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SIR,
Having when I was at Paris last Spring, met with a little Book of Letters, call’d L’Intregue de Philander & Silvia* I had a particular fancy, besides my incinations to translate ’em into English, which I have done as faithfully as I cou’d, only where he speaks of the ingratitude of Cæsario to the King, I have added a word or two to his Character that might render it a litte more parallel to that of a
The Letters art soft and amorous, and besides my esteem and obligation to you, I think it no where so proper to address so much tender passion, as to a man whom Heaven and Nature has so well form’d both for dispencing and receiving of Love as your self, you having all in your person that is acceptable to women and desir’d by men, and when you please can make your self as absolutely the joy of the one as the envy
Sir, I wou’d fain think that in the Character of Philander there is a great resemblance of your self as to his Person, and that part of his Soul that was possest with Love: he wa a French Whigg,* ’tis true, and a most apparent Traytor, and there, I confess, the comparison fails extremely; for sure no man was ever so incorrigible so hardned in Torism* as your self, so fearless, so bold, so resolute, and confirm’d in Loyalty; in the height of all dangers and threatnings, in blessed Age of swearing, and the hopeful
In this you are far distant to my amorous Hero; but at least for my own satisfaction; and that I may believe Silvia truly happy, give me leave to fansie him such a person as your self, and then I cannot fail of fansying him too, speaking at the fee: of Silvia, pleading his right of love with the same softness in his eyes and voice, as you can do when you design to conquer; whene’er
Perhaps you’ll be out of humour, and cry, why the Devil did’st thou dedicate the Letters of a Whigg to me? but to make you amends, Sir, pray take notice Sivia is true Tory in every part, if but to love a Whigg be not crime enough in your opinion to pall your appetite, and for which even her youth and beauty cannot make an attonement; commodity, which rarely fails in
Sir
Your obliged and most
humble Servant, &c.
|<[xx]> [The Argument]
In the time of the Rebellion of the true Protestant Hugonots* in Paris, under the conduct of the Prince of Condy* (whom we will call Cæsario) many illustrious persons were drawn into the Association, amongst which there was one, whose Quality and Fortune (join’d with his Youth and Beauty) rendered him more elevated in the esteem of the gay part of the World than most of that Age. In his tender years (unhappily enough) he chanced to fall in Love with a Lady, whom we will call Mertilla, who had charms enough to engage any heart; she had all the advantages of Youth and Nature; a Shape excellent; a most agreeable stature, not too tall, and far from low, delicately proportioned; her Face a little inclined round, soft,
After this flight, these Letters were found in their Cabinets,* at their house at St. Denice, where they both lived together, for the space of a year, and they are as exactly as possible plac’d in the order they were sent, and were those supposed to be written towards the latter end of their Amours.
To Silvia.
Though I parted from you resolved to obey your impossible commands, yet know, oh charming Silvia! that after a Thousand conflicts between Love and Honour, I found the God (too mighty for the Idol) reign absolute Monarch in my Soul, and soon banish’t that Tyrant thence. That cruel Councellor that would suggest to you a Thousand fond Ar-|<2>guments to hinder my noble pursute; Silvia came in view! her irresistible Idea! With all the charmes of blooming youth, with all the Attractions of Heavenly Beauty! loose, wanton, gay, all flowing her bright hair, and languishing her lovely eyes, her dress all negligent as when I saw her last, discovering a Thousand ravishing Graces, round, white small Breast’s, delicate Neck, and rising Bosome, heav’d with sighs she wou’d in vain conceal; and all besides, that nicest fancy can imagine surprising —— Oh I dare not think on, lest my desires grow mad and raving; let it|<3> suffice, oh adorable Silvia! I think and know enough to justifie that flame in me, which our weak alliance of Brother and Sister has render’d so criminal; but he that adores Silvia, shou’d do it at an uncommon rate; ’tis not enough to sacrifice a single heart, to give you a simple Passion, your Beauty shou’d, like it self, produce wondrous effects; it shou’d force all obligations, all laws, all tyes even of Natures self: You, my lovely Maid, were not born to be obtain’d by the dull methods of ordinary loving; and ’tis in vain to prescribe me measures; and|<4> oh much more in vain to urge the nearness of our Relation. What Kin my charming Silvia are you to me? No tyes of blood forbid my Passion; and what’s a Ceremony impos’d on man by custome? what is it to my Divine Silvia, that the Priest took my hand and gave it to your Sister? what Alliance can that create? why shou’d a trick devis’d by the wary old, only to make provision for posterity, tye me to an eternal slavery? No, no, my charming Maid, ’tis nonsense all; let us, (born for mightier joys) scorn the dull beaten road, but let us love like|<5> the first race of men,* nearest allied to God, promiscuously they lov’d, and possess’st, Father and Daughter, Brother and Sister met, and reap’d the joys of Love without controul, and counted it Religious coupling, and ’twas encourag’d too by Heav’n it self: Therefore start not (too nice and lovely Maid) at shadows of things that can but frighten fools. Put me not off with these delays! rather say you but dissembl’d Love all this while, than now ’tis born, to dy again with a poor fright of nonsense. A fit of Honour! a fantome imaginary, and no|<6> more; no, no, represent me to your soul more favourably, think you see me languishing at your feet, breathing out my last in sighs and kind reproaches, on the pityless Silvia; reflect when I am dead, which will be the more afflicting object, the Ghost (as you are pleas’d to call it) of your Murder’d Honour, or the pale and bleeding one of
The lost Philander.
I have liv’d a whole day,
and yet no Letter from Silvia.|<7>
To Philander.
Oh why will you make me own (oh too importunate Philander!) with what regret I made you promise to preferr my Honour before your Love?
I confess with blushes, which you might then see kindling in my Face, that I was not at all pleas’d with the Vows you made me, to endeavour to obey me, and I then even wisht you wou’d obstinately have denied obedience to my just commands; have pursu’d your criminal flame, and have left me raving|<8> on my undoing: For when you were gone, and I had leisure to look into my heart, alas! I found, whether you oblig’d or not, whether Love or Honour were prefer’d, I, unhappy I, was either way inevitably lost. Oh! what pityless God, fond of his wondrous power, made us the objects of his Almighty vanity? oh why were we two made the first presidents of his new found revenge? for sure no Brother ever lov’d a Sister with so criminal a flame before: At least my unexperienc’d innocence ne’re met with so fatal a story: And ’tis in vain (my too charming|<9> Brother) to make me insensible of our Alliance; to perswade me I am a stranger to all but your eyes and Soul.
Alas, your fatally kind Industry is all in vain. You grew up a Brother with me; the title was fixed in my heart, when I was too young to understand your subtle distinctions, and there it thriv’d and spread; and ’tis now too late to transplant it, or alter its Native Property: Who can graft a flower on a contrary stalk? The Rose will bear no Tulips, nor the Hyacinth the Poppy; no more will the Brother the name of|<10> Lover. O! spoil not the natural sweetness and innocence we now retain, by an endeavour fruitless and destructive; no, no, Philander, dress your self in what Charms you will, be powerful as Love can make you in your soft argument —— yet, oh yet you are my Brother still. —— But why, oh cruel and eternal Powers, was not Philander my Lover before you destin’d him a Brother? or why being a Brother did you, malicious and spightful powers destine him a Lover! oh take, either title from him, or from me a life, which can render me no satisfaction,|<11> since your cruel laws permit it not for Philander, nor his to bless the now
Unfortunate Silvia.
Wednesday Morning.
To Philander.
After I had dismist my Page this morning with my Letter, I walk’d (fill’d with sad soft thoughts of my Brother Philander) into the Grove, and commanding Melinda to retire, who only attended me, I threw my self down on that bank of grass where we last disputed|<12> the dear, but fatal business of our souls: where our prints (that invited me) still remain on the prest greens: There with Ten Thousand sighs, with remembrance of the tender minutes we passed then, I drew your last Letter from my Bosome, and often kist, and often read it over, but oh, who can conceive my Torment, when I came to that fatal part of it, where you say you gave your hand to my sister? I found my soul agitated with a Thousand different passions, but all insupportable, all mad and raving; sometimes I threw my self with fury on the|<13> ground, and prest my panting heart to the cold earth; then rise in rage, and tear my hair, and hardly spare that face that taught you first to love: then fold my wretched Arms to keep down rising Sighs that almost rend my breast, I traverse swiftly the conscious Grove; with my distracted show’ring eyes directed in vain to pityless Heaven, the lovely silent shade favouring my complaints, I cry alowd, oh God! Philander’s, Married, the lovely charming thing for whom I languish is Married! —— That fatal word’s enough, I need not add to whom. Married is enough to make me|<14> curse my Birth, my Youth, my Beauty, and my eyes that first betray’d me to the undoing object: Curse on the Charms you’ve flatter’d, for every fancy’d Grace has help’d my ruine on; now, like flowers that wither unseen and unpossest in shades, they must dy and be no more, they were to no end created, since Philander’s Married: Married! oh fate, oh Hell, oh torture and confusion! tell me not ’tis to my Sister, that addition’s needless and vain: To make me eternally wretched, there needs no more than that Philander’s Married! Than that the Priest|<15> gave your hand away from me; to another, and not to me; tir’d out with life, I need no other passport than this Repetition, Philander’s Married! ’tis that alone is sufficient to lay in her cold Tomb
The wretched and despairing
SILVIA.
Wednesday night,
Bellfont.*|<16>
To Silvia.
Twice last night, oh unfaithful and unloving Silvia! I sent my Page to the old place for Letters, but he returned the object of my rage, because without the least remembrance from my fickle Maid: In this Torment, unable to hide my disorder, I suffer’d my self to be laid in bed; where the restless torments of the night exceeded those of the day, and are not even by the languisher himself to be exprest; but the returning light brought a short slumber on its Wings; which|<17> was interrupted by my attoneing Boy, who brought Two Letters from my adorable Silvia: he wak’d me from Dreams more agreeable than all my watchful hours cou’d bring; for they are all tortur’d. —— And even the softest mixt with a Thousand despairs, difficulties, and disappointments, but these were all love, which gave a loose to joys undeny’d by Honour! and this way, my charming Silvia, you shall be mine, in spight of all the Tyrannies of that cruel hinderer; Honour appears not, my Silvia, within the close drawn Curtains, in shades and gloomy light the|<18> fantôm frights not, but when one beholds its blushes, when it is attended and adorn’d, and the Sun sees its false Beauties; in silent Groves and grotto’s, dark Alcoves, and lonely recesses, all its formalities are laid aside; ’twas then and there, methought my Silvia yielded! with a faint struggle and a soft resistance; I heard her broken sighs, her tender whispering Voice that trembling cry’d, —— Oh can you be so cruel. —— Have you the heart —— Will you undo a Maid, because she loves you? Oh Will you ruine me, because you may? —— My faithless —— My unkind, then sigh’t and yiel-|<19>ded, and made me happier than a Triumphing God! but this was still a Dream, I wak’d and sigh’t, and found it vanish all! But oh my Silvia, your Letters were substantial pleasure, and pardon your Adorer, if he tell you, even the disorder you express is infinitly dear to him, since he knows it all the effects of Love; Love, my soul! which you in vain oppose; pursue it, Dear, and call it not undoing, or else explain your fear, and tell me what your soft, your trembling heart gives that cruel title to? is it undoing to Love? And love the Man you say has Youth|<20> and Beauty to justifie that Love? A man, that adores you with so submissive and perfect a resignation; a man, that did not only Love first, but is resolved to dy in that agreeable flame; in my Creation I was form’d for Love, and destin’d for my Silvia, and she for her Philander: And shall we; can we disappoint our Fate, no, my soft Charmer, our souls were toucht with the same shafts of Love before they had a being in our Bodies, and can we contradict Divine Decree?
