THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.  
WRITTEN BY SIR Philip Sidney Knight.  
NOW SINCE THE FIRST EDItion augmented and ended.  
LONDON. Printed for William Ponsonbie. Anno Domini. 1593.    

TO MY DEAR LADY AND SISTER, THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.  
HEre now have you (most dear, and most worthy to be most dear Lady) this idle work of mine: which I fear (like the Spider's web) will be thought fit to be swept away, then worn to any other purpose. For my part, in very truth (as the cruel fathers among the Greeks', were wont to do to the babes they would not foster) I could well find in my heart, to cast out in some desert of forgetfulness this child, which I am loath to father. But you desired me to do it, and your desire, to my heart is an absolute commandment. Now, it is done only for you, only to you: if you keep it to yourself, or to such friends, who will weigh errors in the balance of good will, I hope, for the father's sake, it will be pardoned, perchance made much of, though in itself it have deformities. For indeed, for severer eyes it is not, being but a trifle, and that triflingly handled. Your dear self can best witness the manner, being done in lose sheets of paper, most of it in your presence, the rest, by sheets, sent unto you, as fast as they were done. In sum, a young head, not so well stayed as I would it were, (and shall be when God will) having many many fancies begotten in it, if it had not been in some way delivered, would have grown a monster, and more sorry might I be that they came in, then that they got out. But his chief safety, shall be the not walking abroad; and his chief protection, the bearing the livery of your name; which (if much much good will do not deceive me) is worthy to be a sanctuary for a greater offender. This say I, because I know the virtue so; and this say I, because it may be ever so, or to say better, because it will be ever so. Read it then at your idle times, and the follies your good judgement will find in it, blame not, but laugh at. And so, looking for no better stuff, then, as in a Haberdasher's shop, glasses, or feathers, you will continue to love the writer, who doth exceedingly love you, and most most heartily prays you may long live, to be a principal ornament to the family of the Sidneiss.  
Your loving brother. Philip Sidney.   

To the Reader.  
THE disfigured face, gentle Reader, wherewith this work not long since appeared to the common view, moved that noble Lady, to whose Honour consecrated, to whose protection it was committed, to take in hand the wiping away those spots wherewith the beauties thereof were unworthily blemished. But as often in repairing a ruinous house, the mending of some old part occasioneth the making of some new: so here her honourable labour begun in correcting the faults, ended in supplying the defects; by the view of what was ill done guided to the consideration of what was not done. Which part with what advise entered into, with what success it hath been passed through, most by her doing, all by her directing, if they may be entreated not to define, which are unfurnished of means to discern, the rest (it is hoped) will favourably censure. But this they shall, for their better satisfaction, understand, that though they find not here what might be expected, they may find nevertheless as much as was intended, the conclusion, not the perfection of Arcadia: and that no further than the Authors own writings, or known determinations could direct. Whereof who sees not the reason, must consider there may be reason which he sees not. Albeit I dare affirm he either sees, or from wiser judgements than his own may hear, that Sir Philip Sidneies' writings can no more be perfected without Sir Philip Sidney, than Apelles pictures without Apelles. There are that think the contrary: and no wonder. Never was Arcadia free from the cumber of such cattle. To us, say they, the pastures are not pleasant: and as for the flowers, such as we light on we take no delight in, but the greater part grow not within our reach. Poor souls! what talk they of flowers? They are Roses, not flowers, must do them good, which if they find not here, they shall do well to go feed elsewhere: Any place will better like them: For without Arcadia nothing grows in more plenty, than Lettuce suitable to their Lips, If it be true that likeness is a great cause of liking, and that contraries, infer contrary consequences: then is it true, that the wortheles Reader can never worthily esteem of so worthy a writing: and as true, that the noble, the wise, the virtuous, the courteous, as many as have had any acquaintance with true learning and knowledge, will with all love and dearness entertain it, as well for affinity with themselves, as being child to such a father. Whom albeit it do not exactly and in every lineament represent; yet considering the father's untimely death prevented the timely birth of the child, it may happily seem a thanke-woorthy labour, that the defects being so few, so small, and in no principal part, yet the greatest unlikeness is rather in defect then in deformity. But howsoever it is, it is now by more than one interest The Countess of Pembrokes Arcadia: done, as it was, for her: as it is, by her. Neither shall these pains be the last (if no unexpected accident cut off her determination) which the everlasting love of her excellent brother, will make her consecrate to his memory.  
H. S.   

THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA WRITTEN BY SIR PHILIP SIDNEI. THE FIRST BOOK.  
IT was in the time that the earth gins to put on her new apparel against the approach of her lover, and that the Sun running a most even coarse becums an indifferent arbiter between the night and the day; when the hopeless shepherd Strephon was come to the sands, which lie against the Island of Cythera; where viewing the place with a heavy kind of delight, and sometimes casting his eyes to the Ileward, he called his friendly rival, the pastor Claius unto him, & setting first down in his darkened countenance a doleful copy of what he would speak: O my Claius, said he, hither we are now come to pay the rent, for which we are so called unto by overbusy Remembrance, Remembrance, restless Remembrance, which claims not only this duty of us, but for it will have us forget ourselves. I pray you when we were amid our flock, and that of other shepherds some were running after their sheep strayed beyond their bounds, some delighting their eyes with seeing them nibble upon the short and sweet grass, some medicining their sick ewes, some setting a bell for an ensign of a sheepish squadron, some with more leisure inventing new games of exercising their bodies and sporting their wits: did Remembrance grant us any holiday, either for pastime or devotion, nay either for necessary food or natural rest? but that still it forced our thoughts to work upon this place, where we last (alas that the word last should so long last) did graze our eyes upon her ever flourishing beauty: did it not still cry within us? Ah you base minded wretches, are your thoughts so deeply bemired in the trade of ordinary worldlings, as for respect of gain some paltry wool may yield you, to let so much time pass without knowing perfectly her estate, especially in so troublesome a season? to leave that shore unsaluted, from whence you may see to the Island where she dwelleth? to leave those steps unkissed wherein Urania printed the farewell of all beauty? Well then, Remembrance commanded, we obeyed, and here we find, that as our remembrance came ever clothed unto us in the form of this place, so this place gives new heat to the fever of our languishing remembrance. Yonder my Claius, Urania lighted, the very horse (me thought) bewailed to be so disburdened: and as for thee, poor Claius, when thou went'st to help her down, I saw reverence and desire so divide thee, that thou didst at one instant both blush and quake, and in stead of bearing her, war ready to fall down thyself. There she sat, vouchsafing my cloak (than most gorgeous) under her: at yonder rising of the ground she turned herself, looking back toward her wonted abode, and because of her parting bearing much sorrow in her eyes, the lightsomeness whereof had yet so natural a cheerfulness, as it made even sorrow seem to smile; at that turning she spoke to us all, opening the cherry of her lips, and Lord how greedily mine ears did feed upon the sweet words she uttered? And here she laid her hand over thine eyes, when she saw the tears springing in them, as if she would conceal them from other, and yet herself feel some of thy sorrow: But woe is me, yonder, yonder, did she put her foot into the boat, at that instant as it were dividing her heavenly beauty, between the Earth and the Sea. But when she was embarked, did you not mark how the winds whistled, and the seas danced for joy, how the sails did swell with pride, and all because they had Urania? O Urania, blessed be thou Urania, the sweetest fairness and fairest sweetness: with that word his voice broke so with sobbing, that he could say no further; and Claius thus answered. Alas my Strephon (said he) what needs this score to reckon up only our losses? What doubt is there, but that the light of this place doth call our thoughts to appear at the court of affection, held by that racking steward, Remembrance? Aswell may sheep forget to fear when they spy wolves, as we can miss such fancies, when we see any place made happy by her treading. Who can choose that saw her but think where she stayed, where she walked, where she turned, where she spoke? But what is all this? truly no more, but as this place served us to think of those things, so those things serve as places to call to memory more excellent matters. No, no, let us think with consideration, and consider with acknowledging, and acknowledge with admiration, and admire with love, and love with joy in the midst of all woes: let us in such sort think, I say, that our poor eyes were so enriched as to behold, and our low hearts so exalted as to love, a maid, who is such, that as the greatest thing the world can show, is her beauty, so the least thing that may be praised in her, is her beauty. Certainly as her eyelids are more pleasant to behold, than two white kids climbing up a fair tree, and browsing on his tenderest branches, and yet are nothing, compared to the day-shining stars contained in them; and as her breath is more sweet than a gentle southwest wind, which comes creeping over flowery fields and shadowed waters in the extreme heat of summer, and yet is nothing, compared to the honey flowing speech that breath doth carry: no more all that our eyes can see of her (though when they have seen her, what else they shall ever see is but dry stubble after clovers' grass) is to be matched with the flock of unspeakable virtues laid up delightfully in that best builded fold. But in deed as we can better consider the suns beauty, by marking how he guilds these waters, and mountains then by looking upon his own face, too glorious for our weak eyes: so it may be our conceits (not able to bear her sun-stayning excellency) will better way it by her works upon some meaner subject employed. And alas, who can better witness that then we, whose experience is grounded upon feeling? hath not the only love of her made us (being silly ignorant shepherds) raise up our thoughts above the ordinary level of the world, so as great clerk do not disdain our conference? hath not the desire to seem worthy in her eyes made us when others were sleeping, to sit viewing the course of heavens? when others were running at base, to run over learned writings? when other mark their sheep, we two mark ourselves? hath not she thrown reason upon our desires, and, as it were given eyes unto Cupid? hath in any, but in her, love-fellowship maintained friendship between rivals, and beauty taught the beholder's chastity? He was going on with his praises, but Strephon bade him stay, and look: and so they both perceived a thing which floated drawing nearer and nearer to the bank; but rather by the favourable working of the Sea, then by any self industry. They doubted a while what it should be; till it was cast up even hard before them: at which time they fully saw that it was a man. Whereupon running for pity sake unto him, they found his hands (as it should appear, constanter friends to his life then his memory) fast gripping upon the edge of a square small coffer, which lay all under his breast: else in himself no show of life, so as the board seemed to be but a beer to carry him a land to his Sepulchre. So drew they up a young man of so goodly shape, and well pleasing favour, that one would think death had in him a lovely countenance; and, that though he were naked, nakedness was to him an apparel. That sight increased their compassion, and their compassion called up their care; so that lifting his feet above his head, making a great deal of salt water come out of his mouth, they laid him upon some of their garments, and fell to rub and chafe him, till they brought him to recover both breath the servant, and warmth the companion of living. At length opening his eyes, he gave a great groan, (a doleful note but a pleasant ditty) for by that, they found not only life, but strength of life in him. They therefore continued on their charitable office, until (his spirits being well returned,) he (without so much as thanking them for their pains) gate up, and looking round about to the uttermost limits of his sight, and crying upon the name of Pyrocles, nor seeing nor hearing cause of comfort, what (said he) and shall Musidorus live after Pyrocles destruction? therewithal he offered wilfully to cast himself again into the sea: a strange sight to the shepherds, to whom it seemed, that before being in appearance dead had yet saved his life, and now coming to his life, should be a cause to procure his death; but they ran unto him, and pulling him back, (then to feeble for them) by force stickled that unnatural fray. I pray you (said he) honest men, what such right have you in me, as not to suffer me to do with myself what I list? and what policy have you to bestow a benefit where it is counted an injury? They hearing him speak in Greek (which was their natural language) became the more tender hearted towards him; and considering by his calling and looking, that the loss of some dear friend was great cause of his sorrow; told him they were poor men that were bound by course of humanity to prevent so great a mischief; and that they wished him, if opinion of some bodies perishing bred such desperate anguish in him, that he should be cōforted by his own proof, who had lately escaped as apparent danger as any might be. No, no (said he) it is not for me to attend so high a blissefullnes: but since you take care of me I pray you find means that some Bark may be provided, that will go out of the haven, that if it be possible we may find the body far far too precious a food for fishes: and for the hire (said he) I have within this casket, of value sufficient to content them. Claius presently went to a Fisherman, and having agreed with him, and provided some apparel for the naked stranger, he embarked, and the Shepherds with him: and were no sooner gone beyond the mouth of the haven, but that some way into the sea they might discern (as it were) a stain of the waters colour, and by times some sparks and smoke mounting thereout. But the young man no sooner saw it, but that beating his breast, he cried, that there was the beginning of his ruin, entreating them to bend their course as near unto it as they could: telling, how that smoke was but a small relic of a great fire, which had driven both him and his friend rather to commit themselves to the cold mercy of the sea, than to abide the hot cruelty of the fire: and that therefore, though they both had abandoned the ship, that he was (if anywhere) in that course to be met withal. They steered therefore as near thetherward as they cold: but when they came so near as their eyes were full masters of the object, they saw a sight full of piteous strangeness: a ship, or rather the carcase of the ship, or rather some few bones of the carcase, hulling there, part broken, part burned, part drowned: death having used more than one dart to that destruction. About it floated great store of very rich things, and many chests which might promise no less. And amidst the precious things were a number of dead bodies, which likewise did not only testify both elements violence, but that the chief violence was grown of human inhumanity: for their bodies were full of grisly wounds, and their blood had (as it were) filled the wrinkles of the seas visage: which it seemed the sea would not wash away, that it might witness it is not always his fault, when we condemn his cruletie. In sum, a defeat, where the conquered kept both field and spoil: a shipwreck without storm or ill footing: and a waist of fire in the midst of the water.  
But a little way off they saw the mast, whose proud height now lay along; like a widow having lost her make of whom she held her honour: but upon the mast they saw a young man (at least if he were a man) bearing show of about 18. years of age, who sat (as on horseback) having nothing upon him but his shirt, which being wrought with blue silk and gold; had a kind of resemblance to the sea: on which the sun (than near his Western home) did shote some of his beams. His hair (which the young men of Greece used to wear very long) was stirred up and down with the wind, which seemed to have a sport to play with it, as the sea had to kiss his feet; himself full of admirable beauty, set forth by the strangeness both of his seat and gesture: for, holding his head up full of unmoved majesty, he held a sword aloft with his fair arm, which often he waved about his crown as though he would threaten the world in that extremity. But the fishermen, when they came so near him, that it was time to throw out a rope, by which hold they might draw him, their simplicity bred such amazement, and their amazement such superstition, that (assuredly thinking it was some God begotten between Neptune and Venus, that had made all this terrible slaughter) as they went under sail by him, held up their hands and made their prayers. Which when Musidorus saw, though he were almost as much ravished with joy, as they with astonishment, he leapt to the Mariner, and took the cord out of his hand and (saying, dost thou live, and art well? who answered, thou canst tell best, since most of my well being stands in thee,) threw it out, but already the ship was passed beyond Pyrocles: and therefore Musidorus could do no more but persuade the Mariners to cast about again, assuring them that he was but a man, although of most divine excellencies, and promising great rewards for their pain.  
And now they were already come upon the stays; when one of the sailors descried a Galley which came with sails and oars directly in the chase of them; and straight perceived it was a well known Pirate, who hunted not only for goods but for bodies of men, which he employed either to be his Galley slaves, or to sell at the best market. Which when the Master understood, he commanded forthwith to set on all the canvas they could, and fly homeward, leaving in that sort poor Pyrocles so near to be rescued. But what did not Musidorus say? what did he not offer to persuade them to venture the fight? But fear standing at the gates of their ears, put back all persuasions: so that he had nothing wherewith to accompany Pyrocles, but his eyes; nor to secure him, but his wishes. Therefore praying for him, and casting a long look that way, he saw the Galley leave the pursuit of them, and turn to take up the spoils of the other wrack: and lastly he might well see them lift up the young man; and alas (said he to himself) dear Pyrocles shall that body of thine be enchained? shall those victorious hands of thine be commanded to base offices? shall virtue become a slave to those that be slaves to viciousness? Alas, better had it been thou hadst ended nobly thy noble days: what death is so evil as unworthy servitude? But that opinion soon ceased when he saw the galley setting upon an other ship, which held long and strong fight with her: for than he began a fresh to fear the life of his friend, and to wish well to the Pirates whom before he hated, least in their ruin he might perish. But the fishermen made such speed into the haven, that they absented his eyes from beholding the issue: where being entered, he could procure neither them nor any other as then to put themselves into the sea: so that being as full of sorrow for being unable to do any thing, as void of counsel how to do anything, besides, that sickness grew something upon him, the honest shepherds Strephon and Claius (who being themselves true friends, did the more perfectly judge the justness of his sorrow) advise him, that he should mitigate somewhat of his woe, since he had gotten an amendment in fortune, being come from assured persuasion of his death, to have no cause to despair of his life: as one that had lamented the death of his sheep, should after know they were but strayed, would receive pleasure though readily he knew not where to find them.  
Now sir (said they) thus for ourselves it is. We are in profession but shepherds, and in this country of Laconia little better than strangers, and therefore neither in skill, nor ability of power greatly to stead you. But what we can present unto you is this: Arcadia, of which country we are, is but a little way hence; and even upon the next confines there dwelleth a Gentleman, by name Kalander, who vouchsafeth much favour unto us: A man who for his hospitality is so much haunted, that no news stir, but comes to his ears; for his upright dealing so beloved of his neighbours, that he hath many ever ready to do him their uttermost service, and by the great good will our Prince bears him, may soon obtain the use of his name and credit, which hath a principal sway, not only in his own Arcadia but in all these countries of Peloponnesus: & (which is worth all) all these things give him not so much power, as his nature gives him will to benefit: so that it seems no Music is sweet to his ear as deserved thanks. To him we will bring you, and there you may recover again your health, without which you cannot be able to make any diligent search for your friend: and therefore you must labour for it. Besides, we are sure the comfort of courtesy, and ease of wise counsel shall not be wanting.  
Musidorus (who besides he was merely unacquainted in the country had his wits astonished with sorrow) gave easy consent to that, from which he saw no reason to disagree: and therefore (defraying the Mariners with a ring bestowed upon them) they took their journey together through Laconia; Claius and Strephon by course carrying his chest for him, Musidorus only bearing in his countenance evident marks of a sorowfulmind supported with a weak body, which they perceiving, and knowing that the violence of sorrow is not at the first to be striven withal: (being like a mighty beast, sooner tamed with following, than overthrown by withstanding) they gave way unto it for that day and the next; never troubling him, either with ask questions, or finding fault with his melancholy, but rather fitting to his dolour dolorous discourses of their own and other folk's misfortunes. Which speeches, though they had not a lively entrance to his senses shut up in sorrow, yet like one half a sleep he took hold of much of the matters spoken unto him, so as a man may say, ere sorrow was aware, they made his thoughts bear away something else beside his own sorrow, which wrought so in him, that at length he grew content to mark their speeches, then to marvel at such wit in shepherds, after to like their company, and lastly to vouchsafe conference: so that the third day after, in the time that the morning did strew roses and violets in the heavenly floor against the coming of the Sun, the nightingales (striving one with the other which could in most dainty variety recount their wrong caused sorrow) made them put of their sleep, and rising from under a tree (which that night had been their pavilion) they went on their journey, which by and by welcomed Musidorus eyes (wearied with the wasted soil of Laconia) with delightful prospects. There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees: humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with refreshing of silver rivers: meadows, enameled with all sorts of eypleasing flowers: thickets, which being lined with most pleasant shade, were witnessed so too by the cheerful disposition of many wel-tuned birds: each pasture stored with sheep feeding with sober security, while the pretty lambs with bleting oratory craved the dams comfort: here a shepherds boy piping, as though he should never be old: there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal singing, and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voices music. As for the houses of the country (for many houses came under their eye) they were all scattered, no two being one by th'other, and yet not so far off as that it barred mutual succour: a show, as it were, of an accompanable solitariness, & of a civil wildness. I pray you (said Musidorus, than first unsealing his long silent lips) what countries be these we pass through, which are so divers in show, the one wanting no store, th'other having no store but of want.  
The country (answered Claius) where you were cast a shore, and now are passed through, is Laconia, not so poor by the barrenness of the soil (though in itself not passing fertile) as by a civil war, which being these two years within the bowels of that estate, between the gentlemen and the peasants (by them named Helots') hath in this sort as it were disfigured the face of nature, and made it so unhospitall as now you have found it: the towns neither of the one side nor the other, willingly opening their gates to strangers, nor strangers willingly entering for fear of being mistaken.  
But this country (where now you set your foot) is Arcadia: & even hard by is the house of Kalander whether we lead you: this country being thus decked with peace, & (the child of peace) good husbandry. These houses you see so scattered are of men, as we two are, that live upon the commodity of their sheep: and therefore in the division of the Arcadian estate are termed shepherds; a happy people, wanting little because they desire not much. What cause then said Musidorus, made you venture to leave this sweet life, and put yourself in yonder unpleasant and dangerous realm? Guarded with poverty (answered Strephon) and guided with love: But now (said Claius) since it hath pleased you to ask any thing of us whose baseness is such as the very knowledge is darkness: give us leave to know something of you, and of the young man you so much lament, that at least we may be the better instructed to inform Kalander, and he the better know how to proportion his entertainment. Musidorus (according to the agreement between Pyrocles & him to alter their names) answered, that he called himself Palladius, and his friend Daiphantus; but till I have him again (said he) I am in deed nothing: and therefore my story is of nothing, his entertainment (since so good a man he is) cannot be so low as I account my estate: and in sum, the sum of all his courtesy may be to help me by some means to seek my friend.  
They perceived he was not willing to open himself further, and therefore without further questioning brought him to the house: about which they might see (with fit consideration both of the air, the prospect, & the nature of the ground) all such necessary additions to a great house, as might well show, Kalander knew that provision is the foundation of hospitality, and thrift the fuel of magnificence. The house itself was built of fair and strong stone, not affecting so much any extraordinary kind of fineness, as an honourable representing of a firm stateliness. The lights, doors and stairs, rather directed to the use of the guest, then to the eye of the Artificer: and yet as the one chiefly heeded, so the other not neglected; each place handsome without curiosity, and homely without loathsomeness: not so dainty as not to be trodden on, nor yet slubbered up with good fellowship: all more lasting than beautiful, but that the consideration of the exceeding lastingness made the eye believe it was exceeding beautiful. The servants not so many in number, as cleanly in apparel, & serviceable in behaviour, testifiing even in their countenances, that their master took aswell care to be served, as of them that did serve. One of them was forthwith ready to welcome the shepherds, as men, who though they were poor, their master greatly favoured: & understanding by them, that the young man with them was to be much accounted of, for that they had seen tokens of more than common greatness, how so ever now eclipsed with fortune: He ran to his master who came presently forth, and pleasantly welcoming the shepherds but especially applying him to Musidorus, Strephon privately told him all what he known of him, and particularly that he found this stranger was loath to be known.  
No said Kalander (speaking aloud) I am no herald to inquire of men's pedigrees, it sufficeth me if I know their virtues: which (if this young man's face be not a false witness) do better apparel his mind, than you have done his body. While he was thus speaking, there came a boy in show like a merchants apprentice, who taking Strephon by the sleeve, delivered him a letter, written jointly both to him and Claius from Urania: which they no sooner had read, but that with short leave-taking of Kalander (who quickly guest and smiled at the matter) & once again (though hastily) recommending the young man unto him, they went away, leaving Musidorus even loath to part with them, for the good conversation he had of them, and obligation he accounted himself tied in unto them: and therefore, they delivering his chest unto him, he opened it, and would have presented them with two very rich jewels, but they absolutely refused them, telling him that they were more then enough rewarded in the knowing of him, and without hearkening unto a reply (like men whose hearts disdained all desires but one) gate speedily away, as if the letter had brought wings to make them fly. But by that sight Kalander soon judged that his guest was of no mean calling; and therefore the more respectfullie entertaining him, Musidorus found his sickness (which the fight, the sea, and late travel had laid upon him) grow greatly: so that fearing some sudden accident, he delivered the chest to Kalander; which was full of most precious stones, gorgeously and cunningly set in diverse manners, desiring him he would keep those trifles, and if he died, he would bestow so much of it as was needful, to find out and redeem a young man, naming himself Daiphantus, as then in the hands of Laconia pirates.  
But Kalander seeing him faint more and more, with careful speed conveyed him to the most commodious lodging in his house: where being possessed with an extreme burning fever, he continued some while with no great hope of life: but youth at length got the victory of sickness, so that in six weeks the excellency of his returned beauty was a credible ambassador of his health; to the great joy of Kalander: who, as in this time he had by certain friends of his, that dwelled near the Sea in Messenia, set forth a ship and a galley to seek and secure Daiphantus: so at home did he omit nothing which he thought might either profit or gratify Palladius.  
For having found in him (besides his bodily gifts beyond the degree of Admiration) by daily discourses which he delighted himself to have with him, a mind of most excellent composition (a piercing wit quite void of ostentation, high erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy, an eloquence as sweet in the uttering, as slow to come to the uttering, a behaviour so noble, as gave a majesty to adversity: and all in a man whose age could not be above one and twenty years) the good old man was even enamoured with a fatherly love towards him; or rather became his servant by the bonds such virtue laid upon him; once he acknowledged himself so to be, by the badge of diligent attendance.  
But Palladius having gotten his health, and only staying there to be in place, where he might hear answer of the ships set forth, Kalander one after noon led him abroad to a well arrayed ground he had behind his house, which he thought to show him before his going, as the place himself more them in any other delighted. the backside of the house was neither field, garden, nor orchard; or rather it was both field garden, and orchard: for as soon as the descending of the stairs had delivered them down, they came into a place cunningly set with trees of the most tastpleasing fruits: but scarcely they had taken that into their consideration, but that they were suddenly stepped into a delicate green, of each side of the green a thicket, and behind the thickets again new beds of flowers, which being under the trees, the trees were to them a Pavilion, and they to the trees a mosaical floor: so that it seemed that art therein would needs be delightful by counterfeiting his enemy error, and making order in confusion.  
In the midst of all the place, was affair pond, whose shaking crystal was a perfect mirror to all the other beauties, so that it bore show of two gardens: one in deed, the other in shadows: and in one of the thickets was a fine fountain made thus. A naked Venus of white marble, wherein the graver had used such cunning, that the natural blue veins of the marble were framed in fit places, to set forth the beautiful veins of her body. At her breast she had her babe AEneas, who seemed (having begun to suck) to leave that, to look upon her fair eyes, which smiled at the babes folly, mean while the breast running. Hard by was a house of pleasure built for a Summer retiring place, whether Kalander leading him, he found a square room full of delightful pictures, made by the most excellent workman of Greece. There was Diana when Actaeon saw her bathing, in whose cheeks the painter had set such a colour, as was mixed between shame and disdain: and one of her foolish Nymphs, who weeping, and with all lowering, one might see the workman meant to set forth tears of anger. In another table was Atalanta; the posture of whose limbs was so lively expressed, that if the eyes were the only judges, as they be the only seers, one would have sworn the very picture had run. Besides many more, as of Helena, Omphale, jole: but in none of them all beauty seemed to speak so much as in a large table, which contained a comely old man, with a lady of middle age, but of excellent beauty; and more excellent would have been deemed, but that there stood between them a young maid, whose wonderfulness took away all beauty from her, but that which it might seem she gave her back again by her very shadow. And such difference (being known that it did in deed counterfeit a person living) was there between her and all the other, though Goddesses, that it seemed the skill of the painter bestowed on the other new beauty, but that the beauty of her bestowed new skill of the painter. Though he thought inquisitiveness an uncomely guest, he could not choose but ask who she was, that bearing show of one being in deed, could with natural gifts go beyond the reach of invention. Kalander answered, that it was made by Philoclea, the younger daughter of his prince, who also with his wife were contained in that Table: the painter meaning to represent the present condition of the young Lady, who stood watched by an over-curious eye of her parents: and that he would also have drawn her eldest sister, esteemed her match for beauty, in her shepheardish attire; but that the rude clown her guardian would not suffer it: nether durst he ask leave of the Prince for fear of suspicion. Palladius perceived that the matter was wrapped up in some secrecy, and therefore would for modesty demand no further: but yet his countenance could not but with dumb Eloquence desire it: Which Kalander perceiving, well said he, my dear guest, I know your mind, and I will satisfy it: neither will I do it like a niggardly answerer, going no further than the bounds of the question, but I will discover unto you, aswell that wherein my knowledge is common with others, as that which by extraordinary means is delivered unto me: knowing so much in you (though not long acquainted) that I shall find your ears faithful treasurers. So then sitting down in two chairs, and sometimes casting his eye to the picture, he thus spoke.  
This country Arcadia among all the provinces of Greece, hath ever been had in singular reputation: partly for the sweetness of the air, and other natural benefits, but principally for the well tempered minds of the people, who (finding that the shining title of glory so much affected by other nations, doth in deed help little to the happiness of life) are the only people, which as by their justice and providence give neither cause nor hope to their neighbours to annoy them, so are they not stirred with false praise to trouble others quiet, thinking it a small reward for the wasting of their own liuès in ravening, that their posterity should long after say, they had done so. Even the Muses seem to approve their good determination, by choosing this country for their chief repairing place, and by bestowing their perfections so largely here, that the very shepherds have their fancies lifted to so high conceits, as the learned of other nations are content both to borrow their names, and imitate their cunning.  
Here dwelleth, and reigneth this Prince (whose picture you see) by name Basilius, a Prince of sufficient skill to govern so quiet a country, where the good minds of the former princes had set down good laws, and the well bringing up of the people doth serve as a most sure bond to hold them. But to be plain with you, he excels in nothing so much, as in the zealous love of his people, wherein he doth not only pass all his own fore-goers, but as I think all the princes living. Whereof the cause is, that though he exceed not in the virtues which get admiration; as depth of wisdom, height of courage and largeness of magnificence, yet is he notable in those which stir affection, as truth of word, meekness, courtesy, mercifulness, and liberality.  
He being already well stricken in years, married a young princes, named Gynoecia, daughter to the king of Cyprus, of notable beauty, as by her picture you see: a woman of great wit, and in truth of more princely virtues, than her husband: of most unspotted chastity, but of so working a mind, and so vehement spirits, as a man may say, it was happy she took a good course: for otherwise it would have been terrible.  
Of these two are brought to the world two daughters, so beyond measure excellent in all the gifts allotted to reasonable creatures, that we may think they were borne to show, that Nature is no stepmother to that sex, how much so ever some men (sharp witted only in evil speaking) have sought to disgrace them. The elder is named Pamela; by many men not deemed inferior to her sister: for my part, when I marked them both, me thought there was (if at least such perfections may receive the word of more) more sweetness in Philoclea, but more majesty in Pamela: me thought love played in Philoclea's eyes, and threatened in Pamela's: me thought Philoclea's beauty only persuaded, but so persuaded as all hearts must yield: Pamela's beauty used violence, and such violence as no heart could resist: and it seems that such proportion is between their minds; Philoclea so bashful as though her excellencies had stolen into her before she was aware: so humble, that she will put all pride out of countenance: in sum, such proceeding as will stir hope, but teach hope good manners. Pamela of high thoughts, who auoides not pride with not knowing her excellencies, but by making that one of her excellencies to be void of pride; her mother's wisdom, greatness, nobility, but (if I can guess aright) knit with a more constant temper. Now then; our Basilius being so publicly happy as to be a Prince, and so happy in that happiness as to be a beloved Prince, and so in his private blessed as to have so excellent a wife, and so over excellent children, hath of late taken a course which yet makes him more spoken of then all these blessings. For, having made a journey to Delphos, and safely returned, within short space he broke up his court, and retired himself, his wife, and children into a certain Forest hereby, which he calleth his desert, wherein (besides a house appointed for stables and lodgings for certain persons of mean calling, who do all household services,) he hath builded two fine lodges. In the one of them himself remains with his younger daughter Philoclea, which was the cause they three were matched together in this picture, without having any other creature living in that lodge with him.  
Which though it be strange, yet not so strange, as the course he hath taken with the princess Pamela, whom he hath placed in the other lodge: but how think you accompanied? truly with none other, but one Dametas, the most arrant doltish clown, that I think ever was without the privilege of a babble, with his wife Miso, and daughter of Mopsa, in whom no wit can devise any thing wherein they may pleasure her, but to exercise her patience, and to serve for a foil of her perfections. This loutish clown is such, that you never saw so ill favoured a visar; his behaviour such, that he is beyond the degree of ridiculous; and for his apparel, even as I would wish him: Miso his wife, so handsome a beldame, that only her face and her splayfoote have made her accused for a witch; only one good point she hath, that she observes decorum, having a froward mind in a wretched body. Between these two personages (who never agreed in any humour, but in disagreeing) is issued forth mistress Mopsa, a fit woman to participate of both their perfections: but because a pleasant fellow of my acquaintance set forth her praises in verse, I will only repeat them, and spare mine own tongue, since she goes for a woman. The verses are these which I have so often caused to be song, that I have them without book.  
What length of verse can serve brave Mopsa's good to show?  
Whose virtues strange, & beauties such, as no man them may know  
Thus shrewdly burdened them, how can my Muse escape?  
The gods must help, and precious things must serve to show her shape.  
Like great God Saturn faíre, and like fair Venus chaste:  
As smooth as Pan, as juno mild, like goddess Iris fast.  
With Cupid she foresees, and goes god Vulcan's pace:  
And for a taste of all these gifts, she steals god Momus grace,  
Her forehead jacinth like, her cheeks of opal hue,  
Her twinkling eyes bedecked with pearl, her lips as Saphir blew:  
Her hair like Crapal-stone; her mouth O heavenly wide;  
Her skin like burnished gold, her hands like silver ure untryde.  
As for her parts unknown, which hidden sure are best:  
Happy be they which well believe & never seek the rest.  
Now truly having made these descriptions unto you, me thinks you should imagine that I rather feign some pleasant devise, then recount a truth, that a Prince (not banished from his own wits) could possibly make so unworthy a choice. But truly (dear guest) so it is, that Princes (whose do have been often soothed with good success) think nothing so absurd, which they cannot make honourable. The beginning of his credit was by the Princes straying out of the way, one time he hunted, where meeting this fellow, and ask him the way; and so falling into other questions, he found some of his answers (as a dog sure if he could speak, had wit enough to describe his kennel) not unsensible, and all uttered with such rudeness, which he interpreted plainness (though there be great difference between them) that Basilius' conceiving a sudden delight, took him to his Court, with apparent show of his good opinion: where the flattering courtier had no sooner taken the Prince's mind, but that there were strait reasons to confirm the Princes doing, and shadows of virtues found for Dametas. His silence grew wit, his bluntness integrity, his beastly ignorance virtuous simplicity: and the Prince (according to the nature of great persons, in love with that he had done himself) fancied, that his weakness with his presence would much be mended. And so like a creature of his own making, he liked him more and more, and thus having first given him the office of principal herdman, lastly, since he took this strange determination, he hath in a manner put the life of himself and his children into his hands. Which authority (like too great a sail for so small a boat) doth so oversway poor Dametas, that if before he wear a good fool in a chamber, he might be allowed it now in a comedy: So as I doubt me (I fear me in deed) my master will in the end (with his cost) find, that his office is not make men, but to use men as men are; no more than a horse will be taught to hunt, or an ass to manage. But in sooth I am afraid I have given your ears too great a surfeit, with the gross discourses of that heavy piece of flesh. But the zealous grief I conceve to see so great an error in my Lord, hath made me bestow more words, than I confess so base a subject deserveth.  
Thus much now that I have told you, is nothing more than in effect any Arcadian knows. But what moved him to this strange solitariness hath been imparted (as I think) but to one person living. Myself can conjecture and in deed more than conjecture, by this accident that I will tell you: I have an only son, by name Clitophon, who is now absent, preparing for his own marriage, which I mean shortly shallbe here celebrated. This son of mine (while the Prince kept his Court) was of his bedchamber; now since the breaking up thereof, returned home, and showed me (among other things he had gathered) the copy which he had taken of a letter: which when the prince had read, he had laid in a window, presuming no body durst look in his writings: but my son not only took a time to read it, but to copy it. In truth I blamed Clitophon for the curiosity, which made him break his duty in such a kind, whereby kings secrets are subject to be revealed: but since it was done, I was content to take so much profit, as to know it. Now here is the letter, that I ever since for my good liking, have carried about me: which before I read unto you, I must tell you from whom it came. It is a nobleman of this country, named Philanax, appointed by the Prince, Regent in this time of his retiring, and most worthy so to be: for, there lives no man, whose excellent wit more simply imbraseth integrity, besides his unfeigned love to his master, wherein never yet any could make question, saving whether he loved Basilius or the Prince better: a rare temper, while most men either servilely yield to all appetites, or with an obstinate austerity looking to that they fancy good, in effect neglect the Prince's person. This then being the man, whom of all other (and most worthy) the Prince chiefly loves, it should seem (for more than the letter I have not to guess by) that the Prince upon his return from Delphos, (Philanax then lying sick) had written unto him his determination, rising (as evidently appears) upon some Oracle he had there received: whereunto he wrote this answer.  
Philanax his letter to Basilius.  
Most redoubted and beloved prince, if aswell it had pleased you at your going to Delphos as now, to have used my humble service, both I should in better season, and to better purpose have spoken: and you (if my speech had prevailed) should have been at this time, as no way more in danger, so much more in quietness; I would then have said, that wisdom and virtue be the only destinies appointed to man to follow, whence we ought to seek all our knowledge, since they be such guides as cannot fail; which, besides their inward comfort, do lead so direct a way of proceeding, as either prosperity must ensue; or, if the wickedness of the world should oppress, it can never be said, that evil happeneth to him, who falls accompanied with virtue: I would then have said, the heavenly powers to be reverenced, and not searched into; & their mercies rather by prayers to be sought, than their hidden counsels by curiosity. These kinds of soothsay (since they have left us in ourselves sufficient guides) to be nothing but fancy, wherein there must either be vanity, or infallibleness, & so, either not to be respected, or not to be prevented. But since it is weakness too much to remember what should have been done. and that your commandment stretcheth to know what is to be done, I do (most dear Lord) with humble boldness say, that the manner of your determination doth in no sort better please me, than the cause of your going. These thirty years you have so governed this Region, that nether your Subjects have wanted justice in you, nor you obedience in them; & your neighbours have found you so hurtlesly strong, that they though it better to rest in your friendship, then make new trial of your enmity. If this than have proceeded out of the good constitution of your state, and out of a wise providence, generally to prevent all those things, which might encumber your happiness: why should you now seek new courses, since your own ensample comforts you to continue, and that it is to me most certain (though it please you not to tell me the very words of the Oracle) that yet no destiny, nor inflvence whatsoever, can bring man's wit to a higher point, than wisdom and goodness? why should you deprive yourself of government, for fear of losing your government? like one that should kill himself for fear of death? nay rather, if this Oracle be to be accounted of, arm up your courage that more against it: for who will stick to him that abandones himself; let your subjects have you in their eyes; let them see the benefits of your justice daily more and more; and so must they needs rather like of present sureties, then uncertain changes. Lastly, whether your time call you to live or die, do both like a prince. Now for your second resolution; which, is to suffer no worthy prince to be a suitor to either of your daughters, but while you live to keep them both unmarried; &, as it wear. to kill the joy of posterity, which in your time you may enjoy: moved perchance by a misunderstood Oracle: what shall I say, if the affection of a father to his own children, cannot plead sufficiently against such fancies? once certain it is, the God which is God of nature, doth never teach unnaturalness: and even the same mind hold I touching your banishing them from company, lest, I know not what strange loves should follow. Certainly Sir, in my ladies, your daughters, nature promiseth nothing but goodness, and their education by your fatherly care, hath been hitherto such, as hath been most fit to restrain all evil: giving there minds virtuous delights, and not grieving them for want of wel-ruled liberty. Now to fall to a sudden straightening them, what can it do but argue suspicion, a thing no more unpleasant, then unsure, for the preserving of virtue? Leave women's minds, the most untamed that way of any: see whether any cage can please a bird? or whether a dog grow not fiercer with tying? what doth jealousy, but stir up the mind to think, what it is from which they are restrained? for they are treasures, or things of great delight, which men use to hid, for the aptness they have to each man's fancies: and the thoughts once awaked to that, harder sure it is to keep those thoughts from accomplishment, than it had been before to have kept the mind (which being the chief part by this means is defiled) from thinking. Lastly, for the recommending so principal a charge of the Princess Pamela, (whose mind goes beyond the governing of many thousands such) to such a person as Dametas is (besides that the thing in itself is strange) it comes of a very evil ground, that ignorance should be the mother of faithfulness, O no; he cannot be good, that knows not why he is good, but stands so far good, as his fortune may keep him unassaied: but coming once to that, his rude simplicity is either easily changed, or easily deceived: & so grows that to be the last excuse of his fault, which seemed to have been the first foundation of his faith. Thus far hath your commandment and my zeal drawn me; which I, like a man in a valley that may discern hills, or like a poor passenger that may spy a rock, so humbly submit to your gracious consideration, beseeching you again, to stand wholly upon your own virtue, as the surest way to maintain you in that you are, and to avoid any evil which may be imagined.  
By the contents of this letter you may perceive, that the cause of all, hath been the vanity which possesseth many, who (making a perpetual mansionn of this poor baiting place of man's life) are desirous to know the certainty of things to come; wherein there is nothing so certain as our continual uncertainty. But what in particular points the oracle was, in faith I know not: nether (as you may see by one place of Philanax letter) he himself distinctly known. But this experience shows us, that Basilius judgement, corrupted with a prince's fortune, hath rather hard than followed the wise (as I take it) council of Philanax. For having left the stern of his government, with much amazement to the people, among whom many strange bruits are received for currant, and with some appearance of danger in respect of the valiant Amphialus his nephew, & much envy in the ambitious number of the Nobility against Philanax, to see Philanax so advanced, though (to speak simply) he deserve more then as many of us as there be in Arcadia: the prince himself hath hidden his head, in such sort as I told you, not sticking plainly to confess, that he means not (while he breathes) that his daughters shall have any husband, but keep them thus solitary with him: weher he gius no other body leave to visit him at anytime but a certain priest, who being excellent in poetry, he makes him write out such things as he best likes, he being no les delightful in conversation, then needful for devotion. &, about twenty specified shepherds, in whom some (for exercises, & some for Eglogs) he taketh greater recreation.  
And now you know as much as myself: wherein if I have held you over long, lay hardly the fault upon my old age, which in the very disposition of it is talkative: whether it be (said he smiling) that nature loves to exercise that part most, which is least decayed, and that is our tongue: or, that knowledge being the only thing whereof we poor old men can brag, we cannot make it known but by utterance: or, that mankind by all means seeking to eternize himself so much the more, as he is near his end, doth it not only by the children that come of him, but by speeches and writings recommended to the memory of hearers and readers. And yet thus much I will say for myself, that I have not laid these matters, either so openly, or largely to any as yourself: so much (if I much fail not) do I see in you, which makes me both love and trust you. Never may he be old, answered Palladius, that doth not reverence that age, whose heaviness, if it way down the frail and fleshly balance, it as much lifts up the noble and spiritual part: and well might you have alleged another reason, that their wisdom makes them willing to profit others. And that have I received of you, never to be forgotten, but with ungratefulness. But among many strange conceits you told me, which have showed effects in your Prince, truly even the last, that he should conceive such pleasure in shepherds discourses, would not seem the least unto me, saving that you told me at the first, that this country is notable in those wits, & that in deed myself having been brought not only to this place, but to my life, by Strephon and Claius, in their conference found wits as might better become such shepherds as Homer speaks of, that be governors of peoples, than such senators who hold their council in a sheepecoate: for them two (said Kalander) especially Claius, they are beyond the rest by so much, as learning commonly doth add to nature: for, having neglected their wealth in respect of their knowledge, they have not so much impaired the meaner, as they bettered the better. Which all notwithstanding, it is a sport to hear how they impute to love, which hath endued their thoughts (say they) with such a strength.  
But certainly, all the people of this country from high to low, is given to those sports of the wit, so as you would wonder to hear how soon even children will begin to versify. Once ordinary it is among the meanest sort, to make Songs and Dialogues in meeter, either love whetting their brain, or long peace having begun it, example and emulation amending it. Not so much, but the Clown Dametas will stumble sometimes upon some songs that might become a better brain: but no sort of people so excellent in that kind as the pastors; for their living standing but upon the looking to their beasts, they have ease, the Nurse of Poetry. Neither are our shepherds such, as (I hear) they be in other countries; but they are the very owners of the sheep, to which either themselves look, or their children give daily attendance. And then truly, it would delight you under some tree, or by some rivers side (when two or three of them meet together) to hear their rural muse, how prettily it will deliver out, sometimes joys, sometimes lamentations, sometimes chalenginge one of the other, sometimes under hidden forms uttering such matters, as otherwise they durst not deal with. Then have they most commonly one, who judgeth the Price to the best doer, of which they are no less glad, then great Princes are of triumphs: and his part is to set down in writing all that is said, save that it may be, his pen with more leisure doth polish the rudeness of an unthought-on song. Now the choice of all (as you may well think) either for goodness of voice, or plesantness of wit, the Prince hath: among whom also there are two or three strangers, whom inward melancholies having made weighed of the worlds eyes, have come to spend their lives among the country people of Arcadia; & their conversation being well approved, the Prince vouchsafeth them his presence, and not only by looking on, but by great courtesy and liberality, animates the shepherds the more tightly to labour for his good liking. So that there is no cause to blame the Prince for sometimes hearing them; the blame-worthinesse is, that to hear them, he rather goes to solitariness, then makes them come to company. Nether do I accuse my master for advancing a countryman, as Dametas is, since God forbidden, but where worthiness is (as truly it is among divers of that fellowship) any outward lowness should hinder the highest raising, but that he would needs make election of one, the baseness of whose mind is such, that it sinks a thousand degrees lower, than the basest body could carry the most base fortune: which although it might be answered for the prince, that it is rather a trust he hath in his simple plainness, than any great advancement, being but chief herdman: yet all honest hearts feel, that the trust of their Lord goes beyond all advancement. But I am ever too long upon him, when he crosseth the way of my speech, and by the shadow of yonder tower, I see it is a fit time, with our supper to pay the duties we own to our stomachs, then to break the air with my idle discourses: And more wit I might have learned of Homer (whom even now you mentioned) who never entertained either guests or hosts with long speeches, till the mouth of hunger be thoroughly stopped. So withal he risen, leading Palladius through the garden again to the parlour, where they used to sup; Palladius assuring him, that he had already been more fed to his liking, them he could be by the skilfullest trenchermen of Media.  
But being come to the supping place, one of Kalander's servants rounded in his ear; at which (his colour changing) he retired himself into his chamber; commanding his men diligently to wait upon Palladius, and to excuse his absence with some necessary business he had presently to dispatch. Which they accordingly did, for some few days forcing themselves to let no change appear, but though they framed their countenances never so cunningly, Palladius perceived there was some ill-pleasing accident fallen out. Whereupon, being again set alone at supper, he called to the Steward, and desired him to tell him the matter of his sudden alteration: who after some trifling excuses, in the end confessed unto him, that his master had received news, that his son before the day of his near marriage, chanced to be at a battle, which was to be fought between the Gentlemen of Lacedaemon and the Helots': who winning the victory, he was there made prisoner, going to deliver a friend of his taken prisoner by the Helots'; that the poor young Gentleman had offered great ransom for his life: but that the hate those paysaunts conceived against all Gentlemen was such, that every hour he was to look for nothing, but some cruel death: which hetherunto had only been delayed by the captains vehement dealing for him, who seemed to have a heart of more manly pity then the rest. Which loss had stricken the old Gentleman with such sorrow, as if abundance of tears did not seem sufficiently to witness it, he was alone retired, tearing his beard and hair, and cursing his old age, that had not made his grave to stop his ears from such advertisements: but that his faithful servants had written in his name to all his friends followers, and tenants (Philanax the gonernour refusing to deal in it as a private cause, but yet giving leave to seek their best redress, so as they, wronged not the state of Lacedaemon) of whom there were now gathered upon the frontiers good forces, that he was sure would spend their lives by any way, to redeem or revenge Clitophon. Now sir (said he) this is my masters nature, though his grief be such, as to live is a grief unto him, & that even his reason is darkened with sorrow; yet the laws of hospitality (long and holily observed by him) give still such a sway to his proceeding, that he will no way suffer the stranger lodged under his roof, to receive (as it were) any infection of his anguish, especially you, toward whom I know not whether his love, or admiration be greater. But Palladius could scarce hear out his tale with patience: so was his heart torn in pieces with compassion of the case, liking of Kalander's noble behaviour, kindness for his respect to himwarde, and desire to find some remedy, besides the image of his dearest friend Daiphantus, whom he judged to suffer either alike or a worse fortune. Therefore rising from the board, he desired the steward to tell him particularly, the ground and event of this accident, because by knowledge of many circumstances, there might perhaps some way of help be opened. Whereunto the Steward easily in this sort condescended.  
My Lord (said he) when our good king Basilius, with better success than expectation, took to wife (even in his more than decaing years) the fair young Princes Gynccia; there came with her a young Lord, cousin german to herself, named Argalus, led hither, partly with the love and honour of his noble kinswoman, partly with the humour of youth, which ever thinks that good, whose goodness he sees not: & in this court he received so good increase of knowledge, that after some years spent, he so manifested a most virtuous mind in all his actions, that Arcadia gloried such a plant was transported unto them, being a Gentleman in deed most rarely accomplished, excellently learned, but without all vain glory: friendly, without factiousness: valiant, so as for my part I think the earth hath no man that hath done more heroical acts than he; howsoever now of late the fame flies of the two princes of Thessalia and Macedon, and hath long done of our noble prince Amphialus: who indeed, in our parts is only accounted likely to match him: but I say for my part, I think no man for valour of mind, and ability of body to be preferred, if equalled to Argalus; and yet so valiant as he never durst do any body injury: in behaviour some will say ever sad, surely sober, and somewhat given to musing, but never uncourteous; his word ever led by his thought, and followed by his deed; rather liberal then magnificent, though the one wanted not, and the other had ever good choice of the receiver: in sum (for I perceive I shall easily take a great draught of his praises, whom both I and all this country love so well) such a man was (and I hope is) Argalus, as hardly the nicest eye can find a spot in, if the over-vehement constancy of yet spotless affection, may not in hard wrested constructions be counted a spot: which in this manner began that work in him, which hath made both him, and itself in him, over all this country famous. My masters son Chlitophon (whose loss gives the cause to this discourse, and yet gives me cause to begin with Argalus. since his loss proceeds from Argalus) being a young Gentleman, as of great birth (being our king's sister's son) so truly of good nature, and one that can see good and love it, haunted more the company of this worthy Argalus, then of any other: so as if there were not a friendship (which is so rare, as it is to be doubted whether it be a thing in deed or but a word) at least there was such a liking and friendliness, as hath brought forth the effects which you shall hear. About two years since, it so fell out, that he brought him to a great Lady's house, sister to my master, who had with her, her only daughter, the fair Parthenia; fair in deed (fame I think itself daring not to call any fairer, if it be not Helena queen of Corinth and the two incomparable sisters of Arcadia) and that which made her fairness much the fairer, was, that it was but a fair ambassador of a most fair mind, full of wit, and a wit which delighteth more to judge itself, then to show itself: herspeech being as rare as precious; her silence without fullennesle; her modesty without affectation; her shamefastness without ignorance: in sum, one, that to praise well, one must first set down with himself, what it is to be excellent: for so she is.  
I think you think, that these perfections meeting, could not choose but find one another, and delight in that they found; for likeness of manners is likely in reason to draw liking with affection. men's actions do not always cross with reason: to beshorte, it did so in deed. They loved, though for a while the fire thereof (hopes wings being cut of) were blowen by the bellows of despair upon this occasion.  
There had been a good while before, and so continued, a suitor to this same lady, a great noble man, though of Laconia, yet near nieghbour to Parthenia's mother, named Demagoras: A man mighty in riches & power, and proud thereof, stubbornly stout, loving no body but himself, and for his own delights sake Parthenia: and pursuing vehemently his desire, his riches had guilded over all his other imperfections, that the old Lady (though contrary to my Lord her brother's mind) had given her consent; and using a mother's authority upon her fair daughter, had made her yield thereunto, not because she liked her choice but because her obedient mind had not yet taken upon it to make choice; and the day of their assurance drew near, when my young lord Clitophon brought this noble Argalus, perchance principally to see so rare a sight, as Parthenia by all well judging eyes was judged.  
But though few days were before the time of assurance appointed, yet love that saw he had a great journey to make in short time, hasted so himself, that before her word could tie her to Demagoras, her heart had vowed her to Argalus, with so grateful a receit in mutual affection, that if she desired above all things to have Argalus, Argalus feared nothing but to miss Parthenia. And now Parthenia had learned both liking and misliking, loving and loathing, and out of passion began to take the authority of judgement; in so much, that when the time came that Demagoras (full of proud joy) though to receive the gift of her own self, she with words of resolute refusal (though with tears showing she was sorry she must refuse) assured her mother, she would first be bedded in her grave, then wedded to Demagoras. The change was no more strange, then unpleasant to the mother: who being determynatelye (lest I should say of a great Lady wilfully) bent to marry her to Demagoras, tried all ways which a witty and hard hearted mother could use, upon so humble a daughter: in whom the only resisting power was love. But the more she assaulted, the more she taught Parthenia to defend: and the more Parthenia defended, the more she made her mother obstinate in the assault: who at the length finding, that Argalus standing between them, was it that most eclipsed her affection from shining upon Demagoras, she sought all means how to remove him, so much the more, as he manifested himself an unremovable suitor to her daughter: first, by employing him in as many dangerous enterprises, as ever the evil stepmother juno recommended to the famous Hercules: but the more his virtue was tried, the more pure it grew, while all the things she did to overthrow him, did set him up upon the height of honour; enough to have moved her heart, especially to a man every way so worthy as Argalus: but she struggling against all reason, because she would have her will and show her authority in matching her with Demagoras, the more virtuous Argalus was, the more she hated him: thinking herself conquered in his conquests, and therefore still employing him in more & more dangerous attempts: in the mean while, she used all extremities possible upon her fair daughter, to make her give over herself to her direction. But it was hard to judge, whether he in doing, or she in suffering, showed greater constancy of affection: for, as to Argalus the world sooner wanted occasions, than he valour to go thorough them; so to Parthenia, malice sooner ceased, than her unchanged patience. Lastly, by treasons, Demagoras and she would have made away Argalus: but he with providence and courage so past over all, that the mother took such a spiteful grief at it, that her heart broke withal, and she died.  
But then, Demagoras assuring himself, that now Parthenia was her own, she would never be hit, and receiving as much by her own determinate answer, not more desiring his own happiness, then envying Argalus, whom he saw with narrow eyes, even ready to enjoy the perfection of his desires; strengthening his conceit with all the mischievous counsels which disdained love, and envious pride could give unto him; the wicked wretch (taking a time that Argalus was gone to his country, to fetch some of his principal friends to honour the marriage, which Parthenia had most joyfully consented unto,) the wicked Demagoras (I say) desiring to speak with her, with unmerciful force, (her weak arms in vain resisting) rubbed all over her face a most horrible poison: the effect whereof was such, that never leper looked more ugly than she did: which done, having his men & horses ready, departed away in spite of her servants, as ready to revenge as they could be, in such an unexpected mischief. But the abhominablenes of this fact being come to my Lᵒ Kalander, he made such means, both by our king's intercession, and his own, that by the king, & Senate of Lacedaemon, Demagoras was upon pain of death, banished the country: who hating the punishment, where he should have hated the fault, joined himself, with all the powers he could make, unto the Helots', lately in rebellion against that state: and they (glad to have a man of such authority among them) made him their general: and under him have committed divers the most outrageous villainies, that a base multitude (full of desperate revenge) can imagine.  
But within a while after this pitiful fact committed upon Parthenia, Argalus returned (poor gentleman) having her fair image in his heart, and already promising his eyes the uttermost of his felicity, when they (no body else daring to tell it him) wear the first messengers to themselves of their own misfortune. I mean not to move passions with telling you the grief of both, when he knew her, for at first he did not, nor at first knowledge could possibly have virtues aid so ready, as not even weakly to lament the loss of such a jewel, so much the more, as that skilful men in that art assured it was unrecoverable: but within a while, truth of love (which still held the first face in his memory) a virtuous constancy, and even a delight to be constant, faith given, and inward worthiness shining through the foulest mists, took so full hold of the noble Argalus, that not only in such comfort which witty arguments may bestow upon adversity, but even with the most abundant kindness that an eye ravished lover can express, he lauboured but to drive the extremity of sorrow from her, & to hasten the celebration of their marriage: whereunto he unfeignedly showed himself no less cheerfully earnest, then if she had never been disinherited of that goodly portion, which nature had so liberally bequeathed unto her: and for that cause deferred his intended revenge upon Demagoras, because he might continually be in her presence; showing more humble serviceableness, and joy to content her, than ever before.  
But as he gave this rare ensample, not to be hoped for of any other, but of an other Argalus: so of the other side, she took as strange a course in affection: for, where she desired to enjoy him, more than to live; yet did she overthrow both her own desire, and his, and in no sort would yield to marry him; with a strange encounter of loves affects, and effects, that he by an affection sprung from excessive beauty, should delight in horrible foulness; & she, of a vehement desire to have him, should kindly build a resolution never to have him: for truth is, that so in heart she loved him, as she could not find in her heart he should be tied to what was unworthy of his presence.  
Truly Sir, a very good Orator might have a fair field to use eloquence in, if he did but only repeat the lamentable, & truly affectionated speeches, while he conjured her by remembrance of her affection, & true oaths of his own affection, not to make him so unhappy, as to think he had not only lost her face, but her heart; that her face, when it was fairest, had been but as a marshal, to lodge the love of her in his mind; which now was so well placed, as it needed no further help of any outward harbinger: beseeching her, even with tears, to know, that his love was not so superficial, as to go no further than the skin; which yet now to him was most fair, since it was hers: how could he be so ungrateful, as to love her the less for that which she had only received for his sake? that he never beheld it, but therein he saw the loveliness of her love toward him: protesting unto her, that he would never take joy of his life, if he might not enjoy her, for whom principally he was glad he had life. But (as I heard by one that overheard them) she (wring him by the hand) made no other answer but this: my Lord (said she) God knows I love you: if I were Princess of the whole world, and had withal, all the blessings that ever the world brought forth, I should not make delay, to lay myself, and them under your feet: or if I had continued but as I was, though (I must confess) far unworthy of you, yet would I, (with too great a joy for my heart to think of) have accepted your vouchsafing me to be yours, and with faith and obedience would have supplied all other defects. But first let me be much more miserable than I am, ere I match Argalus to such a Parthenia: Live happy, dear Argalus, I give you full liberty, and I beseech you take it; and I assure you I shall rejoice (whatsoever become of me) to see you so coupled, as may be fit, both for your honour, & satisfaction. With that she burst out in crying and weeping, not able longer to contain herself from blaming her fortune, and wishing her own death.  
But Argalus with a most heavy heart still pursuing his desire, she fixed of mind to avoid further entreaty, and to fly all company; which (even of him) grew unpleasant unto her; one night she stole away: but whether, as yet is unknown, or in deed what is become of her.  
Argalus sought her long, and in many places: at length (despairing to find her, and the more he despaired, the more enraged) weary of his life, but first determining to be revenged of Demagoras, he went alone disguised into the chief town held by the Helots': where coming into his presence, guarded about by many of his soldiers, he could delay his fury no longer for a fit time: but setting upon him, in despite of a great many that helped him, gave him divers mortal wounds, and himself (not question) had been there presently murdered, but that Demagoras himself desired he might be kept alive; perchance with intention to feed his own eyes with some cruel execution to be laid upon him, but death came sooner than he looked for; yet having had leisure to appoint his successor, a young man, not long before delivered out of the prison of the King of Lacedaemon, where he should have suffered death for having slain the king's Nephew: but him he named, who at that time was absent, making roads upon the Lacedæmonians, but Being returned, the rest of the Helots', for the great liking they conceived of that youngman, especially because they had none among themselves to whom the others would yield) were content to follow Demagoras apppointment. And well hath it succeeded with them, he having since done things beyond the hope of the youngest heads of whom I speak the rather, because he hath hitherto preserved Argalus alive, under pretence to have him publicly, and with exquisite torments executed, after the end of these wars, of which, they hope for a soon and prosperous issue.  
And he hath likewise hitherto kept my young Lord Clitophon alive, who (to redeem his friend) went with certain other noblemen of Laconia, and forces gathered by them, to besiege this young and new successor: but he issuing out (to the wonder of all men) defeated the Laconians, slew many of the noblemen, and took Clitophon prisoner, whom with much a do he keepeth alive: the Helots' being villainously cruel; but he tempereth them so sometimes by following their humour, sometimes by striving with it, that hitherto he hath saved both their lives, but in different estates; Argalus being kept in a close & hard prison, Clitophon at some liberty. And now Sir, though (to say the truth) we can promise ourselves little of their safeties, while they are in the Helots' hands, I have delivered all I understand touching the loss of my Lord's son, and the cause thereof: which, though it was not necessary to Clitophons' case, to be so particularly told, yet the strangeness of it, made me think it would not be unpleasant unto you.  
Palladius thanked him greatly for it, being even passionately delighted with hearing so strange an accident of a knight so famous over the world, as Argalus, with whom he had himself a long desire to meet: so had fame poured a noble emulation in him, towards him.  
But them (well bethinking himself) he called for armour, desiring them to provide him of horse & guide, and armed all saving the head, he went up to Kalander, whom he found lying upon the ground, having eversince banished both sleep and food, as enemies to the mourning which passion persuaded him was reasonable. But Palladius raised him up, saying unto him: No more, no more of this, my Lord Kalander; let us labour to find, before we lament the loss: you know myself miss one, who though he be not my son, I would disdain the favour of life after him: but while there is hope left, let not the weakness of sorrow, make the strength of it languish: take comfort, and good success will follow. And with those words, comfort seemed to lighten in his eyes, and that in his face and gesture was painted victory. Once, Kallanders spirits were so revived withal, that (receiving some sustenance, and taking a little rest) he armed himself, & those few of his servants he had left unsent, and so himself guided Palladius to the place upon the frontiers: where already there were assembled between three and four thousand men, all well disposed (for Kalander's sake) to abide any peril: but like men disused with a long peace, more determinate to do, then skilful how to do: lusty bodies, and brave armours: with such courage, as rather grew of despising their enemies, whom they knew not, then of any confidence for any thing; which in themselves they knew; but neither cunning use of their weapons, nor art showed in their marching, or in camping. Which Palladius soon perceiving, he desired to understand (as much as could be delivered unto him) the estate of the Helots'.  
And he was answered by a man well acquainted with the affairs of Laconia, that they were a kind of people, who having been of old, freemen and possessioners, the Lacedæmonians had conquered them, and laid, not only tribute, but bondage upon them: which they had long borne: till of late the Lacedæmonians through greediness growing more heavy than they could bear, and through contempt less careful how to make them bear, they had with a general consent (rather springing by the generalnes of the cause, then of any artificial practice) set themselves in arms, and whetting their courage with revenge, and grounding their resolution upon despair, they had proceeded with unlookedfor success: having already taken divers Towns & Castles, with the slaughter of many of the gentry; for whom no sex nor age could be accepted for an excuse. And that although at the first they had fought rather with beastly fury, than any soldierly discipline, practice had now made them comparable to the best of the Lacedæmonians and more of late then ever; by reason, first of Demagoras a great Lord, who had made himself of their party, and since his death, of an other Captain they had gotten, who had brought up their ignorance, and brought down their fury, to such a mean of good government, and withal led them so valorously, that (besides the time wherein Clitophon was taken) they had the better in some other great conflicts: in such wise, that the estate of Lacedaemon had sent unto them, offering peace with most reasonable and honourable conditions. Palladius having gotten this general knowledge of the party against whom, as he had already of the party for whom he was to fight, he went to Kalander, and told him plainly, that by plain force there was small appearance of helping Clitophon: but some device was to be taken in hand, wherein no less discretion than valour was to be used.  
Whereupon, the counsel of the chief men was called, and at last, this way Palladius (who by some experience, but especially by reading Histories, was acquainted with stratagems) invented, and was by all the rest approved: that all the men there should dress themselves like the poorest sort of the people in Arcadia, having no banners, but bloody shirts hanged upon long staves, with some bad bag pipes in stead of drum and fife, their armour they should aswell as might be, cover, or at least make them look so rustilie, and illfavouredly as might well become such wearers; and this the whole number should do, saving two hundred of the best chosen Gentlemen, for courage and strength, whereof Palladius himself would be one, who should have their arms chained, and be put in carts like prisoners. This being performed according to the agreement, they marched on towards the town of Cardamila where Clitophon was captive; and being come two hours before Sunset within view of the walls, the Helots' already descrying their number, and beginning to sound the alarum, they sent a cunning fellow, (so much the cunninger as that he could mask it under rudeness) who with such a kind of Rhetoric, as weeded out all flowers of Rhetoric, delivered unto the Helots' assembled together, that they were country people of Arcadia, no less oppressed by their Lords, and no less desirous of liberty than they, and therefore had put themselves in the field, & had already (besides a great number slain) taken nine or ten score Gentlemen prisoners whom they had there well and fast chained. Now because they had no strong retiring place in Arcadia, & were not yet of number enough to keep the field against their Prince's forces they were come to them for succour; knowing, that daily more & more of their quality would flock unto them. but that in the mean time, lest their Prince should pursue them, or the Lacedaemonian King and Nobility (for the likeness of the cause) fall upon them, they desired that if there were not room enough for them in the town, that yet they might encamp under the walls, and for surety have their prisoners (who were such men as were ever able to make their peace) kept within the town.  
