appointed by the
Prince, conducted to her lodgings, where shee was visited by him, and her
servant.

The next day the Justs in earnest was to bee, against which, how gloriously
was she attired? Lyvadia never saw such a starre for brightnesse. In
that place she would needs againe sit, and there she was placed, where shee
might best see, and bee seene, the windowes being so framed, as the Knights
heads on horse-backe were as high as they, so as conveniently they might
behold and speake, as if together, a brave advantage for Lovers. But how
did the neate King of Bulgaria take this? truly discreetly, as hee was a most
discreet Gentleman, setting aside a little vanitie of selfe love, which it may be
so well concurred with his Ladies disposition, as that tempred him, being as
it were of one nature to suffer, and agree with her. Fault it was certaine hee
found none with her publikely, how they privately did, let them speake that
know; fondnesse appeared to open shew, why should any inquire further?
But be it so, such a passion well acted againe, and by such delicate creatures,
for the excellency of it would get liking, even of her Husband sure, who loved
curiosities so well, as he must like that, though curiously he might discerne
he was touched in it. But what then? he might joy in it thus, it was
his owne, as she was.

Many great Ladies, and indeed the greatest of that Kingdome sat with
her in the same place, but not so much as looked upon by her, nor why
should they expect it? shee was a stranger, a Queene; more, a beautifull
Queene, and most, a most proud Queene, shee therefore claimed it as their
parts to observe, and marke her, who had businesse enough in her selfe upon
such a day, in such a place, and such a presence, to heed, and study her selfe.
How if any part of her haire had been out of order, her gowne rumpled with
turning to them, her ruffes and delicate inventions disordered with stirring?
had not the least of these been a terrible disaster? Yes, and to her a heart
griefe; who would wish so sweet a soule as she to be sad or troubled? especially
since trouble as such a conceit of any displacing, or disordering her
finenesse might move in her, would stirre her bloud, and make her complectionction Mmm3r 463
not so exact, rather sure should all civilitie be laid aside, and the contrary
excused, then beauty should suffer; and this, if the cause, who will that
loves their faces, that regards their habits, and their servants love, blame her
who neglects for these all others. This I take the Queenes case to bee, and
thus I thinke I excuse her, especially being knowne to love nothing but her
selfe, her Glasse, and for recreation, or glory (as some accounts it) to have a
servant, the Prince of Jambolly, whose greatnesse and finenesse made al well,
especially to lovers eyes. The old Prince invited her and the King to a feast,
where roially they were feasted, and she as magnificently carried, and shewed
her selfe, her servant joyed in it, and then looked on her, as poore people doe
on pranckt up Images: she sometimes casting a looke on him, but not too many,
lest such favours might make him surfeite, and so be harmefull to him,
an excellent care in a carelesse Mistris.

The King of Bulgaria, and the Prince of Jambolly were very great and familiar,
in so much as they would whisper, and embrace one another, the
Jambollian assuredly more, because those armes had intwined hers, then for
any affection to him, wishing sure he might as freely have done the like with
his wife, who how kind soever she might be to him in private, had he offerd
to touch her publikely, that touch had burnt his fingers, so commandingly,
and peremptorily did she order, and rule his love, as adoration shewed to bee
all his ambition and gaine, her graces being but still to hold, and draw him
on in hope, rather then to consent, and satisfie him, for he once satisfied, shee
was sure to bee left, men desiring but their ends, and with them conclude
that love flying to another, as from one worke done to begin in another
place.

Stayed creatures, and luckie they that put confidence in them, and of any
this Prince was one that least troubled himselfe with constancy, all women
were pleasing to him, after a tall woman, a little one was most pleasing, after
faire, browne, white, blacke, all came to his staidnesse welcomly, and varietie
he had sufficient, for many refused not, nor was he nice to demand of more,
so as he had plenty, and was plentifull in love to them; yet here hee stayed a
prety while, because it was thought hard to win her, or impossible to gaine
her love, for her so excellent beauty and greatnesse, but most, because as yet he
had not surely compassed his desires. At dancing, because hee would not
give offence, he seldome tooke her out, but his eyes still attended on her, and
when he danced, she more heeded that dance then any; shee was good her
selfe in that exercise, and gained great commendations in Lyvadia. The time
being come for the breaking up of the company, the King and Queene tooke
their leaves of the old Prince, and so did all the other Princes, many being
there assembled, as a place much honoured, and hee a Prince admired over
the World, for judgement, learning and goodnesse; beside at that time many
came neare him from the Enchantment. The Prince of Jambolly would
needs attend the King of Bulgaria (being his neighbour) home to his Court,
but his daintie wife was the Attraction; his company was embraced and also
the Prince of Thiques, who was to returne to his owne Country, a fine
young Gentleman, and who had in curtesie conducted the Lady of Rodes
after her cruell fortune in the refusall of Polarchos, and being intreated by the
soveraignizing Queen to make relation of her end, having heard part before Mmm3 by Mmm3v 464
by Pamphilia; he did it in this sort. “Love, or rather the ill flower of Love,
which you most incomperable Queene can know, neither being so much in
power above the highest reach of his passions, which are rather your Subjects
then molesters, so over-ruled in that miserable Lady, as after Polarchos
was with all his curtnes gone, she tooke her way also, but whither shee
much cared not, nor look’d she for any company to attend her, those that
came with her, dispearsed some one way, some another, leaving her, as her
fortune had done, in all dispaires, for who ever alone indures one mischeife?
I tooke pitty on her, and although my way was contrary, and I then almost
at home, yet rather then she should be distressed in such a kind of want, I offered
my selfe, and she, though not very willingly to company, accepted of my
service; most I thinke, because she would have some body to discourse withall,
and well had she happened on mee, for shee could say nothing against
men, that I had not as much, or more to speake against women. She could
not say Polarchos had beene curst, or unkind, but I cold have said my Mistris
had beene false, and so most cruell: if Polarchos left her upon cause, mine
forsooke me causlesly. She could not complaine, but I was neere rayling,
so as with all the wranglings, and dislikes of both Sexes we travel’d, yet the
better I ever had of her, (though in losse) for shee was forced to confesse
her’s was the fault, and with that so often done penitently, at last
agree’d with mee, that Man was the constanter of the two uncertainties.”

“When wee had pass’d the Gulfe of Lepanto, and the necke of land betweene
Morea, and Achaia, that we were got againe to Sea, into the Archepelago,
in one of those little Islands we were forced to stay, for she grew so
weake, what with travell, want of food, (for she would take no sustanance,)
and her perpetuall sorrow which wrought incessantly in her, so as she could
no longer without rest sustaine, nor so, but to her eternall rest, for there shee
dyed desiring mee to bury her there, and then to let Polarchos know her
end for his unkindnes, to whom she gave her Country for due she said to
him, beseeching him to accept of it, as the gift of his repentant Love, making
so loving an end, as Cupid was surely forced upon that to pardon all
things past, and place her in one of his highest ranckes of his Court. Just as
she dyed came thither an other Lady discontented likewise, but in a marvelous
strange sort; my eares were now open to all complaints, and complayners,
wherefore I gave her the hearing, who discoursed in this manner.
‘I was borne’ said she, ‘in Pantaleria, bred in the service of Urania, now
Queene of Albania, the most excellent, and famous of women, I was with
her enchanted in Ciprus, and in her service, being Daughter to her supposed
Father; I fell in love with one Allimarlus of Romania, a man fit for a greater
womans love, but my fortune it was to winne it, and surely if I flatter not my
selfe too grosly, I deserved it; but indeed I did commit some faults, but what
were they? only out of Love, and feare of losse from whence they proceeded,
such errors were rather to be commended then condemned, but where
love failes, a little matter is made great, and nothing pleaseth when distast
is taken. I cannot truely for all this, taxe him of much inconstancy, yet so
far he was faulty in it, as I know he had a Lady in chase, whether his love
to her, or gratefulnes in him to her had beene the cause of it, I cannot guesse; I Mmm4r 465
I was tormented in soule withall, I cryd to him about it; He mildly, and coldly
enough told me my suspitions made my disquiets, and bad me be satisfied
for he lov’d me still, and thus I could gaine no more of him, nor durst I urge,
for intruth besides love I was in awe of him, fearing his very frowne, though
on others; no Lover ever longed more for the sight of his love then I did stil
to see him if absent but one day, yet when I saw him I was in paine, and
knew not scarce what I did, I was so desirous to please, as I was amazed, and
distemper’d, not being able resolutly to call for any thing, to eate any thing,
to speake any sence, blush, and then looke pale, and be in such a case, as many
dayes after scarce recover’d me. Lord, how have I accused my selfe for it?
but what remedy? passion overruled my judgement, and when I should have
beene best, and looked best, the very extreamity of my love, made me worse
then ordenarily I was; then that troubled me, and trouble made me worse,
so as I was oft times in a straight, whither I were best be a meanes to see him
often, or let his visitations, and meetings be by chance. But when I considered
he might take that amisse, and so I should runne into just dislike, for our
parts (as women Lovers) are to observe, so as I continued like one ready
still to goe to execution, condemn’d, but repriv’d; more then I studied how
I might gaine his love sure to me, of purpose I went, and made my selfe so
deere with the Lady, who had sure testimony of his liberall affections, as I
was made of her Counsell, and used in carrying the busines so, as her honour
might bee saved, (for shee was in that kind of danger,) I tooke such a
course, as shee was delivered of that care: this I did, conveied away by diligence
all suspition, I know not what name this service merited me, but all
things were as they should bee, and so secretly as no mistrust at all was of
her.’
‘The Lady in troth I could not but so much love, as I was sorry, as shee
likewise was at any time to part with mee: in the face of parting, me thought
I saw my Allimarlus his leaving me, whom he loved, and after I accused
for slighting her, as much as I did before for being restrained in this manner
to me, for desert should ever merrit reward in what place soever, “but men
care no longer then their desires be answered”
, said shee, “otherwise I had bin
better rewarded; I have had cause to give trial of my faith, and he hath found
it, yet am but more and more wretched.”
When I felt my selfe with such neglect coupled,(as after I did) I tould
him of it, he sate upon my bed side, but awhile gave me not a word, at last
he spoke some few, as drawne by necessity from him, and bid me be carefull
of my selfe, and not bring more harme. I told him I would be so, were it but
for that command’s sake, which must bee (as his) above all things else most
deere to me.’”

“‘This mooved him no farther, not so much as to looke on mee, but sate still
as if he repented I had ever received such lies from him, although his betrothed
Wife. Some men would kisse their wives when they heard such patient
replyes, and almost all joy in it: but hee temperately heard me, as not
much concerning him. I was afflicted at it, and did stomacke it as much as
my love would permit me, but what availed it? I carryed it with infinite
paine secret from knowledge, suffering what Beasts never doe, yet Christian
like, I ever strove to turne my selfe from violent hurt, but being so great
with rage as no longer able to conceale it, I retired to some land of an Uncles of Mmm4v 466
of his given him for his attendance; there I remained, but being neere the
Towne, I was so often visited, as it was troblesome to mee, and dangerous
for my griefes discovery (for he would have it conceal’d) I was sometimes
forced to keepe my chamber, he desirous not to have it knowne I was any
way his wife, I obeyed, and made many excuses while he joyed in my paine,
thinking it a brave, and dainty thing to be such a sole Lord, and free from encombrance,
for I durst not meddle, nor finde fault with any his actions. He
came also, and would bee as ready to jest, as any to cleere himselfe, for hee
thought the contrary dicover’d; I was forced to be contented, yet with a full
resolution to speake with him about it, & to know why his grave looks, and
countenance was used to me. I went to him one night, but rightly was I served
for such boldnesse, and presumption, for backe I came with so much
scorne, neglect, and contempt, as I was almost mad withall, yet I strove to
make no shew of it, nor I thinke did, although I truely confesse I was much
disquieted withall, and so netled, as I slept not all the night after. Could he
not’
said she ‘have kissed me, bad me welcome, and kindly have used me, but
thus? thus to let me returne? never more shall he be visited by me, nor did
I come then to invite him wantonly, or to crave Lovers reward, but chastly
to discourse of things I could not at other times speak of; yet chastly or other,
all was one, I was coldly sent home, to warme my selfe in choller for
disdaine, nothing so much fretting me as that I staid so long, and waited on
his crueltie, as to practise obedience; Not to offer but when I should, nor to
come uncall’d I was taught, and these things I think I shall put in use now;
I have beene heere these two Months with some trustie friends, landed here
for fresh victualls as I pretended, though neither confin’d by his command,
but sent the shippe then away; he likewise hath beene with his Master the
King Antissius, but by this time he will be upon returne, and I will not faile
attendance as soone as I can; in Romania, againe relieved by his power, and
will.’
Then did she as one distracted, fall from one passion into another, leauing
complaining, and chasing, and from crying fell to singing, and twenty of
of those passions had she, having profited but little in her Mistrisses service
for loving exactly well, so as little pittie needed to grow for her, unlesse that
one should not long enough enjoy such follies to passe away time withall,
yet in her case shee mooved more compassion, because greatly distressed.”

“Songs” said the Queene, “doe often times discover sadnes.” “Not such” said hee,
“for I have beene acquainted with passions as well as any, and know of those
kinds of passages.”
“Was she not marryed to Allimarlus” said the Queene? “Introth”
said the Prince “I cannot directly tell, she spake not of it much, but by
her words I found she was assur’d, yet how did she come then to bee trusted
by his Mistris?”
“It may be” said the Queene, “that was before they were married,
or know to be assured, or such a respect there was to be used to her, as
she might serve her for all she was his wife.”
“I know not” said he, “but that went
very farre.”
“No way (though endlesse” replide she) “but will be adventured, by
a firme lover, as I have learned lately by discourse with some, and of some,
though I confesse I should never be such an one, but scorne and contemne,
such humility.”
“None can expect from you such a harme” said hee, “where benefit
is sufficient, if you grace him with accepting his service, in which his
life should bee spent, rather then you in the least feele smart.”
She liked his
flattery, & he knew it, but very seldome used it, because hee was vertuous; then Nnn1r 467
then she urged extreamely to know his discourse; he seemd not able to refuse
at last, and therefore told it thus. “When I was a very young man, I was likewise
very foolish in being passionate; Love was such a Lord over me, as I did
as he pleased, looked as hee did guide me, sighed when hee compelled mee,
wept when he let mee fall into despaires, sonnetted when hee inspired mee
with it, woare colours for sakes, if hee privatly told me, I ought so to doe, for
fond women loved vaine expressions. I could sit a day but to see her passe
by me, and thinke that time happily bestowed if she then cast a look on me, if
she passed carelesly by, or worse, accompanied with others she shewed more
favour to, then to mee, I returned molested, and presently put my thoughts
into sad Verse, presented them to her, and if thankes came, I was blessed,
and most fortunate. Thus I lived, spoild good paper with vild Rimes, lost my
time, and wits almost, till I was happily disinchanted by this meanes. The Lady
whom I lov’d being told by me of her neglect, counterfeited that she looked
strangely upon me, out of no other end then pollicy, and afterwards privately
sent for me many times, where I enjoyed what I desired, and with that
reward Novice like returned so contented, as if I had gained a kingdom, and
gave her by that meanes liberty more freely to abuse me in my confidence,
which she did. Another Lady that was daily with hee, and a kind of servant
of hers (for she I loved was great enough, had she been as good) loved mee
exceedingly well, and (whether out of that only, or a little malice mixt with
it, I know not) discovered to me, that I was wronged: ‘You’ (said she) ‘keepe a
busines, and make all men see your passions, bring your selfe in danger, if her
husband heare of it, sigh, and keepe a quoile, while others gaine your due,
blinding your selfe with blind Love against all reason, thinking you are blessed,
when you are abused; as yesterday I saw what an happy man you tooke
your selfe to be, because while Musick was, she leaned on you: alas, shee did
that to colour and deceive you, for all that while her eyes were fixed so amorously
on another, as would have, I feare, made you mad to have seene it, and
truly it distemperd me, because I wish you wel: she talked, it is true, to a third,
who was as well cousoned as your selfe, for he thought she favourd you with
leaning, to have the freer liberty unsuspected to speake to him, and so smild at
you, while he that indeed had the affection laughed at you both. Leave your
fond love, but not loving her, if you find shee requite you, but bee not a stale
for others gaine; open your eyes, and see her beauty fit to be admired, her
person loved; but if her mind bee not answerably white, bee not caught like
Birds in a greene net: I have truly seene you so much injured, as I cannot
hold from telling you, take it as you please, but one day you will say, I was
your friend.’
When she had said this, she went againe to waite, and I remained
pensive, doubting what to doe, till I was sent for by one of my Ladies Chamber
to her; there how did she cherish me, and make of me? my picture she
must needs have, because continually she could not have mee, Verses I must
needs make to a tune she then had heard, & lov’d, for no writer pleasd her but
my self, so prity, so fine, so passionat my lines were, and so truly from my hart,
that she most truly lov’d them.”

“Then she wrung my hand, hung upon mee, I embraced her with the other
arme, she even yeelding her self into my breast; Alas, thought I, is it possible
this womāan shuld dissemble, her eies overflowed with love, laboring to shew
suffering, for what I shuld believe. I was amased, & so perplext, as she swore I Nnn loued Nnn1v 468
loved her not, began to lament her selfe, wept, and cryd; ‘O unconstant men,
faulty above expression’
; then fainted she, and seem’d to swound. I bestirred
my selfe then, being in a roome I durst not call for helpe, lest her husband
should come in, who was suspicious enough: I kissed her, and with my breath
fetched her againe. She againe fainted, I againe revived her. At last, ‘Ah my
heart’
, said she, ‘canst thou be cruell?’ I vowed I was not; with oathes and protestations
I satisfied her, comming away after some howers a fine deluded
Foole. The other Lady I went to find, to whom I meant to speake my mind,
and chide her for such tricks to abuse her Mistris, with full intent so to revile
her, as to be free ever afterwards from her advising. As I went along the privy
Garden, I saw a man come muffled in his Cloake, stealing as it were along
the wall. I knew the fashion”
(said he) “would not be seene, and the place none
came into but her Favorites, therefore to her he must goe, none having keyes
but by her permission; there was in that Garden a large Mulberry tree, under
which I closely clapt my selfe, with my back to it, but face so, as I might
see which way he tooke; he slunke along still, till hee came to a doore which
opened to a staire led up to her chamber; there he stood a while, at last a window
opened above, then he hemd, presently came down her excellent unchast
selfe, opened the doore, and tooke him in, locking it fast againe. I seeing
this had the Spleene, and sweld, yet held on my determination to seeke the
Lady, though the discourse must now be altred. Quietly for any noise (except
that in my heart, where there were stormes, and all maner of disquiets)
I went out of the Garden, ‘Alas’, said I, ‘could not shee bee satisfied for a little
time, but must make me see my misery? this is double vexation.’
I passed on,
and to my chamber I went first, there I fell to complaints, and grievously
tooke on, but all availed not; I cald my selfe unfortunate, her ungratefull; I
accursed, she unnaturall; I bewitched, she the Sorceres: I cryd out against my
birth, mine eyes, mine owne life, my judgement, my beliefe, wished I had bin
borne an Heritick to love; all these, and what of these? they made me but stil a
greater Foole, and lesse to be pitied. Then I rose in a chase, vowed to love her
no more, to tell her so, to let her know her offence & breach in love. This I liked,
and instantly would put it in practise, and if I found him there to kill him
in her presence. These were brave resolutions to dreame on, and as well contented
me, as if executed, like him that dreames hee hath his Mistris in his
armes, and wakes with such pleasure, as he is merry all the day after: so these
alike pleased me, as I was joyed at heart, and thought all effected, while the
time it should have been effected in, slipt away; which when I found, as by the
evening I gessed, I went up againe into the Lodgings, where I met the just
Lady my friend, she had discerned the tricke, being wise, and as carefull as a
Lover will be, she came to me, I took her by the hand, which was more then
I had ever (till then) done, fearing such a thing might have offended my Mistris,
who I knew something given to that suspition, makes men see womens
love by, else if carelesse, what should be thought they esteemed. ‘My Lord’
said she, ‘you have been wonderously made on this After-noone; What think
you, was not I extreame faulty to put any such thing into your head, considering
how true shee is to you, and how kind? Can you ever looke on
mee that have thus deceived you?’
‘Take pitie on mee’, sigh’d I, ‘I am alas
abusd, and injured, let not your true tongue be sullied by your selfe, you are and Nnn2r 469
and were most just in telling mee, what I could not else believe’
; then did wee
discourse a little longer of it, at last forth came the great wicked woman, with
as bold a countenance as ill could set upon one, smild on me, saluted al the rest,
and came to me, laying her hand on mine, and after her manner talking to us,
I seemd neither fond, nor neglective of her favours. ‘This is well acted’, said
she, then cald shee for Musick, which came, and indeed was exceeding rare,
songs there were of all kinds, and in severall languages, an houre this continued,
or more, then she retird again to supper, saying, shee would come afterwards
abroad againe. We every one took our own waies, I to my chamber,
purposing soone after to depart for my own country again, my Youth in trauell
having led me to such folly, which nothing but woful experience could
bring me to know, or shun; yet me thought I was bound to let her know her
ill before my going, lest shee with continuall practise ran too farre in it, and so
might at last be dangerous unto her. As I resolved on this, and was going to
her, I met her Lord in a mighty fury, his sword in his hand, and bloody; I started
at it, ‘my Lord’ (said I) ‘what is the busines? can my sword or life serve you
in any thing?’
‘No’, said he, ‘I have done already, only sir if you please call my
Guard to me.’
I went forth and cald the Guard, who straight went as he directed,
bringing forth the dead bodies of my Rivall, and the Lady; in truth I was
sorry for her, because she had been friendly and kind to strangers, and whose
bloud I would have revenged, but mine told me, her husband had but righted
himself. Then came her women, crying and tearing their haire, them he took
and sent to prison, only I got liberty for my friend; and when all this stir was
over, I took my leave, and left the Country, and loving also, for the good man
telling me how he was wrongd, made me see her damnable falshood, so as he
was but the chiefe of many abused by her, we al his followers, and alike used;
for in the very abusing him, he seased on them, & kild them both. This (great
Queene) is a story scarce fit for your Excellency to heare; but this is the truth
which you desired, and thus you have it; now if men be faulty, you see women
can be so likewise; if wee erre, your sex will not let us passe unrequited.”

The Queene said little to it, but on they went in their journy, much kindnesse,
affection, and respect used, and increasing among them; at last in Bulgaria
they arrived, where at the first entry they were entertaind with multituds of
people to welcome them, the King liked it well, so did the Queene for the
part of humilitie, but shee could not indure their rudenes in pressing, which
she said made her hot, and the smell of the folkes troubled her, whose daintines
could not brooke any savour but perfumes; with little patience therefore
she sufferd this hearty welcome.

To their great citie they came, there they were againe met with the chief,
and people, but she was now used to it, and so a little the easelier boare it.
Then the King feasted the Prince of Jambolly, and triumphs were made,
which lasted sixteene daies, in which time the servant and proud Mistris had
many prety fine passages. A hunting they went, he attending her, who sometimes
would bee fierce upon it, another while rid softly, as if onely to make
him learne to ride fast, or slow, as her pleasure was, but still to bee her attendant,
it was his principall lesson to observe. At her comming backe to see her
ride betweene her husband and her servant, what a sight it was? but what a
glory to her? onely her imaginations which were above any height of pride Nnn2 could Nnn2v 470
could tell; but he must goe now to his owne command, a pitifull thing, yet
necessary, he could not dissemble, but shewed with a sad or dull countenance
he was sorry; she with Majestie and greatnesse, but no mirth, gave testimonie
shee rejoyced not, if in this time hee had no strickt assurance of her love,
none will pitie his parting: howsoever, she carried her selfe like a brave and
commanding Queene over her owne and his passions. The King brought
him some part of his way, then parting lovingly, and some thought most willingly
on the Kings side. The Prince, with the Prince of Thiques going together,
who after, never, or seldome parted: the King returned, and with his
wife lived as such a couple could doe.

Leonius and his beautifull Veralinda returning towards Frigia, first going
to Argos by the Kings directions, wherein they met a delicate Adventure,
as they were within some few leagues of the Sea, a Lady on horseback, attended
on with many other Ladies, and as many Knights, but by her side rode
one, who seemed to be the chiefe, and yet his countenance sad, and melancholly
said for him, that he commanded not himselfe, how ever hee did the
rest, his Hat off, freely left to view a delicate curld head of haire, browne, but
bright in delicacy, a faire forehead; amorous, though then sad eies, which yet
in sadnes soveraignized: his mouth not needing to speake, but only seene allured
unto it what hearts it pleased, to take and refuse; enough he had of each
sort, his lips being so lovely, and lovingly joyned, as one may believe, would
not willingly part from their mutuall kissing. The Lady was great, and therefore
faire, full of spirit, and intising, pleasing and richly shee was attired, and
bravely serv’d, an excellent hors-woman, and hunts-woman she was, though
these be no properer commendations, as some have said, then to say, a man is
a fine Semster, or Needle-man, yet qualities that were, and are commended at
this day, allowed of, and admired.

When they came nearer to them, they sent to know, if they might bee so
bold to present themselves unto them, whom by inquiry they had obtained
knowledge of. The new loving couple admitted them, Veralinda kissing
the Lady, and Leonius embracing the Knight. Veralinda then soone after askt
the Lady, what those many Doggs and Bowes were for, which she perceived
amongst them. She answered, they were her Hounds, and that shee was going
to hunt, when her better fortunes brought her to her presence; the Bowes
were either if a Stag came fairely to her, to shoot at him, or to save the Dogs
from death at a bay, by giving his death to him. Veralinda had never seene
hunting, and therefore was desirous to enjoy that sport. Leonius was as well
pleased, because hee was best pleased when giving her content; the old King
travelled on, the young folkes promising soone after to overtake him. The
Lady then brought these dainty Princes to a large Wood, about the sides
they placed themselves, the Doggs and Hunts-men were put into it to beate,
and bring forth the Deare, which in short time the Hounds came forth with
a mighty Stagge, the Hunts-men following, incouraging their Doggs with
Voyce and Horne, that Veralinda thought, this Consort was the delightfulst
that ever her eares had heard; and such life it put into her, as she spared neither
horse nor way, but followed with great affection the sport through
Woods, over Plaines; through Thicks, Brakes, over Hills, no place staid her.
The Lady kept with her, and commending her even unto a fury for riding: at Nnn3r 471
at last by a Pond side, where the Stagge had taken soile, he gave a bay to the
Doggs, then came in the sweete sad Gentleman, and with so temperate a
bravery, shot the Beast, as even his hurt rejoiced him, turning his face to him
fully beholding him, and as his last piece offerd himselfe a sacrifice unto him,
falling by degrees as a great house will doe, but yet runnes to the place it
came from: so to the earth fell hee, Veralinda was then cald to take the say,
shee was ignorant of those ceremonies, yet apt to learne, and willing to instruction,
she did as she was directed. Then the Hounds must bee rewarded,
and the Hunts-men give him a peale of Hornes melody, in stead of Bells
harmony, for his funerall.

All which ended, the Lady besought the Prince and Princesse to honour
her so much, as to goe with her to her house, which, not farre off, was fit to
lodge in, night being growne upon them. They consented, and rode thither,
where they found an ancient house hansome, great, and where it seemd good
hospitalitie was kept, but little curiositie observed, for all roomes appeared, as
still visited with company, and gave by the favours testimony of quantity of
victuals, which well ordred, had been noble, now a little troublesome; but it
pleased reasonably well this company, who free, and having rid hard, had
gaind good appetites, it appearing to them like a Garden full of fruite, when
the hot weather troubleth them, they sat downe, the Lady most kindly, freely
and busily bestirring her self, entertaining them the fine Gentleman civilly
discoursing with them; Leonius at last growing so farre in with him, as he
got him to tell this story.

“I am great Prince” (said he) “called Curardinus, borne of a good Family in
this Countrie, beloved and served; but as all things must see conclusions, so
did Fate appoint our greatnesse to conclude thus. My father lived after his
fathers death many yeares, will esteemed of by the King of these Countries,
emploid in office by him, and held among the best in ranke of his favour, but
matching himselfe (after the death of his first wife) with a young Lady of a
great and noble family, but too great as the King imagined, or was perswaded
by his enemies, suspition grew into his heart, or rather shewed it selfe (for
few Kings are without that servant to attend them) against my father, who
to avoide all cause giving left the Court, and retird himselfe to his owne
home, where he lived pleasantly, and was for an addition of his happinesse
blessed with children, a blessing to a father, what ever the being borne, prove
after to the children. I was his first, and after some yeares before I came to
perfect ablenesse to governe his estate, at least according to the lawes of this
place; hee died, leaving mee heire to his fortunes, honors, and dislikes of
the King: I then desired leave to travaile, that was refused me, and all things
as offices, commands, and places soever my father held of the Crowne, given
away to others. This was a disgrace, and truly a vexation unto me, and
most, that hee would not permit mee the favour granted to every subject,
but obedience taught mee patience, and I was contented by necessitie.”

“In this forst pleasure, I went up & down among my friends where I was desird,
and so liv’d a solitary and private travelling life, where removing imitated
travell; and each odde accident an Adventure. By my mothers side
I had, and have many noble, and brave friends as any man can have, the men Nnn3 equally Nnn3v 472
equally, or above any valiant, and wise, the woman in that height of excellency
for beauty and witt; among them I have much lived, who have found
the like favour, so as we are not only neere it in blood, but allyed in thwart
fortune, kept backe by all meanes from any advancement, or honor, unlesse
the imployment were such as might give a blow, if not a certaine ruine to any
of us, (a comfortable estate when Subjects live in such dislike with their
Prince:) yet did he use us openly well; let us come to waite upon him, wee
shall be welcom’d, and smil’d upon sometimes, but aske any thing, and bee
surely denyed, & after, not for a good space look’d on: this hath cast us much
downe, and greeved us more than hurt us.”
“Are you a single man” said Leonius?
“No Sir”, replyed the dainty melancholy, “I am married, and have beene long,
the more my misfortune in some kind, because I have with that marryage lost
one, loved me more then I could aspire to hope of requitall, and love’s me
still; I was not altogether to blame indeed, for I knew not her affection so
great to me, she not adventuring to speake it, I not thinking my selfe so happy,
daring to imagine it, but after some time she tould me of it. How did
I then curse all my fortunes, and yet at last chid my selfe for it? since said I,
I was borne to be wretched, and all other crosses have beene but as forerunners
of my misery; this the only Master peece of affliction, wee met, & wept
many times together, and yet those teares produced pleasure, because so
shed, and then we could be merry, and never but in the highest griefe contented,
because together, for therein our last happinesse consisted. But her father
marryed her (whose judgement told her, obedience was requisite) to
a rich, but worthlesse fellow; this was an other vexation to her, and doubly
by that meanes it wrought in me, to see her greeved, and such a Clowne to
posses what I most loved, and held deere, he no more esteeming her, nor indeede
understanding her worth then a Beast, or one of his Goats. Miserable
Lady, but most miserable I, that saw, and could but grieve for it; besides this,
he grew yet more brutish, and used her ill, growing so intirely jealous, as
none went away unsuspected, her worth, beauty, and noblenes, invited all
eyes, and hearts to her service, but so chast, and just she was, as but with courteous
requitall any prevailed; but her worthlesse Mate thought so ill of
himselfe, as that made him thinke well enough of any to wrong her withall,
Jealousie’s roote being selfe knowledge of unworthynes.”

“Thus most sweete Creature she lived, discontents brought her to many
harmes, bringing diseases, and (the worst) sicknes of mind, finding still additions
to her first disquiet, and miserable losse, as her affection was pleased
to call the missing of me, which surely she could never have know, had I but
guessed her thoughts. A good space I held in with him, but at last fell like
the rest, and most dangerously; in that time I met her, my hearts joy, and
soules delight; at her fathers, she was sad, but most loving to me, I sad to
see her so, but most glad to see her love, holding her (I remember) by the
hand, ‘if’ said I ‘thou wert unmarryed, wouldst thou not marry againe?’ ‘No I
protest’
said she, ‘but live wholy to be directed by you, which I had ever don,
had I knowne how to live with honour, and fit to be your servant. Yet
should you bee free, you would not doe so much.’
‘Yes I vow’ said I, and
bound it with a kisse upon her fairest hand; deerest remembrance, how dost
thou yet please me, to bring before me these pass’d, yet sweete delights? to make Nnn4r 473
make tryall of her faith, and word keeping, she was by heavenly assistance untyed
from her bond, and freed from her clog, the rude and brutish Thing,
her Husband, being taken from her, no hand, but the hand of the best, and
highest parting her; as from above seeing, and commiserating her estate; all
that were unmarryed in the whole Country, came and sought her; shee refused
all; Widdowers, Batchelers, all were alike to be denyed; old, young,
middle-aged runne one race of being refused. Her father much disliked it,
her friends, and kindred, and such perswaded, but endlesly her resolution,
was like the Earth fixed, and her constancy like the Sunne certaine, and richly
faire: some also came to me, (seeing the grace I had with her) to get mee
to preferr them; alasse how far they went astray? yet I answer’d all of them
alike, that she had resolved to marry (if ever) one of her owne affections
chusing, so what with my slight answers, and her direct refusalls, she, and I
were left quiet, and so in truth we were, for her Husband left her happliily,
both by his losse, and a faire estate hee gave her at his end, to make amends
partly for the ill she had indured.”

“To her I often went, and stayed as long as I could, and never found her
displeased but for my parting, what blessing can any on Earth wish to equall
such a blisse? and this I injoyed, and might still have done, but”
; With that
he sigh’d, and look’d so deadly pale, as if that But had beene the Axe to take
away his life. Leonius desired him to proceede. He turned his face (they
before both leaning against a Table) to the Boord, and hung downe his head
over it, groaning as if his breath had beene in contention with his body to
goe, or to be stay’d; at last Leonius likewise leaning downe, and earnestly
perswading with him, he lifted up his eyes on him, (eyes that would conquer
in what looks so ever they pleased to attyre themselves,) and putting
his hands together, “Oh my Lord” said he, “be contented with this you have.”
As they were thus in intreatyes, and excusings, Veralinda came, and the Lady,
so as they were now brought to a conclusion, and for that night parted,
the Lady with much Ceremony (as excellent she was at it) bringing the
Princes to their Chamber, then all parted to their rests, but the swetest sadnes,
who remained all night as his expressions of his fortunes shewed he had
beene troubled. When day came he rose, and went downe into a Garden,
there he walked, and let the hower slip away unthought on as his steps, Leonius
longing for the end, sought him out, and finding him, would needes
have him goe on.

“Then Sir” said he, “I must beginne againe with But such was my misery, as
I fell into a great, and strict acquaintance with this Lady, which she did dislike,
though not me, as since I understand, but then did believe, by reason of
some slight carriages she shewed me, but causlesly I did mistrust her, and openly
leave her. She that had none of the lowest, but rather highest spirit of
the World, yet humbled it selfe to seeke me, ungratefull I, accepted it not;
a Journey I was then to goe, in which shee writ to mee affectionately, and
kindly as ever, which I tooke well, and writ to her a letter that she liked, upon
which she made a perfect answere, and as amorous an one as she had ever
written, and they were excellent as any in that kind could be: but this came
not to my hands till tenne Months after, and then by the meerest accident
in the world. When I read it, I saw her love, and the crosse fortune still that Nnn4v 474
that attended it, I was sorry I had abused such noblenes, and resolved if shee
would receive me to offer my selfe againe. In this resolution I went where
she was with a friend, and kinswoman of hers, I met her abroad walking,
and striving to make my selfe acceptable, looked with my old lookes upon
her, she with the same I had bin blessed with, received me; then I told her
I had received a Letter from her, but it boare a long date, shee said shee was
sorry I had not had the meanes by that, sooner to have knowne her mind, I
smild as glad of her love, she even rejoyced at it, but yet such habit I had got
of strangnes as I could hardly get my selfe out of it. But to assist mee in this
busines, a Feaver tooke me, what kindnes did she then expresse? leaving all
businesses, her owne house, and all, suffering where she was (though most
welcome) many inconveniences, and all for me, tending me her selfe, and
being so loving a Nurse to me, as I recovered within short time; since wee
have beene good friends, and shee so perfectly good, as shee let all pass’d
faults on my side dye, and unremembred passe; taking the new returne in
the place of it, and satisfaction in that for the other, without questioning
of it.”

“Thus it continued, and doth, but I have beene lately with her, and left
her not so well as I desire she should be, but such accidents have befallen us
both, as I am forced not to shew how much I love her, nor she how willing
to embrace it; counterfeit awhile we must, though I cannot in my countenance
but shew what my heart feeles.”
“Discover” said the Prince “likewise that,
and you will be better eased.”
“I will sooner dye” said he, “leaving my selfe a
pure offering to her trust, then betray her, she hath commanded and I will
obay, and in that merrit some favour justly from her, shortly I hope to heare
what most I covet from her, and if I be happy, most brave Prince you shal
know it, for I will attend you at your owne Court, and if the contrary happen,
I hope yet you will permit my sadnes a receite, the one shall bee an honour,
the other a charity.”

The Prince would not urge any more, having so noble, and free a promise
from him unasked, but told him hee trusted he should finde those sad
lookes turned into as much joy, which hartily he wished, and the time came
when he should be freed from sorrow, and himselfe made happy with the
story’es end, which he much, and infinitly desired the knowledge of. The
two Ladyes came into the Garden also, to recreate themselves a little before
dinner, the delicate Princesse having libertie, granted to the Lady
her demand, in her story of her pass’d Adventures, the Lady being to requite
her, told her thus. “I am” said she “that unhappy Lisia, who was by birth,
and greatnesse of estate, sought before I had knowledge, and given before
discretion was appearing in me, to a great Lord; I thought it (as most women
doe) a gay matter to be great, a Duches me thought was a rare thing,
and a brave busines: but all that while I marked not the Duke, who was, and
is, as dull a piece of flesh, as this, or any Country neede know; besides he
hath had such unsufferable passions, and passages with me, as truely if I had
not given my selfe to hunting, and such delights abroad, to take away the
trouble I had at home, I must have suffered like a Martyre under his churlishnes,
but I relsolved to alter him likewise if I could, and so I wrought my
selfe to worke with him, as I got the hand with much a doe over his Sycofants,fants, Ooo1r 475
all of them I turnd away, having liberty to use my will, for I had gained
him by perswasions, oathes, and justifications sufficient for his capacity, to
right my selfe against those had injured me, and so to continue a kind wife, as
he would be an husband to me: these conditions gave me such liberty, as
twenty foure servants in one day I put away, and placed such of mine owne,
or friends as I best liked, and knew, would and must be just to me, their friends
being ingaged for them. Then I reclaimed him from ill company, I meane
inferiour to him, which he naturally had best loved; and as if anew molded
him, so as in troth he deserved (and doth) respect from me, and that hee shall
have; the Court I confesse I loved well, I brought him (though not to like it
himselfe) to let me be there when I would, and privately he would come unto
me; the Princesse I served, a Lady faire and loving, but something variable
and changing, as her favour was to me, for I being of her chamber, in great
favour and grace, fell into the most bitter dislike, and disgrace, that ever any
did.”