Or is’t undoing, Dear, to bless Philander with what you must some time or other|<21> sacrifice to some hated loath’d object, (for Silvia can never love again) and are those Treasures for the dull conjugal Lover to rifle? was the beauty of Divine shape created for the cold Matrimonial imbrace? and shall the eternal joys that Silvia can dispense, be return’d by the clumsey Husband’s careless, forc’d, insipid duty’s? oh, my Silvia, shall a Husband (whose insensibility will call those Raptures of joy! those Heavenly Blisses! the drudgery of life) shall he I say receive ’em? While your Philander, with the very thought of the excess of pleasure, the least|<22> possession wou’d afford, faints o’re the Paper that brings you here his eternal Vows.
Oh Where, my Silvia, ly’s the undoing then? my Quality and Fortune are of the highest rank amongst men. My Youth gay and fond, my Soul all soft, all Love; and all Silvia’s! I adore her, I languish for hera, I am sick of Love, and sick of Life, till she yields she is all mine!
You say my Silvia I am Married, and there my happyness is Shipwreck’d; but Silvia, I deny it, and will not have you think it; no, my Soul was Married to yours in its first Creation; and only|<23> Silvia is the Wife of my sacred, my everlasting Vows; of my solemn considerate thoughts, of my ripen’d Judgment, my mature considerations. The rest are all repented and forgot, like the hasty folly’s of unsteady Youth, like Vows breath’d in Anger, and dy Perjur’d as soon as vented, and unregarded either of Heav’n or Man. Oh! why shou’d my Soul suffer for ever, why eternal pain for the unheedy, short-liv’d sin of my unwilling Lips? besides, this fatal thing called Wife, this unlucky Sister, this Mertilla, this stop to all my Heaven, that breeds such|<24> fatal differences in our Affairs, this Mertilla, I say, first broke her Marriage Vows to me; I blame her not, nor is it reasonable I shou’d; she saw the young Cæsario, and Lov’d him. Cæsario, whom the envying World in spight of prejudice must own, has irresistible Charms, that Godlike form, that sweetness in his face, that softness in his Eyes and delicate Mouth; and every Beauty besides that Women dote on, and Men envy: That lovely composition of Man and Angel! with the addition of his eternal Youth and Illustrious Birth, was form’d|<25> By Heaven and Nature for universal Conquest! and who can love the charming Hero at a cheaper rate than being undone: And she that wou’d not venture Fame, Honour, and a Marriage Vow for the Glory of the young Cesario’s heart, merits not the noble Victim; oh! wou’d I cou’d say so much for the young Philander, who wou’d run a Thousand times more hazards of life and Fortune for the Adorable Silvia, than that amorous Hero ever did for Mertilla, though from that Prince I learn’t some of my disguises for my thefts of Love; for he, like|<26> Jove,* courted in several shapes, I saw ’em all, and suffer’d the delusion to pass upon me; for I had seen the lovely Silvia? yes, I had seen her, and lov’d her too. But Honour kept me yet Master of my Vows; but when I knew her false, when I was once confirm’d, —— When by my own Soul I found the dissembl’d Passion of hers, when she cou’d no longer hide the blushes or the paleness that seiz’d at the approaches of my disorder’d Rival, when I saw Love dancing in her eyes, and her false heart beat with nimble motions, and soft trembling seize every Limb,|<27> at the approach or touch of the Royal Lover, then I thought my self no longer oblig’d to conceal my flame for Silvia; nay, e’re I broke silence, e’re I discover’d the hidden Treasure of my heart, I made her falsehood plainer yet: Even the time and place of the dear assignations I discover’d; certainty! happy certainty! broke the dull heavy chain, and I with joy submitted to my shameful freedome, and caress’d my generous Rival; nay, and by Heaven I lov’d him for’t, pleas’d at the resemblance of our Souls, for we were secret Lovers both, but more pleas’d|<28> that he Loved Mertilla; for that made way to my passion for the adorable Silvia!
Let the dull hot-brain’d, jealous fool upbraid me with cold Patience: Let the fond Coxcomb,* whose Honour depends on the frail Marriage Vow, reproach me, or tell me that my Reputation depends on the feeble constancy of a Wife, perswade me it is Honour to fight for an irretrievable and unvalu’d Prize, and that because my Rival has taken leave to Cuckold me, I shall give him leave to kill me too: Unreasonable nonsense grown to custome.|<29> No by Heav’n! I had rather Mertilla shou’d be false, (as she is) than wish and languish for the happy occasion, the Sin’s the same, only the Act’s more generous: Believe me, my Silvia, we have all false notions of Vertue and Honour, and surely this was taken up by some despairing Husband in Love with a fair Jilting Wife, and then I Pardon him; I shou’d have done as much: for only she that has my Soul, can only ingage my Sword, she that I love, and my self, only commands and keeps my stock of Honour: For Silvia! the Charming, the distracting Silvia! I could fight for a|<30> glance or smile, expose my heart for her dearer fame, and wish no recompense, but breathing out my last gasp into her soft, white, delicate bosome. But for a Wife! that stranger to my Soul, and whom we Wed for Interest and necessity, —— A Wife, light loose, unregarding Property, who for a momentary Apetite will expose her fame, without the noble end of loving on, she that will abuse my Bed, and yet return again to the loath’d conjugal imbrace, back to the Armes so hated, that even strong fancy of the absent Youth belov’d, cannot so|<31> much as render supportable. Curse on her, and yet she kisses, fawnes and dissembles on, hangs on his Neck, and makes the Sot believe: —— Damn her, Brute; i’ll whistler* off, and let her down the Wind, as Othella* says. No, I adore the Wife, that when the heart is gone, boldy and nobles* persues the Conqueror, and generously owns the Whore; —— Not poorly adds the
Thus my excellent Maid I have sent you the sense and truth of my Soul, in an affair you have often hinted to me, and I take no pleasure to remember; I hope you will at least think my aversion|<33> reasonable, and that being thus undisputably freed from all obligations to Mertilla as a Husband, I may be permitted to lay claim to Silvia as a Lover, and marry my self more effectually by my everlasting Vows, than the Priest by his common method cou’d do to any other Woman less belov’d, there being no other way at present left by Heav’n, to render me Silvia’s.
Eternal happy Lover and
PHILANDER.
I dy to see you.
To Silvia.
When I had seal’d the inclos’d, Brilljard* told me you were this Morning come from Belfont, and with infinite impatience have expected seeing you here; which defer’d my sending this to the old place; and I am so vain (oh Adorable Silvia!) as to believe my fancy’d silence has given you disquiets; but sure, my Silvia cou’d not charge me with neglect, no she knows my Soul, and lays it all on chance, or some strange accident, she knows no business cou’d divert me. No|<35> were the Nation sinking, the great Senate of the world confounded, our Glorious Designs betray’d and ruin’d, and the vast City all in flame; like Nero,* unconcern’d, I’d sing my everlasting Song of Love to Silvia; which no time or Fortune shall untune. I know my Soul, and all its strength, and how it is fortify’d, the charming Idea of my young Silvia will for ever remain there, the original may fade, time may render it less fair, less blooming in my Arms, but never in my Soul; I shall find thee there the same gay glorious creature that first surpris’d and inslav’d me, believe|<36> me ravishing Maid, I shall. Why then, oh why, my cruel Silvia! are my joys delay’d? Why am I by your rigorous commands kept from the sight of my Heav’n, my eternal bliss? an Age, my fair Tormentor’s past, Four tedious live long days are number’d o’re, since I beheld the object of my lasting Vows, my eternal wishes, how can you think, oh unreasonable Silvia! that I cou’d live so long without you? And yet I am alive; I find it by my pain, by torments of fears and jealousies insupportable; I languish and go downward to the earth, where you will shortly|<37> see me lay’d without your recalling mercy; ’tis true, I move about this unregarded world, appear every day in the great Senate-House, at Clubs, Caballs, and private consultations; (for Silvia knows all the business of my Soul, even in politicks of State as well as Love) I say I appear indeed, and give my Voice in publick business; but oh my Heart more kindly is imploy’d, that and my thoughts are Silvia’s! Ten Thousand times a day I breathe that name, my busie fingers are eternally tracing out those Six mystick letters; a Thousand ways on every thing I touch,|<38> form words, and make ’em speak a Thousand things, and all are Silvia still; my melancholy change is evident to all that see me, which they interpret many mistaken ways; our Party fancy I repent my League with ’em, and doubting I’le betray the Cause, grow jealous of me, till by new Oaths, new Arguments, I confirm ’em; then they smile all, and cry I am in Love; and this they would believe, but that they see all Women that I meet or converse with are indifferent to me, and so can fix it no where; for none can guess it Silvia;|<39> thus while I dare not tell my Soul, no not even to Cesario, the stifled flame burns inward, and torments me so, that (unlike the thing I was) I fear Silvia will lose her Love, and Lover too; for those few Charmes she said I had, will fade, and this fatal distance will destroy both Soul and Body too; my very reason will abandon me, and I shall rave to see thee; restore me, oh restore me then to Bellfont, happy Bellfont, still blest with Silvia’s presence! permit me, oh permit me into those sacred Shades, where I have been so often (too innocently)|<40> blest! let me survey again the dear characters of Silvia on the smooth Birch; oh when shall I sit beneath those Boughs, gazing on the young Goddess of the Grove, hearing her sigh for Love; touching her glowing small white hands, beholding her killing eyes languish, and her Charming bosome rise and fall with short-breath’d uncertain breath; breath as soft and sweet as the restoring breeze that glides or’e the newblown flowers: But oh what is it! What Heav’n of Perfumes, when it inclines to the ravisht Philander, and whispers|<41> Love it dares not name aloud!
What power witholds me then from rushing on thee, from pressing thee with Kisses; folding thee in my transported Armes, and following all the dictates of Love without respect or Awe. What is it, oh my Silvia can detain a Love so violent and raving, and so wild, admit me, sacred Maid, admit me again to those soft delights; that I may find if possible, what Devinity (envious of my bliss) checks my eager joys, my raging flame; while you too make an experiment|<42> (worth the trial) what ’tis makes Silvia deny her
Impatient Adorer,
PHILANDER.
My Page is Ill, and I am oblig’d to trust Brilljard with these to the dear Cottage of their Rendezvous; send me your opinion of his fidelity: and ah! remember I dy to see you.|<43>
To Philander.