The Helots' made but a short consultation, being glad that their contagion had spread itself into Arcadia, and making account that if the peace did not fall out between them and their King, that it was the best way to set fire in all the parts of Greece; besides their greediness to have so many Gentlemen in their hands, in whose ransoms they already meant to have a share; to which haste of concluding, two things well helped; the one, that their Captain with the wisest of them, was at that time absent about confirming or breaking the peace, with the state of Lacedaemon: the second, that overmany good fortunes began to breed a proud recklesnesse in them: therefore sending to view the camp, and finding that by their speech they were Arcadians, with whom they had had no war, never suspecting a private man's credit could have gathered such a force, and that all other tokens witnessed them to be of the lowest calling (besides the chains upon the Gentlemen) they granted not only leave for the prisoners, but for some others of the company, and to all, that they might harbour under the walls. So opened they the gates, and received in the carts; which being done, and Palladius seeing fit time, he gave the sign, and shaking of their chains, (which were made with such art, that though they seemed most strong and fast, he that ware them might easily lose them) drew their sword hidden in the carts, and so setting upon the ward, made them to fly either from the place, or from their bodies, and so gave entry to all the force of the Arcadians before the Helots' could make any head to resist them.  
But the Helots' being men hardened against dangers, gathered (as well as they could) together in the market place, and thence would have given a shrewd welcome to the Arcadians, but that Palladius (blaming those that were slow, heartening them that were forward, but especially with his own ensample leading them) made such an impression into the squadron of the Helots', that at first the great body of them beginning to shake, and stagger; at length, every particular body recommended the protection of his life to his feet, Then Kalander cried to go to the prison, where he thought his son was, but Palladius wished him (first scouring the streets) to house all the Helots', and make themselves masters of the gates,  
But ere that could be accomplished, the Helots' had gotten new heart, and with divers sorts of shot from corners of streets, and house windows, galled them; which courage was come unto them by the return of their Captain; who though he brought not many with him (having dispersed most of his companies to other of his holds) yet meeting a great number running out of the gate, not yet possessed by the Arcadians, he made them turn face, and with banners displayed, his Trumpet gave the loudest testimony he could of his return, which once heard the rest of the Helots' which were otherwise scattered, bend thitherward, with a new life of resolution: as if their Captain had been a root, out of which (as into branches) their courage had sprung. Then began the fight to grow most sharp, and the encounters of more cruel obstinacy. The Arcadians fight to keep that they had won, the Helots' to recover what they had lost. The Arcadians, as in an unknown place, having no succour but in their hands; the Helots', as in their own place fight for their livings, wives & children. There was victory and courage against revenge and despair: safety of both sides being no otherwise to be gotten, but by destruction.  
At length, the left wing of the Arcadians began to lose ground; which Palladius seeing, he straight thrust himself with his choice band against the throng that oppressed them, with such an overflowing of valour, that the Captain of the Helots' (whose eyes soon judged of that wherewith themselves were governed) saw that he alone was worth all the rest of the Arcadians. Which he so wondered at, that it was hard to say, whether he more liked his do, or misliked the effects of his do: but determining that upon that cast the game lay, and disdaining to fight with any other, sought only to join with him: which mind was no less in Palladius, having easily marked, that he was as the first mover of all the other hands. And so their thoughts meeting in one point, they consented (though not agreed) to try each others fortune: and so drawing themselves to be the uttermost of the one side, they began a combat, which was so much inferior to the battle in noise and number, as it was surpassing it in bravery of fight, and (as it were) delightful terribleness. Their courage was guided with skill, and their skill was armed with courage; neither did their hardiness darken their wit, nor their wit cool their hardiness: both valiant, as men despising death; both confident, as unwonted to be overcome; yet doubtful by their present feeling, and respectful by what they had already seen. Their feet steady, their hands diligent, their eyes watchful, and their hearts resolute. The parts either not armed, or weakly armed, were well known, and according to the knowledge should have been sharply visited, but that the answer was as quick as the objection. Yet some lighting; the smart bred rage, and the rage bred smart again: till both sides beginning to wax faint, and rather desirous to die accompanied, then hopeful to live victorious, the Captain of the Helots' with a blow, whose violence grew of fury, not of strength, or ofstrength proceeding of fury, strake Palladius upon the side of the head, that he reeled astonished: and with all the helmet fell off, he remaining bare headed: but other of the Arcadians were ready to shield him from any harm might rise of that nakedness.  
But little needed it, for his chief enemy in steed of pursuing that advantage, kneeled down, offering to deliver the pommel of his sword, in token of yielding, with all speaking aloud unto him, that he thought it more liberty to be his prisoner, than any others general. Palladius standing upon himself, and misdoubting some craft, and the Helots' (that were next their captain) wavering between looking for some stratagem, or fearing treason, What, said the captain, hath Palladius forgotten the voice of Daiphantus?  
By that watch word Palladius knew that it was his only friend Pyrocles, whom he had lost upon the Sea, and therefore both most full of wonder, so to be met, if they had not been fuller of joy than wonder, caused the retreat to be sounded, Daiphantus by authority and Palladius by persuasion; to which helped well the little advantage that was of either side: and that of the Helots' party their captains behaviour had made as many amazed as saw or heard of it: and of the Arcadian side the good old Kalander striving more than his old age could achieve, was newly taken prisoner. But in deed the chief parter of the fray was the night, which with her black arms pulled their malicious sights one from the other. But he that took Kalander, meant nothing less than to save him, but only so long, as the Captain might learn the enemy's secrets: towards whom he led the old Gentleman, when he caused the retreat to be sounded: looking for no other delivery from that captivity, but by the painful taking away of all pain: when whom should he see next to the Captain (with good tokens how valiantly he had fought that day against the Arcadians) but his son Clitophon? But now the Captain had caused all the principal Helots' to be assembled, as well to deliberate what they had to do, as to receive a message from the Arcadians; Among whom Palladius virtue (besides the love Kalander bore him) having gotten principal authority, he had persuaded them to seek rather by parley to recover the Father and the Son, then by the sword: since the goodness of the Captain assured him that way to speed, and his value (wherewith he was of old acquainted) made him think any other way dangerous. This therefore was done in orderly manner, giving them to understand, that as they came but to deliver Clitophon, so offering to leave the footing, they already had in the town, to go away without any further hurt, so as they might have the father, and the son without ransom delivered. Which conditions being heard and conceived by the Helots', Daiphantus persuaded them without delay to accept them. For first (said he) since the strife is within our own home, if you lose, you lose all that in this life can be dear unto you: if you win, it will be a bloody victory with no profit, but the flattering in ourselves that same bad humour of revenge. Besides, it is like to stir Arcadia upon us, which now, by using these persons well, may be brought to some amity. Lastly but especially, lest the king and nobility of Laconia (with whom now we have made a perfect peace) should hope by occasion of this quarrel to join the Arcadians with them, and so break of the profitable agreement already concluded. In sum, as in all deliberations (weighing the profit of the good success with the harm of the evil success) you shall find this way most safe and honourable.  
The Helots' as much moved by his authority, as persuaded by his reasons, were content therewith. Whereupon, Palladius took order that the Arcadians should presently march out of the town, taking with them their prisoners, while the night with mutual diffidence might keep them quiet, and ere day came they might be well on of their way, and so avoid those accidents which in late enemies, a look, a word, or a particular man's quarrel might engender. This being on both sides concluded on, Kalander and Clitophon, who now (with infinite joy did know each other) came to kiss the hands and feet of Daiphantus: Clitophon telling his father, how Daiphantus (not without danger to himself) had preserved him from the furious malice of the Helots': and even that day going to conclude the peace (lest in his absence he might receive some hurt) he had taken him in his company, and given him armour, upon promise he should take the part of the Helots'; which he had in his fight performed, little knowing that it was against his father: but (said Clitophon) here is he, who (as a father) hath new-begotten me, and (as a God) hath saved me from many deaths, which already laid hold on me: which Kalander with tears of joy acknowledged (besides his own deliverance) only his benefit. But Daiphanius, who loved doing well for itself, and not for thanks, broke of those ceremonies, desiring to know how Palladius (for so he called Musidorus) was come into that company, and what his present estate was whereof receiving a brief declaration of Kalander, he sent him word by Clitophon, that he should not as now come unto him, because he held himself not so sure a master of the Helots' minds, that he would adventure him in their power, who was so welknowen with an unfriendly acquaintce, but that he desired him to return with Kalander, whether also he within few days (having dispatched himself of the Helots') would repair. Kalander would needs kiss his hand again for that promise, protesting he would esteem his house more blessed than a temple of the gods, if it had once received him. And then desiring pardon for Argalus. Daiphantus assured them that he would die but he would bring him, (though till then kept in close prison, indeed for his safety, the Helots' being so animated against him as else he could not have lived) and so taking their leave of him, Kalander, Clitophon, Palladius and the rest of the Arcadians swearing that they would no further in any sort molest the Helots', they strait way marched out of the town, carrying both their dead and wounded bodies with them; and by morning were already within the limits of Arcadia.  
The Helots' of the other side shutting their gates, gave themselves to bury their dead to cure their wounds, and rest their wearied bodies: till (the next day bestowing the cheerful use of the light upon them) Daiphantus making a general convocation spoke unto them in this manner. We are first (said he) to thank the Gods, that (further than we had either cause to hope; or reason to imagine) have delivered us out of this gulf of danger, wherein we were already swallowed. For all being lost, (had they not directed, my return so just as they did) it had been too late to recover that, which being had, we could not keep. And had I not happened to know one of the principal men among them, by which means the truce began between us, you may easily conceive, what little reason we have to think, but that either by some supply out of Arcadia, or from the Nobility of this Country (who would have made fruits of wisdom grow out of this occasion) we should have had our power turned to ruin, our pride to repentance and sorrow. But now the storm, as it fell, so it ceased: and the error committed, in retaining Clitophon more hardly than his age or quarrel deserved, becomes a sharply learned experience, to use in other times more moderation.  
Now have I to deliver unto you the conclusion between the kings with the Nobility of Lacedaemon, and you; which is in all points as yourselves desired: aswell for that you would have granted, as for the assurance of what is granted. The Towns and Forts you presently have, are still left unto you, to be kept either with or without garrison, so as you altar not the laws of the Country, and pay such duties as the rest of the Laconians do: Yourselves are made by public decree, freemen, and so capable both to give and receive voice in election of Magistrates. The distinction of names between Helots' and Lacedæmonians to be quite taken away, and all indifferently to enjoy both names and privileges of Laconians. Your children to be brought up with theirs in the Spartan discipline: & so you (framing yourselves to be good members of that estate) to be hereafter fellows, and no longer servants.  
Which conditions you see, carry in themselves no more contentation than assurance. For this is not a peace which is made with them, but this is a peace by which you are made of them. Lastly a forgetfulness decreed of all what is past, they showing themselves glad to have so valiant men as you are, joined with them. so that you are to take minds of peace, since the cause of war is finished; and as you hated them before like oppressors, so now to love them as brothers; to take care of their estate because it is yours, and to labour by virtuous doing, that the posterity may not repent your joining. But now one Article only they stood upon, which in the end I with your commissioners have agreed unto, that I should no more tarry here, mistaking perchance my humour, and thinking me as seditious as I am young, or else it is the king Amiclas procuring, in respect that it was my ill hap to kill his nephew Eurileon; but how so ever it be; I have condescended. But so will not we cried almost the whole assembly, counseling one an other, rather to try the uttermost event, then to lose him by whom they had been victorious. But he as well with general orations, as particular dealing with the men of most credit, made them thoroughly see how necessary it was to prefer such an opportunity before a vain affection; but yet could not prevail, till openly he swore, that he would (if at any time the Lacedæmonians broke this treaty) come back again, and be their captain.  
So then after a few days, setting them in perfect order, he took his leave of them, whose eyes bade him farewell with tears, and mouths with kissing the places where he stepped, and after making temples unto him as to a demigod: thinking it beyond the degree of humanity to have a wit so far overgoing his age, and such dreadful terror proceed from so excellent beauty. But he for his sake obtained free pardon for Argalus, whom also (upon oath never to bear arms against the Helots') he delivered: and taking only with him certain principal jewels of his own, he would have parted alone with Argalus, (whose countenance well showed, while Parthenia was lost he counted not himself delivered) but that the whole multitude would needs guard him into Arcadia. Where again leaving them all to lament his departure, he by enquiry got to the well-known house of Kalander: There was he received with loving joy of Kalander, with joyful love of Palladius, with humble (though doleful) demeanour of Argalus (whom specially both he and Palladius regarded) with grateful seruisablenes of Clitophon, and honourable admiration of all. For being now well viewed to have no hair of his face, to witness him a man, who had done acts beyond the degree of a man, and to look with a certain almost bashful kind of modesty, as if he feared the eyes of men, who was unmoved with sight of the most horrible countenances of death; and as if nature had mistaken her work to have a Mars' heart in a Cupids body: All that beheld him (and all that might behold him, did behold him) made their eyes quick messengers to their minds, that there they had seen the uttermost that in mankind might be seen. The like wonder Palladius had before stirred, but that Daiphantus, as younger and newer come, had gotten now the advantage in the moist and fickle impression of eyesight. But while all men (saving poor Argalus) made the joy of their eyes speak for their hearts towards Daiphantus: Fortune (that belike was bid to that banquet, and meant then to play the good fellow) brought a pleasant adventure among them. It was that as they had newly dined, there came in to Kalander a messenger, that brought him word, a young noble Lady, near kinswoman to the fair Helen Queen of Corinth; was come thither, and desired to be lodged in his house. Kalander (most glad of such an occasion-went out, and all his other worthy guests with him, saving only Argalus, who remained in his chamber, desirous that this company were once broken up, that he might go in his solitary quest after Parthenea. But when they met this Lady; Kalander straight thought he saw his niece Parthenea, and was about in such familiar sort to have spoken unto her: But she in grave and honourable manner giving him to understand that he was mistaken, he half ashamed excused himself with the exceeding likeness was between them, though in deed it seemed that this Lady was of the more pure and dainty complexion; she said, it might very well be, having been many times taken one for another. But assoon as she was brought into the house, before she would rest her, she desired to speak with Argalus publicly, who she heard was in the house. Argalus came hastily, and as hastily thought as Kalander had done, with sudden changes of joy into sorrow. But she when she had staid their thoughts with telling them her name, and quality in this sort spoke unto him. My Lord Argalus, said she, being of late left in the Court of Queen Helen of Corinth, as chief in her absence (she being upon some occasion gone thence) there came unto me the Lady Parthenia. so disfigured, as I think Greece hath nothing so ugly to behold. For my part, it was many days, before with vehement oaths, and some good proofs, she could make me think that she was Parthenia. Yet at last finding certainly it was she, and greatly pitying her misfortune, so much the more, as that all men had ever told me (as now you do) of the great likeness between us, I took the best care I could of her: and of her understood the whole tragical history of her undeserved adventure: and therewithal, of that most noble constancy in you my Lord Argalus: which whosoever loves not, shows himself to be a hater of virtue, and unworthy to live in the society of mankind. But no outward cherishing could salve the inward sore of her mind, but a few days since she died: before her death earnestly desiring, and persuading me, to think of no husband but of you; as of the only man in the world worthy to be loved, with-al she gave me this Ring to deliver you; desiring you, & by the authority of love commanding you, that the affection you bore her you should turn to me: assuring you, that nothing can please her soul more, then to see you and me matched together. Now my L. though this office be not (perchance) suitable to my estate nor sex, who should rather look to be desired; yet, an extraordinary desert requires an extraordinary proceeding: and therefore I am come (with faithful love built upon your worthiness) to offer myself and to beseech you to accept the offer: & if these noble gentlemen present will say it is great folly, let them withal, say it is great love. And then she stayed, earnestly attending Argalus his answer, who first making most hearty sighs do such obsequies as he could, to Parthenia thus answered her.  
Madam (said he) infinitely am I bound unto you, for this, no more rare than noble courtesy; but most bound for the goodness I perceive you showed to the lady Parthenia, (with that the tears ran down his eyes; but he followed on) and as much as so unfortunate a man, fit to be the spectacle of misery, can do you service; determine you have made a purchase of a slave (while I live) never to fail you. But this great matter you propose unto me, wherein I am not so blind as not to see what happiness it should be unto me; Excellent Lady, know, that if my heart were mine to give, you before all other, should have it; but Parthenia it is though dead: there I began, there I end all matter of affection: I hope I shall not long tarry after her, with whose beauty if I had only been in love, I should be so with you, who have the same beauty: but it was Parthenia's self Lloved loved, and love; which no likeness can make one; no commandment dissolve, no foulness defile, nor no death finish. And shall I receive (said she) such disgrace, as to be refused? Noble Lady (said he) let not that hard word be used; who know your exceeding worthiness far beyond my desert: but it is only happiness I refuse, since of the only happiness I could and can desire, I am refused.  
He had scarce spoken those words, when she ran to him, and embracing him, Why then Argalus (said she) take thy Parthenia; and Parthenia it was in deed. But because sorrow forbade him too soon to believe, she told him the truth, with all circumstances; how being parted alone, meaning to die in some solitary place, as she happened to make her complaint, the Queen Helen of Corinth, (who likewise felt her part of miseries) being then walking also alone in that lonely place, heard her and never left, till she had known the whole discourse. Which the noble Queen greatly pitying, she sent her to a Physician of hers the most excellent man in the world, in hope he could help her: which in such sort as they saw he had performed, and she taking with her of the Queen's servants, thought yet to make this trial, whether he would quickly forget his true Parthenia, or no. Her speech was confirmed by the Corinthian Gentlemen, who before had kept her council, and Argalus easily persuaded to what more than ten thousand years of life he desired: and Kalander would needs have the marriage celebrated in his house, principally the longer to hold his dear guests, towards whom he was now (besides his own habit of hospitality) carried with love and duty: & therefore omitted no service that his wit could invent, and his power minister.  
But no way he saw he could so much pleasure them as by leaving the two friends alone, who being shrunk aside to the banqueting house where the pictures were; there Palladius recounted unto him, that after they had both abandoned the burnīg ship (& either of them taken some thing under him the better to support him to the shore) he knew not how, but either with overlabouring in the fight and sudden cold, or the to much receiving of salt water, he was passed himself: but yet holding fast (as the nature of dying men is to do) the chest that was under him, he was cast on the sands, where he was taken up by a couple of shepherds, and by them brought to life again, and kept from drowning himself, when he despaired of his safety. How after having failed to take him into the fisher boat, he had by the shepherd's persuasion come to this Gentleman's house; where being dangerously sick, he had yielded to seek the recovery of health, only for that he might the sooner go seek the delivery of Pyrocles: to which purpose Kalander by some friends of his in Messena, had already set a ship or two abroad, when this accident of Clitophons' taking had so blessedly procured their meeting. Then did he setfoorth unto him the noble entertainment and careful cherishing of Kalander towards him, & so upon occasion of the pictures present delivered with the frankness of a friends tongue, as near as he could, word by word what Kalander had told him touching the strange story (with all the particularities belonging) of Arcadia, which did in many sorts so delight Pyrocles to hear; that he would needs have much of it again repeated, and was not contented till Kalander himself had answered him divers questions.  
But first at Musidorus request, though in brief manner, his mind much running upon the strange story of Arcadia, he did declare by what course of adventures he was come to make up their mutual happiness in meeting. When (cousin said he) we had stripped ourselves, and were both leapt into the Sea, and swom a little toward the shore, I found by reason of some wounds I had, that I should not be able to get the land, and therefore turned back again to the most of the ship, where you found me, assuring myself, that if you came alive to shore, you would seek me; if you were lost, as I thought it as good to perish as to live, so that place as good to perish in as an other. There I found my sword among some of the shrouds, wishing (I must confess) if I died to be found with that in my hand, and withal waving it about my head, that sailors by might have the better glimpse of me. There you missing me, I was taken up by Pirates, who putting me under board prisoner, presently set upon another ship, and maintaining a long fight, in the end, put them all to the sword. Amongst whom I might hear them greatly praise one young man, who fought most valiantly, whom (as love is careful, and misfortune subject to doubtfulness) I thought certainly to be you. And so holding you as dead, from that time till the time I saw you, it truth I sought nothing more than a noble end, which perchance made me more hardy than otherwise I would have been. Trial whereof came within two days after: for the Kings of Lacedaemon having set out some Galleys, under the charge of one of their Nephews to scour the Sea of the Pirates, they met with us, where our Captain wanting men, was driven to arm some of his prisoners, with promise of liberty for well fight: among whom I was one, and being boarded by the Admiral, it was my fortune to kill Euryleon the kings nephew: but in the end they prevailed, & we were all taken prisoners: I not caring much what became of me (only keeping the name of Daiphantus, according to the resolution you know is between us,) but being laid in the jail of Tenaria, with special hate to me for the death of Euryleon, the popular sort of that town conspired with the Helots', and so by night opened them the gates; where entering and killing all of the gentle and rich faction, for honesty sake broke open all prisons, and so delivered me; and I moved with gratefulness, and encouraged with carelessness of life so behaved myself in some conflicts they had with in few days, that they barbarously thinking unsensible wonders of me, and with all so much the better trusting me, as they heard I was hated of the King of Lacedaemon, their chief Captain being slain as you know by the noble Argalus, who helped thereunto by his persuasion) having borne a great affection unto me, and to avoid the dangerous emulation which grew among the chief, who should have the place, and also affected, as rather to have a stranger than a competitor, they elected me, (God wot little proud of that dignity;) restoring unto me such things of mine as being taken first by the Pirates, and they by the Lacedæmonians, they had gotten in the sack of the town. Now being in it, so good was my success with many victories, that I made a peace for them to their own liking? the very day that you delivered Clitophon, whom I with much a do had preserved. And in my peace the King Amiclas of Lacedaemon would needs have me banished, and deprived of the dignity whereunto I was exalted: which (and you may see how much you are bound to me) for your sake I was content to suffer, a new hope rising in me, that you were not dead: and so meaning to travail over the world to seek you; and now here (my dear Musidorus) you have me. And with that (embracing and kissing each other) they called Kalander, of whom Daiphantus desired to hear the full story, which before he had recounted to Palladius, and to see the letter of Philanax, which he read and well marked.  
But within some days after, the marriage between Argalus and the fair Parthenia being to be celebrated Daiphantus and Palladius selling some of their jewels furnished themselves of very fair apparel, meaning to do honour to their loving host; who as much for their sakes, as for the marriage, set forth each thing in most gorgeous manner. But all the cost bestowed did not so much enrich, nor all the fine deckings so much beautify, nor all the dainty devices so much delight, as the fairness of Parthenia, the pearl of all the maids of Mantinaea: who as she went to the Temple to be married, her eyes themselves seemed a temple, wherein love and beauty were married: her lips though they were kept close with modest silence, yet with a pretty kind of natural swelling, they seemed to invite the guests that looked on them; her cheeks blushing, and withal when she was spoken unto, a little smiling, were like roses, when their leaves are with a little breath stirred: her hair being laid at the full length down her back, bare show as if the vanguard failed, yet that would connquer. Daiphantus marking her, to jupiter (said he speaking to Palladius) how happens it, that beauty is only confined to Arcadia? But Palladius not greatly attending his speech, some days were continued in the solemnising the marriage, with all conceits that might deliver delight to men's fancies.  
But such a change was grown in Daiphantus, that (as if cheerfulness had been tediousness, & good entertainment were turned to discourtesy) he would ever get himself alone, though almost when he was in company, he was alone, so little attention he gave to any that spoke unto him: even the colour & figure of his face began to receive some alteration; which he showed little to heed: but every morning early going abroad, either to the garden, or to some woods towards the desert, it seemed his only comfort was to be without a comforter. But long it could not be hid from Palladius, whom true love made ready to mark, & long knowledge able to mark; & therefore being now grown weary of his abode in Arcadia, having informed him self fully of the strength and riches of the country, of the nature of the people, and manner of their laws: & seeing the court could not be visited, prohibited to all men, but to certain sheapheardish people, he greatly desired a speedy return to his own country, after the many mazes of fortune he had trodden. But perceiving this great alteration in his friend, he thought first to break with him thereof, and then to hasten his return; whereto he found him but smally inclined: whereupon one day taking him alone with certain graces and countenances, as if he were disputing with the trees, began in this manner to say unto him.  
A mind well trained and long exercised in virtue (my sweet and worthy cousin) doth not easily change any course it once undertakes, but upon well grounded and well weighed causes. For being witness to itself of his own inward good, it finds nothing without it of so high a price, for which it should be altered. Even the very countenance and behaviour of such a man doth show forth Images of the same constancy, by maintaining a right harmony betwixt it and the inward good, in yielding itself suitable to the virtuous resolution of the mind. This speech I direct to you (noble friend Pyrocles) the excellency of whose mind and well chosen course in virtue, if I do not sufficiently know, having seen such rare demonstrations of it, it is my weakness, and not your unworthiness, But as in deed I know it, and knowing it most dearly love both it, and him that hath it; so must I needs say, that since our late coming into this country, I have marked in you, I will not say an alteration, but a relenting truly, and a slacking of the main career, you had so notably begun and almost performed; and that in such sort, as I cannot find sufficient reason in my great love toward you how to allow it; for (to leave of other secreter arguments which my acquaintance with you makes me easily find) this in effect to any man may be manifest, that whereas you were wont in all places you came, to give yourself vehemently to the knowledge of those things which might better your mind; to seek the familiarity of excellent men in learning and soldiery: and lastly, to put all these things in practice both by continual wise proceeding, and worthy enterprises, as occasion fell for them; you now leave all these things undone: you let your mind fall a sleep: beside your countenance troubled (which surely comes not of virtue; for virtue like the clear heaven is without clouds) and last you subject yourself to solitariness, the sly enemy, that doth most separate a man from well doing. Pyrocles mind was all this while so fixed upon another devotion, that he no more attentively marked his friends discourse, than the child that hath leave to play, marks the last part of his lesson; or the diligent Pilot in a dangerous tempest doth attend the unskilful words of a passenger: yet the very sound having imprinted the general point of his speech in his heart, pierced with any mislike of so dear an esteemed friend, and desirous by degrees to bring him to a gentler consideration of him, with a shamefast look (witnessing he rather could not help, than did not know his fault) answered him to this purpose. Excellent Musidorus, in the praise you gave me in the beginning of your speech, I easily acknowledge the force of your good will unto me, for neither could you have thought so well of me, if extremity of love had not made your judgement partial, nor you could have loved me so entirely, if you had not been apt to make so great (though undeserved) judgements of me; and even so must I say to those imperfections, to which though I have ever through weakness been subject, yet you by the daily mending of your mind have of late been able to look into them, which before you could not discern; so that the change you speak of, falls not out by my impairing, but by your bettering. And yet under the leave of your better judgement, I must needs say thus much, my dear cousin, that I find not myself wholly to be condemned, because I do not with continual vehemency follow those knowledges, which you call the bettering of my mind; for both the mind itself must (like other things) sometimes be unbent, or else it will be either weakened, or broken: And these knowledges, as they are of good use, so are they not all the mind may stretch itself unto: who knows whether I feed not my mind with higher thoughts? Truly as I know not all the particularities, so yet I see the bounds of all these knowledges: but the workings of the mind I find much more infinite, then can be led unto by the eye, or imagined by any, that distract their thoughts without themselves.  
And in such contemplation, or as I think more excellent, I enjoy my solitariness; and my solitariness perchance is the nurse of these contemplations. Eagles we see fly alone; and they are but sheep, which always ways heard together; condemn not therefore my mind sometime to enjoy itself; nor blame not the taking of such times as serve most fit for it. And alas, dear Musidorus, if I be sad, who knows better than you the just causes I have of sadness? And here Pyrocles suddenly stopped, like a man unsatisfied in himself, though his wit might well have served to have satisfied another. And so looking with a countenance, as though he desired he should know his mind without hearing him speak, and yet desirous to speak, to breathe out some part of his inward evil, sending again new blood to his face, he continued his speech in this manner. And Lord (dear cousin: said he) doth not the pleasantness of this place carry in itself sufficient reward for any time lost in it? Do you not see how all things conspire together to make this country a heavenly dwelling? Do you not see the grass how in colour they excel the Emeralds, every one striving to pass his fellow, and yet they are all kept of an equal height? And see you not the rest of these beautiful flowers, each of which would require a man's wit to know, and his life to express? Do not these stately trees seem to maintain their flourishing old age with the only happiness of their seat, being clothed with a continual spring, because no beauty here should ever fade? Doth not the air breath health, which the Birds (delightful both to ear and eye) do daily solemnize with the sweet consent of their voices? Is not every Echo thereof a perfect Music? & these fresh and delightful brooks how slowly they slide away, as loath to leave the company of so many things united in perfection? and with how sweet a murmur they lament their forced departure? Certainly, certainly, cousin, it must needs be that some Goddess enhabiteth this Region, who is the soul of this soil: for neither is any less than a Goddess, worthy to be shrined in such a heap of pleasures: nor any less than a Goddess could have made it so perfect a plot of the celestial dwellings. And so ended with a deep sigh, ruefully casting his eye upon Musidorus as more desirous of pity then pleading. But Musidorus had all this while held his look fixed upon Pyrocles countenance; and with no less loving attention marked how his words proceeded from him: but in both these he perceived such strange diversities, that they rather increased new doubts, than gave him ground to settle any judgement: for, besides his eyes sometimes even great with tears, the oft changing of his colour, with a kind of shaking unstayednes over all his body, he might see in his countenance some great determination mixed with fear; and might perceive in him store of thoughts, rather stirred then digested; his words interrupted continually with sighs (which served as a burden to each sentence) and the tenor of his speech (though of his wont phrase) not knit together to one constant end, but rather dissolved in itself, as the vehemency of the inward passion prevailed: which made Musidorus frame his answer nearest to that humour, which should soon put out the secret. For having in the beginning of Pyrocles speech which defended his solitariness, framed in his mind a reply against it, in the praise of honourable action, in showing that such a kind of contemplation is but a glorious title to idleness; that in action a man did not only better himself but benefit others; that the gods would not have delivered a soul into the body, which hath arms and legs, only instruments of doing, but that it were intended the mind should employ them, and that the mind should best know his own good or evil, by practice: which knowledge was the only way to increase the one, and correct the other: besides many other arguments, which the plentifulness of the matter yielded to the sharpness of his wit. When he found Pyrocles leave that, and fall into such an affected praising of the place, he left it likewise, and joined with him therein: because he found him in that humour utter more store of passion; and even thus kindly embracing him, he said: Your words are such (noble cousin) so sweetly and strongly handled in the praise of solitariness, as they would make me likewise yield myself up into it, but that the same words make me know, it is more pleasant to enjoy the company of him that can speak such words, then by such words to be persuaded to follow solitariness. And even so do I give you leave (sweet Pyrocles ever to defend solitariness, so long as to defend it, you ever keep company. But I marvel at the excessive praises you give to this country; in truth it is not unpleasant: but yet if you would return into Macedon you should either see many heavens or find this no more than earthly. And even Tempe in my Thessalia (where you and I to my great happiness were brought up together) is nothing inferior unto it. But I think you will make me see, that the vigour of your wit can show itself in any subject: or else you feed sometimes your solitariness with the conceits of the Poets, whose liberal pens can as easily travail over mountains, as molehills: and so like well disposed men, set up every thing to the highest note; especially, when they put such words in the mouths of one of these fantastical mind-infected people, that children & Musicians call Lovers. This word, Lover, did no less pierce poor Pyrocles, than the right tune of music toucheth him that is sick of the Tarantula. There was not one part of his body, that did not feel a sudden motion, while his heart with panting, seemed to dance to the sound of that word, yet after some pause (lifting up his eyes a little from the ground, and yet not daring to place them in the eyes of Musidorus) armed with the very countenance of the poor prisoner at the bar, whose answer is nothing but guilty: with much a do he brought forth this question. And alas, said he, dear cousin, what if I be not so much the Poet (the freedom of whose pen can exercise itself in any thing) as even that miserable subject of his cunning, whereof you speak? Now the eternal Gods forbidden (mainly cried out Musidorus) that ever my care should be poisoned with so evil news of you. O let me never know that any base affection should get any Lordship in your thoughts. But as he was speaking more, Kalander came, and broke of their discourse, with inviting them to the hunting of a goodly stag, which being harboured in a wood thereby, he hoped would make them good sport, and drive away some part of Daiphantus melancholy. They condescended, and so going to their lodgings, furnished themselves as liked them Daiphantus writing a few words which he left sealed in a letter against their return.  
Then went they together abroad, the good Kalander entertaining them with pleasant discoursing, how well he loved the sport of hunting when he was a young man, how much in the comparison thereof he disdained all chamber delights, that the Sun (how great a journey soever he had to make) could never prevent him with earliness, nor the Moon (with her sober cowtenance) dissuade him from watching till midnight for the deer's feeding. O, said he, you will never live to my age, without you keep yourselves in breath with exercise, and in heart with ioifullnes: too much thinking doth consume the spirits and oft it falls out, that while one thinks too much of his doing, he leaves to do the effect of his thinking. Then spared he not to remember how much Arcadia was changed since his youth: activity and good fellowship being nothing in the price, it was then held in, but according to the nature of the old growing world, still worse and worse. Then would he tell them stories of such galaunts as he had known: and so with pleasant company beguiled the times haste, and shortened the ways length, till they came to the side of the wood, where the hounds were in couples staying their coming, but with a whining Accent craving liberty: many of them in colour and marks so resembling, that it showed they were of one kind. The huntsmen handsomely attired in their green liveries, as though they were children of Summer, with staves in their hands to beat the guiltless earth, when the hounds were at a fault, and with horns about their necks to sound an alarm upon a silly fugitive. The hounds were strait uncoupled, and erelong the Stag thought it better to trust to the nimbleness of his feet, then to the slender fortification of his lodging: but even his feet, betrayed him; for howsoever they went, they themselves uttered themselves to the sent of their enemies; who one taking it of an other, and sometimes believing the winds advertisements, sometimes the view of (their faithful councillors) the huntsmen, with open mouths then denounced war, when the war was already begun. Their cry being composed of so well sorted mouths, that any man would perceive therein some kind of proportion, but the skilful woodmen did find a music. Then delight and variety of opinion drew the horsemen sundry ways; yet cheering their hounds with voice & horn, kept still (as it were) together. The wood seemed to conspire with them against his own citizens, dispersing their noise through all his quarters, and even the Nymph Echo left to bewail the loss of Narcissus, and became a hunter. But the Stag was in the end so hotly pursued, that (leaving his flight) he was driven to make courage of despair; and so turning his head, made the hounds (with change of speech) to testify that he was at a bay: as if from hot pursuit of their enemy, they were suddenly come to a parley.  
But Kalander (by his skill of coasting the Country) was among the first that came in to the besieged Deer; whom when some of the younger sort would have killed with their sword, he would not suffer: but with a crossbow sent a death to the poor beast, who with tears showed the unkindness he took of man's cruelty.  
But by the time that the whole company was assembled, & that the Sagge had bestowed himself liberally among them that had killed him, Daiphantus was missed, for whom Palladius carefully inquiring, no news could be given him, but by one that said, he thought he was returned home; for that he marked him, in the chief of the hunting, take a by way, which might lead to Kalander's house. That answer for the time satisfying, and they having performed all duties, as well for the stags funeral, as the hounds triumph, they returned: some talking of the fatness of the Deeres body; some of the fairness of his head; some of the hounds cunning; some of their speed; and some of their cry: till coming home (about the time that the candles begin to inherit the Sun's office) they found Daiphantus was not to be found. Whereat Palladius greatly marveling, and a day or two passing, while neither search nor inquiry could help him to knowledge, at last he lighted upon the letter, which Pyrocles had written before he went a hunting, and left in his study among other of his writes. The letter was directed to Palladius himself, and contained these words.  
My only friend, violence of love leads me into such a course, whereof your knowledge may much more vex you, then help me. Therefore pardon my concealing it from you, since: if I wrong you, it is in the respect I bear you. Return into Thessalia, I pray you, as full of good fortune, as I am of desire: and if I live, I will in short time follow you; if I die, love my memory.  
This was all, and this Palladius read twice or thrice over. Ah (said he) Pyrocles, what means this alteration? what have I deserved of thee, to be thus banished of thy counsels? Heretofore I have accused the sea, condemned the Pirates, and hated my evil fortune, that deprived me of thee; But now thyself is the sea, which drounes my comfort, thyself is the Pirate that robs thyself of me: Thy own will becomes my evil fortune. Then turned he his thoughts to all forms of guesses that might light upon the purpose and course of Pyrocles: for he was not so sure by his words, that it was love, as he was doubtful where the love was. One time he thought, some beauty in Laconia had laid hold of his eyes; an other time he feared, that it might be Parthenia's excellency, which had broken the bands of all former resolution But the more he thought, the more he knew not what to think, armies of objections rising against any accepted opinion.  
Then as careful he was what to do himself: at length determined, never to leave seeking him, till his search should be either by meeting accomplished, or by death ended. Therefore (for all the unkindness bearing tender respect, that his friends secret determination should be kept from any suspicion in others) he went to Kalander, and told him, that he had received a message from his friend, by which he understood he was gone back again into Laconia, about some matters greatly importing the poor men, whose protection he had undertaken, and that it was in any sort fit for him, to follow him, but in such private wise, as not to be known, and that therefore he would as then bid him farewell: arming himself in a black armour, as either a badge, or prognostication of his mind: and taking only with him good store of money, and a few choice jewels, leaving the greatest number of them, and most of his apparel with Kalander: which he did partly to give the more cause to Kalander to expect their return, and so to be the less curiously inquisitive after them: and partly to leave those honourable thanks unto him, for his charge and kindness, which he knew he would not other way receive. The good old man having neither reason to dissuade, nor hope to persuade, received the things, with mind of a keeper, not of an owner; but before he went, desired he might have the happiness, fully to know what they were: which he said, he had ever till then delayed, fearing to be any way importune: but now he could not be so much an enemy to his desires as any longer to imprison them in silence, Palladius told him that the matter was not so secret, but that so worthy a friend deserved the knowledge, and should have it as soon as he might speak with his friend: without whose consent (because their promise bound him otherwise) he could not reveal it: but bade him hold for most assured, that if they lived but a while, he should find that they which bore the names of Daiphantus and Palladius, would give him and his cause to think his noble courtesy well employed. Kalander would press him no further: but desiring that he might have leave to go, or at least to send his son and servants with him, Palladius broke of all ceremonies, by telling him; his case stood so, that his greatest favour should be in making lest ado of his parting. Wherewith Kalander knowing it to be more cumber then courtesy, to strive, abstained from further urging him, but not from hearty mourning the loss of so sweet a conversation.  
Only Clitophon by vehement importunity obtained to go with him, to come again to Daiphantus, whom he named and accounted his Lord. And in such private guise departed Palladius, though having a companion to talk withal, yet talking much more with unkindness. And first they went to Mantinaea; whereof because Parthenia was, he suspected there might be some cause of his abode. But finding there no news of him he went to Tegaea, Ripa, Enispae, Stimpahlus, and Pheneus, famous for the poisonous Stygian water, and through all the rest of Arcadia, making their eyes, their ears, and their tongue serve almost for nothing, but that enquiry. But they could know nothing but that in none of those places he was known. And so went they, making one place succeed to an other, in like uncertainty to their search, many times encountering strange adventures, worthy to be registered in the roulles of fame; but this may not be omitted. As they passed in a pleasant valley, (of either side of which heigh hills lifted up their beetle-brows, as if they would over look the pleasantness of their under-prospect) they were by the daintiness of the place, & the wearienes of themselves, invited to light from their horses; & pulling of their bits, that they might something refresh their mouths upon the grass (which plentifully grew, brought up under the care of those well shading trees,) they themselves laid them down hard by the murmuring music of certain waters, which spouted out of the side of the hills, & in the bottom of the valley made of many springs a pretty brook, like a commonwealth of many famylies: but when they had a while hearkened to the persuasion of sleep, they risen, and walked onward in that shady place, till Clitophon espied a piece of armour, & not far of an other piece: and so the sight of one piece teaching him to look for more he at length found all, with headpiece and shield, by the device whereof, which was he strait knew it to be the armour of his cousin, the noble Amphialus. Whereupon (fearing some inconvenience happened unto him) he told both his doubt and cause of doubt to Palladius, who (considering thereof) thought best to make no longer stay, but to follow on: lest perchance some violence were offered to so worthy a Knight, whom the fame of the world seemed to set in balance with any Knight living. Yet with a sudden conceit, having long borne great honour to the name of Amphialus, Palladius thought best to take that armour, thinking thereby to learn by them that should know that armour, some news of Amphialus, & yet not hinder him in the search of Daiphantus too. So he by the help of Clitophon quickly put on that armour, whereof there was no one piece wanting, though hacked in some places, bewraying some fight not long since passed. It was something to great, but yet served well enough. And so getting on their horses, they travailed but a little way, when in opening of the mouth of the valley into a fair field, they met with a coach drawn with four milk white-horses, furnished all in black, with a black a more boy upon every horse, they all appareled in white, the coach itself very richly furnished in black and white. But before they could come so near as to discern what was within, there came running upon them above a dozen horsemen, who cried to them to yield themselves prisoners, or else they should die. But Palladius not accustomed to grant over the possession of himself upon so unjust titles, with sword drawn gave them so rude an answer, that divers of them never had breath to reply again: for being well backed by Clitophon, & having an excellent horse under him, when he was overpress by some, he avoided them, and ere th'other thought of it, punished in him his fellows faults: and so either with cunning or with force, or rather with a cunning force, left none of them either living, or able to make his life serve to others hurt. Which being done, he approached the coach, assuring the black boys they should have no hurt, who were else ready to have run away, and looking into the coach, he found in the one end a Lady of great beauty, & such a beauty, as showed forth the beams both of wisdom & good nature, but all as much darkened, as might be, with sorrow. In the other, two Ladies, (who by their demeanour showed well, they were but her servants) holding before them a picture; in which was a goodly Gentleman (whom he knew not) painted, having in their faces a certain waiting sorrow, their eyes being infected with their mistress weeping. But, the chief Lady having not so much as once heard the noise of this conflict (so had sorrow closed up all the entries of her mind, & love tied her senses to that beloved picture (now the shadow of him falling upon the picture made her cast up her eye, and seeing the armour which too well knew, thinking him to be Amphialus the Lord of her desires, (blood coming more freely into her cheeks, as though it would be bold, & yet there growing new again pale for fear) with a pitiful look (like on unjustly condemned) My Lord Amphialus said she you have enough punished me: it is time for cruelty to leave you, and evil fortune me; if not I pray you, (& to grant, my prayer fit time nor place you can have) accomplish the one even now, & finish the other. With that, sorrow impatient to be slowly uttered in her often staying speeches, poured itself so fast in tears, that Palladius could not hold her longer in error, but pulling of his helmet, Madam (said he) I perceive you mistake me: I am a stranger in these parts, set upon (without any cause given by me) by some of your servants, whom because I have in my just defence evil entreated, I came to make my excuse to you, whom seeing such as I do, I find greater cause, why I should crave pardon of you. When she saw his face, & heard his speech, she looked out of the coach, & seeing her men, some slain, some lying under their dead horses, & striving to get from under them, without making more account of the matter, Truly (said she) they are well served that durst lift up their arms against that armour. But Sir Knight (said she) I pray you tell me, how come you by this armour? for if it be by the death of him that owed it, then have I more to say unto you. Palladius assured her it was not so; telling her the true manner how he found it. It is like enough (said she) for that agrees with the manner he hath lately used. But I beseech you Sir (said she) since your prows hath bereft me of my company: let it yet so far heal the wounds itself hath given, as to guard me to the next town. How great so ever my business be fair Lady (said he) it shall willingly yield to so noble a cause: But first even by the favour you bear to the Lord of this noble armour I conjure you to tell me the story of your fortune herein, lest hereafter when the image of so excellent a Lady in so strange a plight come before mine eyes, I condemn myself of want of consideration in not having demanded thus much. Neither ask I it without protestation, that wherein my sword and faith may avail you, they shall bind themselves to your service. Your conjuration, fair Knight (said she) is too strong for my poor spirit to disobey, and that shall make me (without any other hope, my ruin being but by one unrelieveable) to grant your will herein: and to say the truth, a strange niceness were it in me to refrain that from the ears of a person representing so much worthiness, which I am glad even to rocks and woods to utter. Know you then that my name is Helen, Queen by birth: & hitherto possession of the fair city and territory of Corinth. I can say no more of myself, but beloved of my people: & may justly say, beloved, since they are content to bear with my absence, & folly. But I being left by my father's death, & accepted by my people, in the highest degree, that country could receive; assoon, or rather, before that my age was ripe for it; my court quickly swarmed full of suitors; some perchance loving my state, others my person, but once I know all of them, howsoever my possessions were in their hearts, my beauty (such as it is) was in their mouths; many strangers of princely and noble blood, and all of mine own country, to whom either birth or virtue gave courage to avow so high a desire.  
Among the rest, or rather before the rest, was the Lord Philoxenus, son and heir to the virtuous noble man Timotheus: which Timotheus was a man both in power, riches, parentage, and (which passed all these) goodness, and (which followed all these) love of the people, beyond any of the great men of my country. Now this son of his I must say truly, not unworthy of such a father, bending himself by all means of seruiseablenes to me, and setting forth of himself to win my favour, won thus far of me, that in truth I less misliked him then any of the rest: which in some proportion my countenance delivered unto him. Though I must protest it was a very false ambassador, if it delivered at all any affection, whereof my heart was utterly void, I as then esteeming myself borne to rule, & thinking foul scorn willingly to submit myself to be ruled.  
But whiles Philoxenus in good sort pursued my favour, and perchance nourished himself with over much hope, because he found I did in some sort acknowledge his value, one time among the rest he brought with him a dear friend of his. With that she looked upon the picture before her, and strait sighed, & strait tears followed, as if the Idol of duty ought to be honoured with such oblations, and then her speech stayed the tale, having brought her to that look, but that look having quite put her out of her tale. But Palladius greatly pitying so sweet a sorrow in a Lady, whom by fame he had already known, & honoured, besought her for her promise sake, to put silence so long unto her moaning, till she had recounted the rest of this story. Why said she, this is the picture of Amphialus: what need I say more to you? what ear is so barbarous but hath hard of Amphialus? who follows deeds of arms, but every where finds monuments of Amphialus? who is courteous, noble, liberal, but he that hath the example before his eyes of Amphialus? where are all heroical parts, but in Amphialus? O Amphialus I would thou were not so excellent, or I would I thought thee not so excellent, and yet would I not that I would so: with that she wept again, till he again soliciting the conclusion of her story: Then must you (said she) know the story of Amphialus: for his will is my life, his life my history: and indeed in what can I better employ my lips them in speaking of Amphialus?  
This Knight then whose figure you see, but whose mind can be painted by nothing, but by the true shape of virtue, is brother's son to Basilius' King of Arcadia, and in his childhood esteemed his heir: till Basilius in his old years marrying a young and a fair Lady, had of her those two daughters, so famous for their perfection in beauty: which put by their young cousin from that expectation.  
Whereupon his mother (a woman of a haughty heart, being daughter to the King of Argos, either disdaining, or fearing, that her son should live under the power of Basilius sent him to that Lord Timotheus (between whom and her dead husband there had passed straight bands of mutual hospitality to be brought up in company with his son Philoxenus?  
A happy resolution for Amphialus, whose excellent nature was by this means trained on with as good education, as any Prince's son in the world could have, which otherwise it is thought his mother (far unworthy of such a son) would not have given him. The good Timotheus) no less loving him then his own son: well they grew in years; and shortly occasions fell aptly to try Amphialus, and all occasions were but steps for him to climb fame by. Nothing was so hard, but his valour overcame: which yet still he so guided with true virtue, that although no man was in our parts spoken of but he for his manhood, yet, as though therein he excelled himself, he was commonly called the courteous Amphialus. An endless thing it were for me to tell, how many adventures (terrible to be spoken of) he achieved: what monsters, what Giants, what conquests of countries some times using policy, some time's force, but always virtue well followed, and but followed by Philoxenus: between whom, and him, so fast a friendship by education was knit, that at last Philoxenus having no greater matter to employ his frindshipp in, then to win me, therein desired, and had his uttermost furtherance: to that purpose brought he him to my court, where truly I may justly witness with him, that what his wit could conceive (and his wit can conceive as far as the limits of reason stretch) was all directed to the setting forward the suit of his friend Philoxenus: my ears could hear nothing from him, but touching the worthiness of Philoxenus, and of the great happiness it would be unto me to have such a husband: with many arguments, which God knows, I cannot well remember because I did not much believe. For why should I use many circumstances to come to that where already I am, and ever while I live must continue? in few words, while he pleaded for another, he wan me for himself: if at least (with that she sighed) he would account it a winning, for his fame had so framed the way to my mind, that his presence so full of beauty, sweetness, and noble conversation, had entered there before he vouchsafed to call for the keys. O Lord, how did my soul hang at his lips while he spoke! O when he in feeling manner would describe the love of his friend, how well (thought I) doth love between those lips! when he would with daintiest eloquence stir pity in me toward Philoxenus, why sure (said I to myself) Helen, be not afraid, this heart cannot want pity: and when he would extol the deeds of Philoxenus, who indeed had but waited of him therein, alas (thought I) good Philoxenus how evil doth it become thy name to be subscribed to his letter? what should I say? nay, what should I not say (noble Knight) who am not ashamed, nay am delighted, thus to express mine own passions?  
days paste; his eagerness for his friend never decreased, my affection to him ever increased. At length, in way of ordinary courtesy, I obtained of him (who suspected no such matter) this his picture, the only Amphialus, I fear that I shall ever enjoy: and grown bolder, or madder, or bold with madness, I discovered my affection unto him. But, Lord, I shall never forget, how anger and courtesy, at one instant appeared in his eyes, when he hard that motion: how with his blush he taught me shame. In sum, he left nothing unassayed, which might disgrace himself, to grace his friend; in sweet terms making me receive a most resolute refusal of himself. But when he found that his presence did far more persuade for himself, than his speech could do for his friend, he left my court: hoping, that forgetfulness (which commonly waits upon absence) would make room for his friend: to whom he would not utter thus much (I think) for a kind fear not to grieve him, or perchance (though he cares little for me) of a certain honourable gratefulness, nor yet to discover so much of my secrets: but as it should seem, meant to travel into far countries, until his friend's affection either ceased, or prevailed. But within a while, Philoxenus came to see how onward the fruits were of his friend's labour, when (as in truth I cared not much how he took it) he found me sitting, beholding this picture, I know not with how affectionate countenance, but I am sure with a most affectionate mind. I strait found jealousy and disdain took hold of him: and yet the froward pain of mine own heart made me so delight to punish him, whom I esteemed the chiefest let in my way; that when he with humble gesture, and vehement speeches, sued for my favour; I told him, that I would hear him more willingly, if he would speak for Amphialus, as well as Amphialus had done for him: he never answered me, but pale & quaking, went strait away; and strait my heart misgave me some evil success: and yet though I had authority enough to have stayed him (as in these fatal things it falls out, that the hie-working powers make second causes unwittingly accessary to their determinations) I did no further but sent a footman of mine (whose faithfulness to me I will knew) from place to place to follow him, and bring me word of his proceed: which (alas) have brought forth that which I fear I must ever rue.  
For he had travailed scarsea days journey out of my Country, but that (not far from this place) he overtook Amphialus, who (by succouring a distressed Lady) had been here stayed: and by and by called him to fight with him, protesting that one of them two should die: you may easily judge how strange it was to Amphialus, whose heart could accuse itself of no fault, but too much affection toward him, which he (refusing to fight with him) would feign have made Philoxenus understand, but (as my servant since told me) the more Amphialus went back, the more he followed, calling him Traitor, and coward, yet never telling the cause of this strange alteration. Ah Philoxenus (said Amphialus) I know I am no Traitor, and thou well knowest I am no coward: but I pray thee content thyself with this much, and let this satisfy thee, that I love thee, since I bear thus much of thee, but he leaving words drew his sword and gave Amphialus a great blow or two, which but for the goodness of his armour would have slain him: and yet so far did Amphialus contain himself, stepping aside, and saying to him, Well Philoxenus, and thus much villainy am I content to put up, not any longer for thy sake (whom I have no cause to love, since thou dost injury me, and wilt not tell me the cause) but for thy virtuous father's sake, to whom I am so much bound. I pray thee go away, and conquer thy own passions, and thou shalt make me soon yield to be thy servant. But he would not attend his words, but still strake so fiercely at Amphialus, that in the end (nature prevailing above determination) he was feign to defend himself, and withal to offend him, that by an unlucky blow the poor Philoxenus fell dead at his feet; having had time only to speak some words, whereby Amphialus knew it was for my sake: which when Amphialus saw, he forthwith gave such tokens of true felt sorrow; that as my servant said no imagination could conceive greater woe. But that by and by, and unhappy occasion made Amphialus pass himself in sorrow: for Philoxenus was but newly dead, when there comes to thesame place, the aged and virtuous Timotheus, who (having heard of his sons sudden and passionate manner of parting from my Court) had followed him as speedily as he could; but alas not so speedily, but that he found him dead before he could overtake him. Though my heart be nothing but a stage for Tragedies; yet I must confess, it is even unable to bear the miserable representation thereof: knowing Amphialus and Timotheus as I have done. Alas what sorrow, what amazement, what shame was in Amphialus, when he saw his dear foster father, find him the killer of his only son? In my heart I know, he wished mountains had lain upon him, to keep him from that meeting. As for Timotheus, sorrow of his son and (I think principally) unkindness of Amphialus so devoured his vital spirits that able to say no more but Amphialus, Amphialus, have I? he sank to the earth, and presently died.  
But not my tongue though daily used to complaints; no nor if my heart (which is nothing but sorrow) were turned to tongues, durst it under-take to show the unspeakeablenes of his grief. But (because this serves to make you know my fortune) he threw away his armour, even this which you have now upon you, which at the first sight I vainly hoped, he had put on again; and then (as ashamed of the light) he ran into thickest of the woods, lamenting, and even crying out so pitifully, that my servant, (though of a fortune not used to much tenderness) could not refrain weeping when he told it me. He once overtook him, but Amphialus drawing his sword, which was the only part of his arms (God knows to what purpose) he carried about him, threatened to kill him if he followed him, and withal, bade him deliver this bitter message, that he well enough found, I was the cause of all this mischief: and that if I were a man, he would go over the world to kill me: but bade me assure myself, that of all creatures in the world, he most hated me. Ah sir Knight (whose ears I think by this time are tired with the rugged ways of these misfortunes) now weigh my case, if at least you know what love is. For this cause have I left my country, putting in hazard how my people will in time deal by me, adventuring what perils or dishonours might ensue, only to follow him, who proclaimeth hate against me, and to bring my neck unto him, if that may redeem my trespass and assuage his fury. And now sir (said she) you have your request, I pray you take pains to guide me to the next town, that there I may gather such of my company again, as your valour hath left me. Palladius willingly condescended: but ere they began to go, there came Clitophon, who having been something hurt by one of them, had pursued him a good way: at length overtaking him, and ready to kill him, understood they were servants to the fair Queen Helen, and that the cause of this enterprise was for nothing, but to make Amphialus prisoner, whom they knew their mistress sought; for she concealed her sorrow, nor cause of her sorrow from no body.  
But Clitophon (very sorry for this accident) came back to comfort the Queen, helping such as were hurt, in the best sort that he could, and framing friendly constructions of this rashly under-taken enmity, when in comes an other (till that time unseen) all armed, with his beaver down, who first looking round about upon the company, as soon as he spied Palladius, he drew his sword, & making no other prologue, let fly at him. But Palladius (sorry for so much harm as had already happened) sought rather to retire, and ward, thinking he might be some one that belonged to the fair Queen, whose case in his heart he pitied. Which Clitophon seeing, stepped between them, ask the new come knight the cause of his quarrel; who answered him, that he would kill that thief, who had stolen away his master's armour, if he did not restore it. With that Palladius looked upon him, and saw that he of the other side had Palladius own armour upon him: truly (said Palladius) if I have stolen this armour, you did not buy thate: but you shall not fight with me upon such a quarrel, you shall have this armour willingly, which I did only put on to do honour to the owner. But Clitophon strait knew by his words and voice, that it was Ismenus, the faithful and diligent Page of Amphialus: and therefore telling him that he was Clitophon, and willing him to acknowledge his error to the other, who deserved all honour, the young Gentleman pulled of his headpiece, and (lighting) went to kiss Palladius hands; desiring him to pardon his folly, caused by extreme grief, which easily might bring forth anger. Sweet Gentleman (said Palladius) you shall only make me this amends, that you shall carry this your Lords armour from me to him, and tell him from an unknown knight (who admires his worthiness) that he cannot cast a greater mist over his glory, then by being unkind to so excellent a princess as this Queen is. Ismenus promised he would as soon as he durst find his master: and with that went to do his duty to the Queen, whom in all these encounters astonishment made hardy; but assoon as she saw Ismenus (looking to her picture) Ismenus (said she) here is my Lord, where is yours? or come you to bring me some sentence of death from him? if it be so, welcome be it. I pray you speak; and speak quickly. Alas Madam, said Ismenus, I have lost my Lord, (with that tears came unto his eyes) for assoon as the unhappy combat was concluded with the death both of father and son, my master casting of his armour, went his way: forbidding me upon pain of death to follow him. Yet divers days I followed his steps; till lastly I found him, having newly met with an excellent Spaniel, belonging to his dead companion Philoxenns. The dog strait fawned on my master for old knowledge: but never was there thing more pitiful then to hear my master blame the dog for loving his masters murderer, renewing a fresh his complaints, with the dumb counsellor, as if they might comfort one another in their miseries. But my Lord having spied me, raze up in such rage, that in truth I feared he would kill me: yet as then he said only, if I would not displease him, I should not come near him till he sent for me: too hard a commandment for me to disobey: I yielded, leaving him only waited on by his dog, and as I think seeking out the most solitary places, that this or any other country can grant him: and I returning where I had left his armour, found an other in steed thereof, and (disdaining I must confess that any should bear the armour of the best Knight living) armed myself therein to play the fool, as even now I did. Fair Ismenus (said the Queen) a fit messenger could hardly be to unfold my Tragedy: I see the end, I see my end.  
With that (sobbing) she desired to be conducted to the next town, where Palladius left her to be waited on by Clitophon, at Palladius earnest entreaty, who desired alone to take that melancholy course of seeking his friend: and therefore changing armours again with Ismenus (who went withal to a castle belonging to his master) he continued his quest for his friend Daiphantus.  
So directed he his course to Laconia, aswell among the Helots', as Spartans'. There indeed he found his fame flourishing, his monuments engraved in Marble, and yet more durably in men's memories; but the universal lamenting his absented presence, assured him of his present absence. Thence into the Elean province, to see whether at the Olympian games (there celebrated) he might in such concourse bless his eyes with so desired an encounter: but that huge and sportful assembly grew to him a tedious loveliness, esteeming no body found, since Daiphantus was lost. Afterward he passed through Achaia and Sicyonia, to the Corinthians, proud of their two Seas, to learn whether by the straight of that Isthmus, it were possible to know of his passage. But finding every place more dumb than other to his demands, and remembering that it was late-taken love, which had wrought this new course, he returned again (after two months travail in vain) to make a fresh search in Arcadia; so much the more, as than first he bethought himself of the picture of Philoclea (which resembling her he had once loved) might perhaps awake again that sleeping passion. and having already past over the greatest part of Arcadia, one day coming under the side of the pleasant mountain Maenalus, his horse (nothing guilty of his inquisitiveness) with flat-tyring taught him, that discrete stays make speedy journeys. And therefore lighting down, and unbrideling his horse, he himself went to repose himself in a little wood he saw there by. Where lying under the protection of a shady tree, with intention to make forgetting sleep comfort a sorrowful memory, he saw a sight which persuaded, and obtained of his eyes, that they would abide yet a while open. It was the appearing of a Lady, who because she walked with her side toward him, he could not perfectly see her face; but so much he might see of her, that was a surety for the rest, that all was excellent.  
Well might he perceive the hanging of her hair in fairest quantity, in locks, some curled, and some as it were forgotten, with such a careless care, & an art so hiding art, that she seemed she would lay them for a pattern, whether nature simply, or nature helped by cunning, be the more excellent: the rest whereof was drawn into a coronet of gold richly set with pearl, and so joined all over with gold wires, & covered with feathers of divers colours, that it was not unlike to an helmet, such, a glittering show, it bore, & so bravely it was held up from the head. Upon her body she ware a doublet of Sky colour satin, covered with plates of gold & as it were nailed with precious stones, that in it she might seem armed; the nether part of her garment was so full of stuff, & cut after such a fashion, that though the length of it reached to the ankles, yet in her going one might sometimes discern the small of her leg, which with the foot was dressed in a short pair of crimson velvet buskins, in some places open (as the ancient manner was) to show the fairness of the skin. Over all this she ware a certain mantel, made in such manner, that coming under her right arm, and covering most of that side, it had no fastening of the left side, but only upon the top of the shoulder: where the two ends met, and were closed together with a very rich jewel: the devise whereof as he after saw was this: a Hercules made in little form, but set with a distaff in his hand as he once was by Omphale's commandment with a word in Greek, but thus to be interpreted, Never more valiant. On the same side, on her thigh she ware a sword, which as it witnessed her to be an Amazon, or one following that profession, so it seemed but a needless weapon, since her other forces were without withstanding. But this Lady walked outright, till he might see her enter into a fine close arbour: it was of trees whose branches so lovingly interlaced one the other, that it could resist the strongest violence of eyesight; but she went into it by a door she opened; which moved him as warily as he could to follow her, and by & by he might hear her sing this song, with a voice no less beautiful to his ears, than her goodliness was full of harmony to his eyes.  