“Causes she alleaged, but an easie thing it is to frame such; yet the worst
thing she did to me, and which I tooke indeed to the heart, was, shee mistrusted
I loved a brother of hers, who she neither much cared for, nor esteemed
my honour; shee made a young brave Lady likewise acquainted with all,
whom she did command to attend on her, and in the last part of the evening,
or rather in the night they came into the Garden, where if I had been gone
to his chamber, as shee imagined, I must needs to my owne lodging passe
through in my returne. All the doores they locked double, and bolted the
others that had not such locks on them, walking up and downe to catch me,
who surely they imagined a very kind woman, to goe so farre to a servant,
whose part it had rather been to come to me; but they watched, and the truth
is, I was in another garden on the other side, but not with him, yet being that
way, suspition said, I was guilty, so upon likelihoods I was condemnd. To the
doore I came, and thinking to find the place as I left it, I boldly put my key to
unlock it, but it would not doe, mine was but single, my enemies double. I at
first found it not, but seeing I could not open it, I tried againe, and then plainly
discernd, some had been there after me, yet I did not dreame of the Princesse.
Presently (my tampering having given them the allarum) I might heare
them whisper, the Lady spake a little louder, as of purpose that I should speak
to her. I did just as she desired, and fell into the trap as they wished, for I cried,
‘Who is there?’ ‘Tis I’, said she. ‘I pray open the doore’, said I. ‘I will do you more
service then that’
, said she: where with she opened it, the Princesse of this plot
and place standing close by her. I started when I saw her. ‘How doth my Brother,’
said she? I told her, her Highnes was deceived in me. ‘I am not’, answered
she, ‘but I have been; for I tooke you to have been good and vertuous, the
contrary this action shewes you to be.’
‘I protest’ (cryed I) ‘I am innocent of
ill, and free from this wrong you accuse me of.’
‘The way, time, & your attire
condemnes you’
(said she), ‘why should you undrest in night habits, at this late
houre, and alone walk abroad, & just this way towards his lodgings, none els
lying in those parts, were it not to him? the world besides had such a conceit,
and you knowing it, your part had bin to avoid al cause, or shadow of cause to
mistrust you, rather then to runne into the open mouth of danger, and
plaine discoverie.’
I saw her so violent, I besought her yet in mercy and pity Ooo of Ooo1v 486
of womens honour, which could be no fame to her to ruine, whatsoever she
conceited of me, yet to spare me to the world.
Shee smild scornefully, and said, she was not of the trade of my counsellkeepers,
who knew of my going to him in mans apparrell before that time,
and so flung away. I was in truth troubled exstreamely with it, and spake
to the Lady to bee my friend in it. Shee protested freely, and bravely shee
would doe me any service in that, or any other thing, and that it was first
unknowne to her what the pretence was, onely dutie taught her to obay,
after utterly against her will to proceede in it. But what mends had I?
the Princesse told it to every one, and which madded mee most to this brave
Gentleman you saw with me, who at that time, and by her meanes wholly,
had not so good an opinion of me, as now he hath, nor had I so much respect
to him, yet I loved him ever, shee I thinke did so too, and in no better a kind,
then shee thought I did her brother. But I am charitable, and I thinke no ill
was done, for I am sure he is noble and good. Upon this I left the Court, and
with me, or presently after me fearing tricks (for who how vertuous soever
can prevent so odde, and devillish a plot as this was) all, or the greatest part of
the Ladies went from thence, even she, who then was so deare unto her in little
more grace, then my selfe, leaving her attended on with her chamber, and
those enough to be used ill. She then grew melancholly, and at last sought
company, some she got together, but of what sort? those that were of the
age before, who having young minds rumbled up their old carcases, and rubd
over their wrinckling faces like old wainscot new varnished: and little sweeter
was some of their beauties. But these served to fill up places, and adorne
a chamber of state, like ill Pictures, yet bravely guilt and set forth make as
good a shew, though but glassed, as the cunningst piece of worke, if not to
judging eies: an noise they also made of mirth, banqueting and inviting company,
but all would not serve, the glaringst signe, or greatest bush, drawes not
in the best company: no more did they make the Court much the fairer.
Dance they did, and all ridiculous things that ancient, but young made women
could invent to do. I came again, having liberty to behold thēem, but never
any more to serve in ordinary. Lord how I admird the alteration, and the
place, being changd from what it was, as much as from a Court to a Playhouse:
She usd me indifferently wel, and I took it so, envying none but the Lady
whom I was a little in aw of, but not for that I did grudge at her, but repined
to see her blest, as I imagind, since I have gaind what I fear’d she had, or
if she had, I have gaind it from her; yet alwaies brave Princesse be confident
I am chast, and untoucht of ill action, how ever they have laid my reputation
low, but I forgive them now, nor judge amisse of my liberall discourse, your
freedome having invited me to it My Lord (good man) was glad of my disgrace,
because it brought me home as he thought, yet I so tampred with him,
as he thought at last it was not in earnest, but a plot betweene us; so to the
Court I went when I pleased, or told him I would go, though sometime another
way I went, yet lately I have lived most at home, and stil resolve to doe,
though with little content in him; and because you shall see I have not too
much cause to be fond of him, when you come into the house, seeme earnest
to see him (for that he loves) and then shal your highnes on my word behold
a man fit only to make a good husband of, & so far to be belov’d, as not contemnd.”
They Ooo2r 477

They went in, the Princesse having her lesson, desiring earnestly to see the
Master of the Horse before her going. He came, but such a creature twas, his
pace so uncertaine going towards her, but looking backe, as if asking his men
if he did well, or no; a wide smile he had, which if a little noise had been added
to it, might have been a plaine laugh. When he was close by her, he took
her hand, and put it to his mouth, but his teeth instead of lippes met it; shee
gave him many thankes for her entertainement, he tooke her thanks it seemd
well, but replyd onely with his former girning: at last with a great businesse
and champing, as if on the Bit, he brought out as many words, as he askt her,
how she liked Hunting. She answerd, very well, and best of any sport; hee
was so joyed with that, as he laughed right out, and with gladnesse driveld,
that none could blame the Lady, if she liked not much to kisse that Ganimead.
As thus they were, some beholding him, the Princesse admiring his foolish
ignorance, and ill-favordnesse, some others marking the power she had over
her selfe, to hold from so little scorne, as to smile at him, a great noise was
heard below in the Hall, and an Esquire of the old Frigian King came in, crying
out for helpe, his Lord was taken prisoner, and carried towards the Sea. Leonius cald to arme, Veralinda for her horses, the delicat disquieted would at
tend them, till they saw freedom on al parts flourishing again; the Lady of the
house tooke her leave of them there, and so they past, Leonius poasting after
the King, the Princesse accompanied with her Knights, and the Noble Discōontent
held on towards the sea to gaine her ships: but being to passe a thickest
wood, it was their fortunes first to light upon the Adventure, for in the thick
of that place they heard voyces, and Veralinda led by perfect knowledge, or
naturall affection, knew her fathers tongue, when upon the telling her fine
sad companion, he with some five or six of her Knights rushed in, they found
the King bound, a great ring of armed men about him, and some sixe or seven
women (for Gentlewomen I cannot call those, used such cruelty) with great
rods whipping him, having stripped his upper part; he complaining, and pitifully
crying, the strips being sore, and painefull to his royall body. This
timely rescue flew in among them, who were much amased at the surprise,
yet being many, & bolder on their number, then any other cause they had to
hope of their victory, encountred our daintie distressed so rudely, as he was
put to his best in armes; but then so bravely did he behave himselfe, as he had
with his own hands disarmd and overcome three, but his five assistants were
overthrowne, he then himselfe fought against the rest, not without great hazard,
but such were the blowes, and fury among them, as they cald helpe, assisted
with the Kings cryes, who all this while the fight lasted, was tormented
excessively with those Furies, as meaning to take their full revenge, or as
much as they could. Leonius was brought in to the place, but what fury came
he possest with all? those women altogether could not imitate, much lesse
equall (yet women inraged they say are Devils. Happy this arrivall was to
the valiant as exquisite Solitary, both being joynd, the rest fainted, and so the
victory came on their side. Then Leonius and his to be admired companion
went to the King, raking away his Baiters and Chaines, clothing him againe,
and dressing the stripes he had received, which had wept blood for unkindnesse,
both pulling off their Helmets to take aire the sad Knight shewing so
delicate a hand, as if his blowes had not been witnesses of his strength, one Ooo2 would Ooo2v 478
would have fear’d, so Ladi-like, a beautifull, and dainty shapt hand could not
have sufferd such stresse, but the wonder was taken away then, when conclusion
was made, that the noblest hart commanded the fairest, and fiercest hand;
he had such a hart, and so valiant and happy a hand to execute his commands
with al. Veralinda came in also, and with teares manifested the sorrow she had
for her fathers mishap, covering his stripes with soveraign ointments she never
went without: then they examind the cause of this outrage. One of them
(the chiefe it seemd among them) telling her story thus. “I am” (said she) “of this
Country, and have a Castle hard by, whither this ungratefull King should
have gone, had not your accursed succor, and my too rash beginning of his
justly merited punishment hindred me; he knowes my name and quarrell; yet
some part I wil tel you to avoid thought of unreasonablenes in me. I lov’d this
king (not I do protest for his being a king, but mearely out of affection) my
love growing to him, at my being in his Court at a great triumph there, whither
the Princes of this country went, & I waited on. He cast his eies unluckly
on me also, and gave me such invitations to his love, as I could not but accept
and yeeld; opportunity yet served not, I being to wait so neare my Lady, and
she who liked the king as well, but not so truly as I did, watching me, fearing
that, she desird to have her self. Thus unfortunatly I was again to part, and so
without any more then amorous looks, & such manifestings as outward shew
could give, we were devided; when I came back, how did I curse my fortune?
for my love was run beyond the tye of chastity, and I was a meere lover; I accusd
my self, for thus thought I, I might have enjoyed him, by this meanes I
could (if I had not bin a natural foole) have compast my desires, none could
have prevented this plot, had I not bin a ranke coward; the night was left me,
why did I loose so many, and gain nothing but restles times, tossing and tumbling
in my own fansies? and so many did I then get together, as made a mas
of vanity, calling infinites of conceits together. In al these unquiets, a match
was offerd me, I was mad, and knew nothing but mine owne passions; in that
distemper I gave consent, and was maried, but stil my affection was tied, and
wedded to this king, this king of ungratefulnes and cruelty. A wife I lived, and
yet a maid, my husband somtimes chafing, somtimes telling me, he thought
I kept that Juell for another: many suspitions this bred in him, and furnished
as many crosses for me, at last at the end of three yeeres, this unconstant, and
unworthy king came hither, he was feasted and welcomd by the Prince and
Princesse, who saw not me with strait looks; doubting me still; but I refrained
not the Court for al that, my hart telling mee a dram of joy in his sight was
more cordiall, then vialls ful of her disgraces could be hurtful to me. He liked
my sight as well, and then being resolvd to loose no opportunitie, but rather
make and find meanes, wee met, and I did freely let him have knowledge of
my constancy. He was (it seemd) ravisht with joy, and beyond al others, love
fond of me, never being at rest, but when with me. A Gentleman there was
in his company who had lik’d me wel, and as far as he durst had sought mee,
for he was bashfull, and I must confesse I was proud, besides loving another.
To this man the king (not being able to hide or conceale his happines) tels al.
When he had it (guessing as I believe it was, and am confident he knew it to
be me) he came to me, and after discourse of him, and how good, and firme a
Lover he was, besides his earnest, and passionate pursuing, he brake out into how Ooo3r 479
how happy and fortunate a man he was in his choice, telling me my whole
story, and all that had passed; ‘with all’ (said he) ‘when he told it me’, ‘O’ (cryd
I) ‘that I might but know such a Love to mee, though presently I had died;
and surely so I should, for I were not able to enjoy such a ful blessing. Did he
tell you this story’
(said I) sure there is no such thing?’ ‘Yes certainely’, answered
he; ‘& he is so wrapt in the heaven of it, as he cannot contain himself: but who
it is, I know not; for he only termd her a wench he lov’d, & who so dearely loved
him, as for his sake she had liv’d a Maiden-wife, & would have ever, had
she not enjoyed him.’
I was angry at it, yet then so much I lov’d him, as though
resolved to let him know, how ill I tooke his discovering my secrets to any,
though in a third person: yet when I was him I forgave it, and pitied him for
loving me so much, I not being able, as I imagind, and undervalued my poore
self, to deserve such an affectiōon, nor truly shuld I have altred my mind for any
thing, had he not cruelly, vildly, & scornfully usd me; that changd me indeed,
and hath turnd my hart so much against him, as ever since I have fully assured
of his disdaine, vowed revenge, and plotted for it, though I had gone into his
country to execute it, which I was prevented of by notice of his comming hither,
where I way-laid him at his comming, but I grew tender again, and let
him passe; yet when he was past, I repented, and as love increaseth love, so the
hate I had, conceivd, & grew increasing in me with every touch of memory
of those passages, & now without al purpose of kindnes I took him, & with all
cruelty meant to have continued tormenting him, privatly keeping as I purposed
his Majesty for my recreation to see him torturd, who so uncharitably
cast me off, defamd, & forsook me; the last, being to us indeed the sharpst blow
but telling”
, with that she flew at him again to scratch him, other hurt she could
not do him, “To tel”, cryd she, “& forsake me to?” They held her, & with much ado
after by the kings permission, but earnestly conjuring Veralinda to pardon
her, she had her liberty, and so returnd to her Castle. The King like al men, at
sometimes, or other for such injuries whipt, though inwardly with as bitter
strips held on his journey for Frigia, where he most safely arrived, and with
all content and happinesse hee with his daughter, and sonne in law passed
their dayes together. The valliant, and discreete Gentleman returned to the
Lady againe, with whom he spent most of his pretious time attending what
he desired, which was accomplished to his minde, and left to him to make his
owne use of, so as he might be pleased if he pleasd. Amphilanthus being in the
morning up, & ready to goe to his long’d for busines, to add by that, new, &
more honor, as kingdoms to his crown, the Qu. Pamphilia with her counsell,
& Noble men came unto him, whom she found attended on by his Princes,
who were all, or most known to her, the rest made her servants by his respect
unto her; there she saw provisiōon for the fight, while she had as cruel a combat
within her, & more terrible, because her feare proceeding frōom her love made
more dangers then blowes could be stroken between them. She saw not one
peece of his armour that was not cut through in tendernes of her heart, and
that bleeding for it. The Prince of Transilvania was looking on his sheild,
which she casting her eyes upon. “O” said she “that that were as true, & firme
in mettle, as my hart is in truth, then would it nere be pierced.”
Polarchos was
curiously overlooking the armour, to see it secure, every piece shee blessed
with her soules wishes, and every pinn had a prayer for the strength of it so
much goodnesse wishing it well, danger must needs be farre off. Ooo3 The Ooo3v 476

The Emperour marking her, had inwardly new power, and might given
him by her constancy, and strong affection, forth they went, excellent, and
rich Barges being ready to convey them over the Lake, being on the other
side: they parted, the Queene backe againe to her Castle, where she might
(if deerenes in love would permit her) see the combate, which was not
doubted, but assured she could not suffer her eyes though loving them best
when they saw him, at this time given them liberty to doe, but certainely
her soules eyes in prayer beheld him more profitable surely at this time, for
he had no child to play withall.

The Emperour tooke his horse, the State and Counsell of Pamphilia wayting
on him, as he mounted on horse-backe, whether by chance, or of purpose
the horse trampled, and turned up, and downe so, as his face towards
the Lake, and Castle, he sent kind lookes after her, which that while (her
eyes wayting on him) with comfort brought unto her, and made hers melt,
because they parted so; he rode into the field unarm’d, his twelve Princes
carrying his armes. Polarchos being his Chamberlaine, came next his Person,
and the Prince of Transilvania carryed his Crowne, the Duke of Branswike, Bavaria, Lorraine, Savoy, Sax, Millan,
the Prince of Venice, and the rest carried
the Armour, Launce, and led the spare horse.

Into the head of the Army he rode, which stood in battaile, hee saluted
them, they exprest ther joy to see him in all Souldier-like fashion, before
them he stood ready to arme, when they discern’d from the other side the
King, with as much magnificence as was possible for him to shew; when
they were thus in the head of each Army, he sent to intreate some speech of
the Emperour, he courteous, and yet bold as any, granted it, and so they
came towards each other, taking one a peece with them, the Emperour, Polarchos;
the King, the Master of his Horse. They beheld each other like
Lyons, stirring no way, but their eies followed as part of their Armes, and
then the most curious part. The King of Celicia first put up his hand to his
hat, but that motion was enough to make the noble Amphilanthus ready as
soone as hee, to give, and take salutation. The King said it was not unknown
unto him, he was sure why he came, and in that sort, but the desire, and
reason of this meeting was, that he might see his Person before the fight,
who was held the bravest Prince living, and his Rivall, but with greater
happines because beloved by her. “If this be true” replide the Emperour, “your
cause is the more unjust, since you would force so excellent a Queene to take
you contrary to her owne affection as you confesse, and mine must needs
be more irreconciliable, since heere you pronounce a quarrell never to be
taken up, seeking to take my Mistris from me, therefore if this be your end of
meeting, let us part to meete on surer tearmes.”

The King gave consent, “having now” said, he seene the man so much admired,
I am satisfied till I have conquered him.”
With that they turn’d, and
arm’d them selves, the Drums, and Trumpets making such harmony, as
were enough to lift the hearts of Cowards up to spirit, this little needing to
the Emperour, whose heart and body was all worth, and valour: the King
was likewise soone arm’d, and the Armies by order commanded to unarme,
being left only as Court beholders, no shew of warr, except in the fashion of
their cloathes, and bands. The King of Celicia was in Oring couler, the Emperourperour Ooo4r 471
in crimson, Spite on the one side, Revenge on the other. The encounter
was faire, and terrible, both their horses at the breaking shrinking
under them, but the Celician after falter’d, and reel’d, so as hee leap’d from
him. Amphilanthus lighted, and so they met on foote, when no Art, or
vallour procured by just disdaine, and rage was wanting. The King had with
a blow cloven the Emperour’s sheild, so as unusefull he threw it from him,
in requitall, making such a breach in his armour on the right side, as there
sprang out so much blood, as might wash away the others losse. Both fearelesly,
and furiously fighting, for themselves, not fearing, only tending the
cause that brought them thither.

At last Amphilanthus found an advantage by the Kings lifting up of his
right arme, to give him a deadly blow, which though he failed of, the Emperour
missed not the oportunitie, but ran his Sword into him crosse-wayes
through his body; the King stood still with the blow, the Emperour beheld
him, sorry he had kill’d him, as his sword goar’d he perceived hee had, then
suddenly, and reelingly he ran with his last fury upon him. Amphilanthus
could have avoyded him, but he only strake downe the thrust, and caught
him in his armes, casting him selfe downe with him, in the falling. yYeeld”
said Asdrusius; “thou art deceived poore man” said Amphilanthus, with that Asdrusius lifted his arme up, as to have one blow more, but death then ceased
on him, so as embraced with an enemies curtesie he dyed. Amphilanthus rysing,
and putting the body from him, the Princes of both sides came in, and
the victory easily judged, the body was delivered to the Celicians, with liberty
to depart, Melisander being delivered, the Emperour with all honor
conducted towards the Queene, who with more then joy, or gladnes, met
him where she parted from him with delicate musique, and tryumphant glory,
bringing him into the Castle, and so to the Galleryes, where he was unarm’d,
and his wounds most gently, tenderly, and affectionately looked on by
her selfe; they were some in number, none either dangerous, or troblesome
to his liberty of walking abroad.

When they were dressed, the Councell standing all before them, and his
Princes with her Nobility, they two sate downe under a cloath of estate,
love expressing it selfe, not only lively but perfectly in their eyes: he tooke
her hand, kiss’d it, beheld her earnestly, as amorously ready to make expression
of what was expected and hoped for, she as yeelding sate ready to
grant, while he still holding her hand in his, and as passionately gazing in her
affectionately requiting eyes, and such were his excellent expressions, and
her loving entertayning those passions, as command needed not to his followers,
who by outward sight, (knowledge by long acquaintance growing
in the degree with experience) knew their masters mind, and so left him to
expresse what his eyes promised, leaving the place as free as their soules desired
to be, which would be granted only by rest, and what rest on earth
like the quiet enjoying them selves, which but with them selves they could
doe, her servants by her respect to the Emperour learnt obedience, and so to
their owne happyest wishes left them.

They all gone, Amphilanthus Master of the greatest part of the Westerne
World, and once as he assured him selfe, Monarch of her heart before shee
knew Asia, or much more, or scarce so much as her selfe, much lesse her power Ooo4v 482
power over him, would like a confident man, and commanding lover, never
shewing as if an account were to be had from him for former faults, use the
time, and take the opportunity offer’d him so as his eyes fixt as they were,
and shee observing his, he most lovingly, or rather passionately caught, (like
a man drowning, catching at the next thing to him to save himselfe) the
Queene in his armes, and as no offender, (except in boldnesse) embraced
her. She would have violently, refused any other, nay his neglect in an other
person had forc’d the curstest punishment, but heere shee onely blushd,
and receiv’d his love, as at first without expostulation: discourse they also
familiarly did, & the wonted phrases of kindnesse in sweet familiarnesse were
as free, as if never laid aside.

Thus that day passed, night being come, and all retyred to rest, the Queene
most happy and blest being againe enriched with his love, or the show it
had before, although the true fire was clearer, and warmer; this now suffised,
and was insteed of the truth filld up to the like heate by the unexpectednes
of it. Being in her bedd, what Pamphilia said shee? “Is it possible that thou
hast lived to see Amphilanthus kind againe? Can he smile on these wrincles,
and be loving in my decay? When hee told mee I was alterd for the worse,
and sleightly regarded me, I fear’d, but when he quite forsooke mee, wretch
what did I, yet is he returning? Truely I must confesse this to be as strange
as his other change, which I could not but like a blinde man be ledd to beleeve,
it was sung in my eares, and blazed in mine eyes, ere I could take off
the Scarfe of credulity, and unblinde my hopes to see plainely my despaire,
and just cause thereof, when I have sate sighing, nay weeping for his disdaine,
wishing he might but see my teares, which from strangers have gain’d compassion:
He hath come in, then how have I cheerd up my heart, or rather
my love to him done it for me? Wiped my eyes, and from him hid my sorrowes,
to whom for my redresse they should have beene discovered; policie
it was not that bred this in me, but pure love, and unfortunate subjection,
yet I love my selfe for it, and will still strive to continue it, and more now,
since I see that pleades for me, and pitty, or favour shines againe to me. It
is impossible to be Lone, but reward that now hee goes about to give mee,
that yet shall be welcome, and what else soever comes from him, except
frownes, nay they two if hee allot them me, so hartily I am his.”
The next
morning they went to hunt, and after noone in the evening, walked foorth
along a Rivers side till they came to a little rysing; at the bottom the water
continued the wanton course it had begun, upon the top of this rising there
was a Rocke, and on the top of that a young shepheard playing upon a Rebecke’,
the Ayre playing with his curled locks, and hee singing this
Songe.

“Love farewell I now discover Thee a Tyrant o’re a lover, All thy promis’d sweets prove crosses, Thy rewards are only losses. A pritty thing I did deeme thee, Innocent, and mild esteeme thee, But Ppp1r 483 But I find thee as curst matter As a swelling high wrought water. Cupids name a pleasant folly Hath beguiled hearts most holly, Even to sacrifize in homage, Life and soule unto their domage. Mine an offering once I profferd, Happily refusd when offerd, Ile keepe now but to revile thee, From the craft which did beguile me.”

“The wiser man”, said Amphilanthus. “The liker to your mind”, said Pamphilia,
“if hee love varities”: hee looked upon her, but seeing shee smild, when shee
spake it, hee did so likewise, and so she went to the shepheard, who was comming
downe from the Rock, and seeing them, was amased, yet with a good
civill country manner saluted them, which they gratiously requited. The
Queene then demanded, of what place he was; he replied, he was servant to
the Queenes Shepheard. “Doe you know the Queene” (said she). “No indeed”,
replide hee. “What heare you of her”, said Amphilanthus? “Much joy for her
safetie, and that she is a brave and a good woman”
, said he. “Nothing else”, said
she? “Yes”, answered he, “I have heard more, but we must not speake all least we
heare of it againe to our cost.”
“I dare assure thee” (said she) “the Queene shall never
heare of any thing thou sayest to us any more, then now she doth, nor bee
any more offended with thee.”
“But if I come in question, where’s your assurance,
I may be assuredly hanged, and you never the wiser.”
“Trust me” (said
she) I have such power with her Majesty, as thou shalt be secure. Why then
(said hee) “Ile tell you; but first let me see your face.” “Wherefore”, said the
Queene? “Ile tell you if you be a maid”, said he. With that she puld off a Mask “O heavens
what a sweete face is there, and what pitie it is you should bee so long a
Maid?”

The Lovers both blushed, and smild, then the Shepherd proceeded. “I can
guesse by the face indifferently well at the disposition, and I learnt this experience
by marking my sheepe, and seldome now doe I faile in chusing the
sweetest natured and mildest to breed on, I can see by the countenance whether
they will be tractable, or not, and so I cull the best from the other.”
“But
this is nothing of the Queene”
, said she. “Why, she is” (said he) “a Lady loved, and
well thought on by all that ever I heard speake of her, curteous, affable, no
pride dwells in her, to the meanest she will speake; yet the greatest feare her,
which is her judgement and goodnesse that breedes that respect to her; shee
is upright and just, in her government mild, and loving to her subjects, shee
loves all good exercises as well abroad, as at home; shee hath indeed they
say, a brave and manlike spirit, and wonderous wise shee is; yet for all these
good parts, shee could not keep out of Cupid’s clawes, but was mightily in
love, and is still as it is mutterd about with a gallant man, a brave fighting Ppp man, Ppp1v 484
man, for whose sake shee refused all others, and lately the King of Celicia
her next neighbour; but for all her wisdome, there I believe she was ill advised
to refuse him, for he came with such an Army against her, to have her by
force, as had like to have marrd all; I am sure they frighted us (no sword
men) and our sheep likewise, yet at last hither came that brave man her love,
though some say he had before forsaken her, wherupon she grew melancholly,
& came seldome abroad, she might by that have seene how foolish a thing
love was, and have left it, and looked to her owne busines, but now they say,
shee is lively againe, and jolly, and well shee may, for he did gallantly to
release her, yet hee dwells so farre off, and having as it is said, a prety humour
of changing, wee doe not wish him to her, least wee should loose
her.”

“What doe you call him”, said the Emperor? “Amphilanthus”, answered the
Shepheard, “Emperour of the West, a mighty man assuredly he is, and hath
but that fault as ever I heard, and yet for mine owne part I would the Queen
were of our mind”
(whereat they both laughed); “for I protest” (said he) “I
thinke varietie the sweetest pleasure under Heaven, and constancy the foolishest
unprofitable whining vertue.”

“Thou art an honest fellow”, said Amphilanthus, “I warrant thee.” “Pray God
you prove so”
(said he) “else I may bee in a wise case.” “Feare nothing”, said the
Queene, “I will protect thee from any harme, but now you have spoken thus
freely of the Queene, tell us as particularly of your loves, for it appeares you
have been a lover.”

“In a kinde” (said hee) “and you shall heare what I have done since my
infancy, for since tenne, I have looked after Wenches, and loved them
since foureteene, and now am I sixe and twenty. The first unruly flames
that bred in mee, were at fourteene, towards a pretty Maid of my mothers,
much about that age, who, what with my importunitie, prettie
presents of fruites and flowers, quaint wordes, the love shee bore her
Mistris, whom shee might feare would bee angry, if shee crost mee to
make mee sicke, or it may bee wanton, and young, found as much aptnesse
in her selfe as in mee, or what other cause or power it was, I know
not, shee would not refuse long, nor was I long in accepting, but kindly
and amorously wee lived a whole yeare, and I pray was not that a
long time to bee in love with one woman? I thinke by that I merrited
never to bee by other denied.”

“Then came a fine Brownetta, an neighbours daughter of ours crost
my sight, and so my former love, shee daily came to milke in the next
grounds to us: I then thought on nothing but how to winne her; the
other followed mee, and perpetually watched mee, that I durst not goe
neare her: but love is never without invention, I would steale out in
the night, and make bracks and holes in the Hedges that parted our
grounds, and then when my Sheepe being droven, as of purpose I would
drive them that way, would for change (loving it as well as their Master)
get into her Fathers fields, I must goe fetch them forth againe,
and so I saw her, and spake to her, telling her shee should advise her father
to keep his fences better, this was my introduction, and at last wan her by discourse Ppp2r 485
discourse and conversation as wrangling at first wrangled our selves one.
But when I had enjoyed her, I thought the other like stale bread: shee told
me of it, I truly confest I was weary of her; she said we were well met to part
on equall tearmes, and so she quickly after chose another, and another, for already
I have seene her have three besides my selfe, and I commend her for
it.
Some moneths, which were the Spring and Summer, and as long as faire
weather lasted, I loved this second; but when cold came on, my bloud grew
chill, and so my hart grew faint, onely to be recovered with the next Spring,
which it was, and sprang unto another love, who was as faire as Diana her
selfe at the full, but for my contentment not so cold nor chaste. She was a
Neatresse, and in truth an neate one; her I gaind by curtesie, fetching, and
driving her cattle to her, and for her, the sweete and secret Woods could
onely accuse us, none else mistrusted, and so sweetly and kindly did we passe
our times; but shee after a while being but as the former were, and no varietie
in her, I began to thinke how I might purchase some creature more like
my disposition which I gained; for walking in the Woods, I found a dainty
Forrest Nimph hunting, I forsooke her, left home, father, and all betaking me
to the Woods: she was long before she could be wonne to like, longer to
love; but at last for my joy, shee liked, loved, and yeelded, then was I a blessed
man, for in this delicate Creature I was fully happie, shee so well incountred
my humour with her fashion, and divers, and severall expressions of love she
gave, which as still being new, she was an new woman to mee, and so I continued
with the varietie on her side, and I so contented with all, as I loved her
five yeare without change, yet not wholly so constant, but I thinke I slipt aside
in that time. Sometimes it may be she thought so, and would be sad; but
when I came, and saw her so, how did I thinke that did become her, and idlenesse;
or mirth misbeseeme others; then I grew sad to imitate her, learnt her
fashions, walked crosse armd, sighed, cast up mine eyes, spake little, looked
much on her, else on nothing to say, I looked on any thing but as unmarked.
This passion pleased me as different from the other; then so well I pleased
her in this kind, as she the next time would be merry. I liked that beyond the
other, for then me thought I saw life, spirit, and mettle in her; I then embraced
that with joy and delight, finding that she did all these to make me hers,
by still contenting me; I was contented to be hers, as much as it was possible
for mee to bee anyes, and this brought me into such reputation, as I had the
good looks, nay, thoughts of many faire maides (without pride I speake it,
though I confesse I love to tell it), among the rest there was another Nimph,
who hearing of mee, or seeing how my Mistris made of mee, thought it a
fine thing to love; but a finer to bee loved, yet did shee not consider how
to chuse without offence to others, and gaine to her selfe, for her ill fortune
was to chuse mee, who though so naturally kind to women, as I would
hardly let one of that sweete sexe sigh, much lesse weepe for mee, but that
I would requite her; yet shee had not that winning power to make mee differ,
nor indeede did shee take mee right, for shee mistooke both in the time
and place, happening to bee at the Nimphs house, whither I often resorted
with other Forresters, shee welcomming mee as a friend, that had done Ppp2 her Ppp2v 486
her service in a hunting which shee had, the house was little, and therefore
the roomes were neare together, my Mistris lodged this other, her rival companion,
in a roome within her selfe, mistrusting nothing, but bolting the
doore betweene them, sure for her comming to her, secretly went to bed,
and when all was quiet according to our agreement, she came to mee; as we
were together embracing, and lovingly discoursing, wee heard a noise something
nearer us, as in the next roome; love at first made us heedlesse, till comming
neare, and continuing with increase of lumbring, and as if wood falling
or slipping from those rowes, or the order it was laid up, as in rankes, in wee
startled, and I feared, because of my Mistris; but shee knowing the place,
which was not above five foote broad, and alwaies filled with cleft wood
for the chambers, stept out and shut a doore, which was to goe in, or to
come out of that place.
When shee had made it safe for opening on the other side, shee softly returned
to mee, and then with much delight wee stayed a while together,
till day being ready to breake, shee parted from mee to bee in her owne bed,
when her maides came to seeke her, which soone after they did, and shee being
ready, called mee, and sent for Orileda, for so the other was called, but she
having (as shee told me afterwards, to make me know her love, the violence
whereof had made a more unchast thought in her, then ever before she had)
broken her shin with climing over the wood, cursing it yet more for the hindrance,
then the harme, barring her from letting me see what power I had
to make her, other then ever her modestie till then would permit. Shee was
unable to follow Dianaes sports, as well in person, as her chaste courses in
thought.
I seemed to pitie my owne ill fortune in missing of her, and to lament
her hurt, which more hurt mee, for after shee perplexed mee with haunting
of mee, Lord what a life led I? shee troubled mee, my Mistris grew
a little suspitious of me, that grieved mee, both strove for mee; but such
difference there was betweene them, as I had been blind and accursed, if I
had left one for tother. But then came the Queene into those Woods to
delight her self, being at her first comming into this Country, in her Traine
she had many brave and fine women, among the rest, one prety little Lasse,
who for her pretinesse, mee thought, commanded largely over hearts, I am
sure shee made mine faint and faile, when it had been strong; then did I
thinke a Forrest life the toylesomst, and wearisomest in the world: I plotted
how to bee released of it, and why? onely to bee where I might see
her I most loved.
Long I studied, at last I fell upon a resolution, which was, to put my selfe
into the Court, to serve some Officer or Courtier, the Queene affecting
hunting, I was soone accepted, and taken by the chiefe Huntsman to be one
of her Majesties servants, being excellent in blowing a Horne, and in the
chase, and so loving infinitely, and hoping as much, for I never loved without
that especiall comfort about me, to spoile me, and to crosse my old companion
Hope, the Queene went to try Enchantments, I never having seene
her but one horse-back, and still masked: I know not how her Majestie carried
her selfe, or what shee did, but as reports are by all, to her most meriting
honour that might bee, though likewise to her losse, for shee returned after Ppp3r 487
after some yeares, the most discontented woman in the world, and hath continued
so, till now within few dayes, when (God bee thanked) she hath
recovered her spirits, which long may they be (I beseech Heavenco)) continued
to her, & al hapines attend her, yet I was angry with her going for she caried
my love with her, yet farre she could not carry it, it was either so heavy as it
sank, or so light, as the first contrary wind brought it me again, and then I forswore
hunting, court, and al, betaking me to be a Shepherd, and here I live under
the Queens Shepheard quiet, love for my pleasure, never to paine, have
a Lasse now that will have mee love, or serve her, whether I will or no,
her violence making mee truer, or rather more observant then anie others
worth could do; and thus I live (I must say truly) fondly, ignorantly,
and condemned by all men; yet it pleaseth mee, because I avoid by this
meanes, importunities, and businesses. I am heere served and observed, nothing
to vexe mee, if not what I like well enough, which is her overmuch
fondnesse: her fairenesse troubles mee not, for shee is no Helena, her
vertue denies me little; for I command that, and her, her humble and busie
love mixt with fine discourse likes mee well enough, or I suffer my selfe to
thinke so; yet O me the Nimph was a dainty Lasse.”

“Ah” (said Pamphilia), “it seemes you have some reliques of that love.”
“In truth” (said he) “I have, and my conscience moves me that way many times,
knowing she undid her selfe for me, and yet firmely loves mee still, and unchangeably
ever did.”

“Returne then” (said Amphilanthus) “and bee now againe more happy then
ever enjoying so long loved, and loving a Creature, the first passions were
but flashes, these pure and true fiers.”

“I feele them so” (said hee), “and I will doe so, and yet in so doing
justly, and continue my old affection to varietie too, for now she will be
new againe to me.”

The Lovers smil’d upon each other, and taking the fine Shepheards
offer, which was to drinke of his poore drinke, they each dranke of his bottle,
and returned, pleased much with his discourse, but most with his resolution
to returne to his old Love.

The next Morning shee went to Fish, and so after dinner to Hauke, and
everie day had new delights, till they had past invention, and then like the
Sheepheard returned to what they had had: so one morning to hunt they
went, when after one hours chase the hounds running merrily, the stag comming
neere them, the Emperour with the rest had his spirits mooved with
the pleasure, and not sparing his horse followed with such speed into a
great and desart wood, as hee had in the thicknesse lost the Stagge, hounds,
all the company, and himselfe; the Queene having a guide, and coasting
came in to the death, for the Hounds soone brought the Deere
out of the wood, but at the fall of him the Emperor was miss’d, the
Queene missing in that misse all joy and content, her heart being so
much his, as still partooke of his fortunes, and that faithfully tould her
hee would not quickly be heard of againe, shee grew sad, and instead of
honoring her Dogges, or Deere with their last rights, tooke her horse
againe and went her selfe to seeke him, sending all her traine severall waies
in the same quest, taking only with her two Ladies that had held out the Ppp3 chase Ppp3v 488
chase with her, and ten Knights. She continued the search till night, then
came she to a house in the midst of the wood, where she resolvd to rest her
that night, and the next day betimes pursue her search. When she came into
the house she found servāants ready, and willing to entertaine her, but their
Mistris was not as then come from hunting; the Queene weary and sad, sate
downe on a bed, or rather neglectively threw her selfe upon one, her Ladies
in the meane space taulking with the servants concerning their Mistris, till
she returned in a garment of blacke Damaske, which reached to her knees,
and another below that, that came to the small of her leg, of Sattin, buskins
she had of the finest leather laced and tyed with pretty knots of ribbin, but al
blacke, and so had she gone ever since her love left her. On her head shee
wore a hat, but her haire under it, tyed and braded so finely, as shee might
throw off her hat at pleasure, and remaine finer then before. She seemed to
have beene excellent, and yet she appeared lovely, though her face said shee
was not in the youthfullest time of her yeares, yet her Sommer was not quite
done; she had strength, and spirit in place of delicasie and sinnes, and wholesome
healthfulnes for dainty beauty, altogether shee was farre from being
comtemptible, though not merriting to be admired, if not for constancy, and
patient suffering which shee had brought her selfe unto, and to so perfect a
kind of them, as she no way wanted her former happines.

An excellent Creature she was without question in her kind, and as such
are oft times abused with excelling change; She understanding the Queene
was in her house, was much joyed withall, but not so ravished with it, as it
made her any whit forget her duty, as others have done, rashly overcome
with joy, to grow unmannerly withall, but stayed attending the good fortune
when she might see, and welcome her Majestie, which should be done
when she cal’d, that tim came soone after, for the Q. having tumbled awhile,
and cast her thoughts into millions of various conceits, she with wearynes
fell asleepe, and so continued an howre, which space the sweete Nimph
stayd for her.

As soone as the Ladyes had told the Queene of her being without, shee
was admitted in to her, who with as much humillity, as the Queene with
kindnes saluted her, using her best language (as she had as good as any of her
sort,) to expresse her gladnesse in seeing, & having her Majestie in her house.
Pamphilia hearing her speak, and beholding her manner and fashion, besides
the furniture of the roome being of delicate and rich silke, both hangings
and bed, which till then she regarded not, did beleeve she was of noble kinde,
and so used her, taking her gently from the ground, and telling her shee was
not to kneele to her guest.

“To my Soveraigne Lady” (said she) “I am bound, and your worth claimes
this, and more respect from all strangers”
, then kissed she the Queenes hands,
and rose, beholding the Queene with admiration of her beauty and sadnes;
her eyes having been employed to other use then sleeping, as by the red circles
did appeare. Delicate discourse passed betweene them a good space, till
the Queene found she might be bolder with her, then she yet had, and so began
to aske her some questions, the first, why shee woare Blacke, being
a Huntresse? Shee replyd, shee had lost her Deare, and mourned for
it. “Then must I weare Blacke also” (said shee) “for I am parted unfortunatelynately Ppp4r 489
from my deerest Deere, for which my heart allready is in mourning.”

The sweete Nimph with a low reverence & a sigh, seemd to lament for her;
the Queene then proceeded, as longing to know the end, which the
other perceiving, to give her all content, yeelded unto it, and proceeded
thus.

“Since I see the desire you have to know all my story, may it please your
Majestie to understand, I am called Mirasilva, a Forrest Nimph by my manner
of life, but not profest to Diana, though a servant to her delights; unmarryed
I live, but wedded to a vow I made to one, whose breach of his, like-
made-one to me cannot yet unmarry me; he was called Sildurino, as faire, but
as false as any, his life was wholy in the Country, and after that manner
though he was nobly discended, but his Grandfather falling into an unfortunate
action overthrew their house, his father and his children, ever after
living privatly, and but plentifully, yet is there no reason to use them with
the lesse respect, or to contemnecontemne them, or thinke basely of them, who suffer
for others offences, not their owne; yet such was the greatnes of their
spirits, as of fowre sonns the Grandfather left none, but his father did marry
who was betrothed before his fall, and she nobly would after continue her
love to her Spouse, living happily together; and as contented as if they had
all the possessions, and honours they were borne unto, which was as much
as most, or any in this Kingdome.
The other three brothers lived with them, but so vexed, & stomacking
their povertyes, yet having vertuous hearts would not consent to thinke of
ill courses, they perplexedly lived, and at last dyed, their hearts broken with
their owne swellings, and rent with their owne furious passions, their overthrow
came in this manner. The King who unquietly reign’d next before
your most worthy Uncle, was a mighty Tyrant, and had purchased the
Kingdome by treachery, and blood-shedding of many, lastly of the right
King, his children and kinsmen, to the last he could finde that durst say he had
one drop of Royall blood in him, and many suffered for this, having so much
royall vertue as to strive to overthrow such a beast. When hee had done
this, and none left to withstand him, he yet thought himselfe not secure, unlesse
he ruin’d those that knew his villany, least they bloodded in ill would
practise on him: all those he likewise made away, nay those deere friends
of his that had set the Crowne upon his head, truely, and worthily requited
them for so Devilish an act: with the same they fedde the poore King
his predesessor, who had no falt but that he was too good, too honest, too
just, & two religious, shewed faults in Princes in these dayes. When the king
had thus gained his mind, and free’d himselfe from the danger of being
betray’d, who had beene trecherous to so many, and none left that he could
feare, or say that man knowes my ill, so as now he might surely walke if not
for his owne conscience; yet what good got he by this? he had not only rid
himselfe of those he might mistrust or dislike, to see if any remorse were in
him, but of friends, so as hee stood alone, and like a Tree in the midst of a
plaine his branches cut off, every wind hath power on him; So stood he apt
to be shaken with every storme which was seene, and considered by many,
and at last resolv’d upon that hee should reele or fall. A plot was layd,
and most of the remayning Nobility, and especially all the auncient Lords Ppp4v 490
Lords by desent, though many were young men among them agreed together;
but the King as he was wicked, so he was very wise, or politique, quickly
discernd there was something more then was for his good, wherefore like
an old Foxe when he meanes to get a dwelling which he will not take paines
to make himselfe, layes baits, and wiles to gaine his neighbours house, and
deceives the poore Badger; so did this Devill, laying such ginns for them, as
he caught them when they lest thought of it, thrusting into their counsells,
and companyes, instruments of his, who were content to sweare and forsweare
any thing, nay their owne soules to winne his favour, such a Tyrant
is ambition over man to get the grace of Kings, who being king it is enough,
and no matter what Kings they are. These men did not only joyne with the
rest in that they advised, but added of their owne inventions, leading them
on by traines into the snare.
When time was ripe for the action, and the discovery, the King called an
assembly of all his Lords, and as it were to rectifie some things that were amisse,
and to give satisfaction to his people, if any thing troubled them, besides
to propound warr against Celicia, their ancient and new growne enemie.
These friends (for too honest the maine part were to be called conspirators)
came with the rest, and so obeyed the orders and commands of the
King who help’d some things, but their cheife grievances were not brought
in, at last these poore betrayed Lords were, when earnestest for their Country,
cross’d and cut short by the King, which mooved them so much, as rather
then suffer dishonour they flew out; many of the Commons tooke part
with them, but such is the bacenes of common people, as they left them as
soone as they heard one Proclamation against them; they were soone taken,
some kild that would withstand, but Sildurino his Grandfather was taken, and
not denying the determination held among them, was executed, his sonns
not being of the confederacy were degraded, their houses razed, and their
name utterly forgotten by cōommand of never being mentioned more then by
their Christian names, their goods confiscated, & lands forfited to the King,
themselves confined to one house the poorest their father had, where they
were bound to live without titles, or meanes, but from starving, and if they
broke the command, death ensued. Many other noble families fell also, my
Grandfather likewise sufferd for this busines, but so great a fall it was, not to
us, since there was none left but my selfe to inherit his estate, and I so unblessed
a woman as merrit no other then a most unfortunate being.
We two as borne to ill, and misfortune, fell as unluckily to love each other,
love I thinke I may say we did, I am sure he liked, at least much dissembled,
and I dare sweare I loved, yet as a conclusion must come to all things, so
did there one fall, and a desperate one for me, for he left me, alas unkindly left
me, who intirely loved him, and mourne in heart and soule still for him, and
my losse. ‘Alas’ (said I to my selfe) ‘what made him leave me? he told me, I
was growne an old Wench, he hath chosen an elder whom he adores, and
worships like a Saint, and well may he doe so, for shee seemes rather an Image
then a fleshly body, or rather a relique of what had been to bee reverenced,
then a substance to be beloved.’”