Not yet? —— Not yet? oh ye dull tedious Hours, when will you glide away? and bring that happy moment on, in which I shall at least hear from my Philander; Eight and Forty tedious ones are past, and I am here forgotten still; forlorn, impatient, restless every where; not one of all your little moments (ye undiverting hours) can afford me repose; I drag ye on, a heavy Load; I count ye all, and bless ye when you’r gone; but tremble at the approach-|<44>ing ones, and with a dread expect you; and nothing will divert me now, my Couch is tiresome, my Glass is vain; my Books are dull, and conversation insupportable; the Grove affords me no relief; nor even those Birds to whom I have so often breath’d Philander’s, name, they sing it on their perching Boughs; no, nor the reviewing of his dear Letters, can bring me any ease. Oh what fate is reserv’d for me; for thus I cannot live; nor surely thus I shall not dy. Perhaps Philander’s making a tryal of Vertue by this silence. Pursue it, call up|<45> all your reason, my lovely Brother to your aid, let us be wise and silent, let us try what that will do towards the cure of this too infectious flame; let us, oh let us, my Brother, sit down here, and pursee* the crime of Loving on no further. Call me Sister —— Swear I am so, and nothing but your Sister: and forbear, oh forbear, my charming Brother, to pursue me farther with your soft bewitching Passion; let me alone, let me be ruin’d with Honour, if I must be ruin’d. —— For oh! ’twere much happyer I were no more, than that I shou’d be more then Philander’s|<46> Sister; or he than Silvia’s Brother: Oh let me ever call you by that cold name, till that of Lover be forgotten: —— Ha! —— Methinks on the suddain, a fit of Vertue informs my Soul, and bids me ask you for what sin of mine my Charming Brother, you still persue a Maid that cannot fly: Ungenerous and unkind! why did you take advantage of those Freedoms I gave you as a Brother, I smil’d on you, and sometimes kis’t you too; —— But for my Sisters sake. I play’d with you, suffer’d your Hands and Lips to wander were* I dare not now; all which I thought a|<47> Sister might allow a Brother, and knew not all the while the Treachery of Love: Oh none, but under that intimate title of a Brother, cou’d have had the opportunity to have ruin’d me; that, that betray’d me: I play’d away my Heart at a Game I did not understand, nor knew I when ’twas lost, by degrees so subtil, and an authority so lawful, you won me out of all. Nay then too, even when all was lost, I wou’d not think it Love. I wonder’d what my sleepless Nights, my waking eternal thoughts, and slumbring Visions of my lovely Brother meant, I wonder’d|<48> why my Soul was continually fill’d with wishes and new desires; and still concluded ’twas for my Sister all, till I discover’d the cheat by Jealousy, for when my Sister hung upon your neck, kist, and carest that face that I ador’d, oh how I found my colour change, my Limbs all trembled, and my blood inrag’d, and I cou’d scarce forbear reproaching you: Or crying out, Oh why this fondness, Brother. Sometimes you perceiv’d my concern, at which you’d smile; for you who had been before in Love, (a curse upon the fatal time) cou’d guess at my disorder;|<49> then wou’d you turn the wanton play on me: When sullen with my jealousy and the cause, I fly your soft imbrace, yet wish you wou’d pursue and overtake me, which you ne’re fail’d to do, where after a kind quarrel all was pardon’d, and all was well again: While the poor injur’d innocent my Sister, made her self sport at our delusive Wars; Still I was ignorant, till you in a most fatal hour inform’d me I was a Lover. Thus was it with my heart in those blest days of innocence; thus it was won and lost; nor can all my Stars in Heaven prevent, I doubt, pre-|<50>vent my ruin. Now you are sure of the fatal conquest, you scorn the trifling Glory, you are silent now; oh I am inevitably lost, or with you or without you; And I find by this little silence and absence of yours, that ’tis most certain I must either dy, or be Philander’s
SILVIA.
If Dorillus come not with a Letter, or that my Page, whom I have sent to this Cottage for one, bring it not, I cannot support my Life, for oh, Philander, I have a Thousand wild distracting fears, knowing how you are involv’d in the Interest you have espous’d with the young Cæsario: how danger surrounds you, how your life and|<51> Glory depends on the frail secresie of Villains and Rebels: Oh give me leave to fear eternally your fame and life, if not your Love; If Silvia cou’d command, Philander shou’d be Loyal as he’s Noble; and what generous Maid wou’d not suspect his Vows to a Mistress, who breaks ’em with his Prince and Master! Heav’n preserve you and your Glory.
To Philander.
Another Night, oh Heaven’s, and yet no Letter come! Where are you, my Philander? What happy place contains you? if in Heav’n, why do’s not some posting Angel bid me hast after you? If on|<52> Earth, why does not some little God of Love bring the grateful tidings on his painted Wings? if sick, why does not my own fond heart by sympathy inform me, but that’s all active, vigorous, wishing, impatient of delaying silence, and busie in imagination; if you are false, if you have forgotten your poor believing and distracted Silvia, why do’s not that kind Tyrant Death, that meagre welcome Vision of the despairing, old, and wretched, approach in dead of Night, approach my restless Bed, and toll the dismal tidings in my frighted listening ears, and strike me for ever|<53> silent, lay me for ever quiet, lost to the world, lost to my faithless Charmer: But if a sense of Honour in you, has made you resolve to prefer mine before your Love, made you take up a noble fatal resolution, never to tell me more of your Passion, this were a Trial I fear my fond heart wants courage to bear; or is’t a trick, a cold fit, only assum’d to try how much I Love you? I have no Arts, Heav’n knows, no guile or double meaning in my soul, ’tis all plain native simplicity, fearful and timerous as Children in the Night, trembling as Doves pursu’d; born soft by Nature,|<54> and made tender by Love; what, oh! what will become of me then! Yet wou’d I were confirm’d in all my fears: For as I am my condition is more deplorable; for I’m in doubt, and doubt is the worst torment of the mind: Oh Philander, be mercyful, and let me know the worst, do not be cruel while you kill, do it with pity to the wretched Silvia, oh let me quickly know whether you are at all, or are the most impatient and unfortunate
SILVIA’s.
I rave, I dy for
some Relief.
To Philander.
As I was going to send away this enclos’d, Dorillus came with Two Letters; oh, you cannot think, Philander with how much reason you call me fickle Maid, for cou’d you but imagine how I am tormentingly divided, how unresolv’d between violent Love, and cruel Honour. You would say ’twere impossible to fix me any where; or be the same thing for a moment together. There is not a short hour past through the swift hand of|<56> time, since I was all despairing, raging Love, jealous, fearful, and impatient; and now, now that your fond Letters have dispers’d those Damons, those tormenting Councellors, and given a little respit, a little tranquility to my Soul; like States luxurious grown with ease, it ungratefully rebells against the Soveraign power that made it great and happy; and now that Traytor Honour heads the mutiners within; Honour, whom my late mighty fears had almost famisht and brought to nothing, warm’d and reviv’d by thy new protested flame, makes War|<57> against Almighty Love! and I, who but now nobly resolved for Love! by an inconstancy natural to my Sex, or rather my fears, am turn’d over to Honour’s side: So the despairing man stands on the Rivers Bank, design’d to plunge into the rapid stream, till coward fear seizing his timorous soul, he views around once more the flow’ry Plains, and looks with wishing eyes back to the Groves, then sighing stops, and cry’s I was too rash, forsakes the dangerous shore, and hasts away. Thus indiscreet was I; was all for Love, fond and undoing Love! but when I saw|<58> it with full Tide flow in upon me, one glance of Glorious Honour, makes me again retreat. I will —— I am resolv’d —— And must be brave! I can’t forget I’m Daughter to the great Beralti,* and Sister to Mertilla, a yet unspotted Maid, fit to produce a race of Glorious Hero’s! and can Philander’s Love set no higher value on me than base poor prostitution! is that the price of his heart? —— Oh how I hate thee now! or wou’d to Heav’n I cou’d. —— Tell me not thou charming Beguiler, that Mertilla was to blame, was it a fault in her, and will it be vertue in me; and can I|<59> believe the crime that made her lose your heart, will make me Mistress of it: No, if by any action of her’s the noble House of the Beralti be dishonour’d, by all the Actions of my Life it shall receive Additions and Luster and Glory! nor will I think Mertilla’s vertue lessen’d for your mistaken opinion of it, and she may be as much in vain pursu’d perhaps, by the Prince Cæsario, as Silvia shall be by the young Philander; the envying world talks loud ’tis true, but oh if all were true that busie babler says, what Lady has her fame? What Husband is not a Cuckold? Nay, and a|<60> friend to him that made him so; and ’tis in vain my too subtil Brother, you think to build the trophies of your Conquests on the ruine of both Mertilla’s fame and mine; oh how dear wou’d your inglorious passion cost the great unfortunate house of the Beralti, while you poorly ruine the fame of Mertilla to make way to the heart of Silvia; Remember, oh remember once your Passion was as violent for Mertilla, and all the Vows, Oaths, protestations, tears and Prayers you make and pay at my feet, are but the faint repetitions, the feeble eccho’s of what you|<61> sigh’d out at hers. Nay, like young Paris,* fled with the fair Prize; your fond, your eager Passion made it a Rape: Oh perfidious! —— Let me not call it back to my remembrance. —— Oh let me dy, rather than call to mind a time so fatal; when the lovely false Philander vow’d his heart, his faithless heart away to any Maid but Silvia: —— Oh let it not be possible for me to imagine his dear Arms ever grasp’d any body with joy but —— Silvia! —— And yet they did, with transports of Love! yes, yes you lov’d! by Heav’n you lov’d this false, this perfidious Mertilla; for|<62> false she is; you lov’d her, and I’ll have it so; nor shall the Sister in me plead her Cause. She’s false beyond all Pardon; for you are beautiful as Heav’n it self can render you, a shape exactly form’d, not too low, nor too tall, but made to beget soft desire and everlasting wishes in all that look on you; but your face! your lovely face, inclining to round, large piercing languishing black eyes, delicate proportion’d Nose, charming dimpl’d Mouth, plump red Lips, inviting and swelling, white Teeth, small and even, fine complexion, and a beauti-|<63>ful turn! all which you had an Art to order in so ingaging a manner, that it charm’d all the beholders, both Sexes were undone with looking on you; and I have heard a witty man of your Party swear your face gain’d more to the League and Association than the Cause, and has curst a Thousand times the false Mertilla, for preferring Cæsario! (less beautiful) to the adorable Philander; to add to this, Heav’n! how you spoke, when e’re you spoke of Love! in that you far surpast the young Cæsario! as young as he, almost as great and Glorious; Oh|<64> perfidious Mertilla. Oh false, oh foolish and ingrate! —— that you abandon’d her was just, she was not worth retaining in your heart, nor cou’d be worth defending with your Sword: —— But grant her false; Oh Philander! how does her perfidy intitle you to me? false as she is, you still are Married to her; inconstant as she is, she’s still your Wife; and no breach of the Nuptial Vow can unty the fatal knot; and that’s a Mystery to common sense: sure she was Born for mischief, and Fortune when she gave her|<65> you, design’d the ruine of us all; but most particularly
The Unfortunate
SILVIA.|<66>
To Silvia.