Transformed in show, but more transformed in mind,  
I cease to strive with double conquest foiled:  
For (woe is me) my powers all I find  
With outward force, and inward treason spoiled.   

For from without came to mine eyes the blow,  
Whereto mine inward thoughts did faintly yield;  
Both these conspired poor Reason's overthrow;  
False in myself, thus have I lost the field,   

Thus are my eyes still Captive to one sight  
Thus all my thoughts are slaves to one thought still:  
Thus Reason to his servants yields his right;  
Thus is my power transformed to your will,  
What marvel then I take a woman's hue,  
Since what I see, think, know is all but you?   
The ditty gave him some suspicion, but the voice gave him almost assurance, who the singer was. And therefore boldly thrusting open the door, and entering into the arbour, he perceived in deed that it was Pyrocles thus disguised, wherewith not receiving so much joy to have found him, as grief so to have found him, amazedly looking upon him (as Apollo is painted when he saw Daphne suddenly turned into a Laurel) he was not able to bring forth a word. So that Pyrocles (who had as much shame, as Musidorus had sorrow) rising to him, would have form a substantial excuse; but his insinuation being of blushing, and his division of sighs, his whole oration stood upon a short narration, what was the causer of this Metamorphosis? But by that time Musidorus had gathered his spirits together, and yet casting a gastfull countenance upon him (as if he would conjure some strange spirits) he thus spoke unto him.  
And is it possible, that this is Pyrocles, the only young Prince in the world, form by nature, and framed by education, to the true exercise of virtue? or is it indeed some Amazon that hath counterfeited the face of my friend, in this sort to vex me? for likelier sure I would have thought it, that any outward face might have been disguised, then that the face of so excellent a mind could have been thus blemished. O sweet Pyrocles, separate yourself a little (if it be possible) from your self, and let your own mind look upon your own proceed: so shall my words be needless, and you best instructed. See with yourself, how fit it will be for you in this your tender youth, borne so great a Prince, and of so rare, not only expectation, but proof, desired of your old Father, and wanted of your native Country, now so near your home, to divert your thoughts from the way of goodness; to lose, nay to abuse your time. Lastly to overthrow all the excellent things you have done, which have filled the world with your fame; as if you should drown your ship in the long desired haven, or like an ill player, should mar the last act of his Tragedy. Remember (for I know you know it) that if we will be men, the reasonable part of our soul, is to have absolute commandment; against which if any sensual weakness arise, we are to yield all our sound forces to the overthrowing of so unnatural a rebellion, wherein how can we want courage, since we are to deal against so weak an adversary, that in itself is nothing but weakness? Nay we are to resolve, that if reason direct it, we must do it, and if we must do it, we will do it; for to say I cannot, is childish, and I will not, womanish. And see how extremely every way you endanger your mind; for to take this womanish habit (without you frame your behaviour accordingly) is wholly vain: your behaviour can never come kindly from you, but as the mind is proportioned unto it. So that you must resolve, if you will play your part to any purpose, whatsoever peevish imperfections are in that sex, to soften your heart to receive them, the very first downe-steppe to all wickedness: for do not deceive yourself, my dear cousin, there is no man suddenly either excellently good, or extremely evil but grows either as he holds himself up in virtue, or lets himself slide to viciousness. And let us see, what power is the author of all these troubles: forsooth love, love, a passion, and the basest and fruitlessest of all passions: fear breedeth wit, Anger is the cradle of courage: joy openeth and enhableth the heart: sorrow, as it closeth, so it draweth it inward to look to the correcting of itself; and so all of them generally have power towards some good by the direction of Reason. But this bastard Love (for indeed the name of Love is most unworthylie applied to so hateful a humour) as it is engendered betwixt lust and idleness; as the matter it works upon is nothing but a certain base weakness, which some gentle fools call a gentle heart; as his adjoined companions be unquietness, long fond comforts, faint discomforts, hopes, jealousies, ungrounded rages, causeless yielding; so is the highest end it aspires unto, a little pleasure with much pain before, and great repentance after. But that end how endless it runes to infinite evils, were fit enough for the matter we speak of, but not for your ears, in whom indeed there is so much true disposition to virtue: yet thus much of his worthy effects in yourself is to be seen, that (besides your breaking laws of hospitality with Kalander and of friendship with me) it utterly subverts the course of nature, in making reason give place to sense, and man to woman. And truly I think hereupon it first got the name of Love: for indeed the true love hath that excellent nature in it, that it doth transform the very essence of the lover into the thing loved, uniting, and as it were incorporating it with a secret and inward working. And herein do these kind of loves imitate the excellent; for as the love of heaven makes one heavenly, the love of virtue, virtuous; so doth the love of the world make one become worldly, and this effeminate love of a woman, doth so womanize a man, that (if he yield to it) it will not only make him an Amazon; but a launder, a distaff-spinner; or what so ever other vile occupation their idle heads can imagine and their weak hands perform. Therefore (to trouble you no longer with my tedious but loviug words) if either you remember what you are, what you have been, or what you must be: if you consider what it is, that moved you, or by what kind of creature you are moved, you shall find the cause so small, the effect so dangerous, yourself so unworthy to run into the one, or to be driven by the other, that I doubt not I shall quickly have occasion rather to praise you for having conquered it, then to give you further counsel, how to do it. But in Pyrocles this speech wrought no more, but that he, who before he was espied, was afraid; after, being perceived, was ashamed, now being hardly rubbed upon, left both fear and shame, and was moved to anger. But the exceeding good will he bore to Musidorus striving with it, he thus, partly to satisfy him, but principally to loof the reins to his own motions, made him answer. Cousin, whatsoever good disposition nature hath bestowed upon me, or howsoever that disposition hath been by bringing up confirmed, this must I confess, that I am not yet come to that degree of wisdom, to think light of the sex, of whom I have my life; since if I be any thing (which your friendship rather finds, than I acknowledge) I was to come to it, born of a woman, & nursed of a woman. And certainly (for this point of your speech doth nearest touch me) it is strange to see the unman-like cruelty of mankind; who not content with their tyrannous ambition, to have brought the others virtuous patience under them (like childish masters) think their masterhood nothing, without doing injury to them, who (if we will argue by reason) are framed of nature with the same parts of the mind for the exercise of virtue, as we are. And for example, even this estate of Amazons, (which I know for my greatest honour do seek to counterfeit) doth well witness, that if generally the sweetness of their disposition did not make them see the vainness of these things, which we account glorious, they nether want valour of mind, nor yet doth their fairness take away their force. And truly we men, and praisers of men, should remember, that if we have such excellencies, it is reason to think them excellent creatures, of whom we are: since a Kite never brought forth a good flying Hawk. But to tell you true, as I think it superfluous to use any words of such a subject, which is so praised in itself, as it needs no praises; so withal I fear lest my conceit (not able to reach unto them) bring forth words, which for their unworthiness may be a disgrace to them I so inwardly honour. Let this suffice, that they are capable of virtue and virtue (ye yourselves say) is to be loved, & I too truly: but this I willingly confess, that it likes me much better, when I find virtue in a fair lodging, then when I am bound to seek it in an ill favoured creature, like a pearl in a dounghill. As for my fault of being an uncivil guest to Kalander, if you could feel what an inward guest myself am host unto: ye would think it very excusable, in that I rather perform the duties of an host, than the ceremonies of a guest. And for my breaking the laws of friendship with you, (which I would rather die, then effectually do) truly, I could find in my heart to ask you pardon for it, but that your now handling of me gives me reason to my former dealing. And here Pyrocles stayed, as to breathe himself, having been transported with a little vehemency, because it seemed him Musidorus had over-bitterly glaunsed against the reputation of womankind: but then quieting his countenance (aswell as out of an unquiet mind it might be) he thus proceeded on: And poor Love (said he) dear cousin, is little beholding unto you, since you are not contented to spoil it of the honour of the highest power of the mind, which notable men have attributed unto it; but ye deject it below all other passions, in truth somewhat strangely; since, if love receive any disgrace, it is by the company of these passions you prefer before it. For those kinds of bitter objections (as, that lust, idleness, and a weak heart, should be, as it were, the matter and form of love) rather touch me, dear Musidorus, than love: But I am good witness of mine own imperfections, and therefore will not defend myself: but herein I must say, you deal contrary to yourself: for if I be so weak, then can you not with reason stir me up as ye did, by remembrance of my own virtue: or if indeed I be virtuous, then must ye confess, that love hath his working in a virtuous heart: and so no doubt hath it, whatsoever I be: for if we love virtue, in whom shall we love it but in a virtuous creature? without your meaning be, I should love this word virtue, where I see it written in a book. Those troublesome effects you say it breeds, be not the faults of love, but of him that loves; as an unable vessel to bear such a liquor: like evil eyes, not able to look on the Sun; or like a weak brain, soon overthrown with the best wine. Even that heavenly love you speak of, is accompanied in some hearts with hopes, griefs, longings, and despairs. And in that heavenly love, since there are two parts, the one the love itself, th'other the excellency of the thing loved; I, not able at the first leap to frame both in me, do now (like a diligent workman) make ready the chief instrument, and first part of that great work, which is love itself; which when I have a while practised in this sort, than you shall see me turn it to greater matters. And thus gently you may (if it please you) think of me. Neither doubt ye, because I wear a woman's apparel, I will be the more womanish, since, I assure you (for all my apparel) there is nothing I desire more, then fully to prove myself a man in this enterprise. Much might be said in my defence, much more for love, and most of all for that divine creature, which hath joined me and love together. But these disputations are fit for quiet schools, than my troubled brains, which art bend rather in deeds to perform, then in words to defend the noble desire that possesseth me. O Lord (said Musidorus) how sharpwitted you are to hurt yourself? No (answered he) but it is the hurt you speak of, which makes me so sharpwitted. Even so (said Musidorus) as every base occupation makes one sharp in that practice, and foolish in all the rest. Nay rather (answered Pyrocles) as each excellent thing once well learned, serves for a measure of all other knowledges. And is that become (said Musidorus) a measure for other things, which never received measure in itself? It is counted without measure (answered Pyrocles,) because the workings of it are without measure but otherwise, in nature it hath measure, since it hath an end allotted unto it. The beginning being so excellent, I would gladly know the end. Enjoying, answered Pyrocles, with a deep sigh. O (said Musidorus) now set ye forth the baseness of it: since if it end in enjoying, it shows all the rest was nothing. Ye mistake me (answered Pyrocles) I spoke of the end to which it is directed; which end ends not, no sooner than the life. Alas, let your own brain disenchant you (said Musidorus.) My heart is too far possessed (said Pyrocles.) But the head gives you direction. And the heart gives me life; answered Pyrocles.  
But Musidorus was so grieved to see his well-beloved friend obstinate (as he thought) to his own destruction, that it forced him with more than accustomed vehemency to speak these words; Well, well, (said he) you lift to abuse yourself; it was a very white and red virtue, which you could pick out of a painterly gloss of a visage: Confess the truth; and ye shall find, the utmost was but beauty; a thing, which though it be in as great excellency in yourself as may be in any, yet I am sure you make no further reckoning of it, then of an outward fading benefit Nature bestowed upon you. And yet such is your want of a true grounded virtue, which must be like itself in all points, that what you wisely account a trifle in yourself, you fond become a slave unto in another. For my part I now protest, I have left nothing unsaid, which my wit could make me know, or my most entire friendship to you requires of me; I do now beseech you even for the love betwixt us (if this other love have left any in you towards me) and for the remembrance of your old careful father (if you can remember him that forget yourself) last for Pyrocles own sake (who is now upon the point of falling or rising) to purge yourself of this vile infection; other wise give me leave, to leave of this name of friendship, as an idle title of a thing which cannot be, where virtue is abolished. The length of these speeches before had not so much cloyed Pyrocles, though he were very impatient of long deliberations, as this last farewell of him he loved as his own life, did wound his soul for thinking himself afflicted, he was the apt to conceive unkindness deeply: insomuch, that shaking his head, and delivering some show of tears, he thus uttered his griefs. Alas (said he) prince Musidorus, how cruelly you deal with me; if you seek the victory, take it and if ye list, the triumph; have you all the reason of the world, and with me remain all the imperfections; yet such as I can no more lay from me, than the Crow can be persuaded by the Swan to cast of all his black feathers. But truly you deal with me like a Physician, that seeing his patient in a pestilent fever, should chide him, in steed of ministering help, and bid him be sick no more; or rather like such a friend, that visiting his friend condemned to perpetual prison; and loaden with grievous fetters, should will him to shake of his fetters, or he would leave him. I am sick, and sick to the death; I am prisoner, neither is there any redress, but by her to whom I am slave. Now if you list, leave him that loves you in the highest degree: But remember ever to carry this with you, that you abandon your friend in his greatest extremity.  
And herewith the deep wound of his love being rubbed a fresh with this new unkindness, began (as it were to bleed again, in such sort that he was unable to bear it any longer, but gushing out abundance of tears, and crossing his arms over his woeful heart, he sunk downe to the ground which sudden trance went so to the heart of Musidorus, that falling down by him and kissing the weeping eyes of his friend, he besought him not to make account of his speech; which if it had been over vehement, yet was it to be borne withal, because it came out of a love much more vehement; that he had not thought fancy could have received so deep a wound: but now finding in him the force of it, he would no further contrary it; but employ all his service to medicine it, in such sort, as the nature of it required. But even this kindness made Pyrocles the more melt in the former unkindness, which his manlike tears well showed, with a silent look upon Musidorus, as who should say, And is it possible that Musidorus should threaten to leave me? And this struck Musidorus mind and senses so dumb too, that for grief being notable to say any thing, they rested with their eyes placed one upon another, in such sort, as might well paint out the true passion of unkindness to be never aright, but betwixt them that most dearly love.  
And thus remained they a time; till at length, Musidorus embracing him, said and will you thus shake of your friend? It is you that shake me of (said Pyrocles) being for my unperfectness unworthy of your friendship. But this (said Musidorus) shows you more unperfect, to be cruel to him, that submits himself unto you; but since you are unperfect (said he smiling) it is reason you be governed by us wise and perfect man. And that authority will I begin to take upon me, with three absolute commandments: The first, that you increase not your evil with further griefs: the second, that you love her with all the powers of your mind: and the last commandment shallbe, ye command me to do what service I can, towards the attaining of your desires. Pyrocles heart was not so oppressed with the two mighty passions of love and unkindness, but that it yielded to some mirth at his commandment of Musidorus; that he should love: so that some thing cleared his face from his former shows of grief; Well (said he) dear cousin, I see by the well choosing of your commandements, that you are far fit to be a Prince, than a Counsellor: & therefore I am resolved to employ all my endeavour to obey you; with this condition that the commandements ye command me to lay upon you, shall only be, that you continue to love me, and look upon my imperfections, with more affection than judgement. Love you? (said he) alas, how can my heart be separated from the true embracing of it, without it burst, by being too full of it? But (said he) let us leave of these flowers of new begun friendship: and now I pray you again tell me; but tell it me fully, omitting no circumstance, the story of your affections both beginning, and proceeding: assuring yourself, that there is nothing so great, which I will fear to do for you: nor nothing so small, which I will disdain to do for you. Let me therefore receive a clear understanding, which many times we miss, while those things we account small, as a speech, or a look are omitted, like as a whole sentence may fail of his congruity, by wanting one particle. Therefore between friends, all must be laid open, nothing being superfluous, nor tedious. You shallbe obeyed (said Pyrocles) and here are we in as fit a place for it as may be; for this arbour no body offers to come into but myself; I using it as my melancholy retiring place, and therefore that respect is born unto it; yet if by chance any should come, say that you are a servant sent from the Queen of the Amazons to seek me and then let me, alone for the rest. So sat they down, and Pyrocles thus said.  
Cousin (said he) then began the fatal overthrow of all my liberty when walking among the pictures in Kalander's house, you yourself delivered unto me what you had understood of Philoclea, who much resembling (though I must say much surpassing) the Lady Zelmane, whom so well I loved: there were mine eyes infected, and at your mouth did I drink my poison. Yet alas so sweet was it unto me, that I could not be contented, till Kalander had made it more and more strong with his declaration. Which the more I questioned, the more pity I conceived of her unworthy fortune: and when with pity once my heart was made tender, according to the aptness of the humour, it received quickly a cruel impression of that wonderful passion which to be defined is impossible, because no words reach to the strange nature of it: they only know it, which inwardly feel it, it is called love. Yet did I not (poor wretch) at first know my disease, thinking it only such a wonted kind of desire, to see rare sights; and my pity to be no other, but the fruits of a gentle nature. But even this arguing with myself came of further thoughts; and the more I argued, the more my thoughts increased. Desirous I was to see the place where she remained, as though the Architecture of the lodges would have been much for my learning; but more desirous to see herself, to be judge, for sooth, of the painters cunning. For thus at the first did I flatter myself, as though my wound had been no deeper: but when within short time I came to the degree of uncertain wishes, and that those wishes grew to unquiet longings, when I could fix my thoughts upon nothing, but that within little varying, they should end with Philoclea: when each thing I saw, seemed to figure out some part of my passions; when even Parthenia's fair face became a lecture to me of Philoclea's imagined beauty; when I heard no word spoken, but that me thought it carried the sound of Philoclea's name: then indeed, than I did yield to the burden, finding myself prisoner, before I had leisure to arm myself; and that I might well, like the spaniel, gnaw upon the chain that ties him, but I should sooner mar my teeth, then procure liberty. Yet I take to witness the eternal spring of virtue, that I had never read, heard, nor seen any thing; I had never any taste of Philosophy, nor inward feeling in myself, which for a while I did not call to my succour. But (alas) what resistance was there, when ere long my very reason was (you will say corrupted) I must confess, conquered; and that me thought even reason did assure me, that all eyes did degenerate from their creation, which did not honour such beauty? Nothing in truth could hold any plea with it, but the reverent friendship I bear unto you. For as it went against my heart to break any way from you, so did I fear more than any assault to break it to you: finding (as it is indeed) that to a heart fully resolute, counsel is tedious, but reprehension is loathsome: and that there is nothing more terrible to a guilty heart, than the eye of a respected friend. This made me determine with myself, (thinking it a less fault in friendship to do a thing without your knowledge, then against your will) to take this secret course: Which conceit was most builded up in me, the last day of my parting and speaking with you; when upon your speech with me, & my but naming love, (when else perchance I would have gone further) I saw your voice and countenance so change, as it assured me, my revealing it should but purchase your grief with my cumber: & therefore (dear Musidorus) even ran away from thy well known chiding: for having written a letter, which I know not whether you found or no, and taken my chief jewels with me, while you were in the midst of your sport, I got a time (as I think) unmarked by any, to steal away, I cared not whether so I might scape you & so came I to Ithonia in the province of Messenia; where lying secret I put this in practise which before I had devised. For remembering by Philanax his letter, & Kalander's speech, how obstinately Basilius was determined not to marry his daughters, & therefore fearing, lest any public dealing should rather increase her captivity, then further my love; Love (the refiner of invention) had put in my head thus to disguise myself, that under that mask I might (if it were possible,) get access, and what access could bring forth, commit to fortune & industry: determining to bear the countenance of an Amazon. Therefore in the closest manner I could, naming myself Zelmane, for that dear Lady's sake, to whose memory I am so much bound, I caused this apparel to be made, and bringing it near the lodges, which are heard at hand, by night, thus dressed myself, resting till occasion might make me to be found by them, whom I sought: which the next morning happened as well, as my own plot could have laid it. For after I had run over the whole pedigree of my thoughts, I gave myself to sing a little, which as you know I ever delighted in, so now especially, whether it be the nature of this clime to stir up Poetical fancies, or rather as I think, of love; whose cope being pleasure, will not so much as utter his griefs, but in some form of pleasure.  
But I had sung very little, when (as I think displeased with my bad music) comes master Dametas with a hedging bill in his hand, chase, and swearing by the pantable of Pallas, & such other oaths as his rustical bravery could imagine; & when he saw me, I assure you my beauty was no more beholding to him then my harmony; for leaning his hands upon his bill, and his chin upon his hands, with the voice of one that playeth Hercules in a play, but never had his fancy in his head, the first word he spoke to me, was, am not I Dametas? why? am not I Dametas? he needed not name himself: for Kalander's description had set such a note upon him, as made him very notable upon me, and therefore the height of my thoughts would not descend so much as to make him any answer, but continued on my inward discourses: which (he perchance witness of his own unworthiness, and therefore the apt to think himself contemned) took in so heinous manner, that standing upon his tiptoes, and staring as if he would have had a mote pulled out of his eye, Why (said he) thou woman, or boy, or both, whatsoever thou be, I tell thee here is no place for thee, get thee gone, I tell thee it is the Prince's pleasure, I tell thee it is Dametas pleasure. I could not choose, but smile at him, seeing him look so like an Ape that had newly taken a purgation; yet taking myself with the manner, spoke these words to myself: O spirit (said I) of mine, how canst thou receive any mirth in the midst of thine agonies, and thou mirth how darest thou enter into a mind so grown of late thy professed enemy? Thy spirit (said Dametas) dost thou think me a spirit, I tell thee I am Basilius officer, and have charge of him, and his daughters. O only pearl (said I sobbing) that so vile an oyster should keep thee? By the comb-case of Diana swore Dametas) this woman is mad: oysters, and pearls? dost thou think I will buy oysters? I tell thee once again get thee packing, and with that lifted up his bill to hit me with the blunt end of it: but indeed that put me quite out of my lesson, so that I forgot Zelmanes-ship, and drawing out my sword, the baseness of the villain yet made me stay my hand, and he (who, as Kalander told me, from his childhood ever feared the blade of a sword) ran back, backward (with his hands above his head) at least twenty paces, gaping and staring, with the very grace (I think) of the clowns, that by Latona's prayers were turned into Frogs. At length staying, finding himself without the compass of blows, he fell to a fresh scolding, in such mannerly manner, as might well show he had passed through the discipline of a Tavern. But seeing me walk up and down, without marking what he said, he went his way (as I perceived after) to Basilius: for within a while he came unto me, bearing in deed shows in his countenance of an honest and wellminded gentleman, and with as much courtesy as Dametas with rudeness saluting me, Fair Lady (said he) it is nothing strange, that such a solitary place as this should receive solitary persons; but much do I marvel how such a beauty as yours is, should be suffered to be thus alone. I (that now knew it was my part to play) looking with a grave majesty upon him, as if I found in myself cause to be reverenced. They are never alone (said I) that are accompanied with noble thoughts. But those thoughts (replied Basilius) cannot in this your loneliness neither warrant you from suspicion in others, nor defend you from melancholy in your self. I then showing a mislike that he pressed me so far, I seek no better warrant (said I) than my own conscience, nor no greater pleasure, than mine own contentation. Yet virtue seeks to satisfy others, (said Basilius.) Those that be good (said I,) and they will be satisfied as long as they see no evil. Yet will the best in this country, (said Basilius) suspect so excellent beauty being so weakly guarded. Then are the best but stark nought, (answered I) for open suspecting others, comes of secret condemning themselves; But in my country whose manners I am in all places to maintain and reverence) the general goodness (which is nourished in our hearts) makes every one think the strength of virtue in an other, whereof they find the assured foundation in themselves. Excellent Lady (said he) you praise so greatly, (and yet so wisely) your country, that I must needs desire to know what the nest is, out of which such Birds do fly. You must first deserve it (said I) before you may obtain it. And by what means (said Basilius) shall I deserve to know your estate? By letting me first know yours (answered I.) To obey you (said he) I will do it, although it were so much more reason, yours should be known first, as you do deserve in all points to be preferred. Know you (fair Lady) that my name is Basilius, unworthily Lord of this country: the rest, either fame hath already brought to your ears, or (if it please you to make this place happy by your presence) at more leisure you shall understand of me. I that from the beginning assured myself it was he, but would not seem I did so, to keep my gravity the better, making a piece of reverence unto him, Mighty Prince (said I) let my not knowing you serve for the excuse of my boldness, and the little reverence I do you, impute it to the manner of my country, which is the invincible Land of the Amazons; Myself niece to Senicia, Queen thereof, lineally descended of the famous Penthesilea, slain by the bloody hand of Pyrrhus: I having in this my youth determined to make the world see the Amazons excellencies, aswell in private, as in public virtue, have passed some dangerous adventures in divers countries, till the unmerciful Sea deprived me of my company: so that shipwreck casting me not far hence, uncertain wandering brought me to this place. But Basilius (who now began to taste of that, which since he hath swallowed up, as I will tell you) fell to more cunning entreating my abode, than any greedy host would use to well paying passengers. I thought nothing could shoot righter at the mark of my desires; yet had I learned already so much, that it was against my womanhood to be forward in my own wishes. And therefore he (to prove whether intercessions in fit mouths might better prevail) commanded Dametas to bring forth with his wife and daughters thither; three Ladies, although of divers, yet all of excellent beauty.  
His wife in grave Matronlike attire, with countenance and gesture suitable, and of such fairness (being in the strength of her age) as if her daughters had not been by, might with just price have purchased admiration; but they being there, it was enough that the most dainty eye would think her a worthy mother of such children. The fair Pamela, whose noble heart I find doth greatly disdain, that the trust of her virtue is reposed in such a louts hands as Dametas, had yet to show an obedience, taken on shepeardish apparel, which was but of Russet cloth cut after their fashion, with a strait body, open breasted, the nether part full of plights, with long and wide sleeves: but believe me she did apparel her apparel, and with the preciousness of her body made it most sumptuous. Her hair at the full length, wound about with gold lace, only by the comparison to show how far her hair doth excel in colour: betwixt her breasts (which sweetly raze up like two fair Mountainettes in the pleasant vale of Tempe) there hung a very rich Diamond set but in a black horn, the word I have since read is this; yet still myself. And thus particularly have I described them, because you may know that mine eyes are not so partial, but that I marked them too. But when the ornament of the Earth, the model of heaven, the Triumph of Nature, the life of beauty the Queen of Love, young Philoclea appeared in her Nimphe-like apparel, so near nakedness, as one might well discern part of her perfections; and yet so appareled, as did show she kept best store of her beauty to herself: her hair (alas too poor a word, why should I not rather call them her beams) drawn up into a net, able to have caught jupiter when he was in the form of an Eagle; her body (O sweet body) covered with a light Taffata garment, so cut, as the wrought smock came through it in many places, enough to have made your restrained imagination have thought what was under it: with the cast of her black eyes; black indeed, whether nature so made them, that we might be the more able to behold & bear their wonderful shining, or that she, (goddess like) would work this miracle with her self, in giving blackness the price above all beauty. Then (I say) indeed me thought the Lilies grew pale for envy, the roses me thought blushed to see sweeter roses in her cheeks, and the apples me thought, fell down from the trees, to do homage to the apples of her breast; Then the clouds gave place, that the heavens might more freely smile upon her; at the lest the clouds of my thoughts quite vanished: and my sight (then more clear and forcible then ever) was so fixed there, that (I imagine) I stood like a well wrought image, with some life in show, but none in practice. And so had I been like enough to have stayed long time, but that Gynoecia stepping between my sight and the only Philoclea, the change of object made me recover my senses: so that I could with reasonable good manner receive the salutation of her, and of the princess Pamela, doing them yet no further reverence then one Princess useth to another. But when I came to the never-inough praised Philoclea, I could not but fall down on my knees, and taking by force her hand, and kissing it (I must confess) with more than womanly ardency, Divine Lady, (said I) let not the world, nor these great princess's marvel, to see me (contrary to my manner) do this especial honour unto you, since all both men and women, do own this to the perfection of your beauty. But she blushing (like a fair morning in May) at this my singularity, and causing me to rise, Noble Lady, (said she) it is no marvel to see your judgement much mistaken in my beauty, since you begin with so great an error, as to do more honour unto me then to them, to whom I my self own all service. Rather (answered I with a bowed down countenance) that shows the power of your beauty, which forced me to do such an error, if it were an error. You are so well acquainted (said she sweetly, most sweetly smiling, with your own beauty, that it makes you easily fall into the discourse of beauty. Beauty in me? (said I truly sighing) alas if there be any, it is in my eyes, which your blessed presence hath imparted unto them.  
But then (as I think) Basilius willing her so to do, Well (said she) I must needs confess I have heard that it is a great happiness to be praised of them that are most praise worthy; And well I find that you are an invincible Amazon, since you will overcome, though in a wrong matter. But if my beauty be any thing, then let it obtain thus much of you, that you will remain some while in this company, to ease your own travail, and our solitariness. First let me die (said I) before any word spoken by such a mouth, should come in vain. And thus with some other words of entertaining, was my staying concluded, and I led among them to the lodge; truly a place for pleasantness, not unfit to flatter solitariness for it being set upon such an unsensible rising of the ground, as you are come to a pretty height before almost you perceive that you ascend, it gives the eye Lordship over a good large circuit, which according to the nature of the country, being diversified between hills and dales, woods and plains, one place more clear, an other more darksome, it seems a pleasant picture of nature, with lovely lightsomeness and artificial shadows. The Lodge is of a yellow stone, built in the form of a star; having round about a garden framed into like points: and beyond the garden, ridings cut out, each answering the Angles of the Lodge: at the end of one of them is the other smaller Lodge, but of like fashion; where the gracious Pamela liveth: so that the Lodge seemeth not unlike a fair Comet, whose tail stretcheth itself to a star of less greatness.  
So Gynoecia herself bringing me to my Lodging, anon after I was invited and brought down to sup with them in the garden, a place not fairer in natural ornaments, then artificial inventions: where, in a banqueting house among certain pleasant trees, whose heads seemed curled with the wrappings about of Vine-branches The table was set near to an excellent waterwork; for by the casting of the water in most cunning manner, it makes (with the shining of the Sun upon it) a perfect rainbow, not more pleasant to the eye then to the mind, so sensibly to see the proof of the heavenly Iris. There were birds also made so finely, that they did not only deceive the sight with their figure, but the hearing with their songs; which the watery instruments did make their gorge deliver. The table at which we sat, was round, which being fast to the floor whereon we sat, and that divided from the rest of the buildings (with turning a vice, which Basilius at first did to make me sport) the table, and we about the table, did all turn round, by means of water which ran under, and carried it about as a Mille. But alas, what pleasure did it to me, to make divers times the full circle round about, since Philoclea (being also set) was carried still in equal distance from me, and that only my eyes did overtake her? which when the table was stayed, and we began to feed, drank much more eager of her beauty, than my mouth did of any other liquor. And so was my common sense deceived (being chief bend to her) that as I drank the wine, and withal stolen a look on her, me seemed I tasted her deliciousness. But alas, the one thirst was much more inflamed, than the other quenched. Sometimes my eyes would lay themselves open to receive all the darts she did throw, sometimes close up with admiration, as if with a contrary fancy, they would preserve the riches of that fight they had gotten, or cast my lids as curtains over the image of beauty, her presence had painted in them. True it is, that my Reason (now grown a servant to passion) did yet often tell his master, that he should more moderately use his delight. But he, that of a rebel was become a Prince, disdained almost to allow him the place of a Counsellor: so that my senses delights being too strong for any other resolution, I did even lose the rains unto them: hoping, that (going for a woman) my looks would pass, either unmarked, or unsuspected.  
Now thus I had (as me thought) well played my first act, assuring myself, that under that disguisment, I should find opportunity to reveal myself to the owner of my heart. But who would think it possible (though I feel it true) that in almost eight weeks space, I have lived here (having no more company but her parents, and I being familiar, as being a woman, and watchful, as being a lover) yet could never find opportunity to have one minutes leisure of private conference: the cause whereof is as strange, as the effects are to me miserable. And (alas) this it is.  
At the first sight that Basilius had of me (I think Cupid having headed his arrows with my misfortune) he was stricken (taking me to be such as I profess) with great affection towards me, which since is grown to such a doting love, that (till I was feign to get this place, sometimes to retire unto freely) I was even choked with his tediousness. You never saw fourscore years dance up and down more lively in a young Lover: now, as fine in his apparel, as if he would make me in love with a cloak; and verse for verse with the sharpest-witted Lover in Arcadia. Do you not think that this is a salad of woormwood, while mine eyes feed upon the Ambrosia of Philoclea's beauty. But this is not all; no this is not the worst; for he (good man) were easy enough to be dealt with: but (as I think) Love and mischief having made a wager, which should have most power in me, have set Gynoecia also on such a fire towards me, as will never (I fear) be quenched but with my destruction. For she (being a woman of excellent wit, and of strong working thoughts) whether she suspected me by my over-vehement showers of affection to Philoclea (which love forced me unwisely to utter, while hope of my mask foolishly encouraged me) or that she hath taken some other mark of me, that I am not a woman: or what devil it is hath revealed it unto her, I know not; but so it is, that all her countenances, words and gestures, are even miserable portraitures of a desperate affection. Whereby a man may learn, that these avoydings of company, do but make the passions more violent, when they meet with fit subjects. Truly it were a notable dumb show of Cupid's kingdom, to see my eyes (languishing with ouervehement longing) direct themselves to Philoclea: and Basilius as busy about me as a Bee, and indeed as cumbersome; making such vehement suits to me, who neither could if I would; nor would if I could, help him: while the terrible wit of Gynoecia, carried with the beer of violent love, runs thorough us all. And so jealous is she of my love to her daughter, that I could never yet begin to open my mouth to the unevitable Philoclea, but that her unwished presence gave my tale a conclusion, before it had a beginning. And surely if I be not deceived, I see such shows of liking, and (if I be acquainted with passions) of almost a passionate liking in the heavenly Philoclea, towards me, that I may hope her ears would not abhor my discourse. And for good Basilius, he thought it best to have lodged us together, but that the eternal hatefulness of my destiny, made Gynoecia's jealousy stop that, and all other my blessings. Yet must I confess, that one way her love doth me pleasure: for since it was my foolish fortune, or unfortunate folly, to be known by her, that keeps her from bewraying me to Basilius. And thus (my Musidorus) you have my Tragedy played unto you by myself, which I pray the gods may not in deed prove a Tragedy. And there with he ended, making a full point of a hearty sigh.  
Musidorus recommended to his best discourse, all which Pyrocles had told him. But therein he found such intricateness, that he could see no way to lead him out of the maze; yet perceiving his affection so grounded, that striving against it, did rather anger then heal the wound, and rather call his friendship in question, then give place to any friendly counsel. Well (said he) dear cousin, since it hath pleased the gods to mingle your other excellencies with this humour of love, yet happy it is, that your love is employed upon so rare a woman: for certainly, a noble cause doth ease much a grievous case. But as it stands now, nothing vexeth me, as that I cannot see wherein I can be serviceable unto you. I desire no greater service of you (answered Pyrocles) them that you remain secretly in this country, & sometimes come to this place; either late in the night, or early in the morning, where you shall have my key to enter, because as my fortune, either amends or impairs. I may declare it unto you, and have your counsel and furtherance: and hereby I will of purpose lead her, that is the praise, and yet the stain of all womankind, that you may have so good a view, as to allow my judgement: and as I can get the most convenient time, I will come unto you; for though by reason of yonder wood you cannot see the Lodge; it is hard at hand. But now, (said she) it is time for me to leave you, and towards evening we will walk out of purpose hitherward, therefore keep yourself close in that time. But Musidorus bethinking himself that his horse might happen to bewray them, thought it best to return for that day, to a village not far of, and dispatching his horse in some sort, the next day early to come a foot thither, and so to keep that course afterward, which Pyrocles very well liked of. Now farewell dear cousin (said he) from me, no more Pyrocles, nor Daiphantus now, but Zelmane: Zelmane is my name, Zelmane is my title, Zelmane is the only hope of my advancement. And with that word going out, and seeing that the coast was clear, Zelmane dismissed Musidorus, who departed as full of care to help his friend, as before he was to dissuade him.  
Zelmane returned to the Lodge, where (inflamed by Philoclea, watched by Gynoecia, and tired by Basilius) she was like a horse, desirous to run, and miserably spurred, but so short rained, as he cannot stir forward: Zelmane sought occasion to speak with Philoclea; Basilius with Zelmane; and Gynoecia hindered them all. If Philoclea happened to sigh (and sigh she did often) as if that sigh were to be waited on, Zelmane sighed also; whereto Basilius and Gynoecia soon made up four parts of sorrow. Their affection increased their conversation; and their conversation increased their affection. The respect borne bred due ceremonies; but the affection shined so through them, that the ceremonies seemed not ceremonious. Zelmane's eyes were (like children before sweet meat) eager, but fearful of their ill-pleasing governors. Time in one instant, seeming both short, and long unto them: short, in the pleasingness of such presence: long, in the stay of their desires.  
But Zelmane failed not to entice them all many times abroad, because she was desirous her friend Musidorus (near whom of purpose she led them) might have full sight of them. Sometimes angling to a little River near hand, which for the moisture it bestowed upon roots of some flourishing Trees, was rewarded with their shadow. There would they sit down, and pretty wagers be made between Pamela and Philoclea, which could soon beguile silly fishes; while Zelmane protested, that the fit pray for them was hearts of Princes. She also had an angle in her hand; but the taker was so taken, that she had forgotten taking. Basilius in the mean time would be the cook himself of what was so caught, and Gynoecia sit still, but with no still pensifnesse. Now she brought them to see a seeled Dove, who the blinder she was, the higher she strove. Another time a Kite, which having a gut cunningly pulled out of her, and so let fly, caused all the Kites in that quarter, who (as oftentimes the world is deceived) thinking her prosperous, when indeed she was wounded, made the poor Kite find, that opinion of riches may well be dangerous.  
But these recreations were interrupted by a delight of more gallant show; for one evening as Basilius returned from having forced his thoughts to please themselves in such small conquests, there came a shepherd, who brought him word that a Gentleman desired leave to do a message from his Lord unto him. Basilius' granted; whereupon the Gentleman came, and after the dutiful ceremonies observed, in his masters name told him, that he was sent from Phalantus of Corinth, to crave licence, that as he had done in many other courts, so he might in his presence defy all Arcadian Knights in the behalf of his mistress beauty, who would besides, her self in person be present, to give evident proof what his lance should affirm. The conditions of his challenge were, that the defendant should bring his mistress picture, which being set by the image of Artesia (so was the mistress of Phalantus named) who in six courses should have better of the other, in the judgement of Basilius, with him both the honours and the pictures should remain. Basilius (though he had retired himself into that solitary dwelling, with intention to avoid, rather than to accept any matters of drawing company; yet because he would entertain Zelmane, (that she might not think the time so gainful to him, loss to her) granted him to pitch his tent for three days, not far from the lodge, and to proclaim his challenge, that what Arcadian Knight (for none else but upon his peril was licenced to come) would defend what he honoured against Phalantus, should have the like freedom of access and return.  
This obtained and published, Zelmane being desirous to learn what this Phalantus was, having never known him further than by report of his good justing, in somuch as he was commonly called, The fair man of arms, Basilius told her that he had had occasion by one very inward with him, to know in part the discourse of his life, which was, that he was bastard-brother to the fair Helen Queen of Corinth, and dearly esteemed of her for his exceeding good parts, being honourably courteous, and wronglesly valiant, considerately pleasant in conversation, and an excellent courtier without unfaithfulness; who (finding his sister's unperswadeable melancholy, thorough the love of Amphialus) had for a time left her court, and gone into Laconia: where in the war against the Helots', he had gotten the reputation of one, that both durst and knew. But as it was rather choice than nature, that led him to matters of arms, so as soon as the spur of honour ceased, he willingly rested in peaceable delights, being beloved in all companies for his lovely qualities, and (as a man may term it) winning cheerfulness, whereby to the Prince and Court of Laconia, none was more agreeable than Phalantus: and he not given greatly to struggle with his own disposition, followed the gentle currant of it, having a fortune sufficient to content, and he content with a sufficient fortune. But in that court he saw, and was acquainted with this Artesia, whose beauty he now defends, became her servant, said himself, and perchance thought himself her lover. But certainly, said Basilius) many times it falls out, that these young companions make themselves believe they love at the first liking of a likely beauty; loving, because they will love for want of other business, not because they feel indeed that divine power, which makes the heart find a reason in passion: and so (God knows) as inconstantly leave upon the next chance that beauty casts before them. So therefore taking love upon him like a fashion, he courted this Lady Artesia, who was as fit to pay him in his own money as might be. For she thinking she did wrong to her beauty if she were not proud of it, called her disdain of him chastity, and placed her honour in little setting by his honouring her: determining never to marry, but him, whom she thought worthy of her: and that was one, in whom all worthiness were harboured. And to this conceit not only nature had bend her, but the bringing up she received at my sister in law Cecropia, had confirmed her: who having in her widowhood taken this young Artesia into her charge; because her Father had been a dear friend of her dead husbands, had taught her to think that there is no wisdom but in including both heaven and earth in ones self: and that love, courtesy, gratefulness, friendship, and all other virtues are rather to be taken on, then taken in one's self: And so good a disciple she found of her, that liking the fruits of her own planting, she was content (if so her son could have liked of it) to have wished her in marriage to my Nephew Amphialus. But I think that desire hath lost some of his heat, since she hath known, that such a Queen as Helen is, doth offer so great a price as a Kingdom, to buy his favour; for if I be not deceived in my good sister Cecropia, she thinks no face so beautiful, as that which looks under a Crown. But Artesia indeed liked well of my Nephew Amphialus; for I can never deem that love, which in haughty hearts proceeds of a desire only to please, and as it were, peacock themselves; but yet she hath showed vehemency of desire that way, I think, because all her desires be vehement, in so much that she hath both placed her only brother (a fine youth called Ismenus) to be his squire, and herself is content to wait upon my sister, till she may see the uttermost what she may work in Amphialus: who being of a melancholy (though I must say truly courteous and noble) mind, seems to love nothing less than Love: and of late having through some adventure, or inward miscontentment, withdrawn himself from any body's knowledge, where he is: Artesia the easier condescended to go to the court of Laconia, whether she was sent for by the King's wife, to whom she is somewhat allied.  
And there after the war of the Helots', this Knight Phalantus, (at least for tonguedelight) made himself her servant, and she so little caring, as not to show mislike thereof, was content only to be noted to have a notable servant. For truly one in my court nearly acquainted with him, within these few days made me a pleasant description of their love, while he with cheerful looks would speak sorrowful words, using the phrase of his affection in so high a stile, that Mercury would not have wooed Venus with more magnificent Eloquence: but else neither in behaviour, nor action, accusing in himself any great trouble in mind, whether he sped or no. And she of the other side, well finding how little it was, and not caring for more, yet taught him, that often it falleth out but a foolish wittiness, to speak more than one thinks.  
For she made earnest benefit of his jest, forcing him in respect of his profession, to do her such service, as were both cumbersome and costly unto him, while he still thought he went beyond her, because his heart did not commit the idolatry. So that lastly, she (I think) having in mind to make the fame of her beauty an orator for her to Amphialus, (persuading herself perhaps, that it might fall out in him, as it doth in some that have delightful meat before them, and have no stomach to it, before other folks praise it) she took the advantage one day upon Phalantus unconscionable praisings of her, and certain castaway vows, how much he would do for her sake, to arrest his word assoon as it was out of his mouth, and by the virtue thereof to charge him to go with her thorough all the courts of Greece, and with the challenge now made, to give her beauty the principality over all other. Phalantus was entrapped, and saw round about him, but could not get out. Exceedingly perplexed he was (as he confessed to him that told me the tale) not for doubt he had of himself (for indeed he had little cause, being accounted, with his Lance especially (whereupon the challenge is to be tried) as perfect as any that Greece knoweth; but because he feared to offend his sister Helen, and withal (as he said) he could not so much believe his love, but that he must think in his heart (whatsoever his mouth affirmed) that both she, my daughters, & the fair Parthenia (wife to a most noble Gentleman, my wives near kinsman) might far better put in their claim for that prerogative. But his promise had bound him apprentice, and therefore it was now better with willingness to purchase thanks, then with a discontented doing to have the pain, and not the reward: and therefore went on, as his faith, rather than love, did lead him. And now hath he already passed the courts of Laconia, Elis, Argos & Corinth: and (as many times it happens) that a good pleader makes a bad cause to prevail; so hath his Lawnce brought captives to the triumph of Artesias beauty, such, as though Artesia be among the fairest, yet in that company were to have the pre-eminence: for in those courts many knights (that had been in other far countries) defended such as they had seen, & liked in their travail: but their defence had been such; as they had forfeited the pictures of their Ladies, to give a forced false testimony to Artesias excellency. And now last is he come hither where he hath leave to try his fortune. But I assure you, if I thought it not in dew and true consideration an injurious service and churlish courtesy, to put the danger of so noble a title in the deciding of such a dangerles combat, I would make young master Phalantus know, that your eyes can sharpen a blunt Lance, and that age, which my grey hairs (only gotten by the loving care of others) make seem more than it is, hath not diminished in me the power to protect an undeniable verity. With that he bustled up himself, as though his heart would feign have walked abroad. Zelmane with an inward smiling gave him outward thanks, desiring him to reserve his force for worthier causes. So passing their time according to their wont, they waited for the coming of Phalantus, who the next morning having already caused his tents to be pitched, near to a fair tree hard by the Lodge, had upon the tree made a shield to be hanged up, which the defendant should strike, that would call him to the maintaining his challenged. The Impresa in the shield; was a heaven full of stars, with a speech signifying, that it was the beauty which gave it the praise.  
Himself came in next after a triumphant chariot, made of Carnation velvet enriched with pearl and pearl, wherein Artesia sat, drawn by four winged horses with artificial flaming mouths, and fiery wings, as if she had newly borrowed them of Phoebus. Before her marched, two after two, certain footmen pleasantly attired, who between them held one picture after another of them, that by Phalantus well running had lost the prize in the race of beauty, and at every pace they stayed, turning the pictures to each side, so leisurely, that with perfect judgement they might be discerned. The first that came in (following the order of the time wherein they had been won) was the picture of Andromana, Queen of Iberia; whom a Laconian Knight having sometime (and with special favour) served, (though some years since returned home) with more gratefulness then good fortune defended. But therein Fortune had borrowed wit; for indeed she was not comparable to Artesia; not because she was a good deal elder (for time had not yet been able to impoverish her store thereof) but an exceeding red hair with small eyes, did (like ill companions) disgrace the other assembly of most commendable beauties.  
Next after her was borne the counterfeit of the princess of Elis, a Lady that taught the beholders no other point of beauty, but this, that as liking is, not always the child of beauty, so whatsoever liketh; is beautiful; for in that visage there was neither Majesty, grace, favour, nor fairness; yet she wanted not a servant that would have made her fairer than the fair Artesia. But he wrote her praises with his helmet in the dust, and left her picture to be as true a witness of his overthrow, as his running was of her beauty.  
After her was the goodly Artaxia, great Q. of Armenia, a Lady upon whom nature bestowed, and well placed her most delightful colours; and withal, had proportioned her without any fault, quickly to be discovered by the senses, yet altogether seemed not to make up that harmony, that Cupid delights in, the reason whereof might seem a mannish countenance, which overthrew that lovely sweetness, the noblest power of womankind, far fit to prevail by parley, then by battle.  
Of a far contrary consideration was the representation of her that next followed, which was Erona Queen of Licia, who though of so brown a hair, as no man should have injuried it to have called it black, and that in the mixture of her cheeks the white did so much overcome the red (though what was, was very pure) that it came near to paleness, and that her face was a thought longer than the exact Symmetrians perhaps would allow; yet love played his part so well, in every part, that it caught hold of the judgement, before it could judge, making it first love, and after acknowledge it fair, for there was a certain delicacy, which in yielding, conquered; and with a pitiful look made one find cause to crave help himself.  
After her came two Ladies, of noble, but not of royal birth: the former was named Baccha, who though very fair, and of a fatness rather to allure, then to mislike, yet her breasts over-familiarly laid open, with a made countenance about her mouth, between simpering and smile, her head bowed somewhat down seemed to languish with overmuch idleness, and with an inviting look cast upward; dissuaded with too much persuading, while hope might seem to overrun desire.  
The other (whose name was written Leucippe) was of a fine daintiness of beauty, her face carrying in it a sober simplicity; like one that could do much good, and meant no hurt, her eyes having in them such a cheerfulness, as nature seemed to smile in them: though her mouth and cheeks obeyed to that pretty demureness which the more one marked, the more one would judge the poor soul apt to believe; and therefore the more pity to deceive her.  
Next came the Queen of Laconia, one that seemed borne in the confines of beauty's kingdom: for all her lineaments were neither perfect possessioners thereof, nor absolute strangers thereto. but she was a Queen, and therefore beautiful.  
But she that followed, conquered indeed with being conquered; and might well have made all the beholders wait upon her triumph, while herself were led captive. It was the excellently-faire Queen Helen, whose jacinth hair courled by nature, but intercurled by art (like a fine brook through golden sands) had a rope of fair pearl which now hiding, now hidden by the hair, did as it were play at fast and lose, each with other, mutually giving & receiving richness. In her face so much beauty & favour expressed, as if Helen had not been known, some would rather have judged it the painter's exercise, to show what he could do, them the conterfaiting of any living pattern: for no fault the most fault finding wit could have found, if it were not, that to the rest of the body the face was somewhat too little: but that little was such a spark of beauty, as was able to inflame a world of love. for every thing was full of a choice fineness, that if it wanted any thing in majesty, it supplied it, with increase, in pleasure; and if at the first it strake not admiration, it ravished with delight. And no indifferent soul there was, which if it could resist from subjecting itself to make it his princess, that would not long to have such a playfellow. As for her attire, it was costly and curious, though the look (sixth with more sadness than it seemed nature had bestowed to any that knew her fortune) bewrayed, that as she used those ornaments, not for herself, but to prevail with another so she feared, that all would not serve. Of a far differing (though esteemed equal) beauty, was the fair Parthenia, who next waited on Artesias' triumph, though far better she might have sit in the throne. For in her every thing was goodly, and stately; yet so, that it might seem that great-mindednes was but the ancient-bearer to the humbleness. For her great grey eye, which might seem full of her own beauty:, a large, and exceedingly fair forehead, with all the rest of her face and body, cast in the mould of Nobleness; was yet so attired, as might show, the mistress thought it either not to deserve, or not to need any exquisite decking, having no adorning but cleanliness; and so far from all art, that it was full of carelessness: unless that carelessness itself (in spite of itself) grew artificial. But Basilius could not abstain from praising Parthenia, as the perfect picture of a womanly virtue, and wively faithfulness: telling withal Zelmane, how he had understood, that when in the court of Laconia, her picture (maintained by a certain Sycionian Knight) was lost, thorough want, rather of valour, than justice: her husband (the famous Argalus) would in a chafe have gone and redeemed it with a new trial. But she (more sporting then sorrowing for her undeserved champion) told her husband, she desired to be beautiful in no bodies eye but his; and that she would rather mar her face as evil as ever it was, then that it should be a cause to make Argalus put on armour. Then would Basilius have told Zelmane that which she already knew, of the rare trial of that coupled affection: but the next picture made their mouths give place to their eyes.  
It was of a young maid, which sat pulling out a thorn out of a lambs foot, with her look so attentive upon it, as if that little foot could have been the circle of her thoughts, her apparel so poor, as it had nothing but the inside to adorn it; a shephook lying by her with a bottle upon it. But with all that poverty, beauty played the prince, and commanded as many hearts as the greatest Queen there did. Her beauty and her estate made her quickly to be known to be the fair shepherdess, Urania, whom a rich knight called Lacemon, far in love with her, had unluckily defended.  
The last of all in place, because last in the time of her being captive, was Zelmane, daughter to the King Plexirtus: who at the first sight seemed to have some resembling of Philoclea, but with more marking (comparing it to the present Philoclea, who indeed had no paragon but her sister) they might see, it was but such a likeness as an unperfect glass doth give; answerable enough in some feitures and colours, but erring in others. But Zelmane sighing, turning to Basilius, Alas sir (said she) here be some pictures which might better become the tombs of their Mistresses, them the triumph of Artesia. It is true sweetest Lady (said Basilius) some of them be dead, and some other captive: But that hath happened so late, as it may be the Knights that defended their beauty, knew not so much: without we will say (as in some hearts I know it would fall out) that death itself could not blot out the image which love hath engraven in them. But divers besides these (said Basilius) hath Phalantus won, but he leaves the rest, carrying only such, who either for greatness of estate, or of beauty, may justly glorify the glory of Artesias triumph.  
Thus talked Basilius with Zelmane, glad to make any matter subject to speak of, with his mistress, while Phalantus in this pompous manner, brought Artesia with her gentlewomen, into one Tent, by which he had another: where they both waited who would first strike upon the shield, while Basilius the judge appointed sticklers and troumpets, to whom the other should obey. But non that day appeared, nor the next, till all ready it had consumed half his allowance of light; but then there came in a knight, protesting himself as contrary to him in mind, as he was in apparel. For Phalantus was all in white, having in his bases, and caparison embroidered a waving water: at each side whereof he had nettings cast over, in which were divers fishes naturally made, and so prettily, that as the horse stirred, the fishes seemed to strive, and leap in the net.  
But the other knight by name Nestor, by birth an Arcadian, & in affection vowed to the fair Shepherdess, was all in black, with fire burning both upon his armour and horse. His impresa in his shield, was a fire made of juniper, with this word, More easy, and more sweet. But this hot knight was cooled with a fall, which at the third course he received of Phalantus, leaving his picture to keep company with the other of the same stamp; he going away remedilessly chafing at his rebuke. The next was Polycetes, greatly esteemed in Arcadia, for deeds he had done in arms: and much spoken of for the honourable love he had long borne to Gynoecia; which Basilius himself was content, not only to suffer, but to be delighted with; he carried it in so honourable and open plainness, setting to his love no other mark, then to do her faithful service. But neither her fair picture, nor his fair running, could warrant him from overthrow, and her from becoming as then the last of Artesias victories: a thing Gynoecia's virtues would little have recked at another time, nor then, if Zelmane had not seen it. But her champion went away as much discomforted, as discomfited. Then Telamonius for Polexena and Eurileon for Elpine, and Leon for Zoana; all brave Knights, all fair Ladies, with their going down, lifted up the balance of his praise for activity, and hers for fairness.  
Upon whose loss as the beholders were talking, there comes into the place where they ran, a shepherd stripling (for his height made him more than a boy, and his face would not allow him a man) brown of complexion (whether by nature or by the Sun's familiarity) but very lovely with all; for the rest so perfectly proportioned, that Nature showed, she doth not like men. who slubber up matters of mean account. And well might his proportion be judged; for he had nothing upon him but a pair of slops, and upon his body a Gote-skinne, which he cast over his shoulder doing all things with so pretty a grace, that it seemed ignorance could not make him do a miss, because he had a heart to do well, holding in his right hand a long staff, & so coming with a look full of amiable fierceness as in whom choler could not take away the sweetness, he came towards the king, and making a reverence (which in him was comely because it was kindly) My liege Lord (said he) I pray you hear a few words; for my heart will break if I say not my mind to you I see here the picture of Urania, which (I cannot tell how, nor why) these men when they fall down, they say is not so fair as yonder gay woman. But pray God, I may never see my old mother alive, if I think she be any more match to Urania, than a Goat is to a fine Lamb; or then the Dog that keeps our flock at home, is like your white Greihounde, that pulled down the Stag last day.  
And therefore I pray you let me be dressed as they be, and my heart gives me, I shall tumble him on the earth: for indeed he might aswell say, that a Cowslip is as white as a Lily: or else I care not let him come with his great staff, and I with this in my hand, and you shall see what I can do to him. Basilius saw it was the fine shepherd Lalus, whom once he had afore him in Pastoral sports, and had greatly delighted in his wit full of pretty simplicity, and therefore laughing at his earnestness, he bade him be content, since he saw the pictures of so great Queens, were feign to follow their champion's fortune. But Lalus (even weeping ripe) went among the rest, longing to see some body that would revenge Urania's wrong; and praying heartily for every body that ran against Phalantus, then beginning to feel poverty, that he could not set himself to that trial. But by and by, even when the Sun (like a noble heart) began to show his greatest countenance in his lowest estate, there came in a Knight, called Phebilus, a Gentleman of that country, for whom hateful fortune had borrowed the dart of Love, to make him miserable by the sight of Philoclea. For he had even from her in fancy loved her, and was stricken by her, before she was able to know what quiver of arrows her eyes carried; but he loved and despaired; and the more he despaired, the more he loved. He saw his own unworthiness, and thereby made her excellency have more terrible aspect upon him: he was so secret therein, as not daring to be open, that to no creature he ever spoke of it, but his heart made such silent complaints within itself, that while all his senses were attentive thereto, cunning judges might perceive his mind: so that he was known to love though he denied, or rather was the better known, because he denied it. His armour and his attire was of a Sea colour, his Impresa, the fish called Sepia, which being in the net casts a black ink about itself, that in the darkness thereof it may escape: his word was, Not so. Philoclea's picture with almost an idolatrous magnificence was borne in by him. But strait jealousy was a harbinger for disdain in Zelmane's heart, when she saw any (but herself) should be avowed a champion for Philoclea: in somuch that she wished his shame, till she saw him shamed: for at the second course he was stricken quite from out of the saddle, so full of grief, and rage withal, that he would feign with the sword have revenged it: but that being contrary to the order set down, Basilius would not suffer; so that wishing himself in the bottom of the earth, he went his way, leaving Zelmane no less angry with his loss, than she would have been with his victory. For if she thought before a rivals praise would have angered her, her Lady's disgrace did make her much more forget what she then thought, while that passion reigned so much the more, as she saw a pretty blush in Philoclea's cheeks bewray a modest discontentment. But the night commanded truce for those sports, and Phalantus (though entreated) would not leave Artesia, who in no case would come into the house, having (as it were) sucked of Cecropias' breath a mortal mislike against Basilius.  
But the night measured by the short ell of sleep, was soon passed over, and the next morning had given the watchful stars leave to take their rest, when a trumpet summoned Basilius to play his judges part: which he did, taking his wife and daughters with him; Zelmane having locked her door, so as they would not trouble her for that time: for already there was a Knight in the field, ready to prove Helen of Corinth had received great injury, both by the erring judgement of the challenger, and the unlucky weakness of her former defender. The new Knight was quickly known to be Clitophon (Kalander's son of Basilius his sister) by his armour, which all guilt, was so well handled, that it showed like a glittering sand and gravel, interlaced with silver rivers: his device he had put in the picture of Helen which he defended. It was the Ermion with a speech that signified, Rather dead then spotted. But in that armour since he had parted from Helen (who would not longer his company, finding him to enter into terms of affection,) he had performed so honourable actions, (still seeking for his two friends by the names of Palladius and Daiphantus,) that though his face were covered, his being was discovered, which yet Basilius (which had brought him up in his court) would not seem to do; but glad to see trial of him, of whom he had heard very well, he commanded the trumpets to sound; to which the two brave Knights obeying, they performed their courses, breaking their six staves, with so good, both skill in the hitting, and grace in the manner, that it bred some difficulty in the judgement. But Basilius in the end gave sentence against Clitophon, because Phalantus had broken more staves upon the head and that once Clitophon had received such a blow, that he had lost the rains of his horse, with his head well nigh touching the croper of the horse. But Clitophon was so angry with the judgement, (where in he thought he had received wrong) that he omitted his duty to his Prince, and uncle; and suddenly went his way still in the quest of them, whom as then he had left by seeking: and so yielded the field to the next comer.  
who coming in about two hours after, was no less marked than all the rest before, because he had nothing worth the marking. For he had neither picture, nor device, his armour of as old a fashion (besides the rusty poorness,) that it might better seem a monument of his grandfathers courage: about his middle he had in steed of bases, a long cloak of silk, which as unhandsomely, as it needs must, became the wearer: so that all that looked on, measured his length on the earth already, since he had to meet one who had been victorious of so many gallants. But he went on towards the shield, and with a sober grace strake it; but as he let his sword fall upon it, another Knight, all in black came rustling in, who strake the shield almost assoon as he, and so strongly, that he broke the shield in two: the ill appointed Knight (for so the beholders called him) angry with that, (as he accounted,) insolent injury to himself, hit him such a sound blow, that they that looked on said, it well became a rude arm. The other answered him again in the same case, so that Lances were put to silence, the swords were so busy.  
But Phalantus angry of this defacing his shield, came upon the black Knight, and with the pommel of his sword set fire to his eyes, which presently was revenged, not only by the Black, but the ill appareled Knight, who disdained another should enter into his quarrel, so as, who ever saw a matachin dance to imitate fight, this was a fight that did imitate the matachin: for they being but three that fought, every one had two adversaries, striking him, who struck the third, and revenging perhaps that of him, which he had received of the other.  
But Basilius rising himself came to part them, the sticklers authority scarcely able to persuade choleric hearers; and part them he did.  
But before he could determine, comes in a fourth, halting on foot, who complained to Basilius, demanding justice on the black Knight, for having by force taken away the picture of Pamela from him, which in little form he ware in a Tablet, and covered with silk had fastened it to his Helmet, purposing for want of a bigger, to paragon the little one with Artesias' length, not doubting but even in that little quantity, the excellency of that would shine thorough the weakness of the other: as the smallest star doth thorough the whole Element of fire. And by the way he had met with this black Knight, who had (as he said) rob him of it. The injury seemed grievous, but when it came fully to be examined, it was found, that the halting Knight meeting the other, ask the cause of his going thetherward, and finding it was to defend Pamela's divine beauty against Artesias, with a proud jollity commanded him to leave that quarrel only for him, who was only worthy to enter into it. But the black Knight obeying no such commandments, they fell to such a bickering, that he got a halting, and lost his picture. This understood by Basilius, he told him he was now fit to look to his own body, than an others picture: and so (uncomforted therein) sent him away to learn of AEsculapius that he was not fit for Venus. But then the question arising who should be the former against Phalantus, of the black, or the ill appareled Knight (who now had gotten the reputation of some sturdy lout, he had so well defended himself) of the one side, was, alleged the having a picture which the other wanted: of the other side, the first striking the shield; but the conclusion was, that the ill appareled Knight should have the precedence, if he delivered the figure of his mistress to Phalantus; who ask him for it, Certainly (said he) her liveliest picture, (if you could see it) is in my heart, and the best comparison I could make of her, is of the Sun and of all the other heavenly beauties. But because perhaps all eyes cannot taste the Divinity of her beauty, and would rather be dazzled, then taught by the light, if it be not clouded by some meaner thing; know you then, that I defend that same Lady, whose image Phebilus so feebly lost yesternight, and in steed of an other (if you overcome me) you shall have me your slave to carry that image in your mistress triumph. Phalantus easily agreed to the bargain, which already he made his own.  
But when it came to the trial, the ill appareled Knight choosing out the greatest staves in all the store, at the first course gave his head such a remembrance, that he lost almost his remembrance, he himself receiving the encounter of Phalantus without any extraordinary motion. And at the second gave him such a counterbuff, that because Phalantus was so perfit a horseman, as not to be driven from the saddle, the saddle with broken girths was driven from the horse: Phalantus remaining angry and amazed, because now being come almost to the last of his promised enterprise, that disgrace befell him, which he had never before known.  
But the victory being by the judges given, and the trumpets witnessed to the ill by appareled Knight; Phalantus disgrace was ingrieved in am of comfort of Artesia who telling him she never looked for other, bade him seek some other mistress. He excusing himself, and turning over the fault to Fortune, Then let that be your ill Fortune too (said she) that you have lost me.  
Nay truly Madam (said Phalantus) it shall not be so: for I think the loss of such a Mistress will prove a great gain: and so concluded; to the sport of Basilius, to see young folks love, that came in masked with so great pomp, go out with so little constancy. But Phalantus first professing great service to Basilius for his courteous intermitting his solitary course for his sake, would yet conduct Artesia to the castle of Cecropia, whether she desired to go: vowing in himself, that neither heart, nor mouth-love, should ever any more entangle him. And with that resolution he left the company. Whence all being dismissed (among whom the black Knight went away repining at his luck, that had kept him from winning the honour, as he knew he should have done, to the picture of Pamela) the ill appareled Knight (who was only desired to stay, because Basilius meant to show him to Zelmane) pulled off his Helmet, and then was known himself to be Zelmane: who that morning (as she told) while the others were busy, had stolen out to the Prince's stable, which was a mile off from the Lodge, had gotten a horse (they knowing it was Basilius pleasure she should be obeyed) and borrowing that homely armour for want of a better, had come upon the spur to redeem Philoclea's picture, which she said, she could not bear, (being one of that little wildernesse-company) should be in captivity, if the cunning she had learned in her country of the noble Amazons, could withstand it: and under that pretext feign she would have given a secret passport to her affection. But this act painted at one instant redness in Philoclea's face, and paleness in Gynoecia's, but brought forth no other countenances but of admiration, no speeches but of commendations: all these few (besides love) thinking they honoured themselves, in honouring so accomplished a person as Zelmane: whom daily they sought with some or other sports to delight, for which purpose Basilius had in a house not far off, servants, who though they came not uncalled, yet at call were ready.  
And so many days were spent, and many ways used, while Zelmane was like one that stood in a tree waiting a good occasion to shoot, and Gynoecia a blauncher, which kept the dearest dear from her. But the day being come, on which according to an appointed course, the shepherds were to assemble, and make their pastoral sports afore Basilius: Zelmane (fearing, lest many eyes, and coming divers ways, might hap to spy Musidorus) went out to warn him thereof.  
But before she could come to the Arbour, she saw walking from her-ward, a man in sheapperdish apparel who being in the sight of the Lodge it might seem he was allowed there. A long cloak he had on, but that cast under his right arm, wherein he held a sheephook, so finely wrought, that it gave a bravery to poverty; and his raiments, though they were mean, yet received they handsomeness by the grace of the wearer; though he himself went but a kind of languishing pace, with his eyes sometimes cast up to heaven, as though his fancies strove to mount higher; sometimes thrown down to the ground, as if the earth could not bear the burden of his sorrows; at length, with a lamentable tune, he sung these few verses.  
Come shepherds weeds, become your master's mind:  
Yield outward show, what inward change he tries:  
Nor be abashed, since such a guest you find,  
Whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.  
Come shepherds weeds, attend my woeful cries:  
Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas voice:  
For other be those tunes which sorrow ties,  
From those clear notes which freely may rejoice.  
Then power out plaint, and in oneword say this:  
Helpless his plaint, who spoils himself of bliss.  
And having ended, he strake himself on the breast; saying, O miserable wretch, whether do thy destinies guide thee? The voice made Zelmane hasten her pace to overtake him: which having done, she plainly perceived that it was her dear friend Musidorus, whereat marveling not a little, she demanded of him, whether the Goddess of those woods had such a power to transform every body, or whether, as in all enterprises else he had done, he meant thus to match her in this new alteration. Alas, (said Musidorus) what shall I say, who am loath to say, and yet feign would have said? I find indeed, that all is but lip-wisdome, which wants experience. I now (woe is me) do try what love can do. O Zelmane, who will resist it, must either have no wit, or put out his eyes? can any man resist his creation? certainly by love we are made, and to love we are made. Beasts only cannot discern beauty, and let them be in the role of Beasts that do not honour it. The perfect friendship Zelmane bore him, and the great pity she (by good trial) had of such cases, could not keep her from smiling at him, remembering how vehemently he had cried out against the folly of lovers. And therefore a little to punish him, Why how now dear cousin (said she) you that were last day so high in the Pulpit against lovers, are you now become so mean an auditor? Remember that love is a passion; and that a worthy man's reason must ever have the masterhood. I recant, I recant (cried Musidorus,) and withal falling down prostrate, O thou celestial, or infernal spirit of Love, or what other heavenly or hellish title thou list to have (for effects of both I find in myself) have compassion of me, and let thy glory be as great in pardoning them that be submitted to thee, as in conquering those that were rebellious. No, no said Zelmane, I see you well enough: you make but an interlude of my mishaps, and do but counterfeit thus, to make me see the deformity of my passions: but take heed, that this jest do not one day turn to earnest. Now I beseech thee (said Musidorus taking her fast by the hand) even for the truth of our friendship, of which (if I be not altogether an unhappy man) thou hast some remembrance, and by those secret flames which (I know) have likewise nearly touched thee; make no jest of that, which hath so earnestly pierced me thorough, nor let that be light to thee, which is to me so burdenous, that I am not able to bear it. Musidorus both in words and behaviour, did so lively deliver out his inward grief, that Zelmane found indeed, he was thoroughly wounded: but there risen a new jealousy in her mind, lest it might be with Philoclea, by whom, as Zelmane thought, in right all hearts and eyes should be inherited. And therefore desirous to be cleared of that doubt, Musidorus shortly (as in haste and full of passionate perplexednes,) thus recounted his case unto her.  
The day (said he) I parted from you, I being in mind to return to a town, from whence I came hither, my horse being before tired, would scarce bear me a mile hence: where being benighted, the light of a candle (I saw a good way off) guided me to a young shepherds house, by name Menalcas, who seeing me to be a straying stranger, with the right honest hospitality which seems to be harboured in the Arcadian breasts, and though not with curious costliness, yet with cleanly sufficiency, entertained me: and having by talk with him, found the manner of the country, something more in particular, than I had by Kalander's report, I agreed to sojourn with him in secret, which he faithfully promised to observe. And so hither to your arbour divers times repaired: and here by your means had the sight (O that it had never been so, nay, O that it might ever be so) of the Goddess, who in a definite compass can set forth infinite beauty. All this while Zelmane was racked with jealousy. But he went on, For (said he) I lying close, and in truth thinking of you, and saying thus to myself, O sweet Pyrocles, how art thou bewitched? where is thy virtue? where is the use of thy reason? how much am I inferior to thee in the state of the mind? And yet know I, that all the heavens cannot bring me to such thraldom. Scarcely, think I, had I spoken this word, when the Ladies came forth; at which sight, I think the very words returned back again to strike my soul; at least, an unmeasurable sting I felt in myself, that I had spoken such words. At which sight? said Zelmane, not able to bear him any longer. O (said Musidorus) I know your suspicion; No, no, banish all such fear, it was, it is, and must be Pamela: Then all is safe (said Zelmane) proceed, dear Musidorus. I will not (said he) impute it to my late solitary life (which yet is prone to affections) nor, to the much thinking of you (though that called the consideration of love into my mind, which before I ever neglected) nor to the exaltation of Venus; nor revenge of Cupid; but even to her, who is the Planet, nay, the Goddess, against which, the only shield must be my Sepulchre. When I first saw her, I was presently stricken, and I (like a foolish child, that when any thing hits him, will strike himself again upon it) would needs look again; as though I would persuade mine eyes, that they were deceived. But alas, well have I found, that Love to a yielding heart is a king; but to a resisting, is a tyrant. The more with arguments I shaked the stake, which he had planted in the ground of my heart, the deeper still it sank into it. But what mean I to speak of the causes of my love, which is as impossible to describe, as to measure the backside of heaven? Let this word suffice, I love.  
And that you may know I do so, it was I that came in black armour to defend her picture, where I was both prevented, and beaten by you. And so, I that waited here to do you service, have now myself most need of succour. But whereupon got you yourself this apparel? said Zelmane. I had forgotten to tell you (said Musidorus) though that were one principal matter of my speech; so much am I now master of my own mind. But thus it happened: being returned to Menalcas house, full of tormenting desire, after a while fainting under the weight, my courage stirred up my wit to seek for some relief, before I yielded to perish. At last this came into my head, that very evening, that I had to no purpose last used my horse and armour. I told Menalcas, that I was a Thessalian Gentleman, who by mischance having killed a great favourite of the Prince of that country, was pursued so cruelly, that in no place, but either by favour, or corruption, they would obtain my destruction; and that therefore I was determined (till the fury of my persecutors might be assuaged) to disguise myself among the shepherds of Arcadia, and (if it were possible) to be one of them that were allowed the Prince's presence; Because if the worst should fall, that I were discovered, yet having gotten the acquaintance of the Prince, it might happen to move his heart to protect me. Menalcas (being of an honest disposition) pitied my case, which my face through my inward torment made credible; and so (I giving him largely for it) let me have this raiment, instructing me in all the particularities, touching himself, or myself, which I desired to know: yet not trusting so much to his constancy, as that I would lay my life, and life of my life, upon it, I hired him to go into Thessalia to a friend of mine, and to deliver him a letter from me; conjuring him to bring me as speedy an answer as he could, because it imported me greatly to know, whether certain of my friends did yet possess any favour, whose intercessions I might use for my restitution. He willingly took my letter, which being well sealed, indeed contained other matter. For I wrote to my trusty servant Calodoulus (whom you know) that assoon as he had delivered the letter, he should keep him prisoner in his house, not suffering him to have conference with any body, till he knew my further pleasure: in all other respects that he should use him as my brother. And thus is Menalcas gone, and I here a poor shepherd; more proud of this estate, then of any kingdom: so manifest it is, that the highest point outward things can bring one unto, is the contentment of the mind: with which, no estate; without which, all estates be miserable. Now have I chosen this day, because (as Menalcas told me) the other shepherds are called to make their sports, and hope that you will with your credit, find means to get me allowed among them. You need not doubt (answered Zelmane) but that I will be your good mistress: marry the best way of dealing must be by Dametas, who since his blunt brain hath perceived some favour the Prince doth bear unto me (as without doubt the most servile flattery is lodged most easily in the grossest capacity; for their ordinary conceit draweth a yielding to their greater's, and then have they not wit to discern the right degrees of duty) is much more serviceable unto me, than I can find any cause to wish him. And therefore despair not to win him: for every present occasion will catch his senses, and his senses are masters of his silly mind; only reverence him, and reward him, and with that bridle and saddle you shall well ride him. O heaven and earth (said Musidorus) to what a pass are our minds brought, that from the right line of virtue, are wried to these crooked shifts? But o Love, it is thou that dost it: thou changest name upon name; thou disguisest our bodies, and disfigurest our minds. But in deed thou hast reason, for though the ways be foul, the journeys end is most fair and honourable.  
No more sweet Musidorus (said Zelmane) of these philosophies; for here comes the very person of Dametas. And so he did in deed, with a sword by his side, a forrest-bill on his neck, and a chopping-knife under his girdle: in which well provided sort he had ever gone, since the fear Zelmane had put him in. But he no sooner saw her, but with head and arms he laid his reverence afore her; enough to have made any man forswear all courtesy. And then in Basilius' name, he did invite her to walk down to the place, where that day they were to have the Pastorals.  
But when he spied Musidorus to be none of the shepherds allowed in that place, he would feign have persuaded himself to utter some anger, but that he durst not; yet muttering, and champing, as though his cud troubled him; he gave occasion to Musidorus to come near him, and feign this tale of his own life: That he was a younger brother of the shepherd Menalcas, by name Dorus, sent by his father in his tender age to Athens, there to learn some cunning more than ordinary, that he might be the better liked of the Prince: and that after his father's death, his brother Menalcas (lately gone thither to fetch him home) was also deceased: where (upon his death) he had charged him to seek the service of Dametas, and to be wholly, and ever guided by him; as one in whose judgement and integrity, the Prince had singular confidence. For token whereof, he gave to Dametas a good sum of gold in ready coin, which Menalcas had bequeathed unto him, upon condition he should receive this poor Dorus into his service, that his mind and manners might grow the better by his daily example. Dametas, that of all manners of stile could best conceive of golden eloquence, being withal tickled by Musidorus praises, had his brain so turned, that he became slave to that, which he, that sued to be his servant, offered to give him: yet for countenance sake, he seemed very squeimish, in respect of the charge he had of the Princess Pamela. But such was the secret operation of the gold, helped with the persuasion of the Amazon Zelmane, (who said it was pity so handsome a young man should be any where else, then with so good a master) that in the end he agreed (if that day he behaved himself so to the liking of Basilius, as he might be contented) that then he would receive him into his service.  
And thus went they to the Lodge, where they found Gynoecia and her daughters ready to go to the field, to delight themselves there a while, until the shepherds coming: whether also taking Zelmane with them, as they went, Dametas told them of Dorus, and desired he might be accepted there that day, in steed of his brother Menalcas. As for Basilius, he stayed behind to bring the shepherds, with whom he meant to confer, to breed the better Zelmane's liking (which he only regarded) while the other beautiful band came to the fair field, appointed for the shepherdish pastimes. It was indeed a place of delight; for thorough the midst of it, there ran a sweet brook, which did both hold the eye open with her azure streams, and yet feeke to close the eye with the purling noise it made upon the pebble stones it ran over: the field itself being set in some places with roses, and in all the rest constantly preserving a flourishing green; the Roses added such a ruddy show unto it, as though the field were bashful at his own beauty: about it (as if it had been to enclose a Theatre) grew such sort of trees, as either excellency of fruit, stateliness of growth, continual greennes, or poetical fancies have made at any time famous. In most part of which there had been framed by art such pleasant arbours, that (one answering another) they became a gallery aloft from tree to tree almost round about, which below gave a perfect shadow, a pleasant refuge then from the choleric look of Phoebus.  
In this place while Gynoecia walked hard by them, carrying many unquiet contentions about her, the Ladies sat them down, enquiring diverse questions of the shepherd Dorus; who (keeping his eye still upon Pamela) answered with such a trembling voice, and abashed countenance, and oftentimes so far from the matter, that it was some sport to the young Ladies, thinking it want of education, which made him so discountenaunced with unwonted presence. But Zelmane that saw in him the glass of her own misery, taking the hand of Philoclea, and with burning kisses setting it close to her lips (as if it should stand there like a hand in the margin of a Book, to note some saying worthy to be marked) began to speak these words. O Love, since thou art so changeable in men's estates, how art thou so constant in their torments? when suddenly there came out of a wood a monstrous Lion, with a she Bear not far from him, of little less fierceness, which (as they guest) having been hunted in Forests far off, were by chance come thither, where before such beasts had never been seen. Then care, not fear; or fear, not for themselves, altered some thing the countenances of the two Lovers, but so, as any man might perceive, was rather an assembling of powers, than dismaiednes of courage. Philoclea no sooner espied the Lion, but that obeying the commandment of fear, she leapt up, and ran to the lodge-ward, as fast as her delicate legs could carry her, while Dorus drew Pamela behind a tree, where she stood quaking like the Partridge, on which the Hawk is even ready to seize. But the Lion (seeing Philoclea run away) bend his race to her-ward, and was ready to seize himself on the prey, when Zelmane (to whom danger then was a cause of dreadlesnes, all the composition of her elements being nothing but fiery) with swiftness of desire crossed him, and with force of affection strake him such a blow upon his chine, that she opened all his body: wherewith the valiant beast turning upon her with open jaws, she gave him such a thrust thorough his breast, that all the Lion could do, was with his paw to tear of the mantle and sleeve of Zelmane, with a little scratch, rather than a wound; his death-blow having taken away the effect of his force. But there withal he fell down, and gave Zelmane leisure to take of his head, to carry it for a present to her Lady Philoclea: who all this while (not knowing what was done behind her) kept on her course, like Arethusa when she ran from Alpheus; her light apparel being carried up with the wind, that much of those beauties she would at another time have willingly hidden, was presented to the sight of the twice wounded Zelmane. Which made Zelmane not follow her over hastily, lest she should too soon deprive herself of that pleasure: But carrying the Lion's head in her hand, did not fully overtake her, till they came to the presence of Basilius. Neither were they long there, but that Gynoecia came thither also: who had been in such a trance of musing, that Zelmane was fight with the Lion, before she knew of any Lions coming: but then affection resisting, and the soon ending of the fight preventing all extremity of fear, she marked Zelmane's fight. And when the Lion's head was of, as Zelmane ran after Philoclea, so she could not find in her heart but run after Zelmane: so that it was a new sight, Fortune had prepared to those woods, to see these great personages thus run one after the other: each carried forward with an inward violence: Philoclea with such fear, that she thought she was still in the Lion's mouth: Zelmane with an eager and impatient delight; Gynoecia with wings of Love, flying she neither knew, nor cared to know whether. But now, being all come before Basilius amazed with this sight, and fear having such possession in the fair Philoclea, that her blood durst not yet to come to her face, to take away the name of paleness from her most pure whiteness, Zelmane kneeled down, and presenting the Lion's head unto her. Only Lady (said she) here see you the punishment of that unnatural beast, which contrary to his own kind would have wronged Princes blood, guided with such traitorous eyes, as durst rebel against your beauty. Happy am I, and my beauty both (answered the sweet Philoclea then blushing, for fear had bequeathed his room to his kinsman bashfulness) that you excellent Amazon, were there to teach him good manners. And even thanks to that beauty (answered Zelmane) which can give an edge to the bluntest swords. There Philoclea told her father, how it had happened: but as she had turned her eyes in her tale to Zelmane, she perceived some blood upon Zelmane's shoulder, so that starting with the lovely grace of pity, she showed it to her Father and mother: who, as the nurse sometimes with overmuch kissing may forget to give the babe suck, so had they with too much delighting, in beholding and praising Zelmane, left of to mark whether she needed secure. But then they ran both unto her, like a father & mother to an only child, and (though Zelmane assured them it was nothing) would needs see it; Gynoecia having skill in surgery, an art in those days much esteemed, because it served to virtuous courage, which even Ladies would (ever with the contempt of cowards) seem to cherish. But looking upon it (which gave more inward bleeding wounds to Zelmane, for she might sometimes feel Philoclea's touch, whiles she helped her mother) she found it was indeed of no importance: yet applied she a precious balm unto it, of power to heal a greater grief.  
But even then, and not before, they remembered Pamela, and therefore Zelmane (thinking of her friend Dorus) was running back to be satisfied, when they might all see Pamela coming between Dorus and Dametas, having in her hand the paw of a Bear, which the shepherd Dorus had newly presented unto her, desiring her to accept it, as of such a beast, which though she deserved death for her presumption, yet was her wit to be esteemed, since she could make so sweet a choice. Dametas for his part came piping and dancing, the merriest man in a parish. But when he came so near, as he might be heard of Basilius, he would needs break thorough his ears with this ioyfnll song of their good success, 