“But if I speake much in this kind, your Majestie may thinke, envy speakes
in mee, though this is but truth, and most true, that she hath the advantage of Qqq1r 491
of winning, and keeping a love above all other women, for so powerfull shee
is in the gaining, sparing neither estate, honor, nor travell to accomplish her
desires; then so diligent, and carefull in the preserving her gaine, as it is impossible
to get one backe againe that shee hath gotten. She will not neglect
occasions, services, duties, that servants were fitter to doe; nay, so busie shee
will be in her house to have any thing shee imagines will please, as shee appeares
to strangers, rather an Hostesse, then a Mistris: but such a Mistris shee
hath ever been, for he is but one of a great summe of servants which shee hath
past her time with all, but now decayd and growne old as I and others are, she
holds only him, (at least as he thinks, though God forgive me if I believe it
not, or that hee is alone) and him by Inchantment surely; for shee is now at
this present the most contrary woman to his former choyces that can be invented,
nay, to his opinions, as his owne hand can witnesse; but he hath forgotten
them as me, and we must suffer to satisfie his varietie and love to it.”

“But how if he returne to your love, will he be received or slighted”, said the
Queene? “me thinkes these weeds promise pardon, since none would mourne
for that they care not for.”
“The care of him and for him made me first weare
them”
, answered Myrasilva, “but now I mourne for mine owne misfortune,
and I assure my selfe may still for any hope of his alteration; no alas Madam,
he is left, and I undone may see it. I confesse hee did many times about the
time of his change, speak in a kind, as if it had beene my fault and neglect,
that made the alterations, but my soule and his know the contrary: I saw
him going, I sought to prevent it, but when I found such private meetings,
such plots to cousen himselfe by deceiving me, and my trust in him, I could
not sue for impossibilities, nor seeke where I was refused and wrongd. Some
said (as I remember one that followed, or haunted him I thinke) that surely
twas my lasinesse, and her activenesse that won him; ‘Ah’ (said I) ‘if he were to
be wonne, I could not loose him, now I know I cannot keepe him’
, nor could
I almost keepe my wits for the affliction of it, since I find he was, and is but a
man that I so much reverenced, no God but in my Idolatry; a Divell to my
rest and quiet content, of which I have not tasted since his leaving me, but so
well, or much acquainted with these, as I thinke joy, or they would bee distastefull
to me.”
“Be not of that opinion” (said Pamphilia), “but thinke how to
embrace him with the former affection, and love as you were wont; love
him and forget what is past, remember it not so much as to question it, wrap
up the former crosses and misfortunes all in a sheet of forgivenes, and drowne
them in the Sea of your patience, and renued love, smile on him and his repentance
as on his love, and first sute, welcome his returne as his first profession,
and embrace his second love in the armes of your truest and dearest
thoughts, as you did his vowes, and loving protestations; be resolute to forget,
and in forgiving, receive him a new man yet the same lover he was when
perfectest.”
“If his perfections were not blotted with change” (said the
Nimph) “I could doe them, for in troth Madam, my heart and soule rejoyceth
when I thinke, or heare of him; therefore I feare I cannot refuse,
which is the cause I pray daily to hold me out of his sight, since I cannot
see him, but to my deadly torment in anothers possession, then how may I
hope to see him returne, I find no possibilitie to enjoy, or hope for it.”

Qqq Trust Qqq1v 492

“Trust me” (said the Queene) “hee is recanting, and ere long you will see it,
but be carefull in accepting, lest the others importunitie, and your slacknesse
marre not all againe.”
Then did the Queene tell her all that had passed betweene
her, the Emperour and the Shepheard, which made her a most joyfull
woman, and glad besides for his sake, that the Queene took his talke so
well, touching her Majesties selfe so nearely. Their discourse ended, and Myrasilva having given her word to be kind againe, or rather to continue so
as well in expression to him, as in her heart she still had been, entreated Pamphilia
to sup, and accept of such fare, as Forresters had in those Desarts. She
gave her many thanks, and went out with her, so they eat, and after the Queen
went to bed, desiring to be alone, the freelier to thinke of her other selfe; and
though she enjoyed not his sight, to see him lively in her soule, where he was
ingraven by faithfull memory.

“O Amphilanthus” (said she) “why hast thou left thy poore Pamphilia thus,
newly raised from death of despaire, to the life of hope and happinesse, to be
cast downe lower, then before in misery? My better and dearer selfe, I know
it was not thy meaning to leave mee thus soone, nor in this manner. What
Devill is risen now to undoe, and murder my content? Accursed bee this
Wood, the Day we went an hunting, the motion to that rude savage exercise,
and all appurtenances that brought, or aided to my losse. My sweetest
life, how doe I perpetually dye in thy absence? My dearest heart, returne
and restore me, else come to see me die; and close my dying eyes with thy all-
conquering and beloved hands; or if it would grieve thee, yet be content to
spare me wishes in thy absence, and live thou as happy, as thou art most worthy.
Let these eyes be blessed (if possibly I may aske and obtaine such a blessing)
with seeing thee againe: let me be the fortunate finder of thee, and let
me find thy favour still to me, then most luckely and eternally happy search.”

With these, and many more such passionate words, shee spent most time of
the night, till being tired, sleepe would have his share of the royall Queene,
and so she slept, but not long before she started, cryed out, “O stay, and live
with me, follow not her, that loves thee not like me, forsake me not againe;
Oh stay”
; with that she stayd her speech, for then she came out of her dreame,
and seeing it was but a dreame, was a little better satisfied, yet so it stuck in
her, as the abiding of it so fresh in her thoughts, foretold an extraordinary
matter in it. Shee dreamt, that shee had him in her armes, discoursing with
him; but hee sad, and not speaking, of a sudden rose, and went to the doore,
where shee thought shee saw Lucenia calling to him, to whom hee went,
and downe the staires with her, then tooke Coach and fled away with her,
which made her crie with that haste and loudnesse, but hee went still with Lucenia, never looking towards her, and so she lost sight of them, Coach and
all; an odde Omen, considering all that happned afterwards.

Well, shee rose as soone, as day appeared, and taking her leave of that
kind Nimph, shee tooke her horse, ahnd went into the Wood, travelling
till shee came into the Desartest place, and most obscure of that part, riding
up and downe as well as shee could for the thicknesse of it, shee perceived
at last upon a white Bone that lay there (which had beene of
some beast that had been killed, or died there, and the rest consumed, or then away) Qqq2r 493
away) one drop of blood fresh, and then a little from that more, and so
following it, came to a place where there was a prettie quantitie, and only
the tract of one horse to be seene, she feared, and tracking the blood till shee
came to a place made round like a Crowne of mighty stones, in the mid’st
one greater then all the rest, and on that the Armour of Amphilanthus, his
Sheild, and Sword, but that was stroke with such force & strength into the
stone, and as if runne halfe way in it, as none could stirr it, that, and the armour
was hacked, and cut in many places, besides all bloudy, and the blood
as fresh, as if but newly shed, on the other side his horse lay dead, and hard by
an infinite and huge Boare slaine, yet so terrible to behold, as it almost amased
the beholders, a little from thence a Gentleman of excellent proportion
dead also; but the Queene looked on nothing but her Deares Armour and
Sword; after she saw the Knight, and knew him not being unarmd, standing
as still as the stone, and as unmoveable, till at last she sunke to the ground in a
swound; her women helpt to unlace her, and her Knights fetched water
and such things to bring her to life againe, as they could get there. In the
meane time came a Knight in gilt armour, and seeing this miserable spectacle,
hee kneeled downedowne by the Queene, and assisted her poore Ladies, whose
griefe and amasement was such, as they were scarce able to doe the service required
at their hands. At last she breathed, and then sighed, looked up, cryd,
“O my deare Amphilanthus, I come”, I come, then fainted againe, and againe
they fetched her. When she saw she had not power to die, as she hoped, and
found her selfe in the armes of an armed Knight, she said; “Sir, I beseech you
what authoritie have you over mee in my misery, that you venture to hold
me from my resolution? either I pray leave me presently to my owne will,
or more kindly send me to him, after whom I will not live. What account
can I give the world of his losse, whom all the world admired and loved?
What will Germany, Italy, and all say of me? what curses lay upon me, and
my Country, when they shall know that with me, and in this place they have
lost him? Accursed Country, but more accursed woman, for whose sake the
Earths glory and happinesse came into it, and here, Oh here is?”
More shee
would have said, but her speech and voyce faltred. The Knight had puld off
his Helme, and then as passionatly weeping and lamenting as they did, hee
spake, being knowne to be Polarchos. “Alas Madam” (said he) “how comes this
misfortune, be like your selfe, and tel me, that I may, and your other servants
redresse this wrong as neare as wee can, and know what is become of that
royall man.”
“O Polarchos” (said shee) “how can I looke on thee, and say, thy
Lord is dead, and so my heart departed.”
“Never let mee heare those words”,
cryd he: “but where is his body, or how know you he is dead?” “What can be
hoped, for else”
, said she? see you not his sword that made so many bow, and
yeeld? his armes that served him in so many conflicts, his horse that never
failed, while he had life, how can it be otherwise, but he is dead since, what
else could seperate him from these Jewels.”
Then afresh they lamented and
cryd; but Pamphilia at last remembred (calling his sweetnesse, and love as
freshly, and affectionately to her sight as if present, but most grievously, because
parted) that hee was not armed, when he parted from her, that gave
a Spring to hope, and made her stay her teares, till she was resolved, which
soone shee was by Polarchos, who told her, that hee having romed up and Qqq2 downe Qqq2v 494
downe the Forrest, at last returned to the Tents, where hee with the rest of
the Officers staied with their provisions, expecting them to come to rest, and
feede on those things they had provided, and so returne to the City. But as
he came, and lighted, instantly a young fellow like a Forrester, came crying,
“That your Majesty was taken away by Theeves, and carried into the thickest
part of the Wood, whereupon hee armed himself, and speedily tooke the way
he directed him; wee with as much speed as we could followed him, but in
the Woods we lost sight of him, and all (as if led by severall Spirits) are scattred
and lost.”
“Lost indeed”, said she, “we all are, since he is lost, more worth then
the whole Earth, and lost by treason, as now it plainely appeares”
; then they
fell to their lamentations againe, but Polarchos tooke the Armes, and would
have put them up. No, said she, these shall here remaine, none being worthy
to touch, much lesse to weare them after him. Then they hung them up,
putting in pinnes of Gold into the great stones, and on every stone hung a
piece, inriching that Crowne with more rich ornaments (having then the
Armes of the most magnanimious Prince of the World) then if the costliest
Diamonds had been inchased in them; the Sword they also thought to hang
up with his Sheild, but Polarchos could no more moove that, then Pamphilia;
the Scaberd they hung with the Sheild, and under-writ some lines, Pamphilia
both making them, and ingraving them, as shal be told hereafter. Polarchos
began to be a little better in hope, when he saw the Sword in that order, trusting
it was but some Inchantment, from which he might be deliverd, though
held some time from them, which was a new griefe to thinke upon. When
they were going away, the Queene to lament and mourne, which she vowed
during her life to doe, and Polarchos to live in some remote place, never to
see man nor creature more, the excellentest being gone, they saw out of holes
in the stones, smoake, and fire suddenly to flie out with it. Pamphilia adventured,
and pulling hard at a ring of iron which appeared, opned the great stone,
when a doore shewed entrance, but within she might see a place like a Hell of
flames, and fire, and as if many walking and throwing pieces of men and women
up and downe the flames, partly burnt, and they still stirring the fire, and
more brought in, and the longer she looked, the more she discernd, yet all as
in the hell of deceit, at last she saw Musalina sitting in a Chaire of Gold, a
Crowne on her head, and Lucenia holding a sword, which Musalina tooke
in her hand, and before them Amphilanthus was standing, with his heart ript
open, and Pamphilia written in it, Musalina ready with the point of the sword
to conclude all, by razing that name out, and so his heart as the wound to perish.
Faine she would, nay there was no remedy, but she would goe in to
helpe him, flames, fier, Hell it selfe not being frightfull enough to keepe her
from passing through to him; so with as firme, and as hot flames as those she
saw, and more bravely and truly burning, she ran into the fire, but presently
she was throwne out againe in a swound, and the doore shut; when she came
to her selfe, cursing her destinie, meaning to attempt againe, shee saw the
stone whole, and where the way into it was, there were these words written.

“Faithfull lovers keepe from hence None but false ones here can enter: This Qqq3r 495 This conclusion hath from whence Falsehood flowes: and such may venter.”

Polarchos attempted likewise, but could only (for being unconstant) passe
the flames, but not come within reach of the Emperour, but then was cast
out also. The Queene then perceived what this was, and so as sadly as before
resolved, shee returned to the Court, where more like a religious, then a
Court life, she lived some yeares. Polarchos presently provided long gray
Roabes, like a Hermit, and on the outside of the Armes-crowned Crowne
he made a Cell, where he lived daily beholding the Armes, and lamenting
for his Lord, kissing the stone wherein he thought he was inclosed, and thus
lived he, guarding the Armes of his Lord, till the adventure was concluded.

The other eleven Princes that came with Amphilanthus into Pamphilia,
and were as Polarchos hath told you scatterd, and devided in the Desart, it
was the fortune of the Prince of Transilvania to come within two daies after
to the same Lodge, where the Queene had laine with the dainty sad Nimph;
but hearing of Pamphilias being well and safe, onely perplexed for the want
of Amphilanthus, staied not, but followed the search of them both, till hee
came to the sea-side, where beholding the waves, and comparing mens fortune
to the rising, falling, and breaking of them, he saw a little Bote come towards
the land, and in it a faire Damsell, weeping and pitifully complaining.
The Prince tooke great compassion of her, demanding the cause of her sorrow.

“Alas Sir” (said she) shall I tell you, and you proove like other Knights, I may
well then accuse my forwardnesse, and paine; but if you will promise to succour
my Lady, who is so faire, worthy and great, as will take away the shew
of my imperfections, perfect in nothing but duty to her, I will then tell you
what you aske.”
“Speake faire, and sad Lady” (said he) “and I vow to serve
your Lady, and your selfe with my best indeavours, although I must tell
you, I am in search of such, as unwillingly I would be diverted, but compassion
compells me to serve you.”
She thanked him, and thus proceeded.
“Blessed may you, and all your enterprises be, who for a distressed Ladies sake
will lay aside your own occasions, and let me know I beseech you, to whom
she is thus much ingaged.”
“I am” (said he) “Prince of Transilvania, servant to
the Emperour Amphilanthus, from whom I was parted in yonder Desart,
and have since sought him, and was yet in the quest of him, and the Queene
of this Country, with eleven Princes more his servants, all severed from
one another, and seeking each other”
; “God send they may happily meete”
said she; “and you brave, and courteous Prince be for ever happy for you noblenesse.
The businesse which urgeth mee to demand your helpe is this, my
Lady and Mistris is the Princesse of Lycia, only daughter to the King of that
Country, next neighbor to this place, so as your stay shall not bee very long
from your search; with this Lady the Lord of the Mountaines called Taurus
(an unworthy man, rude, proud, ill-favourd, savage and rough as well in
person, as in maners, but wonderfull powerfull, and mighty of body, meanes
and people) fell in love; shee being as delicate, as hee abominable, which
made her hate him as much, as he sought her, but her father a good Prince,
loving peace, would not provoke warre, but rather yeeld her to him.”

Qqq3 This Qqq3v 484

“This brought the sweete Princesse into desperate melancholly, and dispaire,
but a Noble man as well in truth of vertue, as descent and honour to
defend her from so much harme, tooke her into his protection the same day
she should have beene given to the Mountaine Lord, venturing life, honors,
and estate to keepe her free. This being discerned by the cruell proud man,
and her father, the good old King troubled withall, utterly disclayming any
knowledge of it; they raised men to take her backe by force, and catch him,
who should certainely suffer for such an attempt: but the place is strong, the
cause good, and the defence just, and honest, so as none I hope will doe other
then pitty her, and seeke to redresse her wrongs; this hath continued eight
moneths, and now the King hath sent directly to her, to yeeld her selfe into
his hands to be bestowed to the feirce Montaltanus, or to bee forsaken for
ever of him, and disinherited.”

“This message was heavily received by the poore Princesse, yet she resolved
to dye disinherited, and be the poorest in estate, rather then the unhappiest
by marryage; wherefore after an humble answer, and dutifull refusall
of yeelding to be wife to Montaltanus; she demanded one request of her father,
which was to let it bee lawfull for her to send forth in search of some
Knight, who would defend her quarrell against him, whom if he overcame,
she should be yeelded unto his Majestie, if her Knight got the victory, then
she should be free, and inherit what she was borne unto, and this to be performed
in two months, and peace in the interim.”

“These things were agreed on, and granted with much vaine-glory on the
assured Champions side; then did the Lady send foure Damsells abroad, of
which number I am one, three are returned without finding any, and now
are but three dayes left of the perfixed time, the Nobleman hath also his pardon
granted on the conditions of conquest by the strange Knight, else at the
Kings dispose. Now Sir, if you please to undertake the quarrell, you shall
make an noble brave (but unfortunate) Princesse bound unto you, and hers,
all your servants.”
“Is the Noble man” said the Prince, “in whose hands shee is,
marryed, or ambitious by his service to obtaine her?”
“He is married truely
Sir”
said she, “& hath a vertuous Lady to his wife, as forward, & ever was as
himselfe to serve the Princesse, and only pittifull respect brought him to
venturne upon this danger”
; “I will be their servant” answered the Prince, “and
venture my life to release and save him”
: Together they went, shee the
happiest woman living, in that she thus should serve her Mistris, and the
Campe they gained, the night before the expecting time of Combat, hee
pass’d by the Campe, and through some part of it, having license as it was
appointed, and agreed on, those that saw him, commended him much, for
a brave and personable man, likely, and promising much in him: but when
hee came to the Castle, the pleasure the Princesse, and her friends felt, cannot
be expressed, especially in the Lady her selfe, who imagin’d at first sight
it had beene Amphilanthus, and indeed she might easily bee deceived, for
he somewhat (and much for his honour) resembled him, but hee wanted
much of well marked, for he was short of him in stature, more in shape,
and colour being blacker, and most in sweetenes, and perfect lovelynes, yet
this was a very brave Gentleman, his greatest faults being to high an opinion
of his owne worth, which was lessned by his over valuing of that, which otherwisether- Qqq4r 497
had beene more valued; but this businesse hee undertooke, and
bravely performed the next day, encountering his enemie in a List, made of
purpose betweene the Campe, and Castle, the Lady being placed by her
Kingly Father, in a Throne raysed of purpose for them.

Then entred the great arrogant Mountaine Lord, to meete no lesse a selfe
esteeming Prince, who was mounted on a brave stirring horse, the coulers
he wore were straw couler, and haire couler: the Caparisons were cut into
the shape of leaves, dead the couler shewed them, and being set on straw
couler cloath of Gold, they seemd as if fallen on sand, and mooving with
the Ayre which the horses motions made likely, and so pretty: On his sheild
he had a dead Tree painted, save in the midst of the naked body, there was
as it were one little knot of leaves budding forth, & seeming greenish with a
word in his language, which interpreted, was understood that there yet
was some hope. These Armes, and furniture were new, which might have
distasted the young Lady, but the losse of his Emperiall Master coulered
that sufficiently.

The feirce Montaltanus was in blood red, like his cruell disposition:
Plume he had none, nor devise, saying those were only things propper to
Feasts, and younge men, who thought more on fashion then busines; a
great, and much stirring Horse he also had, which well he govern’d, for a very
good Horse man he was, and full of valliant courage. The place, spectators,
Judges, and themselves ready, the Trumpets sounding, they encounter’d,
in which encounter they shewed all that could be required of strength,
skill, and rage, yet the last so much govern’d, as made the best judging eies
say, that shewed it selfe more then dainty, and exquisite cunning would have
permitted, running something to the conceipt of boisterousnes, but they
meant to fight, not to play: Then drew they their swords, after the breaking
their staves, without any advantage on either side, and fiercely fought
while one houre lasted, & past before any advantage was seene, till the Transilvanian
casting his eies on his hope, and Lady, gained so much force, as hee
strooke the proud Mountaner such a blow on his Helme, as hee made him
stoope to the Earth, and then strake off his head, taking off the Helme, he by
the hayre which was long, carryed it to the Princesse, presenting it unto her,
which she received with thanks, and so much gratefulnes, as in requitall,
and with consent of her Father, and friends she gave her selfe to the Conqueror,
as the best part of his Conquest, and what hee as affectionatly, as fortunately
embraced; yet love to his Master made him stay but a smalltime there,
though he might thus have beene excused, but he was forced to bee accompanied
in some part of his journey, for he going into the Kingdome of Pamphilia,
his new wife and deerest love, would not be denyed to goe thither
with him, most for company, but much to see the admired Queene, so as
soone as the King had made the People sweare faith unto them, as his successors
they departed for Pamphilia,

Ten yet are left in search of the Emperour, but it was the Bavarian Duk’s
fortune to meete the next Adventure, which was this; having travelled long
in the Desart, weary with paine, and fruitlesse search, hee came unto the
skirts thereof, which were high Hills towards Lycia, at the bottoms hee beheld
faire, and pleasant Meadowes, and delicate streams running through them, Qqq4v 498
them, he descended, and comming into them, hee found many folks there
mowing the grasse, and some making it up for their winter provision, shewing
thriftyer People they were then those that prodigally spent the present
time without care of the future. He spake unto them kindly, and they respectively
gave him answere. He demanded if they knew of any strange
Knights passing that way; they answered that two in faire Armours, the one
blew, flowred with Gold, the other russet and silver, (by which hee knew
them to be of his companions, the one the Duke of Wirtenberg, the other of Brunswicke) passed by in great hast, inquiring after an old man and a young
Damsell, who it seem’d had done some ill Act, or pretended some against
them.

The Duke courteously thanked them, and so hasted after them, being directed
the way they tooke, he passed till hee came to the head of a River,
whose sweetnes at the begining could not content it selfe, but it must wilfully
runne in Pride, so farre till it looseth it selfe in the Lycian Sea; like such
ambitious men as never thinke they have the full of preferment, by honors,
riches, or any other benefit, till they swallow themselves up in the Gulfe of
merrited Death. From this not farre off hee espied a Towne, and a brave
Country about, sweete, rich, and every way delicate, called Myra; he rode
still towards it, comming among dainty Meadowes, and fruitfull plaines,
admyring this place, he had a greater cause given him of admiration, for he
saw a Pyramede justly before him curiously made, and as richly adorned
with rare Trophies belonging to Love, which shewed that it was dedicated
to that God, but one thing seemed strangest to him, which was a Garland
hanging on the one side of it, of flowers dead, & withered, some fallen off, others
decayed, following them that were gone before, and under it these
lines graven in a peece of Brasse.

“Egypts Pyramid’s inclose their Kings, But this farr braver, nobler things; Vertue, Beauty, Love, Faith, all heere lye Kept in Myras Tombe, shut from eye: The Phoenix dyes to raise another faire, Borne of her ashes, to be heire; So this sweete Place may claime that right in woe, Since heere she lyes, Heaven willing so.”

The brave Knight beheld it very wishly, conjecturing by it, that it was
the Tombe of some famous woman, and that Monument made for her by
her servant, which made him lament (though a stranger) for them both; for
her, as a losse to those parts, never to be repayred; for him, as never to be relieved
having such a losse. Then he called to mind his owne fortune which
made him light, and laying, or rather throwing himselfe upon the grasse, at
the foote of the Pyramede, letting his horse goe at his owne pleasure, while
his Master felt none of that part, groaning out these words, and weeping he
delivered them. “How fit is this Adventure befallen me to be brought to this
place where I may freely, and sadly without interruption breath out my myseries?
Unfortunate Peryneus, what is Bavaria, or all the world to thee, havinguing Rrr1r 499
lost thy onely delight, and for that which thou didst love them? O
thou Mirror of thy time and sexe: Dearest Elyna, was thy Spring and
young Summer too sweet, and pleasing for us; nay, such as we did not, or
could not bee worthy of it? was thy tendernesse too delicate, or thy delicacie
too tender to suffer it selfe with us: thy exquisite sweetnesse, such as
wee like Bees would greedily have sucked, thy daintines to inrich our pleasures;
and therefore fearing wee should surfet, would take away all, lest part
might hurt.”

“Dearest Elyna, yet though thy goodnesse was beyond our merit,
why wouldest thou for ever leave thy faithfull Peryneus, why dyes in thy
losse, and lives but in thy memory”
: Then turn’d hee himselfe on his backe,
crying out, “O Heavens, why did you behold her end without fatall-killing
thunder, and all stormes that could be thought on, or executed by you? never
let such cruelty againe bee indured, plagues being their companions,
noysome smells and dangerous infections; but the greatest plague could
come depriving the Earth of her, hath yet brought but this, that with her
last breath shee sweetned for ever the ayre, and left the most delicate odour
of her most sweet breath to blesse the Countrey, as if of purpose, that
all may say, this was Elyna’s breath, and wee must breathe to her memory.”

“My onely companion Memory, assist mee now, and let mee to thee, and
with thy helpe, relate againe our loves.
Thou knowest when, young, wanton and idle, I liv’d at the Emperours
Court, courting, and oft times received of the not refusing Ladies: Elyna
appeard like the happy signe of no more destruction in that kinde, for I had
before felt paine and pangs of love, but shee tooke away all, giving mee
life and comfort; for shee requited me, nay deserv’d more then I could give
her, so as I remaind wanting, but not in want of love faulty. Thou canst
with mee remember how I lov’d a Maide belonging to the Empresse, faire
and fond shee was, and so her fortune continued with the latter; but her I
left. Thou canst call to minde that a Widdow lov’d mee, and I received
her affection; for who would denye beauty and kindnesse? But shee was
not for mee, though for the satisfaction of her fondnesse I fondly ventur’d
danger.
Thou wilt (it may be) say I was led astray with the liking of a Dutchesse,
wife to a great Duke, I cannot denye that: but both of us must joyne, and
truely say, Elyna came like a faire chaste cloud, and wrapt up my heate
in her snowy armes, keeping it onely to warme her requiting breast,
but hid the bright hot beame from harming her, or making others either
warme with delight, or hot with fury for it.
Sweetest Elyna, my soules joy is thinking of thee, wert thou not yet
unkinde a little in leaving mee, yet diddest thou leave mee the worthiest
way, and noblest; nothing but death tooke thee from mee,
no other threed broke; nor any but that cruell fatall Sister, could
have dissevered our twinedtwined loves; nor hath death done that, for dying
thou diddest bequeathe thy love to mee, and met and equall’d
by mine owne, it remaines joyntly mix’d; not two, but one, Rrrr and Rrr1v 500
and such an one since compounded with them, as now I may boldly say,
I hold inclos’d in mee the richest treasure of love and faith that ever mans
brest had, being the glory of both Sexes, hers for worth, mine for humility
and loyalty.
I remember kinde Memory, when shee told me shee fear’d our loves were
discover’d to the suspitious Empresse, how sweetly and carefully shee spake
unto mee, wishing my care of my selfe, but expressing her love in the height
of kindnesse to mee, fearing shee could not enough let mee know both, or
feare both without a lesse love then passion would permit; yet thus shee
was cleer’d from suspition that passion never had more force, nor yet more
regular power then in her, Shee as passionately loving as any, yet with that
discretion temper’d it, as none so discreetly shewed passion.
She forbad mee not speaking to her, comming to her chamber,
looking on her, writing to her, (as idle humorous Lovers doe)
startling at every motion, Love being in them but like Hunny kept in
the Hives, many stings of trouble to hold one from injoying: but in
her love and care were reall, and so used; no lesse was her fashion noble,
kinde, and free, then when no suspition was, not although the Empresse
tooke her about the necke, led her to a window which looked on a Tarras,
bad her looke forth, and tell her who that was who walked with his back towards
them; shee answering, it was Peryneus. ‘Is hee not’ (said shee) ‘the
hansomest man you ever saw?’
‘Truely’ (said shee) ‘Madam, his minde joyn’d
to his person, makes him appeare excellent, and such I dare presume your
Majesty thinkes him to bee’
; shee answer’d nothing, but frownd. Elyna
retyr’d, yet never stir’d from her former brave carriage to mee, love in her
(indeed) being most excellent.
O Elyna, Elyna, what shall I say more, or can say lesse, and speake truth,
but that thou wert living, and dead art the worthiest example of thy Sexe.
That is enough, & too much said one, who lay on the other side of the Pyramide;
for Myra was and is beyond her, take life or death which you will:
I will venture both and take the worser, answer’d hee, rather then heare Elyna
wrong’d.”

They both were angry, both vex’d: but hasty in choller, tooke
not the hurtfullest, though the readiest way to hurt; for they flew one upon
the other with great fiercenesse, but small harme could insue, for no weapons
they used but their hands, the one having none, the other at first for haste
using none, and after finding the others want in honor to his Mistresse, would
not contend with an unarmed man, not (as hee deemed him) worthy to bee
medled withall in so noble a quarrell, unlesse hee came like a man to maintaine
such a businesse of so great weight; wherefore stepping from him, hee
thus resolutely spake to him.

Unfortunate man” (said hee) see thy error in double kinde made plaine unto
thee; tell not mee of plaine shewing errors, but rather plainly confesse
your presumptuous fault, or let us trye it out with the sword”
: “Thou art” (said Peryneus) unarm’d, and yet arm’d with the greatest insolencie in the world,
to use these speeches, and venture to cal me to account for a truth, while thou
must maintain a falshood in defending thy first foolishly bold words.”
“A sword I Rrr2r 501
I have said hee, and for other Armes, I have forsworne wearing any; therefore
if thou wilt keepe on thine doe, and I make no doubt but to overthrow
thee and thy armed pride together.”
With that he took down a sword which
hung on the same side of the Pyramide, over the place where hee lay: the
brave Duke would not take any advantage of him; besides, assured that his
cause was just, unarm’d himselfe, and so they were going about to conclude
the difference with the end of their lives, to sacrifice their bloods to their
dearest and onely Loves memories.

But happier for them and the honour of Lovers it fell out; for three delicate
Nymphes came by comming from hunting with their bowes in their
hands, and Quivers at their backes, their apparell greene, white buskins and
delicate Garlands on their heads; to these two angry Lovers they came, and
with sweet perswations (mix’d with threatnings to shoot him that first strake
a blow) pacified them, desiring to know the ground of the quarrell, and
withall the discourse of their fortunes. They consented to the one, but
would not promise the other, which was to bee friendes till the Stories
were ended, lest new dislike in the relations might arise, if none,
they would then obey them; if any, the first was the fittest to bee answer’d.

The Nymphes then to bee no cause of dislike commanded them to draw
lottes who should beginne, lest the preheminence might bee a new stirring.
They lik’d that well, for therein they thought their Mistresses had honour;
the chance fell on the defender of the Pyramide, for so hee call’d himselfe,
who began thus.

“Sweet Nymphes, and you Sir, will you bee plas’d to know I am called Alarinus of this Countrey, this accursed Countrey, poore beggar’d Countrey,
having lost all that rich was, worthy or good in it: I was the chiefe of
command heerein, but Myra, who commanded all, and all of mee; but she
gone, I am no more but lesse then any thing, and now the most miserably overthrowne
and ruin’d: Shee (I say) was sole Lady of this place, which is
honour’d with her name, and the holding those sacred reliques her bones and
ashes in her bosome where shee is interr’d. A Lady shee was of infinite
parts, wanting in nothing but good fortune, which shewed much neglectivenesse
to her, envying surely her worth, and jealous shee should have had her
place and ruled the wheele whereon shee turn’d her to the lowest part, and
thus it was.
O thus: can I say thus, and not just then depart? I can and must; yet
O unjustly shee was thus punished surely for my too great offence. Deare,
nay, divinest Myra, thus thy end and my succeeding end did happen, then
wrung hee his hands, wept and tumbled on the earth, as weary of all life,
shee being gone, then sitting a little up, his hands upon his knees, and his head
hanging downe dejected, eyes on the ground, and his teares falling
from them, as from two stilles, shee was, groned, hee, most faire, lovely,
and winning, yet wonne to her selfe a stayed constancie, which
made all but my selfe lose, or rather want what they sought. Shee
lov’d (in that all-happy man) my selfe; to say I lov’d her, it is
too little, all lov’d her, but I serv’d her: many then envyed
mee. I joyed in her favour (which was my blessing,) and regarded Rrr2 no. Rrr2v 502
nothing else, ‘poore men’; said I, ‘that trouble themselves, labouring for
the harmefull knowledge of the disdaine allotted them, or to heare of me the
man that inrich’d with this havenly treasure, scornes all other wealth’
: But
the King of Lycia had a Nephew, who would have her whether she would
or no; dislike him she did, refuse him with civility and faire language she often
did, at last, flatly deny him she did; upon this hee laid baites for her, betray
her he sought to do, bribe her servants hee did, corrupt her counsell
hee did, gaine her women by guifts and promises to work his ends he sought,
and did; in conclusion, nothing that was ill, false, and harmefull to her, he
left undone; but all treachery and wickednesse hee plotted and did against
her, the innocent Dove of vertue: what shee propounded to her counsell,
hee knew by them, what shee trusted to her servants, they deliver’d to him,
what shee confidently put into her womens hands, they instantly gave him
intelligence of, so as shee was betraid like Pidgeons, by a flattering Glasse
inticing them to beleeve all was for their good, and so shee was betrayd.
The King of Lycia then came to visite her, taking the occasion as hee pretended
of being so neere her countrey, which a Progresse had brought him
to; hee was entertained answerable to his minde, and for her estate to give;
hee brought also with him a delicate fine young Lady his onely daughter,
whom hee put upon Myra, to perswade for her Cousen; but she was young
and her judgement though good, and great for her yeares, which were but
small and came short of hers, to whom shee was to speake, and whom
shee should worke by her wit aand sweetnesse: but Myras wit was without
compare, her judgement sollid, and infinite her knowledge, her experience
having setled the Monarchy of her excellent parts, so as the Princesse
did well, but Myra much better. Shee perswaded prettily, but Myra judicially
refused. The King then return’d troubled, but not expressing it, his
disposition being naturally gentle, and milde, soft and not so much as the
hardnesse of contradiction in him; grieve hee would sooner then quarrell,
and so went home, his Nephew with him puft up with malice, scorne, and
treachery, that sweld as poyson in his brest: but soone did he come againe
with all his ill about him (wherewith hee was fill’d like a nut with the kernell,
no place void so much in him, as where ayre of vertue might pierce, or
be:) Shee seeing him returne vowed to forbid him boldly; but this, as she
thought to have done, was before the act came abroad, privately deliver’d
him by his instruments, but her servants, which infinitely harmed her; for he
to prevent his banishment, and equall her disgracing him, raysed a most detestable
slander on her, and how? or by whom? but alas, by me saying she
had: Rather (I beseech you) imagine, if you can let any ill imagination
enter into your thoughts of so excellent a creature, then put mee to rehearse
it, or boldly thinke any ill with this consideration, that it was the roote
of it selfe, that the Devill invented it, and then pitty her and mee, who
unjustly suffered, or indeed onely her, since shee alone deserves pitty, being
injur’d, and for one so unworthy, yet to her just: This was none of my
least aflictions, since it was the course whereby her fate was govern’d, leading
her to her end, and making me part of the mischiefe. The State on
this imprison’d me, shut her up in her lodgings, suffering no accesse to her
but such as they permitted; hee might and would against her will have liberty,berty, Rrr3r 503
this so gall’d her sweet nature, a staine in reputation, being so terrible
to her, as shame to another was not neere it, besides knowing my imprisonment:
And lastly, seeing how shee was and had beene betrayed, none
being neere her that shee had not found farre from faith to her, overpressed
with griefe, and grieved with oppression, shee writ unto the State, finding
meanes to have it deliver’d safely, looking often to that end out of her window,
and at last seeing a Gentleman, whose faith shee thought untouch’d,
threw the letter to him, not commanding but beseeching him to deliver it
the nxeext Sunday, when the Counsell sate, and not to give it to any one, but
to them all, nor to nominate the person so unfortunate that sent it, lest the
knowledge of the sender might hinder the reading of it. The Gentleman
promised to doe it, and with honest care and carefull honesty performed it,
as shee could have wished.
Much dispute there was about it, the Counsell were divided and severall
opinions held; the insolent wooer (who would, hee said, for all the knowledge
of her ill, take her to wife if shee would bee good and true to him afterwards)
was much against the granting her request: but most voyces carried
it, and her desire was consented to in part, which was, that being accused,
and as she protested, falsly and shamefully wrong’d by slander, none
being able to accuse her but by wicked surmises, shee might have the law
that no ordinary subject was deny’d, which was that shee might bee clear’d
by Combat, that he whosoever it were who would maintaine that shee was
guilty, might bee encountred by one whom shee should nominate, which
was my selfe: but that was refused, for they said, so it might bee but a too
honourable concluding of my dayes who had so injur’d the State in her
dishonourdishonour, as no punishment could bee sufficient for mee; but if shee could
finde one who would defend her, shee should have leave to send in search
of one, whom, if by the Champion overcome, shee should be left to his disposing,
and I should bee delivered to him, to have what severe punishment
hee should inflict on mee: these were hard conditions; yet shee yeelded
unto them, rather then still remaine in the ill opinion of the world, and both
of us as prisoners.”

“Three Gentle-women were then sent forth to seeke a Knight that would
venter in her defence, none in the Countrey would, either so frighted they
were with the strength of the Prince, or doubtfull of the cause, he having
made it so foule on her side, so as abandoned of her servants, strangers must
relieve her, and from such must her good as her hope proceed. The time
grew on, halfe being expired, when one of the women fortunately met the
valiant (but proud) King of Celicia, a young man, haughty and ambitious of
honour.”
“And who lately dyed for his ambitions” (said Perineus “if I bee not
deceiv’d) seeking the Starre of women, the Queene of Pamphilia for
wife.”

“It may bee so” (said Alarinus;) “but this was some yeares before
that misfortune could befall him being in the spring of his adventures,
the blossomes but appearing, scarce blowne, of his valour; or the
discovering of it, this being the first great tryall of his strength”
: “But is
he then dead”
(said he?) “Yes truly” said Peryneus, “I saw him slaine by my Master
the Emperour Amphilanthus being in Pamphilia, and in the sight of the Rrr3 Queene Rrr3v 504
Queene whom hee much loved, or seemd to doe so, but I pray goe on.”
“This
King comming, and hearing the truth still spread by every good tongue
undertooke the businesse, partly for Justice, partly for gaine of honour. Being
arrived at the Court, the insolent wretch, the robber of my Ladies
honour, and my blisse; made little account openly of him, though I understood
afterwards he wished any other of those parts had undertaken the
quarrell, and indeede hee had reason, for hee was a brave Gentleman for
strength, valour, and all things required in a Prince, no fault in him but that
he had too much, for his pride might have beene spared.”