My Souls eternal joy, my Silvia! what have you done, and oh how durst you knowing my fond Heart, try it with so fatal a stroke; what means this severe Letter? and why so eagerly at this time? o’th’ day! is Mertilla’s Vertue so defended; is it a question now whether she is false or not? oh poor, oh frivolous excuse! you love me not; by all that’s good you love me not! to try your power you have flatter’d and feign’d, oh Woman! false Charming Woman! you have|<67> undone me, I rave and shall commit such extravagance that will ruine both: I must upbraid you, fickle and inconstant, I must, and this distance will not serve, ’tis too great; my reproaches lose their force, I burst with resentment with injur’d Love, and you are either the most faithless of your Sex, or the most malicious and tormenting: Oh I am past tricks my Silvia, your little arts might do well in a beginning flame; but to a settled Fire that is arriv’d to the highest degree, it does but damp its fierceness, and instead of drawing me on, wou’d|<68> lessen my esteem, if any such deceit were capable to harbour in the Heart of Silvia, but she is all Divine, and I am mistaken in the meaning of what she say’s. Oh my adorable, think no more on that dull false thing a Wife, let her be banisht thy thoughts, as she is my Soul; let her never appear though but in a Dream to fright our solid joys, our true happiness; no, let us look forward to Pleasures vast and unconfin’d, to coming transports: and leave all behind us that contributes not to that Heav’n of Bliss: Remember, oh Silvia, that five tedious days are|<69> past since I sigh’t at your dear feet; and five days, to a Man so madly in Love as your Philander, is a tedious Age; ’tis now six a Clock in the Morning, Brilljard will be with you by Eight, and by Ten I may have your permission to see you, and then I need not say how soon I will present my self before you, at Bellfont; for Heaven’s sake, my eternal Blessing, if you design me this happiness, contrive it so, that I may see no body that belongs to Bellfont, but the fair, the lovely Silvia; for I must be more moments with you, than will be convenient to be taken notice of, lest|<70> they suspect our business to be Love, and that discovery, yet, may ruine us. Oh I will delay no longer, my Soul’s impatient to see you, I cannot live another Night without it; I dy, by Heav’n! I languish for the appointed hour; you will believe when you see my languid Face, and dying Eyes, how much and great a sufferer in Love I am.
My Soul’s Delight, You may perhaps deny me from your fear, but oh! do not, though I ask a mighty blessing; Silvia’s Company alone, silent, and perhaps by Dark, —— Oh, though I faint|<71> with the thought only of so blest an opportunity, yet you shall secure me, by what Vows, what imprecations or ty’s you please; bind my busie hands, blind my ravish’t eyes; command my Tongue, do what you will; but let me hear your Angels Voice, and have the transported joy of throwing my self at your feet; and if you please, give me leave (a man condemn’d eternally to Love) to plead a little for my Life and passion; let me remove your fears; and though that mighty Task never make me intirely happy,|<72> at least ’twill be a great satisfaction to me to know, that ’tis not through my own fault that I am the
Most Wretched
PHILANDER.
I have order’d Brilljard to wait your Commands at Dorillus’s Cottage, that he may not be seen at Bellfont: resolve to see me to Night, or I shall come without order and injure both: My dear, Damn’d Wife is dispos’d of at a Ball Cæsario makes to Night; the opportunity will be lucky, not that I fear her jealousie, but the effects of it.
To Philander.
I tremble with the apprehension of what you ask, how shall I comply with your fond desires? My Soul bodes some dire effect of this bold enterprise, for I must own (and blush while I do own it) that my Soul yields obedience to your soft request, and even whilst I read your Letter, was diverted with the contrivance of seeing you: For though, as my Brother, you have all the freedoms imaginable at Bellfont to entertain and walk with me, yet ’twould be dif-|<74>ficult and prejudicial to my Honour, to receive you alone any where without my Sister: and cause a suspicion, which all about me now are very far from conceiving, except Melinda, my faithful confident, and too fatal Councellor: and but for this fear, I know, my charming Brother, three little Leagues shou’d not five long days separate Philander from his Silvia. But my lovely Brother, since you beg it so earnestly, and my heart consents so easily, I must pronounce my own Doom, and say, Come, my Philander, whither Love or soft desire in-|<75>vites you; and take this direction in the management of this mighty affair. I wou’d have you, as soon as this comes to your hands, to hast to Dorillus’s Cottage, without your Equipage, only Brilljard, whom I believe you may trust, both from his own discretion, and your vast bounty’s to him; wait there till you receive my commands: and I will retire betimes to my Apartment pretending not to be well, and as soon as the Evenings obscurity will permit, Melinda shall let you in at the Garden Gate that is next the Grove, unseen and unsuspect-|<76>ed; but oh, thou powerful Charmer have a care, I trust you with my all: my dear, dear, my precious Honour, guard it well; for oh I fear my forces are too weak to stand your shock of Beauties; you have Charms enough to justify my yielding, but yet by Heav’n I wou’d not for an Empire: but what is dull Empire to Almighty Love? The God subdues the Monarch! ’tis to your strength I trust, for I am a feeble Woman, a Virgin quite disarm’d by two fair eyes, an Angels Voice and form; but yet I’ll dy before I’ll yield my Honour; no|<77> though our unhappy Family have met reproach from the imagin’d levity of my Sister; ’tis I’ll redeem the bleeding Honour of our Family, and my great Parents Vertues shall shine in me; I know it, for if it passes this Test, if I can stand this Temptation, I’m proof against all the World; but I conjure you aid me if I need it: If I incline but in a Languishing look, if but a wish appear in my eyes, or I betray consent but in a Sigh; take not, oh take not the opportunity, lest when you’ve done I grow raging mad, and discover all in the wild fit; oh|<78> who wou’d venture on an enemy with such unequal force; what hardy fool wou’d hazard all at Sea, that sees the rising Storm come rouling on; who but fond Woman, giddy heedless Woman! wou’d thus expose her Vertue to Temptation? I see, I know my danger, yet I must permit it; Love soft bewitching Love will have it so, that cannot deny what my feebler Honour forbids; and though I tremble with fear, yet Love suggests, ’twill be an Age to Night; I long for my undoing; for oh I cannot stand the batteries of your eyes and tongue,|<79> these fears, these conflicts I have a Thousand times a day; ’tis pitiful sometimes to see me; on one hand a Thousand Cupids all gay and smiling present Philander with all the Beauties of his sex, with all the softness in his looks and Language those Gods of Love can inspire, with all the Charms of youth adorn’d, bewitching all, and all transporting; on the other hand, a poor lost Virgin languishing and undone; sighing her willing rape to the deaf shades and Fountains; filling the Woods with cry’s, swelling the Murmering Rivolets|<80> with tears, her noble Parents with a generous Rage reviling her, and her betray’d Sister loading her bow’d head with curses and reproaches; and all about her looking forlorn and sad: Judg, oh Judg my adorable Brother, of the vastness of my courage and passion, when even this deplorable prospect cannot defend me from the resolution of giving you admittance into my Apartment this Night, nor shall ever drive you from the Soul of your
SILVIA.|<81>
To Silvia.
I have obey’d my Silvia’s dear commands, and the dictates of my own impatient Soul, as soon as I receiv’d ’em, I immediately took Horse for Bellfont, though I knew I shou’d not see my Adorable Silvia till Eight or Nine at Night; but oh ’tis wondrous pleasure to be so much more near my eternal joy; I wait at Dorillus’s Cottage the tedious approaching Night that must shelter me in its kind shades, and conduct me to a pleasure I faint but with imagining; ’tis now, my Lovely|<82> Charmer, Three a Clock, and oh how many tedious hours I am to languish here before the blessed one arrive; I know you Love, my Silvia, and therefore must guess at some part of my torment, which yet is mixt with a certain trembling joy, not to be imagin’d by any but Silvia, who surely loves Philander, if there be truth in Beauty, faith in youth, she surely loves him much; and much more above her Sex she’s capable of Love; by how much more her Soul’s form’d of a softer and more delicate composition, by how much more her Wits refin’d and elevated above her|<83> duller Sex; and by how much more she is oblig’d if Passion can claim Passion in return, sure no Beauty was ever so much indebted to a slave, as Silvia to Philander, none ever Lov’d like me! Judg then my pains of Love, my Joys, my fears, my impatience, and desires, and call me to your sacred presence with all the speed of Love; and as soon as ’tis duskish, imagine me in the Meadow behind the Grove, ’till when think me imploy’d in eternal thoughts of Silvia; restless, and talking to the Trees of Silvia, sighing her charming Name, circling with folded Arms my pan-|<84>ting heart, (that beats and trembles the more, the nearer it approaches the happy Bellfont) and fortifying the feeble trembler against a sight so Ravishing and surprising, I fear to be sustain’d with Life; but if I faint in Silvia’s Arms, it will be happyer far than all the Glories of Life without her.
Send, my Angel, something from you to make the Hours less tedious, consider me, Love me, and be as impatient as I, that you may the sooner find at your feet your everlasting Lover
PHILANDER.
From Dorillus’s Cottage.|<85>
To Philander.