NOw thanked be the great God Pan,  
which thus preserves my loved life:  
Thanked be I that keep a man,  
who ended hath this bloody strife:  
For if my man must praises have,  
what then must I that keep the knave?   

For as the Moon the eye doth please,  
with gentle beams not hurting sight:  
Yet hath sir Sun the greatest praise,  
because from him doth come her light:  
So if my man must praises have,  
what then must I that keep the knave?    
Being all now come together, and all desirous to know each others adventures, Pamela's noble heart would needs gratefully make known the valiant mean of her safety which (directing her speech to her mother) she did in this manner. As soon (said she) as ye were all run away, and that I hoped to be in safety, there came out of the same woods a foul horrible Bear, which (fearing belike to deal while the Lion was present, as soon as he was gone) came furiously towards the place where I was, and this young shepherd left alone by me; I truly (not guilty of any wisdom which since they lay to my charge, because they say, it is the best refuge against that beast, but even pure fear bringing forth that effect of wisdom) fell down flat of my face, needing not counterfeit being dead for indeed I was little better. But this young shepherd with a wonderful courage having no other weapon, but that knife you see standing before the place where I lay, so behaved himself that the first sight I had (when I thought myself already near Charon's ferry,) was the shepherd showing me his bloody knife in token of victory. I pray you (said Zelmane, speaking to Dorus, whose valour she was careful to have manifested) in what sort, so ill weaponed, could you achieve this enterprise? Noble Lady (said Dorus) the manner of these beasts fight with any man, is to stand up upon their hinder feet: and so this did, and being ready to give me a shrewd embracement, I think, the God Pan, (ever careful of the chief blessings of Arcadia) guided my hand so just to the heart of the beast, that neither she could once touch me, nor (which is the only matter in this worthy remembrance) breed any danger to the Princess. For my part, I am rather (withal subjecteth humbleness) to thank her excellencies, since the duty thereunto gave me heart to save myself, then to receive thanks for a deed which was her only inspiring. And this Dorus spoke, keeping affection as much as he could, back from coming into his eyes and gestures. But Zelmane (that had the same Character in her heart) could easily decipher it, and therefore to keep him the longer in speech, desired to understand the conclusion of the matter; and how the honest Dametas was escaped. Nay (said Pamela) none shall take that office from myself, being so much bound to him as I am, for my education. And with that word (scorn borrowing the countenance of mirth) somewhat she smiled, and thus spoke on? When (said she) Dorus made me assuredly perceive, that all cause of fear was passed (the truth is) I was ashamed to find myself alone with this shepherd: and therefore looking about me, if I could see any body; at length we both perceived the gentle Dametas, lying with his head and breast as far as he could thrust himself into a bush, drawing up his legs as close unto him as he could: for, like a man of a very kind nature, soon to take pity of himself, he was full resolved not to see his own death. And when this shepherd pushed him, bidding him to be of good cheer; it was a great while, ere we could persuade him, that Dorus was not the bear: so that he was feign to pull him out by the heels, and show him the beast, as dead as he could wish it: which you may believe me, was a very joyful sight unto him. But then he forgot all courtesy, for he fell upon the beast, giving it many a manful wound: swearing by much, it was not well such beasts should be suffered in a common wealth. And then my governor, as full of joy, as before of fear came dancing and singing before as even now you saw him. Well well (said Basilius) I have not chosen Dametas for his fight, nor for his discoursing, but for his plainness & honesty, & therein I know he will not deceive me. But then he told Pamela (not so much because she should know it, as because he would tell it) the wonderful act Zelmane had performed, which Gynoecia likewise spoke off, both in such extremity of praising, as was easy to be seen, the construction of their speech might best be made by the Grammar rules of affection. Basilius' told with what a gallant grace she ran with the lions head in her hand, like another Pallas with the spoils of Gorgon. Gynoecia swore, she saw the very face of the young Hercules killing the Nemean Lion, & all with a grateful assent confirmed the same praises: only poor Dorus (though of equal desert, yet not proceeding of equal estate) should have been left forgotten, had not Zelmane again with great admiration begun to speak of him; ask, whether it were the fashion or no, in Arcadia, that shepherds should perform such valorous enterprises.  
This Basilius (having the quick sense of a lover) took, as though his Mistress had given him a secret reprehension, that he had not showed more gratefulness to Dorus; and therefore (as nymblie as he could) inquired of his estate, adding promise of great rewards: among the rest, offering to him, if he would exercise his courage in soldiery, he would commit some charge unto him under his Lieutenant Philanax. But Dorus (whose ambition climbed by another stair) having first answered touching his estate, that he was brother to the shepherd Menalcas; who among other, was wont to resort to the Prince's presence, and excused his going to soldiery, by the unaptness he found in himself that way: he told Basilius, that his brother in his last testament had willed him to serve Dametas; and therefore (for due obedience thereunto) he would think his service greatly rewarded, if he might obtain by that mean to live in the sight of his Prince, and yet practise his own chosen vocation. Basilius (liking well his goodly shape and handsome manner) charged Dametas to receive him like a son into his house: saying, that his valour, and Dametas truth would be good bulwarks against such mischiefs, as (he sticked not to say) were threatened to his daughter Pamela.  
Dametas, no whit out of countenance with all that had been said (because he had no worse to fall into then his own) accepted Dorus: and withal telling Basilius, that some of the shepherds were come; demanded in what place he would see their sports: who first curious to know whether it were not more requisite for Zelmane's hurt to rest, then sit up at those pastimes; and she (that felt no wound but one) earnestly desiring to have the Pastorals, Basilius commanded it should be at the gate of the lodge: where the throne of the Prince being (according to the ancient manner) he made Zelmane sit between him and his wife therein, who thought herself between drowning and burning: & the two young Ladies of either side the throne and so prepared their eyes and ears to be delighted by the shepherds.  
But before all of them were assembled to begin their sports, there came a fellow, who being out of breath (or seeming so to be for haste) with humble hastiness told Basilius, that his Mistress, the Lady Cecropia, had sent him to excuse the mischance of her beasts ranging in that dangerous sort, being happened by the folly of the keeper; who thinking himself able to rule them, had carried them abroad, and so was deceived: whom yet (if Basilius would punish for it) she was ready to deliver. Basilius made no other answer, but that his Mistress if she had any more such beasts, should cause them to be killed: and then he told his wife and Zelmane of it, because they should not fear those woods; as though they harboured such beasts, where the like had never been seen. But Gynoecia took a further conceit of it mistrusting greatly Cecropia, because she had heard much of the devilish wickedness of her heart, and that particularly she did her best to bring up her son Amphialus (being brother's son to Basilius) to aspire to the crown, as next heir male after Basilius; and therefore saw no reason, but that she might conjecture, it proceeded rather of some mischievous practice, than of misfortune. Yet did she only utter her doubt to her daughters, thinking, since the worst was passed, she would attend a further occasion, lest over much haste might seem to proceed of the ordinary mislike between sisters in Law: only they marveled, that Basilius looked no further into it, who (good man) thought so much of his late conceived common wealth, that all other matters were but digressions unto him. But the shepherds were ready, and with well handling themselves, called their senses to attend their pastimes,  