“The day was appointed, and the two Combatants came foorth, my Lady
and Mistris was in a strong Towre placed onely to see, my selfe right
over against her, able to see, but not discerne her perfectly, though such
were our loves, as our eyes pierced further then any others could have
done, so as wee sawe each other, and clearely discern’d our miseries with
open eyes to misfortune; the Combat beganne betweene them, while
imprisonments, our eyes beheld each other as greedily, and earnestly
the continuall Combate indured in our hearts against our unjust
as those did, who contended for victory: we striving but to give expression
her due. I saw me thought in her imprisonment, Unjustice, Wrong, Injurie,
Slaunder; nay, all wickednesse, and so I call’d them all by their names,
and reviled them, but what answere had I? Wickednesse is strong, and hath
a more powerfull command in this age, then honesty, or worth.
‘O me’ cryd I, ‘must I live, and onely hope that this man shall give us life, or
shamefull death? her honour already is dead, killed by that, yet living,
Villaine, whose death can never re-give life or recovery to that murdered
honour.’
O deare Honour, how nice art thou, and precious, yet how soone harmd?
Like the daintiest skinns soonest Sunne-burnd: ‘Shall these Lockes’, cryde
I, ‘combat for such a Jewell? Can shee not, or may shee not live without
these rude helps? Must her sacred vertue bee tryed like other questionable,
or, shee be named as if in a Romancy, that relates of Knights, and
distressed Damosells, the sad Adventures? O Myra, thou art, and wert ever
without compare, wherefore should thy honour bee calld on, but for
Honours sake, thy deare breast being the richest tabernacle for it? but
what availed this? Alas nothing, I might sigh, and grieve, they fight, and
bleed, but what of all?’
all came at last to one ende, the Villaine was
kill’d by the brave King, but my Lady dyed also, for such a device they
had, as the battell being hard and questionable who should have the victory:
the King fell, but soone recovered, at which instant it seem’d
that I threwe my selfe out of the windowe, which was high, and the
Ditch infinite deepe into which I was to fall, so as no hope could be of escaping
for any that fell there.
Myra might, and did see it, but as most it concernd her, so did it worke
in her, for shee instantly withdrew her selfe from the windowe, threw her
selfe upon her bedd, cryed out onely against misfortune, and so brake
her heart, and dyed, her last words being, ‘yet though honour, and life
bee lost, I dye just, and truely thine, my onely deare Ala-’
: and this Ala: was all, for all my name shee spake, death either then wholly possessingpart Rrr4r 505
her, or shee desirous still to hold mee neere her, kept that last
part in her, for her to ende with, and mee to live by; yet truely had I
like to have gone with her, with her (though asunder) I may say, for
our soules united had gone together: but alas, I was not so happy,
though had I had a spirit like hers, or weapons suffered mee, I had soone
overtaken her, or came to her as her soule parted, but I was hindred, and
she had all my powerfull spirit, the shew of my falling, and the truth of her
death, was thus.
The Villaine had dressed mee, and a stuff’d-man-like thing in sutes alike,
his intent being this, (and such was the performance in some kinde though
too hasty they were) that if the King overcame, I should bee throwne
downe, if the other, the counterfeit piece should bee cast foorth, that all
hope being taken from her shee might the sooner yeeld to him: but the
Executioners seeing the King downe, threw out the framd Alarinus,
which brought as much mischiefe as all ill could doe, for shee seeing it,
imagining it to be mee, dyed, and left all misery to dwell with us, especially
in me. I fell from the window in a swound, thinking the day lost, they
heeded not any thing more, but confident of the Champions victory,
tended mee, striving to save me to this misery.
The doores within a little while after were opened, and I fetch’d foorth
to death, I thought, but so it happened not, nor neere so much good befell
mee, for I no sooner saw liberty with the King who came for mee,
but I mette the cruellest of deaths encountring her death. O Myra, my
best, and last Love, thy memory lives in mee, and I live but to remember
thee; now let mee know, if so much love, so much misfortune, chastity,
and deare true Love rested in your Mistresse, else I must not yeeld?”

Hee then twin’d his handes one in another, wrung them, and sighing
wept, then lay downe on his side, leaning his elbow on the ground, and
his face on his hand, when the Bavarian followed thus. “Love (I confesse)
you have had plentifully shewed unto you; yet as griefe is felt but by
one’s selfe, none being able to compare with the knowledge, unlesse hee
felt the equall weight: no more can I yet see, but that my losse is the
greater.”

“My selfe am called Peryneus Duke of Bavaria, but vassell to misfortune,
my Lady was called Elina daughter to the Duke of Saxony that now is,
brother in law to the Emperour that then was, she was brought up with the
Empresse, and there I fell in love with her, she asmuch did affect me, although
at that time there were three of us fiercely wooing her, the other two were
the Dukes of Brunswicke, and Wertenberge, the one infinite rich, but
as poore in naturall perfections, for hee in weake in judgement and discourse,
else faire and white.
The other as lovely as a man can bee, or indeed, a woman for delicate
clearenesse, and sweetnesse, but wanting in estate as the other in wisedome.
My selfe the third, and such as you see gained the love from the
other two, and the hate of the one while shee was living, now hee
useth mee well, but so shee had beene still, would I had still beene
hated. My ill fortune it was also that the Empresse liked mee, shee was not Rrr4v 506
not so true a wife as Ulisses had, but yet shee was, and had a brave Woman,
and belov’d of many, shee nobly requiting most, for gratitude is a great
matter in Lovers.
This sweet Bird of beauty, and vertue, Elyna, saw the Empresse Love,
as clearely as her owne could make it transparent, through which shee saw
likewise sorrow, and was sad, as dispayring; I having that countenance
as carefully beholding her, as her love cared for mee; I fear’d shee lov’d,
I sawe shee lov’d, and grieved because shee loved; For O me, I durst not
thinke it was my selfe: the King of the Romans then, now my Lord the
Emperour, (after his receiving that Title, for overthrowing the usurping
Duke of Sax; in whose place and to whose honour, and estate, my Ladies
Father, by the Emperours and Princes favours succeeded) came to Prage
where the Court was; to entertaine him all triumps were provided, none
thought enough to welcome him who had saved the Empire from ruine.
Sports of Field were most in use, the King most affecting them, at those excercises
I was one, and then called the servant to the Dutchesse, she pleased to
honour me with a favour, but the greatest honour was, that she sent it by Elina, who comming into the Chamber of Presence, having layd it on her
Fardingale, I approached like the rest, but above all others in affection,
to her, shee that day honoured me more then usually, wee was wont, turning
from the rest and looking on mee, bashfully for feare of them, sadly
because imployed against her selfe as for another, sweetly, but slowly
bringing foorth these words.
‘I am’ said shee (O dearest shee) ‘entreated by many to give favours this
day, but my Lord I am determined to deny all, because not able to content
all, yet to you who have not asked, I must present this Scarfe’
, giving
me a marvellous rich one of Crimson Tafaty, embrodered with gold,
silver, and dainty coloured Silkes, even to the height of richnesse, and delicacy,
but the delicatest delicacie was, that shee presented it mee. I kissed
my hand to take it, and kissed that part where shee had touched it,
blush I did, and tremble with joy, and wonder, till shee looking on me;
‘my Lord’ (said shee) ‘are you amazed, me thinkes you should know the
Sender’
, this shee spake so low, as none but I heard it, and I was sorry I then
had hearing, rather would I have beene deceived, and thought graced by
her, then assuredly honour’d by the Dutchesse, I bowed lowe unto her, saying,
I had been richer in content if she had given me a Shooe-string of hers.
She starled, smil’d, and with her eyes kindly shewed, shee liked my words,
but gave no answer; so I departed, and with the rest of the Court performed
what was expected of us: oft times, I confesse, I looked up to
the window where shee stood, and thence tooke spirit, and hope grew
then, and still increased when I sawe shee entertained, and not rejected my
humble affection.
Thus were wee fortunate, but how much longer can that word
last then it is spoken? Alas, no longer, for no sooner were wee truely
assured of what our soules called blisse, enjoying hearts wishes in
loves happy remembrance, that yet said, this is, and was, when (miserable
Fate) her Aunt discerned it, wearing quickely then glasse eyes Sss1r 507
eyes to make every mote seeme thousands, and so in a solid body appeare
beames to her mistrust, stumbling on all occasions that might bee harmefull
to us. Elyna then grew sickly, what with griefe, and this jealosie, faint and
weake, unable to suffer both the weights of love and suspition; the former
the Empresse tooke to be the cause, and so told her walking in a Garden, and
through a hedge spying me, told her, who was saying, she must take phisick,
‘There is the Phisitian’ (said shee) ‘that best can cure you.’ The sweetest soule
blushed, guiltinesse and feare (seeing her stearne lookes) mooving her
bloud.
Her Majestie seeing that, still built upon the first ground, and so suddenly
in a fret flung out of the Garden. I attented Elyna into her Lodgings, where
she related this. I was sorry, and glad at one instant, for still this increased assurance
of my happines, but being for her trouble, I was grieved. The Empresse
then disgraced her; and used her with that scorne, as her hart, greatnes,
and freenesse could not suffer: But what could shee doe? remedie she had
none, her Father demanded the cause, troubled that shee had lost her
Mistrisses favour, shee could not give him account without infinite wrong
to both; the Empresse being besought by her friends, who all tooke notice
of her fall, could gaine but what the rest had that shee was offended,
and justly, but the cause none should know. At last to some Ladies,
who were mortall enemies to Elyna, and her house, shee said, that
the cause was such, as out of love to the honour of her Familie and
Blood, shee was sorrie, and unwilling to tell it, although her owne bacenesse
merited no other, then publishing for it; ‘for would you thinke it’
(said shee) ‘all her pride, hautinesse, scorne of Lovers, disdaine of Dukes
and Princes, despising any estate of a lesse man then a King, thinking her
selfe worthie of the Emperours successor; all these (I say) are fallen, and
how fallen? not slipt, or leant aside, or crackt, that hope might bee of
mending, but quite sunke under the bace burden of love, or lust rather;
and of whom? no better, nor other, then Tolmulundus my Gentleman
Usher.’
They (though hating Elyna) not loving the Empresse, believed her not
nor could have so meane a conceit of her, whose worth had increased
their dislike, joyned with the succession of their Spleenitike passions, answered
(as after wee came to knowledge) prettily well for her: but this
madded the Empresse, when shee saw that friends and enemies, and all
were for Elyna, who when shee heard by these Ladies, who instantlie
acquainted her with all, either for hate to her, or her Mistrisse, she was
afflicted with this more, then with any thing, crying out, ‘O divelish
fortune, cannot my miserie bee sufficient to glut her withall, but my honour
must bee her prey? Well, yet your Majestie is happie that I know
the true reason, and that so much I love the Bavarian Duke, whose safetie
I preferre above all other fortunes, as I will perish thus in silence rather
then to speake to your ruine, which is in my hands to draw on
you, since so I might harme him.’
Was not this an expression of true
love? What greater, since what greater wrong can bee, then for a great
Lady to be Slandred, and by so bace a vilany, and so much untruth? honor is
to noble heartes esteemd beyond life, so it was by her, who dearest of all to Sss me Sss1v 508
me held that so pretious, as the touch of it strake so deepe into her, as the biting
of a Viper, taking away all hope of recoverie by present fainting, or safety
to returne to her: for womens honours especially theirs most admired
(the admiration working against it selfe) are so nice to be touched, as they
are like little Sluses, that but opened, let in Rivers, and Oceans of discourses,
and so blots never to be salved any more then a Floud can be withstood,
or turned backe. This she apprehended, and this molested her; ‘yet’ (said she
to me) ‘my Lord, all these in this kind are comforts and joyes to me, since for
you I suffer’
, rather chusing, as she protested, injurie for me, then same without
me; and that which onely vexed her was, that she did not rightly accuse
her, and say, it was I shee loved; ‘that’ (said shee) ‘had been honour, this
shame.’
At last shee obtained leave to leave the Court, and so retired; but then
though free, and bravely living, yet this was a corsive to her: many came to
her at first, but the report blowne abroad of her love to mee, made all give
over suing; yet a young Count of Germany (and a true Germaine he was in
face and fashion) would needs make himselfe believe he loved her, and her,
that hee desired her, but hee spake not, and shee would not understand his
signes. He would gaze on her, have fits of sighings, and almost swoundings
before her, shee would like a charitable creature gave him Cordials, but the
true Cordiall Love she only gave to me. ‘Poore man’, would shee say, ‘what
doth make him cosen and hurt himselfe, to trouble mee?’
At last shee told a
tale before him of himselfe, his wooing so dully, her scorne, and affection to
another, all in the third parsons, but so plainely and finely, as he left her to her
pleasures.”

“The Empresse, whose malice grew as her heart, filled with rancor for being
left by me, for her, who was more loathsome then plagues to her, then
to thinke upon, since the robber of her choice, hearing how finely she lived,
envied that, because she was contented, plotted al she could; & at last she told
the Duke her father of the love betweene us: he inraged, knowing we could
not marry, I being contracted in my youth to another, flew into such furie,
as he made the whole Court ring of the noise of his dislike, and the injury he
thought he received, and his whole Family, by her dishonoring her selfe
and him; this which he called dishonour being his owne indeed, because hee
blazed that, which was not but by his owne bawling thought on, never committed.
A foule bustle he kept, and shrewdly threatned me behind my back:
but I went to him, and satisfied him so far, as we parted friends, and he grew to
his old good opinion of her; yet he advised, playing then the Counseller, as
before the Champion, that I should refraine my often cōomming to her; which
to please him I did, because I saw my Elyna desired, her father should be pleased,
but alas not in that kind, for my absence grieved her, and molested mee;
shee pined with love and griefe, grew pale and weake, I lamented for it; but
so farre it grew, as she fell sicke: I cherished her, shee tooke it so; I watched
with her, shee was glad of it, as loving to enjoy mee; I never left her,
till life left her, which by a cruell Feaver deprived her dainty body of her
daintier breath, which was the richest treasure, and which for my joy then;
but eternall sorrow now shee breathed into mee, I kissing her as she departed,
giving me that, and her love for the most incomparable Legacy that any man Sss2r 509
man can or could receive; thus, thus shee died, and thus yet doth shee live
in me, I breathe her breath, I love her love, I live but for her sake, and I hope
shall ere long die to serve her, and goe to her.”
Then hee threw himselfe flat
on the ground, the other looking on him, rose, and lay downe by him, tooke
him in him armes, and said, “Never let strife be betweene us, whose fortunes so
neare concurre, none can be nearer, nor none so like, unlesse it could bee that Elyna and Myra were but one woman, and you and I one man: we are both
equally unfortunate in losse, they equal in perfections, yours onely somthing
more happy in a quieter death, and dying in your armes, mine in a speedier
end; thus the difference none, let no difference be betwixt us.”
“I am as ready
to embrace this, as you have been to urge it”
(said Peryneus), “none liker Patience
of misfortune, none fitter to agree together; wayle you your worthy
chaste Myra, I will lament my chaste and worthy Elyna; sigh you, Ile do so,
complaine, Ile answere you, and both conclude as the Period, Never lived
worthier creatures, never unhappier soules out-lived worth.”
Thus they embraced,
thus twined, past some time, and after lived together, attending
the Piramede, where twise every yeare funerall solemnities were done by
them: after the first yeare the Bavarian returned home, and there lived in sorrow,
never marrying, but still loving his loved Loves memory.

The Nimphs returned, glad of the peace and agreement, while the two
Knights (the people spake of in faire armours) went on in the search, being
(as Peryneus guessed) the Dukes of Wertēemberg, & Brunswicke, who had this
accident to bring them into that Country and enquirie. They, as the other
Princes, did seeke the Emperour, and the Queene, and fortunately for the
one, the Duke of Brunswick, such a youth as Peryneus described him, in a
Castle in the Desart, being there received civilly by the Lord and Lady of
that place, the Lord a very old man, the Lady of middle age; he having married
her when hee was aged, and shee young, had one daughter then about
fourteene yeares, able to heare of Cupid, though not (it may be) experienced
by wound of his force. This young innocent Maide never having understood
any thing in that kind of making love offerd her, nor knowing how to
deny, when so kind an offer was made, as profession of being a servant, and
but desiring her favour, not understanding what such a favour as a Lover asketh,
meant, when the Duke courted her, kissed her hands, vowed his service,
flattred her innocent eares with faire beguiling words, when his face could
not but invite liking, his smiles won yeelding, his body though low and
thicke, his speech was sweete, and being little, like it selfe, little troublesome
but more pleasing, then the more kinder Youthes she had ever heard: want
of wit was covered with being a Duke, greatnesse being much with many
women; his face it is certaine was blush-burnt, but his words delightfull, his
countenance mild, his fashion, protestations, amorous entertainement, gentle,
daintie, winning; so as one may say in him, the want in his braines were
repayed, by the goodnesse and gentlenesse of his fashion, and spirit. Pretty
honest hee was, something valiant, above most merry, and the pleasingest
company that might bee, true in a kind to his friend (a reasonable vertue),
loyall to his Prince, courtious to his Blood, and beloved for these little
parts of all that knew him, so as his outward beautie and these qualities, Sss2 being Sss2v 510
being enriched with a smooth flattering way of loving women, made him
gaine well.

These I cannot say out of judgement in her, wunne her, but by fate it fell
on her at first, and after she used his vertues but for a mask for her liking him,
or an excuse for her choice, when it should have been a commendations to
her understanding, to find so much in the inward part, as to oversee the ordinary
way for womens love, which is outward beauty, and that in some
measure he had, that being joyned with delicate apparrell, being the most
usuall attractive powers to their affections, as if rather they would love
Pictures, then the wisest or worthiest man in old cloathes, or ill made; Ruffes
and Bands being more to a faire Lady, then valour or learning, the one accounted
poore and heavy, the other boisterous and troublesome, neate suites
better then hacked (though by that) rich armours. O the ignorance of women,
or rather the misfortune of such misunderstanding women; for of that
delicate sexe there are excellent creatures, and among those, many Pictures,
good Pieces, and in truth this was a pretty one, who willingly, and (alas)
gladly received the Dukes sute, smiled on his blushing lookes, yet as faire as
he could make them: for borne bashfull, hee could not find love powerfull
enough to warrant his face with boldnesse, though to crowne it with obedience.

Hee finding her comming, how did he leape like a wanton into the River
of joy, swimming, and so embracing comfort in his armes, yet wanting the
chiefe part, let slip the flattering hope; againe yet taking the streames in his
armes, and striking forward to his ends. Alas what needed this? shee was
won, he onely wanted opportunitie, will and consent failed not, which hee
finding also, found this meanes to compasse it. The Duke of Wertenberg
was lodged so, as his chamber looked into the Garden, which was betwixt
his Chamber and hers, the windowes opposite, and so crosse, as
they were so farre asunder, as they could not doe any more, then see one
another, neither perfectly discerne lookes or smiles, nor let speech make
their eares beneficiall to them; but lovers will make benefit of small things,
so did they of this: for heere (hee gaining the helpe of his friend to the
good hee sought) hee brought this profit to his love.

The Duke of Wertenberg was a brave Gentleman, but sometimes
sickly, so as hee used to lie warmer in his bed, and weare such things
as appeared a little woman-like, and withall, something curious he was
in his Chamber, which not exceeding the limits that became himselfe, he
was never blamed for it, but now it brought him praise, because it served his
friend, who thus procur’d his ends. The weather hot, evenings faire, & nights
light by the Moones aide, hee perswaded his companion to put on his Wastcoate,
and night-wearing, and walk into the garden, having a faire Mantle on
his body, he not so much higher then the Page which waited on the Duke,
who was a young man, or great boy, took his garment, which was a Horsemans
coate of cloth, garded with Velvet, that those who might by chance
else see them, might thinke they meant not to bee seene, but walked
there to passe the evening. Admirably he played on the Lute, and carried one
of purpose with him, his Cap hee wore low over his face, and came softly and Sss3r 511
and passionately as lovers doe, and might appeare, because otherwise they
must have beene discover’d: the Duke of Wertenberge acted his part extreamely
well, for going, playing, and singing: and well he might, for often
he had loved; being crosse the Garden, and almost under her window, hee
spake in great passion these words.

Unhappy man, loving unlov’d, serving unregarded, affecting without
helpe, honouring without esteeme, and smarting unpittied: Turne your favorable
eyes O Heavens on me, and you faire Moone, who it is said governe
women, and perswade, command not (for she must ever rule) my cruell
Mistris to thinke on me, requite me I seeke not, but chastly as you doe, and as
fairely, and kindly smile on me: I begge this of you, nor aske but what your
cold brightnes, and chast coldnes may grant me; alasse you frowne, and pull
a scarsie Clowd over your divine face to hide your favour from me, and
shew your displeasure to me, What shall I doe wretch that I am? all powers
earthly have deny’d me succour, and now the Heavens refuse mee countenance?
nothing is left me but dispaire, and thou poore Lute, toucht on then
speake unto me, and let thy musique speake to her, and hold mee if possible
so long in quiet, as attention may make a respite from sorrow, as admiring
a change of times, not fortune, for to that I must returne.”

The Lover-boy-like Duke, gave him againe his Lute, for he carryed it
when he play’d not, and being close under the window that hee could not
be seene, but perfectly heard, he played, and so rarely as might justly have
brought eares, and they loving eares unto the player, but heere there did
want little drawing her, who was runne before to the window, having heard
the doore open, and her heart withall, which told her he was comming,
for none else could come but themselves, or other, but her soule told who;
some were with her, else shee had come downe; impatient she was, yet a
little doubtfull, and therefore a little more troubled, but the rest young as
she was, made the good motion to open the windowes and see who these
were, she soone yelded to to that, and not only opened them, but threw
them from her: upon that noyse the Lord and his supposed servant appeared;
the Duke of Wertenberge demanding pardon, the other only comming
so farre as to see her, who put her selfe so cleane out of the casement
as shee might easily see him, and bee sure of him, and none else descry
them.

She then gratiously granted the Dukes demande of pardon, but on
these conditions, that hee or his servant should play againe, “and sing”
said shee “if please you.” She desired but what was granted, an other Lady
standing lower, and looking out of the other Casement, so much liked, and
looked on Dorrileus of Wertenberge, as she was surprised with his Love:
the Lady loved not her servant so much, as she did equall in feircenesse,
or exceede in her flames, so as hee stood as but the traine to fire, and
blew up the strength of her heart with every looke, or word hee gave.
The other amorous Duke seeing this came well on, able to play and
sing allso, like a Duke help’t by Art, sung these verses in manner or imitation
of Saphiks.

Sss3 If Sss3v 512 “If a cleere fountaine still keeping a sad course, Weepe out her sorrowes in drops, which like teares fall; Marvell not if I lament my misfortune, brought to the same call. Who thought such faire eyes could shine, and dissemble? Who thought such sweete breath could poyson loves shame? Who thought those chast eares could so be defiled? hers be the sole blame. While love deserv’d love, of mine ctill she fail’d not, Foole I to love still where mine was neglected, Yet faith, and honor, both of me claim’d it, although rejected. Oft have I heard her vow, never sweete quiet Could once possesse her while that I was else where, But words were breath then, and as breath they wasted into a lost Ayre. So soone is love lost, not in heart imprinted, Silly I, knew not the false power of changing, Love I expected, yet (ah) was deceived, more her fond ranging. Infant Love tyed me not to mistrust change, Vowes kept me fearelesse, yet all those were broken: Love, faith, and friendship by her are dissolved, suffer’d unspoken.”

The young Lady was now directly lost, and so gone as she hated her patience,
for not throwing her selfe out of the winddow to him. They finding
this, lost not the meanes offered them, wherefore the Duke of Wertenberge
mooved to her the sweetnes of the ayre, the delicasie of the place, the temperatnes
of the weather, the brightnes of the night, and all, and more then
needed to intice her downe, so as willing of her selfe, and annimated by her
companion she went with her, none else offering to stirre, but promising to
attend their returne. Being come into the Garden they saluted the Duke of Wertenberg, he talking a little while with her, then falling into discourse of
Musique, she turned to the youth who they said by reason of a sicknes hee
lately had, was forced to keepe on his Cap, commonly for feare of cold, yet
he stirred it a little before his face, she on a lesse matter might have blinded
her friend, who was already strooke blind with love, so as she let her assosiate
and Cousine (as she was) doe what she would, and use her discretion,
she would take her time, and no sooner did her love turne towards her, but
shee tooke that turne as to her, and as powder takes fire, burnt, and flash’d with Sss4r 513
with hast unto his receving: skipping, to his looks, and words like the
lacks in Virginalls touched with the keyes; and such sudden and ready sound
did she give, answering so soone, as some would have thought they had agreed
before of their speech, and repeated but too hastily. After some such
passages, he said that they had commended his servant so much, as he wished
he could play, and sing like him, since so well pleasing. “Alasse my Lord”
said she, “I lik’d you best, and yet what neede you wish for more winning
powers, since thus you conquer where you come?”
He understood her, and
his friends, so as he tooke her hand, & walked with her into a faire Arbour:
not unwillingly she went with him, who though a Lover, he was not so dully
constant, but in absence he could gratefie faire Ladyes whose kindnes demanded
it, yet retaine himself firme in his choyse to love, and to bee kind againe
if she pleas’d; and thus he was the perfectest lover, who loved love,
and for love’s sake served and saved love from hurt, thus truely was he a true
lover, reserving still thus much for his only Mistris, as when hee was most
contented with them he still thought on her, and wished her in thir place,
so was he mindfull of her without exception, affectionate without measure
and kind to them for her remembrance sake.

What the other two did I leave to consideration, for to expresse two such
passages would tyre you, but this I may say, they were till morning allmost
together, they met the next night againe, and all were well pleased, and
sigh’d no more but for parting which soone hapned, for what happy estate
in love hath any abiding? As the first night seem’d bright, and delicate, this
alasse had all the clowds of dislike upon it; That gave not their hearts so
much pleasure; as this did dolorous complaints, That had not sweete disguise
in it to give testimony of love; but this had open shew of blackest, and
grievousest sorrow; They embraced not with such greedines, as now with
terror of never meeting more; They met not the sharpe edges of desire with
more delight, then now with affectionated torment; and these alasse were
their fortunes, and this their sufferings. Dorileus yet bare it like such a lover
as he was, not more loving then he needs must, nor caring more then would
please himselfe, nor greving in all his life so much, or little as might hurt him,
yet as one of that number he sigh’d, and said, he wished to stay still there, but
his there, was every where, if he found handsome women, and kind entertainment,
he remooved not, but to such like pastures, so as he but (as one
might say) dined, and supped at severall places, but lay still at his owne home
of change, a pleasant bed no question where severall delights embraced, and
lulled his wanton appetite in the soft Cradle, or armes of variety; his friend
was so much more troubled then he, by that he used to doe all things seriously,
love seriously, grieve as seriously, and change as often, and seriously;
earnest in that he was doing, and no more constant then others, and in his
inconstancy none so serious. At his parting (disguises after the first night
layd aside) he presented his Lady with a Sonnet of his owne, hee said, but
the truth is his friend made it for him, and so was his Secretary justly; She
liked it, and admired it, after his going, singing it continually to please her
selfe, it was thus.

Thus Sss4v 514 “That which to some their wishes ends present, Is counted day, which former crosses mend, Yet night-like day my blessings do prevent, And brings that losse, whereto my mischeifs tend. By dayes approach, alasse, that light doth end, Which is the only light of my content, And more I see, day strive her light to lend The darker am I, by sad parting rent. Like one long kept in prison, brought to light; But for his end, condemned nere to bee Freed from his Dungeon, till that wretched hee, Conclude his living with his latest sight. So now with griefe, doth day appeare to mee, And Oh! too early since we parting see.”

This she sange, and even ware it out of breath with singing, kis’d the originall
Coppy because in his owne hand, and never thought it neere enough,
nor ever deerer was a paper to a Lover: great pitty it was not his owne
worke, but as it was, it was liker a Lovers present, counterfeite as his vowes,
& protestatiōons, yet true beguilers of welbeleeving womēen, who were happier
to be Hereticks, then such beleevers. Thus wit, and well followed courting,
gained his desires, who with his friend having taken leave of the Lord, and
all the house travelled their way on in their search, till one day in a small
valley betweene two little Hills, they met an old man, and and a young Damsell
(as she seem’d) together, he ryding on a Mule, she on a fine Palfrey, but
so fine her Beast was, and so disloyall his Mule to their hast, as they both
tyred, and went no faster then as he beate one, and the other for feare of
that example, (a curious, at least profitable observation) nodded on, so as
with the most melancholly, but discreet pace that Creatures, not rasionall,
could use, they came (like one against the wind) towards these Princes; who
beholding them were pleased, yet troubled like courteous Knights, for their
ill haps were purposed to demand of them when they met, the cause of their
mischances, but in the meane time he might heare them sing, though like
Swanns before their ends, for so was this end of their journey, or ther horses
ends, being they could goe no farther; the manner of their Song was as
odde as their adventure, singing Dialogue-wise as if agreed, yet contrary to
the ones wishes, the Woman began, at lest to their hearings thus.

Wo- Fond Ttt1r 515

Wo.

“Fond aged man, why doe you on me gaze,

Knowing my answer? resolution take

Follow not fondly in an unusd Maze

As if impossibilities to shake.

For know I hate you still, and your poore love

Can mee as soone as Rocks to pitie move.”

Man.

“Alas my dearest soule, too long I knew

I lov’d in vaine, your scorne I felt likewise,

Your hate I saw; yet must I still pursue

Your fairest sight, though you doe me despise;

For love is blind, and though I aged be,

I can nor part from it, nor it from me.”

Wo.

“What blame dost thou deserve, if thou wilt still

Follow my hate, who will not breath to change,

And strive to gaine as if from scorne, or ill

Loving disdaine as Juels rich, and strang:

Or canst thou vainely hope thy wailing cries

Can move a pitty? no let this suffice.”

Man.

“Pitie, alas I nere could looke to see

So much good hap; yet Deere be not to cruell,

Though you thus young hate aged love in me,

My love hath youth, or you shall see loves fuell

Deserving your reward, then not denie,

Let me now see those eyes kind, or I die.”

Wo.

“These eyes of mine thou never shalt behold,

If clouds of true disdaine may dim desire,

They shall as blacke be as thy faults are bold,

Demanding what’s unfit: a poore old fire

Wasted like Triumphs, sparcles onely live,

and troubled rise from embers which outlive.”

Man.

“I doe confesse a boldnesse tis in me

Ought to resist, if your sweet selfe command;

Yet blind me needs you must, for if I see,

Mine eyes must rest on you, and gazing stand:

Heaven not forbids the bacest worme her way,

Hide that deare beauty, I must needs decay.”

Wo.

“My beauty I will hide, mine eyes put out,

Rather then be perplexed with thy sight,

A mischiefe certaine worse is, then a doubt,

Such is thy sight, thy absence my delight;

Yet mine the ill, since now with thee I stay.

Tyred with all misfortune cannot stray.”

Ttt Man. Thy Ttt1v 516

Man.

“Thy beautie hide? O no, still cruell live

To me most haplesse: dim not that bright light

Which to this Earth all lights and beauties give.

Let me not cause for ever darkest night,

No, no, blessed be those eyes and fairest face,

Lights of my soule, and guides to all true grace.

My sweet commanderesse shall I yet obay

And leave you here alas unguarded? shall

I not then for sorrow ever stray

From quiet peace, or hope, and with curst thrall

Sit downe and end? yet if you say I must

Here will I bide in banishment accurst:

While you passe on as cruell, happy still

That none else triumph may upon mine ill.”

When they had concluded, she fell into an extreame laughter, saying, “we
have indeed neede to neglect, and I take the authoritie of banishing you,
while our beasts are so beastly naturall, as to love one anothers conversation
so well, as not to be willing to part, so as though tyred with your suite, and
wearied with the noise of your love, yet I must by a tired beasts fault, longer
remaine to weary my selfe withall.”

“I know not” (said hee) “whether I shall thanke your beast now, or no, since
against your will I have this favour; but I see, I may chide, and blame mine
justly, whose lasie or unfortunate body keepes me here to offend you.”
“I see
not”
(said the young Duke of Wirtenberg) “why you should be uncontent
with beeing still together, since I never saw in contrarietie so much agreement.”

“Wee have these two yeares lived thus” (said the old man, “and for all
I see, must weare out more time in wrangling.”
The Lady seemd wondrous
strange, and would scarce looke on them outwardlie; yet she leared
vildly under her Hat at the smug Youth, shee thought his daintie
round, pretty mouth deserved kisses; and when he spake, imagined they
parted but to procure kisses, and so they did, for they kissed kindly at
returne to meeting. Shee was faire, and as wanton as beautifull, and as
beautifull as would intice most to her wantonnesse; shee was in fashion
as chaste, as in minde and bodie lascivious, and lascivious as a wicked
soule could bee in a damnable body, so as a rare example, shee was of
the worst kind of an ill woman: dissembling excellent in, craftie beyond
measure, false beyond expression, and what not, that might make a woman
change nature with a beast: Another mans wife shee was, yet a wife, or
worse to all men that would, hunting after them as Nimrod did after
Deare, and more deare were they to her, and indeed, to many of them,
when they payed for their courtesies, or ambition to meddle with such
a creature, who was not onely great in birth, but as great in ill. This
disguise shee had put on to trie Adventures, not being any other waies
knowne, then to bee a franke Gentlewoman: this old man she had with her Ttt2r 517
her, had been her servant, made elder by her service then his yeares called
him unto, and so much hers, as shee made him an instrument to bring in others
to her service. NationsNations she had knowne many yet not so many as shee
desired, wherefore she would yet travell a little farther, and learne, though
not by experience, yet familiar knowledge, her worst ends. Lord how shee
smircked on the young sweet Youth, but he in whom before beliefe of favor
sprang, would yet not shew to love if not mooved handsomly to it, so
he saw it not, or regarded it not, but Clauterino more heeded her eyes, and
as them his owne fickle mind, which soone thought shee was worth winning
to his purpose which was but for discourse, and never held Constancy
in absence worth observation, wherefore hee began to complement with
her.

She (rather then misse both, would take either,) accepted of his favour,
and after some busines of his intreaty, and her modest-like bashfulnes,
she told her story thus: shaking her head like a bowgh in a storme of wind,
or nodding like and old wife sleeping in an afternoone, licking her lips, and
glaring like a Cat in the darke: “Sir” said she, “alasse what shall I say? I am as
you see a woman, but as I know an unfortunate one; I was marryed by my
owne consent, though little knowledge of my friends, to a young Gentleman
I chose for love, but little I found in him since, so as I feare he had only
the face of Vennus, but not the affections, much busines I had to get him, and
great ones used in it for my sake, and some whom I could for all my love to
him, have wished they would a while have kept me, rather then given mee
away, yet willingly for one end or other I studied to gaine, and got him,
but alasse it prooved the beginning of the marryage betweene Ifis, and Inath.”

“He was a Youth, tis true, and not a man (for which I married him) but this
was my Destiny: which finding, and the want of what I hoped for, I complained,
and justly I thinke; some of my owne Sex spake loudly of mee for
it, but were it their cases, I assure my selfe they would doe as I did, but this
was my ill, and heereupon I seeing my friends (what with matching without
their consents, and since taking this course) leave me. I undertooke
a journey into Pamphilia, where it is said, there is a water, that will recover
all diseases, ease all griefes, especially take away all melanchollies;
I chose a Troope fit for mee; but I met some few dayes, since an unruly
consort, who mooved with my beauty, as they pleased to call this
poore part of mee, would needs have that, and all; but my men defended
mee so well, as they left mee not but for death, and in death, so as
I could not blame, but only pitie them; there remained none of them neither
but this old man, who loving more then having reason for, undertooke
to ride with mee to the next Citie, where I meane to provide my selfe
of company; and in truth I must needs say of the poore man, hee hath
carried himselfe honestlie, but foolishly loveth mee, who cannot requite
him.”

“So it seemed by your Dialogue” (answered the Dukes: “but” (said the
Brunswick Duke) “though you love not him, you may in time, and
by desert, like another.”
“That is not forbid mee” (said shee.) Ttt2 While Ttt2v 518

While they were thus discoursing, came another Damsell riding fast,
and looking with as much haste, who indeed needed succour. The Duke
of Wirtenberg seeing her, demanded what shee so earnestly and speedily
sought.

“Helpe Sir” (said shee) “a thing wee may all want, and I at this present
stand in great neede of.”
“What troubles you”, said hee? “The life of
a Villaine that seekes my dishonour.”
“How”, said hee? “Hee hath long
sued to mee, but refused”
(replide the Damsell) sought to betray mee,
and this day laid an Ambush for me, but with the speed of my horse
and the assistance God gave mee out of his mercie, I fled hither, more
spirit then being in mee, then I could ever have thought I should have
found in my selfe; and pray Sir even now for honours sake assist mee,
at least keepe mee from the danger of those Creatures. You are I see
by your habits a Stranger heere, yet let not justice or pitie be set as strangers
from you: you seeme a brave worthy Gentleman, I can appeare
but a miserable creature, that I hope or beseech to gaine compassion.”

“Faire Damsell” (said hee), “guide mee to these men, and I will loose
my life, or save you.”
“Nay Sir” (said shee) “that needeth not; for let
mee by your favour be safely at home, and I desire no more, nor so much
as that you should meete them, or I ever see them againe.”

“Direct mee, and I will conductconduct you” (said hee): so together they went,
shee telling part of her tale to him, while the other three tooke another
way to this deluding womans House, who was called Lycencia: with
much pleasure the wanton Duke went with her, amorous as any love, but
at last used by her like an Ape fed, and knockt by her wit.


The true worthy couple held on, till they came to a Wood side, there
shee told him was the danger. In the midst was her house, but betweene
were the Traytors, that the nearest way to the house, but as so to perill,
wherefore shee desired to goe more about.

“Nay” (cryd hee) “never let us shunne the true way, for feare or what
wee see not, that harme may with selfe knowledge bee fled hence, of if
not, though you may very well misdoubt my valour, having had no triall
of it; yet I dare warrant to carry you to your house, if there were
more then you have named; this you may thinke a bravery to speake,
but I hope to let you see it”
; so they went on, shee still proceeding in
her story, till comming into a part of the Wood, whence they might
see, as through a walke the house, which stood though below, that Hill
whereon they were, on a Hill also, and she lifting up her eyes to see, and shew
the place, first telling him, “Now” (said shee) “I shall soone shew you my
poore habitation”
; then looking that way, “Poore indeed” (cryde shee) “alas
my Lord I am ruined, my Castle burnes, and I chill with cold dispaire.”

Hee looking up, saw it true, whereupon hee was a little amazed, yet not
willing to shew it to her, spake bravely, and advisedly to goe on, which shee
consented unto, and comming nearer, they discerned onely the first Gate
on fire, and the assalliants with their Master being twentie gathering faggots,
and other provisions together to fire the rest. They labouring had put Ttt3r 519
put off their Armes, onely the chiefe had his armour on; the Duke did never
use to loose opportunities in any sort, especially fairely offerd; wherefore
hee intreated the Damsell to stay in the Wood, so as she might see what past,
while he went downe to them. She obayed, and he spurring towards them,
demanded, why they were so cruel to burne so delicate a place. “Twere much
more delicate”
(replyed they) “if the Mistrisse were in it, and you, as faggots
to burne to our triumph.”
“That were too hot worke” (said hee): “but honest
men, I hope you are but in jest with me, and that you seeke rather to helpe,
then destroy this place.”
“We seeke to preserve it? Yes sure”, said they (scornefully
laughing at him) “wee desire that, and so you shall find if wee catch you
medling, or ayding the Lady thereof.”

“If she demand aide” (said hee) “I cannot refuse a Lady.” “No, then take this”,
said one, “and this”, said another, throwing stones, cudgles, and other heavy, and
unhappy harmefull things at him, some of them lighting on him, and making
him smart; hee liking not that, tooke up a strong Pole, and feld many, but
some killed. Then came their Master, and he inraged like a hunted Bull, drue
his sword, reviling the Prince, and threatning more, then after he gained
though death. Dorileus brave and good, heeded not his words, but flang away
his Pole drawing his sword; “thou art armd”, said he, “doubly with sin and
yron; therefore my sword shall now be used to cut them both from thee, and
thee from the world, though it scornd to shew it selfe to thy servants”
; so they
fought, and to the cost of the Traytor, whose head Dorileus cut off, and presented
it to the Lady, who staying behind a tree in the Wood beholding the
issue, and praying for the successe.