I have at last recover’d sense enough to tell you, I have receiv’d your Letter by Dorillus, and which had like to have been discover’d, for he prudently enough put it under the Strawberry’s he brought me in a Basket, fearing he shou’d get no other opportunity to have given it me; and my Mother seeing ’em look so fair and fresh, snatcht the Basket with a greediness I have not seen in her before; while she was calling to her Page for a Porcellane Dish to put ’em out, Dorillus had op-|<86>portunity to hint to me what lay at the bottom: Heaven’s! had you seen my disorder and confusion! what shou’d I do; Love had not one invention in store, and here it was that all the subtilty of Women abandon’d me. Oh Heaven’s how cold and pale I grew, lest the most important business of my Life shou’d be betray’d and ruin’d; but not to terrify you longer with fears of my danger, the Dish came, and out the Strawberries were powr’d,* and the Basket thrown aside on the Bank where my Mother sat, (for we were in the Garden when we met accidentally|<87> Dorillus first with the Basket) there were some Leaves of Fern put at the bottom between the Basket and Letter, which by good Fortune came not out with the Strawberries, and after a Minute or two I took up the Basket and walking carelessly up and down the Garden, Gather’d here and there a flower, Pinks and Jessamine, and filling my Basket, sat down again till my Mother had eat her fill of the Fruit, and gave me an opportunity to retire to my apartment, where opening the Letter, and finding you so near, and waiting to see me, I had|<88> certainly sunk down on the floor had not Melinda supported me, who only was by, something so new, and till now so strange, seiz’d me at the thought of so secret an interview, that I lost all my senses, and Life wholly departing, I rested on Melinda without breath or motion, the violent effects of Love and Honour, the impetuous meeting tides of the extreams of joy and fear, rushing on too suddainly, over-whelm’d my senses; and ’twas a pretty while before I recover’d strength to get to my Cabinet, where a second time I open’d your Letter, and read|<89> it again with a Thousand changes of Countenance, my whole mass of Blood was in that moment so discompos’d, that I chang’d from an Ague to a Fever, several times in a Minute; oh what will all this bring me to? and where will the raging fit end? I dy with that thought, my guilty pen slackens in my trembling hand, and I Languish and fall over the unimploy’d Paper; —— Oh help me, some Divinity, —— Or if you did, —— I fear I shou’d be angry! Oh Philander! a Thousand Passions and distracted thoughts crowd to get out, and make their soft com-|<90>plaints to thee; but oh they lose themselves with Mixing; they are blended in a confusion together, and Love nor Art can divide ’em, to deal ’em out in order; sometimes I wou’d tell you of my Joy at your Arrival, and my unspeakable transports at the thought of seeing you so soon, that I shall hear your charming Voice, and find you at my feet making soft Vows a new, with all the Passion of an impatient Lover, with all the eloquence that sighs and Cryes and tears from those lovely eyes can express; and sure that’s enough to conquer any where; and to which|<91> course* vulgar words are dull: The Rhetorick of Love is half-breath’d, interrupted words, languishing Eyes, flattering Speeches, broken Sighs, pressing the hand, and falling Tears: Ah how do they not perswade; how do they not charm and conquer; ’twas thus, with these soft easie Arts, that Silvia first was won! for sure no Arts of speaking cou’d have talk’d my heart away, though you can speak like any God! oh whether* am I driven, what do I say; ’twas not my purpose, not my business here, to give a character of Philander, no nor to speak of Love! but oh like|<92> Cowley’s Lute,* my Soul will sound to nothing but to Love! talk what you will, begin what discourse you please, I end it all in Love! because my Soul is ever fixt on Philander; and insensibly its byas leads to that Subject; no, I did not when I began to Write, think of speaking one word of my own weakness; but to have told you with what resolv’d Courage, Honour and Vertue, I expect your coming; and sure so sacred a thing as Love was not made to ruine these, and therefore in vain, my lovely Brother you will attempt it; and yet (oh Hea-|<93>ven’s! I gave a private Assignation, in my Apartment, alone and at Night; where silence, Love and shades, are all your friends, where opportunity obliges your Passion, while, Heav’n knows, not one of all these, nor any kind of power is friend to me, I shall be left to you and all these Tyrants expos’d, without other Guards than this boasted Vertue, which had need be wonderous to resist all these powerful enemies of its purity and repose: Alas I know not its strength, I never try’d it yet; and this will be the first time it has ever been expos’d to your|<94> Power; the first time I ever had courage to meet you as a Lover, and let you in by stealth, and put my self unguarded into your hands; Oh I dy with the apprehension of approaching danger; and yet I have not power to retreat, I must on, Love compells me, Love holds me fast; the smiling flatterer promises a Thousand joys, a Thousand Ravishing Minutes of delight; all innocent and harmless as his Mother’s Doves:* But oh they Bill and kiss, and do a Thousand things I must forbid Philander: for I have often heard him say with sighs, that his complection|<95> render’d him less capable of the soft play of Love, than any other Lover: I’ve seen him fly my very touches, yet swear they were the greatest joy on Earth; I tempt him even with my looks from Vertue; and when I ask the cause, or cry he’s cold, he vows ’tis because he dares not indure my Temptations; says his Blood runs hotter and fiercer in his Veins than any others do’s; nor have the oft repeated joys reap’d in the Marriage Bed, any thing abated that which he wisht, but he fear’d wou’d ruine me: Thus, thus whole days we have sat and gaz’d, and|<96> sigh’d; but durst not trust our Vertues with fond Dalliance.
My Page is come to tell me that Madam the Duchess of —— is come to Bellfont, and I am oblig’d to quit my Cabinet, but with infinite regret, being at present much more to my Soul’s content imploy’d; but Love must sometimes give place to Devoir* and respect. Dorillus too waits, and tells Melinda he will not depart without something for his Lord, to entertain him till the happy hour. The Rustick pleas’d me with the concern he had for my Philander;|<97> oh my Charming Brother, you have an Art to tame even savages, a Tongue that wou’d charm and ingage wildness it self, to softness and gentleness, and give the rough unthinking Love; ’tis a tedious time to night, how shall I pass the hours?|<98>
To Silvia.
Say, fond Love, whither wilt thou lead me? thou hast brought me from the noysey hurry’s of the Town, to Charming solitude; from Crowded Cabals, where mighty things are resolving, to loanly Groves, to thy own abodes, where thou dwell’st, gay and pleas’d, amongst the Rural Swains in shady homely Cottages; thou hast brought me to a Grove of flowers, to the brink of Purling Streams, where thou|<99> hast laid me down to contemplate on Silvia! to think my tedious hours away in the softest imagination a Soul inspir’d by Love can conceive; to increase my Passion by every thing I behold; for every Sound that meets the sense, is thy proper Musick, oh Love! and every thing inspires thy dictates; the Winds a round me blow soft, and mixing with wanton Boughs, continually play and Kiss; while those, like a coy Maid in Love, resist, and comply by turns; they like a ravisht vigorous Lover, rush on with a transported violence; rudely imbra-|<100>cing its Spring-drest Mistress, ruffling her Native order; while the pretty Birds on the dancing Branches incessantly make Love: upbraiding duller man with his defective want of fire: man, the Lord of all! he to be stinted in the most valuable joy of Life! is it not Pity? here’s no troublesome Honour, amongst the
My divine Maid, thus were my thoughts imploy’d, when from the farthest end of the Grove, where I now remain, I saw Dorillus approach with thy welcome Letter; he tells, you had like to have been surpris’d in making it up; and he receiv’d it with much difficulty; ah Silvia, shou’d any accident happen to prevent my seeing you to Night, I were undone|<104> for ever, and you must expect to find me stretch’d out, dead and cold under this Oak, where now I ly Writing on its knotty root; thy Letter, I confess, is dear; it contains thy Soul, and my happiness, but this after story of the surprize I long to be inform’d of, for from thence I may gather part of my Fortune. I rave and dy with fear of a disappointment; not but I wou’d undergo a Thousand Torments and deaths for Silvia; but oh consider me, and let me not suffer if possible; for know, my charming Angel, my impatient heart is almost broke, and will not contain|<105> it self without being nearer my adorable Maid; without taking in at my Eyes a little comfort, no, I am resolv’d! put me not off with tricks, which foolish Honour invents to jilt mankind with; for if you do, by Heav’n I will forget all considerations and respect, and force my self with all the violence of raging Love, into the presence of my cruel Silvia, own her mine, and Ravish my delight, nor shall the happy Walls of Bellfont be of strength sufficient to secure her; nay, perswade me mad and raving, this will be the effects on’t;|<106> —— Oh pardon me my sacred Maid, pardon the wildness of my frantick Love. —— I paws’d; took a turn or two in the lone path, consider’d what I had said, and found ’twas too much, too bold, too rude to approach, my soft, my tender Maid: I am calm, my Soul, as thy bewitching smiles; hush, as thy secret Sighs, and will resolve to dy rather than offend my adorable Virgin; only send me word what you think of my Fate, while I expect it here on this kind Mossy bed where now I ly; which I wou’d not quit for a Throne, since|<107> here I may hope the News may soonest arrive to make me happyer than a God! which that nothing on my part may prevent, I here Vow in the face of Heav’n, I will not abuse the freedome my Silvia blesses me with; nor shall my Love go beyond the limits of Honour. Silvia shall command with a frown, and fetter me with a Smile; prescribe rules to my longing, Ravish’t Eyes, and pinion my busie, fond Roving hands: and lay at her feet like a tame slave, her adoring
PHILANDER.|<108>
To Philander.
Approach, approach, you sacred Queen of Night, and bring Philander Veil’d from all eyes but mine; approach at a fond Lover’s call, behold how I ly panting with expectation, tir’d out with your tedious Cerimony to the God of day; be kind, oh lovely Night, and let the Deity descend to his belov’d Thetis’s Arms, and I to my Philander’s; the Sun and I must snatch our joys in the same happy hours! favour’d by thee, oh sacred, silent Night! see, see, the inamour’d Sun is|<109> hasting on apace to his expecting Mistress, while thou dull Night Art slowly lingring yet. Advance, my Friend! my Goddess! and my confident! hide all my blushes, all my soft confusions, my tremblings, transports, and Eyes all Languishing.