The first Ecloges.  
BAsilius, because Zelmane so would have it, used the artificial day of torches, to lighten the sports their inventions could minister. And because many of the shepherds were but newly come, he did in a gentle manner chastise their negligence with making them (for that night) the Torchbearers; and the others, he willed with all freedom of speech and behaviour, to keep their accustomed method. Which while they prepared to do, Dametas, who much disdained (since his late authority) all his old companions, brought his servant Dorus in good acquaintance and allowance of them; and himself stood like a director over them, with nodding, gaping, winking, or stamping showing how he did like, or mislike those things he did not understand. The first sports the shepherds showed, wearful of such leaps and gambols, as being accorded to the pipe (which they bore in their mouths, even as they danced) made a right picture of their chief God Pan, and his companions the satires. Then would they cast away their Pipes; and holding hand in hand dance as it were in a brawl, by the only cadence of their voices, which they would use in singing some short coplets, whereto the one half beginning, the other half should answer. as the one half saying.  
We love, and have our loves rewarded  
The others would answer.  
We love, and are no whit regarded,  
The first again.  
We find most sweet affections snare.  
With like tune it should be as in a choir sent back again,  
That sweet, but sour dispairefull care.  
A third time likewise thus:  
Who can despair, whom hope doth bear?  
The answer:  
And who can hope that feels despair?  
Then all joining their voices, and dancing a faster measure, they would conclude with some such words:  
As without breath, no pipe doth moan:  
No music kindlye without love.  
Having thus varied both their songs and dances into divers sorts of inventions; their last sport was one of them to provoke an other to a more large expressing of his passions: which Thyrsis (accounted one of the best singers amongst them) having marked in Dorus dancing no less good grace & handsome behaviour, then extreme tokens of a troubled mind; began first with his Pipe, and then with his voice, thus to challenge Dorus, and was by him answered in the under-written sort.  Thyrsis and Dorus. Thyrsis. 
Come Dorus, come, let songs thy sorrows signify  
And if for want of use thy mind ashamed is,  
That very shame with loves high title dignify.  
No stile is held for base, where love well named is:  
Each ear sucks up the words, a true love scattereth,  
And plain speech oft, then acquaint phrase better framed is.  Dorus. 
Nightingales seldom sing, the Pie still chattereth  
The wood cries most, before it thoroughly kindled be,  
Deadly wounds inward bleed, each sleight sore mattereth.  
Hardly they heard, which by good hunters singled be.  
Shallow brooks murmur most, deep silent slide away,  
Nor true love loves his loves with others mingled be.  Thyrsis. 
If thou wilt not be seen, thy face go hid away,  
Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion:  
Who frowns at others feasts, doth better bide away.  
But if thou hast a love, in that loves passion,  
I challenge thee by show of her perfection,  
Which of us two deserveth most compassion.  Dorus. 
Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:  
Sing then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)  
Thy health too mean a match for my infection.  
No though the heavens for high attempts have blamed me,  
Yet high is my attempt. O Muse historify  
Her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.  Thyrsis. 
Muse hold your peace: but thou my God Pan glorify  
My Kalas gifts: who with all good gifts filled.  
Thy pipe, o Pan, shall help, though I sing sorilie  
A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilt is;  
Who though she be no be, yet full of honey is:  
A Lily field, with plough of Rose which tilled is.  
Mild as a Lamb, more dainty than a Conie is:  
Her eyes my eyesight is, her conversation  
More glad to me, then to a miser money is.  
What coy account she makes of estimation?  
How nice to touch? how all her speeches peized be?  
A Nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.  Dorus. 
Such Kala is: but ah my fancies raised be  
In one, whose name to name were high presumption,  
Since virtues all, to make her title, pleased be  
O happy Gods, which by inward assumption  
Enjoy her soul, in bodies fair possession,  
And keep it joined, fearing your seats consumption.  
How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,  
Their dwellers rapt with sight of her perfection  
From heau'enly throne to her heaven use digression?  
Of best things than what world can yield confection  
To liken her? deck yours with your comparison:  
She is herself, of best things the collection.  Thyrsis. 
How oft my doleful Sire cried to me, tarry son  
When first he spied my love? how oft he said to me,  
Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid's garrison?  
My son, keep this, that my long toil hath laid to me:  
Love well thine own: me thinks wools, whiteness passeth all:  
I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me.  
This wind he spent: but when my Kala glasseth all  
My sight in her fair limbs I then assure myself,  
Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.  
Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?  
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?  
Till I get her, shall I to keep enure myself?  Dorus. 
How oft, when reason saw, love of her harnessed  
With armour of my heart he cried, O vanity  
To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished?  
Look to thyself reach not beyond humanity.  
Her mind, beams, state, far from thy weak wings banished:  
And love which lover hurts is in humanity  
Thus Reason said: but she came, Reason vanished;  
Her eyes so mastering me, that such objection  
Seemed but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished,  
Her peerless height my mind to high erection  
Draws up; and if hope failing end lives pleasure,  
Of fairer death how can I make election?  Thyrsis. 
Once my well waiting eyes espied my treasure,  
With sleeves turned up, lose hair, and breast enlarged,  
Her father's corn (moving her fair limbs) measure.  
O cried I, of so mean work be discharged:  
Measure my case, how by thy beauties filling  
With seed of woes my heart brim full is charged.  
Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling.  
Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heaped,  
No lovely praise was ever got by killing.  
These bold words she did bear, this fruit I reaped,  
That she, whose look alone might make me blessed,  
Did smile on me and then away she leapt.  Dorus. 
Once, O sweet once, I saw with dread oppressed  
Her whom I dread: so that with prostrate lying  
Her length the earth in loves chief clothing dressed.  
I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying;  
Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,  
But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying.  
Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover:  
Shine eyes on me, that both our lives be guarded;  
So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover.  
I cried and was with open rays rewarded:  
But strait they fled, summoned by cruel honour,  
Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.  Thyrsis. 
This maid, thus made for joys, o Pan bemoan her,  
That without love she spends her years of love:  
So fair a field would well become an owner.  
And if enchantment can a hard heart move,  
Teach me what circle may acquiant her spirit,  
Affections charms in my behalf to prove.  
The circle is my (round about her) sight,  
The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes:  
My charm should be she haunt me day and night.  Dorus. 
far other case, o Muse, my sorrow tries,  
Bend to such one in whom myself must say,  
Nothing can mend that point that in her lies.  
What circle then in so rare force bears sway?  
Whose spirit all spirits can foil, raise, damn, or save:  
No charm holds her but well possess she may,  
Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave:  
My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot.  
No thrall like them that inward bondage have.  Thyrsis. 
Kala at length conclude my lingering lot:  
Disdain me not, although I be not fair.  
Who is an heir of many hundredth sheep  
Doth beauties keep which never sun can burn,  
Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth.  
Yet all my health I place in your good will.  
Which if you will (o do) bestow on me,  
Such as you see, such still you shall me find,  
Constant and kind, my sheep your food shall breed,  
Their wool your weed, I will you music yield  
In flowery field, and as the day gins  
With twenty gins we will the small birds take,  
And pastimes make, as nature things hath made.  
But when in shade we meet of myrtle bows,  
Then love allows, our pleasures to enrich,  
The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.  Dorus. 
Lady yourself whom neither name I dare,  
And titles are but spots to such a worth,  
Hear plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind.  
The noblest kind rejects not others woes.  
I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,  
My beauties hew your beams, my health your deeds;  
My mind for weeds your virtues livery wears.  
My food is tears; my tunes waymenting yield:  
Despair my field; the flowers spirits wars:  
My day new cares; my gins my daily sight,  
In which do light small birds of thoughts o'erthrown:  
My pastimes none: time passeth on my fall.  
Nature made all but me of dolours made  
I find no shade, but where my Sun doth burn:  
No place to turn; without, within it fries:  
Nor help by life or death who living dies.  Thyrsis. 
But if my Kala thus my suit denies,  
Which so much reason bears:  
Let crows pick out mine eyes which too much saw.  
If she still hate loves law,  
My earthy mould, doth melt in watery tears.  Dorus. 
My earthy mould doth melt in watery tears,  
And they again resolve,  
To air of sighs, sighs to the hearts fire turn  
Which doth to ashes burn.  
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.  Thyrsis. 
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve  
That I grow like the beast,  
Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,  
Yet patiented must abide.  
Such weight it hath which once is full possessed.  Dorus. 
Such weight it hath which once is full possessed  
That I become a vision,  
Which hath in others head his only being  
And lives in fancy seeing.  
O wretched state of man in self division!  Thyrsis. 
O wretched state of man in self division  
O well thou sayest! a feeling declaration  
Thy tongue hath made of Cupid's deep incision.  
But now hoarse voice, doth fail this occupation,  
And others long to tell their loves condition.  
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.  Dorus. 
Of singing thou hast got the reputation  
Good Thyrsis mine, I yield to thy ability;  
My heart doth seek an other estimation.  
But ah my Muse, I would thou hadst facility  
To work my goddess, so by thy invention,  
On me to cast those eyes where shine nobility:  
Seen and unknown, heard, but without attention.  
Dorus did so well in answering Thyrsis, that every one desired to hear him sing something alone. Seeing therefore a Lute lying under the Princess Pamela's feet glad to have such an errand to approach her, he came, but came with a dismayed grace, all his blood stirred betwixt fear and desire. And playing upon it with such sweetness, as every body wondered to see such skill in a shepherd, he sang unto it with a sorrowing voice these Elegiake verses: Dorus. 
— Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,  
Which should most miseries, cast on a worm that I am.  
— Fortune thus 'gan say; misery and misfortune is all one,  
And of misfortune, fortune hath only the gift.  
— With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests  
Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand.  
— Tush, tush, said nature, this is all but a trifle, a man's self  
Gives haps or mishaps, even as he ordereth his heart.  
— But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,  
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous.  
— Love smiled, and thus said; Want joined to desire is unhappy.  
But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?  
— None but I, works by desire: by desire have I kindled in his soul  
Infernal agonies unto a beauty divine,  
— Where thou poor nature left'st all thy due glory, to fortune  
Her virtue is sovereign, fortune a vassal of hers.  
— Nature abashed went back: fortune blushed: yet she replied thus:  
And even in that love, shall I reserve him a spite.  
— Thus, thus, alas! woeful in nature, unhappy by fortune,  
But most wretched I am, now love awakes my desire.   
Dorus when he had song this, having had all the while a free beholding of the fair Pamela (who could well have spared such honour, and defended the assault he gave unto her face with bringing a fair stain of shamefastness unto it) let fall his arms, and remained so fastened in his thoughts, as if Pamela had graffed him there to grow in continual imagination. But Zelmane espying it, and fearing he should too much forget himself, she came to him, and took out of his hand the Lute, and laying fast hold of Philoclea's face with her eyes, she song these Sapphikes speaking as it were to her own hope.  
If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,  
Or mine eyes language she do hap to judge of,  
So that eyes message be of her received,  
Hope we do live yet.  
But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,  
Or if eyes language be not unto her known,  
So that eyes message do return rejected,  
Hope we do both dye.  
Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;  
So become our tombs monuments of her praise;  
So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;  
Hers be the glory.  
If the spheres senseless do yet hold a music,  
If the swans sweet voice be not heard, but at death,  
If the mute timber when it hath the life lost,  
Yieldeth a Lutes tune:  
Are then human minds privileged so meanly  
As that hateful death can abridge them of power  
With the vow of truth to record to all worlds  
That we be her spoils?  
Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise:  
Fleshly vail consumes; but a soul hath his life,  
Which is held in love; love it is, that hath joined  
Life to this our soul.  
But if eyes can speak to do hearty errand,  
Or mine eyes language she do hap to judge of,  
So that eyes message be of her received,  
Hope we do live yet.  
Great was the pleasure of Basilius, and greater would have been Gynaecias, but that she found too well it was intended to her daughter, As for Philoclea she was sweetly ravished withal. When Dorus desiring in a secret manner to speak of their cases, as perchance the parties intended might take some light of it, making low reverence to Zelmane, began this provoking song in hexameter verse unto her. Whereunto she soon finding whither his words were directed (in like tune and verse) answered as followeth: Dorus. Zelmane. Dorus. 
Lady reserved by the heavens to do pastors company honour,  
joining your sweet voice to the rural muse of a desert,  
Here you fully do find this strange operation of love,  
How to the woods love runs as well as rides to the Palace,  
Neither he bears reverence to a Prince nor pity to beggar,  
But (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a nearness,  
All to a lesson he draw's, nether hills nor caves can avoid him.  Zelmane. 
Worthy shepherd by my song to myself all favour is happened,  
That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,  
Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.  
But o happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection  
Of Phoebus' violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus,  
Or pleasant myrtle, may teach th'unfortunate Echo  
In these woods to resound the renowned name of a goddess.  
Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,  
(Although simply atyrde) your manly affection utter.  
Happy be those mishaps which justly proportion holding  
Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgement,  
But wretched be the souls, which veiled in a contrary subject:  
How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.  
What skill salueth a soar of a wrong infirmity judged?  
What can justice avail, to a man that tells not his own case?  
You though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:  
Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit.  
But so unheard, condemned, kept thence we do seek to abide in,  
Selfe-lost in wandering, banished that place we do come from,  
What mean is there, alas, we can hope our loss to recover?  
What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?  
Unto the heavens? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden.  
air we do still with sighs increase, to the fire? we do want none.  
And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward  
Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune's realm would not avail us.  
Happy shepherd, with thanks to the Gods, still think to be thankful,  
That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.  Dorus. 
Unto the Gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,  
That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased.  
But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our haps be but hard haps,  
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour.  
Well may a Pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteem'de  
Silly shepherds poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifi's anguish,  
Into the fair looker on, pastime, not passion, enters.  
And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital  
What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,  
Pleased to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo,  
May hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,  
When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,  
Or when an Echo gins unmoved to sing them a love song.  
Say then what vantage do we get, by the trade of a Pastor?  
(Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,  
Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,  
Since outward pleasures be but halting helps to decayed souls)  
Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in.  
far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access,  
Whose fair bodily gifts are framed most lovely to each eye.  
Virtue you have, of virtue you have left proof to the whole world.  
And virtue is grateful with beauty and richness adorned,  
Neither doubt you awhit, time will your passion utter.  
Hardly remains fire hid, where skill is bend to the hiding,  
But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,  
Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing.  
Give therefore to the Muse great praise in whose very likeness  
You do approach to the fruit your only desir's be to gather.  Zelmane. 
First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed:  
First the rivers shall cease to repay their fludds to the Ocean:  
First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a Tiger:  
First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,  
Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,  
Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:  
But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case.  
None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.  
Great to thee my state seems, thy state is blest by my judgement:  
And yet neither of us great or blessed deemeth his own self.  
For yet (weigh this alas!) great is not great to the greater.  
What judge you doth a hillock show, by the lofty Olympus?  
Such my minute greatness, doth seem compared to the greatest.  
When Cedars to the ground fall down by the weight of an emmott,  
Or when a rich rubies just price be the worth of a walnut,  
Or to the Sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle:  
Then by my high Cedar, rich Ruby, and only shining Sun,  
Virtue, richesse, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.  
Oh no, no, worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title,  
Where proofs justly do teach, thus matched, such worth to be nought worth,  
Let not a puppet abuse thy spirit, King's Crowns do not help them  
From the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal,  
And precious couches full oft are shaked with a fever.  
If then a boddily evil in a boddily gloze be not hidden,  
Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a loves fire?  Dorus. 
O glittering miseries of man, if this be the fortune  
Of those fortune lulls? so small rest rests in a kingdom?  
What marvel though a Prince transform himself to a Pastor?  
Come from marble bowers many times the gay harbour of anguish,  
Unto a silly cabin, though weak, yet stronger against woes.  
Now by thy words I begin, most famous Lady, to gather  
Comfort into my soul I do find, I do find what a blessing  
Is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance  
Of carking agonies (to states which still be adherent)  
Destiny keeps me aloof, for if all this state to thy virtue  
Joined, by thy beauty adorned be no means these griefs to abolish:  
If neither by that help, thou canst climb up to thy fancy,  
Nor yet fancy so dressed do receive more plausible hearing:  
Then do I think in deed, that better it is to be private  
In sorrows torments, then, tied to the pomps of a palace,  
Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breathed out.  
But perforce digest, all bitter ioyces of horror  
In silence, from a man's own self with company rob.  
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged  
Into my lives bondage, yet may disburden a passion  
(Oppressed with ruinous conceits) by the help of an outcry:  
Not limited to a whispringe note, the Lament of a Courtier.  
But sometimes to the woods sometimes to the heaven do decyphire  
With bold clamour unheard, unmarckt, what I seek what I suffer:  
And when I meet these trees, in the earth's fair livery clothed,  
Ease I do feel (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)  
For that I find in them part of my state represented.  
Laurel shows what I seek, by the myrrh is showed how I seek it,  
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by the conquest:  
Myrtle makes my request, my request is crowned with a willow?  
Cyprus promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort  
Sweet juniper, saith this, thoh I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.  
Ewe doth make me think what kind of bow the boy holdeth  
Which shoots strongly with out any noise and deadly without smart.  
Fir trees great and green, sixth on a high hill but a barren,  
Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well placed, to me fruitless.  
Fig that yields most pleasant fru'te, his shadow is hurtful  
Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her,  
Now in a palm when I mark, how he doth rise under a burden,  
And may I not (say I then) get up though griefs be so weighty?  
Pine is a mast to a ship, to my ship shall hope for a mast serve,  
Pine is high, hope is as high, sharp leaved, sharp yet be my hopes buds.  
Elm embraced by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth  
Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:  
Thus to my son do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me  
Old aged oak cut down, of new works serves to the building:  
So my desires by my fear, cut down, be the frames of her honour.  
ash makes spears which shields do resist, her force no repulse takes:  
Palms do rejoice to be joined by the match of a male to a female,  
And shall sensive things be so senseless as to resist sense?  
Thus be my thoughts dispersed, thus thinking nurseth a thinking,  
Thus both trees and each thing else, be the books of a fancy.  
But to the Cedar Queen of woods when I lift my beteard eyes,  
Then do I shape to myself that form which reign's so with in me,  
And think there she do dwell & hear what plants I do utter:  
When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me;  
When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer:  
Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that Image:  
Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest  
That men's hearts be thy seat and endless fame be thy servant,  
O descend for a while, from this great height to behold me,  
But nought else do, behold (else is nought worth the beholding)  
Save what a work, by thyself is wrought: & since I am altered  
Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done.  
In mean caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes.  
And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden.  Zelmane. 
Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight  
justly to grant thee reward, such envy I bear to thy fortune.  
But to myself what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,  
Whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped,  
And if a mean were found, fortune th'whole course of it hinders.  
This plag'de how can I frame to my soar any hope of amendment?  
Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape?  
Bound & bound by so noble bands, as loath to be unbownd,  
jailor I am to myself, prison & prisoner to mine own self.  
Yet be my hopes thus placed, here fixed lives all my recomfort,  
That that dear Diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,  
Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,  
Will at length perceive these flames by her beams to be kindled,  
And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.  
O be it so, grant such an event, O Gods, that event give.  
And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer  
Of mine own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is a altar.  
But cease worthy shepherd, now cease we to weighed the hearers  
With moanful melodies, for enough our griefs be revealed,  
If by the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked,  
And sorrow's do require some respitt unto the senses.   
What exclaiming praises Basilius gave to this Ecloge any man may guess, that knows love is better than a pair of spectacles to make every thing seem greater which is seen through it: and then is never tongue tied where fit commendation (whereof womankind is so likerouse) is offered unto it. But before any other came in to supply the place, Zelmane having heard some of the shepherds by chance name Strephon and Klaius, supposing thereby they had been present, was desirous both to hear them for the fame of their friendly love, and to know them, for their kindness towards her best loved friend. Much grieved was Basilius, that any desire of his mistress should be unsatisfied, and therefore to represent them unto her (aswell as in their absence it might be) he commanded on Lamon, who had at large set down their country pastimes and first love to Urania to sing the whole discourse which he did in this manner.  
A shepherds tale no height of stile desires  
To raise in words what in effect is low:  
A plaining song plaine-singing voice requires,  
For warbling notes from inward cheering flow.  
I then, whose burdened breast but thus aspires  
Of shepherds two the silly case to show,  
Nede not the stately Muses help invoke  
For creeping rhymes, which often sigh choke.  
But you, o you, that think not tears to dear  
To spend for harms, although they touch you not:  
And deign to deem your neighbours mischief near,  
Although they be of meaner parents got:  
You I invite with easy ears to hear  
The poore-clad truth of loves wrong-ordred lot.  
Who may be glad, be glad you be not such:  
Who share in woe, weigh others have as much.  
There was (o seldom blessed word of was!)  
A pair of friends, or rather one called two,  
Trained in the life which on short-bitten grass  
In shine or storm must set the doubted shoe:  
He, that the other in some years did pass,  
And in those gifts that years distribute do,  
Was Klaius called, (ah Klaius, woeful wight!)  
The later borne, yet too soon, Strephon height.  
Epeirus high, was honest Klaius nest,  
To Strephon AEoles land first breathing lent:  
But East & West were joined by friendships hest.  
As Strephon's ear & heart to Klaius bent:  
So Klaius soul did in his Strephon rest.  
Still both their flocks flocking together went,  
As if they would of owner's humour be,  
And eke their pipes did well, as friends agree.  
Klaius for skill of hearb's & shepherds art  
Among the wisest was accounted wise,  
Yet not so wise, as of unstained heart:  
Strephon was young, yet marked with humble eyes  
How elder ruled their flocks, & cured their smart,  
So that the grave did not his words despise.  
Both free of mind, both did clear-dealing love,  
And both had skill in verse their voice to move.  
Their cheerful minds, till poisoned was their cheer,  
The honest sports of earthy lodging prove;  
Now for a clod-like hare in form they peer,  
Now bolt & cudgel squirrels leap do move.  
Now the ambitious Lark with mirror clear  
They catch, while he (fool!) to himself makes love:  
And now at keels they try a harmless chance,  
And now their cur they teach to fetch & dance.  
When merry May first early calls the morn,  
With merry maids a mayeng they do go,  
Then do they pull from sharp & niggard thorn  
The plenteous sweets, (can sweets so sharply grow?)  
Then some green gowns are by the lasses worn  
In chastest plays, till home they walk a row,  
While dance about the maypole is begun,  
When, if need were, they could at quintain run:  
While thus they ran a low, but leaveld race,  
While thus they lived, (this was indeed a life)  
With nature pleased, content with present case.  
Free of proud fears, brave begg'ry, smiling strife  
Of clime-fall Court, the enuy-hatching place:  
While those restless desires in great men rife  
To visit so low folks did much disdain,  
This while, though poor, they in themselves did reign.  
One day (o day, that shined to make them dark!)  
While they did ward sunbeams with shady bay,  
And Klaius taking for his youngling cark,  
(Lest greedy eyes to them might challenge lay)  
Busy with ochre did their shoulders mark,  
(His mark a Pillar was devoid of stay,  
As bragging that free of all passions moon  
Well might he others bear, but lean to none)  
Strephon with levy twigs of Laurel tree  
A garland made on temples for to wear,  
For he then chosen was the dignity  
Of village-Lord that whitsuntide to bear:  
And full, poor fool of boyish bravery  
With triumphs shows would show he nought did fear.  
But fore-accounting oft makes builders miss,  
They found, they felt, they had no lease of bliss.  
For ere that either had his purpose done,  
Behold (beholding well it doth deserve)  
They saw a maid who thitherward did run,  
To catch her sparrow which from her did swerver,  
As she a black-silke cap on him begun  
To set, for foil of his milk-white to serve.  
She chirping ran, he peeping flew away,  
Till hard by them both he & she did stay.  
Well for to see they kept themselves unseen,  
And saw this fairest maid of fairer mind,  
By, fortune mere, in Nature borne a Queen,  
How well paid she was her bird to find:  
How tenderly her tender hands between  
In ivory cage she did the micher bind:  
How rosy moistened lips about his beak  
Moving, she seemed at once to kiss, & speak.  
Chastened but thus, & thus his lesson taught  
The happy wretch she put into her breast,  
Which to their eyes the bowls of Venus brought,  
For they seemed made even of skie-mettall best,  
And that the bias of her blood was wrought.  
Betwixt them two the peeper took his nest,  
Where snugging well he well appeared content  
So to have done amiss, so to be shent.  
This done, but done with captive-killing grace,  
Each motion seeming shot from beauty's bow,  
With length laid down she decked the lonely place.  
Proud grew the grass that under her did grow,  
The trees spread out their arms to shade her face,  
But she on elbow leaned with sighs did show  
No grass, no trees, nor yet her sparrow might  
To long-perplexed mind breed long delight.  
She troubled was (alas that it mought be!)  
With tedious brawlings of her parents dear,  
Who would have her in will & word agree  
To wed Antaxius their neighbour near.  
A herdman rich of much account was he  
In whom no evil did reign, nor good appear.  
In some such one she liked not his desire,  
Feign would be free, but dreadeth parent's ire.  
Kindly, sweet soul, she did unkindness take  
That bagged baggage of a miser's mud,  
Should price of her, as in a market, make.  
But gold can gild a rotten piece of wood,  
To yield she found her noble heart did ache:  
To strive she feared how it with virtue stood.  
This doubting clouds ore-casting heavenly brain,  
At length in rows of Kisse-cheeke tears they rain.  
Cupid the wag, that lately conquered had  
Wise Counsellors, stout Captains puissant Kings,  
And tied them fast to lead his triumph bad,  
Glutted with them now plays with meanest things.  
So oft in feasts with costly changes clad  
To crammed maws a spratt new Stomach brings.  
So Lords with sport of stag & Hearon full  
Sometimes we use small birds from nests do pull.  
So now for pray these shepherds two he took  
Whose metal stiff he knew he could not bend  
With hearsay, pictures, or a window look,  
With one good dance, or letter finely penned,  
That were in Court a well proportioned hook,  
Where piercing wits do quickly apprehend,  
Their senses rude plain objects only move,  
And so must see great cause before they love.  
Therefore Love armed in her now takes the field,  
Making her beams his bravery & might:  
Her hands which pierced the souls seau'n-double shield,  
Were now his darts leaving his wont fight.  
Brave crest to him her scorn-gold hair did yield,  
His complete harness was her purest white.  
But fearing lest all white might seem too good,  
In cheeks & lips the Tyrant threatens blood.  
Besides this force within her eyes he kept  
A fire, to burn the prisoners he gains,  
Whose boiling heat increased as she wept:  
For even in forge cold water fire maintains.  
Thus proud & fierce unto the hearts he stepped  
Of them poor souls: & cutting Reasons rains,  
Made them his own before they had it witted.  
But if they had, could shephookes this resist?  
Klaius straight felt, & groaned at the blow,  
And called, now wounded, purpose to his aid:  
Strephon, fond boy, delighted did not know,  
That it was Love that shined in shining maid:  
But lickrous, Poisoned, feign to her would go,  
If him new-learned manners had not staid.  
For then Urania homeward did arise,  
Leaving in pain their well-fed hungry eyes.  
She went, they stayed; or rightly for to say,  
She stayed in them, they went in thought with her:  
Klaius in deed would feign have pulled a way  
This mote from out his eye, this inward burr,  
And now, proud Rebel 'gan for to gainsay  
The lesson which but late he learned too fur:  
Meaning with absence to refresh the thought  
To which her presence such a fever brought.  
Strephon did leap with joy & jollity,  
Thinking it just more therein to delight  
Then in good Dog, fair field, or shading tree.  
So have I seen trim books in velvet dight  
With golden leaves, & painted babery  
Of silly boys please unacquainted sight:  
But when the rod began to play his part,  
Feign would, but could not fly from golden smart.  
He quickly learned Urania was her name,  
And straight for failing, graved it in his heart:  
He knew her haunt, & haunted in the same,  
And taught his sheep her sheep in food to thwart.  
Which soon as it did batefull question frame,  
He might on knees confess his faulty part,  
And yield himself unto her punishment,  
While nought but game, the selfe-hurt wanton meant.  
Nay even unto her home he oft would go,  
Where bold and hurtless many play he tries,  
Her parents liking well it should be so,  
For simple goodness shined in his eyes.  
There did he make her laugh in spite of woe,  
So as good thoughts of him in all arise,  
While into none doubt of his love did sink,  
For not himself to be in love did think.  
But glad Desire, his late embosom'd guest,  
Yet but a babe, with milk of Sight he nursed:  
Desire the more he sucked, more sought the breast,  
Like dropsy folk still drink to be a thirst.  
Till one fair eau'n an hour ere Sun did rest,  
Who then in Lion's cave did enter first,  
By neighbours prayed she went abroad thereby.  
At Barley broke her sweet swift foot to try.  
Never the earth on his round shoulders bore  
A maid trained up from high or low degree,  
That in her do better could compare  
Mirth with respect, few words with courtesy,  
A careless comeliness with comely care,  
Self-gard with mildness, Sport with Majesty:  
Which made her yield to deck this shepherds band,  
And still, believe me, Strephon was at hand.  
A field they go, where many lookers be,  
And thou seke-sorow Klaius them among:  
In deed thou saidst it was thy friend to see  
Strephon, whose absence seemed unto thee long,  
While most with her he less did keep with thee.  
No, no, it was in spite of wisdoms song  
Which absence wished: love played a victor's part:  
The heau'n-loue loadstone drew thy iron heart.  
Then couples three be straight allotted there,  
They of both ends the middle two do fly,  
The two that in mid place, Hell called were,  
Must strive with waiting foot, and watching eye  
To catch of them, and them to hell to bear,  
That they, aswell as they, Hell may supply:  
Like some which seek to salve their blotted name  
With others blot, till all do taste of shame.  
There may you see, soon as the middle two  
Do coupled towards either couple make,  
They false and fearful do their hands undo,  
Brother his brother, friend doth friend forsake,  
Heeding himself, cares not how fellow do,  
But of a stranger mutual help doth take:  
As perjured cowards in adversity  
With sight of fear from friends to frembed do fly.  
These sports shepherds devised such faults to show.  
Geron, though old yet gamesome, kept one end  
With Cosma, for whose love Pas past in woe.  
Fair Nous with Pas the lot to hell did send:  
Pas thought it hell, while he was Cosma fro.  
At other end Vran did Strephon lend  
Her happy-making hand, of whom one look  
From Nous and Cosma all their beauty took.  
The play began: Pas durst not Cosma chase,  
But did intend next bout with her to meet,  
So he with Nous to Geron turned their race,  
With whom to join fast ran Urania sweet:  
But light-legd Pas had got the middle space.  
Geron strove hard, but aged were his feet,  
And therefore finding force now faint to be,  
He thought grey hairs afforded subtlety.  
And so when Pas hand-reached him to take,  
The fox on knees and elbows tumbled down:  
Pas could not stay, but over him did rake,  
And crowned the earth with his first touching crown:  
His heels grown proud did seem at heaven to shake.  
But Nous that slipped from Pas, did catch the clown.  
So laughing all, yet Pas to ease some dell  
Geron with Vran were condemned to hell.  
Cosma this while to Strephon safely came,  
And all to second barley-brake are bend:  
The two in hell did toward Cosma frame,  
Who should to Pas, but they would her prevent.  
Pas mad with fall, and madder with the shame,  
Most mad with beams which he thought Cosma sent,  
With such mad haste he did to Cosma go,  
That to her breast he gave a noisome blow.  
She quick, and proud, and who did Pas despise,  
Up with her fist, and took him on the face,  
Another time; quoth she, become more wise.  
Thus Pas did kiss her hand with little grace,  
And each way luckless', yet in humble guise  
Did hold her fast for fear of more disgrace,  
While Strephon might with pretty Nous have met,  
But all this while another course he fet.  
For as Urania after Cosma ran,  
He ravished with sight how gracefully  
She moved her limbs, and drew the aged man,  
Left Nous to coast the loved beauty nigh.  
Nous cried, and chafed, but he no other can.  
Till Vran seeing Pas to Cosma fly,  
And Strephon single, turned after him.  
Strephon so chased did seem in milk to swim.  
He ran, but ran with eye o'er shoulder cast,  
More marking her, then how himself did go,  
Like Numid Lions by the hunters chased,  
Though they do fly, yet backwardly do glow  
With proud aspect, disdaining greater haste.  
What rage in them, that love in him did show.  
But God gives them instinct the man to shun,  
And he by law of Barley-brake must run.  
But as his heat with running did augment,  
Much more his sight increased his hot desire:  
So is in her the best of Nature spent,  
The air her sweet race moved doth blow the fire.  
Her feet be Pursuivants from Cupid sent,  
With whose fine steps all loves and joys conspire.  
The hidden beauties seemed in wait to lie,  
To down proud hearts that would not willing dye.  
Thus, fast he fled from her he followed sore,  
Still shunning Nous to lengthen pleasing race,  
Till that he spied old Geron could no more,  
Then did he slack his love-enstructed pace.  
So that Vrán, whose arm old Geron bore,  
Laid hold on him with most lay-holding grace.  
So caught, him seemed he caught of joys the bell,  
And thought it heaven so to be drawn to hell.  
To hell he goes, and Nous with him must dwell.  
Nous swore it was no right; for his default  
Who would be caught, that she should go to hell:  
But so she must. And now the third assault  
Of Barley-brake among the six befell.  
Pas Cosma matched, yet angry with his fault,  
The other end Geron with Vrán guard.  
I think you think Strephon bend thitherward.  
Nous counselled Strephon Geron to pursue,  
For he was old, and easily would be caught:  
But he drew her as love his fancy drew,  
And so to take the gem Urania sought.  
While Geron old came safe to Cosma true,  
Though him to meet at all she stirred nought.  
For Pas, whither it were for fear, or love,  
Moved not himself, nor suffered her to move.  
So they three did together idly stay,  
While dear Vrán, whose course was Pas to meet , 
(He staying thus) was feign abroad to stray  
With larger round, to shun the following feet.  
Strephon, whose eyes on her backparts did play,  
With love drawn on, so fast with pace unmeet  
Drew dainty Nous, that she not able so  
To run, broke from his hands, and let him go.  
He single thus, hoped soon with her to be,  
Who nothing earthly, but of fire and air,  
Though with soft legs, did run as fast as he.  
He thrice reached, thrice deceived, when her to bear  
He hopes, with dainty turns she doth him flee.  
So on the down's we see, near Wilton fair,  
A hastened Hare from greedy Grayhound go,  
And past all hope his chaps to frustrate so.  
But this strange race more strange conceits did yield:  
Who victor seemed, was to his ruin brought:  
Who seemed o'erthrown was mistress of the field:  
She fled, and took: he followed, and was caught.  
So have I heard to pierce pursuing shield  
By Parents trained the Tartars wild are taught,  
With shafts shot out from their back-turned bow.  
But, ah! her darts did far more deeply go.  
As Venus' bird the white, swift, lovely Dove  
(O happy Dove that art compared to her!)  
Doth on her wings her utmost swiftness prove,  
Finding the gripe of Falcon fierce not fur:  
So did Vran, the narr the swifter move,  
(Yet beauty still as fast as she did stir)  
Till with long race dear she was breathless brought,  
And then the Phoenix feared to be caught.  
Among the rest that there did take delight  
To see the sports of double-shining day,  
And did the tribute of their wondering sight  
To Nature's heir, the fair Urania, pay,  
I told you Klaius was the hapless wight  
Who earnest found what they accounted play.  
He did not there do homage of his eyes,  
But on his eyes his heart did sacrifice.  
With gazing looks, short sighs, unsettled feet,  
He stood, but turned, as Girosol, to Sun:  
His fancies still did her in halfway meet,  
His soul did fly as she was seen to run.  
In sum proud Boreas never ruled fleet  
(Who Neptunes web on dangers distaff spun)  
With greater power, than she did make them wend  
Each way, as she, that ages praise, did bend.  
Till spying well she well-nigh weary was,  
And surely taught by his love-open eye,  
His eye, that even did mark her trodden grass,  
That she would feign the catch of Strephon fly,  
Giving his reason passport for to pass  
Wither it would, so it would let him die,  
He that before shunned her to shun such harms,  
Now runs, and takes her in his clipping arms.  
For with pretence from Strephon her to guard,  
He met her full, but full of warefulnes,  
With inbowed bosom well for her prepared,  
When Strephon cursing his own backwardness  
Came to her back, and so with double ward  
Emprison her, who both them did possess  
As heart-bound slaves: and happy then embrace  
virtues proof, fortune's victor, beauty's place.  
Her race did not her beauty's beams augment,  
For they were ever in the best degree,  
But yet a setting forth it some way lent:  
As rubies lustre, when they rubbed be.  
The dainty dew on face and body went  
As on sweet flowers when mornings drops we see.  
Her breath then short seemed loath from home to pass,  
Which more it moved, the more it sweeter was.  
Happy, o happy! if they so might bide,  
To see her eyes, with how true humbleness  
They looked down to triumph over pride:  
With how sweet saws she blamed their sauciness:  
To feel the panting heart, which through her side  
Did beat their hands, which durst so near to press.  
To see, to feel, to hear, to taste, to know  
More then, besides her, all the earth could show.  
But never did Medea's golden weed  
On Creon's child his poison sooner throw,  
Then those delights through all their sinews breed  
A creeping serpentlike of mortal woe.  
Till she broke from their arms (although in deed  
Going from them, from them she could not go)  
And fare-welling the flock did homeward wend,  
And so that even the barley-brake did end.  
It ended, but the others woe began,  
Began at least to be conceived as woe,  
For then wise Klaius found no absence can  
Help him, who can no more her sight forego.  
He found man's virtue is but part of man,  
And part must follow where whole man doth go.  
He found that Reason's self now reasons found  
To fasten knots, which fancy first had bound.  
So doth he yield, so takes he on his yoke,  
Not knowing who did draw with him therein;  
Strephon, poor youth, because he saw no smoke  
Did not conceive what fire he had within.  
But after this to greater rage it broke;  
Till of his life it did full conquest win,  
First killing mirth, then banishing all rest,  
Filling his eyes with tears, with sighs his breast.  
Then sports grew pains, all talking tedious,  
On thoughts he feeds, his looks their figure change,  
The day seems long, but night is odious,  
No sleeps, but dream's, no dream's, but visions strange,  
Till finding still his evil increasing thus,  
One day he with his flock abroad did range:  
And coming where he hoped to be alone,  
Thus on a hillock set, he made his moan.  
Alas! what weights are these that load my heart!  
I am as dull as winter-sterued sheep,  
Tired as a jade in overladen cart,  
Yet thoughts do fly, though I can scarcely creep.  
All visions seem, at every bush I start:  
Drowsy am I, and yet can rarely sleep.  
Sure I bewitched am, it is even that:  
Late near a cross I met an ugly Cat.  
For, but by charms, how fall these things on me,  
That from those eyes where heavenly apples been,  
Those eyes, which nothing like themselves can see,  
Of fair Urania, fairer than a green,  
Proudly bedecked in April's livery,  
A shot unheard gave me a wound unseen?  
He was invisible that hurt me so,  
And none unvisible, but Spirits, can go.  
When I see her, my sinews shake for fear,  
And yet, dear soul, I know she hurteth none:  
Amid my flock with woe my voice I tear,  
And, but bewitched, who to his flock would moon?  
Her cherry lips, milk hands, and golden hair  
I still do see, though I be still alone.  
Now make me think that there is not a fiend,  
Who hide in Angels shape my lîfe would end.  
The sports wherein I wont to do well,  
Come she, and sweet the air with open breast,  
Then so I fail, when most I would do well,  
That at me so amazed my fellows jest:  
Sometimes to her news of myself to tell  
I go about, but then is all my best  
Wry words, and stam'ring, or else doltish dumb,  
Say then, can this but of enchantment come?  
Nay each thing is bewitched to know my case:  
The Nightingales for woe their songs refrain:  
In river as I looked my pining face,  
As pined a face as mine I saw again.  
The courteous mountains grieved at my disgrace  
Their snowy hair tear of in melting pain.  
And now the dropping trees do weep for me,  
And now fair evenings blush my shame to see.  
But you my pipe, whilom my chief delight,  
Till strange delight, delight to nothing ware;  
And you my flock, care of my careful sight,  
While I was I, & so had cause to care;  
And thou my dog, whose truth & valiant might  
Made wolves (not inward wolves) my ewes to spare;  
Go you not from your master in his woe:  
Let it suffice that he himself forego.  
For though like wax, this magic makes me waste,  
Or like a lamb whose dam away is fet,  
(Stolen from her young by thieves unchoosing haste)  
He triple beas for help, but none can get:  
Though thus, and worse, though now I am at last,  
Of all the games that here ere now I met:  
Do you remember still you once were mine,  
Till my eyes had their curse from blessed eine.  
Be you with me while I unheard do cry,  
While I do score my losses on the wind,  
While I in heart my will write ere I die.  
In which by will, my will and wits I bind:  
Still to be hers, about her aye to fly,  
As this same spirit about my fancies blind,  
Doth daily haunt: but so, that mine become  
As much more loving, as less cumbersome.  
Alas! a cloud hath overcast mine eyes:  
And yet I see her shine amid the cloud.  
Alas! of ghosts I hear the ghastly cries:  
Yet there, me seems, I hear her singing loud.  
This song she singes in most commanding wise:  
Come shepherds boy, let now thy heart be bowed  
To make itself to my least look a slave:  
Leave sheep, leave all, I will no piecing have.  
I will, I will, alas! alas! I will:  
Wilt thou have more? more have, if more I be.  
Away ragged rams, care I what murrain kill?  
Out shreaking pipe made of some witched tree.  
Go bawling cur, thy hungry maw go fill,  
On yond foul flock belonging not to me.  
With that his dog he henst his flock he cursed:  
With that (yet kissed first) his pipe he burst.  
This said, this done, he raze even tired with rest,  
With heart as careful, as with careless grace,  
With shrinking legs, but with a swelling breast,  
With eyes which threatened they would drown his face,  
Fearing the worst, not knowing what were best,  
And giving to his sight a wandering race,  
He saw behind a bush where Klaius sat:  
His well know'ne friend, but yet his unknown mate,  
Klaius the wretch, who lately yelden was  
To bear the bonds which Time nor wit could break,  
(With blushing soul at sight of judgements glass,  
While guilty thoughts accused his Reason weak)  
This morn alone to lonely walk did pass,  
With in himself of her dear self to speak,  
Till Strephon's planing voice him nearer drew,  
Where by his words his selflike cause he knew.  
For hearing him so oft with words of woe  
urania name, whose force he knew so well,  
He quickly knew what witchcraft gave the blow  
Which made his Strephon think himself in hell.  
Which when he did in perfect image show,  
To his own wit, thought upon thought did swell,  
Breeding huge storms with in his inward part,  
Which thus breathed out with earthquake of his heart.  
As Lamon would have proceeded, Basilius knowing, by the wasting of the torches that the night also was far wasted, and withal remembering Zelmane's hurt, asked her whither she thought it not better to reserve the complaint of Klaius till an other day. Which she, perceiving the song had already worn out much time, and not knowing when Lamon would end, being even now stepping over to a new matter, though much delighted with what was spoken, willingly agreed unto. And so of all sides they went to recommend themselves to the elder brother of death.   
The end of the first Book.   

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.  
IN these pastoral pastimes a great number of days were sent to follow their flying predecessors, while the cup of poison (which was deeply tasted of this noble company) had left no sinew of theirs without mortally searching into it; yet never manifesting his venomous work, till once, that the night (parting away angry, that she could distil no more sleep into the eyes of lovers) had no sooner given place to the breaking out of the morning light, and the Sun bestowed his beams upon the tops of the mountains, but that the woeful Gynoecia (to whom rest was no ease) had left her loathed lodging, and gotten herself into the solitary places those deserts were full of, going up and down with such unquiet motions, as a grieved and hopeless mind is wont to bring forth. There appeared unto the eyes of her judgement the evils she was like to run into, with ugly infamy waiting upon them: she felt the terrors of her own conscience: she was guilty of a long exercised virtue, which made this vice the fuller of deformity. The uttermost of the good she could aspire unto, was a mortal wound to her vexed spirits: and lastly no small part of her evils was, that she was wise to see her evils. In so much, that having a great while thrown her countenance ghastly about her (as if she had called all the powers of the world to be witness of her wretched estate) at length casting up her watery eyes to heaven, O Sun (said she) whose unspotted light directs the steps of mortal mankind, art thou not ashamed to impart the clearness of thy presence to such a dust-creeping worm as I am? O you heavens (which continually keep the course allotted unto you) can none of your influences prevail so much upon the miserable Gynoecia, as to make her preserve a course so long embraced by her? O deserts, deserts, how fita guest am I for you, since my heart can people you with wild ravenous beasts, which in you are wanting? O Virtue, where dost thou hid thyself? What hideous thing is this which doth Eclipse thee? Or is it true that thou wert never but a vain name, and no essential thing, which hast thus left thy professed servant, when she had most need of thy lovely presence? O imperfect proportion of reason, which can too much foresee, & too little prevent. Alas, alas (said she) if there were but one hope for all my pains, or but one excuse for all my faultiness. But wretch that I am, my torment is beyond all succour, and my evil deserving doth exceed my evil fortune. For nothing else did my husband take this strange resolution to live so solitarily: for nothing else have the winds delivered this strange guest to my country: for nothing else have the destinies reserved my life to this time, but that only I (most wretched I) should become a plague to myself, and a shame to womankind. Yet if my desire (how unjust so ever it be) might take effect, though a thousand deaths followed it, and every death were followed with a thousand shames; yet should not my sepulchre receive me without some contentment. But alas, though sure I am, that Zelmane is such as can answer my love; yet as sure I am, that this disguising must needs come for some foretaken conceit. And then, wretched Gynoecia, where canst thou find any small ground plot for hope to dwell upon? No, no, it is Philoclea his heart is set upon: it is my daughter I have borne to supplant me. But if it be so, the life I have given thee (ungrateful Philoclea) I will sooner with these hands bereave thee of, than my birth shall glory, she hath bereaved me of my desires. In shame there is no comfort, but to be beyond all bounds of shame.  
Having spoken thus, she began to make a piteous war with her fair hair, when she might hear (not far from her) an extremely doleful voice, but so suppressed with a kind of whispering note, that she could not conceive the words distinctly. But (as a lamentable tune is the sweetest music to a woeful mind) she drew thither heereaway, in hope to find some companion of her misery. And as she paced on, she was stopped with a number of trees, so thickly placed together, that she was afraid she should (with rushing thorough) stop the speech of the lamentable party, which she was so desirous to understand. And therefore setting her down as softly as she could (for she was now in distance to hear) she might first perceive a Lute excellently well played upon, and then the same doleful voice accompanyinge it with these verses.  

IN vain, mine Eyes, you labour to amend  
With flowing tears your fault of hasty sight:  
Since to my heart her shape you so did send;  
That her I see, though you did lose your light.   

In vain, my heart, now you with sight are burnt,  
With sighs you seek to cool your hot desire:  
Since sighs (into mine inward furnace turned)  
For bellows serve to kindle more the fire.   

Reason, in vain (now you have lost my heart)  
My head you seek, as to your strongest fort:  
Since there mine eyes have played so false a part,  
That to your strength your foes have sure resort.  
Then since in vain I find were all my strife,  
To this strange death I vainly yield my life.   
The ending of the song served but for a beginning of new plaints, as if the mind (oppressed with too heavy a burden of cares) was feign to discharge itself of all sides, & as it were, paint out the hideousnes of the pain in all sorts of colours. For the woeful person (as if the lute had evil joined with the voice) threw it to the ground with such like words: Alas, poor Lute, how much art thou deceived to think, that in my miseries thou couldst ease my woes, as in my careless times thou was wont to please my fancies? The time is changed, my Lute, the time is changed; and no more did my joyful mind then receive every thing to a joyful consideration, than my careful mind now makes each thing taste like the bitter juice of care. The evil is inward, my Lute, the evil is inward; which all thou dost, doth serve but to make me think more freely off. And alas, what is then thy harmony, but the sweet meats of sorrow? The discord of my thoughts, my Lute, doth ill agree to the concord of thy strings; therefore be not ashamed to leave thy master, since he is not afraid to forsake himself.  
And thus much spoke (in steed of a conclusion) was closed up with so hearty a groaning, that Gynoecia could not refrain to show herself, thinking such griefs could serve fitly for nothing, but her own fortune. But as she came into the little Arbour of this sorrowful music, her eyes met with the eyes of Zelmane, which was the party that thus had indicted herself of misery: so that either of them remained confused with a sudden astonishment. Zelmane fearing, lest she had heard some part of those complaints, which she had risen up that morning early of purpose, to breathe out in secret to herself. But Gynoecia a great while stood still, with a kind of dull amazement, looking steadfastly upon her: at length returning to some use of herself, she began to ask Zelmane, what cause carried her so early abroad? But as if the opening of her mouth to Zelmane, had opened some great floodgate of sorrow (whereof her heart could not abide the violent issue) she sank to the ground, with her hands over her face crying vehemently, Zelmane help me, O Zelmane have pity on me. Zelmane ran to her, marveling what sudden sickness had thus possessed her: & beginning to ask her the cause of her pain, & offering her service to be employed by her: Gynoecia opening her eyes wildly upon her, pricked with the flames of love, & the torments of her own conscience; O Zelmane, Zelmane, (said she) dost thou offer me physic, which art my only poison? Or wilt thou do me service, which hast already brought me into eternal slavery? Zelmane then knowing well at what mark she shot, yet loath to enter into it; Most excellent Lady (said she) you were best retire yourself into your lodging, that you the better may pass this sudden fit. Retire myself? (said Gynoecia) If I had retired myself into myself, when thou to me (unfortunate guest) camest to draw me from myself; blessed had I been, & no need had I had of this counsel. But now alas, I am forced to fly to thee for succour, whom I accuse of all my hurt; & make thee judge of my cause, who art the only author of my mischief Zelmane the more astonished, the more she understood her; Madam (said she) whereof do you accuse me, that I will not clear myself? Or wherein may I steed you, that you may not command me? Alas, answered Gynoecia, what shall I say more? Take pity of me, O Zelmane, but not as Zelmane, and disguise not with me in words, as I know thou dost in apparel.  
Zelmane was much troubled with that word, finding herself brought to this straight. But as she was thinking what to answer her; they might see old Basilius pass hard by them, without ever seeing them: complaining likewise of love very freshly; and ending his complaint with this song, Love having renewed both his invention, and voice.  

LEt not old age disgrace my high desire,  
O heavenly soul, in human shape contained:  
Old wood in flamed, doth yield the bravest fire,  
When younger doth in smoke his virtue spend.   

Ne let white hairs, which on my face do grow,  
Seem to your eyes of a disgraceful hew:  
Since whiteness doth present the sweetest show,  
Which makes all eyes do homage unto you.   

Old age is wise and full of constant truth;  
Old age well stayed from ranging humour lives:  
Old age hath known what ever was in youth:  
Old age o'ercome, the greater honour gives.  
And to old age since you yourself aspire,  
Let not old age disgrace my high desire.   
Which being done, he looked very curiously upon himself, sometimes fetching a little skip, as if he had said, his strength had not yet forsaken him. But Zelmane having in this time gotten some leisure to think for an answer; looking upon Gynecya, as if she thought she did her some wrong: Madam (said she) I am not acquainted with those words of disguising, neither is it the profession of an Amazon, neither are you a party with whom it is to be used. If my service may please you, employ it, so long as you do me no wrong in misiudgeing of me. Alas Zelmane (said Gynoecia) I perceive you know full little, how piercing the eyes are of a true lover. There is no one beam of those thoughts you have planted in me, but is able to discern a greater cloud than you do go in. Seek not to conceal yourself further from me, nor force not the passion of love into violent extremities. Now was Zelmane brought to an exigent, when the king, turning his eyes that way thorough the trees, perceived his wife and mistress together: so that framing the most lovely countenance he could, he came straightway towards them; and at the first word (thanking his wife for having entertained Zelmane,) desired her she would now return into the lodge, because he had certain matters of estate to impart to the Lady Zelmane. The Queen (being nothing troubled with jealousy in that point) obeyed the kings commandment; full of raging agonies and determinately bend, that as she would seek all loving means to win Zelmane, so she would stir up terrible tragedies, rather than fail of her intent. And so went she from them to the lodge-ward, with such a battle in her thoughts, and so deadly an overthrow given to her best resolutions, that even her body (where the field was fought) was oppressed withal: making a languishing sickness wait upon the triumph of passion; which the more it prevailed in her, the more it made her jealousy watchful, both over her daughter, and Zelmane; having ever one of them entrusted to her own eyes.  
But as soon as Basilius was rid of his wives presence, falling down on his knees, O Lady (said he) which haste only had the power to stir up again those flames which had so long lain dead in me; see in me the power of your beauty, which can make old age come to ask counsel of youth; and a Prince unconquered, to become a slave to a stranger. And when you see that power of yours, love that at lest in me, since it is yours, although of me you see nothing to be loved. Worthy Prince (answered Zelmane, taking him up from his kneeling) both your manner, and your speech are so strange unto me, as I know not how to answer it better than with silence. If silence please you (said the king) it shall never displease me, since my heart is wholly pledged to obey you: otherwise if you would vouchsafe mine ears such happiness, as to hear you, they shall convey your words to such a mind, which is with the humblest degree of reverence to receive them. I disdain not to speak to you (mighty Prince said Zelmane,) but I disdain to speak to any matter which may bring my honour into question. And therewith, with a brave counterfeited scorn she departed from the king; leaving him not so sorry for his short answer, as proud in himself that he had broken the matter. And thus did the king (feeding his mind with those thoughts) pass great time in writing verses, and making more of himself, than he was wont to do: that with a little help, he would have grown into a pretty kind of dotage.  
But Zelmane being rid of this loving, but little-loved company, Alas (said she) poor Pyrocles, was there ever one, but I, that had received wrong, and could blame no body? that having more than I desire, am still in want of that I would? Truly Love, I must needs say thus much on thy behalf; thou hast employed my love there, where all love is deserved; and for recompense hast sent me more love than ever I desired. But what wilt thou do Pyrocles? which way canst thou find to rid thee of thy intricate troubles? To her whom I would be known to, I live in darkness: and to her am revealed, from whom I would be most secret. What shift shall I find against the diligent love of Basilius? what shield against the violent passions of Gynoecia? And if that be done, yet how am I the nearer to quench the fire that consumes me? Well, well, sweet Philoclea, my whole confidence must be builded in thy divine spirit, which cannot be ignorant of the cruel wound I have received by you.  
But as sick folks, when they are alone, think company would relieve them, and yet having company do find it noisome; changing willingly outward objects, when indeed the evil is inward: So poor Zelmane was no more weighed of Basilius, than she was of herself, when Basilius was gone: and ever the more, the more she turned her eyes to become her own judges. Tired wherewith, she longed to meet her friend Dorus; that upon the shoulders of friendship she might lay the burden of sorrow: and therefore went toward the other lodge: where among certain Beeches she found Dorus, appareled in flanen, with a Goat's skin cast upon him, and a garland of Laurel mixed with Cypress leaves on his head, waiting on his master Dametas, who at that time was teaching him how with his sheephook to catch a wanton Lamb, and how with the same to cast a little clod at any one that strayed out of company. And while Dorus was practising, one might see Dametas holding his hand under his girdle behind him, nodding from the waist upwards, and swearing he never knew man go more aukewardly to work: and that they might talk of booke-learning what they would; but for his part, he never saw more unfeatie fellows, then great clerks were.  
But Zelmane's coming saved Dorus from further chiding. And so she beginning to speak with him of the number of his master's sheep, and which Province of Arcadia bore the finest wool, drew him on to follow her in such country discourses, till (being out of Dametas hearing) with such vehemency of passion, as though her heart would climb into her mouth, to take her tongue's office, she declared unto him, upon what briars the roses of her affections grew: how time still seemed to forget her, bestowing no one hour of comfort upon her; she remaining still in one plight of ill fortune, saving so much worse, as continuance of evil doth in itself increase evil. Alas my Dorus (said she) thou seest how long and languishingly the weeks are passed over us since our last talking. And yet am I the same, miserable I, that I was: only stronger in longing, and weaker in hoping. Then fell she to so pitiful a declaration of the insupportablenes of her desires, that Dorus ears (not able to show what wounds that discourse gave unto them) procured his eyes with tears to give testimony, how much they suffered for her suffering: till passion (a most cumbersome guest to itself) made Zelmane (the sooner to shake it off) earnestly entreat Dorus, that he also (with like freedom of discourse) would bestow a Map of his little world, upon her; that she might see, whether it were troubled with such unhabitable climes of cold despairs, and hot rages, as hers was. And so walking under a few Palm trees, (which being loving in their own nature, seemed to give their shadow the willinglier, because they held discourse of love) Dorus thus entered to the description of his fortune. Alas (said he) dear Cousin, that it hath pleased the high powers to throw us to such an estate, as the only intercourse of our true friendship, must be a bartering of miseries. For my part, I must confess indeed, that from a huge darkness of sorrows, I am crept (I cannot say to a lightsomnes, but) to a certain dawning, or rather, peeping out of some possibility of comfort: But woe is me, so far from the mark of my desires, that I rather think it such a light, as comes through a small hole to a dungeon, that the miserable caitiff may the better remember the light, of which he is deprived: or like a scholar, who is only come to that degree of knowledge, to find himself utterly ignorant. But thus stands it with me: After that by your means I was exalted to serve in yonder blessed lodge, for a while I had, in the furnace of my agonies, this refreshing; that (because of the service I had done in killing of the Bear) it pleased the Princess (in whom indeed stateliness shines through courtesy) to let fall some gracious look upon me. Sometimes to see my exercises, sometimes to hear my songs. For my part, my heart would not suffer me to omit any occasion, whereby I might make the incomparable Pamela, see how much extraordinary devotion I bore to her service: and withal, strove to appear more worthy in her sight; that small desert, joined to so great affection, might prevail something in the wisest Lady. But too well (alas) I found, that a shepherds service was but considered of as from a shepherd, and the acceptation limited to no further proportion, then of a good servant. And when my countenance had once given notice, that there lay affection under it, I saw strait, Majesty (sitting in the throne of Beauty) draw forth such a sword of just disdain, that I remained as a man thunder-striken; not daring, no not able, to behold that power. Now, to make my estate known, seemed again impossible, by reason of the suspitiousnes of Dametas, Miso, and my young Mistress, Mopsa. For, Dametas (according to the constitution of a dull head) thinks no better way to show himself wise, then by suspecting every thing in his way. Which suspicion Miso (for the hoggish shrewdness of her brain) and Mopsa (for a very unlikely envy she hath stumbled upon, against the Princess' unspeakable beauty) were very glad to execute. So that I (finding my service by this means lightly regarded, my affection despised, and myself unknown) remained no fuller of desire, then void of counsel how to come to my desire. Which (alas) if these trees could speak, they might well witness. For, many times have I stood here, bewailing myself unto them: many times have I, leaning to yonder Palm, admired the blessedness of it, that it could bear Love without sense of pain. Many times, when my master's cattle came hither to chew their cud, in this fresh place, I might see the young Bull testify his love. But how? with proud looks, and joyfulness. O wretched mankind (said I then to myself) in whom wit (which should be the governor of his welfare) becomes the traitor to his blessedness. These beasts, like children to nature, inherit her blessings quietly; we, like bastards, are laid abroad, even as foundlings to be trained up by grief and sorrow. Their minds grudge not at their body's comfort, nor their senses are letted from enjoying their objects: we have the impediments of honour, and the torments of conscience. Truly in such cogitations have I sometimes so long stood, that me thought my feet began to grow into the ground, with such a darkness and heaviness of mind, that I might easily have been persuaded to have resigned over my very essence. But Love, (which one time layeth burdens, another time giveth wings) when I was at the lowest of my downward thoughts, pulled up my heart to remember, that nothing is achieved before it be throughly attempted; and that lying still doth never go forward: and that therefore it was time, now or never, to sharpen my invention, to pierce thorough the hardness of this enterprise; never ceasing to assemble all my conceits, one after the other, how to manifest both my mind and estate. Till at last, I lighted and resolved on this way, which yet perchance you will think was a way rather to hid it. I began to counterfeit the extremest love towards Mopsa, that might be: and as for the love, so lively it was indeed within me, (although to another subject) that little I needed to counterfeit any notable demonstrations of it: and so making a contrariety the place of my memory, in her foulness I beheld Pamela's fairness, still looking on Mopsa, but thinking on Pamela; as if I saw my Sun shine in a puddled water: I cried out of nothing but Mopsa: to Mopsa my attendance was directed: to Mopsa the best fruits I could gather were brought: to Mopsa it seemed still that mine eye conveyed my tongue. So that Mopsa was my saying; Mopsa was my singing; Mopsa, (that is only suitable in laying a foul complexion upon a filthy favour, setting forth both in sluttishness) she was the lodestar of my life, she the blessing of mine eyes, she the overthrow of my desires, and yet the recompense of my overthrow; she the sweetness of my heart, even sweetening the death, which her sweetness drew upon me. In sum, what soever I thought of Pamela, that I said of Mopsa; whereby as I got my masters goodwill, who before spited me, fearing lest I should win the Princess favour from him, so did the same make the Princess the better content to allow me her presence: whether indeed it were, that a certain spark of noble indignation did rise in her, not to suffer such a baggage to win away any thing of hers, how meanly soever she reputed of it; or rather (as I think) my words being so passionate; and shooting so quite contrary from the marks of Mopsa's worthiness, she perceived well enough, whither they were directed: and therefore being so masked, she was contented, as a sport of wit to attend them. Whereupon one day determining to find some means to tell (as of a third person) the tale of mine own love, and estate, finding Mopsa (like a Cuckoo by a Nightingale) alone with Pamela, I came in unto them, and with a face (I am sure) full of cloudy fancies, took a harp, and song this song.  