Some of the servants fearing when the sword glistered (joyfully shining
for her truth) fled away into the Wood, and came neere where she was, but
she quickly considering her danger, staid not to discourse, but with raines let
loose, ran downe towards the Combatants, the one for her welcome, presenting
her with the head of her enemy, which hee then cut off, and gave unto
her, who like Tomeris of Sithia, held it by the haire, but gave it quickly another
conclusion, for she threw it into the midst of the flaming Tower, which
then as being in it selfe enemy to good, because wasting good, yet hotly desiring
to embrace as much ill, and so headlongly and hastily fell on it, either to
grace it with the quickest and hottest kisses, or to conceale such a villanous,
and treacherous head from more, and just punishments: the fire proceeded
no farther, the bodies for sweetnes sake were all throwne into it, and together
there consumed, too honourable a buriall for such creatures, but thus it was.
Then past they that place, and entred the Pallace, which was of Alabaster,
white as it selfe can be, and pure as the Mistrisse, whose heart never had spot
of ill, nor her body of disproportion: chaste as the Goddesse, true as truth, for
she never lov’d but once, and so ever, milder then the sweetest calme, & sweeter
then the sweetest Violet: constanter then that vertue, and purer then her
complexion, which never was for excellency equald, or could be counterfeited,
that would not shew like it self vile, & unworthy to presume to immitate
such excellency. Free & noble was her affection, discreet & brave her conversation,
excellent her discourse, & so the Duke witnessed, who after his returne
related her story given to him by her selfe, both in words, and in one kind Ttt3 in Ttt3v 520
in verse. Hee remained there but two nights, going to his Companion who
had bin courting the little, or never refusing Lady, and had conducted
her by her appointment to a Castle neere at hand. Welcome, nay most
welcome was this Duke unto them, she one as a friend glading in his presence,
the other as a longing and desiring lover; good countenance she shewed
the Suter, but her heart, and eyes sued to the other, happy she seemed to
be in his presence, and rather then to be out of it, or bard his sight, shee
would indure to heare him tell of his Loves, and his being beloved, when
he said a Lady had honoured him so much as to like him, to love him, and
take him as hers; “could shee otherwise chuse” said she in her self, “would not I
runne to such a fortune?”
When he told how kindly a Lady had granted her
love to him, “would shee not rather flee to him, then refuse” cryd shee? “I
blame her not, but curse my fortune that cannot embrace him as my wishes
lead mee.”

When he told his owne tyes to a Lady unimitable, beyond commendations,
and expressions, faith in him only being able to come neere that worth
in her; “alasse”, sigh’d she, “this only touch’d mee, that hee loves, otherwise I
might hope, but love grounded in any place, faire, or other, carryes the
power with it.”
Out of this discourse she was willing to put him, so as although
contrary to her best wishes, she put him to speake the story of the Lady
that fetched him to her ayd, which in the same verse she delivered to
him, he thus delivered it reading it to her, but for the perticulars they were
intrusted to him, and he would not for loves sake breake a trust, but as passionatly
for his Lady, as this for her love, read the pretty Pastorall thus, in
Sheapardesse names, to cover her owne ill fortune the better.

“1 A Sheephard who no care did take. of ought but of his flock, Whose thoughts no pride could higher make, Then to maintaine his stock, Whose sheepe his love was, and his care, Their good, his best delight: The Lambs his joy, their sport his fare, His pleasure was their sight. 2 Till Love (an envier of mans blisse) Did turne this merry life To teares, to wishes which nere misse Incombrances with strife. For whereas he was best content, With looking on his sheepe: His time in woes, must now be spent, And broken is his sleepe. Thus Ttt4r 513 3 Thus first his wofull change beganne, A Lamb he chanc’t to misse, Which to finde out, about hee ran, Yet finds not where it is. But as he past (O fate unkind) his ill led him that way, Whereas a willow Tree behind, A faire young Maiden lay. 4 Her bed was on the humble ground, her head upon her hand, While sighs di’d shew, her heart was bound In Love’s untying band. Cleere teares her cleerest eyes let fall, Upon her Love-borne face: Which Heavenly drops did sorrow call, proud witnes of disgrace. 5 The Shephard stay’d, and fed his eyes, no farther might he passe, But there his freedome to sight tyes, His bondage, his joy was. His Lambe he deemes not halfe so faire, Though it were very white: And liberty he thinkes a care, Nor breath’s but by her sight. 6 His former life is alter’d quite, His Sheepe feede in her eyes, Her face his feild is of delight, And flocks he doth despise. The rule of them he leaves to none, His Scrip he threw away: And many he forsakes for one, One, he must now obey. 7 Unhappy man whose loosing found, What better had bin lost: Whose gaine doth spring from such a ground, Whereby he must be crost. The Ttt4v 522 The worldly care he now neglects, for Cupids service tyes, Care only to his fond respects, where wave-like treasure lyes. 8 As this lost man still gazing stood, Amaz’d at such a sight: Imagining no heavenly food To feede on but her sight; Wishing but her beames to behold, Yet greiv’d he for her griefe, When mournfully he did unfold Her woes without reliefe. 9 His new Sun rose, and rysing said, ‘Farwell faire Willow tree, The roote of my estate decay’d, The fruit for haplesse me: What though thy branch, a signe be made, Of labour lost in love? Thy beauty doth no sooner vade, Then those best fortunes prove. 10 My songs shall end with willow still, Thy branches I will weare: Thou wilt accompany my ill, And with me sorrow beare.’ ‘True friend’ said she, then sigh’d, and turn’d, Leaving that restlesse place, And Sheephard, who in passions burn’d Lamenting his sad case. 11 Ths Maid now gone, alone he left, Still on her footsteps gaz’d, And heartlesse growne, by love bereft of mirth, in spirit rais’d, To satisfie his restlesse thought, He after her will hye, His ruine to be sooner brought, And sooner harme to try. 12 Then Vvv1r 523 12 Then thus his latest leave he tooke, ‘My Sheepe’ (said he) ‘farwell, Let some new Shepheard to you looke Whose care may mine excell. I leave you to your freedome now, Loves-lawes so fast me bind, As no time I can you allow, Or goe poore flock, and find 13 The Maid whom I so dearely love, Say it was her deare sight, Which from your keepe doth me remove, And kills my first delight. Goe you my Dog, who carefull were To guard my Sheepe from harme, Looke to them still, no care forebeare, Though love my senses charme. 14 But you my Pipe that musick gave, And pleasd my silent rest, Of you I company will crave, Our states now suteth best. For if that Faire no pity give, My dying breath shall cry, Through thee the paines, wherein I live, Whereby I breath to dye.’ 15 Madly he ran from ease to paine Not sicke, yet farre from well, Heart robd by two faire eyes, his gaine Must proove his worldly Hell. After his heart he fast doth hie, His heart to her did flie, And for a biding place did crie, Within her breast to lie. 16 She that refusd, when he her spide, Her whom he held most deare, Lie weeping by a Rivers side Beholding papers neare. Vvv Her Vvv1v 524 Her ruling eyes must yet be dimbd, While pearle like teares she shed, Like shadowes on a Picture limbd; At last these words she read. 17 ‘When I unconstant am to thee Or false doe ever prove, Let happinesse be banisht me, Nor have least taste of love.’ ‘But this alas too soone’, cryd she, ‘Is O by thee forgot, My hopes and joyes now murtherd be, And falsehood is my lot. 18 Too late I find what tis to trust To words, or oathes, or teares, Since they that use them proove unjust And colour but our feares. Poore fooles ordaind to be deceiv’d And trust to be betrayd, Scornd when our hearts are us bereav’d Sought to, a while delayd. 19 Yet though that thou so false hast been, I still will faithfull be; And though thou thinkst to leave no sinne, Ile make my loyalty To shine so cleare, as thy soule fault To all men shall be knowne, Thy change to thy changd heart be brought, My faith abroad be blowne.’ 20 This having said, againe she rose The papers putting by, And once againe a new way chose Striving from griefe to fly: But as she going was along That pleasant running streame, She saw the Sallow trees among, The Shepheard Aradeame. For Vvv2r 525 21 For so this wofull Lad was call’d, But when she him beheld, ‘What witchcraft hath thee now inthral’d, And brought thee to this field? What can the cause, or reason be, That thou art hither come: Where all must tast of misery, And mirth with griefe intombe?’ 22 ‘If mirth must heere intombed be, Faire Sheephardesse, said he? This place the fittest is for me, If you use cruelty: For know I hither come, to see Your selfe, wherein now lyes My life, whose absence martir’d me, Whose sight my power tyes. 23 Give me but leave to live with you, It is the life I crave: To you I bound am to be true, My life to you I gave; When first I did behold you lye, In shade of willow tree: That time my soule did to you tye, Those eyes did murther me.’ 24 ‘Is this the reason’ (ah cryd she?) ‘The more I waile your case, Who thus partaker, needs will be In griefe, and in disgrace, I pitty you, but cannot ayd You, nor redresse your ill, Since joy and paine together pay’d, Scarce satisfies the will. 25 If I doe tye you, I release The bond wherein you are, Your freedome shall not find decrease, Nor you accuse my care. Vvv2 The Vvv2v 526 The paine I have is all my owne, None can of it beare part, Sorrow my strength hath overthrowne, Disdaine hath killd my heart. 26 And Sheepheard if that you doe love, This counsell take of me, This humor fond in time remove, Which can but torture thee; Take it from her who too too well Can witnesse it is so: Whose hope seem’d Heaven, yet prov’d a Hell, And comfort chang’d to woe. 27 For I was lov’d, or so I thought, And for it lov’d againe, But soone those thoughts my ruine brought, And nourish’d all my paine, They gave the milke that fed beleife Till wean’d, they proved dry: Their latter nourishment was griefe, So famish’t I must dye. 28 Then see your chance, I cannot change, Nor my affection turne, Disdaine which others moves to range, Makes me more constant burne, My sighs I’me sure cannot you please, My griefe no Musicke proove, My flowing teares your passions ease, Nor woes delight your Love. 29 If my sight have your freedome wonn, Receive it backe againe; So much my selfe I finde undone, By gifts which prove no gaine. As I lament with them that love, So true in Love I am, And liberty wish all to prove, Whose hearts waste in this flame.’ Yet Vvv3r 527 30 ‘Yet give me leave (sigh’d he with teares) To live but where you are, My woes shal waite upon your feares, My sighs attend your care: Ile weepe when ever you shall waile, If you sigh, I will cry, When you complaine, Ile never faile To waile my misery. 31 I will you guard, and safely keepe From danger, and from feare, Still will I watch when you doe sleepe, And for both, sorrowes beare. Make me not free, I bondage crave, Nor seeke else but to serve, This freedome will procure my grave, These bonds my life preserve. 32 For life, and joy, and ease, and all Alasse lyes in your hands: Then doe not cause my only fall, I ty’d am in such bands. Part hence I cannot, nor love leave, But heere must ever bide: Then pitty let my paine receive, Doe not from mercy slide.’ 33 ‘If that’ (said she) ‘you constant are, Unto your comming ill, Ile leave this place, yet let all care Accompany me still: And Sheepheard live, and happy be, Let judgment rule your will, Seeke one whose hart from love is free, And who your joy may fill. 34 For I love’s bond-slave am, and ty’d In fetters of Disdaine: My hopes are frozen, my Spring dry’d, My Sommer drown’d with paine: Vvv3 I Vvv3v 528 I lov’d, and worse, I said I lov’d, Free truth my ruine brought, And so your speech the like hath mov’d And losse for gayning bought.’ 35 With that away she hasted fast, Left him his cares to holde, Who now to sorrow make all hast, Woes drive his hopes to fould: Now he can see, and weeping say His fortune blind he finds, A heart to harbour his decay, A state which mischeife binds. 3936 This now he feeles, and wofully His birth, and life he blames, Yet passions rules, when reasons lye in darke, or quenched flames: That place he first beheld her in, his byding he doth make: The Tree his liberty did win, He cals his Martyr stake. 37 And pleasingly doth take his fall, his griefe accoumpts delight: Freedome, and joy this bitter thrall, His food her absent sight. In contraryes his pleasures be, While mourning gives him ease, His Tombe shall be that haplesse Tree, Where sorow did him ceaze. 38 And thus did live, though daily dy’d, The Sheephard Arideame, Whose causlesse teares which never dry’d were turnd into a streame, Himselfe the head, his eyes the spring Which fed that River cleere, Which to true harts this good doth bring When they approch it neere, And Vvv4r 529 39 And drinke of it, to banish quite All fickell thoughts of change, But still in one choyce to delight, And never thinke to range: Of this sweete water I did drinke, Which did such faith infuse, As since to change, I cannot thinke, Love will death sooner chuse.”

She that was before wonne, what wrought this in her, seeing love, seeking
love, expression mooving admmiration, and that so much as to admire him
in her choyce at first sight, so well to chuse, but the truest worke, or weft of
her Loome was to doe, which was to winne him, winne shee would, and at
last as nothing, or very little is hard to purchase in a mans breast a kind pitty
or rewarding love, as if but exchanging, and the latter part of that their
marchandize. She compassed her desires like her selfe the worst way, for
she made the poore loving Cauterino be the meanes to his losse; urging very
much and earnestly, shee replied that if hee loved so much as hee said, hee
should expresse it by bringing Dorileus to speake with her, framing the
cause to be concerning a Sister of hers in the house whom she said was farre
gone in love with him.

Hee gladdest of this, that thus hee might serve her severall wayes, went
straite to his friend, and most friendly brought him unto her, into a Garden
appointed for it, going away as kindly as shee wished, leaving them together,
who then private, she began.

“My Lord” said she, “you may well taxe me of boldnes, but impudence I beseech
you cleere me off, since Love the powrefull god of hearts commands
mee to this adventure, in which yet I blush, least you should otherwise judge
of me, then of fervent affection, which hath stirred this unusuall manner,
contrary to a womans modesty in seeking you; but my Lord my love is so
violent to you, as that blinds me to any course but this, which is to beg pitty
of you, and compassion for my paine.”

The hardest heart could hardly denye such a request, much lesse his,
which was never in that kind cruell; wherefore he went the neerest way to
content her, granting her request, and appointing that night to waite upon
her, what a busines shee kept then? her Chamber was so perfumed, and
sweetely furnished, her selfe so delicate to entertaine, as when hee came hee
thought it a brave Journey, and dainty conquest of himselfe, for shee wooed,
and he had now the labour saved of Courting, loving, and all other troubles,
but yeelding, which is easie on such conditions for the best of that
Sexe to doe. The night is come, and hee prepared went to his Mistris;
the other amorous Duke being extremely molested with his passion,
could not sleepe, but vexed with doubt and love, rose from his bed, and went Vvv4v 522
went to his friends chamber to discourse, and so ease his burdned burning
breast, but thither arrived, he found only a light burning, his Page asleepe
in the chayre at the beds feete, and the Duke absent; this strake him into a
jealous passion, as thinking none so worthy as his Mistris, none so likely therefore
to be served, and so concluded none other then this wrong to him.

Then he complained against his friend for breach of friendship, since hee
knew how much he loved, but straite came this againe, that that tye without
breach might be broken, for love cannot be resisted, and none can command
that power, so as force, not will, did heere offend; but all women for
this tricke he reviled, and cursed himselfe for being the meanes, and helpe
for thus betraying him, making him the instrument (as in scorne) for her satisfaction
in love, and contempt.

This being entred into his thought, he ran into the Garden, meaning to
goe to her Chamber, find them and revenge himselfe with rayling at her,
but the doores which went to that way were shut, so as he cal’d to her, scoulded
as no man ever did like him in that kind, and many women, (though
most are perfect in that lowd faculty) could not equall him, few surpasse
him. No answere being made him, he threw stones at the windowes, beate
downe the glasse and made such a coyle, as would have distemper’d any but
lovers, on all sides to have heard it. But they would not be mooved for all
his bawlings, nor he long indure this lonely, but violent roring passion, so as
he returned with as much fury, and shame, as Vulcan did when he saw his
Rivall Mars: Much this nights worke stuck in his stomacke, but what remedy?
patience got a little roome, and she (as he after said) gave him all satisfaction
so as he gayning too, and then commanded to silence, he had his
desire every way satisfied also, cousening him who had bin before hand with
him, and thought he had her to himselfe, while she laughed at both to see
them so finely dealt with all, and she having full content; but here they must
not now stay, so as telling her they must goe in search of the Emperor, shee
gaind one day more of them which they granted. The night before the
morning for their parting, having at severall howres taken leave of them,
both they in their lodgings should have beene surprized, and made prisoners,
by men let into their chāambers armed, but they valorous, never sleeping
though they were in bed, quickly rose, and bravely defended themselves,
scaped their hands, and arming themselves, came out of their chamber
to seeke the Devill, and head of this action; but she (hearing how the busines
went) with her old wicked companion were fled.

They followed in search of them, so as now in two Quests they travelled,
till they met an noble, and brave Lady, to whom telling their fortunes, shee
assured them of the wickednes of that woman, being the most notorious for
ill, of any of her Sex, & how that in her flight with her old Squire, she met
a man equall to her, (if two such peeces could be squared to equall proportion
in ill,) who having beene trecherous, and beyond mischeif’s skill abused
by her, finding the advantage, tooke her from her old Guard, tyed him
to a Tree fast for helping himselfe, where he starved, and dyed, being but
within two dayes found, and for her, he carryed her to the top of a mighty,
steepe, and craggy Rocke, there tooke his wicked revenge of her, for thence
he threw her downe, but as she fell loving all mankind, she held him so fast as he Xxx1r 531
he went unwillingly with her, breaking their necks, and so past the same way
of unfortunate end, yet fittest for ill so to go together. This was seene by
some, who tooke up the bodies too late to be helped, but hee being knowne
to them, the cause was soone knowne to us, who had understood both their
lives, and could but hardly sorrow for their ends, onely in that they were
Christians. This heard, and having past a little time with this noble Lady,
they tooke their leaves, taking their way to their owne Countries, having
search’d, but in vaine, for their Lord, return’d; they lamented for him, and remained
in soules afflicted. The Prince of Venice is the next to be spoken of,
who having done as his other companions did, at last met with the Duke of
Savoy, and the Duke of Florence, all sad, distress’d, and beyond measure
griev’d; yet some kinde of joy or touch of it they felt in meeting each other:
then seeing all hope lost, they resolv’d together to returne into their Countries
perpetually to mourne and lament their losse, giving over Armes, Trauells
and all, living sad and retyr’d lives, wayling that, they and all Christians
were bereaved of, which was happines; now seeing, feeling, tasting nothing
but distresse: to the Sea they tooke, and shipping themselves, hoysed
saile for Italy, cursing Asia, and all in it save the poore afflicted Pamphilia,
whom they left in all desperate sorrow; for having miss’d finding of him,
they return’d to her Court, and with unspeakable griefe found her possest;
with sorrowfull and lamentable demeanours they parted from her, wordes
they had but few, but teares, sighes, and groanes in full plenty; now
spake they one to another, but scarcely till they had beene some two dayes
at Sea, their eyes only acting speeches part, and assuring each other of their
true loves to their Prince and themselves. At Sea the Florentine saw a Ship
lying neere the Greeke shore, as at Anchor, many men and some women upon
the hatches; drawing neerer, they might discerne mourners, and among
all, none armed: “ah” (said he) “that company surely are of our aslsotiates, their
livery tels them at least so to be.”
“Their outsides indeed”, said the Venetian,
“counterfeits our inward griefe.” The Savoyan looking stedfastly on them,
said, he was of their opinion, and the rather because he thought he saw Selarinus
among them; they then haled to her, which shee answer’d, and as they
were sending some to her to know the newes, they perceived a Squire to put
out the longlong Boat and make towards them; they then attended his comming:
now did the winde rise, (a calme having been before) and the waves began
to swell, answering the boyling in their brests. The Squire could but bee
at their ship when it was so rough, as without perishing he could not board
her, especially being under sayle as she was; so as he only cal’d to them, who
said, his Lord Selarinus desir’d to know if they were of Asia, and if they knew
how Pamphilia did, if rescued, and by whom. They could not answer more,
then that she was set free by Amphilanthus, but now he was lost, as with grief
for the remembrance of him, and the word lost, so filling them, and partly
for the noyse the Sailors made, and for the distance that the Boate was by
the tempest in that time carryed from them. The Ship likewise was growne
a Traitor to them, and their governours, taking new Commanders, the winde
and the Sea, yet they contending made a rough dispute and distempered government,
so as soone they lost sight of Selarinus, Greece, Italy and all being
carried into the Brittain Sea; long they roamed at Hul, for advice or Art now Xxx helped Xxx1v 532
helped not till the storme so soone ceased as it had begun, and they perceived
for their comforts, (as beauty is comfortable to all good eyes) the faire
Rocks of Brittany, anciently called Albion; but by happinesse after many
misfortunes againe called Brittany. The windes and Seas appeased, they
landed neere a Cliffe of infinite height and danger if not knowne: when
they were a shore and arm’d, two purposed to travell and alter their names,
but the third overrul’d them, and by any meanes would not consent to goe,
but as their owne selves, and in their owne persons, not seeking to hide the
noblenesse of their search and truth of their duties. At the place where they
landed they got horses to the next Towne, which was twelve miles off, according
to the reckoning of that Countrey: then came they to a very faire
Towne, large, but not any way curiously built, though the houses were of
stone, but they low and ill cover’d made them seeme poore. There were
women of marvellous beauty; for Brittany had the name to have the fairest
Creatures in her of all women, and that part the honor to have the fairest
of Brittany; many they saw as they past by, but as variety they pass’d them,
gazing as on wonders; but a wonder it had beene to have staid them, whose
thoughts flew on still to the finding the happines of their Masters recovery,
beauty was not now the Shrine they offer’d to, yet at other times that would
willingly have stay’d them, now love & affection were two things, or one so
mix’d, as no other thing, or part could enter, but the finding of Amphilanthus,
to bee either, and so both. On in the Country they pass’d till they
came to a Desart that prov’d onely rich in Ayre, and that in greatest bounty,
in few places it was inhabited, the rest all Desart, and as wilde as any civill
Country could bee. Many places, they passed, stony, wooddy, rocky,
and as odde as could bee, lamentable travelling in it, the people rude and
churlish, so as with much difficulty, but to them good fortune, they happened
on a Noblemans house; antiquity they saw in all things there, in house, age
of furniture, of servants, building, and situation, which was such, as certainly
were not, nor could bee under hundreds of yeares; the Master of
the house was not there then, travel’d upon occasion into another Countrey,
but the Mistris there, and shee the most ignorant proud woman living, caring
for, nor respecting any but her selfe and hers, as rude and ill manner’d a
company, and as vaine as her selfe were about her, though much opinionated
to bee well-behaved creatures, and so they seem’d to bee bred no other
then such which were of her owne being, and who could have that only
way of good fashion, as shee said, to bee admir’d, and to all other eyes
the worst of fashions. Of her blood, she had some who equal’d, nay exceeded
her, so as shee may be excused thus, that shee woman-like had ambition
to bee chiefe of her blood, which shee said was the best, and would rather
excell in ill, then not be the most excelling: neglect she did all people but
her chosen assotiats, so as one might justly say they were strangers that came
to her house; for none were familiar with her but her private (& somtime
too foolishly exprest) humours. The friends her husband best lov’d in his absence
were us’d like others, it may bee sometimes sooner had the ill fortune
to see her proud person, els no more priviledged when in his presence, shee
would like his Dogge fawne on him, and them: then there came thither a
wondrous brave Lady, who was a Kins-woman of her La: to whom as much Xxx2r 533
much respect as shee could let slide from her selfe was used, and who yet looked
for as much as either, or both had, nay as well could have been exprest
to such like Ladies, and neere of bloud to all vanity and proud folly. These
Ladies the Princes met one field from the house, by good fortune to them,
els they might have stayed for admittance longer then their haste would permit
them; sad they were and pensive, proud they were and insolent, the
Knights did them Princely respect, they gave unmanerly acceptance, with
much humble maner they presented themselves to them, they fleering one
on the other most rudely entertain’d them, looking on them carelessly, as
who would say, wee honour you with this, but who would rather doe well,
would doe otherwise. The Florentine was haughty, and where hee found
neglect hee could repay it, els most noble; but not knowing the nature of
the Brittaines, was so discreete as not to bee rash, therefore hee rather to
beare then provoke ill entertainment, spake with his hat in his hand, in this
manner. “Wee are Travellers and strangers; yet more strangers to the sight
of such beauty, as till this instant I never did behold; and which doth so amaze
mee with content, as I am rapt into the cloudes of pleasure, not being
able to expresse your excellencies but by my infinite admiration; beholding
you like so many Sunnes contented to distribute your equall beames to let
us be the abler to behold you: heere I see the excellentest excellency of the
rarest perfections; excuse then most excellent Ladies, if my Companions,
or my selfe have overslip’d any due respect unto you, since the fault wholly
lies in your over-ruling powers, and we must excuse our selves by that fault,
if you close up all powers in amazement, you must pardon the amazed, and
if you show beauties beyond expression or ability to be suffer’d, no more
then flames can be to a naked person: how should one, especially my strooken
selfe, be able to doe what I am call’d unto by respect unto such divine
soules? Hide your conquering beauties, and then our great weaknesses will
get some strength to speake, if but in a maner of admiration; but so short of
your deserts, as I shall still remaine a poore, and an ashamed speaker for my
selfe and companions, who cannot speake thus much for themselves as I do.”

The Ladies left him in his speech, and taking handes walked away, as who
would say, by that time the Oration is done, wee will come againe, smiling
on themselves and their uncivilnesse. The other two Princes laugh’d at the
Florentine, who was so angry and ashamed, as hee (being very black) look’d
betweene fury and blushing like a Night-piece: what to doe he could not
resolve; but the other two did for him, which was to goe to the Towne
and rest them till the next day morning, and so proceed in their journey, in
this uncomfortable Country where their first entertainment was so strange.

When they came to the Inne, there they found a second or rather a perfect
Hell, there were Knights and Squires, but all fellowes, and most fellowlike
drunke: some were singing, some dancing, some quarelling, others
fidling, some calling for more drinke, in which they all like the burthen of
a Song agreed, and called more. These Princes fell into this second misadventure,
the first had too little curtesie, this as farre exceeding in too
much aboundance; for every one had a severall humour, and they must
indure them all: but an advantage they had in this kinde, though to their
losse of sleepe, for they being well on their way before their comming, a veryXxx2 ry Xxx2v 534
little more satisfied them, and sent them to rest, some to bed, some under
the tables, some on benches, one in the Garden on a Lavender bed, while
the Princes againe tooke their horses and rid some miles further, and in the
Desart in a most poore (but for quiet, rich) house, they spent the rest of the
night, the next day taking their way towards the Court, where then liv’d
the King, but they not destined to see so much happines met this Adventure.

Passing along a most craggy and stony Lane, they came at the end of it,
to a tripartite divided way, a stone in the mid’st, and the way so justly parted,
as it made them imagine it was a place fit to bee accepted and to part themselves
equally to take their offer’d favours: Upon the stone they laid their
hands, sware there within three Moneths to meete againe, without strange
accidents befell them, to declare their losse, and search to all, their names
never to conceale, and so at the conclusion, to returne every one to his owne
Countrey, to lament their Lord and friend. It was the Florentines fortune
to encounter the first adventure, which was, after hee had rid in that stony
way sometime, hee came to a large Commune, spreading it selfe broader
still unto his sight, as comming out of a River, the Sea appeares boundlesse:
So did this Land extend it selfe, having no bound to comprehend, or limit
sight; sheepe there were in aboundance, and some Cattle, people hee saw
none, so as it appear’d there was little danger of losing them, or that the
trust was great in those parts.

At last a Countreyman hee met driving a Cart which had carried wood
(a commodity in those parts) of him hee demanded what that place was,
and the name of that part of the Countrey. He replyed, the place hee was
on was called the Forrest Champion, that part of Britanny being full of Forrests
and Chaces, anciently called the deserts of Brittany; a little way from
thence hee told him was a faire house, where a noble Knight and his Lady lived
within a part of the same Forrest, which they had inclosed, and made
like an orderly civill place, from the others wildnesse, and shut themselves
within a Pale; woods were within this place, the rest all Heath and
Rocks, scarce a Bush, but no tree that could shelter one from a small
shower.

The Prince desired to be directed to that place, which the honest man
did, waiting on him till hee came within sight of it; now Sir, said hee, you
cannot loose your way, except you will of purpose; so hee tooke leave of
him, who arriv’d within a short time there; the Knight had at that time much
company with him, and one Lady who in her younger time had the fame
for one of the fairest (if not the fairest) of that Countrey. But Love (the
Ruiner of beauty when curst had decayed her beames of outward perfection,
though her inside by the vertue of constancie shined the cleerer. Black
had her fortunes beene so were her habits, sad her face, and her countenance
not heavy, but grave: the Knight was a brave Gentleman, for his inward
parts learned and honest, but lame by blowes in his youth when hee
travel’d, as hee had in most parts of Christendome; his Lady a young woman,
cheerefull and pleasant, the daughter of a great Lord, and Sister to as
fine a Gentleman as was in that Kingdome: but the Prince most marked
the sad Lady, of whom hee enquired, after some complements and a little acquaintance Xxx3r 535
acquaintance of the Knight, who would needs stay the Prince there that
night, the Lady went away, having not above some sixe or seaven miles to
ride to her fathers.

After her going, there came to the same place a Knight, not a youth, nor a
stayed man, forward in speech, and so valiant and bountifull of it, as he would
(where ever hee came) have all the talke; some being angry at him for it,
who thought they could speake as well, and it may be better, but hee carried
it with his boldnesse, and unlesse any would fight with him hee would doe so
still. Some laugh’d at him, and said hee rung such peales of discourse, as
were sufficient to bee reckoned among those rung for triumph, or joyes for
Nuptialls; others pittied him, as fearing it a disease, or Palsie in his tongue,
but all admir’d hee held out so long with mattter, unlesse hee had as strange
a faculty in his braines of perpetuall working, and so made that motion in
his tongue to rid her burthen. The Prince much wondred at him, thinking
hee was led thither to see the Prince of contrarieties, the first Lady as silent,
as he talkative, the others in a reasonable good meane like himselfe, thinking
them both strange; at last, as the round of this most dicoursing Knights
thoughts, came to the height, hee began to speake of the Lady. “Did you
ever”
, said hee, see a sweet Lady so much changed as shee is? I knew her, and
so did you, a faire, dainty, sweet woman, noble and freely disposed, a delicate
Courtier, curious in her habites, danced, rid, did all things fit for a
Court, as well as any brave Lady could doe? what can change her thus?
they say shee is in love: would that man were hang’d would suffer such
sweetnesse to decay by his curstnesse: but I thinke and believe it is so; for
I have made love to her my selfe, and shee refused mee, who never before
heard the word of deniall. I offer’d her Horses, though shee wanted good
ones at that time, yet shee would not take mine, nor presents from any for
feare of offending him, who presented her with nothing but scorne. I made
Verses to her, said them to her, who commended them faintly, and instead
of thanks, said some of his to mee, as to let me see, that as hee was most
deare to her; so was all that hee did or belonged to him. I have a Brother
was in my case for her love, but more griev’d; for she usd him scarce civilly,
mee shee ever did respectively, and that wrought so much with mee, as I hate
the woman hee loves, and is the cause of her trouble for her sake; but for
mine owne part, I can beare her denying mee well, by reason I can love as
often as I see cause, and stay no longer on it”
; nor staid hee there, but with
this last word tooke his leave, onely saying, hee would follow the Lady,
if but to vexe her, as easily hee might doe, or any other discreet person, if
hee continued his talking travell, which was more wearisome then travell it
selfe to a quiet Spirit.

When hee was gone, the Roome was like a calme after a storme, or as after
foule weather the Ayre is silent, and sweet: so all being quiet, they
pleas’d themselves as Birds in the Spring, wirth their owne tunes: but then
did the Florentine desire to heare more of the Lady, which the Knight with
much respect to him, and honour for her, deliverd thus. “Noble Prince”, said
hee, “if I goe about to tell you her Story, I must undertake to tell you the
most unfortunate, of the most deserving woman that ever was, and venter
to relate a businesse which I shall bee unable to deliver to her worth, or the Xxx3 excell- Xxx3v 536
excellency of the matter; but this I may say for her, shee was the vertuousest
and fairest Maide in this Kingdome, the unfortunateliest married, and
unhappiest wife this Countrey had, the most desolate and grieved Widdow;
for in all estates that ever shee was in, if shee had a shew of good, shee had
substances of ill and mischiefe to succeed. In her youth, or (indeed) infancy,
shee loved a brave Knight, who deserv’d all love and respect: but yet hee
had a fault, as most men have. I was his companion, and knew as much of
him for some time as any did; yet that was a secret, and I never (intruth) mistrusted
it, till I was gone into a retyr’d life, and a change growne among us
all, being divided severall wayes, and scattered like Hayle: Shee call’d to
the Court, continued her begun love, hee fell in love with her, and so much
as hee raged almost with passion till hee discover’d it, being for a while (as
hee vowed himselfe neere madnes; but as passions are hot, and in youth
more flaming, then afterwards mature judgement will permit, hee grew
slacker, shee griev’d, lost her content, and yet thinking to please him, as
that being her onely end, refrain’d (fearing as seeing his dislike and scorne to
her) his presence, hoping to content him with giving liberty to his new
choyce.”

“This, whether offending, or (as hee tooke the matter) making it seeme an
offence, she lost his love; and not onely that, but hee made it appeare that
hee loath’d her: Shee (sweet Creature) whose heart to him, was but as
the softest part of his to his new Mistris, so grievously tooke this curst hap,
as shee melted into griefe, as Virgins waxe with the heate of fire will into
water, and yet thereby the coldnesse of that Element grow hard, as frozen
by coldnesse: So was shee clos’d in cold despaire; yet not hardened, but
with that, not with hate, or dislike, suffering as patiently, as a dead body
permits handling, by any rude standers by; shee onely felt paine of love, and
into that was metamorphosed. All delights shee cast from her, all exercises
left, cover’d her misfortune with the losse of her Husband, when as, if
her love had continued true, shee had in the other losse beene happy; but
as it fell out, a most unhappy creature shee was, and is. An ancient Lord, old
in age and antiquity of honour, made love unto her; shee was not only perplex’d
with him, but with her friends and Parents, hee being infinitely rich;
but shee finding that her heart (as shee cal’d him, and as that was subject to
him cal’d it selfe his) would not consent, shee refus’d, and with great joy
that hee lov’d her so well, as hee could not thinke of imparting her to any
other, though sure enough, that hee could not hold her long, Death being
gaping for him.
After she denied men of all sorts for age, and fortune, who durst take the
boldnesse to sue to her; Lately a young Duke of this Countrey made profer
of Love to her, but shee not willing to entertaine him, would not beleeve
hee meant it, and so perswaded him out of it; yet he lookes after her,
followes her when hee may, meets her where hee can have opportunity,
smiles on her, seekes to please her in all he may, and in some things doth, for
he never speakes to her (but by lookes) of Love; his company she allowes
of out of noblenesse, and out of true love will not heare of his love.”

“An ancient Lord also, and a mighty rich man for estate, (but in yeares)
seekes her, shee will not understand it; He sends to her, invites her to his dwel- Xxx4r 537
dwellings. Shee finds still excuses, and neglects civilly. Hee vowes to finde
her out, and court her. She flyes, and takes journeys unthought on to shun
him, and al this is for love, that so she flyes Love, willing to warme her hands
at the fire of honour, but dares not come neere the love-fire for feare of
scorching, while shee burnes in her owne flames; never any more belov’d
woman breath’d, nor ever will or can breath so true a loving woman. What
hath shee left unexprest to manifest her affection in all kindes? life shee hath
ventur’d, honour lost, beauty and all happinesse dead, while shee growes old
in her truth of love, and hath but that for her owne satisfaction to content
her selfe withall, and that is riches unspeakable, when in her owne soule shee
can say, ‘I am just; yet suffer for it, as if a fault, what is then a vertue, when
such perfections are errors?’
One pretty tale shee now, as you came, told me,
her still beloved friend came into her company by Adventure, having with
him a deare companion of his, newly growne into that league of friendship,
and brought by him into the same with all his friends. This Gentleman,
seeing her discreet, grew into discourse with her, she loving all that loved her;
lov’d, even his Mistris for his sake, was well pleas’d with his conversation,
and so neere they grew, as he spake freely to her, and she confidentlyconfidently to him:
so much she saw in him, as she knew he knew most of her fortune; she grudged
not his knowledge, for a nobler man breathes not, as shee sayes, except
her owne friend, and hee must before her have no Competitor nam’d, for
worth or any goodnesse, though shee suffer for his ill, so excellent hee yet
appeares to her. But this brave Gentleman at last with freedome began to
perswade her to leave her constancie, which would but hurt her, and continue
no other wayes true then truely to say shee had lov’d longer, and justlier
then hee: but seeing no returne nor hope, no longer to bee a slave, when she
might bee free, nor to him who deserv’d so ill from her, as if shee lov’d ill so
well as to bee bound to it; yet did hee never name his friend, though
by discourse said, he knew him, ever protesting to name none in such kindes.
Shee only answerd this, that so much she lov’d and honour’d truth, as shee
desir’d shee might live in that (if a fault) and grow old with such a vertue,
whose worthines would give her youth, and eternity in comfort, and honor
to the world, her wrincles by truth would bee closed, and shee seeme as faire
as ever; her palenesse and losse of complexion restor’d by the rarenesse of
such a vertue; and her Age, as by Medeas charmes turn’d to infancy in the
cleerenesse and ablenesse of such worth. Hee lamented her misfortune, shee
smil’d to heare him so much mistake, and told him ’twas her perfection: ‘this
is the error’
, said he, ‘of women, and yet not generally doe they erre in this
kinde; so as I may only say of a woman, and of one of the best, and therefore
the more to be pittied.’”
The Florentine did naturally love strange things,
and such as could hardly be compass’d, wherefore hee had a great desire to
see this Lady againe, and to court her, and so resolv’d to trye his fortune, having
as he thought, as much boldnesse and winning power as any man. To
helpe him on, the same talking Knight came againe the next day, being the
most absolute endlesse Visitor in Brittany; he confidently promis’d to bring
him thither where she was, and to put them together, “and then” said he “if thou
dost win her, thou hast better luck then all the brave bold Brittaines have yet
attaind unto.”
This familiarity seem’d od, yet the Florentine had his end also, and Xxx4v 538
and bore with his (as he heard it in his language) rudenes; so they tooke their
leaves of the lame Knight, and went the neerest way to her abiding; but before
they arriv’d there, the Florentine had so much of his companions tongu,
as he would have given a great part of his hopes to have been rid of him. At
the last they came to the Castle, shee was not at home, but rid forth to take
the Ayre; they being Knights never were out of the way; so they follow’d
her and found her sitting in a great wood reading some papers, which were
Verses her love (in the time of his affection to her) had made, and given unto
her: she read them, wept, kiss’d them, wrapt them up, put them into her
brest, to print the stampe on the outside, as they were ingraven in the inside,
sigh’d, wiped her eyes, and yet some bold teares had kiss’d her quaking lips,
ready, but affraid to part, & say he was unjust; for the very unjustnes matyr’d
her, and the saltnesse of those drops made her taste her curst fortune. They
approach’d, she changing her countenance and now almost ashamed to seem
so good, he proving so contrary, whom she thought the best, almost doubting
if it were not ill to bee good among so many ill, and such as contemned
goodnes; yet bold in her selfe, arm’d with the rarest vertue, and knowing
that enough to justifie her, and defend her, she met them; they with reverence
fit to give and to be taken by her, saluted her, then the everlasting Speaker,
who never ceased talking, no more then Brookes on Pebbles leave murmurring,
told her the desire they had to kisse her hands. Shee said they had much
honour’d her with that visit; the FlorentineFlorentine with delicate language spake,
she with much modesty and respective fashion entertain’d him: much he admir’d
her grave and yet courteous manner, the eloquenceeloquence she spake such, as
made him thinke she was the best spoken woman he had ever heard, and the
greatest part of her eloquence was the plainnes, but excellently well plac’d
words she deliverd, her speech was as rare and winning, as the Knight troublesome,
and most times idle; yet such he esteem’d his wit, and the continuance
of his babling was so usuall, as he could not hold, but interrupted them,
and fell into his old fit of gabling. The afflicted Lady look’d sadly on him;
but when she saw how grievously the Prince tooke his interrupting of them,
she smil’d, and to her selfe said; “would my paines could bee thus partaken,
then would my suffering be the lesse; but oh, none are fit to know mine but
my selfe, none then to suffer them.”
The Florentine he chaf’d so much, as hee
could not frame with patience any one thought, but with a confusion of dislike,
stood gazing on him, who talk’d on, and regarded, or not, said Verses,
spake Prose, and rime againe, no more heeding answers (so hee heard himselfe)
then if he had rav’d or talk’d in his sleepe: Yet at last there was no remedie
but shee must heare some lines the Knight lately made in commendations
of his Mistresses eyes, and blaming her being sleepy in the morning,
when shee should have beene up to entertaine him; the Verses were
these.

“Rise, rise from sluggishnes, fly fast my Deere, The early Larke prenents the rising lights: The Sunne is risen, and shines in the rights Of his bright glory, till your eyes appeare. Arise Yyy1r 539 Arise, and make your two Sunnes so cleare show; As he for shame his beames call backe againe, And drowne them in the Sea for sorrowes paine; That you, Commandresse of the light may know, The dutie Sunne, and all must yeeld to you Where richnesse of desert doth lie imbracd, Night by your brightnes wholly now defac’d, And Day alone left to you as lights due. Yet be as waighty still in love to me, Presse me with love, rather then lightly flie My passions like to women, made to tie Of purpose to unloose, and oft be free. Thus may your lightnesse shewing ruine me, I cannot live if your affections dye, Or leave off living in my constancy Be light and heavy too, so wee agree.”