Oh Philander! a Thousand things I have done to divert the tedious hours, but nothing can: all things are dull without thee. I’m tir’d with every thing, impatient to end, as soon as I begin ’em; even the Shades and solitary Walks afford me now no ease, no satisfaction and thought, but afflicts me more, that|<110> us’d to relieve. And I at last have recourse to my kind Pen: For while I Write, methinks I’m talking to thee; I tell thee thus my Soul, while thou, methinks, art all the while smiling and listening by; this is much easier than silent thought, and my Soul is never weary of this converse, and thus I wou’d speak a Thousand things, but that still, methinks, words do not enough express my Soul, to understand that right there requires looks; there is a Rhetorick in looks; in sighs and silent touches that surpasses all! there is an Accent in the sound of words|<111> too, that gives a sense and soft meaning to little things, which of themselves are of trivial value, and insignificant; and by the cadence of the utterance may express a tenderness which their own meaning does not bear; by this I wou’d insinuate, that the story of the heart cannot be so well told by this way as by presence and conversation; sure Philander understands what I mean by this? which possibly is nonsense to all but a Lover, who apprehends all the little fond prattle of the thing belov’d, and finds an Eloquence in it, that to a sense unconcern’d wou’d ap-|<112>pear even approaching to Folly: But Philander, who has the true notions of Love in him, apprehends all that can be said on that dear Subject; to him I venture to say any thing, whose kind and soft imaginations can supply all my wants in the description of the Soul: Will it not, Philander, answer me? —— But oh, where art thou? I see thee not, I touch thee not; but when I hast with transport to imbrace thee, ’tis shadow all, and my poor Arms return empty to my Bosome; why, oh why com’st thou not? why art thou cautious, and prudently waitest the|<113> slow-pac’d Night: Oh cold, oh unreasonable Lover, why? —— But I grow wild, and know not what I say: Impatient Love betrays me to a Thousand folly’s, a Thousand rashnesses; I dy with shame; but I must be undone, and ’tis no matter how, whether by my own weakness, Philander’s Charms, or both, I know not; but so ’tis destin’d, —— oh Philander, ’tis two tedious hours Love has counted since you Writ to me, yet are but a quarter of a Mile distant; what have you been doing all that live-long while? Are you not unkind, does not Silvia ly neg-|<114>lected and unregarded in your thoughts? huddled up confusedly with your graver business of State, and almost lost in the ambitious crowd? Say, say my lovely Charmer, is she not? Does not this fatal Interest you espouse, Rival your Silvia, is she not too often remov’d thence to let in that haughty Tyrant Mistress? Alas, Philander I more than fear she is; and oh, my Adorable Lover, when I look forward on our coming happiness, whene ever I lay by the thoughts of Honour, and give a loose to Love, I run not far in the pleasing career, before that dreadful|<115> thought stop me on my way: I have a fatal prophetick fear, that gives a check to my soft pursuit, and tells me that thy unhappy ingagement in this League, this accursed Association, will one day undo us both, and part for ever thee and thy unlucky Silvia; yes, yes my dear Lord; my Soul does presage an unfortunate event from this dire ingagement; nor can your false Reasoning, your fancy’d advantages, reconcile it to my honest, good-natur’d heart; and surely the design is inconsistent with Love, for two such mighty contradictions and enemies, as Love and|<116> ambition, or revenge, can never sure abide in one Soul together, at least Love can but share Philander’s Heart; when blood and revenge (which he miscalls Glory) Rivals it, and has possibly the greatest part in it: methinks, this notion inlarges in me, and every word I speak, and every Minutes thought of it, strengthens its reason to me; and give me leave (while I’m full of the jealousie of it) to express my sentiments, and lay before you those reasons, that Love and I think most substantial ones; what you have hitherto desir’d of me, oh unreasonable Philan-|<117>der, and what (I out of Modesty and Honour) deny’d, I have reason to fear (from the absolute conquest you have made of my Heart) that some time or other the charming thief may break in and rob me of, for fame and Vertue love begins to laugh at. My dear unfortunate condition being thus, ’tis not impossible, oh Philander, but I may one day, in some unlucky hour, in some soft bewitching moment, in some spightful, critical ravishing minute, yield all to the Charming Philander; and if so, where, oh where is my security, that I shall not be abandon’d by|<118> the Lovely Victor, for ’tis not your Vows which you call sacred (and I alas believe so) that can secure me, though I Heav’n knows believe ’em all, and am undone; you may keep ’em all too, and I believe you will; but oh Philander in these fatal circumstances you have ingag’d your self in, can you secure me my Lover? your protestations you may, but not the dear Protestor. Is it not enough, oh Philander, for my eternal unquiet, and undoing, to know that you are Married and cannot therefore be intirely mine? is not this enough, oh cruel Philander? but you must|<119> espouse a fatal cause too, more pernicious than that of Matrimony, and more destructive to my repose: oh give me leave to reason with you, and since you have been pleas’d to trust and afflict me with the secret; which, honest as I am, I will never betray yet, yet give me leave to urge the danger of it to you, and consequently to me, if you pursue it, when you are with me, we can think and talk, and argue nothing but the mightier business of Love; and ’tis fit I that so fondly and fatally love you, shou’d warn you of the danger.* Consider my Lord, you|<120> are born Noble, from Parents of untainted Loyalty, blest with a Fortune few Princes beneath Sovereignty are Masters of; blest with all gaining Youth, commanding Beauty, Wit, Courage, Bravery of mind, and all that renders men esteem’d and ador’d, what wou’d you more? what is it, oh my Charming Brother then, that you set up for, is it Glory? oh mistaken, lovely Youth, that Glory is but a glittering light that flashes for a moment, and then disappears; ’tis a false Bravery, that will bring an eternal blemish upon your honest fame and house; ren-|<121>der your honourable name, hated, detested and abominable in story to after Ages, a Traytor? the worst of Titles, the most inglorious and shameful; what has the King,* our good, our gracious Monarch, done to Philander? How disoblig’d him? or indeed, what injury to Mankind? Who has he opprest? where play’d the Tyrant or the Ravisher? what one cruel or angry thing has he committed in all the time of his fortunate and peaceable Reign over us? Whose Ox or whose Ass has he unjustly taken? What Orphan wrong’d, or Widow’s Tears neglected?|<122> but all his Life has been one continu’d Miracle, all Good, all Gracious, Calm and Merciful: and this good, this Godlike King is mark’d out for slaughter, design’d a Sacrifice to the private revenge of a few ambitious Knaves and Rebels, whose pretence is the publick good, and doom’d to be basely Murder’d; A Murder! even on the worst of Criminals, carries with it a Cowardice so black and infamous, as the most abject Wretches, the meanest spirited Creature has an abhorrence for; what! to Murder a Man unthinking, unwarn’d, unprepar’d and undefended!|<123> oh barbarous! oh poor and most unbrave! what Villain is there so lost to all humanity, to be found upon the face of the Earth, that when done, dares own so hellish a deed, as the Murder of the meanest of his Fellow-Subjects, much less the sacred Person of the King; the Lords Anointed;* one whose awful face ’tis impossible to look without that reverence wherewith one wou’d behold a God! for ’tis most certain, that every Glance from his piercing wondrous eyes, begets a trembling Adoration; for my part, I Swear to you, Philander, I never|<124> approach His Sacred Person, but my Heart beats, my Blood runs cold about me, and my Eyes o’reflow with Tears of joy, while an awful confusion seizes me all over; and I am certain shou’d the most harden’d of your Bloody Rebels look him in the Face, the devilish instrument of Death wou’d drop from his sacrilegious hand, and leave him confounded at the feet of the Royal forgiving Sufferer; his eyes have in ’em something so fierce, so Majestick commanding, and yet so good and merciful, as wou’d soften Rebellion it self into repenting Loyalty;|<125> and like Caius Marius* seem to say, —— Who is’t dares hurt the King! —— They alone, like his Guardian Angels defend his Sacred Person, oh! what pity ’tis, unhappy young man, thy Education was not near the King.
’Tis plain, ’tis reasonable, ’tis honest, Great and Glorious to believe, what thy own sense (if thou wilt but think and consider) will instruct thee in, that Treason, Rebellion and Murder are far from the Paths that lead to Glory, which are as distant as Hell from Heav’n. What is it then to advance? (since I say ’tis plain, Glory is never this way|<126> to be atchiev’d) is it to add more Thousands to those Fortune has already so lavishly bestow’d on you? oh my Philander, that’s to double the vast crime, which reaches already to Damnation: wou’d your Honour, your Conscience, your Christianity, or common humanity suffer you to inlarge your Fortunes at the price of another’s ruine? and make the spoyls of some honest Noble Unfortunate Family, the rewards of your Treachery? wou’d you build your fame on such a Foundation? Perhaps on the destruction of some friend or Kinsman. Oh Barbarous|<127> and mistaken Greatness, Thieves and Robbers wou’d scorn such outrages, that had but souls and sense.
Is it for addition of Titles? What elevation can you have much greater than where you now stand fixt? If you do not grow giddy with your fancy’d false hopes, and fall from that glorious height you are already arriv’d to, and which with the honest addition of Loyalty, is of far more value and luster, than to arrive at Crowns by Blood and Treason. This will last; to Ages last; in story last. While t’other will be ridicul’d to all posterity, short liv’d and|<128> reproachful here, infamous and accurs’d to all eternity.
Is it to make Cæsario King? oh what is Cæsario to my Philander? If a Monarchy you design; then why not this King, this great, this good, this Royal Forgiver? —— This, who was born a King; and born your King; and holds his Crown by right of Nature, by right of Law, by right of Heav’n it self; Heav’n who has preserved him, and confirm’d him ours, by a Thousand miraculous escapes and sufferings,* and indulg’d him ours by Ten Thousand acts of mercy and|<129> indear’d him to us by his wondrous care and conduct, by securing of Peace, plenty, ease and luxurious happiness, o’re all the fortunate limits of His Blessed Kingdoms; and will you? wou’d you destroy this wonderous gift of Heaven: this Godlike King, this real good we now possess, for a most uncertain one: and with it the repose of all the happy Nation, to establish a King without Law, without right, without consent, without Title, and indeed without even competent parts for so vast a trust or so Glorious a rule? One who never oblig’d the Nation by one|<130> single Act of Goodness, or Valour, in all the course of his Life; and who never signaliz’d either to the advantage of one man of all the Kingdom: a Prince unfortunate in his Principles and Morals: and whose sole single Ingratitude to His Majesty, for so many Royal Bounty’s, Honours, and Glories heap’d upon him, is of it self enough to set any honest generous heart against him; what is it bewitches you so? is it his Beauty? then Philander has a greater Title than Cæsario; and not one other merit has he, since in Piety, Chastity, Sobriety, Charity and Ho-|<131>nour, he as little excels, as in Gratitude, Obedience and Loyalty. What then, my dear Philander! is it his weakness? Ah, there’s the Argument: You all propose, and think to govern so soft a King: But believe me, oh unhappy Philander! nothing is more ungovernable than a Fool; nothing more obstinate, wilful, conceited, and cunning; and for his gratitude, let the world judge what he must prove to his Servants, who has dealt so ill with his Lord and Master; how he must reward those that present him with a Crown, who deals so ungra-|<132>ciously with him who gave him Life, and who set him up an happyer object than a Monarch: No, no, Philander, he that can cabal, and contrive to dethrone a father, will find it easie to discard the wicked and hated Instruments that assisted him to mount it; decline him then, oh fond and deluded Philander, decline him early, for you of all the rest ought to do so; and not to set a helping hand to load him with Honours, that chose you out from all the World to load with infamy: remember that; remember Mertilla, and then renounce him; do not you contribute|<133> to the adoring* of his unfit head with a Diadem, the most glorious of Ornaments, who unadorn’d yours, with the most inglorious of all reproaches. Think of this, oh thou unconsidering Noble Youth, lay thy hand upon thy generous heart, and tell it all the fears, all the reasonings of her that loves thee more than life. a Thousand Arguments I cou’d bring, but these few unstudyed (falling in amongst my softer thoughts) I beg you wilt accept of, till I can more at large deliver the Glorious Argument to your Soul; let this suffice to tell thee, that, like Cassandria*|<134> I rave and prophesie in vain, this Association will be the eternal ruine of Philander, for let it succeed or not, either way thou art undone; if thou pursu’st it, and I must infallibly fall with thee, if I resolve to follow thy good or ill Fortune, for you cannot intend Love and Ambition, Silvia and Cæsario at once: No, perswade me not, the Title to one or t’other must be laid down Silvia or Cæsario must be abandon’d; this is my fixt resolve, if thy too powerful Arguments convince not in spight of reason; for they can do’t; thou hast the tongue of an Angel,|<135> and the Eloquence of a God, and while I listen to thy Voice, I take all thou say’st for wondrous sense. —— Farewell; about Two hours hence I shall expect you at the Gate that leads into the Garden Grove —— Adieu! remember
SILVIA.|<136>
To Silvia.