SInce so mine eyes are subject to your sight,  
That in your sight they fixed have my brain;  
Since so my heart is filled with that light,  
That only light doth all my life maintain;   

Since in sweet you all goods so richly reign,  
That where you are no wished good can want;  
Since so your living image lives in me,  
That in myself your self true love doth plant;  
How can you him unworthy than decree,  
In whose chief part your worths implanted be?   
The song being ended, which I had often broken of in the midst with grievous sighs, which overtook every verse I sang, I let fall my harp from me; and casting my eye sometime upon Mopsa, but settling my sight principally upon Pamela, And is it the only fortune most beautiful Mopsa (said I) of wretched Dorus, that fortune must be the measure of his mind? Am I only he that because I am in misery, more misery must be laid upon me? must that which should be cause of compassion, become an argument of cruelty against me? Alas excellent Mopsa, consider, that a virtuous Prince requires the life of his meanest subject, and the heavenly Sun disdains not to give light to the smallest worm. O Mopsa, Mopsa, if my heart could be as manifest to you, as it is uncomfortable to me, I doubt not the height of my thoughts should well countervail the lowness of my quality. Who hath not heard of the greatness of your estate? who seethe not, that your estate is much excelled with that sweet uniting of all beauties, which remaineth and dwelleth with you? who knows not, that all these are but ornaments of that divine spark within you, which being descended from heaven, could not elsewhere pick out so sweet a mansion? But if you will know what is the band that ought to knit all these excellencies together, it is a kind mercifulness to such a one, as is in his soul devoted to those perfections. Mopsa (who already had had a certain smackring towards me) stood all this while with her hand sometimes before her face, but most commonly with a certain special grace of her own, wagging her lips, and grinning in steed of smiling: but all the words I could get of her, was, wrieng her waste, and thrusting out her chin, In faith you jest with me: you are a merry man indeed. But the ever-pleasing Pamela (that well found the Comedy would be marred, if she did not help Mopsa to her part) was content to urge a little further of me. Master Dorus (said the fair Pamela) me thinks you blame your fortune very wrongfully, since the fault is not in Fortune, but in you that cannot frame yourself to your fortune: and as wrongfully do require Mopsa to so great a disparagement as to her Father's servant; since she is not worthy to be loved, that hath not some feeling of her own worthiness. I stayed a good while after her words, in hope she would have continued her speech (so great a delight I received in hearing her) but seeing her say no further, (with a quaking all over my body) I thus answered her. Lady, most worthy of all duty, how falls it out that you in whom all virtue shines, will take the patronage of fortune, the only rebellious handmaid against virtue? Especially, since before your eyes, you have a pitiful spectacle of her wickedness, a forlorn creature, which must remain not such as I am, but such as she makes me, since she must be the balance of worthiness or disparagement. Yet alas, if the condemned man (even at his death) have leave to speak, let my mortal wound purchase thus much consideration; since the perfections are such in the party I love, as the feeling of them cannot come into any unnoble heart; shall that heart, which doth not only feel them, but hath all the working of his life placed in them, shall that heart I say, lifted up to such a height, be counted base? O let not an excellent spirit do itself such wrong, as to think, where it is placed, embraced, and loved; there can be any unworthiness, since the weakest mist is not easilier driven away by the Sun, then that is chased away with so high thoughts. I will not deny (answered the gracious Pamela) but that the love you bear to Mopsa, hath brought you to the consideration of her virtues, and that consideration may have made you the more virtuous, and so the more worthy: But even that then (you must confess) you have received of her, and so are rather gratefully to thank her, then to press any further, till you bring something of your own whereby to claim it. And truly Dorus, I must in Mopsa's behalf say thus much to you, that if her beauties have so overtaken you, it becomes a true Love to have your heart more set upon her good then your own, & to bear a tenderer respect to her honour, than your satisfaction. Now by my hallidame, Madam (said Mopsa, throwing a great number of sheep's eyes upon me) you have even touched mine own mind to the quick, forsooth. I (finding that the policy that I had used, had at lest wise procured thus much happiness unto me, as that I might even in my Lady's presence, discover the sore which had deeply festered within me, and that she could better conceive my reasons applied to Mopsa, than she would have vouchsafed them, whilst herself was a party) thought good to pursue on my good beginning, using this fit occasion of Pamelaes' wit, and Mopsa's ignorance. Therefore with an humble piercing eye, looking upon Pamela, as if I had rather been condemned by her mouth, then highly exalted by the other, turning myself to Mopsa, but keeping mine eye where it was, fair Mopsa (said I) well do I find by the wise knitting together of your answer, that any disputation I can use is as much too weak, as I unworthy. I find my love shallbe proved no love, without I leave to love, being too unfit a vessel in whom so high thoughts should be engraved. Yet since the Love I bear you, hath so joined itself to the best part of my life, as the one can not departed, but that th'other will follow, before I seek to obey you in making my last passage, let me know which is my unworthiness, either of mind, estate, or both? Mopsa was about to say, in neither; for her heart I think tumbled with overmuch kindness, when Pamela with a more favourable countenance then before (finding how apt I was to fall into despair) told me, I might therein have answered my self; for besides that it was granted me, that the inward feeling of Mopsa's perfections had greatly beautified my mind, there was none could deny, but that my mind and body deserved great allowance. But Dorus (said she) you must be so far master of your love, as to consider, that since the judgement of the world stands upon matter of fortune, and that the sex of womankind of all other is most bound to have regardful eye to men's judgements, it is not for us to play the philosophers, in seeking out your hidden virtues: since that, which in a wise prince would be counted wisdom, in us will be taken for a light-grounded affection: so is not one thing, one, done by divers persons. There is no man in a burning fever feels so great contentment in cold water greedily received (which assoon as the drink ceaseth, the rage reneweth) as poor I found my soul refreshed with her sweetly pronounced words; and newly, and more violently again inflamed, assoon as she had closed up her delightful speech, with no less well graced silence. But remembering in myself that aswell the Soldier dieth which standeth still, as he that gives the bravest onset: and seeing that to the making up of my fortune, there wanted nothing so much as the making known of mine estate, with a face well witnessing how deeply my soul was possessed, and with the most submissive behaviour, that a thralled heart could express, even as my words had been too thick for my mouth, at length spoke to this purpose. Alas, most worthy Princess (said I) and do not then your own sweet words sufficiently testify, that there was never man could have a juster action against filthy fortune, than I, since all other things being granted me, her blindness is my only let? O heavenly God, I would either she had such eyes as were able to discern my deserts, or I were blind not to see the daily cause of my misfortune. But yet (said I) most honoured Lady, if my miserable speeches have not already cloyed you, and that the very presence of such a wretch become not hateful in your eyes: let me reply thus much further against my mortal" sentence, by telling you a story, which happened in this same country long since (for woes make the shortest time seem long) whereby you shall see that my estate is not so contemptible, but that a Prince hath been content to take the like upon him, and by that only hath aspired to enjoy a mighty Princess. Pamela graciously hearkened, and I told my tale in this sort.  
In the country of Thessalia, (alas why name I that accursed country, which brings forth nothing, but matters for tragedies? but name it I must) in Thessalia (I say) there was (well may I say, there was) a Prince (no, no Prince, whom bondage wholly possessed; but yet accounted a Prince, and) named Musidorus. O Musidorus, Musidorus; but to what serve exclamations, where there are no ears to receive the sound? This Musidorus, being yet in the tenderest age, his worthy father paid to nature (with a violent death) her last duties, leaving his child to the faith of his friends, and the proof of time: death gave him not such pangs as the foresightful care he had of his silly successor. And yet if in his foresight he could have seen so much, happy was that good Prince in his timely departure, which barred him from the knowledge of his sons miseries, which his knowledge could neither have prevented, nor relieved. The young Musidorus (being thus, as for the first pledge of the destinies good will, deprived of his principal stay) was yet for some years after (as if the stars would breathe themselves for a greater mischief) lulled up in as much good luck, as the heedful love of his doleful mother, and the flourishing estate of his country could breed unto him.  
But when the time now came, that misery seemed to be ripe for him, because he had age to know misery, I think there was a conspiracy in all heavenly and earthly things, to frame fit occasions to lead him unto it. His people (to whom all matters in foretime were odious) began to wish in their beloved Prince, experience by travail: his dear mother (whose eyes were held open, only with the joy of looking upon him) did now dispense with the comfort of her widowhood life, desiring the same her subjects did, for the increase of her sons worthiness. And hereto did Musidorus own virtue (see how virtue can be a minister to mischief) sufficiently provoke him: for indeed thus much I must say for him, although the likeness of our mishaps makes me presume to pattern myself unto him) that well-doing was at that time his scope, from which no faint pleasure could withhold him. But the present occasion which did knit all this together, was his uncle the king of Macedon; who having lately before gotten such victories, as were beyond expectation, did at this time send both for the Prince his son (brought up together, to avoid the wars, with Musidorus) and for Musidorus himself, that his joy might be the more full, having such partakers of it. But alas, to what a sea of miseries my plaintfull tongue doth lead me; & thus out of breath, rather with that I thought, then that I said, I stayed my speech, till Pamela showing by countenance that such was her pleasure, I thus continued it. These two young Princes to satisfy the king, took their way by sea, towards Thrace, whether they would needs go with a Navy to secure him: he being at that time before Byzantium with a mighty Army besieging it; where at that time his court was. But when the conspired heavens had gotten this Subject of their wrath upon so fit a place as the sea was, they straight began to breath out in boisterous winds some part of their malice against him; so that with the loss of all his Navy, he only with the Prince his cousin, were cast a land, far off from the place whether their desires would have guided them. O cruel winds in your unconsiderate rages, why either began you this fury, or why did you not end it in his end? But your cruelty was such, as you would spare his life for many deathful torments. To tell you what pitiful mishaps fell to the young Prince of Macedon his cousin I should too much fill your ears with strange horrors; neither will I stay upon those laboursome adventures, nor loathsome misadventures to which, and through which his fortune & courage conducted him; My speech hasteneth itself to come to the fulpoint of Musidorus infortunes. For as we find the most pestilent diseases do gather into themselves all the infirmities with which the body before was annoyed; so did his last misery embrace in the extremity of itself all his former mischiefs.  
Arcadia, Arcadia was the place prepared to be the stage of his endless overthrow. Arcadia was, (alas well might I say it is) the charmed circle, where all his spirits for ever should be enchanted. For here (& no where else) did his infected eyes make his mind know, what power heavenly beauty hath to throw it down to hellish agonies. Here, here did he see the Arcadian Kings eldest daughter in whom he forthwith placed so all his hopes of joy, and joyful parts of his heart, that he left in himself nothing, but a maze of longing, and a dungeon of sorrow. But alas what can saying make them believe, whom seeing cannot persuade? Those pains must be felt before they can be understood; no outward utterance can command a conceit. Such was as then the state of the King, as it was no time by direct means to seek her. And such was the state of his captived will, as he could delay no time of seeking her.  
In this entangled case, he clothed himself in a shepherds weed, that under the baseness of that form, he might at least have free access to feed his eyes with that, which should at length eat up his heart. In which doing, thus much without doubt he hath manifested, that this estate is not always to be rejected, since under that vail there may be hidden things to be esteemed. And if he might with taking on a shepherds look cast up his eyes to the fairest Princess Nature in that time created; the like, nay the same desire of mine need no more to be disdained, or held for disgraceful. But now alas mine eyes wax dim, my tongue begins to falter, and my heart to want force to help, either with the feeling remembrance I have, in what heap of miseries the caitiff Prince lay at this time buried. Pardon therefore most excellent Princess, if I cut off the course of my dolorous tale, since if I be understood, I have said enough, for the defence of my baseness; and for that which after might befall to that pattern of ill fortune, (the matters are too monstrous for my capacity) his hateful destinies must best declare their own workmanship.  
Thus having delivered my tale in this perplexed manner, to the end the Princess might judge that he meant himself, who spoke so feelingly; her answer was both strange, and in some respect comfortable. For would you think it? she hath heard heretofore of us both, by means of the valiant Prince Plangus, and particularly of our casting away: which she (following my own stile) thus delicately brought forth. You have told (said she) Dorus, a pretty tale; but you are much deceived in the latter end of it. For the prince Musidorus with his cozen Pyrocles did both perish upon the coast of Laconia; as a noble gentleman, called Plangus (who was well acquainted with the history) did assure my father. O how that speech of hers did pour joys in my heart? o blessed name (thought I) of mine, since thou hast been in that tongue, and passed through those lips, though I can never hope to approach them. As for Pyrocles (said I) I will not deny it, but that he is perished: (which I said, lest sooner suspicion might arise of your being here, than yourself would have it) and yet affirmed no lie unto her, since I only said, I would not deny it. But for Musidorus (said I) I perceive indeed you have either heard or read the story of that unhappy Prince; for this was the very objection, which that peerless Princess did make unto him, when he sought to appear such as he was before her wisdom: and thus as I have read it fair written in the certainty of my knowledge he might answer her, that indeed the ship wherein he came, by a treason was perished, and therefore that Plangus might easily be deceived: but that he himself was cast upon the coast of Laconia, where he was taken up by a couple of shepherds, who lived in those days famous; for that both loving one fair maid, they yet remained constant friends; one of whose songs not long since was song before you by the shepherd Lamon, and brought by them to a nobleman's house, near Mantinaea, whose son had a little before his marriage, been taken prisoner, and by the help of this Prince, Musidorus (though naming himself by an other name) was delivered. Now these circumlocutions I did use, because of the one side I knew the Princess would know well the parties I meant; and of the other, if I should have named Strephon, Claius, Kalander, and Clitophon, perhaps it would have rubbed some conjecture into the heavy head of Mistress Mopsa.  
And therefore (said I) most divine Lady, he justly was thus to argue against such suspicions; that the Prince might easily by those parties be satisfied, that upon that wrack such a one was taken up: and therefore that Plangus might well err, who knew not of any's taking up again that he that was so preserved, brought good tokens to be one of the two, chief of that wracked company: which two since Plangus knew to be Musidorus and Pyrocles, he must needs be one of them, although (as I said) upon a foretaken vow, he was otherwise at that time called. Besides, the Princess must needs judge, that no less than a Prince durst undertake such an enterprise, which (though he might get the favour of the Princess) he conld never defend with less than a Prince's power, against the force of Arcadia. Lastly, (said he) for a certain demonstration, he presumed to show unto the Princess a mark he had on his face, as I might (said I) show this of my neck to the rare Mopsa: and withal, showed my neck to them both, where (as you know) there is a red spot, bearing figure (as they tell me) of a lions paw, that she may ascertain herself, that I am Menalcas brother. And so did he, beseeching her to send some one she might trust, into Thssalia, secretly to be advertised, whether the age, the complexion, and particularly that notable sign, did not fully agree with their Prince Musidorus. Do you not know further (said she, with a settled countenance, not accusing any kind of inward motion) of that story. Alas no, (said I) for even here the Historiographer stopped, saying, The rest belonged to Astrology. And therewith, thinking her silent imaginations began to work upon somewhat, to mollify them (as the nature of Music is to do) and withal, to show what kind of shepherd I was, I took up my Harp, and sang these few verses.  
MY sheep are thoughts, which I both guide and serve:  
Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless Love:  
On barren sweets they feed, and feeding starve:  
I wail their lot, but will not other prove.  
My sheephooj is wan hope, which all upholds:  
My weeds, Desire, cut out in endless folds.  
What wool my sheep shall bear, whiles thus they live,  
In you it is, you must the judgement give.  
And then, partly to bring Mopsa again to the matter (lest she should too much take heed to our discourses) but principally, if it were possible, to gather some comfort out of her answers, I kneeled down to the Princess, and humbly besought her to move Mopsa in my behalf, that she would unarm her noble heart of that steely resistance against the sweet blows of Love: that since all her parts were decked with some particular ornament; her face with beauty, her head with wisdom, her eyes with majesty, her countenance with gracefulness, her lips with loveliness, her tongue with victory; that she would make her heart the throne of pity, being the most excellent raiment of the most excellent part.  
Pamela, without show either of favour or disdain, either of heeding or neglecting what I had said, turned her speech to Mopsa, and with such a voice and action, as might show she spoke of a matter which little did concern her, Take heed to yourself (said she) Mopsa, for your shepherd can speak well: but truly, if he do fully prove himself such as he saith, I mean, the honest shepherd Menalchas his brother. and heir I know no reason why you should think scorn of him. Mopsa though (in my conscience) she were even then far spent towards me, yet she answered her, that for all my quaint speeches, she would keep her honesty close enough: And that as for the way of matrimony, she would step never a foot further, till my Master her father had spoken the whole word himself, no she would not. But ever and anon turning her muzzle toward me, she threw such a prospect upon me, as might well have given a surfeit to any weak lovers stomach. But Lord what a fool am I, to mingle that drivels' speeches among my noble thoughts? but because she was an Actor in this Tragedy, to give you a full knowledge, and to leave nothing (that I can remember) unrepeated.  
Now the Princess being about to withdraw herself from us, I took a jewel made in the figure of a Crabfish, which, because it looks one way and goes another, I thought it did fitly pattern out my looking to Mopsa, but bending to Pamela: The word about it was, By force, not choice; and still kneeling, besought the Princess that she would vouchsafe to give it Mopsa, and with the blessedness of her hand to make acceptable unto her that toy which I had found, following of late an acquaintance of mine at the plough. For (said I) as the earth was turned up, the plowe-share lighted upon a great stone: we pulled that up, and so found both that, and some other pretty things which we had divided betwixt us.  
Mopsa was benumbed with joy when the Princess gave it her: but in the Princess I could find no apprehension of what I either said or did, but with a calm carelessness letting each thing slide, justly as we do by their speeches, (who neither in matter nor person do any way belong unto us) which kind of cold temper, mixed with that lightning of her natural majesty, is of all others most terrible unto me: for yet if I found she contemned me, I would desperately labour both in fortune and virtue to overcome it; if she only misdoubted me, I were in heaven; for quickly I would bring sufficient assurance: lastly, if she hated me, yet I should know what passion to deal with; and either with infiniteness of desert I would take away the fuel from that fire; or if nothing would serve, than I would give her my hart-bloud to quench it. But this cruel quietness, neither retiring to mislike nor proceeding to favour; gracious, but gracious still after one manner; all her courtesies having this engraven in them, that what is done, is for virtues sake, not for the parties (ever keeping her course like the Sun, who neither for our praises, nor curses, will spur or stop his horses). This (I say) heavenlynes of hers. (for how so ever my misery is I cannot but so entitle it) is so impossible to reach unto, that I almost begin to submit myself to the tyranny of despair, not knowing any way of persuasion, where wisdom seems to be unsensible. I have appeared to her eyes, like myself, by a device I used with my master, persuading him, that we two might put on certain rich apparel I had provided, and so practise some thing on horseback before Pamela, telling him, it was apparel I had gotten for playing well the part of a King in a Tragedy at Athens: my horse indeed was it I had left at Menalcas house, and Dametas got one by friendship out of the Prince's stable. But how soever I show, I am no base body, all I do is but to beat a rock and get foam.  
But as Dorus was about to tell further, Dametas (who came whistling, and counting upon his fingers, how many load of hay his seventeen fat oxen eat up in a year) desired Zelmane from the King that she would come into the lodge, where they stayed for her. Alas (said Dorus, taking his leave) the sum is this, that you may well find you have beaten your sorrow against such a wall, which with the force of rebound may well make your sorrow stronger. But Zelmane turning her speech to Dametas, I shall grow (said she) skilful in country matters, if I have often conference with your servant. In sooth (answered Dametas with a graceless scorn) the Lad may prove well enough, if he oversoon think not too well of himself, and will bear away that he heareth of his elders. And therewith as they walked to the other lodge, to make Zelmane find she might have spent her time better with him, he began with a wild Method to run over all the art of husbandry: especially employing his tongue about well dunging of a field: while poor Zelmane yielded her ears to those tedious strokes, not warding them so much as with any one answer, till they came to Basilius, and Gynoecia, who attended for her in a coach to carry her abroad to see some sports prepared for her. Basilius, and Gynoecia sitting in the one end, placed her at the other, with her left side to Philoclea. Zelmane was moved in her mind, to have kissed their feet for the favour of so blessed a seat: for the narrowness of the coach made them join from the foot to the shoulders very close together; the truer touch whereof though it were barred by their envious apparel, yet as a perfect Magnes, though but in an ivory box will thorough the box send forth his embracing virtue to a beloved needle; so this imparadised neighbourhood made Zelmane's soul cleave unto her, both thorough the ivory case of her body, and the apparel which did over-clowd it. All the blood of Zelmane's body stirring in her, as wine will do when sugar is hastily put into it, seeking to suck the sweetness of the beloved guest; her heart, like a lion new imprisoned, seeing him that restrains his liberty, before the grate; not panting, but striving violently (if it had been possible) to have leapt into the lap of Philoclea. But Dametas, even then proceeding from being master of a cart, to be doctor of a coach, not a little proud in himself, that his whip at that time guided the rule of Arcadia, drove the coach (the cover whereof was made with such joints, that as they might (to avoid the weather) pull it up close when they listed, so when they would they might put each end down, and remain as discovered and open sighted as on horseback) till upon the side of the forest they had both greyhounds, spaniels, and hounds: whereof the first might seem the Lords, the second the Gentlemen, and the last the Yeomen of dogs; a cast of Merlin's there was besides, which flying of a gallant height over certain bushes, would beat the birds (that risen) down unto the bushes, as Falcons will do wildefoule over a river. But the sport which for that day Basilius would principally show to Zelmane, was the mountie at a Hearne, which getting up on his wagling wings with pain, till he was come to some height, (as though the air next to the earth were not fit for his great body to fly thorough) was now grown to diminish the sight of himself, and to give example to great persons, that the higher they be, the less they should show: when a jerfaulcon was cast of after her, who straight spying where the prey was, fixing her eye with desire, and guiding her wing by her eye, used no more strength than industry. For as a good builder to a high tower will not make his stair upright, but winding almost the full compass about, that the steepness be the more unsensible: so she, seeing the towering of her pursued chase, went circling, and compassing about, rising so with the less sense of rising; and yet finding that way scantly serve the greediness of her haste, as an ambitious body will go far out of the direct way, to win to a point of height which he desires; so would she (as it were) turn tail to the Heron, and fly quite out another way, but all was to return in a higher pitch; which once gotten, she would either beat with cruel assaults the Heron, who now was driven to the best defence of force, since flight would not serve; or else clasping with him, come down together, to be parted by the over-partiall beholders.  
divers of which flights Basilius showing to Zelmane, thus was the richesse of the time spent, and the day deceased before it was thought of, till night like a degenerating successor made his departure the better remembered. And therefore (so constrained) they willed Dametas to drive homeward, who (half sleeping, half musing about the mending of a winepress) guided the horses so ill, that the wheel coming over a great stub of a tree, it overturned the coach. Which though it fell violently upon the side where Zelmane and Gynoecia sat, yet for Zelmanes part, she would have been glad of the fall, which made her bear the sweet burden of Philoclea, but that she feared she might receive some hurt. But indeed neither she did, nor any of the rest, by reason they kept their arms and legs within the coach, saving Gynoecia, who with the only bruise of the fall had her shoulder put out of joinct; which though by one of the Faulkeners cunning, it was set well again, yet with much pain was she brought to the lodge; and pain (fetching his ordinary companion, a fever with him drove her to entertain them both in her bed.  
But neither was the fever of such impatient heat, as the inward plague-sore of her affection, nor the pain half so noisome, as the jealousy she conceived of her daughter Philoclea, lest this time of her sickness might give apt occasion to Zelmane, whom she misdoubted. Therefore she called Philoclea to her, and though it were late in the night, commanded her in her ear to go to the other lodge, and send Miso to her, with whom she would speak, and she lie with her sister Pamela. The mean while Gynoecia kept Zelmane with her, because she would be sure, she should be out of the lodge, before she licensed Zelmane. Philoclea not skilled in any thing better than obedience, went quietly down; and the Moon then full (not thinking scorn to be a torchbearer to such beauty) guided her steps, whose motions bear a mind which bore in itself far more stirring motions. And alas (sweet Philoclea) how hath my pen till now forgot thy passions, since to thy memory principally all this long matter is intended? pardon the slackness to come to those woes, which having caused in others, thou didst feel in thyself.  
The sweet minded Philoclea was in their degree of well doing, to whom the not knowing of evil serveth for a ground of virtue, and hold their inward powers in better form with an unspotted simplicity, than many, who rather cunningly seek to know what goodness is, then willingly take into themselves the following of it. But as that sweet and simple breath of heavenly goodness, is the easier to be altered, because it hath not passed through the worldly wickedness, nor feelingly found the evil, that evil carries with it; so now the Lady Philoclea (whose eyes and senses had received nothing, but according as the natural course of each thing required; whose tender youth had obediently lived under her parents behests, without framing out of her own will the fore-chosing of any thing) when now she came to appoint, wherein her judgement was to be practised, in knowing faultiness by his first tokens, she was like a young faun, who coming in the wind of the hunters, doth not know whether it be a thing or not to be eschewed; whereof at this time she began to get a costly experience. For after that Zelmane had a while lived in the lodge with her, and that her only being a noble stranger had bred a kind of heedful attention; her coming to that lonely place (where she had no body but her parents) a willingness of conversation; her wit & behaviour, a liking and silent admiration; at length the excellency of her natural gifts, joined with the extreme shows she made of most devout honouring Philoclea, (carrying thus in one person the only two bands of good will, loveliness and lovingness) brought forth in her heart a yielding to a most friendly affection; which when it had gotten so full possession of the keys of her mind, that it would receive no message from her senses, without that affection were the interpreter; then straight grew an exceeding delight still to be with her, with an unmeasurable liking of all that Zelmane did: matters being so turned in her, that where at first, liking her manners did breed goodwill, now goodwill became the chief cause of liking her manners: so that within a while Zelmane was not prized for her demeanour, but the demeanour was prized because it was Zelmane's. Then followed that most natural effect of conforming one's self to that, which she did like, and not only wishing to be herself such an other in all things, but to ground an imitation upon so much an esteemed authority: so that the next degree was to mark all Zelmane's doings, speeches, and fashions, and to take them into herself, as a pattern of worthy proceeding. Which when once it was enacted, not only by the commonalty of Passions, but agreed unto by her most noble Thoughts, and that by Reason itself (not yet experienced in the issues of such matters) had granted his royal assent; then Friendship (a diligent officer) took care to see the statute thoroughly observed. Then grew on that not only she did imitate the soberness of her countenance, the gracefulness of her speech, but even their particular gestures: so that as Zelmane did often eye her, she would often eye Zelmane; and as Zelmane's eyes would deliver a submissive, but vehement desire in their look, she, though as yet she had not the desire in her, yet should her eyes answer in like piercing kindness of a look. Zelmane as much as Gynoecia's jealousy would suffer, desired to be near Philoclea; Philoclea, as much as Gynoecia's jealousy would suffer, desired to be near Zelmane. If Zelmane took her hand, and softly strained it, she also (thinking the knots of friendship ought to be mutual) would (with a sweet fastness) show she was loath to part from it. And if Zelmane sighed, she would sigh also; when Zelmane was sad, she deemed it wisdom, and therefore she would be sad too. Zelmane's languishing countenance with crossed arms, and sometimes castup eyes, she thought to have an excellent grace: and therefore she also willingly put on the same countenance: till at the last (poor soul, ere she were aware) she accepted not only the badge, but the service; not only the sign, but the passion signified. For whether it were, that her wit in continuance did find, that Zelmane's friendship was full of impatient desire, having more than ordinary limits, and therefore she was content to second Zelmane, though herself knew not the limits; or that in truth, true-love (well considered) have an infective power. At last she fell in acquaintance with loves harbinger, wishing. First she would wish, that they two might live all their lives together, like two of Diana's Nymphs. But that wish, she thought not sufficient, because she knew, there would be more Nymphs besides them, who also would have their part in Zelmane. Then would she wish, that she were her sister, that such a natural band might make her more special to her. But against that, she considered, that though being her sister, if she happened to be married, she should be rob of her. Then grown bolder, she would wish either herself, or Zelmane a man, that there might succeed a blessed marriage betwixt them. But when that wish had once displayed his ensign in her mind, than followed whole squadrons of long, that so it might be, with a main battle of mislikings, and repynings against their creation, that so it was not. Then dreams by night began to bring more unto her, than she durst wish by day, whereout making did make her know herself the better by the image of those fancies. But as some diseases when they are easy to be cured, they are hard to be known, but when they grow easy to be known, they are almost impossible to be cured: so the sweet Philoclea, while she might prevent it, she did not feel it, now she felt it, when it was passed preventing; like a river, no rampires being built against it, till already it have overflowed. For now indeed, Love pulled off his mask, and showed his face unto her, and told her plainly, that she was his prisoner. Then needed she no more paint her face with passions; for passions shone thorough her face; Then her rosy colour was often increased with extraordinary blushing: and so another time, perfect whiteness descended to a degree of paleness; now hot, then cold, desiring she knew not what, nor how, if she knew what. Then her mind (though too late) by the smart was brought to think of the disease, and her own proof taught her to know her mother's mind; which (as no error gives so strong assault, as that which comes armed in the authority of a parent) so greatly fortified her desires, to see, that her mother had the like desires. And the more jealous her mother was, the more she thought the jewel precious, which was with so many looks guarded. But that prevailing so far, as to keep the two lovers from private conference, than began she to feel the sweetness of a lovers solitariness, when freely with words and gestures, as if Zelmane were present, she might give passage to her thoughts, and so as it were utter out some smoke of those flames, wherewith else she was not only burned, but smothered. As this night, that going from the one lodge to the other by her mother's commandment, with doleful gestures and uncertain paces, she did willingly accept the times offer, to be a while alone: so that going a little aside into the wood; where many times before she had delighted to walk, her eyes were saluted with a tuft of trees, so close set together, as with the shade the moon gave thorough it, it might breed a fearful kind of devotion to look upon it. But true thoughts of love banished all vain fancy of superstition. Full well she did both remember and like the place; for there had she often with their shade beguiled Phoebus of looking upon her: There had she enjoyed herself often, while she was mistress of herself, and had no other thoughts, but such as might arise out of quiet senses.  
But the principal cause that invited her remembrance, was a goodly white marble stone, that should seem had been dedicated in ancient time to the Sylvan gods: which she finding there a few days before Zelmane's coming, had written these words upon it, as a testimony of her mind, against the suspicion her captivity made her think she lived in. The writing was this.  

YOu living powers enclosed in stately shrine  
Of growing trees: you rural Gods that wield  
Your sceptres here, if to your ears divine  
A voice may come, which troubled soul doth yield:  
This vow receive, this vow o Gods maintain;  
My virgin life no spotted thought shall stain.   

Thou purest stone, whose pureness doth present  
My purest mind; whose temper hard doth show  
My tempered heart; by thee my promise sent  
Unto myself let after-livers know.  
No fancy mine, nor others wrong suspect  
Make me, o virtuous Shame, thy laws neglect.   

O Chastity, the chief of heavenly lights,  
Which mak'st us most immortal shape to wear,  
Hold thou my heart, establish thou my sprights:  
To only thee my constant course I bear.  
Till spotless soul unto thy bosom fly,  
Such life to lead, such death I vow to die.   
But now that her memory served as an accuser of her change, and that her own handwriting was there, to bear testimony against her fall; she went in among those few trees, so closed in the tops together, as they might seem a little chapel: and there might she by the help of the moonlight perceive the goodly stone, which served as an altar in that woody devotion. But neither the light was enough to read the words, and the ink was already foreworne, and in many places blotted: which as she perceived, Alas (said she) fair Marble, which never receivedst spot but by my writing, well do these blots become a blotted writer. But pardon her which did not dissemble then, although she have changed since. Enjoy, enjoy the glory of thy nature, which can so constantly bear the marks of my inconstancy. And herewith hiding her eyes with her soft hand, there came into her head certain verses, which if she had had present commodity, she would have adjoined as a retractation to the other. They were to this effect.  

MY words, in hope to blaze my steadfast mind,  
This marble chose, as of like temper known:  
But lo, my words defaced, my fancies blind,  
Blots to the stone, shames to myself I find:  
And witness am, how ill agree in one,  
A woman's hand with constant marble stone.   