“These I protest before God” (said he) “I made at the instant, when I saw shee
was not up, nor reddy, and many more I made to her, an others, on the sudden.
I seldome thinke of them, but naturally they come unto me; many of my
Ancestors hath been Poets, and so I succeed in that qualitie, and I like it well,
it passes away the time well, and some of my songs I have set, and song them.”

But when he talked of singing, the Florentine was then ready to die, for halfe
dead hee was with the noise of speakingspeaking, singing added to it would utterly
have ruined him, so as he was forced to say, “My Lord, we came hither to visit
this excellent Lady, and short time I have to enjoy the happinesse of her
sight; let us therefore I beseech you, gaine so much favour, and honour
from her, as to heare her say some thing of her selfe.”
“It is well said”, cryd he,
“and since the Prince desires to heare your story, I pray let him have it.” “I have
not”
(answered she) “ready, or perfect delivery of speech so well as you; therefore
if it please you, especially of the Prince, I desire to be excused, since I can
onely when I have said all, but conclude, I am as you see me, the most unhappie,
unfortunate, miserable, lost woman, that can be found breathing.”
Then
did the teares againe fall from her eyes, but so lovely she appeared in sorrow,
as it was almost equall in sweetnesse, and winning, to joy, and as powerfull in
command, for it fully conquered the Florantine, never after being cured
but by death, living many yeares, and loving constantlie to his death,
a rare, and seldome knowne thing among men, of his ranke especiallie.

Night now grew on, so as they tooke their leaves; faine the Prince would
have staid, but she never, or wōondrous seldom invited any, though if they cāame
and staid, she did welcome brave, or needing men; two tortures were he now
fallen into, parting frōom her, & going with him, whose noise would make him
mad, his heart being opprest with melancholly, & but justly was he punisht for
aspiring ever till that time to love, and win this, he saw the Emperour loved: Yyy as Yyy1v 540
as if being his servant, he were bound to like as he liked, and love as he loved,
which did not please his Master, nor got him much gaine, if not where no
gaine was by winning. Once more he must see her, and rather then misse his
desire, he perswaded his silent companion to accompany him, which he did,
and taking Hounds with them, as if both to visit, and shew pleasure, they
tooke their journey. They came where she lay, and with much adoe got her
abroad, who rid daintily, and which qualitie did more (if more could be) intice,
and inflame the brave Prince, who still attended her, she as little, as hee
infinitely fond, still accompanied her, who finding it, meant to put him, beside
his ordinary Knightly pace, and if he would be with her, take paines like
a good honest Forrester; wearier he had been with this chase, which was of
a Stagge, then of three dayes travell, but she was there, as his heart told him,
fainting would never win such a spirit; so hee spurred on, and she rid from
him; at last the Stagge fell, and so the hunting ceased with the death mote.
Home they al returnd, and with much glory and losse, glory for victory, losse
of hearts: backe to the Knights house the Companions went, whence the
next morning the Prince of Florence was called by an Adventure of some
joy, an Esquire came unto him, who had been in many Countries to seeke
him, and by meere chance cast upon this shoare as they were, was informed
that three brave Knights were there lately arrived, being in the West part
of the Country of Brittany, by their description they seemed to bee some of
those he sought, and so finding him, was much comforted with hope of the
others. He was sent from the Duke of Burgundy, whose good hap it was
to goe the right way, and find the Emperour after some time, and much trauell;
this gave great content to the Prince, yet grieved he was to part out of
Brittany, but necessitie did compell him, so as away he went, taking his leave
of the Knight, who was most kind, and freely noble, leaving him in trust to
doe a friends part in remembring his service to the Lady. With the Squire
he posted with as much speed, as that Country would give him leave, taking
first to the place, where his two Companions parted from him. There arrived
(as hee did) at that instant, but unarmed, and all in Willow colour; the
Prince of Venice, who had fallen on this Adventure, riding downe the way
allotted him, he came at the end of three dayes travell to the side of a most
delicate and sweet River, being indeed one of the best of Brittany; at that
place there was a passage to crosse to the other side, hee tooke boate there,
and landing, came into very rich grounds, but not much pleasant, that soyle
being rather for profit then pleasure; but passing that, he found a most delectable
Country, being a Forrest, and the daintiest of all those parts, seeming
rather an exact piece of curiositie, then an habitation for wild Beasts, woods,
plaines, corne grounds, and delicate Springs, many brave dwellings, and faire
and fine houses in abundance, so as they seemd as the Banquetting-houses to
so many excellent Gardens: the Woods were not great, but pleasant, every
field as it were fringd, and laced about with trees.

The Prince rode on, much in admiration of this place, following
a prettie Brooke, which with the sweete murmuring and pleasing passing
invited him to follow him, as if by loving whispers hee had intreated
him, he understood it so, and so rid beholding him with as much kindnes, till
at last hee brought him into a faire Meddow, there hee grew as if angrie, he Yyy2r 541
he had not said some thing in his commendations, to swell and grow high
with spite, but calme still, and faire, and well might he be so, for close by on
the banke lay such a Shepheardesse as Urania was, and that is sufficient expression
for her perfections, her Hooke and Scrip lay by her, her bright and
delicate haire looked like straw in the Sunne, when his glistering beames
shine on it, and that receives, and payes equall lusture: yet shee to grace the
straw more (or fearing her parcialitie should bee by the Sunne corrected for
wearing other beames then his, or else punished for being neere equall) had
to defend his blowes a Hat of that matter, on her more radient rayes, shunning
the Sunnes hot kisses, or envious touches. She was tying flowers together,
the rest lying in her Lap, and she picking out those she best liked, casting
some others into the River, which smild in thanks to her for those favours.
As she thus playd, so did her Sheepe and Lambs by her: as free in joy, as shee
was from love, or any such vexation: full were her eyes, and full of commanding
power, her forehead was most covered with her Hat, as in pity for feare
of murdring with the clearenesse, and azure veined purenesse, yet her smoth
cheekes, plumpe soft lipps, and delicate fine chin, shewed a field of conquest,
where still they held the victory, her hands bare (making up her Nosegay)
said by their unmatched whitenesse, that they were to be adored, not put to
use, unlesse to cherish hearts, their softnesse knowing no hard worke, could
not be cruell, but gentle to wounds, by themselves especially given. Were
not here allurements sufficient to draw the Venecians heart to servitude?
certainely farre lesse would have had power to melt the most iron breast of
any Italian, whose hearts are all apt enough to love, but here his admiration
staid his love to wonder, yet wonder brought at last resolution to love, and
goe unto her, had not he a little been interrupted by the comming of a Lady
towards the Shepheardesse.

This Lady came, as it seemd, from an house on the top of a Hill, which wel
might thither, and many miles further he discride, a Grome some halfe a
mile below it on the descent of the Hill, out of which she did seeme immediately
to come. She came alone accompanied onely with a Booke to the
Rivers side, but on the contrary side of them, and chearefully (affection gloriously
shining in her eyes) saluted the Shepheardesse, who instantly arose,
and with as kind and loving lookes answered her salutations. The Lady said,
that the water was now prooved to be as dull an Element, as the earth which
joyned with her here in heavy thwartnesse to hold them asunder, ignorant
of such spirit, as love had in their hearts in desire of meeting. “Here is a Bridge”
(said the Shepheardesse) “if you will venture.” “I am ill at such a businesse”, said
the Lady, “and you little better, we may both fall in.”

With that the Prince drew neare, and offerd his service to them: they accepted
it, and he pulling off his Gauntlet, tooke the Lady by the hand, and
safely led her over; then did the two (lover-like) women kisse, and embrace
each other: when their owne passions were a little satisfied, then they
both thanked the Knight, desiring to know what accident brought him thither,
especially armed, where little Armes was required, or used; blessed
Peace, the comfort of soules, having only government in that place. He said,
he was a strāanger, & but lately arived in those parts, being the Prince of Venice,
by chance cast on the Brittan shore, whence he came, he had bin much out of Yyy2 fashion Yyy2v 542
fashion if he had not been in Armes, “and being so, you are as much out here”,
said they, “and therein is our happinesse.” “Have you no Knights Adventurers
in this Countrie”
, said he? “Knights we have” (said the Lady) “good store, and
adventures; but they seldome are put together, our Knights leaving the adventuring
part, unlesse out of necessitie, none loving a happy, and worthy
peace better, and none abler, or braver in warre, when occasion calleth on
them: but if you will trie adventures, here are many in this place, severall
Inchantments, and divers hard waies to attempt them; Charmes are here in
abundance also.”
“So it appeares”, saith he, “for you doe carry charmes enough
about you to overthrow Armies of hearts, then making so many yeeld, how
can you be but in peace, when none dare warre against such powers.”
“Wee are
armed with strong resolutions”
, said the Shepheardesse, “and defended by our
owne vertue, so as wee feare no enemy, if not lurking in our owne breasts,
which yet have not appeared, I am certaine have not had the boldnesse to adventure
in my sight.”
“How free you are” (said the Lady) “while I that live in the
same State, am yet environed with enemies: I had the same subject-like freedome
which you had, yet I have yeelded to another Prince, and in that am a
Traytor; for alas I have another Monarchy ruling in me, then the true one of
this Country.”
“This is a strange confession”, said the Shepheardesse: “but for
Loves sake, how long hath it governed, and what is it?”
“The same Lord, in
whose name you conjure me.”
“How”, cryed the Shepheardesse? “why dearest
Lady, can your incomparable wit, matchlesse spirit, unparalleld judgement,
unspeakable discretion, unusuall knowledge, pearelesse learning, and most admirable
vertue yeeld to the poore, meane, wayward, foolish and weakest passion;
you that have conquered hearts, and millions of them, while you have
gloried in your owne strength and power, rightly to be made an example to
all your sexe for constant worth and worthy confidence, will you fall lower
then my companions, poore and weak Shepheardesses, let your spirit awake,
and open your eies to vertue, it is she calls upon you.”
“It is shee shall rule me”,
said the Lady; “for none but a vertuous love will I take, or yeeld unto, and in
such is vertue requisite to be called to counsel.”
“You will all flatter your selves”
said the Shepheardesse, “and Love that blind Devill which deludes you, bringing
you on, as men doe children by Plums, to have them doe as they desire;
so this false God will abuse you with his crafty delusions, he will make
all faults shew as faire, and rich as Diamonds; but the richest of them taken
inwardly, are poyson; hee will paint over his worst cousenages with vertue
to intice you; but won, hee will appeare in other colours: hee will guild his
bitterest pills with golden promises, rich hopes, and all falshoods, and when”
;
“You have said your worst”, replied the Lady, “and wee considered all, I must
love, and so I hope shall you deare friend, if but for loves honours sake, since
an enemies gaining is more honour, then the conquest of hundreds of us that
are profest his enemies.”
“A goodly profession certainely” (said she), “and a great
purchase you have yet to enrich your selfe withall, who had lately the richest
stocke, and treasure of true, noble, and vertuous freedome.”
The Lady tooke
her in her armes, and smiling kissed her, “Chide me not dearest Celina, I cannot
helpe nor alter my fortunes, run not on the errour that I can withstand
the power, commands from Kings to your companions; for who are (unlesse
your selfe) free; what man ever lived, that loved not, or woman breathed, who Yyy3r 543
who had not some affection; not your selfe but love, if but this life; I love
where I may gaine happinesse, and the truest end for which we are, and to
which I hope you will come: then Oh doe not you afflict me with blaming
me, my love to you shall be no lesse, but rather more, since the better I know
how to love, the better, I shall love you.”
“A fine and rare conclusion truly”, said Celina, “and just lover-like to deceive your selfe; in troth Love hath played
her part well in so short a time to instruct you thus perfectly: but if you pardon
your loving, I can scarce doe so for your cursing me, since wishing me to
be a lover is a flat curse”
; “pardon me thus you may” (said Rossilea), since I
wish you as my selfe.”
With that the Prince, who was taken with the Shepheardesses
love, came in to part the loving, yet for love disputing friends, little needed
any peace-maker betweene them, whose affections to each other were so
twined in union, as could not be unwoven by any workeman but death, yet he
loving and pleading for love, they all sat downe joyntly lovers, he loving her,
the Lady her Servant, the Shepheardesse her liberty. The Prince then looking
on her, who so much scorned louelov: and speaking to the other subject of
affection, entreated hee might be so bold, as to beseech the favour of her, to
know who she was, and the manner of her love, she answered, she would not
deny that request, but tell her story with so much truth and passion, as shee
could, hoping by it to win the Shepheardesse to bee her fellow in service, as
her chosen friend in love. “You must use strange eloquence” (said she) “to perswade
me to such a servitude; but if ever I fall into it, it will be to keepe you
company, yet dearely should I buy such a friendship.”

As they were thus going about to relate their stories, the Shepheardesse
started up, saying, she saw her sheepe disturbed, and frighted at something by
the banke, as they were going to drinke; shee ran thither, and looking to see
what it was, found a man drowned, as she thought; she with that cried out,
and the other two came hastily to her, and altogether helping her, lifted him
up, no sooner had she (faire and loving Lady) seene his face, but she forgot
the delicatenesse of her greene Velvet Gowne, the richnesse of her faire carnation,
imbrodred peticote, her white shooes, and rich laced shooties, all was
cast aside, and he being laid on the banke, she laid her selfe in the wet, and on
the ground by him, rubd his pale face, wept, cryd for helpe, did all that a
friend, a servant, but most a lover could doe for his recovering.

Elina saw the care her friend had of him, & with what affection she sought
his saving, she thought it charytie, she liked the vertne, she seemed to lament
with her as her friend, she counterfeited not but in truth sorry, yet at first
she immitated Rossalea, first knew not alasse how to greive, but so she played
till it was so perfectly counterfeited, as she acted beyond that part, and in earnest
greived; palenes heere wonne more then beauty, that to her was the
greatest beauty, wannes and dead lookes, more then chearefull colour, cold
lips more then warme living ones, heate yet in them to burne her: shee
who could not like a living Prince, or any man, falles in love with a dead
man; can such fire rise out of ashes if not kindlied by love the truest fyre;
she who hated love, loves in the most miserable sort, she who contemned affection,
affects an image of a man; nay, she who chid her friend for this fault,
as she calls it, falls into a greater, and more to be disliked, for she doth not only
love, but loves hopelesly, not only a man, but a stranger, and not but which Yyy3 was Yyy3v 544
was above all a man fittest to be for his worth beloved, but her friends chosen
love; here is love just in powre and punishment: Now may Rossalea
not only blame her friend but her selfe, for had she not instructed her, and
wisht her captivity she had never thought of it, had shee not commended
love shee had still continued an enemy unto it, but had shee not so passionatly
loved, and shewed the way by her affectionate and deare expression, shee
had not knowne how to entertaine those flames, or practise the use of
them.

Now Rossalea sigh’s, rubs his temples, layes her lips to his as if to feele if
he breathed. Celina doth so also, but when she toucheth his lips shee finds
a new paine, and yet she stayes on them, and thinkes, nay sweares, Love was
a fine powre, and that she infinitly offended while she did not love, and then
vowes if life come againe to him she will love him, “and needs must I” said she,
“for if in death he be thus lovely and winning, how rare will hee be in life?”
then shee considers he may be the man, her friend loves, seeing her unusuall
griefe for him, and care of him; frendship then comes in, but love prevailes,
and to give her due punishment deluds her as she before told, and described
the truth of loves falshood, and in the same kind she had told Rossalea he used
her, thus she falleth into the snare she perswaded her to avoyd, being fedde
with hope by this blinding spirit, that this might be the much admired brother
of that Lady, but hope had not heere so setled a ground, but that some
other of loves followers came in also; jealousie appeares in yellow mantles
drest against Rossaleas kissing him: “why”, said shee, “if hee bee her brother
doth she so affectionatly kisse and imbrace him, with such deerenes as I doe
who love him; and if her love, why should shee doe this before mee who
so much affect him? Or why should shee be so unkind to her friend, to
manifest her passions before my face to vexe me”
; at last so full of raging love
she was, as shee would scarce let the Lady touch him, who poore woman
could hardly doe it, griefe so abounding in her, and what ease shee had was
only that she saw she should want nothing, Celina her friend being so carefull
of him, this care she imputed to love, love indeed it was, but not as shee
tooke it to her only, but meerely to him, here did that little, though great
conquerour play a master prize; the poore Venetian strove as much by way
of helping as either, and at last searching about him, found a wound in his
left side, whereout issued into his cloathes much blood, the wound hee stopped
and bound neatly up, then with the continuall rubbing him, and throwing
water in his face, he came a little againe to himselfe, breathed, and in a smal
space looked up, and seeing his life in his Mistresse before him, strove to expresse
his joyes, what could shee doe, weepe and wash his face with her
teares, holding each other in their armes twined like bowes wee call
twins; one dying, the other but a little flourishing, hee weake, and
his armes though shaking, yet withall her affections power held her, shee
loving as much as hee, with her armes incircled him, and withall tendernes
and love closed him in her breast; Celina embraced both, loving both as their
kinds were; in excesse on the other side the Venetian held all three, so as the
foure made in their crosse embracements a truelovers knot, and so it was on
some parts; poore Celina, I pitty thee, but what helpe can be found for thee?
alasse none, insolent thou wert to love; scornfully, peevishly reviling him, and Yyy4r 545
and now but deservedly thou art pained, and he justly revenged: this is
scarce the enterance, what will be the successe? paine, torment, losse, affliction,
mourning, lamenting, pining, nay, dying, and this will be the conclusion;
wofull profits, but such as revengefull love allotteth thee; let never woman
(especially hereafter) be so bold to contest, nay contemne so powrefull
a godhead; when this small remainder of life had a little stayed, and gained
some other poore addition to it, the Lady with all love and care entreated Elina to call some boy of hers (as some she had to looke to her flocks) and
send him to her house for her Coach to carry him thither, she called a lad
but loath she was to goe on the message, both for going from him, and by
that meanes to have him carryed from her; but the Venetian tooke his horse,
and being directed by them to the safest foord, rode to the house and speedily
with the Coach returned, bringing a bed in it the easelier to carry him
without shaking, or opening his wounds, the faire sheepheardesse mourned
much at this parting; but one must suffer, and now it is her part and time;
being come to the house, Chirurgions are presently sent for, and soone
brought, for a great Citty was not far off; life was then assured him, but a
long time they thought it would be before he recovered, so much blood he
had lost, and the long lying in the water had hurt the wound and would hold
it something longer from healing, mother never was so tender of a child, as Rossalea of her love; the Venetian as ready as a frend to expresse care, yet
was he amorous, and in the morning after he had seene the Gentleman had
taken rest, he walked forth to find his heart hovering about the body of the
Sheepherdesse, passing downe the walke which went to the Grove, he heard
not far from him, two discoursing earnestly, the one as repenting, the other
threatning; he harkened, though scorning that trick if upon any occasion
but profit to his friend, wherein he was most just and observant, this besides
leading him by their owne inducing speeches on, saying “did I consent to so
detestable a fact led by thy wickednesse.”
“Oh Framincus, that not only thy
selfe may curse, but I already find the hellish tortures for it, my soule boyles
and burns in the flames of my offence, yet thou wickedly sayest thou hast
but revenged thy selfe, and done but right in that, my breast swells with sorrow,
and I pine in dispaire of pardon”
, “a religious poore thing” said hee “thou
art, and as religion tyes me I must not suffer thee too long to languish”
;
then did he with a Dagger in many places stabb him, the youth (for so the
Prince after saw him to bee) patiently, yet sadly taking his ende, committing
himselfe to God and admonishing the other to thinke, to whom hee
had committed himselfe, and his last hopes. With that the Venetian called
Leurenius, step in, and not after the ordinary way taking the hurt body,
but the hurter he caught, and using these words held him. “Villaine”, said he,
“thus to murther one, whose all and least drop of bloud being staind by thee
should so have beene cheerish’d: What canst thou then say in thy defence,
or on thy part, to excuse this cruelty? this youth is not onely slaine by
thee but tyed to suffer the slaughter having no defence for himself, not only
so but as your speeches argue made ill and guilty of bloud, this but annimated
and imboldned him having no more order or bounds then the Sea
hath in a storme on rotten and yeelding ground: wicked soule what canst
thou say to answere thy wickednes?”
“better then you” replyed hee, “this bold and Yyy4v 546
and sawcy inquisition; who authorized you in this examination? who made
you inquisitor or judge?”
“truth and pitty” said Leurenius: “neither ever ruled
or had power in mee”
said Vicianus; “I am Lord of my selfe, and much good
lands hereabout, I owe now nothing to any, I did, and was indebted to the
great keeper of the Forrest, whose command greater then mine I could not
suffer, but after many contentions and controversies betweene us, he not the
man that would submit or yeeld, I layd a plot for revenge, that being my refuge,
and yesterday finding my advantage tooke it, and now am satisfied,
for his life I have, and now am free, this creature being my only Counsellor,
who hurt dangerouslydangerously by him, who intruth was valiant and had many good
parts, yet drowned them all in the brooke of dislike to my orders which were
not to be corrected by him, I so ordered him as wee two I say had his life,
and least that should come out, I have now made away with him, so will I
doe with you (for in such bussinesses I love no Counsell-keepers”
, with that
he let flye at him with a waighty club of Iron, but Leureneus was nimble, and
well used to escape such perrils, so as slipping aside he avoyded it, but withal
stept in like a younger brother to possession, & closing with him threw him
downe; then possest he himselfe with his armes, and forced him to tell him
he had done this ill, he confest it was done by treasons compact, more hee
would not say, but by chance watching opportunity, catched the Princes
dagger and would have stabbed him, but he quickly prevented it, and made
the actor better act his part, shunning the blow, and catching him unprovided,
for resistance armed only with mischeife got the dagger from him, and
throwing him downe on his knees, made him acknowledge his fault, and
make his confession; “the cheife Forrester is a great Lord and infinitely powerfull
in love of friends and people, but most inricht with the affection of
the Lady of the Forrest whom I affected, and who had by the Lords appoyntment,
that honour done to her, that title being given her, which madded
me as much as her refusing me, which proudly she had done, yet sought
I not so much revenge of her, as of her servant, and our Forrest Lord, her
affection I hop’d to winne by love or force, he gone whom she affected, and
to be rid of him I resolved, and yesterday I dispatched it. This youth, my
then in shew cherisht-Lad, slew him with an arrow as hee alone rid to see
his walke, and to bee suer of him when wounded, I threw him into the
Brooke, where if any seeke they may find him; his wound is on the left
side, the instrumēent a Bow, the weapon abroad arrow, so as now if I dye I have
this satisfaction, he goes, and is gone before me.”
“You are” said the Prince,
“much deceived in this, for though hurt, he lives, and to recover wee make
no question, but to assure you of it, you shall goe with me, and from him,
and his deerest only beloved receive your punishment.”
Backe hee led him
by force, and delivered him unto them, he was by the Officers of that part
the Lord being a party having no power to punish him) sent unto the Citty
into a sharpe prison, whence hee was conducted to such punishment as the
Judges, and Officers appointed for him. Leurenius againe going downe towards
the Meddowes to find his heart which in Celinuas breast he saw craving
love, or pitty, she lying on the ground, carelesse of order, or modesty, allmost
distracted, and lying in the most disordered Posture that could be, for so
discreet and curious a woman, tumbling on the ground, clapping her breast, sobbing Zzz1r 547
sobbing, weeping, crying, all passionate joyned to her masterie: one while
she tore her haire, and thrust her face, as it were, into the ground, another
time she rated her passions by sufferance, and so challenged reward: then she
confest the reasons, and so recald her claime; then she blamd her folly, but
quickly commended her love: thus by contrarieties she gained respit, but not
ease from her paines, flying like downe in the ayre; miserable bondage, and
most so, because to a late free heart. “O servitude insufferable, and slavery not
to bee endured. Wretched Celina”
, cryd shee, “that have these unmeasured
thoughts, and want of power to expresse them but in patience”
, some lines she
put together, but so few, as could make no kind of verse, not having proportion,
or number: “these indeed”, said she, “are fit for my making, unmeasurable
thoughts leave me, as hope & help abandons me.”
Then she again vexed to the
soule rold on the grasse, and with her teares to the earth, and on it, “Receive
me deare Mother”
, said she, “into thee, and let me be as I am, once againe with
thee.”
The Prince was grieved to see his soule, which in her was thus perplext,
he cryed against his ill, lamented as for her, and in as much distresse as any
that ever loved, he governed under the weight of his affliction; he heard
her complaine of unfortunate love, he said he might as justly doe so to: she
said it was strangly fatall to love so violently at first sight: He shrug’d, and
said it was his fate; no complaints she would make that he had not the same
cause to dislike, for no payne was in her that hee was not a patient of, yet
strong it was, the paines one, the accident one, and cause one, they were by
two equall sufferings made divers, and severall. She complayn’d shee could
not measure her passions. He, that he could not please her by putting them in
measur’d feete, yet to passe the time, having a fine voyce, and skill fit for a
Prince, he sung this Songe.

“1 Have I lost my liberty, And my selfe, and all, for thee O Love? Yet wilt thou no favour give In my losse thy blame will live; Alas remove. 2 Pitie claimes a just reward, But proud thoughts are thy best guard Once smile: Glory tis to save a life When deceivers are in strife Which to beguile. 3 Your gaine hath my paine begot, But neglect doth prove my lot, O turne, Say it was some other harme, And not your still sought for Charme Did make me burne. Zzz Thus Zzz1v 548 4 Thus may you all blame recall, Saving me from ruins thrall Then love Pitie me, Ile no more say You to cruelty did sway, But loyall prove. 5 Else be sure your tricks Ile blaze, And your triumph Castle raze Take heed, Conquerours cannot remaine Longer then mens hearts they gaine, Worse will you speed. 6 You a King set up by love, Traytors soone may you remove From hy, Take this counsell serve loves will And seeke not a heart to kill, Least both doe cry.”

She heard him, and liked neither, his tune nor words, her heart another
way flying, or staying but to flie further, as taking breath for a longer journey.
He looked towards her, she from him, he went as to her, she rose and
walked towards the Grove; he followed and sigh’d, she went on, and was
deafe to his sorrow; he cried to her, she was silent, and answered not, as not
taking his words to her. He overtooke her, and with teares told her his paine;
she was sorry for him, and could be so, her owne being so great. Hee said her
sight had killed him: she answered, he lived yet (and she hoped should) to be
cured of that wound.

He said, none but she could cure him. She replide, shee was an ill Chirurgion,
else she would not be uncured. “Alas”, said he, “pity me.” “O pitie”, said she,
“have compassion on me.” “It is you deere Shepheardesse” (sigh he) “can and must
pitie me.”
“Pitie”, said she, “hath so little acquaintance with mee, as I cannot invite
her to me, how then shall I spare so much to you?”
“Your first sight” (said
he) “murdred mee.” “Alas that first sight”, said she, should hurt us both; it is my
case, and certainely this is but a charitable paines you take, to helpe me to discover
my paine, which is so intollerable, and past remedie, as both with our
best (and I thinke addition of) wits cannot relate or discover.”

“I but saw you, and my heart was made subject to you.” “I but saw him,
and I was his slave”
, cryd shee. “Would I were that He”, said he. “So would not I”, said Zzz2r 549
said she, “for then I should not have this pleasure in grieving nor tormenting
you.”
“Why, hate you me because I love you?” “No”, answered she, “but because
I am rejected; I love to see others tortured.”
“I will suffer all tortures”, crid he,
so you will at last commiserate my woe.” “I shall in a generall kind”, said she; “for
I shall lament, mourne, and feele my torment, such as I shall pitie all that
smart, and so may pity you, but with no more favour, then a privat man may
take a Kings thanks, when thousands crie, God save him.”
“Will you permit
me to liv, and serve you here”
, said he. “I neede no defendants”, said shee, “and
for servants I have those fitter for my command then you can bee: but Sir
let not falshood, or beguiling hopes abuse you, this is no life for you, this no
place for your abiding, be your selfe, and fruitlesly follow not what you shall
never gaine, proceede in your profession, and as armed against enemies,
arme your selfe against this fond affection, I wish you well, but am unable to
aide you, my heart is disposed of, you a brave Knight may better fit your
selfe with a deserving, and gallant Lady; I wish you all good fortune, but
that now you seeke, and as a friend advise you to leave this sute endlesse, and
gainelesse.”

With that she came to a Gate which opened into a fine Grove, she had the
key, and opening it, went in; yet at the entring turnd, and with a sigh, a
scornefull looke to him, and a slight curtesie bad him farre-well, shutting the
doore after her. He (as in that Country they have a Phrase) returned with a
cold fire to warme himselfe, if not with his owne flames; yet straight hee
went not thence, but a while looked after her, when hee perceived her cast
her selfe on the ground at the roote of a Hauthorne, speaking to her self, but
the words he directly heard not, at last shee sang with a sad voice, a song the
delicate Rossalea had once made, she being perfect in Poetry, it was but finished,
when an other Shepheardesse came to her, as sad, and grieved as she was,
no difference, but that the former had the greater, and curster spirit; this as
much, but milder, and softer; she wept, and had done so long, this distressed
Maid did so too, at last they came nearer to speake, and thus they discoursed.

“What accident”, said Celina, “hath brought you hither?” “Sadnesse and mischance”
said the other. “What procured them”, said the first? “Love”, cryd the
second, “the Lord of hearts, and of yours too I hope, and so should seeme by
your lookes.”
“Mine eies and lookes are but true to my heart”, said Celina. “If they
tell you so, they are but the glasses which I see my selfe in”
, said the other
“drawne to misery.” “We are all picturd in that piece”, said she, “a large cloth, and
full of much worke.”
While they were in this discourse, a third came singing a
song merrily, and carelesly of either being heard, or the power of love, it
was this,

“Love growne proud with victory, Seekes by sleights to conquer me, Painted showes he thinks can bind His commands in womens mind. Love but glories in fond loving, I most joy in not removing. Zzz2 Love Zzz2v 550 Love a word, a looke, a smile, In these shapes can some beguile, But be some new way must prove To make me a vassell love. Love but &c. Love must all his shadowes leane Or himselfe he will deceive, Who loves not the perfect skie, More then clouds that wanton flie. Love but &c. Love, yet thus thou maist me win, If thy staidnesse would begin Then like friends w’ would kindly meete When thou proovst as true as sweete Love then glory in thy loving And Ile joy in my removing.”

“Finely sung” (said Celina), “but it is an idle subject you sang of”, “because tis
love”
(said shee), “because it is not loving”, said the other. “Loving” (cryd the
new come Lasse) “then I would sweare ’twere idle indeed”: “why sweet Celina”
(said shee) “I hope you are none of those poore Vassels, his baby Kingdome
consists of”
; “I am one, if you call his royall government such, and I thinke
one of his truest servants.”
“Now in troth I lament your mischance” (said she)
“it is a fortune I would not wish mine enemy”: “yet your friend”, said Celina, “is
fallen into it”
: “then pitie her, and pray for her I thinke, I were best” (said shee)
“for sure all his subjects are in miserable case.” “I am in it above helpe, or hope
of returning”
; “then”, said she, “both we see nothing is impossible.” “I rejoyce in
your company smilingly”
, said the first come Lasse, “and I lament for you both”
cryed the last: “And I thanke you both”, said Celina, “and for you I hope
ere long by such an occasion, or some worse, you may fall into my fortune.”

The Prince seeing all the three thus free in discourse, intreated, that hee
might be admitted, Celina was perswaded by them, and so they cald him in:
then began they againe to talk, at last they went to prety playes, as chusing of
Kings and Queenes; the lot fell on Celina, who commanded the Venetian
to stay no longer in those parts, but to goe unto his friends, and in witnesse
of his captivitie, to travell unarmd, till he met them, or was forced by injurie
to put them on. This was more then sport, yet hee obayed, and having liberty
to take his leave of the Lady, hee kissed her hand, and departed. The
last Shepheardesse that so reviled love, being called Lemnia sigh’d at this parting,
loving good cōompany, or him who had gaind frōom her a more kind conceit,
then she had had formerly of mankind, as if the spring to the summer of her
love, which increased by a strange heat, growing in absence to the height of
flaming, as if the fire of love were so universal, as the warmth like that of the
Sun, would heat worlds at a time: so his force serv’d in absence to scorch, nay
burne her heart. Shee looked after him as long as shee could see him, and marking Zzz3r 551
marking his loving lookes backe cast, and sad on Celina, she liked, pittied and
lov’d his manner, so him, and at last stole in to be a lover before shee was aware;
a crafty Ladd this Cupid is, poore creatures how you are beguiled
by him. Celina, and Derina had enough now to please themselves, and vexe
her withall, yet sometimes, and often the latter part fell to them, while she
pleased her selfe with her passions; these three now soundly captive might
daunce the trickes of Love to the tune of Sorrow. Celina loves one whose
heart and soule was her friends. Lemnia a Prince stranger, and loving Celina. Derina a brave youth, but married to the Forrest Lords Sister, poore
soules, and the poorest, loving thus hopelessely; All they could doe in their
best humours, was to lament absence, in the curstest, and worst to raile at
Love, and their misfortune, curse sight, hearing, beleeving, and all that
were assistants, instruments, or sufferers to these passions; but the Venetian
having (as the rest had at first done) sworne to obey what ever he was
commanded, went with sad steps up the Hill, his heart falling faster into
despaire, then his feet ascended.

When he came into the Garden hee met the Lady, who told him some
were with her Lord about businesse, therefore intreated him to stay, hee obeyed
her, and being loth to have his ill known, which might be imputed to
folly in him, to avoyd her question, intreated to heare her story, which thus
shee related.

“My name” (said she) “is Belizia, daughter to the Earle Marshall of this
Countrey, neere allied I am to the greatest of this Land, but onely tyed
to this Forrest Lord, for whose sake, I have forsaken all, and live heere a
lonely life with him; much my friends, and Kindred were displeased withall,
his meanes being small, though his honour and worth great, which I looked
on, & loved and so to them gave my heart, and had not this misfortue hapned,
the celebration of my gift had beene perform’d to our onely joyes this
next weeke, but now must be deferrd, though I trust to be one day happy
for all this misery; never man hath beene so loving, nor so constant; nor
if I may speake for my selfe, never any woman hath beene so firme and
passionate, none yet so secret; for many yeares I loved before I acknowledged
it, nay, before any thought I could thinke on such a flame, yet when
discover’d, some remembred I had beene a good friend to his pretty godhead,
never suffering him to be abused when my power could helpe his honours
defence.”

“One of his Sisters was the first mistrusted me, and telling me of it, I denied
it, but so blushingly, and faintly, as that was a perfect confession. She
loved me so well, as she was glad of it, being sure to have a perpetuall tye on
me by this meanes, which though shee might have assured her selfe of beefore,
yet Lovers love strictest tyes to bind their loved to them; so much indeed
wee loved, as but the faire Celina I affected her onely, and best of
woman kinde.”

“The ill man you tooke yesterday, my friends had rather have bestowed me
on, but he was contrary to my heart to like, would so I had been to his, then
had not my deere beene wounded, nor hee come to so untimely an end, for
this last night (before his time for execution, by the Lawe appointed) hee
strangled himselfe in the Prison, having nothing but his garters to execute Zzz3 his Zzz3v 552
his wicked enterprise”
: withall when this Story was thus telling, one came
unto the Lady, to let her know, that many Ladies were come to visit her,
shee then, though unwillingly, tooke leave of the Venetian, whose good,
and faire behaviour gave content where ever he did come, but he said, hee
was compell’d by necessity, so hee tooke his way, first taking leave of the
Lord, his Squire carrying his Armes, he not being to weare any, while hee
was in Brittany, by his cruell Loves command.

Hee travelled till he came to London, admiring the bravery, and sumptuousnesse
of the Citty, but most of the Court, arriving just against a mighty
tryumph was to made in honour of the King, and some strange Princes
who came of purpose to honour themselves, with kissing his hands. Nobly,
and courteously was hee received at the Court, much was hee perplexed
with passion, much pittied by all, and as much hee was troubled, that
hee was barred from exercising himselfe in those sports, which by reason
of his promise to Celina hee could not doe, not being able to weare armes
while he was in Brittany, if not for defence, yet at the Ring he ranne, and
did it so finely, as the King and all admir’d him; heere hee stayed the
conclusion of the tryumphs, then remembring his friends, and oath, he took
his leave, taking towards that place where he arrived, just as the Florentine
did, but when he saw Leurenius in a Court Suit of Willow colour Sattin
embrodered with Gold, his Armour trust up, & carried on a Horse after him,
“What Metamorphosis is here”, cry’d he? “Is this Leurenius the brave Venetian
Prince, and my friend?”
“While I was worthy, I was so, but now am nothing”,
reply’d he, “but sorrow and despaire.” “What is the cause” said he, & “what makes
you travell contrary to our vow, unarm’d?”
“Overcome” (cryd hee) “by the
power not equallable of a Shepherdesse, and by her command to leave this
Countrey, and to travell unarmed till I met with you, having heard my story,
and my former ill fortune, she added this to me the worst of ills.”

“Brittany”, said the Duke of Florence, “hath beene counted the most pleasant,
delightfull, and happiest Countrey in the world, being for all bounty
of contents a world it selfe, nothing missing or wanting to the full plenty of
happinesse.”
“Yes” said Leurenius, “pitty wants in the heart of Celina”, “and in a
Lady whom I met”
, sigh’d the Florentine, “and who hath tyed me as fast as you
are in the bonds of Love, but not of slavery, for you are a little to far gone,
but Leureninus here is good newes, the Emperor is found, and we must straight
repaire unto him”
, “Celina to be thus causlesly cruell alas, but is the Emperour
found?”
“and you utterly lost”, cryd his friend “I feare”: “feare not deare friend”,
(said he) she will not yeeld, her heart made of these Rocks cannot be pierced,
her soule hath no compassion, nor will heare more to pitty, then fire will by
supplication when it is ruining the rarest buildings, then feare not I shall goe
with you”
; “but” said the Florentine “you are much alter’d in your speech, your
discourse differs, nor is so certaine.”
“All is in mee uncertaine, but my
love, that is fixt”
cry’d hee, “I am Love, I love, and will love.” His friend
beheld him with infinite griefe, cursing the accident that parted them,
on the ground hee cast himselfe, a banke by chance being there greene,
and cleane, rouled on it, wept, and groveling on the ground, wiped
his face againe with it, thus, “thus”, cryed hee, “would I have done at
Court, cursing the order that held me from it; my heart swelled with bearingring Zzz4r 553
my paines, and all the honours done me were but corsives to my soule,
shee, she Celina having banished me.”
“Leave these vain passions” said his friend.
“I must leave my selfe first” cryed he. “I love deare friend, and if you could love
so, you would not wonder at mee but envy my happinesse in being such an
one.”
“Such an one”, cryed hee, “God forbid, I love, and this Countrey I may
thanke for it also: this charming Countrey; for no better, shee is fil’d with
inchaunting beauties fram’d to tye, and ruine men: revile not this blessed
Realme, the flower of peace, beauty, honour, vertue, happinesse, and most
of Shepheardesses. I love this Countrey, and I love, did not the valiant Hercules
love?”
“Yes”, said the other, “and spin almost as wise a web as you goe
about to doe, certainly (deare friend) I shall in my extremity gaine helpe
by seeing your affliction; but man what thinke you of the Emperour?”
“God
blesse him”
, said Leurenius, “and make Celina knde, els I dye.” His companion
was discreet and loving, so he urg’d him no further, but made the Squire tell
the story of the Emperour, as his Master the Duke of Burgundy had related
it to him, and commanded him to deliver it to the Princes, and as hee found
any of them to send them still home. When that unfortunate hunting was
past, wherein Amphilanthus was lost, the Queene distrest, and all the Princes
scatter’d, the Emperour having got his armes, followed in search of Pamphilia,
who was (as he by a villaine was inform’d) stollen away by Theeves,
in the wood, hotly pursuing the quest, rage and revenge boyling in his brest,
hee hapned on a strange place for thicknesse and obscurenesse; yet the undaunted
and loving Prince proceeded till he found a Crowne of stones, of
infinite and huge bignesse; weary with travell, he allighted, and thinking
to rest, tyde his horse to one of those stones, no sooner was it done, but a
terrible, fierce and mighty boare, issued out of the wood, running mainly at Amphilanthus, but he thinking to shun the encounter, and take advantage of
the Beast, in his passing, the Horse unruly at the sight of him, did his best
likewise, striking at him, but missing him, the Boare with his tuske strake
the Horse into the body, so he died. The Emperour troubled as well for the
love hee bore the horse, as for his want and danger hee remain’d in with this
cruell beast, watch’d opportunirty, with vow of revenge, and so as the Boare
ran at him, hee step’d aside, and nimbly skipping in againe, thrust him to the
heart before he could turne. This was no sooner done, but many men arm’d
set upon him, he valiantly, like himselfe, defended his honour and life, one
young man unarm’d, but above all most harming him, and pressing more then
the rest upon him, he slew, the rest all at the instant vanish’d, and with a blow
given that was on the head, which cut him to the eyes, a voyce cryed, “Farewell
Amphilanthus”
; the voyce he knew, and presently in stead of that young
man, hee saw to his thinking Pamphilia slaine, and by his hand; hee threw
himselfe on the ground, striving to helpe her, but shee was carried into a
stone which lay in the middest of the Crowne, by whom hee could not see:
but how did he labour to hold her backe or keepe her with him, who living
never sought, but to be with him, nor now left him, deceipt onely abusing
him by this inchauntment; intreat, pull, all would not serve, stronger powers
had her, as hee beleeved, and made her inocently offend, and part from
him shee intirely and loyally lov’d, and from whom she never slid: into
the stone shee was carried, up hee then rose, with his sword striking at Zzz4v 554
at the stone, as to hew it asunder, and take her out, but his sword stuck therein:
wilt thou leave mee too said he? then his armour he pul’d off which with
the blowes those inchanted men strake was much hacked, and blood thrown
of purpose, as if shed by him upon it (when hee was unarm’d he laid the pieces
on the stone, vowing that should be his monument, being the richest, her
heart inclosing him, and there would he dye, a Ring of iron hee then saw,
which pulling hard, opened the stone; there did hee perceive perfectly within
it Pamphilia dead, lying within an arch, her breast open and in it his name
made, in little flames burning like pretty lamps which made the letters, as if
set round with diamonds, and so cleare it was, as hee distinctly saw the letters
ingraven at the bottome in Characters of bloud; he ran to take her up, &
try how to uncharme her, but he was instantly throwne out of the Cave in
a trance, and being come againe to himselfe, resolving to dye, or to release
her since he found her loyalty, he saw these words onely written in place of
the entrance.