How comes my charming Silvia so skill’d in the Mysteries of State? Where learnt her tender heart the Notions of rigid business? Where her soft Tongue, form’d only for the dear Language of Love, to talk of the concerns of Nations and Kingdoms? ’tis true, when I gave my Soul away to my dear Councellor, I reserv’d nothing to my self, not even that secret that so concern’d my Life, but laid all at her Mercy; my generous Heart cou’d not Love at a|<137> less rate, than to lavish all, and be undone for Silvia; ’tis Glorious ruine, and it pleases me, if it advance one single joy, or add one demonstration of my Love to Silvia; ’tis not enough that we tell those we Love all they Love to hear, but one ought to tell ’em too, every secret that we know; and conceal no part of that Heart one has made a present of to the person one Loves, ’tis a Treason in Love not to be Pardon’d: I’m sensible, that when my story’s told (and this happy one of my Love shall make up the greatest part of my History) that those that Love|<138> not like me will be apt to blame me, and charge me with weakness for revealing so great a trust to a Woman; and amongst all that I shall do to arrive at Glory, that will brand me with feebleness; but Silvia, when Lovers shall read it, the men will excuse me, and the Maids bless me! I shall be a fond admir’d president, for them to point out to their remiss reserving Lovers, who will be reproached for not persuing my example. I know not what opinion Men generally have of the weakness of Women; but ’tis sure a vulgar error, for were they like my adora-|<139>ble Silvia, had they had her wit, her vivacity of spirit, her Courage, her generous fortitude, her command in every graceful look and Action, they were most certainly fit to rule and Reign; and Man was only born robust and strong to secure ’em on those Thrones they are form’d (by Beauty, Softness, and a Thousand Charms which men want) to possess. Glorious Woman! was born for command and Dominion; and though custom has usurpt us the name of Rule over all; we from the beginning found our selves, (in spight of all our boasted prerogative)|<140> slaves and Vassals to the Almighty Sex. Take then my share of Empire, ye Gods! and give me Love! let me toyl to gain, but let Silvia Triumph and Reign, I ask no more! no more than the led slave at her Chariot Wheels, to gaze on my Charming Conqueress, and wear with joy her Fetters! oh how proud I shou’d be to see the dear Victor of my Soul so elevated, so adorn’d with Crowns and Sceptres at her feet, which I had won; to see her smiling on the adoring Crown,* distributing her Glories to young waiting Princes; there dealing Pro-|<141>vinces, and there a Coronet. Heavens! methinks I see the lovely Virgin in this state, her Chariot slowly driving through the multitude that press to gaze upon her, she drest like Venus,* richly gay and loose, her Hair and Robe blown by the flying Winds, discovering a Thousand Charms to view, thus the young Goddess look’t, then when she drove her Chariot down, descending Clouds to meet the Love-sick God in cooling Shades; and so wou’d look my Silvia! ah, my soft, lovely Maid, such thoughts as these fir’d me with Ambition: For me, I swear by|<142> every power that made me Love, and made thee wondrous fair, I design no more by this great enterprize than to make thee some glorious thing, elevated above what we have seen yet on Earth: to raise thee above Fate or Fortune, beyond that pity of thy duller Sex, who understand not thy Soul, nor can ever reach the flights of thy generous Love! no, my Soul’s joy, I must not leave thee lyable to their little natural Malice and scorn, to the impertinence of their reproaches. No my Silvia I must on, the great design must move forward; though I abandon|<143> it, ’twill advance; ’tis already too far to put a stop to it; and now I’m enter’d, ’tis in vain to retreat; if we are prosperous, ’twill to all Ages be call’d a Glorious enterprize, but if we fail, ’twill be base, horrid, and infamous, for the world judges of nothing but by the success; that cause is always good that’s prosperous, that is ill, that’s unsuccessful. Shou’d I now retreat I run many hazards, but to go on I run but one, by the first I shall alarm the whole Cabal with a jealousie of my discovering, and those are persons of too great sense and courage, not to take some|<144> private way of revenge, to secure their own stakes; and to make my self uncertainly safe by a discovery indeed, were to gain a refuge so ignoble, as a Man of Honour wou’d scorn to purchase Life at; nor wou’d that baseness secure me. But in going on, oh Silvia! when Three Kingdoms* shall ly unpossest, and be exposed, as it were, amongst the raffling Crowd, who knows but the chance may be mine, as well as any others, who has but the same hazard, and throw for’t; if the strongest Sword must do’t, (as that must do’t) why not mine still? why may not|<145> mine be that fortunate one? Cæsario has no more right to it than Philander; ’tis true, a few of the Rabble will pretend he has a better title to it, but they are a sort of easy Fools, lavish in nothing but noise and nonsense, true to change and inconstancy, and will abandon him to their own fury for the next that crys Haloo: Neither is there one part of fifty (of the Fools that cry him up) for his Interest, though they use him for a Tool to work with, he being the only great Man that wants sense enough to find out the cheat, which they|<146> dare impose upon. Can any body of reason believe, if they had design’d him good, they wou’d let him bare fac’d have own’d a party so opposite to all Laws of Nature, Religion, Humanity, and Common gratitude? when his Interest if design’d might have been carry’d on better, if he had still dissembled and stay’d in Court: no, believe me, Silvia, the Politicians show him to render him odious to all men of tolerable sence of the Party, for what reason soever they have who are disoblig’d (or at least think themselves so) to set up for Liberty, the world|<147> knows Cesario renders himself the worst of Criminals by it, and has abandon’d an interest more Glorious and Easy than Empire to side with and aid People that never did, or ever can oblige him: and he is so dull as to imagine that for his sake (who never did us service or good, unless Cuckolding us be good) we shou’d venture life and fame to pull down a true Monarch, to set up his Bastard over us. Cesario must pardon me, if I think his Politicks are shallow as his Parts, and that his own Interest has undone him; for of what advantage soever the|<148> design may be to us, it really shocks ones nature to find a Son engag’d against a Father, and to him such a Father: Nor, when time comes, shall I forget the ruine of Mertilla. But let him hope on —— and so will I, as do a thousand more for ought I know; I set out as fair as they, and will start as eagerly; if I miss it now, I have Youth and Vigour sufficient for another Race, and while I stand on Fortune’s Wheel* as she rolls it round, it may be my turn to be o’th top; for when ’tis set in motion, believe me Silvia, ’tis not easily fixt; however let it suf-|<149>fice, I’m now in past a retreat, and to urge it now to me, is but to put me into inevitable danger; at best it can but set me where I was; that’s worse than death when every fool is aiming at a Kingdom; what man of tolerable Pride and Ambition can be unconcern’d, and not put himself into a posture of catching, when a Diadem shall be thrown among the Croud? ’twere Insensibility, stupid Dulness, not to lift a hand, or make an effort to snatch it as it flys: though the glorious falling weight should crush me, ’tis great to attempt, and if Fortune do|<150> not favour Fools, I have as fair a Grasp for it as any other adventurer.
This, my Silvia, is my sense of a business you so much dread, I may rise, but I cannot fall; therefore my Silvia urge it no more, Love gave me Ambition, and do not divert the Glorious effects of your wonderous Charms, but let ’em grow, and spread and see what they will produce for my Lovely Silvia the advantages will most certainly be hers: —— But no more: how came my Love so Dull to entertain thee so many minutes thus with reasons for an affair, which one|<151> soft hour with Silvia will convince to what she wou’d have it; believe me, it will, I will sacrifice all to her repose, nay to her least Command, even the Life of
(My Eternal Pleasure)
Your PHILANDER.
I have no longer patience, I must be coming towards the Grove, though ’twill do me no good, more than knowing I’m so much nearer to my Adorable Creature.
I conjure you burn this, for writing in haste I have not counterfeited my hand.|<152>
To Silvia,
Writ in a pair of Tablets.
My Charmer, I wait your commands in the Meadow behind the Grove, where I saw Dorinda, Dorillus his Daughter, entring with a Basket of Cowslips for Silvia, unnecessarily offering sweets to the Goddess of the Groves* from whence they (with all the rest of their gaudy Fellows of the Spring) assume their Ravishing Odours. I take every opportunity of telling my Silvia what I have so often repeated, and shall be ever repeating with the same joy while I live, that I Love my Silvia to Death and Madness, that my soul is on the Wrack, till she send me the happy advancing word. And yet|<153> believe me, Lovely Maid, I cou’d grow old with waiting here the blessed moment, though set at any distance (within the compass of Life, and impossible to be till then arriv’d to) but when I’m so near approach’t it, Love from all parts rallies and hastens to my heart for the mighty incounter, till the poor panting overloaded Victim dies with the pressing weight. No more, —— You know it, for ’tis, and will be eternally Silvia’s.
P O S T S C R I P T.
Remember, my Adorable, ’tis now seven a Clock, I have my Watch in my hand, waiting and looking on the slow pac’d Minutes, Eight will quickly arrive, I hope, and then ’tis dark enough to hide me: think where I am, and who I am, waiting near Silvia, and her Philander.|<154>
I think, my dear Angel, you have the other Key of these Tablets, if not, they are easily broke open: you have an hour good to write in Silvia and I shall wait unimployed by any thing but thought. Send me word how you were like to have been surpriz’d; it may possibly be of advantage to me in this nights dear adventure. I wonder’d at the Superscription of my Letter indeed, of which Dorillus could give me no other account, than that you were surpriz’d, and he receiv’d it with difficulty; give me the story now, do it in charity my Angel. Besides, I wou’d imploy all thy moments, for I am jealous of every one that is not dedicated to Silvia’s Philander.|<155>
To Philander.
I have receiv’d your Tablets, of which I have the Key, and Heav’n only knows (for Lovers cannot, unless they loved like Silvia, and her Philander) what pains and Pantings my heart sustain’d at every thought they brought me of thy near approach; every moment I start, and am ready to faint with joy, Fear, and something not to be exprest that seizes me. To add to this, I have busied my self with dressing my Apartment up with Flowers, so that I fancy the Ceremonious business of the night looks like the preparations for the dear joy of the Nuptial Bed, that too is so adorn’d and deck’d with all that’s sweet and gay, all which possesses me with so ravishing and solemn|<156> a Confusion, that ’tis even approaching to the most profound sadness it self. Oh Philander, I find I’m fond of being undone, and unless you take a more than mortal care of me, I know this night some fatal mischief will befall me; what ’tis I know not, either the loss of Philander, my Life, or my Honour, or all together, which a discovery only of your being alone in my Apartment, and at such an Hour, will most certainly draw upon us: Death is the least we must expect, by some surprise or other, my Father being rash, and extreamly jealous, and the more so of me, by how much more he is fond of me, and nothing wou’d inrage him like the discovery of an enterview like this; though you have Liberty to range the house of Bellfont as a Son, and are indeed at home there; but when|<157> you come by stealth, when he shall find his Son and Virgin Daughter, the Brother and the Sister so retir’d, so entertain’d, —— What but death can insue, or what’s worse, eternal shame? eternal confusion on my honour? What Excuse, what Evasions, Vows and Protestations will convince him, or appease Mertila’s Jealousy; Mertilla my Sister, and Philander’s Wife? —— Oh God! that cruel thought will put me into ravings; I have a thousand Streams of killing reflection that flow from that original Fountain! Curse on the Alliance, that gave you a welcome to Bellfont. Ah Philander, could you not have stay’d ten short years longer? Alas, you thought that was an Age in Youth, but ’tis but a day in Love: Ah, could not your eager youth have led you to a thousand diversions, a thousand|<158> times have baited in the long journey of Life, without hurrying on to the last Stage, to the last retreat, but the Grave; and to me seem as Irrecoverable as impossible to retrieve thee? —— Could no kind Beauty stop thee on thy way, in charity or pity? Philander saw me then! And though Mertila was more fit for his Caresses, and I but capable to please with Childish prattle. Oh cou’d he not have seen a promising Bloom in my Face, that might have foretold the future Conquests I was born to make? Oh was there no Prophetick Charm that cou’d bespeak your heart, ingage it, and prevent that fatal Marriage? You say, my Adorable Brother, we were destin’d from our Creation for one another; that the Decrees of Heaven, or Fate, or both, design’d us for this mutual passion: Why then, oh why did not Heav-|<159>en, Fate or Destiny, do the mighty work, when first you saw my infant Charms? But oh, Philander, why do I vainly rave, why call in vain on time that’s fled and gone; why idly wish for Ten years retribution? That will not yield a Day, an Hour, a Minute: No no, ’tis past, ’tis past and flown for ever, as distant as a thousand years to me, as irrecoverable. Oh Philander, what hast thou thrown away? Ten glorious years of Ravishing Youth, of unmatch’d Heavenly Beauty, on one that knew not half the value of it! Silvia was only born to set a Rate upon’t, was only capable of Love, Love, such love as might deserve it: Oh why was that charming face ever laid on any bosome that knew not how to sigh and pant, and heave at every touch of so much distracting Beauty? Oh why were those dear Arms whose|<160> soft pressings ravish where they circle, destin’d for a Body Cold and Dull, that cou’d sleep insensibly there, and not so much as dream the while what the transporting pleasure signified, but unconcern’d receiv’d the wondrous blessings, and never knew its Price, or thank’d her stars? She has thee all the day, to gaze upon, and yet she lets thee pass her careless sight, as if there were no Miracles in view: she does not see the little Gods of Love that play eternally in thy Eyes; and since she never receiv’d a Dart from thence, believes there’s no Artillery there. She plays not with thy Hair, nor Weaves her snowy fingers in the Curles of Jett, sets it in order, and adores its Beauty: The Fool with flaxen Wigg had done as well for her; a dull, white Coxcomb had made as good a Property; a Husband|<161> is no more, at best no more. Oh thou Charming object of my eternal wishes, why wert thou thus dispos’d? Oh save my life, and tell me what indifferent impulse oblig’d thee to these Nuptials: had Mertila been recommended or forc’d by the Tyranny of a Father into thy Arms, or for base Lucre thou hadst chosen her, this had excus’d thy Youth and Crime; obedience or vanity I could have Pardon’d, —— But oh —— ’Twas Love! Love my Philander! thy raving Love, and that which has undone thee was a Rape rather than Marriage; you fled with her. Oh Heavens, mad to possess, you stole the unloving Prise! —— Yes, you lov’d her, false as you are you did, perjur’d and faithless. Lov’d her; —— Hell and confusion on the VVorld; ’twas so. —— Oh Philander, I am lost ——
This Letter was found in pieces torn.|<162>
To Monsieur the Count of ——
My Lord,
These Pieces of Paper, which I have put together as well as I could, were writ by my Lady to have been sent by Dorinda, when on a sudden she rose in rage from her seat, tore first the Paper, and then her Robes and Hair, and indeed nothing has escaped the violence of her Passion; nor could my Prayers or Tears retrieve them or calm her: ’tis however chang’d at last to mighty passions of weeping, in which imployment I have left her on her repose, being commanded away. I thought it my duty to give your Lordship this account, and to send the pieces of Paper, that your Lordship may guess at the occasion of the sudden storm|<163> which ever rises in that fatal quarter; but in putting ’em in order, I had like to have been surpriz’d by my Lady’s Father, for my Lord the Count having long solicited me for favours, and taking all opportunities of entertaining me, found me alone in my Chamber, imploy’d in serving your Lordship; I had only time to hide the Papers, and to get rid of him) have given him an Assignation to night in the Garden Grove to give him the hearing to what he says he has to propose to me: Pray Heaven all things go right to your Lordships wish this Evening, for many ominous things happen’d to day. Madam, the Countess had like to have taken a Letter writ for your Lordship to day; for the Dutchess of —— coming to make her a visit, came on a sudden with her into my Lady’s Apartment, and surpriz’d|<164> her writing in her Dressing Room, giving her only time to slip the Paper into her Comb-box. The first Ceremonies being past, as Madam, the Dutchess uses not much, she fell to Commend my Lady’s dressing Plate,* and taking up the Box, and opening it, found the Letter, and Laughing cry’d, Oh, have I found you making Love? At which my Lady, with an infinite confusion, wou’d have retriev’d it, —— But the Dutchess not quitting her hold, Cry’d —— Nay, I am resolv’d to see in what manner you write to a Lover, and whether you have a Heart tender or cruel; at which she began to read aloud, My Lady to blush and change Colour a Hundred times in a minute; I ready to dye with fear; Madam the Countess in infinite amazement, my Lady interrupting every word the Dutchess read, by Prayers and|<165> Intreaties, which heighten’d her Curiosity, and being young and airy, regarded not the Indecency to which she prefer’d her Curiosity, who still Laughing, cry’d she was resolv’d to read it out, and know the constitution of her heart; when my Lady, whose wit never fail’d her, Cry’d, I beseech you, Madam, let us have so much complisance for Melinda as to ask her consent in this affair, and then I am pleas’d you should see what Love I can make upon occasion: I took the hint, and with a real confusion, Cry’d —— I implore you, Madam, not to discover my weakness to Madam the Dutchess; I would not for the World —— Be thought to Love so passionately as your Ladyship in favour of Alexis, has made me profess under the name of Silvia to Philander. This incourag’d my Lady, who began to say a thousand pleasant things|<166> of Alexis Dorillus his Son, and my Lover as your Lordship knows, and who is no inconsiderable fortune for a Maid, inrich’d only by your Lordship’s Bounty. My Lady, after this, took the Letter, and all being resolv’d it shou’d be read, she her self did it, and turned it so prettily into Burlesque Love by her manner of reading it, that made Madam, the Dutchess, laugh extreamly; who at the end of it, cry’d to my Lady —— VVell, Madam, I am satisfied you have not a heart wholly insensible of Love, that cou’d so well express it for another. Thus they rallied on, ’till careful of my Lovers repose, the Dutchess urg’d the Letter might be immediately sent away; at which my Lady readily folding up the Letter, writ For the constant Alexis, on the out-side: I took it, and beg’d I might have leave to retire to write it over in my own|<167> hand; they permitted me, and I carried it after sealing it, to Dorillus, who waited for it, and wondering to find his Sons name on it, Cry’d —— Mistress, Melinda, I doubt you have mistook my present business, I wait for a Letter from my Lady to my Lord, and you give me one from your self to my Son Alexis; ’twill be very welcome to Alexis I confess, but at this time I had rather oblige my Lord than my Son; I Laughing, reply’d he was mistaken, that Alexis at this time meant no other than my Lord, which pleas’d the good man extreamly, who thought it a good omen for his Son, and so went his way satisfy’d; as every body was, except the Countess, who fancy’d something more in it than my Lady’s inditing for me; and after Madam the Dutchess was gone, she went ruminating and pensive to her Chamber, from whence I am|<168> confident she will not depart to night, and will possible set Spies in every corner; at least ’tis good to fear the worst, that we may prevent all things that wou’d hinder this night’s assignation: As soon as the Coast is clear, I’ll wait on your Lordship, and be your Conductor, and in all things else am ready to show my self,
My Lord,
Your Lordship’s most humble
and most obedient servant,
MELINDA.
Silvia has order to wait on your Lordship as soon as all is clear.|<169>
To Melinda.
Oh Melinda, what have you told me? Stay me with an immediate account of the recovery and calmness of my Adorable weeping Silvia, or I shall enter Bellfont with my Sword drawn, bearing down all before me, ’till I make my way to my Charming Mourner: Oh God! Silvia in a rage! Silvia in any Passion but that of Love? I cannot bear it, no by Heaven I cannot; I shall do some outrage either on my self or at Bellfont. Oh thou dear Advocate of my tenderest Wishes, thou Confident of my never dying flame, thou kind administring Maid, send some relief to my breaking heart —— Hast and tell me, Silvia is calm, that her bright Eyes sparkle with smiles, or if they languish, say ’tis with Love, with expecting|<170> joys; that her dear hands are no more imployed in exercises too rough and unbecoming their native softness. Oh eternal God! tearing perhaps her Divine Hair, brighter than the Suns reflecting Beams, injuring the heavenly Beauty of her charming Face and Bosom, the joy and wish of all Mankind that look upon her: Oh charm her with Prayers and Tears, stop her dear Fingers from the rude assaults; bind her fair hands: Repeat Philander to her, tell her he’s fainting with the News of her unkindness and outrage on her lovely self, but tell her too, I dye adoring her; tell her I rave, I tear, I curse my self, —— For so I do; tell her I wou’d break out into a violence that shou’d set all Bellfont in a flame, but for my care of her. Heaven and Earth should not restrain me, —— No, they shou’d not, —— |<171>But her least frown shou’d still me, tame me, and make me a calm Coward: say this, say all, say any thing to charm her rage and tears. Oh I am mad, stark mad, and ready to run on that frantick business I dye to think her guilty of: tell her how ’twould grieve her to see mee torn and mangled; to see that hair she loves ruffl’d and diminisht by rage, violated by my insupportable grief, my self quite bereft of all sense but that of Love, but that of Adoration for my charming, cruel Insensible, who is possest with every thought, with every imagination that can render me unhappy, born away with every fancy that is in disfavour of the wretched Philander. Oh Melinda, write immediately, or you will behold me enter a most deplorable object of Pity.
When I receiv’d yours, I fell|<172> into such a passion that I forc’d my self back to Dorillus his House, left my transports and hurry’d me to Bellfont, where I shou’d have undone all: but as I can now rest no where, I am now returning to the Meadow again, where I will expect your aid, or dye.
From Dorillus his Cottage,
almost nine a Clock.
To Philander.
I must own, my Charming Philander, that my Love is now arriv’d to that excess, that every thought which before but discompos’d me, now puts me into a violence of rage unbecoming my Sex; or any thing but the mighty occasion of it, Love, and which only had power to calm what it had before ruffled into a destru-|<173>ctive storm; but like the anger’d Sea, which pants and heaves, and retains still an uneasie motion long after the rude winds are appeas’d and hush’d to silence. My heart beats still, and heaves with the sensible remains of the late dangerous tempest of my mind, and nothing can absolutely calm me but the approach of the all-powerful Philander; though that thought possesses me with ten thousand fears, which I know will vanish all at thy appearance, and assume no more their dreadful shapes till thou art gone again: bring me then that kind cessation, bring me my Lysander,* and set me above the thoughts of Cares, Frights or any other thoughts but those of tender Love: hast then, thou charming object of my eternal wishes, of my new desires; hast to my Arms, my Eyes, my Soul, —— but oh be wondrous|<174> careful there, do not betray the easie Maid that trusts thee amidst all her sacred store.
’Tis almost dark, and my Mother is retir’d to her Chamber, my Father to his Cabinet, and has left all that Apartment next the Garden wholly without Spies. I have, by trusty Silvia* sent you a Key Melinda got made to the Door, which leads from the Garden to the back-Stairs to my Apartment, so carefully lock’d, and the original Key so closely guarded by my jealous Father: that way I beg you to come; a way but too well known to Lysander, and by which he has made many an escape to and from Mertilla. Oh Damn that thought, what makes it torturing me, —— Let me change it for those of Lysander, the advantage will be as great as bartering Hell for Heaven; haste then, Lysander: But what need I|<175> bid thee, Love will lend thee his Wings; thou who commandest all his Artillery, put ’em on, and fly to thy Languishing
SILVIA.
Oh I faint with the dear thought of thy Approach.
To the charming Silvia.
With much ado, with many a Sigh, a panting heart, and many a Languishing look back towards happy Bellfont, I have recover’d Dorillus his Farm, where I threw me on a Bed, and lay without motion, and almost without life for two hours; ’till at Last, through all my Sighs, my great Concern, my Torment, my Love and Rage broke silence, and burst into all the different com-|<176>plaints both soft and mad by turns, that ever possest a Soul extravagantly seiz’d with frantick Love; Ah, Silvia, what did not I say? How did I not Curse, and who, except my Charming Maid? For yet my Silvia is a Maid; Yes, yes, ye Envying Power, she is, and yet the sacred and inestimable treasure was offer’d a trembling victim to the o’rejoyed and fancy’d D