This no wonder’s of much waight,

’Tis the hell of deepe deceit.

Admiring it and the words he was called to for helpe by Musalina, her hee
saw, she must be followed, Pamphilia is forgotten, and now may lie and burne
in the Cave, Lucenia must bee rescued also, her hee saw madly carried by a
savage man, he ran towards the place hee saw them goe into, as he thought,
then were they there rudely handled, and they carried severall wayes, all
that night in the wood he lay, three passions distract him, tyred with running,
and laded with griefe, in sleepe Lucenia wan him, all passions now but how
to recover her having abandoned him; three dayes hee did wander thus,
till at the end of them towards night hee came unto the Sea, there hee saw
a savage man take her up in his armes and throw her into a Boate, leaping
himselfe after, and when she would have throwne her selfe into the Sea, crying
still to Amphilanthus to succour and have compassion of her, the rude
wretch tyed her by the hayre, to his leg, and so road away with her. Musalina
from the wood againe claming ayd, with her hayre rudely cast about
her, and lowdest cryes; the divine powers held him for all this witchcraft,
from hurting himselfe, else certainly hee had beene much in danger, what
passions hee suffered then cannot be told, a furnace of fiery torments blazing
& burning in him, then came on other boats, as standing doubtfully whether
to returne to Pamphilia, or follow Lucenia, but force of charmes prevaile,
so hee called to that and those in it, offer’d money, pray’d, besought, used
all meanes to gaine passage, at last the barke put in, and tooke him aboard,
a storme then rose, or as by charmes he beleeved not, yet being free from
those divellish witchcrafts, till he arrived at Tenedos, on the shore hee saw Musalina and Lucenia walking, and safe; Musalina having by divellish Art
beene the cause of all this. Now had he almost forgot all had past by the
inchantment, that being almost finisht, but all things before happening were
fresh in his memory, his sword, armour and horse hee had hee thought use
of, and now blames himselfe for going so madly and foolishly unarmed,
but they saluted him, welcomd him, cherish’d him, hee told his
fortune, how pleasant and deare was this to them, “and now”, said hee, “I am dis- Zzz5r 555
disinchanted”
, “and to us most affectionatly welcome said they”; “no more shall
charmes now trouble you, from them, and through them”
said hee, “I have
broken, and am come to you, and there is hee still living in much pleasure, the
Duke my Master, by his travelling that way, after adventures many and
dangerous, landing in Tenedos, where hee happily (because the search ended)
found the Emperour, but seeing his resolution tooke his leave of him,
and the Princes of Denmarke and Swethland, whom he met and rescued in
a cruell fight at Sea against Pyrates, with noble victory, are all returned and
gone into their severall Countryes, sending me hither to seeke you, being advertised
by the ships that brought you hither, asking of all ships and men
still for you, that you were by her landed heere”
, “am I faulty” said Leurenius “to
be charmed by love? since the earths glory, and such a Ruler as Amphilanthus
can be charmed”
, “Love” said the Florantine “hath in this greatest triumph”;
the Duke of Savoy the next day arrived, who told his story thus: after they
had to him related the Emperours fortunes, his discourse being of the rescuing
of a distressed Lady set on by theeves, who finding advantage by her
staying a little behind her company, had ceazed on her, robbed her of her
Jewels, and would have shipped her, she lamentably complayned, he comming
by heard her, so he relieved her, and her servants wanting her also,
came in to her succour, many thankes he had for his noble favours, and most
when she knew that he was a great Prince, and a stranger, and would be so free
and courteous to a strange Lady: after that adventure being a brave one, saving
the modest honor of a Lady, he returned with little more knowledg of
Brittany, the time short of stay, the places desart and wanting of adventures,
Knights none to encounter, peace having with true honor and conquest, taken
away those rude troubles, and travels, all these met, they resolved, to goe
to their owne homes, and thence send to know what the Emperour would
doe, and so resolved, home they went: The Florentine being so free as to
leave his heart with the sad loving Lady, the Venetian so mad to give his
unrewarded to Celina, but the Savoyan, graver and more stayd, as his yeares
were some more then theirs, carryed his home to bestow it in his owne
ayre.

Amphilanthus having stayd in Tenedos, sometime walking abroad alone,
many severall thoughts possessing him, he saw a Nymph sitting by a Brooke
side, being in the evening, besides a private and unfrequented place, each
Angle and wanton winding embanked with trees, and flowres, reeds, rushes,
all other water commodyties richly abounding there, for the service and
pleasure of such like her selfe, she stood still behind a large willow tree, while
she undressed her, and pulled off her fine aparell, as her upper garments and
ruffe, her necke then remayning bare, so as more fine and delicate she seemd,
and merrily did she this, singing a dainty song concerning chastity; so pure
and mild is the streame neare her thoughts, and actions such as made the
Emperour jealous if he could be so, being royally free from such folly, yet
tender he was least the Brooke with his cold (and her unused to cold) armes
might make her start and so molest her with such unpleasing imbracements,
therefore to preserve her from such hazard, and her honor from the danger,
her naked simplicity might bring her to, in any hands but his, he spake to her,
now was she amazed, bashfulnes, modestie, feare, trembling and all possessingsing Zzz5v 556
her, yet so prettily in such danger she looked, and such commanding in
petitioning lookes she cast, as humility and submission directly governed,
but he who was by them, only put in mind of such as once pleased him, he in
place of taking, or thinking, of taking these, asking favour, or using power,
told her she neede not feare him, who only sought to gaine quiet rest to his
thoughts which were wandring to his heart, distant thence by much; then
with teares in his eyes, casting them up as unwilling to let such passions governe
in him, or seeme to doe so in his bravest parts, though he must thus
be subject to passion, he walked away toward the house againe, more perplexed
then ever; sigh she did, & so, as made every good heart groane to heare
them, strangly alterd he grew, the cause none knew, many, most, nay al that
saw him, admired, after supper some two dayes being past, the Duke of Saxsony,
arriving there, having heard of his being in that Iland, he told the Ladyes
that the Squire had bin long without him, and that hee must confesse
himselfe extreame negligent, and unworthy of that dignity no more prizing
the care of it, wherefore hee resolved with the Duke of Saxony the next
morning to take his way towards Germany, and because the wayes were
tedious, long, and besides filled with such noble friends of his, as would
make him stay longer then he was willing, he would goe by Sea. Musalina
and Lucenia were much grieved at this, but reason, and there auncient knowledge
of his resolutions if once resolutly taken, not to bee removed, were
forced to give consent; Lucenia came with him to the waters side, so to passe
over into Romania to the Queene againe to serve her, Musalina so farre
brought him and her, there they tooke their leaves. The Emperour and his
frendly servant, sayling along the Archipelago, Amphilanthus willed him
to tell him his adventure, which he did, having all hapned in Pamphilia, lead
therein by marvellous, rare, and unheard passages, then hee told him
as occasion brought in, his being at the Nimphs house, where the Queene
had laine, her recovering her first love by their meanes and discourse, with
the Queenes passion and griefe for him, and his losse, and all the sorrow
which after these Adventures were finished he found, and left Pamphilia in,
directly assuring him, that in such miserable griefe she remained, as long she
could not sustaine. Lastly, how Polarchos kept the crowned Stones, none at
his departure being assured of the Emperours life, or being, but within the
Stone.


These things wrought in him, like drops falling on soft stones, they weare
in to them at last, though in the beginning touch & slide off; more & more
this pierced, and so much strengthned with his owne affection, as hee resolves
to see her; so he commanded the Mariners to land him on the Pamphilian
shore, which they did, hee enjoyning them to saile on for Germany, giving
the Duke of Saxony letters to Ollorandus, and the rest of the Counsell, with
all instructions fit for such imployment, promising to be there in short time
after, nothing (this visitation made) should hinder him; the Duke humblie
kissing his hands, overwhelmed with joy for this good newes, and assured
hope of the having it performed, went for Germany, safely arriving there,
the King Ollorandus more joyed with this blessed intelligence, then with all
the happinesses he ever enjoyed, Bonfires and all expressions of joy made, in
testimony of this happy tidings, and all the Princes sent unto, to come and assemble Zzz6r 557
assemble themselves against his returne, which with glad soules they did, for
as their soules they loved him; griefe now abiding no where but in the Ladyes
breasts, who hardly brooked absence; but variety of content made
that passion and want sufferable.

Pamphilia still continued her devout vow, and heart tormenting sorrow,
was yet by her servants and Nobles perswaded to ride abroad; she was wonderfull
unwilling, knowing it would but trouble her the more, for what pleased
others tormented her; what others delighted in vext her to see? what others
gloryed and pleasured in, tortured her; when others commended the
sweete Ayre, pleasant Feilds, Brookes, Meddowes, Springs, Flowres,
“all these” said shee, shew severally to mee my only losse, and serve but as if I
wanted remembrance of him, which I should hate my soule for, if shee had
not true, and multiplicity of worthy matters to glory in the memory of him,
and sorrow for his losse”
; that word losse, made her as if loose her selfe in
passion, yet never lost she the use and plenty of her teares, being as if silent,
and retyred to spare her breath to spend it in sighs for him, and her thoughts
to be exprest in teares; yet abroad she went to satisfie their desires, and as it
happened to content her selfe, although had any that morning but spoken
that word, as if she should be content, it had bin as ill to her, as meriting
her disfavour; but comming into a wood, sweete and delicately pleasing to
all but her selfe, to whom nothing could be in that nature, she walked alone
having lighted from her horse, commanding them to attend her returne in
that place, they obeyed, and she wandred a good space, her thoughts yet
making farther journeyes, yet so farre shee went till shee came to a dainty
Spring, issuing out of a stony banke upon pibbles, and making on them a
murmuring, sweetely dolefull tune, cleere the water was running on gravell;
and such as was fit for her cleere eyes to looke upon, weepe shee did, teares
falling into the streame, not much increasing the brightnes of it, though abundantly
they fell, but certainely inriching it with rare sweetnes, and dropping
into it such vertue as appeared after in some that dranke of it, for at that
very instant there arrived a Knight armed on horsebacke, the Queene heard
his horse, and looking up contrary to her accustomed fashion, had no sudden
wit to leave the place, but sat still or lay still as she did, hee saw her not, but
seeing the dainty streame alighted to drinke of it, and not knowing a readier
way, pulled first his gauntlet off, then his helme to take up some of the water;
the Queene lying among the flowres, and some bushes betweene, so as
she could better see him, then he discerne her, especially not thinking of any
there perceived; O what? nay what? her soule without her selfe, because
in an other body returned, she quickly rose up, and as she parted so hoped
to meete him, kind to her, she ranne unto him, forgiving, nay forgeting
all injuries, he seeing her threw downe his helme, with open armes received
her, and withall unfained affection embraced her, and well might hee
joyfully doe it, love thus exprest, besides a labour saved of asking pardon, but
here such Ceremonies needed not, those are by these lovers thought fit for
either false Lovers, that must make up their contents with words, or new or
unexperienced Lovers, who talke halfe their time away, but they knew each
other, loved, onelyonely happy in each other, and admired each others loves; never
was such affection exprest, never so truly felt, to the company, they together retur- Zzz6v 558
returned, he leading her, or rather imbracing her with his cōonquering armes,
and protesting the water he dranke being mixed with her teares, had so infused
constancy and perfect truth of love in it, as in him it had wrought the like
effect, “then were they the best bestowed teares that ever my eyes shed,
though till now hardly have they bin dry”
said she; speake not” said hee “of so
sad a busines, we are now againe together, and never, so againe, I hope, to
part”
, to her traine thus they arrived, but when knowne by them, they never
staid to be called to kisse his hands, but ranne all at once, every one striving
to be first, and all casting themselves at his feete, he tooke them up, and with
much noble kindnes received them; then they returned to the Cittie, and the
next day to the wood againe to see the hell of deceit, but now no more to
be abused, thence they brought with them the most loyall servant, and the
bravest friend that ever man had, the noble Polarchos; Amphilanthus now
recovered his Sword, and brought home his Armour, resolving nothing
should remaine as witnesses of his former ficklenes, or the property of that
place, destroying the monument, the Charmes having conclusion with his
recovering; but none but himselfe could have gayned the Sword, because
belonging to him, millions had tryed in the meanespace, and all lamentably
perplext; now all is finished, Pamphilia blessed as her thoughts, heart, and
soule wished: Amphilanthus expreslesly contented, Polarchos truly happy,
and joyfull againe; this still continuing all living in pleasure, speech is of the
Germans journey, Amphilanthus must goe, but intreates Pamphilia to goe as
far as Italy with him, to visit the matchles Queene his mother, she consents,
for what can she denye him? all things are prepared for the journey, all now
merry, contented, nothing amisse; greife forsaken, sadnes cast off, Pamphilia
is the Queene of all content; Amphilanthus joying worthily in her; And

Aaaa1r 1

Pamphilia, to AmphilanthvUs.

1

When night’s blacke Mantle could most darknesse prove,

And sleepe (deaths Image) did my senses hyre,

From Knowledge of my selfe, then thoughts did move

Swifter then those, most swiftnesse neede require.

In sleepe, a Chariot drawne by wing’d Desire,

I saw; where sate bright Venus Queene of Love,

And at her feete her Sonne, still adding Fire

To burning hearts, which she did hold above,

But one heart flaming more then all the rest,

The Goddesse held, and put it to my breast,

Deare Sonne now shut, said she, thus must we winne;

He her obeyd, and martyr’d my poore heart.

I waking hop’d as dreames it would depart,

Yet since, O me, a Lover I have beene.

2

Deare eyes how well indeed, you doe adorne

That blessed Sphere, which gazing soules hold deare?

The loved place of sought for triumphs, neere

The Court of Glory, where Loves force was borne.

How may they terme you Aprills sweetest morne?

When pleasing lookes, from those bright lights appeare

A Sunne-shine day, from clowdes, and mists still cleare:

Kinde nursing fires for wishes yet unborne.

Two Starres of Heaven sent downe to grace the Earth,

Plac’d in that Throne which gives all joyes their birth,

Shining, and burning; pleasing yet their Charmes:

Which wounding even in hurts are deem’d delights;

So pleasant is their force, so great their mights,

As happy they can tryumph in their harmes.

Aaaa Yet Aaaa1v 2

3

Yet is there hope, then Love but play thy part,

Remember well thy selfe, and thinke on me;

Shine in those eyes which conquer’d have my heart,

And see if mine, be slacke to answer thee.

Lodge in that breast, and pitty mooving see,

For flames which in mine burne in truest smart,

Exciling thoughts, that touch Inconstancy,

Or those which waste not in the constant Art.

Watch but my sleepe, if I take any rest,

For thought of you, my spirit so distrest,

As pale and famish’d, I for mercy cry.

Will you your servant leave? thinke but on this,

Who weares Love’s Crowne, must not doe so amisse

But seeke their good, who on thy force doe lye.

4

Forbeare darke night, my joyes now budd againe,

Lately growne dead, while cold aspects, did chill

The roote at heart, and my chiefe hope quite kill,

And thunders strooke me in my pleasures waine.

Then I alas with bitter sobs, and paine,

Privately groan’d, my Fortunes present ill;

All light of comfort dimb’d, woes in prides fill,

With strange encrease of griefe, I griev’d in vaine.

And most, when as a memory to good

Molested me, which still as witnes stood,

Of those best dayes, in former time I knew:

Late gone as wonders past, like the great Sow,

Melted and wasted, with what, change must know:

Now backe the life comes where as once it grew.

5

Can pleasing sight misfortune ever bring?

Can firme desire a painefull torment trye?

Can winning eyes prove to the heart a sting?

Or can sweet lips in Treason hidden lye?

The Sunne most pleasing, blindes the strongest eye,

If two much look’d on, breaking the sights string;

Desires still crost must unto mischiefe hie,

And as Despaire, a lucklesse chance may fling.

Eyes Aaaa2r 3

Eyes having none, rejecting prooves a sting,

Killing the budd before the tree doth spring;

Sweet lipps, not loving, do as poyson prove:

Desire, sight, eyes, lipps; seeke, see, prove, andand finde,

You love may winn, but curses, if unkinde,

Then shew you harmes dislike, and joy in love.

6

O Strive not still to heape disdaine on me,

Nor pleasure take, your cruelty to show

On haplesse me, on whom all sorrowes flow,

And byding make, as given, and lost by thee.

Alas, even griefe is growne to pitty me,

Scorne cryes out gainst it selfe such ill to show,

And would give place for joyes delights to flow;

Yet wretched I, all torture beare from thee.

Long have I suffer’d, and esteem’d it deare,

Since such thy will, yet grew my paine more neere:

Wish you may ende, say so, you shall it have;

For all the deapth of my heart-held despaire,

Is that for you, I feele not Death for care,

But now Ile seeke it, since you will not save.

Song. I.

The Spring now come at last

To Trees, Fields, to Flowres,

And Meadowes makes to taste

His pride, while sad showres

Which from mine eyes doe flow

Makes knowne with cruell paines,

Cold Winter yet remaines,

No signe of Spring wee knowe.

The Sunne which to the Earth

Gives heate, light, and pleasure,

Joyes in Spring hateth Dearth,

Plenty makes his Treasure.

His heate to me is colde,

His light all darknesse is,

Since I am barrd of blisse,

I heate, nor light behold

Aaaa2 A Sheep. Aaaa2v 4

A Shepherdesse thus said,

Who was with griefe opprest,

For truest Love betrayd,

Barrd her from quiet rest:

And weeping thus, said shee,

My end approacheth neere,

Now Willow must I weare,

My Fortune so will bee.

With Branches of this tree

Ile dresse my haplesse head,

Which shall my witnesse bee,

My hopes in Love are dead:

My cloathes imbroder’d all,

Shall be with Garlands round,

Some scatter’d, others bound;

Some tyde, some like to fall.

The Barke my Booke shall bee,

Where dayly I will write,

This tale of haples mee,

True slave to Fortunes spite.

The roote shall be my bedd,

Where nightly I will lye

Wailing in constancy,

Since all true love is dead.

And these Lines I will leave,

If some such Lover come,

Who may them right conceive,

And place them on my Tombe:

She who still constant lov’d

Now dead with cruell care,

Kill’d with unkind Dispaire,

And change, her end heere prov’d.

7

Love leave to urge, thou knowest thou hast the hand

’Tis Cowardize to strive where none resist,

Pray thee leave off, I yeeld unto thy band,

Doe not thus still in thine owne power persist.

Behold, I yeeld; let forces be dismist,

I am thy Subject conquer’d bound to stand

Never thy foe, but did thy claime assist,

Seeking thy due of those who did withstand.

But Aaaa3r 5

But now it seemes thou would’st I should thee love,

I doe confesse, ’twas thy will made mee choose,

And thy faire shewes made me a Lover prove,

When I my freedome did for paine refuse.

Yet this, Sir god, your Boy-ship I despise,

Your charmes I obey, but love not want of eyes.

8

Ledd by the power of griefe to wailings brought,

By false conceit of change fallen on my part;

I seeke for some small ease by lines which bought,

Increase the paine; griefe is not cur’d by Art.

Ah! how unkindnesse moves within the heart,

Which still is true and free from changing thought:

What unknowne woe it breeds, what endlesse smart,

With ceaslesse teares which causelesly are wrought.

It makes me now to shun all shining light,

And seeke for blackest clouds me light to give:

Which to all others onely darknesse drive;

They on me shine, for Sunne disdaines my sight.

Yet though I darke doe live, I triumph may,

Unkindnes, nor this wrong shall love allay.

9.

Be you all pleas’d, your pleasures grieve not me;

Doe you delight? I envy not your joy:

Have you content? contentment with you be:

Hope you for blisse? hope still, and still enjoy.

Let sad misfortune, haplesse me destroy,

Leave crosses to rule me, and still rule free:

While all delights their contraries imploy,

To keepe good backe, and I but torments see.

Joyes are bereav’d me, harmes doe only tarry,

Despaire takes place, disdaine hath got the hand:

Yet firme love holds my senses in such band,

As (since despised) I with sorrow marry.

Then if with griefe I now must coupled bee,

Sorrow Ile wed; Despaire thus governes mee.

Aaaa3 10.The Aaaa3v 6

10.

The weary Traveller, who tyred, sought

In places distant farre, yet found no end

Of paine or labour, nor his state to mend:

At last with joy is to his home backe brought.

Findes not more ease though he with joy be fraught,

When past his feare content like soules ascend:

Then I, on whom new pleasures doe descend,

Which now as high as first-borne blisse is wrought.

He tyred with his paines, I with my minde;

He all content receives by ease of lymbs:

I, greatest happinesse that I doe finde,

Beliefe for faith, while hope in pleasure swimmes.

Truth saith ’twas wrong conceit bred my despight,

Which once acknowledg’d, brings my hearts delight.

11.

You endlesse torments that my rest oppresse,

How long will you delight in my sad paine?

Will never Love your favour more expresse?

Shall I still live, and ever feele disdaine?

Alasse now stay, and let my griefe optaine

Some end; feede not my heart with sharpe distresse:

Let me once see my cruell fortunes gaine,

At least release, and long-felt woes redresse.

Let not the blame of cruelty disgrace

The honour’d title of your god-head Love;

Give not just cause for me so say, a place

Is found for rage alone on me to move.

O quickly end, and doe not long debate

My needfull ayd, lest helpe doe come too late.

12.

Cloy’d with the torments of a tedious night,

I wish for day; which come, I hope for joy:

When crosse I finde, new tortures to destroy,

My woe-kild heart, first hurt my mischiefes might.

Then crye for night, and once more day takes flight.

And brightnesse gone, what rest should heere injoy

Usurped is: Hate will her force imploy;

Night cannot Griefe intombe though blacke as spite.

My Aaaa4r 7

My thoughts are sad, her face as sad doth seeme;

My paines are long, her howers tedious are;

My griefe is great, and endlesse is my care;

Her face, her force, and all of woes esteeme.

Then welcome Night, and farewell flattering day,

Which all hopes breed, and yet our joyes delay.

Song. 2.

All Night I weepe, all Day I cry, Ay me,

I still doe wish, though yet deny, ay me:

I sigh, I mourne, I say that still,

I only am the store for ill, ay me.

In coldest hopes I freeze, yet burne, ay me,

From flames I strive to flye, yet turne, ay me:

From griefe I hast, but sorrowes hye,

And on my heart all woes doe lye, ay me.

From contraries I seeke to run, ay me,

But contraries I cannot shun, ay me:

For they delight their force to trye,

And to Despaire my thoughts doe tye, ay me.

Whither alasse then shall I goe, ay me,

When as Despaire all hopes outgoe, ay me:

If to the Forrest Cupid hies,

And my poore soule to his law tyes, ay me.

To the Court: O no, he cryes fye, ay me,

There no true love you shall espye, ay me:

Leave that place to falsest Lovers,

Your true love all truth discovers, ay me,

Then quiet rest, and no more prove, ay me,

All places are alike to Love, ay me:

And constant be in this begun,

Yet say, till Life with Love be done, Ay me.

13.

Deare famish not what you your selfe gave foode,

Destroy not what your glory is to save:

Kill not that soule to which you spirit gave,

In pitty, not disdaine, your triumph stood.

An easie thing it is to shed the bloud

Of one who at your will yeelds to the grave:

But more you may true worth by mercy crave,

When you preserve, not spoyle, but nourish good.

Your Aaaa4v 8

Your sight is all the food I doe desire,

Then sacrifice me not in hidden fire,

Or stop the breath which did your praises move.

Thinke but how easie ’tis a sight to give,

Nay, even desert, since by it I doe live,

I but Camelion-like, would live, and love.

14.

Am I thus conquer’d? have I lost the powers

That to withstand which joyes to ruine me?

Must I bee still, while it my strength devoures,

And captive leads me prisoner bound, unfree?

Love first shall leaueleave mens fant’sies to them free,

Desire shall quench loves flames, Spring, hate sweet showres;

Love shall loose all his Darts, have sight, and see

His shame and wishings, hinder happy houres.

Why should we not Loves purblinde charmes resist?

Must we be servile, doing what he list?

No, seeke some host to harbour thee: I flye

Thy Babish tricks, and freedome doe professe;

But O, my hurt makes my lost heart confesse:

I love, and must; so farewell liberty.

15.

Truely (poore night) thou welcome art to me,

I love thee better in this sad attire

Then that which rayseth some mens fant’sies higher,

Like painted outsides, which foule inward be.

I love thy grave and saddest lookes to see,

Which seemes my soule and dying heart entire,

Like to the ashes of some happy fire,

That flam’d in joy, but quench’d in misery.

I love thy count’nance, and thy sober pace,

Which evenly goes, and as of loving grace

To us, and mee, among the rest opprest,

Gives quiet peace to my poore selfe alone,

And freely grants day leave; when thou art gone,

To give cleare light, to see all ill redrest.

16.Sleepe Bbbb1r 9

16.

Sleepe fye possesse me not, nor doe not fright

Me with thy heavy, and thy deathlike might:

For counterfetting’s vilder then death’s sight;

And such deluding more my thoughts doe spight.

Thou suffer’st falsest shapes my soule t’affright,

Sometimes in likenesse of a hopefull spright;

And oft times like my Love, as in despight;

Joying, thou canst with malice kill delight.

When I (a poore foole made by thee) thinke joy

Doth flow, when thy fond shadowes doe destroy

My that while sencelesse selfe, left free to thee.

But now doe well, let me for ever sleepe,

And so for ever that deere Image keepe

Or still wake that my senses may be free.

17.

Sweet shades, why doe you seeke to give delight

To me, who deeme delight in this vilde place:

But torment, sorrow, and mine owne disgrace,

To taste of joy, or your vaine pleasing sight?

Shew them your pleasures who saw never night

Of griefe, where joyings fawning smiling face

Appeares as day, where griefe found never space:

Yet for a sigh, a groane, or envies spite.

But O: on me a world of woes doe lye,

Or els on me all harmes strive to relye,

And to attend like servants bound to me.

Heate in desire, while frosts of care I prove,

Wanting my love, yet surfet doe with love,

Burne and yet freeze, better in Hell to be.

18.

Which should I better like of, day or night?

Since all the day, I live in bitter woe:

Injoying light more cleere my wrongs to know,

and yet most sad, feeling in it all spite.

In night when darknesse doth forbid all light;

Yet see I griefe apparant to the show,

Follow’d by jealousie, whose fond tricks flow,

And on unconstant waves of doubt alight.

Bbbb I Bbbb1v 10

I can behold rage cowardly to feede

Upon foule error, which these humors breede,

Shame doubt and feare, yet boldly will thinke ill.

All those in both I feele, then which is best

Darke to joy by day, light in night opprest?

Leave both and end, these but each other spill.

Song. 3.

Stay my thoughts doe not aspire,

To vaine hopes of high desire;

See you not all meanes bereft,

To injoy no joy is left,

Yet still me thinkes my thoughts doe say,

Some hopes doe live amid dismay.

Hope then once more, Hope for joy,

Bury feare which joyes destroy,

Thought hath yet some comfort given,

Which despaire hath from us driven:

Therefore deerely my thoughts cherish,

Never let such thinking perish.

’Tis an idle thing to plaine,

Odder farre to dye for paine;

Thinke and see how thoughts doe rise,

Winning where there no hope lies;

Which alone is lovers treasure,

For by thoughts we love doe measure.

Then kinde thought my fant’sie guide,

Let me never haplesse slide;

Still maintaine thy force in me,

Let me thinking still be free;

Nor leave thy might untill my death,

But let me thinking yeeld up breath.

19.

Come darkest Night, becomming sorrow best,

Light leave thy light, fit for a lightsome soule:

Darknesse doth truely sute with me opprest,

Whom absence power doth from mirth controule.

The very trees with hanging heads condole

Sweet Summers parting, and of leaves distrest,

In dying colours make a grief-full role;

So much (alas) to sorrow are they prest.

Thus Bbbb2r 11

Thus of dead leaves, her farewell carpets made,

Their fall, their branches, all their mournings prove,

With leavelesse naked bodies, whose hues vade

From hopefull greene to wither in their love.

If trees, and leaves for absence mourners be,

No marvell that I grieve, who like want see.

20.

The Sunne which glads the earth at his bright sight,

When in the morne he showes his golden face,

And takes the place from tedious drowsie Night.

Making the world still happy in his grace.

Shewes happinesse remaines not in one place,

Nor may the Heavens alone to us give light,

But hide that cheerefull face, though no long space,

Yet long enough for tryall of their might.

But never Sun-set could be blaso obscure,

No Desart ever had a shade so sad:

Nor could black darknesse ever prove so bad,

As paines which absence makes me now indure.

The missing of the Sunne a while makes Night,

But absence of my joy sees never light.

21.

When last I saw thee, I did not thee see,

It was thine Image which in my thoughts lay

So lively figur’d, as no times delay

Could suffer me in heart to parted be.

And sleepe so favourable is to me,

As not to let thy lov’d remembrance stray:

Lest that I waking might have cause to say,

There was one minute found to forget thee.

Then, since my faith is such, so kinde my sleepe,

That gladly thee presents into my thought,

And still true Lover-like thy face doth keepe,

So as some pleasure shadow-like is wrought.

Pitty my loving, nay of conscience give

Reward to me in whom thy selfe doth live.

Bbbb2 22.Like Bbbb2v 12

22.

Like to the Indians scorched with the Sunne,

The Sunne which they doe as their God adore:

So I am us’d by Love, for evermore

I worship him, lesse favours have I wonne.

Better are they who thus to blacknesse run,

And so can onely whitenesse want deplore:

ThenThen I who pale and white am with griefes store,

Nor can have hope, but to see hopes undone.

Besides their sacrifice receiv’d in sight,

Of their chose Saint, mine hid as worthlesse rite,

Grant me to see where I my offerings give.

Then let me weare the marke of Cupids might,

In heart, as they in skin of Phoebus light,

Not ceasing offerings to Love while I live.

23.

When every one to pleasing pastime hies, (delight

Some hunt, some hauke, some play while some

In sweet discourse, and musicke shewes joyes might:

Yet I my thoughts doe farre above these prize.

The joy which I take is, that free from eyes

I sit and wonder at this day-like night,

So to dispose themselves as void of right,

And leave true pleasure for poore vanities.

When others hunt, my thoughts I have in chase;

If hauke, my minde at wished end doth flye:

Discourse, I with my spirit talke and cry;

While others musicke choose as greatest grace.

O God say I, can these fond pleasures move,

Or musicke bee but in sweet thoughts of Love?

24.

Once did I heare an aged father say

Unto his sonne, who with attention heares

What Age and wise experience ever cleares

From doubts of feare, or reason to betray.

My sonne (said hee) behold thy father gray,

I once had as thou hast, fresh tender yeares,

And like thee sported destitute of feares;

But my young faults made me too soone decay.

Loue Bbbb3r 13

Love once I did, and like thee, fear’d my Love,

Led by the hatefull threed of Jealousie,

Striving to keepe, I lost my liberty,

And gain’d my griefe, which still my sorrowes move.

In time shun this, to love is no offence,

But doubt in Youth, in Age, breeds penitence.

Song. 4.

Sweetest Love returne againe,

Make not too long stay;

Killing mirth and forcing paine;

Sorrow leading way:

Let us not thus parted be,

Love, and absence nere agree.

But since you must needs depart,

And me haplesse leave;

In your journey take my heart,

Which will not deceive:

Yours it is, to you it flies,

Joying in those loved eyes.

So in part we shall not part,

Though we absent be,

Tyme, nor place, not greatest smart,

Shall my bands make free:

Tyed I am, yet thinke it gaine,

In such knots I feele no paine.

But can I live, having lost

Chiefest part of me?

Heart is fled, and sight is crost,

These my fortunes be:

Yet deare heart goe, soone returne,

As good there as heere to burne.

25.

Poore eyes bee blinde, the light behold no more,

Since that is gone which is your deare delight:

Ravish’d from you by greater power and might,

Making your losse a gaine to others store.

Oreflow and drowne, till sight to you restore

That blessed Starre, and as in hatefull spight,

Send forth your teares in flouds to kill all sight,

And lookes, that lost wherein you joy’d before.

Bbbb3 Bury Bbbb3v 14

Bury these beames which in some kindled fires,

And conquer’d have their love-burnt hearts desires,

Losing, and yet no gaine by you esteem’d;

Till that bright Starre doe once againe appeare,

Brighter then Mars when hee doth shine most cleare;

See not then by his might be you redeem’d.

26.

Deare cherish this, and with it my soules will,

Nor for it ran away doe it abuse:

Alas it left (poore me) your brest to choose,

As the best shrine, where it would harbour still.

Then favour shew, and not unkindly kill

The heart which fled to you, but doe excuse

That which for better did the worse refuse;

And pleas’d Ile be, though heartlesse my life spill.

But if you will bee kinde and just indeed,

Send me your heart, which in mine’s place shall feede

On faithfull love to your devotion bound,

There shall it see the sacrifices made

Of pure and spotlesse Love, which shall not vade,

While soule and body are together found.

27.

Fie tedious Hope, why doe you still rebell?

Is it not yet enough you flatter’d me,

But cunningly you seeke to use a Spell

How to betray; must these your Trophees bee?

I look’d from you farre sweeter fruite to see,

But blasted were your blossomes when they fell:

And those delights expected from hands free,

Wither’d and dead, and what seemd blisse proves hell.

No Towne was won by a more plotted slight,

Then I by you, who may my fortune write,

In embers of that fire which ruin’d me:

Thus Hope your falshood calls you to be tryde,

You’r loth, I see, the tryall to abide;

Prove true at last, and gaine your liberty.

28.Griefe Bbbb4r 15

28.

Griefe, killing griefe, have not my torments beene

Already great and strong enough? but still

Thou dost increase, nay glory in mine il,

And woes new past, afresh new woes begin?

Am I the onely purchase thou canst win?

Was I ordain’d to give despaire her fill,

Or fittest I should mount misfortunes hill,

Who in the plaine of joy cannot live in?

If it be so, Griefe come as welcome guest,

Since I must suffer for anothers rest;

Yet this (good Griefe) let me intreat of thee,

Use still thy force, but not from those I love

Let me all paines and lasting torments prove;

So I misse these, lay all thy waights on me.

29.

Flye hence, O Joy, no longer heere abide,

Too great thy pleasures are for my despaire

To looke on, losses now must prove my fare;

Who not long since on better foode relide.

But foole, how oft had I Heav’ns changing spi’de

Before of mine owne fate I could have care:

Yet now past time I can too late beware,

When nothings left but sorrowes faster ty’de.

While I enjoyd that Sunne, whose sight did lend

Me joy, I thought that day could have no end:

But soone a night came cloath’d in absence darke;

Absence more sad, more bitter then is gall,

Or death, when on true Lovers it doth fall;

Whose fires of love, disdaine reasts poorer sparke.

30.

You blessed shades, which give me silent rest,

Witnes but this when death hath clos’d mine eyes,

And separated me from earthly tyes;

Being from hence to higher place adrest.

How oft in you I have laine heere opprest?

And have my miseries in wofull cryes

Deliver’d forth, mounting up to the Skyes?

Yet helplesse, back return’d to wound my brest.

Which Bbbb4v 16

Which wounds did but strive how to breed more harm

To me, who can be cur’d by no one charme

But that of Love, which yet may me releeve;

If not, let Death my former paines redeeme,

My trusty friends, my faith untouch’d, esteeme,

And witnesse I could love, who so could grieve.

Song. 5.

Time onely cause of my unrest,

By whom I hop’d once to be blest,

How cruell art thou turn’d?

That first gavst life unto my love,

And still a pleasure not to move,

Or change, though ever burn’d.

Have I thee slack’d, or left undone

One loving rite, and so have wonne,

Thy rage, or bitter changing?

That now no minutes I shall see,

Wherein I may least happy be,

Thy favours so estranging.

Blame thy selfe and not my folly,

Time gave time but to be holy,

True Love such ends best loveth:

Unworthy Love doth seeke for ends,

A worthy Love, but worth pretends;

Nor other thoughts it proveth.

Then stay thy swiftnes cruell Time,

And let me once more blessed clime

to joy, that I may praise thee:

Let me pleasure sweetly tasting,

Joy in Love, and faith not wasting,

and on Fames wings Ile raise thee.

Never shall thy glory dying,

Bee untill thine owne untying,

That Tyme no longer liveth,

’Tis a gaine such time to lend,

Since so thy fame shall never end,

But joy for what she giveth.

31.

After long trouble in a tedious way,

Of Loves unrest, laid downe to ease my paine,

Ho- Cccc1r

Hoping for rest, new torments I did gaine

Possessing me, as if I ought t’obey.

When Fortune came, though blinded, yet did stay,

And in her blessed armes did me inchaine:

I, cold with griefe, thought no warmth to obtaine,

Or to dissolve that yce of joyes decay.

Till rise (said she) Reward to thee doth send

By me the servant of true Lovers joy:

Bannish all clouds of doubt, all feares destroy;

And now on Fortune, and on Love depend.

I her obey’d, and rising felt that Love

Indeed was best, when I did least it move.

32.

How fast thou fliest, O Time, on Loves swift wings,

To hopes of joy, that flatters our desire:

Which to a Lover still contentment brings;

Yet when we should injoy, thou dost retire.

Thou stay’st thy pace (false Time) from our desire

When to our ill thou hast’st with Eagles wings:

Slow only to make us see thy retire

Was for Despaire, and harme, which sorrow brings.

O slake thy pace, and milder passe to Love,

Be like the Bee, whose wings she doth but use

To bring home profit; masters good to prove,

Laden, and weary, yet againe pursues.

So lade thy selfe with hony of sweet joy,

And do not me (the Hive of Love) destroy.

33.

How many eyes (poore Love) hast thou to guard

Thee from thy most desired wish, and end?

Is it because some say th’art blinde, that barr’d

From sight, thou should’st no happinesse attend?

Who blame thee so, small Justice can pretend,

Since twixt thee and the Sunne no question hard

Can be; his sight but outward, thou can’st bend

The heart, and guide it freely thus unbar’d.

Art thou, while we both blinde and bold, oft dare

Accuse thee of the harmes our selves should finde:

Cccc Who Cccc1v 20

Who led with folly, and by rashnesse blinde

Thy sacred power doe with a child’s compare.

Yet Love, this boldnesse pardon; for admire

Thee sure we must, or be borne without fire.

34.

Take heed mine eyes, how you your looks doe cast,

Lest they betray my hearts most secret thought:

Be true unto your selves; for nothing’s bought

More deare then Doubt, which brings a Lovers fast.

Catch you alwatching eyes ere they be past,

Or take yours fix’t, where your best Love hath sought

The pride of your desires; let them be taught

Their faults for shame they could no truer last.

Then looke, and looke with joy, for conquest won,

Of those that search’d your hurt in double kinde:

So you kept safe, let them themselves looke blinde,

Watch, gaze, and marke till they to madnesse run.

While you mine eyes enjoy full sight of Love,

Contented that such happinesses move.

35.

False Hope which feeds but to destroy and spill

What it first breeds, unnaturall to the blirth

Of thine owne wombe, conceiving but to kill

And plenty gives to make the greater dearth.

So Tyrants doe, who falsly ruling Earth,

Outwardly grace them, and with profits fill,

Advance those who appointed are to death;

To make their greater fall to please their will.

Thus shadow they their wicked vile intent,

Colouring evill with a show of good:

While in faire showes their malice so is spent;

Hope kill’s the heart, and Tyrants shed the blood.

For Hodpe deluding brings us to the pride

Of our desires the farther downe to slide.

36.

How well (poore heart) thou witnesse canst, I love,

How oft my grief hath made thee shed forth teares,

Drops Cccc2r 21

Drops of thy dearest blood; and how oft feares

Borne testimony of the paines I prove?

What torments hast thou suffer’d, while above

Joy thou tortur’d wert with racks, which longing bears:

Pinch’d with desires, which yet but wishing reares

Firme in my faith, in constancie, to move.

Yet is it said, that sure love cannot be,

Where so small shew of passion is descri’d;

When thy chiefe paine is, that I must it hide

From all, save onely one, who should it see.

For know, more passion in my heart doth move,

Then in a million that make shew of love.

Song. 6.

You happy blessed eyes,

Which in that ruling place,

Have force both to delight, and to disgrace;

Whose light allures and tyes

All hearts to your command:

O looke on me who doe at mercy stand.

’Tis you that rule my life,

’Tis you my comforts give,

Then let not scorne to me my ending drive:

Nor let the frownes of strife

Have might to hurt those lights;

Which while they shine they are true loves delights.

See but when Night appeares

And Sunne hath lost his force,

How his losse doth all joy from us divorce:

And when he shines, and cleares

The Heavens from clowdes of Night,

How happy then is made our gazing sight?

But more then Sun’s faire light

Your beames doe seeme to me,

Whose sweetest lookes doe tye, and yet make free:

Why should you then so spight

Poore me? as to destroy

The only pleasure that I taste of joy.

Shine then, O dearest lights

With favour and with love

And let no cause, your cause of frownings move:

Cccc2 But Cccc2v 22

But as the soules delights,

So blesse my then blest eyes,

Which unto you their true affection tyes.

Then shall the Sunne give place,

As to your greater might,

Yeelding that you doe show more perfect light.

When but grant this grace,

Unto your Love-tide slave,

To shine on me, who to you all faith gave.

And when you please to frowne,

Use your most killing eyes

On them, who in untruth and falshood lies,

But (Deare) on me cast downe

Sweet lookes, for true desire;

That banish doe all thoughts of faigned fire.

37.

Light, welcome art thou to my minde distrest,

Darke, heavy, sad, yet32996 not more sad then I:

Never could’st thou finde fitter company

For thine owne humour, then I thus opprest.

If thou beest darke, my wrongs still unredrest

Saw never light, nor smallest blisse can spye:

If heavy joy from mee to fast doth hie,

And care out-goes my hope of quiet rest.

Then now in friendship joyne with haplesse me,

Who am as sad and darke as thou canst be,

Hating all pleasure or delight of life,

Silence and griefe, with thee I best doe love.

And from you three I know I cannot move,

Then let us live companions without strife.

38.

What pleasure can a banish’d creature have

In all the pastimes that invented are

By wit or learning? Absence making warre

Against all peace that may a biding crave.

Can wee delight but in a welcome grave,

Where we may bury paines? and so be farre

From loathed company, who alwaies jarre

Upon the string of mirth that pastime gave.

The Cccc3r 23

The knowing part of joy is deem’d the heart,

If that be gone what joy can joy impart

When senslesse is the feeler of our mirth?

No, I am banish’d and no good shall finde,

But all my fortunes must with mischiefe binde;

Who but for misery did gaine a birth.

39.

If I were given to mirth, twould be more crosse,

Thus to be robbed of my chiefest joy:

But silently I beare my greatest losse;

Who’s us’d to sorrow, griefe will not destroy.

Nor can I as those pleasant wits injoy

My owne fram’d wordes which I account the drosse

Of purer thoughts, or reckon them as mosse:

While they (wit-sick) themselves to breath imploy.

Alas, thinke I, your plenty shewes your want;

For where most feeling is wordes are more scant;

Yet pardon me, live and your pleasure take.

Grudge not if I (neglected) envy show,

’Tis not to you that I dislike doe owe;

But (crost my selfe) wish some like me to make.

40.

It is not love which you poore fooles doe deeme,

That doth appeare by fond and outward showes

Of kissing, toying, or by swearings gloze:

O no, these are farre off from loves esteeme.

Alas, they are not such that can redeeme

Love lost, or winning keepe those chosen blowes:

Though oft with face and lookes love overthrowes;

Yet so slight conquest doth not him beseeme.

’Tis not a shew of sighes or teares can prove

Who loves indeed, which blasts of faigned love,

Increase or dye, as favours from them slide.

But in the soule true love in safety lies

Guarded by faith, which to desert still hies:

And yet kinde lookes do many blessings hide.

Cccc3 41.You Cccc3v 24

41.

You blessed Starres, which doe Heaven’s glory show,

And at your brightnesse make our eyes admire:

Yet envy not, though I on earth below,

Injoy a sight which moves in me more fire.

I doe confesse such beauty breeds desire

You shine, and clearest light on us bestow:

Yet doth a sight on Earth more warmth inspire

Into my loving soule his grace to know.

Cleare, bright, and shining, as you are, is this

Light of my joy: fix’t stedfast, nor will move

His light from me, nor I change from his love;

But still increase as th’earth of all my blisse.

His sight gives life unto my love-rould eye,

My love content, because in his love lies.

42.

If ever love had force in humane brest,

If ever he could move in pensive heart:

Or if that he such powre could but impart

To breed those flames, whose heat brings joyes unrest.

Then looke on me; I am to these adrest,

I am the soule that feeles the greatest smart:

I am that heartlesse Trunck of hearts depart;

And I that One, by love, and griefe opprest.

None ever felt the truth of loves great misse

Of eyes till I deprived was of blisse;

For had he seene, he must have pitty show’d.

I should not have beene made this Stage of woe,

Where sad Disasters have their open show:

O no, more pitty he had sure bestow’d.

Song. 7.

Sorrow, I yeeld, and grieve that I did misse;

Will not thy rage be satisfied with this?

As sad a Divell as thee,

Made me unhappy be:

Wilt thou not yet consent to leave, but still

Strive how to show thy cursed divelish skill?

I Cccc4r 25

I mourne, and dying am, what would you more?

My soule attends, to leave this cursed shoare

Where harmes doe onely flow,

Which teach me but to know

The saddest houres of my lifes unrest,

And tyred minutes with griefes hand opprest.

Yet all this will not pacifie thy spight,

No, nothing can bring ease but my last night,

Then quickely let it be,

While I unhappy see

That time so sparing, to grant Lovers blisse,

Will see for time lost, there shall no griefe misse.

Nor let me ever cease from lasting griefe,

But endlesse let it be without reliefe;

To winn againe of Love,

The favour I did proove,

And with my end please him, since dying, I

Have him offended, yet unwillingly.

43.

O Dearest eyes, the lights, the guides of Love,

The joyes of Cupid,who himselfe borne blinde,

To your bright shining, doth his tryumphs binde;

For, in your seeing doth his glory move.

How happy are those places where you proove

Your heavenly beames, which makes the Sun to find

Envy and grudging, he so long hath shin’d

For your cleare lights, to match his beames above.

But now alas, your sight is heere forbid,

And darkenes must these poore lost roomes possesse,

So be all blessed lights from henceforth hid,

That this blacke deede of darknesse have excesse.

For why should Heaven affoord least light to those,

Who for my misery such darknesse chose.

44.

How fast thou hast st O Spring with sweetest speed)

To catch thy water which before are runne,

And of the greater Rivers welcome woone,

Ere these thy new-borne streames these places feede.

Yet Cccc4v 24

Yet you doe well, lest staying here might breede

Dangerous flouds, your sweetest bankes t’orerunn,

And yet much better my distresse to shunn,

Which maks my tears your swiftest course succeed.

But best you doe when with so hasty flight

You fly my ills, which now my selfe outgoe,

Whose broken heart can testifie such woe,

That so orecharg’d, my life-bloud, wasteth quite.

Sweet Spring then keepe your way be never spent,

And my ill dayes, or griefes, assunder rent.

45.

Good now be still, and doe not me torment,

With multitude of questions, be at rest,

And onely let me quarrell with my breast,

Which stil lets in new stormes my soule to rent.

Fye, will you still my mischiefes more augment?

You say, I answere crosse, I that confest

Long since, yet must I ever be opprest,

With your tongue torture which wil ne’re be spent?

Well then I see no way but this will fright,

That Devill speech; alas, I am possest,

And madd folkes senseles are of wisdomes right,

The hellish spirit, Absence, doth arrest.

All my poore senses to his cruell might,

Spare me then till I am my selfe, and blest

46.

Love thou hast all, for now thou hast me made

So thine, as if for thee I were ordain’d,

Then take thy conquest, nor let me be pain’d

More in thy Sunne, when I doe seeke thy shade.

No place for helpe have I left to invade,

That shew’d a face where least ease might be gain’d;

Yet found I paine increase, and but obtain’d,

That this no way was to have love allay’d

When hott, and thirsty, to a Well I came,

Trusting by that to quench part of my paine,

But there I was by Love afresh imbrac’d

Drinke Dddd1r 25

Drinke I could not, but in it I did see

My selfe a living glasse as well as shee;

For love to see himselfe in, truely plac’d.

47.

O Stay mine eyes, shed not these fruitlesse teares,

Since hope is past to win you back againe,

That treasure which being lost breeds all your paine;

Cease from this poore betraying of your feares.

Thinke this too childish is, for where griefe reares

So high a powre for such a wretched gaine:

Sighes nor laments should thus be spent in vaine;

True sorrow never outward wailing beares.

Be rul’d by me, keepe all the rest in store,

Till no roome is that may containe one more:

Then in that Sea of teares drowne haplesse me,

And Ile provide such store of sighes, as part

Shall be enough to breake the strongest heart:

This done, we shall from torments freed be.

48.

How like a fire doth Love increase in me?

The longer that it lasts the stronger still;

The greater, purer, brighter; and doth fill

No eye with wonder more then hopes still bee.

Bred in my breast, when fires of Love are free

To use that part to their best pleasing will,

And now unpossible it is to kill

The heate so great where Love his strength doth see.

Mine eyes can scarce sustaine the flames, my heart

Doth trust in them my passions to impart,

And languishingly strive to shew my love.

My breath not able is to breath least part

Of that increasing fuell of my smart;

Yet love I will, till I but ashes prove.

Dddd Song. Dddd1v 26

Sonnet.

Let griefe as farre be from your dearest breast

As I doe wish, or in my hands to ease;

Then should it banish’d be, and sweetest rest

Be plac’d to give content by Love to please.

Let those disdaines which on your heart doe ceaze,

Doubly returne to bring her soules unrest:

Since true love will not that belov’d displease;

Or let least smart to their minds be addrest.

But oftentimes mistakings be in love.

Be they as farre from false accusing right,

And still truth governe with a constant might

So shall you only wished pleasures prove.

And as for me, she that shewes you least scorne,

With all despite and hate, be her heart torne.

Song.

O Me, the time is come to part,

And with it my life-killing smart:

Fond Hope leave me, my deare must goe,

To meete more joy, and I more woe.

Where still of mirth injoy thy fill,

One is enough to suffer ill:

My heart so well to sorrow us’d,

Can better be by new griefes bruis’d.

Thou whom the Heavens themselves like made,

Should never sit in mourning shade:

No, I alone must mourne and end,

Who have a life in griefe to spend.

My swiftest pace to wailings bent,

Shewes joy had but a short time lent,

To bide in me where woes must dwell,

And charme me with their cruell spell.

And yet when they their witchcrafts trye,

They only make me wish to dye:

But ere my faith in love they change,

In horrid darknesse will I range.

Song. Dddd2r 27

Song.

Say Venus how long have I lov’d, and serv’d you heere?

Yet all my passions scorn’d or doubted, although cleere;

Alas thinke love deserveth love, and you have lov’d,

Looke on my paines and see if you the like have prov’d:

Remember then you are the Goddesse of Desire,

and that your sacred powre hath touch’d and felt this fire.

Perswade these flames in me to cease, or them redresse

in me (poore me) who stormes of love have in excesse,

My restlesse nights may show for me, how much I love,

My sighes unfaignd, can witnes what my heart doth prove:

My saddest lookes doe show the griefe my soule indures,

Yet all these torments from your hands no helpe procures.

Command that wayward Childe your Son to grant your right,

and that his Bow and shafts he yeeld to your faire sight,

To you who have the eyes of joy, the heart of love,

And then new hopes may spring, that I may pitty move:

Let him not triumph that he can both hurt and save,

And more, bragge that to your selfe a wound he gave.

Rule him, or what shall I expect of good to see?

Since he that hurt you, he (alas) may murther me.

Song.

I That am of all most crost,

Having, and that had have lost,

May with reason thus complaine,

Since love breeds love, and Loves paine.

That which I did most desire,

To allay my loving fire,

I may have, yet now must misse,

Since another Ruler is.

Would that I no Ruler had,

Or the service not so bad,

Then might I with blisse enjoy

That which now my hopes destroy.

And that wicked pleasure got,

Brings with it the sweetest lot:

I that must not taste the best,

Fed, must starve, and restlesse rest.

Dddd2 Song. Dddd2v 28

Song.

Love as well can make abiding

In a faithfull Shepheards brest

As in Princes: whose thoughts sliding

Like swift Rivers never rest.

Change to their minds is best feeding,

To a Shepheard all his care,

Who when his Love is exceeding,

Thinks his faith his richest fare.

Beauty but a slight inviting,

Cannot stirre his heart to change;

Constancye his chiefe delighting,

Strives to flee from fant’sies strange,

Fairnesse to him is no pleasure,

If in other then his love;

Nor can esteeme that a treasure,

Which in her smiles doth not move.

This a Shepheard once confessed,

Who lov’d well, but was not lov’d:

Though with scorne & griefe oppressed

Could not yet to change be moved.

But himselfe he thus contented,

While in love he was accurst:

This hard hap he not repented,

Since best Lovers speed the worst.

Song.

Dearest if I by me deserving,

May maintaine in your thoughts my love,

Let me it still enjoy;

Nor faith destroy:

But pitty Love where it doth move.

Let no other new Love invite you,

To leave me who so long have serud:

Nor let your power decline

But purely shine

On me, who have all truth preserv’d.

or Dddd3r 29

Or had you once found my heart straying,

Then would not I accuse your change,

But being constant still

It needs must kill

One, whose soule knowes not how to range.

Yet may you Loves sweet smiles recover,

Since all love is not yet quite lost,

But tempt not Love too long

Lest so great wrong

Make him thinke he is too much crost.

Song.

Fairest and still truest eyes,

Can you the lights be, and the spies

Of my desires?

Can you shine cleare for Loves delight,

And yet the breeders be of spight,

And Jealous fires?

Marke what lookes doe you behold,

Such as by Jealousie are told

They want your Love.

See how they sparckle in distrust,

Which by a heate of thoughts unjust

In them doe moove.

Learne to guide your course by Art,

Change your eyes into your heart,

And patient be:

Till fruitlesse Jealousie give leave,

By fastest absence to receive

What you would see.

Then let Love his triumph have,

And Suspition such a grave,

As not to moove.

While wished freedome brings that blisse

That you enjoy what all joy is

Happy to Love.

Sonnet. 1.

In night yet may we see some kinde of light,

When as the Moone doth please to shew her face,

And in the Sunns roome yeelds her light, and grace,

Which otherwise must suffer dullest night:

Dddd3 So Dddd3v 30

So are my fortunes barrd from true delight,

Cold, and uncertaine, like to this strange place,

Decreasing, changing in an instant space,

And even at full of joy turnd to despight.

Justly on Fortune was bestowd the Wheele,

Whose favours fickle, and unconstant reele,

Drunke with delight of change and sudden paine;

Where pleasure hath no setled place of stay,

But turning still, for our best hopes decay,

And this (alas) we lovers often gaine.

2.

Love like a Jugler comes to play his prize,

And all mindes draw his wonders to admire,

To see how cunningly he (wanting eyes)

Can yet deceive the best sight of desire.

The wanton Childe, how he can faine his fire

So prettily, as none sees his disguise,

How finely doe his trickes; while we fooles hire

The badge, and office of his tyrannies.

For in the ende such Jugling he doth make,

As he our hearts instead of eyes doth take;

For men can onely by their slights abuse,

The sight with nimble, and delightfull skill,

But if he play, his gaine is our lost will,

Yet Child-like we cannot his sports refuse.

3.

Most blessed night, the happy time for Love,

The shade for Lovers, and their Loves delight,

The raigne of Love for servants free from spight,

The hopefull seasons for joyes sports to moove.

Now hast thou made thy glory higher proove,

Then did the God, whose pleasant Reede did smite

All Argus eyes into a death-like night,

Till they were safe, that none could Love reproove.

Now thou hast cloasd those eyes from prying sight

That nourish Jealousie, more then joyes right,

While vaine Suspition fosters their mistrust,

Making Dddd4r 31

Making sweet sleepe to master all suspect,

Which els their private feares would not neglect,

But would embrace both blinded, and unjust.

4.

Cruell Suspition, O! be now at rest,

Let daily torments bring to thee some stay,

Alas, make not my ill thy ease-full pray,

Nor give loose raines to Rage, when Love’s opprest.

I am by care sufficiently distrest,

No Racke can stretch my heart more, nor a way

Can I finde out, for least content to lay

One happy foot of joy, one step that’s blest.

But to my end thou fly’st with greedy eye,

Seeking to bring griefe by base Jealousie;

O, in how strange a Cage am I kept in?

No little signe of favour can I proove,

But must be way’d, and turn’d to wronging love,

And with each humour must my state

But must be way’d, and turn’d to wronging love,

And with each humour mustmy state begin.

5.

How many nights have I with paine endurd?

Which as so many Ages I esteem’d,

Since my misfortune, yet no whit redeem’d,

But rather faster ty’de, to griefe assur’d.

How many houres have my sad thoughts endur’d

Of killing paines? yet is it not esteem’d

By cruell Love, who might have these redeemd,

And all these yeeres of houres to joy assur’d.

But fond Childe, had he had a care to save,

As first to conquer, this my pleasures grave,

Had not beene now to testifie my woe.

I might have beene an Image of delight,

As now a Tombe for sad misfortunes spight,

Which Love unkindly, for reward doth show.

6.

My paine still smother’d in my grieved brest,

Seekes for some ease, yet cannot passage finde,

To be dischargd of this unwelcome guest,

When most I strive, more fast his burthens binde.

Like Dddd4v 32

Like to a Ship on Goodwins cast by winde,

The more shee strive, more deepe in Sand is prest,

Till she be lost: so am I in this kind

Sunck, and devour’d, and swallow’d by unrest.

Lost, shipwrackt, spoyld, debar’d of smallest hope,

Nothing of pleasure left, save thoughts have scope,

Which wander may; goe then my thoughts and cry:

Hope’s perish’d, Love tempest beaten, Joy lost,

Killing Despaire hath all these blessings crost;

Yet Faith still cries, Love will not falsifie.

7.

An end fond Jelousie, alas I know

The hiddenest, and thy most secret Art,

Thou canst no new invention frame but part,

I have already seene, and felt with woe.

All thy dissemblings, which by faigned showe,

Wonne my beliefe, while truth did rule my heart,

I with glad minde embrac’d, and deemd my smart

The spring of joy, whose streames with blisse should flow.

I thought excuses had beene reasons true,

And that no falshood could of thee ensue,

So soone beliefe in honest mindes is wrought;

But now I finde thy flattery, and skill,

Which idely made me to observe thy will,

Thus is my learning by my bondage bought.

8.

Poore Love in chaines, and fetters like a thiefe

I met ledd forth, as chast Diana’s gaine

Vowing the untaught Lad should no reliefe

From her receive, who gloried in fond paine.

She call’d him thiefe, with vowes he did mainetaine

He never stole, but some sadd slight of griefe

Had given to those who did his power disdaine,

In which revenge his honour was the chiefe.

Shee said he murther’d and therefore must dye,

He that he caus’d but Love, did harmes deny,

But while she thus discoursing with him stood;

The Eeee1r 33

The Nymphes unti’de him and his chaines tooke off,

Thinking him safe, but he (loose) made a scoffe,

Smiling and scorning them, flew to the wood.

9.

Pray doe not use these words, I must be gone;

Alasse doe not foretell mine ills to come:

Let not my care be to my joyes a Tombe;

But rather finde my losse with losse alone.

Cause me not thus a more distressed one,

Not feeling blisse, because of this sad doome

Of present crosse; for thinking will orecome

And loose all pleasure, since griefe breedeth none.

Let the misfortune come at once to me,

Nor suffer me with griefe to punish’d be;

Let mee be ignorant of mine owne ill.

Then now with the fore-knowledge quite to lose

That which with so much care and paines Love chose

For his reward, but joy now, then mirth kill.

10.

Folly would needs make mee a Lover be,

When I did little thinke of loving thought;

Or ever to be tyde, while shee told me

That none can live, but to these bands are brought.

I (ignorant) did grant, and so was bought,

And sold againe to Lovers slavery:

The duty to that vanity once taught,

Such band is, as wee will not seeke to free.

Yet when I well did understand his might,

How he inflam’d and forc’d one to affect:

I loud and smarted, counting it delight

So still to waste, which Reason did reject.

When Love came blind-fold, and did challenge me.

Indeed I lov’d, but wanton Boy not hee,

Song.

The Spring time of my first loving,

Finds yet no winter of removing;

Nor frosts to make my hopes decrease:

But with the Summer still increase.

Eeee the Eeee1v 34

The trees may teach us Love’s remaining,

Who suffer change with little paining:

Though Winter make their leaves decrease,

Yet with the Summer they increase.

As birds by silence shew their mourning

in cold, yet sing at Springs returning:

So may Love nipt a while decrease,

but as the Summer soone increase.

Those that doe love but for a season,

Doe falsifie both Love and Reason:

For Reason wills, if Love decrease,

It like the Summer should increase.

Though love sometimes may be mistaken,

the truth yet ought not to be shaken:

Or though the heate a while decrease,

It with the Summer may increase.

And since the Spring time of my loving

Found never Winter of removing:

Nor frosts to make my hopes decrease,

Shall as the Summer still increase.

Song.

Love a childe is ever crying,

Please him, and he strait is flying;

Give him, he the more is craving,

Never satisfi’d with having.

His desires have no measure,

Endlesse folly is his treasure:

What he promiseth, he breaketh,

Trust not one word that he speaketh.

Hee vowes nothing but false matter,

And to cousen you hee’l flatter:

Let him gain the hand, hee’l leave you,

And still glory to deceive you.

Hee will triumph in your wailing,

And yet cause be of your failing:

These his vertues are, and slighter

Are his guifts; his favours lighter.

Fathers Eeee2r 35

Fathers are as firme in staying,

Wolves no fiercer in their praying.

As a childe then leave him crying,

Nor seeke him so giv’n to flying.

Being past the paines of Love,

Freedome gladly seekes to move:

Sayes that Loves delights were pretty;

But to dwell in them twere pitty.

And yet truly sayes, that Love

Must of force in all hearts move:

But though his delights are pretty,

To dwell on them were a pitty.

Let Love slightly passe like Love,

Never let it too deepe move:

For though Loves delights are pretty,

To dwell in them were great pitty.

Love no pitty hath of Love,

Rather griefes then pleasures move?

So though his delights are pretty,

To dwell in them would be pitty.

Those that like the smart of Love,

In them let it freely move:

Els though his delights are pretty,

Doe not dwell in them for pitty.

O Pardon Cupid, I confesse my fault,

Then mercy grant me in so just a kinde:

For treason never lodged in my minde

Against thy might, so much as in a thought.

And now my folly I have dearely bought,

Nor could my soule least rest of quiet finde;

Since Rashnes did my thoughts to Error binde,

Which now thy fury, and my harme hath wrought.

I curse that thought and hand which that first fram’d,

For which by thee I am most justly blam’d:

But now that hand shall guided be aright,

And give a Crowne unto thy endlesse praise,

Which shall thy glory and thy greatnesse raise,

More then these poore things could thy honor spight.

Eeee2 A Eeee2v 36

A Crowne of Sonnets dedicated to Love.

In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne,

Wayes are on all sides, while the way I misse:

If to the right hand, there in love I burne,

Let mee goe forward, therein danger is.

If to the left, suspition hinders blisse:

Let mee turne backe, shame cryes I ought returne:

Nor faint, though crosses which my fortunes kisse,

Stand still is harder, although sure to mourne.

Thus let mee take the right, or left hand way,

Goe forward, or stand still, or back retire:

I must these doubts indure without allay

Or helpe, but travell finde for my best hire.

Yet that which most my troubled sense doth move,

Is to leave all and take the threed of Love.

2.

Is to leave all and take the threed of Love,

Which line straight leades unto the soules content,

Where choice delights with pleasures wings do move,

And idle fant’sie never roome had lent.

When chaste thoughts guide us, then our minds are bent

To take that good which ills from us remove:

Light of true love brings fruite which none repent;

But constant Lovers seeke and wish to prove.

Love is the shining Starre of blessings light,

The fervent fire of zeale, the root of peace,

The lasting Lampe, fed with the oyle of right,

Image of Faith, and wombe for joyes increase.

Love is true Vertue, and his ends delight,

His flames are joyes, his bands true Lovers might.

3.

His flames are joyes, his bandes true Lovers might,

No staine is there, but pure, as purest white,

Where no cloud can appeare to dimme his light,

Nor spot defile, but shame will soon requite.

Here Eeee3r 37

Heere are affections tryde by Loves just might

As Gold by fire, and black discern’d by white;

Error by truth, and darknes knowne by light,

Where Faith is vallu’d, for Love to requite.

Please him, and serve him, glory in his might

And firme hee’le be, as Innocency white, (light

Cleere as th’ayre, warme as Sun’s beames, as day

Just as Truth, constant as Fate, joyd to requite.

Then Love obey, strive to observe his might

And be in his brave Court a glorious light.

4.

And be in his brave Court a glorious light

Shine in the eyes of Faith, and Constancy

Maintaine the fires of Love, still burning bright,

Not slightly sparkling, but light flaming be.

Never to slake till earth no Starres can see,

Till Sun, and Moone doe leave to us darke night,

And second Chaos once againe doe free

Us, and the World from all divisions spight.

Till then affections which his followers are,

Governe our hearts, and proove his powers gaine,

To taste this pleasing sting, seeke with all care

For happy smarting is it with small paine.

Such as although it pierce your tender heart,

And burne, yet burning you will love the smart.

5.

And burne, yet burning you will love the smart,

When you shall feele the waight of true desire,

So pleasing, as you would not wish your part

Of burthen should be missing from that fire.

But faithfull and unfaigned heate aspire

Which sinne abollisheth, and doth impart

Salves to all feare, with vertues which inspire

Soules with divine love; which shewes his chast Art.

And guide he is to joyings, open eyes

He hath to happinesse, and best can learne

Us, meanes how to deserve this he descries,

Who blinde, yet doth our hidn’st thoughts diserne.

Eeee3 Thus Eeee3v 38

Thus we may gaine since living in blest Love,

He may our Prophet, and our Tutor proove.

6.

He may our Prophet, and our Tutor proove,

In whom alone we doe this power finde,

To joyne two hearts as in one frame to moove

Two bodies, but one soule to rule the minde

Eyes which must care to one deare Object binde,

Eares to each others speach as if above

All else, they sweete, and learned were; this kind

Content of Lovers witnesseth true love.

It doth inrich the wits, and make you see

That in your selfe which you knew not before,

Forcesing you to admire such gifts should be

Hid from your knowledge, yet in you the store.

Millions of these adorne the throane of Love,

How blest are they then, who his favours prove?

7.

How bless’d be they then, who his favors prove,

A life whereof the birth is just desire?

Breeding sweete flame, which harts invite to move,

In these lov’d eyes, which kindle Cupids fire,

And nurse his longings with his thoughts intire,

Fix’t on the heat of wishes form’d by Love,

Yet whereas fire destroyes, this doth aspire,

Increase, and foster all delights above.

Love will a Painter make you, such, as you

Shall able be to draw, your onely deare,

More lively, perfect, lasting, and more true

Then rarest Workeman, and to you more neere.

These be the least, then all must needs confesse,

He that shuns Love, doth love himselfe the lesse.

8.

He that shuns Love, doth love himselfe the lesse,

And cursed he whose spirit, not admires

The worth of Love, where endlesse blessednes

Raignes, & commands, maintain’d by heav’nly fires.

Made Eeee4r 39

Made of Vertue, Joyn’d by Truth, Blowne by Desires,

Strengthned by Worth, renew’d by carefulnesse,

Flaming in never-changing thoughts: bryers

Of Jealousie shall here misse welcomnesse.

Nor coldly passe in the pursutes of Love

Like one long frozen in a Sea of yce:

And yet but chastly let your passions moouemoove,

No thought from vertuous Love your minds intice.

Never to other ends your Phant’sies place,

But where they may returne with honor’s grace.

9.

But where they may returne with Honor’s grace,

Where Venus follies can no harbour winne,

But chased are, as worthlesse of the face,

Or stile of Love, who hath lascivious beene.

Our hearts are subject to her Sonne, where sinne

Never did dwell, or rest one minutes space;

What faults he hath in her did still beginne,

And from her breast he suck’d his fleeting pace.

If Lust be counted Love, ’tis falsely nam’d,

By wickednesse, a fairer glosse to set

Upon that Vice, which else makes men asham’d,

In the own Phrase to warrant, but beget

This Childe for Love, who ought like Monster borne,

Be from the Court of Love, and Reason torne.

10.

Bee from the Court of Love, and reason torne,

For Love in Reason now doth put his trust,

Desert and liking are together borne

Children of Love, and Reason, Parents just.

Reason adviser is, Love ruler must

Be of the State, which Crowne he long hath worne;

Yet so, as neither will in least mistrust

The government where no feare is of scorn.

Then reverence both their mights thus made of one,

But wantonnesse, and all those errors shun,

Which wrongers be, Impostures, and alone

Maintainers of all follies ill begunne.

Fruite Eeee4v 40

Fruit of a sower, and unwholesome grownd

Unprofitably pleasing, and unsound.

11.

Unprofitably pleasing, and unsound.

When Heaven gave liberty to fraile dull earth,

To bring foorth plenty that in ills abound,

Which ripest, yet doe bring a certaine dearth.

A timelesse, and unseasonable birth,

Planted in ill, in worse time springing found,

Which Hemlocke like might feed a sicke-wits mirth

Where unrul’d vapours swimme in endlesse round.

Then joy we not in what we ought to shunne,

Where shady pleasures shew, but true borne fires

Are quite quench’d out, or by poore ashes won,

Awhile to keepe those coole, and wann desires.

O no, let Love his glory have, and might

Be giv’n to him, who triumphs in his right.

12.

Be giv’n to him, who triumphs in his right;

Nor fading be, but like those blossomes faire,

Which fall for good, and lose their colours bright,

Yet dye not, but with fruit their losse repaire:

So may Love make you pale with loving care,

When sweet enjoying shall restore that light,

More cleere in beauty, then we can compare,

If not to Venus in her chosen might.

And who so give themselves in this deare kinde,

These happinesses shall atteand them still,

To be supplide with joyes enrich’d in minde,

With treasures of content, and pleasures fill.

Thus love to be divine, doth here appeare,

Free from all foggs, but shining faire and cleare.

13.

Free from all foggs, but shining faire, and cleare,

Wise in all good, and innocent in ill,

Where holy friendship is esteemed deare,

With Truth in love, and Justice in our Will.

In Ffff1r 41

In Love these titles onely have their fill

Of happy life-maintainer, and the meere

Defence of right, the punisher of skill,

And fraude, from whence directions doth appeare.

To thee then, Lord commander of all hearts,

Ruler of our affections, kinde, and just,

Great King of Love, my soule from faigned smarts,

Or thought of change, I offer to your trust,

This Crowne, my selfe, and all that I have more,

Except my heart, which you bestowd before.

14.

Except my heart, which you bestowd before,

And for a signe of Conquest gave away

As worthlesse to be kept in your choice store;

Yet one more spotlesse with you doth not stay.

The tribute which my heart doth truely pay,

Is faith untouch’d, pure thoughts discharge the score

Of debts for me, where Constancy beares sway,

And rules as Lord, unharmd by Envies sore.

Yet other mischeifes faile not to attend,

As enemies to you, my foes must be,

Curst Jealousie doth all her forces bend

To my undoing, thus my harmes I see.

So though in Love I fervently doe burne,

In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne?

Song. 1.

Sweet, let me enjoy thy sight

More cleare, more bright then morning Sun,

Which in Spring-time gives delight

And by which Summers pride is wun.

Present sight doth pleasures move

Which in sad absence we must misse:

But when met againe in love,

Then twice redoubled is our blisse.

Yet this comfort absence gives,

And only faithfull loving tries,

That though parted, Loves force lives

As just in hearts, as in our eyes:

Ffff But Ffff1v 42

But such comfort banish quite,

Farre sweeter is it, still to finde

Favour in thy loved sight,

Which present smiles with joyes combind.

Eyes of gladnesse, lipps of Love,

And hearts from passion not to turne,

But in sweet affections moove,

In flames of Faith to live, and burne.

Dearest then, this kindnesse give,

And grant me life, which is your sight,

Wherein I more blessed live,

Then graced with the Sunnes faire light.

2.

Sweet Silvia in a shady wood,

With her faire Nimphs layd downe,

Saw not farre off where Cupid stood

The Monarch of Loves Crowne,

All naked, playing with his wings,

Within a Mirtle Tree,

Which sight a sudden laughter brings,

His Godhead so to see.

An fondly they began to jest,

With scoffing, and delight,

Not knowing he did breed unrest,

And that his will’s his right:

When he perceiving of their scorne,

Grew in such desperate rage,

Who but for honour first was borne,

Could not his rage asswage.

Till shooting of his murth’ring dart,

Which not long lighting was,

Knowing the next way to the heart,

Did through a poore Nymph passe:

This shot the others made to bow,

Besides all those to blame,

Who scorners be, or not allow

Of powerfull Cupids name.

Take heede then, nor doe idly smile,

Nor Loves commands despise,

For soone will he your strength beguile,

Although he want his eyes.

Come Ffff2r 43

3

Come merry Spring delight us,

For Winter long did spight us,

In pleasure still persever,

Thy beauties ending never:

Spring, and grow

Lasting so,

With joyes increasing ever.

Let cold from hence be banish’d,

Till hopes from me be vanish’d,

But blesse thy daynties growing

In fulnesse freely flowing:

Sweet Birds sing

For the Spring,

All mirth is now bestowing.

Philomel in this Arbour

Makes now her loving Harbour,

Yet of her state complaining,

Her Notes in mildnesse strayning,

Which though sweet,

Yet doe meet.

Her former lucklesse paining.

4.

Lovers learne to speake but truth,

Sweare not, and your oathes forgoe,

Give your age a constant youth,

Vow no more then what you’le doe.

Thinke it sacriledge to breake

What you promise, shall in love

And in teares what you doe speake

Forget not, when the ends you prove.

Doe not thinke it glory is

To entice, and then deceive,

Your chiefe honors lye in this,

By worth what wonne is, not to leave.

’Tis not for your fame to try,

What we weake, not oft refuse,

In our bounty our faults lye,

When you to doe a fault will chuse.

Ffff2 Fye Ffff2v 48

Fye leave this, a greater gaine,

Tis to keepe when you have won,

Then what purchas’d is with paine,

Soone after in all scorne to shun.

For if worthlesse to be priz’d,

Why at first will you it move?

And if worthy, why dispis’d?

You cannot sweare, and lie, and love.

Love alasse you cannot like,

Tis but for a fashion mov’d,

None can chuse, and then dislike,

Unlesse it be by falshood prov’d.

But your choyce is, and your love.

How most number to deceive,

As if honors claime did move

Like Popish Law, none safe to leave.

Flye this folly, and returne

Unto truth in Love, and try,

None but Martir’s happy burne,

More shamefull ends they have that lye.

1.

My heart is lost, what can I now expect,

An evening faire after a drowsie day?

Alas, fond Phant’sie, this is not the way,

To cure a mourning heart, or salve neglect:

They who should helpe, doe me, and helpe reject,

Embracing loose desires, and wanton play,

While wanton base delights, doe beare the sway,

AndAnd impudency raignes without respect.

O Cupid let thy Mother know her shame,

’Tis time for her to leave this youthfull flame,

Which doth dishonor her, is ages blame,

And takes away the greatnes of thy name.

Thou God of love, she only Queene of lust,

Yet strives by weakning thee, to be unjust.

2.Late Ffff3r 49

2.

Late in the Forrest I did Cupid see

Cold, wett, and crying, he had lost his way,

And being blinde was farther like to stray;

Which sight, a kinde compassion bred in me.

I kindly tooke, and dry’d him, while that he,

(Poore Child) complain’d, he sterved was with stay

And pin’d for want of his accustom’d prey,

For none in that wilde place his Host would be.

I glad was of his finding, thinking sure,

This service should my freedome still procure,

And in my armes I tooke him then unharm’d,

Carrying him safe unto a Myrtle bowre,

But in the way he made me, feele his powre,

Burning my heart, who had him kindly warm’d.

3.

Juno still jealous of her husband Jove,

Descended from above, on earth to try,

Whether she there could find his chosen Love,

Which made him from the Heav’ns so often flye.

Close by the place where I for shade did lye,

She chasing came, but when she saw me move,

Have you not seene this way (said she) to hye

One, in whom vertue never grownde did prove?

Hee, in whom Love doth breed, to stirre more hate,

Courting a wanton Nimph for his delight;

His name is Jupiter, my Lord, by Fate

Who for her, leaves Me, Heaven, his Throne, and
(light.

I saw him not (said I) although heere are

Many, in whose hearts, Love hath made like warre,

4.

When I beheld the Image of my deare,

With greedy lookes mine eies would that way
bend

Feare, and Desire, did inwardly contend;

Feare to be mark’d, Desire to draw still neere.

Ffff3 And Ffff3v 40

And in my soule a Spirit would appeare,

Which boldnes warranted, and did pretend

To be my Genius; yet I durst not lend,

My eyes in trust, where others seem’d so cleare.

Then did I search, from whence this danger rose,

If such unworthynesse in me did rest,

As my starv’d eyes must not with sight be blest,

When Jealousie her poyson did disclose.

Yet in my heart unseene of Jealous eye,

The truer Image shall in tryumph lye.

5.

Like to huge Clowdes of smoake which well may
hide

The face of fairest day, though for a while:

So wrong may shaddow me, till truth doe smile,

And Justice Sunne-like hath those vapours tyde.

O doating Time, canst thou for shame let slid,

So many minutes, while ills doe beguile

Thy age, and worth, and falshoods thus defile

Thy auncient good, where now but crosses bide?

Looke but once up, and leave thy toyling pace

And on my miseries thy dimme eye place,

Goe not so fast, but give my care some ende,

Turne not thy glasse (alas) unto my ill

Since thou with sand it canst not so farre fill,

But to each one my sorrowes will extend.

6.

O That no day would ever more appeare,

But clowdy night to governe this sad place,

Nor light from Heaven these haples roomes to grace

Since that light’s shadow’d which my Love holds deare.

Let thickest mists in envy master here,

And Sunne-borne day for malice show no face,

Disdaining light, where Cupid, and the race

Of Lovers are despisd, and shame shines cleere.

Let me be darke, since barr’d of my chiefe light,

And wounding Jealousie commands by might,

But Stage-play-like disguised pleasures give:

To Ffff4r 47

To me it seemes, as ancient fictions make

The Starrs, all fashions, and all shapes partake,

While in my thoughts true forme of Love shall live.

7.

No time, no roome, no thought, or writing can

Give rest, or quiet to my loving heart,

Or can my memory, or Phant’sie scan,

The measure of my still renewing smart.

Yet whould I not (deare Love) thou should’st depart,

But let my passions as they first began,

Rule, wound, and please, it is thy choysest Art,

To give disquiet, which seemes ease to man.

When all alone, I thinke upon thy paine,

How thou dost travell our best selves to gaine,

Then houerly thy lessons I doe learne;

Thinke on thy glory, which shall still ascend,

Untill the world come to a finall end,

And then shall we thy lasting powre dicerne.

8.

How Glowworme-like the Sun doth now appeare,

Cold beames doe from his glorious face descend

Which shewes his daies, and force duw to an ende,

Or that to leave taking, his time growes neere.

The day his face did seeme but pale, though cleare,

The reason is, he to the North must lend

His light, and warmth must to that Climat bend,

Whose frozen parts could not loves obscuredone character or no characterseat hold deare

Alas, if thou bright Sunne to part from hence

Grieve so, what must I haplesse who from thence,

Where thou dost goe my blessings all attend;

Thou shalt enjoy that sight for which I dye,

And in my heart thy fortunes doe envy,

Yet grieve, I’le love thee, for this state may ’mend.

9.

My Muse now happy lay thy selfe to rest,

Sleepe in the quiet of a faithfull love,

Write you no more, but let these Phant’sies moove

Some other hearts, wake not to new unrest.

But Ffff4v 48

But if you Study be those thoughts adrest

To truth, which shall eternall goodnes proove;

Enjoying of true joy the most, and best

The endles gaine which never will remove.

Leave the discourse of Venus, and her sonne

To young beginners, and their braines inspire

With storyes of great Love, and from that fire,

Get heat to write the fortunes they have wonne.

And thus leave off; what’s past shewes you can love,

Now let your Constancy your Honor prove.

Finis.

Gggg1r Gggg1v Gggg2r David Phillips his book Gggg2v