My words full weak, the marble full of might;  
My words in store, the marble all alone;  
My words black ink, the marble kindly white;  
My words unseen, the marble still in sight,  
May witness bear, how ill agree in one,  
A woman's hand, with constant marble stone.   
But seeing she could not see means to join as then this recantation to the former vow, (laying all her fair length under one of the trees) for a while she did nothing but turn up and down, as if she had hoped to turn away the fancy that mastered her, and hid her face, as if she could have hidden herself from her own fancies. At length with a whispering note to herself; O me unfortunate wretch (said she) what poisonous heats be these, which thus torment me? How hath the sight of this strange guest invaded my soul? Alas, what entrance found this desire, or what strength had it thus to conquer me? Then, a cloud passing between her sight and the moon, O Diana (said she) I would either the cloud that now hides the light of my virtue would as easily pass away, as you will quickly overcome this let; or else that you were for ever thus darkened, to serve for an excuse of my outrageous folly. Then looking to the stars, which had perfectly as then beautified the clear sky: My parents (said she) have told me, that in these fair heavenly bodies, there are great hidden deities, which have their working in the ebbing and flowing of our estates. If it be so, then (O you Stars) judge rightly of me, and if I have with wicked intent made myself a prey to fancy, or if by any idle lusts I framed my heart fit for such an impression, then let this plague daily increase in me, till my name be made odious to womankind. But if extreme and unresistible violence have oppressed me, who will ever do any of you sacrifice (o you Stars) if you do not secure me. No, no, you will not help me. No, no, you can not help me: Sin must be the mother, and shame the daughter of my affection. And yet are these but childish objections (simple Philoclea) it is the impossibility that doth torment me: for, unlawful desires are punished after the effect of enjoying; but unpossible desires are punished in the desire itself. O then, o ten times unhappy that I am, since where in all other hope kindleth love; in me despair should be the bellows of my affection: and of all despairs the most miserable, which is drawn from impossibility. The most covetous man longs not to get riches out of a ground which never can bear any thing; Why? because it is impossible. The most ambitious wight vexeth not his wits to climb into heaven; Why? because it is impossible. Alas then, o Love, why dost thou in thy beautiful sampler set such a work for my Desire to take out, which is as much impossible? And yet alas, why do I thus condemn my Fortune, before I hear what she can say for herself? What do I, silly wench, know what Love hath prepared for me? Do I not see my mother, as well, at lest as furiously as myself, love Zelmane? And should I be wiser than my mother? Either she sees a possibility in that which I think impossible, or else impossible loves need not misbecome me. And do I not see Zelmane (who doth not think a thought which is not first weighed by wisdom and virtue) doth not she vouchsafe to love me with like ardour? I see it, her eyes depose it to be true; what then? and if she can love poor me, shall I think scorn to love such a woman as Zelmane? Away than all vain examinations of why and how. Thou lovest me, excellent Zelmane, and I love thee: and with that, embracing the very ground whereon she lay, she said to herself (for even to herself she was ashamed to speak it out in words) O my Zelmane, govern and direct me: for I am wholly given over unto thee.  
In this depth of muzes, and divers sorts of discourses, would she ravingly have remained, but that Dametas and Miso (who were round about to seek her, understanding she was to come to their lodge that night) came hard by her; Dametas saying, That he would not deal in other body's matters; but for his part, he did not like that maids should once stir out of their father's houses, but if it were to milk a cow, or save a chicken from a kites foot, or some such other matter of importance. And Miso swearing that if it were her daughter Mopsa, she would give her a lesson for walking so late, that should make her keep within doors for one fortnight. But their jangling made Philoclea rise, and pretending as though she had done it but to sport with them, went with them (after she had willed Miso to wait upon her mother) to the lodge; where (being now accustomed by her parent's discipline, as well as her sister, to serve herself) she went alone up to Pamela's chamber: where meaning to delight her eyes, and joy her thoughts with the sweet conversation of her beloved sister, she found her (though it were in the time that the wings of night doth blow sleep most willingly into mortal creatures) sitting in a chair, lying backward, with her head almost over the back of it, and looking upon a wax-candle which burned before her; in one hand holding a letter, in the other her handkerchief, which had lately drunk up the tears of her eyes, leaving in steed of them, crimson circles, like red flakes in the element, when the weather is hottest. Which Philoclea finding (for her eyes had learned to know the badges of sorrow) she earnestly entreated to know the cause thereof, that either she might comfort, or accompany her doleful humour. But Pamela, rather seeming sorry that she had perceived so much, then willing to open any further, O my Pamela (said Philoclea) who are to me a sister in nature, a mother in counsel, a Princess by the law of our country, and which name (me think) of all other is the dearest, a friend by my choice and your favour, what means this banishing me from your counsels? Do you love your sorrow so well, as to grudge me part of it? Or do you think I shall not love a sad Pamela, so well as a joyful? Or be my ears unworthy, or my tongue suspected? What is it (my sister) that you should conceal from your sister, yea and servant Philoclea? These words wan no further of Pamela, but that telling her they might talk better as they lay together, they impoverished their clothes to enrich their bed, which for that night might well scorn the shrine of Venus: and there cherishing one another with dear, though chaste embracements; with sweet, though cold kisses; it might seem that Love was come to play him there without dart; or that weary of his own fires, he was there to refresh himself between their sweete-breathing lips. But Philoclea earnestly again entreated Pamela to open her grief; who (drawing the curtain, that the candle might not complain of her blushing) was ready to speak: but the breath almost form into words, was again stopped by her, and turned into sighs. But at last, I pray you (said she) sweet Philoclea, let us talk of some other thing: and tell me whether you did ever see any thing so amended as our Pastoral sports be, since that Dorus came hither? O Love, how far thou seest with blind eyes? Philoclea had strait found her, and therefore to draw out more, In deed (said she) I have often wondered to myself how such excellencies could be in so mean a person; but belike Fortune was afraid to lay her treasures, where they should be stained with so many perfections: only I marvel how he can frame himself to hid so rare gifts under such a block as Dametas. Ah (said Pamela) if you knew the cause: but no more do I neither; and to say the truth: but Lord, how are we fallen to talk of this fellow? and yet indeed if you were sometimes with me to mark him, while Dametas reads his rustic lecture unto him (how to feed his beasts before noon, where to shade them in the extreme heat, how to make the manger handsome for his oxen, when to use the goad, and when the voice: giving him rules of a herdman, though he pretend to make him a shepherd) to see all the while with what a grace (which seems to set a crown upon his base estate) he can descend to those poor matters, certainly you would: but to what serves this? no doubt we were better sleep then talk of these idle matters. Ah my Pamela (said Philoclea) I have caught you, the constancy of your wit was not wont to bring forth such disjointed speeches: you love, dissemble no further. It is true (said Pamela) now you have it; and with less ado should, if my heart could have thought those words suitable for my mouth. But indeed (my Philoclea) take heed: for I think Virtue itself is no armour of proof against affection. Therefore learn by my example. Alas thought Philoclea to herself, your shears come too late to clip the birds wings that already is flown away. But then Pamela being once set in the stream of her love, went away amain withal, telling her how his noble qualities had drawn her liking towards him; but yet ever weighing his meanness, and so held continually in due limits; till seeking many means to speak with her, and ever kept from it (as well because she shunned it, seeing and disdaining his mind, as because of her jealous iaylours) he had at length used the finest policy that might be in counterfeiting love to Mopsa, and saying to Mopsa what soever he would have her know: and in how passionate manner he had told his own tale in a third person, making poor Mopsa believe, that it was a matter fallen out many ages before. And in the end, because you shall know my tears come not, neither of repentance nor misery, who think you, is my Dorus fallen out to be? even the Prince Musidorus, famous over all Asia, for his heroical enterprises, of whom you remember how much good the stranger Plangus told my father; he not being drowned (as Plangus thought) though his cousin Pyrocles indeed perished. Ah my sister, if you had heard his words, or seen his gestures, when he made me know what, and to whom his love was, you would have matched in yourself (those two rarely matched together) pity and delight. Tell me dear sister (for the Gods are my witnesses I desire to do virtuously) can I without the detestable stain of ungratefulness abstain from loving him, who (far exceeding the beautifulness of his shape with the beautifulness of his mind, and the greatness of his estate with the greatness of his acts) is content so to abase himself, as to become Dametas' servant for my sake? you will say, but how know I him to be Musidorus, since the handmaid of wisdom is slow belief? That consideration did not want in me: for the nature of desire itself is no easier to receive belief, than it is hard to ground belief. For as desire is glad to embrace the first show of comfort, so is desire desirous of perfect assurance: and that have I had of him, not only by necessary arguments to any of common sense, but by sufficient demonstrations. Lastly he would have me send to Thessalia: but truly I am not as now in mind to do my honourable Love so much wrong, as so far to suspect him: yet poor soul knows he no other, but that I do both suspect, neglect, yea and detest him. For every day he finds one way or other to set forth himself unto me, but all are rewarded with like coldness of acceptation.  
A few days since, he and Dametas had furnished themselves very richly to run at the ring before me. O how mad a sight it was to see Dametas, like rich Tissue furred with lambe-skins? But o how well it did with Dorus, to see with what a grace he presented himself before me on horseback, making majesty wait upon humbleness? how at the first, standing still with his eyes bend upon me, as though his motions were chained to my look, he so stayed till I caused Mopsa bid him do something upon his horse: which no sooner said, but (with a kind rather of quick gesture, then show of violence) you might see him come towards me, beating the ground in so due time, as no dancer can observe better measure. If you remember the ship we saw once, when the Sea went high upon the coast of Argos; so went the beast: But he (as if Centaurlike he had been one piece with the horse) was no more moved, than one is with the going of his own legs: and in effect so did he command him, as his own limbs: for though he had both spurs and wand, they seemed rather marks of sovereignty, than instruments of punishment; his hand and leg (with most pleasing grace) commanding without threatening, and rather remembering them chastising, at lest if sometimes he did, it was so stolen, as neither our eyes could discern it, nor the horse with any change did complain of it: he ever going so just with the horse, either forth right, or turning, that it seemed as he borrowed the horse's body, so he lent the horse his mind: in the turning one might perceive the bridle-hande something gently stir, but indeed so gently, as it did rather distil virtue, then use violence. Himself (which me thinks is strange) showing at one instant both steadiness and nimbleness; sometimes making him turn close to the ground, like a cat, when scratchingly she wheels about after a mouse: sometimes with a little more rising before, now like a Raven leaping from ridge to ridge, then like one of Dametas kids bound over the hillocks: and all so done, as neither the lusty kind showed any roughness, nor the easier any idleness: but still like a well obeyed master, whose beck is enough for a discipline, ever concluding each thing he did with his face to me-wardes, as if thence came not only the beginning, but ending of his motions. The sport was to see Dametas, how he was tossed from the saddle to the mane of the horse, and thence to the ground, giving his gay apparel almost as foul an outside, as it had an inside. But as before he had ever said, he wanted but horse and apparel to be as brave a courtier as the best, so now bruised with proof, he proclaimed it a folly for a man of wisdom, to put himself under the tuition of a beast; so as Dorus was feign alone to take the Ring. Wherein truly at lest my womanish eyes could not discern, but that taking his staff from his thigh, the descending it a little down, the getting of it up into the rest, the letting of the point fall, and taking the Ring was but all one motion, at lest (if they were divers motions) they did so stealinglie slip one into another, as the latter part was ever in hand, before the eye could discern the former was ended. Indeed Dametas found fault that he showed no more strength in shaking of his staff: but to my conceit the fine cleenes of bearing it was exceeding delightful.  
But how delightful soever it was, my delight might well be in my soul, but it never went to look out of the window to do him any comfort. But how much more I found reason to like him, the more I set all the strength of mind to suppress it, or at least to conceal it. Indeed I must confess, that as some Physicians have told me, that when one is cold outwardly, he is not inwardly; so truly the cold ashes laid upon my fire, did not take the nature of fire from it. Full often hath my breast swollen with keeping my sighs imprisoned; full often have the tears, I drove back from mine eyes, turned back to drown my heart. But alas what did that help poor Dorus? whose eyes (being his diligent intelligencers) could carry unto him no other news, but uncomfortable. I think no day past, but by some one invention he would appear unto me to testify his love. One time he danced the Matachine dance in armour (O with what a graceful dexterity?) I think to make me see, that he had been brought up in such exercises: an other time he persuaded his master (to make my time seem shorter) in manner of a Dialogue, to play Priamus while he played Paris. Think (sweat Philoclea) what a Priamus we had: but truly, my Paris was a Paris, & more them a Paris: who while in a savage apparel, with naked neck, arms, & legs, he made love to Oenone, you might well see by his changed countenance, and true tears, that he felt the part he played. Tell me (sweet Philoclea,) did you ever see such a shepherd? tell me, did you ever hear of such a Prince? And then tell me, if a small or unworthy assault have conquered me. Truly I would hate my life, if I thought vanity led me. But since my parents deal so cruelly with me, it is time for me to trust something to my own judgement. Yet hitherto have my looks been as I told you, which continuing after many of these his fruitless trials, have wrought such change in him, as I tell you true (with that word she laid her hand upon her quaking side) I do not a little fear him. See what a letter this is (than drew she the curtain and took the letter from under the pillow) which to day (with an afflicted humbleness) he delivered me, pretending before Mopsa, that I should read it unto her, to mollify (forsooth) her iron stomach; with that she read the letter containing thus much.  
MOst blessed paper, which shalt kiss that hand, where to all blessedness is in nature a servant, do not yet disdain to carry with thee the woeful words of a miser now despairing: neither be afraid to appear before her, bearing the base title of the sender. For no sooner shall that divine hand touch thee, but that thy baseness shall be turned to most high preferment. Therefore mourn boldly my Ink; for while she looks upon you, your blackness will shine: cry out boldly my Lamentation; for while she reads you, your cries will be music. Say then (O happy messenger of a most unhappy message) that the too soon borne, and too late dying creature, which dares not speak, no not look, no not scarcely think (as from his miserable self, unto her heavenly highness) only presumes to desire thee (in the time that her eyes and voice do exalt thee) to say, and in this manner to say, not from him, O no, that were not fit, but of him. Thus much unto her sacred judgement: O you, the only honour to women, to men the only admiration, you that being armed by Love, defy him that armed you, in this high estate wherein you have placed me, yet let me remember him to whom I am bound for bringing me to your presence; and let me remember him, who (since he is yours, how mean so ever he be) it is reason you have an account of him. The wretch (yet your wretch) though with languishing steps runs fast to his grave, and will you suffer a temple (how poorely-built soever, but yet a temple of your deity) to be razed? But he dieth: it is most true, he dieth; and he in whom you live, to obey you, dieth. Whereof though he plain, he doth not complain: for it is a harm, but no wrong, which he hath received. He dies, because in woeful language all his senses tell him, that such is your pleasure: for since you will not that he live, alas, alas, what followeth, what followeth of the most ruined Dorus, but his end? End then, evil destinied Dorus, end; and end thou woeful letter, end; for it sufficeth her wisdom to know, that her heavenly will shallbe accomplished.  
O my Philoclea, is he a person to write these words? and are these words lightly to be regarded? But if you had seen, when with trembling hand he had delivered it, how he went away, as if he had been but the coffin that carried himself to his sepulchre. Two times I must confess I was about to take courtesy into mine eyes; but both times the former resolution stopped the entry of it: so that he departed without obtaining any further kindness. But he was no sooner out of the door, but that I looked to the door kindly; and truly the fear of him ever since hath put me into such perplexity, as now you found me. Ah my Pamela (said Philoclea) leave sorrow. The river of your tears will soon lose his fountain; it is in your hand as well to stitch up his life again, as it was before to  rend it. And so (though with selfe-grieved mind) she comforted her sister, till sleep came to bathe himself in Pamelaes' fair weeping eyes.  
Which when Philoclea found, wring her hands, O me (said she) indeed the only subject of the destinies displeasure, whose greatest fortunatenes is more unfortunate, than my sister's greatest unfortunatenesse. Alas she weeps because she would be no sooner happy; I weep because I can never be happy; her tears flow form pity; mine from being too far lower than the reach of pity. Yet do I not envy thee, dear Pamela, I do not envy thee: only I could wish that being thy sister in nature, I were not so far off a kin in fortune.  
But the darkness of sorrow overshadowing her mind, as the night did her eyes, they were both content to hid themselves under the wings of sleep, till the next morning had almost lost his name, before the two sweet sleeping sisters awaked from dreams which flattered them with more comfort, than their waking could, or would consent unto. For than they were called up by Miso; who having been with Gynoecia, had received commandment to be continually with her daughters, and particularly not to let Zelmane and Philoclea have any private conference, but that she should be present to hear what passed. Miso having now her authority increased, But came with scowling eyes to deliver a slavering good morrow to the two Ladies, telling them, it was a shame for them to mar their complexions, yea and conditions to, with long lying a bed: and that, when she was of their age, she trowed, she would have made a handkerchief by that time a day. The two sweet Princes with a smilinge silence answered her entertainment, and obeying her direction, covered their dainty beauties with the glad clothes. But as soon as Pamela was ready (and sooner she was then her sister) the agony of Dorus giving a fit to herself, which the words of his letter (lively imprinted in her mind) still remembered her of, she called to Mopsa, and willed her to fetch Dorus to speak with her: because (she said) she would take further judgement of him, before she would move Dametas to grant her in marriage unto him. Mopsa (as glad as of sweetmeate to go of such an arrant) quickly returned with Dorus to Pamela, who intended both by speaking with him to give some comfort to his passionate heart, and withal to hear some part of his life past; which although fame had already delivered unto her, yet she desired in more particular certainties to have it from so beloved an historian. Yet the sweetness of virtues disposition jealous, even over itself, suffered her not to enter abruptly into questions of Musidorus (whom she was half ashamed she did love so well, and more than half sorry she could love no better) but thought best first to make her talk arise of Pyrocles, & his virtuous father: which thus she did.  
Dorus (said she) you told me the last day, that Plangus was deceived in that he affirmed the Prince Musidorus was drowned: but withal, you confessed his cozen Pyrocles perished; of whom certainly in that age there was a great loss, since (as I have heard) he was a young Prince, of whom all men expected as much, as man's power could bring forth, and yet virtue promised for him, their expectation should not be deceived. Most excellent Lady (said Dorus) no expectation in others, nor hope in himself could aspire to a higher mark, then to be thought worthy to be praised by your judgement, and made worthy to be praised by your mouth. But most sure it is, that as his fame could by no means get so sweet & noble an air to fly in, as in your breath, so could not you (leaving yourself aside) find in the world a fit subject of commendation; as noble, as a long succession of royal ancestors, famous, and famous for victories could make him: of shape most lovely, and yet of mind more lovely; valiant, courteous, wise, what should I say more? sweet Pyrocles, excellent Pyrocles, what can my words but wrong thy perfections, which I would to God in some small measure thou hadst bequeathed to him that ever must have thy virtues in admiration; that masked at least in them, I might have found some more gracious acceptation? with that he imprisoned his look for a while upon Mopsa, who thereupon fell into a very wide smiling. Truly (said Pamela) Dorus I like well your mind, that can raise itself out of so base a fortune, as yours is, to think of the imitating so excellent a Prince, as Pyrocles was. Who shoots at the mid day Sun, though he be sure he shall never hit the mark; yet as sure he is, he shall shoot higher, than who aims but at a bush. But I pray you Dorus (said she) tell me (since I perceive you are well acquainted with that story) what Prince was that Euarchus father to Pyrocles, of whom so much fame goes, for his rightly royal virtues, or by what ways he got that opinion. And then so descend to the causes of his sending first away from him, and then to him for that excellent son of his, with the discourse of his life and loss: and therein you may (if you list) say something of that same Musidorus his cozen, because, they going together, the story of Pyrocles (which I only desire) may be the better understood.  
Incomparable Lady (said he) your commandment doth not only give me the will, but the power to obey you, such influence hath your excellency. And first, for that famous King Euarchus, he was (at this time you speak off) King of Macedon, a kingdom, which in elder time had such a sovereignty over all the provinces of Greece, that even the particular kings therein did acknowledge (with more or less degrees of homage) some kind of fealty thereunto: as among the rest, even this now most noble (and by you ennobled) kingdom of Arcadia. But he, when he came to his crown, finding by his latter ancestors either negligence, or misfortune, that in some ages many of those duties had been intermitted, would never stir up old titles (how apparent soever) whereby the public peace (with the loss of many not guilty souls) should be broken; but contenting himself to guide that ship, wherein the heavens had placed him, showed no less magnanimity in dangerless despising, than others in dangerous affecting the multiplying of kingdoms: for the earth hath since borne enough bleeding witnesses, that it was no want of true courage. Who as he was most wise to see what was best, and most just in the performing what he saw, and temperate in abstaining from any thing any way contrary: so think I, no thought can imagine a greater heart to see and contemn danger, where danger would offer to make any wrongful threatening upon him. A Prince, that indeed especially measured his greatness by his goodness: & if for any thing he loved greatness, it was, because therein he might exercise his goodness. A Prince of a goodly aspect, and the more goodly by a grave majesty, wherewith his mind did deck his outward graces; strong of body, and so much the stronger, as he by a well disciplined exercise taught it both to do, and suffer. Of age so as he was about fifty years when his Nephew Musidorus took on such shepheardish apparel for the love of the world's paragon, as I now wear.  
This King left Orphan both of father & mother, (whose father and grandfather likewise had died young) he found his estate, when he came to the age (which allowed his authority) so disjointed even in the noblest & strongest limbs of government, that the name of a King was grown even odious to the people, his authority having been abused by those great Lords, and little kings: who in those between times of reigning (by unjust favouring those that were partially theirs, and oppressing them that would defend their liberty against them had brought in (by a more felt then seen manner of proceeding) the worst kind of oligarchy; that is when men are governed in deed by a few, and yet are not taught to know what those few, be, to whom they should obey.  
For they having the power of kings, but not the nature of kings, used the authority as men do their farms, of which they see within a year they shall go out: making the kings sword strike whom they hated; the King's purse reward whom they loved: and (which is worst of all) making the Royal countenance serve to undermine the Royal sovereignty. For the Subjects could taste no sweeter fruits of having a King, then grievous taxations to serve vain purposes; Laws made rather to find faults, then to prevent faults: the Court of a Prince rather deemed as a privileged place of unbridled licentiousness, then as the abiding of him, who as a father, should give a fatherly example unto his people. Hence grew a very dissolution of all estates, while the great men (by the nature of ambition never satisfied) grew factious among themselves: and the underlings, glad in deed to be underlings to them they hated lest, to preserve them from such they hated most. Men of virtue suppressed, lest their shining should discover the others filthiness; and at length virtue itself almost forgotten, when it had no hopeful end whereunto to be directed; old men long nuzzled in corruption, scorning them that would seek reformation; young men very faultfinding, but very faulty: and so to new fangleness both of manners, apparel, and each thing else, by the custom of selfe-guiltie evil, glad to change though oft for a worse; merchandise abused, and so towns decayed for want of just and natural liberty; offices, even of judging souls, sold; public defences neglected; and in sum, (lest too long I trouble you) all awry, and (which wried it to the most wry course of all) wit abused, rather to feign reason why it should be amiss, then how it should be amended.  
In this, and a much worse plight than it is fit to trouble your excellent ears withal, did the King Euarchus find his estate, when he took upon him the regiment: which by reason of the long stream of abuse, he was forced to establish by some even extreme severity, not so much for the very faults themselves, (which he rather sought to prevent then to punish) as for the faulty ones; who strong, even in their faults, scorned his youth, and could not learn to digest, that the man which they so long had used to mask their own appetites, should now be the reducer of them into order. But so soon as some few (but in deed notable) examples, had thundered a duty into the subjects hearts, he soon showed, no baseness of suspicion, nor the basest baseness of envy, could any whit rule such a Ruler. But than shined forth indeed all love among them, when an awful fear, engendered by justice, did make that love most lovely: his first and principal care being to appear unto his people, such as he would have them be, & to be such as he appeared; making his life the example of his laws, and his laws as it were, his axioms arising out of his deeds. So that within small time, he wan a singular love in his people, and engrafted singular confidence. For how could they choose but love him, whom they found so truly to love them? He even in reason disdaining, that they that have charge of beasts, should love their charge, and care for them; and that he that was to govern the most excellent creature, should not love so noble a charge. And therefore, where most Princes (seduced by flattery to build upon false grounds of government) make themselves (as it were) an other thing from the people; and so count it gain what they get from them: and (as if it were two counter-ballances, that their estate goes highest when the people goes lowest) by a fallacy of argument thinking themselves most Kings, when the subject is most basely subjecteth: He contrariwise, virtuously and wisely acknowledging, that he with his people made all but one politic body, whereof himself was the head; even so cared for them, as he would for his own limbs: never restraining their liberty, without it stretched to licentiousness, nor pulling from them their goods, which they found were not employed to the purchase of a greater good: but in all his actions showing a delight in their welfare, brought that to pass, that while by force he took nothing, by their love he had all. In sum (peerless Princess) I might as easily set down the whole Art of government, as to lay before your eyes the picture of his proceed. But in such sort he flourished in the sweet comfort of doing much good, when by an occasion of leaving his Country, he was forced to bring forth his virtue of magnanimity, as before he had done of justice.  
He had only one sister, a Lady (lest I should too easily fall to partial praises of her) of whom it may be justly said, that she was no unfit branch to the noble stock whereof she was come. Her he had given in marriage to Dorilaus, Prince of Thessalia, not so much to make a friendship, as to confirm the friendship between their posterity, which between them, by the likeness of virtue, had been long before made: for certainly, Dorilaus, could need no amplifiers mouth for the highest point of praise. Who hath not heard (said Pamela) of the valiant, wise, and just Dorilaus, whose unripe death doth yet (so many years since) draw tears from virtuous eyes? And indeed, my father is wont to speak of nothing with greater admiration, then of the notable friendship (a rare thing in Princes, more rare between Princes) that so holily was observed to the last, of those two excellent men. But (said she) go on I pray you. Dorilaus (said he) having married his sister, had his marriage in short time blest (for so are folk wont to say, how unhappy soever the children after grow) with a son, whom they named Musidorus: of whom I must needs first speak before I come to Pyrocles; because as he was borne first, so upon his occasion grew (as I may say accidentally) the others birth. For scarcely was Musidorus made partaker of this oft-blinding light, when there were found numbers of Soothsayers, who affirmed strange and incredible things should be performed by that child; whether the heavens at that time listed to play with ignorant mankind, or that flattery be so presumptuous, as even at times to borrow the face of Divinity. But certainly, so did the boldness of their affirmation accompany the greatness of what they did affirm (even descending to particularities, what kingdoms he should overcome) that the king of Phrygia (who over-superstitiously thought himself touched in the matter) sought by force to destroy the infant, to prevent his after-expectations: because a skilful man (having compared his nativity with the child) so told him. Foolish man, either vainly fearing what was not to be feared, or not considering that if it were a work of the superior powers, the heavens at length are never children. But so he did, and by the aid of the Kings of Lydia and Crete (joining together their armies) invaded Thessalia, and brought Dorilaus to some behindhand of fortune, when his faithful friend and brother Euarchus came so mightily to his succour, that with some interchanging changes of fortune, they begat of a just war, the best child, peace. In which time Euarchus made a cross marriage also with Dorilaus his sister, and shortly left her with child of the famous Pyrocles, driven to return to the defence of his own country, which in his absence (helped with some of the ill contented nobility) the mighty King of Thrace, and his brother, King of Pannonia, had invaded. The success of those wars was too notable to be unknown to your ears, to which it seems all worthy fame hath glory to come unto. But there was Dorilaus (valiantly requiting his friends help) in a great battle deprived of life, his obsequies being no more solemnised by the tears of his partakers, than the blood of his enemies; with so piercing a sorrow to the constant heart of Euarchus, that the news of his son's birth could lighten his countenance with no show of comfort, although all the comfort that might be in a child, truth itself in him forthwith delivered. For what fortune only soothsayers foretold of Musidorus, that all men might see prognosticated in Pyrocles, both Heavens and Earth giving tokens of the coming forth of an Heroical virtue. The senate house of the planets was at no time so set, for the decreeing of perfection in a man, as at that time all folks skilful therein did acknowledge: only love was threatened, and promised to him, and so to his cousin, as both the tempest and haven of their best years. But as death may have prevented Pyrocles, so unworthiness must be the death of Musidorus.  
But the mother of Pyrocles (shortly after her childbirth) dying, was cause that Euarchus recommended the care of his only son to his sister; doing it the rather because the war continued in cruel heat, betwixt him and those evil neighbours of his. In which mean time those young Princes (the only comforters of that virtuous widow) grew on so, that Pyrocles taught admiration to the hardest conceits: Musidorus (perchance because among his subjects) exceedingly beloved: and by the good order of Euarchus (well performed by his sister) they were so brought up, that all the sparks of virtue, which nature had kindled in them, were so blown to give forth their uttermost heat that justly it may be affirmed, they inflamed the affections of all that knew them. For almost before they could perfectly speak, they began to receive conceits not unworthy of the best speakers: excellent devices being used, to make even their sports profitable; images of battles, and fortifications being then delivered to their memory, which after, their stronger judgements might dispense, the delight of tales being converted to the knowledge of all the stories of worthy Princes, both to move them to do nobly, and teach them how to do nobly; the beauty of virtue still being set before their eyes, and that taught them with far more diligent care, then Grammatical rules, their bodies exercised in all abilities, both of doing and suffering, and their minds acquainted by degrees with dangers; and in sum, all bent to the making up of princely minds: no servile fear used towards them, nor any other violent restraint, but still as to Princes: so that a habit of commanding was naturalised in them, and therefore the farther from Tyranny: Nature having done so much for them in nothing, as that it made them Lords of truth, whereon all the other goods were builded.  
Among which nothing I so much delight to recount, as the memorable friendship that grew betwixt the two Princes, such as made them more like than the likeness of all other virtues, and made them more near one to the other, than the nearness of their blood could aspire unto; which I think grew the faster, and the faster was tied between them, by reason that Musidorus being elder by three or four years, it was neither so great a difference in age as did take away the delight in society, and yet by the difference there was taken away the occasion of childish contentions; till they had both past over the humour of such contentions. For Pyrocles bore reverence full of love to Musidorus, and Musidorus had a delight full of love in Pyrocles. Musidorus, what he had learned either for body or mind, would teach it to Pyrocles; and Pyrocles was so glad to learn of none, as of Musidorus: till Pyrocles, being come to sixteen years of age, he seemed so to overrun his age in growth, strength, and all things following it, that not Musidorus, no nor any man living (I think) could perform any action, either on horse, or foot, more strongly, or deliver that strength more nimbly, or become the delivery more gracefully, or employ all more virtuously. Which may well seem wonderful: but wonders are no wonders in a wonderful subject.  
At which time understanding that the King Euarchus, after so many years war, and the conquest of all Pannonia, and almost Thrace, had now brought the conclusion of all to the siege of Byzantium (to the raising of which siege great forces were made) they would needs fall to the practice of those virtues, which they before learned. And therefore the mother of Musidorus nobly yielding over her own affects to her children's good (for a mother she was in effect to them both) the rather that they might help her beloved brother, they broke off all delays; which Musidorus for his part thought already had devoured too much of his good time, but that he had once granted a boon (before he knew what it was) to his dear friend Pyrocles; that he would never seek the adventures of arms, until he might go with him: which having fast bound his heart (a true slave to faith) he had bid a tedious delay of following his own humour for his friend's sake, till now being both sent for by Euarchus, & finding Pyrocles able every way to go thorough with that kind of life, he was as desirous for his sake, as for his own, to enter into it. So therefore preparing a navy, that they might go like themselves, and not only bring the comfort of their presence, but of their power to their dear parent Euarchus, they recommended themselves to the Sea, leaving the shore of Thessalia full of tears and vows; and were received thereon with so smooth and smiling a face, as if Neptune had as then learned falsely to fawn on Princes. The wind was like a servant, waiting behind them so just, that they might fill the sails as they listed; and the best sailors showing themselves less covetous of his liberality, so tempered it, that they all kept together like a beautiful flock, which so well could obey their masters pipe: without sometimes, to delight the Prince's eyes, some two or three of them would strive, who could (either by the cunning of well spending the winds breath, or by the advantageous building of their moving houses) leave their fellows behind them in the honour of speed: while the two Princes had leisure to see the practice of that, which before they had learned by books: to consider the art of catching the wind prisoner, to no other end, but to run away with it; to see how beauty, and use can so well agree together, that of all the trinkets, wherewith they are attired, there is not one but serves to some necessary purpose. And (o Lord) to see the admirable power and noble effects of Love, whereby the seeming insensible Loadstone, with a secret beauty (holding the spirit of iron in it) can draw that hard-hearted thing unto it, and (like a virtuous mistress) not only make it bow itself, but with it make it aspire to so high a Love, as of the heavenly Poles; and thereby to bring forth the noblest deeds, that the children of the Earth can boast of. And so the Princes delighting their conceits with confirming their knowledge, seeing wherein the Sea-discipline differed from land-service, they had for a day and almost a whole night, as pleasing entertainment, as the falsest heart could give to him he means worst to.  
But by that the next morning began a little to make a guilden show of a good meaning, there arose even with the Sun, a vail of dark clouds before his face, which shortly (like ink powered into water) had blacked over all the face of heaven; preparing (as it were) a mournful stage for a Tragedy to be played on-For forthwith the winds began to speak louder, and as in a tumultuous kingdom, to think themselves fittest instruments of commandment; and blowing whole storms of hail and rain upon them, they were sooner in danger, than they could almost bethink themselves of change. For then the traitorous Sea began to swell in pride against the afflicted Navy, under which (while the heaven favoured them) it had lain so calmly, making mountains of itself, our which the tossed and tottering ship should climb, to be straight carried down again to a pit of hellish darkness; with such cruel blows against the sides of the ship (that which way soever it went, was still in his malice) that there was left neither power to stay, nor way to escape. And shortly had it so dissevered the loving company, which the day before had tarried together, that most of them never met again, but were swallowed up in his never-satisfied mouth. Some indeed (as since was known) after long wandering returned into Thessalia; other recovered Byzantium, and served Euarchus in his war. But in the ship wherein the Princes were (now left as much alone as proud Lords be when fortune fails them) though they employed all industry to save themselves, yet what they did was rather for duty to nature, then hope to escape. So ugly a darkness, as if it would prevent the nights coming, usurped the days right: which (accompanied sometimes with thunders, always with horrible noises of the chafing winds) made the masters and pilots so astonished, that they knew not how to direct, and if they knew they could scarcely (when they directed) hear their own whistle. For the sea strove with the winds which should be louder, and the shrouds of the ship with a ghastfull noise to them that were in it, witnessed, that their ruin was the wager of the others contention, and the heaven roaring out thunders the more amazed them, as having those powers for enemies. Certainly there is no danger carries with it more horror, then that which grows in those floating kingdoms. For that dwelling place is unnatural to mankind, and then the terribleness of the continual motion, the desolation of the far-being from comfort, the eye and the ear having ugly images ever before it, doth still vex the mind, even when it is best armed against it. But thus the day passed (if that might be called a day) while the cunningest mariners were so conquered by the storm, as they thought it best with stricken sails to yield to be governed by it: the valiantest feeling inward dismaidness, and yet the fearfullest ashamed fully to show it, seeing that the Princes (who were to part from the greatest fortunes) did in their countenances accuse no point of fear, but encouraging them to do what might be done (putting their hands to every most painful office) taught them at one instant to promise themselves the best, and yet to despise the worst. But so were they carried by the tyranny of the wind, and the treason of the sea, all that night, which the elder it was, the more wayward it showed itself towards them: till the next morning (known to be a morning better by the hourglass, then by the day clearness) having run fortune as blindly, as itself ever was painted, lest the conclusion should not answer to the rest of the play, they were driven upon a rock: which hidden with those outrageous waves, did, as it were, closely dissemble his cruel mind, till with an unbelieved violence (but to them that have tried it) the ship ran upon it; and seeming willinger to perish then to have her course stayed, redoubled her blows, till she had broken herself in pieces; and as it were tearing out her own bowels to feed the seas greediness, left nothing within it but despair of safety, and expectation of a loathsome end. There was to be seen the diverse manner of minds in distress: some sat upon the top of the poop weeping and wailing, till the sea swallowed them; some one more able to abide death, then fear of death, cut his own throat to prevent drowning; some prayed, and there wanted not of them which cursed, as if the heavens could not be more angry than they were. But a monstrous cry begotten of many roaring voices, was able to infect with fear a mind that had not prevented it with the power of reason.  
But the Princes using the passions of fearing evil, and desiring to escape, only to serve the rule of virtue, not to abandon one's self, leapt to a rib of the ship, which broken from his fellows, floated with more likelihood to do service, than any other limb of that ruinous body; upon which there had gotten already two brethren, well known servants of theirs; and straight they four were carried out of sight, in that huge rising of the sea, from the rest of the ship. But the piece they were on sinking by little and little under them, not able to support the weight of so many, the brethren (the elder whereof was Leucippus, the younger Nelsus) showed themselves right faithful and grateful servants unto them; grateful (I say) for this cause: Those two gentlemen had been taken prisoners in the great war the king of Phrygia made upon Thessalia, in the time of Musidorus his infancy; and having been sold into another country (though peace fell after between these Realms) could not be delivered, because of their valour known, but for a far greater sum, then either all their friends were able, or the Dowager willing to make, in respect of the great expenses herself and people had been put to in those wars; and so had they remained in prison about thirteen years, when the two young Princes (hearing speeches of their good deserts) found means both by selling all the jewels they had of great price, and by giving under their hands great estates when they should come to be Kings (which promises their virtue promised for them should be kept) to get so much treasure as redeemed them from captivity. This remembered, and kindly remembered by these two brothers, perchance helped by a natural duty to their Prince's blood, they willingly left hold of the board, committing themselves to the seas rage, and even when they mente to die, themselves praying for the Prince's lives. It is true, that neither the pain nor danger, so moved the Prince's hearts as the tenderness of that loving part, far from glory, having so few lookers on; far from hope of reward, since themselves were sure to perish.  
But now of all the royal Navy they lately had, they had left but one little piece of one ship, whereon they kept themselves in all truth, having interchanged their cares, while either cared for other, each comforting and counseling how to labour for the better, and to abide the worse. But so fell it out, that as they were carried by the tide (which there seconded by the storm ran exceeding swiftly) Musidorus seeing (as he thought) Pyrocles not well upon the board, as he would with his right hand have helped him on better, he had no sooner unfastned his hold, but that a wave forcibly spoiled his weaker hand of hold; and so for a time parted those friends, each crying to the other, but the noise of the sea drowned their farewell. But Pyrocles (then careless of death, if it had come by any means, but his own) was shortly brought out of the seas fury to the lands comfort; when (in my conscience I know) that comfort was but bitter unto him. And bitter indeed it fell out even in itself to be unto him.  
For being cast on land much bruised and beaten both with the Seas hard farewell, and the shores rude welcome; and even almost deadly tired with the length of his uncomfortable labour, as he was walking up to discover some body, to whom he might go for relief, there came straight running unto him certain, who (as it was after known) by appointment watched (with many others) in diverse places along the coast: who laid hands of him, and without either questioning with him, or showing will to hear him, (like men fearful to appear curious) or which was worse having no regard to the hard plight he was in (being so wet and weak) they carried him some miles thence, to a house of a principal officer of that country. Who with no more civility (though with much more business than those under-fellowes had showed) began in captious manner to put interrogatories unto him. To which he (unused to such entertainment) did shortly and plainly answer, what he was, and how he came thither. But that no sooner known, with numbers of armed men to guard him (for mischief, not from mischief) he was sent to the King's court, which as then was not above a days journey off, with letters from that officer, containing his own serviceable diligence in discovering so great a parsonage; adding withal more than was true of his conjectures, because he would endear his own service.  
This country whereon he fell was Phrygia, and it was to the King thereof to whom he was sent, a Prince of a melancholy constitution both of body & mind; wickedly sad, ever musing of horrible matters; suspecting, or rather condemning all men of evil, because his mind had no eye to espy goodness: and therefore accusing Sycophants, of all men did best sort to his nature; but therefore not seeming Sycophants, because of no evil they said, they could bring any new or doubtful thing unto him, but such as already he had been apt to determine; so as they came but as proofs of his wisdom: fearful and never secure; while the fear he had figured in his mind had any possibility of event. A tode-like retiredness, and closeness of mind; nature teaching the odiousness of poison, and the danger of odiousness. Yet while youth lasted in him, the exercises of that age, and his humour (not yet fully discovered) made him something the more frequentable, and less dangerous. But after that years began to come on with some, though more seldom shows of a bloody nature, and that the prophecy of Musidorus destiny came to his ears (delivered unto him, and received of him with the hardest interpretation, as though his subjects did delight in the hearing thereof.) Then gave he himself indeed to the full currant of his disposition, especially after the war of Thessalia, wherein (though in truth wrongly) he deemed, his unsuccesse proceeded of their unwillingness to have him prosper: and then thinking himself contemned, (knowing no countermine against contempt, but terror) began to let nothing pass which might bear the colour of a fault, without sharp punishment: and when he wanted faults, excellency grew a fault; and it was sufficient to make one guilty, that he had power to be guilty. And as there is no humour, to which impudent poverty cannot make itself serviceable, so were there enough of those of desperate ambition, who would build their houses upon others ruins, which after should fall by like practices. So as servitude came mainly upon that poor people, whose deeds were not only punished, but words corrected, and even thoughts by some mean or other pulled out of them: while suspicion bred the mind of cruelty, and the effects of cruelty stirred a new cause of suspicion. And in this plight (full of watchful fearfulness) did the storm deliver sweet Pyrocles to the stormy mind of that Tyrant, all men that did such wrong to so rare a stranger (whose countenance deserved both pity and admiration) condemning themselves as much in their hearts, as they did brag in their forces.  
But when this bloody King knew what he was, and in what order he and his cousin Musidorus (so much of him feared) were come out of Thessalia, assuredly thinking (because ever thinking the worst) that those forces were provided against him; glad of the perishing (as he thought) of Musidorus, determined in public sort to put Pyrocles to death. For having quite lost the way of nobleness, he strove to climb to the height of terribleness; and thinking to make all men adread, to make such one an enemy, who would not spare, nor fear to kill so great a Prince; and lastly, having nothing in him why to make him his friend, he thought, he would take him away, from being his enemy. The day was appointed, and all things appointed for that cruel blow, in so solemn an order, as if they would set forth tyranny in most gorgeous decking. The Princely youth of invincible valour, yet so unjustly subjecteth to such outrageous wrong, carrying himself in all his demeanour so constantly, abiding extremity, that one might see it was the cutting away of the greatest hope of the world, and destroying virtue in his sweetest growth.  
But so it fell out that his death was prevented by a rare example of friendship in Musidorus: who being almost drowned, had been taken up by a Fisherman belonging to the kingdom of Pontus; and being there, and understanding the full discourse (as Fame was very prodigal of so notable an accident) in what case Pyrocles was; learning withal, that his hate was far more to him then to Pyrocles, he found means to acquaint himself with a nobleman of that Country, to whom largely discovering what he was, he found him a most fit instrument to effectuate his desire. For this nobleman had been one, who in many wars had served Euarchus, and had been so mind-striken by the beauty of virtue in that noble King, that (though not borne his Subject) he ever professed himself his servant. His desire therefore to him was, to keep Musidorus in a strong Castle of his, and then to make the King of Phrygia understand, that if he would deliver Pyrocles, Musidorus would willingly put himself into his hands: knowing well, that how thirsty so ever he was of Pyrocles blood, he would rather drink that of Musidorus.  
The Nobleman was loath to preserve one by the loss of another, but time urging resolution: the importunity of Musidorus (who showed a mind not to over-live Pyrocles) with the affection he bore to Euarchus, so prevailed, that he carried this strange offer of Musidorus, which by that Tyrant was greedily accepted.  
And so upon security of both sides, they were interchanged. Where I may not omit the work of friendship in Pyrocles, who both in speech and countenance to Musidorus, well showed, that he thought himself injured, and not relieved by him: ask him, what he had ever seen in him, why he could not bear the extremities of mortal accidents as well as any man? and why he should envy him the glory of suffering death for his friends cause, and (as it were) rob him of his own possession? But in this notable contention, (where the conquest must be the conquerors destruction, and safety the punishment of the conquered) Musidorus prevailed: because he was a more welcome pray to the unjust King, and as cheerfully going towards, as Pyrocles went frowardly fromward his death, he was delivered to the King, who could not be enough sure of him, without he fed his own eyes upon one, whom he had begun to fear, as soon as the other began to be.  
Yet because he would in one act, both make ostentation of his own felicity (into whose hands his most feared enemy was fallen) and withal cut of such hopes from his suspected subjects (when they should know certainly he was dead) with much more skilful cruelty, and horrible solemnity he caused each thing to be prepared for his triumph of tyranny. And so the day being come, he was led forth by many armed men (who often had been the fortifiers of wickedness) to the place of execution: where coming with a mind comforted in that he had done such service to Pyrocles, this strange encounter he had.  
The excelling Pyrocles was no sooner delivered by the king's servants to a place of liberty, than he bent his wit and courage, (and what would not they bring to pass?) how either to deliver Musidorus, or to perish with him. And (finding he could get in that country no forces sufficient by force to rescue him) to bring himself to die with him, (little hoping of better event) he put himself in poor raiment, and by the help of some few crowns he took of that nobleman, (who full of sorrow, though not knowing the secret of his intent, suffered him to go in such order from him) he (even he, borne to the greatest expectation, and of the greatest blood that any Prince might be) submitted himself to be servant to the executioner that should put to death Musidorus: a far notabler proof of his friendship, considering the height of his mind, than any death could be. That bad officer not suspecting him, being arrayed fit for such an estate, and having his beauty hidden by many foul spots he artificially put upon his face, gave him leave not only to wear a sword himself, but to bear his sword prepared for the justified murder. And so Pyrocles taking his time, when Musidorus was upon the scaffold (separated somewhat from the rest, as allowed to say something) he stepped unto him, and putting the sword into his hand not bound (a point of civility the officers used towards him, because they doubted no such enterprise) Musidorus (said he) die nobly. In truth, never man between joy before knowledge what to be glad of, and fear after considering his case, had such a confusion of thoughts, as I had, when I saw Pyrocles, so near me. But with that Dorus blushed, and Pamela smiled: and Dorus the more blushed at her smiling, and she the more smiled at his blushing; because he had (with the remembrance of that plight he was in) forgotten in speaking of himself to use the third person. But Musidorus turned again her thoughts from his cheeks to his tongue in this sort: But (said he) when they were with sword in hands, not turning backs one to the other (for there they knew was no place of defence) but making it a preservation in not hoping to be preserved, and now acknowledging themselves subject to death, meaning only to do honour to their princely birth, they flew amongst them all (for all were enemies) and had quickly either with flight or death, left none upon the scaffold to annoy them. Wherein Pyrocles (the excellent Pyrocles) did such wonders beyond belief, as was able to lead Musidorus to courage, though he had been borne a coward. But indeed, just rage and desperate virtue did such effects, that the popular sort of the beholders began to be almost superstitiously amazed, as at effects beyond mortal power. But the King with angry threatenings from-out a window (where he was not ashamed, the world should behold him a beholder) commanded his guard, and the rest of his soldiers to hasten their death. But many of them lost their bodies to lose their souls, when the Princes grew almost so weary, as they were ready to be conquered with conquering.  
But as they were still fight with weak arms, and strong hearts, it happened, that one of the soldiers (commanded to go up after his fellows against the Princes) having received a light hurt, more wounded in his heart, went back with as much diligence, as he came up with modesty: which another of his fellows seeing, to pike a thank of the King, strake him upon the face, reviling him, that so accompanied, he would run away from so few. But he (as many times it falls out) only valiant, when he was angry, in revenge thrust him through: which with his death was straight revenged by a brother of his: and that again requited by a fellow of the others. There began to be a great tumult amongst the soldiers; which seen, and not understood by the people (used to fears but not used to be bold in them) some began to cry treason; and that voice straight multiplying itself, the King (O the cowardice of a guilty conscience) before any man set upon him, fled away. Wherewith a bruit (either by art of some well meaning men, or by such chance as such things often fall out by) ran from one to the other, that the King was slain; wherewith certain young men of the bravest minds, cried with loud voice, Liberty; and encouraging the other Citizens to follow them, set upon the guard, and soldiers as chief instruments of Tyranny: and quickly, aided by the Princes, they had left none of them alive, nor any other in the city, who they thought had in any sort set his hand to the work of their servitude, and (God knows) by the blindness of rage, killing many guiltless persons, either for affinity to the Tyrant, or enmity to the tyrant-killers. But some of the wiser (seeing that a popular licence is indeed the manyheaded tyranny) prevailed with the rest to make Musidorus their chief: choosing one of them (because Princes) to defend them, and him because elder and most hated of the Tyrant, and by him to be ruled: whom forthwith they lifted up, Fortune (I think) smiling at her work therein, that a scaffold of execution should grow a scaffold of coronation.  
But by and by there came news of more certain truth, that the King was not dead, but fled to a strong castle of his, near hand, where he was gathering forces in all speed possible to suppress this mutiny. But now they had run themselves too far out of breath, to go back again the same career; and too well they knew the sharpness of his memory to forget such an injury; therefore learning virtue of necessity, they continued resolute to obey Musidorus. Who seeing what forces were in the city, with them issued against the Tyrant, while they were in this heat; before practices might be used to dissever them: and with them met the King, who likewise hoping little to prevail by time, (knowing and finding his people's hate) met him with little delay in the field: where himself was slain by Musidorus, after he had seen his only son (a Prince of great courage & beauty, but fostered in blood by his naughty Father) slain by the hand of Pyrocles. This victory obtained, with great, and truly not undeserved honour to the two Princes, the whole estates of the country with one consent, gave the crown and all other marks of sovereignty to Musidorus; desiring nothing more, then to live under such a government, as they promised themselves of him.  
But he thinking it a greater greatness to give a kingdom, then get a kingdom; understanding that there was left of the blood Royal, and next to the succession, an aged Gentleman of approved goodness (who had gotten nothing by his cousin's power, but danger from him, and odiousness for him) having past his time in modest secrecy, and as much from intermeddling in matters of government, as the greatness of his blood would suffer him, did (after having received the full power to his own hands) resign all to the nobleman: but with such conditions, and cautions of the conditions, as might assure the people (with as much assurance as worldly matters bear) that not only that governor, of whom indeed they looked for all good, but the nature of the government, should be no way apt to decline to Tyranny.  
This doing set forth no less his magnificence, than the other act did his magnanimity: so that greatly praised of all, and justly beloved of the new King, who in all both words and behaviour protested himself their Tenant, and Liegeman, they were drawn thence to revenge those who servants of theirs, of whose memorable faith, I told you (most excellent Princess) in willingly giving themselves to be drowned for their sakes: but drowned indeed they were not, but got with painful swimming upon a rock: from whence (after being come as near famishing, as before drowning) the weather breaking up, they were brought to the main land of Pontus; the same country upon which Musidorus also was fallen, but not in so lucky a place.  
For they were brought to the King of that country, a Tyrant also, not thorough suspicion, greediness, or revengefulnes, as he of Phrygia, but (as I may term it) of a wanton cruelty: inconstant in his choice of friends, or rather never having a friend, but a playfellow; of whom when he was weary, he could not otherwise rid himself, then by killing them: giving sometimes prodigally, not because he loved them to whom he gave, but because he lusted to give: punishing, not so much for hate or anger, as because he felt not the smart of punishment: delighted to be flattered, at first for those virtues which were not in him, at length making his vices virtues worthy the flattering: with like judgement glorying, when he had happened to do a thing well, as when he had performed some notable mischief.  
He chanced at that time (for indeed long time none lasted with him) to have next in use about him, a man of the most envious disposition, that (I think) ever infected the air with his breath: whose eyes could not look right upon any happy man, nor ears bear the burden of any body's praise: contrary to the natures of all other plagues, plagued with others well being; making happiness the ground of his unhappiness, & good news the argument of his sorrow: in sum, a man whose favour no man could win, but by being miserable. And so, because these two faithful servants of theirs came in miserable sort to that Court, he was apt enough at first to favour them; and the King understanding of their adventure, (wherein they had showed so constant a faith unto their Lords) suddenly falls to take a pride in making much of them, extolling them with infinite praises, and praising himself in his heart, in that he praised them. And by and by were they made great courtiers, and in the way of minions, when advancement (the most mortal offence to envy) stirred up their former friend, to overthrow his own work in them; taking occasion upon the knowledge (newly come to the court) of the late death of the King of Phrygia destroyed by their two Lords, who having been a near kinsman to this Prince of Pontus, by this envious councillor, partly with suspicion of practice, partly with glory of inpart revenging his cousin's death, the King was suddenly turned, (and every turn with him was a downfall) to lock them up in prison, as servants to his enemies, whom before he had never known, nor (till that time one of his own subjects had entertained and dealt for them) did ever take heed of. But now earnest in every present humour, and making himself brave in his liking, he was content to give them just cause of offence, when they had power to make just revenge. Yet did the Princes send unto him before they entered into war, desiring their servants liberty. But he swelling in their humbleness, (like a bubble blown up with a small breath, broken with a great) forgetting, or never knowing humanity, caused their heads to be stricken off, by the advice of his envious Councillor (who now hated them so much the more, as he foresaw their happiness in having such, and so fortunate masters) and sent them with unroyall reproaches to Musidorus and Pyrocles, as if they had done traitorously, and not heroically in killing his tyrannical cozen.  
But that injury went beyond all degree of reconcilement; so that they making forces in Phrygia (a kingdom wholly at their commandment, by the love of the people, and gratefulness of the King) they entered his country; and wholly conquering it (with such deeds as at lest Fame said were excellent) took the King; and by Musidorus commandment (Pyrocles heart more inclining to pity) he was slain upon the tomb of their two true Servants; which they caused to be made for them with royal expenses, and notable workmanship to preserve their dead lives. For his wicked Servant he should have felt the like, or worse, but that his heart broke even to death with the beholding the honour done to their dead carcases. There might Pyrocles quietly have enjoyed that crown, by all the desire of that people, most of whom had revolted unto him: but he, finding a sister of the late Kings (a fair and well esteemed Lady) looking for nothing more, then to be oppressed with her brother's ruins, gave her in marriage to the noble man his father's old friend, and endowed them with the crown of that kingdom. And not content with those public actions, of princely, and (as it were) governing virtue, they did (in that kingdom and some other near about) divers acts of particular trials, more famous, because more perilous. For in that time those regions were full both of cruel monsters, and monstrous men: all which in short time by private combats they delivered the countries of.  
Among the rest, two brothers of huge both greatness and force, therefore commonly called Giants, who kept themselves in a castle seated upon the top of a rock, impregnable, because there was no coming unto it, but by one narrow path, where one man's force was able to keep down an army. These brothers had a while served the King of Pontus, and in all his affairs (especially of war, whereunto they were only apt) they had showed, as unconquered courage, so a rude faithfulness: being men indeed by nature apt to the faults of rage, then of deceit; not greatly ambitious, more than to be well and uprightly dealt with; rather impatient of injury, then delighted with more than ordinary courtesies; and in injuries more sensible of smart or loss, then of reproach or disgrace. These men being of this nature (and certainly jewels to a wise man, considering what indeed wonders they were able to perform) yet were discarded by that unworthy Prince, after many notable deserts, as not worthy the holding. Which was the more evident to them; because it suddenly fell from an excess of favour, which (many examples having taught them) never stopped his race till it came to an headlong overthrow: they full of rage, retired themselves unto this castle. Where thinking nothing juster them revenge, nor more noble than the effects of anger, that (according to the nature) full of inward bravery and fierceness, scarcely in the glass of Reason, thinking itself fair, but when it is terrible, they immediately gave themselves to make all the country about them (subject to that King) to smart for their Lord's folly: not caring how innocent they were, but rather thinking the more innocent they were, the more it testified their spite, which they desired to manifest. And with use of evil, growing more and more evil, they took delight in slaughter, and pleased themselves in making others wrack the effect of their power: so that where in the time that they obeyed a master, their anger was a serviceable power of the mind to do public good; so now unbridled, and blind judge of itself, it made wickedness violent, and praised itself in excellency of mischief; almost to the ruin of the country, not greatly regarded by their careless and lovelesse king. Till now these Princes finding them so fleshed in cruelty, as not to be reclaimed, secretly undertook the matter alone: for accompanied they would not have suffered them to have mounted; and so those great fellows scornfully receiving them, as foolish birds fallen into their net, it pleased the eternal justice to make them suffer death by their hands: and so they were manifoldly acknowledged the saviours of that country.  
It were the part of a very idle Orator to set forth the numbers of wel-devised honours done unto them: But as high honour is not only gotten and borne by pain, and danger, but must be nursed by the like, or else vanisheth as soon as it appears to the world: so the natural hunger thereof (which was in Pyrocles) suffered him not to account a resting seat of that, which ever either riseth, or falleth, but still to make one occasion beget another; whereby his do might send his praise to others mouths to rebound again true contentment to his spirit. And therefore having well established those kingdoms, under good governors, and rid them by their valour of such giants and monsters, as before time armies were not able to subdue, they determined in unknown order to see more of the world, and to employ those gifts esteemed rare in them, to the good of mankind; and therefore would themselves (understanding that the King Euarchus was passed all the cumber of his wars) go privately to seek exercises of their virtue; thinking it not so worthy, to be brought to Heroical effects by fortune, or necessity, (like Ulysses and Aeneas) as by ones own choice, and working. And so went they away from very unwilling people to leave them, making time haste itself to be a circumstance of their honour, and one place witness to another of the truth of their do. For scarcely were they out of the confines of Pontus, but that as they rid alone armed, (for alone they went, one serving the other) they met an adventure; which though not so notable for any great effect they performed, yet worthy to be remembered for the un-used examples therein, as well of true natural goodness, as of wretched ungratefulness.  
It was in the kingdom of Galacia, the season being (as in the depth of winter) very cold, and as then suddenly grown to so extreme and foul a storm, that never any winter (I think) brought forth a fouler child: so that the Princes were even compelled by the hail, that the pride of the wind blew into their faces, to seek some shrouding place which a certain hollow rock offering unto them, they made it their shield against the tempests fury. And so staying there, till the violence thereof was passed, they heard the speech of a couple, who not perceiving them (being hid within that rude canapy) held a strange and pitiful disputation which made them step out; yet in such sort, as they might see unseen. There they perceived an aged man, and a young, scarcely come to the age of a man, both poorly arrayed, extremely weatherbeaten; the old man blind, the young man leading him: and yet through all those miseries, in both there seemed to appear a kind of nobleness, not suitable to that affliction. But the first words they heard, were these of the old man. Well Leonatus (said he) since I cannot persuade thee to lead me to that which should end my grief, and thy trouble, let me now entreat thee to leave me: fear not, my misery cannot be greater than it is, and nothing doth become me but misery; fear not the danger of my blind steps, I cannot fall worse than I am. And do not I pray thee, do not obstinately continue to infect thee with my wretchedness. But fly, fly from this region, only worthy of me. Dear father (answered he) do not take away from me the only remnant of my happiness: while I have power to do you service, I am not wholly miserable. Ah my son (said he, and with that he groaned, as if sorrow strove to break his heart,) how evil fits it me to have such a son, and how much doth thy kindness upbraid my wickedness? These doleful speeches, and some others to like purpose (well showing they had not been borne to the fortune they were in,) moved the Princes to go out unto them, and ask the younger what they were? Sirs (answered he, with a good grace, and made the more agreeable by a certain noble kind of piteousness) I see well you are strangers, that know not our misery so well here known, that no man dare know, but that we must be miserable. In deed our state is such, as though nothing is so needful unto us as pity, yet nothing is more dangerous unto us, then to make ourselves so known as may stir pity. But your presence promiseth, that cruelty shall not overrun hate. And if it did, in truth our state is sunk below the degree of fear.  
This old man (whom I lead) was lately rightful Prince of this country of Paphlagonia, by the hard-hearted ungratefulness of a son of his, deprived, not only of his kingdom (whereof no foreign forces were ever able to spoil him) but of his sight, the riches which Nature grants to the poorest creatures. Whereby, and by other his unnatural deal, he hath been driven to such grief, as even now he would have had me to have led him to the top of this rock, thence to cast himself headlong to death: and so would have made me (who received my life of him) to be the worker of his destruction. But noble Gentlemen (said he) if either of you have a father, and feel what dutiful affection is engrafted in a sons heart, let me entreat you to convey this afflicted Prince to some place of rest and security. Amongst your worthy acts it shall be none of the least, that a King, of such might and fame, and so unjustly oppressed, is in any sort by you relieved.  
But before they could make him answer, his father began to speak. Ah my son (said he) how evil an Historian are you, that leave out the chief knot of all the discourse? my wickedness, my wickedness. And if thou dost it to spare my ears, (the only sense now left me proper for knowledge) assure thyself thou dost mistake me. And I take witness of that Sun which you see (with that he cast up his blind eyes, as if he would hunt for light,) and wish myself in worse case than I do wish myself, which is as evil as may be, if I speak untruly; that nothing is so welcome to my thoughts, as the publishing of my shame. Therefore know you Gentlemen (to whom from my heart I wish that it may not prove some ominous foretoken of misfortune to have met with such a miser as I am) that whatsoever my son (o God, that truth binds me to reproach him with the name of my son) hath said, is true. But besides those truths, this also is true, that having had in lawful marriage, of a mother fit to bear royal children, this son (such a one as partly you see, and better shall know by my short declaration) and so enjoyed the expectations in the world of him, till he was grown to justify their expectations (so as I needed envy no father for the chief comfort of mortality, to leave an other onesselfe after me) I was carried by a bastard son of mine (if at least I be bound to believe the words of that base woman my concubine, his mother) first to mislike, then to hate, lastly to destroy, or to do my best to destroy, this son (I think you think) undeserving destruction. What ways be used to bring me to it, if I should tell you, I should tediously trouble you with as much poisonous hypocrisy, desperate fraud, smooth malice, hidden ambition, and smiling envy, as in any living person could be harboured. But I list it not; no remembrance, of naughtiness delights me, but mine own; and me thinks, the accusing his traps might in some manner excuse my fault, which certainly I loath to do. But the conclusion is, that I gave order to some servants of mine, whom I thought as apt for such charities as myself, to lead him out into a forest, and there to kill him.  
But those thieves (better natured to my son then myself) spared his life, letting him go, to learn to live poorly: which he did, giving himself to be a private soldier, in a country here by. But as he was ready to be greatly advanced for some noble pieces of service which he did, he heard news of me: who (drunk in my affection to that unlawful and unnatural son of mine) suffered myself so to be governed by him, that all favours and punishments passed by him, all offices, and places of importance, distributed to his favourites; so that ere I was aware, I had left myself nothing but the name of a King: which he shortly weary of too, with many indignities (if any thing may be called an indignity, which was laid upon me) threw me out of my seat, and put out my eyes; and then (proud in his tyranny) let me go, neither imprisoning, nor killing me: but rather delighting to make me feel my misery; misery in deed, if ever there were any; full of wretchedness, fuller of disgrace, and fullest of guiltiness. And as he came to the crown by so unjust means, as unjustly he kept it, by force of stranger soldiers in Citadels, the nests of tyranny, and murderers of liberty; disarming all his own countrymen, that no man durst show himself a well-willer of mine; to say the truth (I think) few of them being so (considering my cruel folly to my good son, and foolish kindness to my unkind bastard:) but if there were any who felt a pity of so great a fall, and had yet any sparks of unslain duty left in them towards me; yet durst they not show it, scarcely with giving me alms at their doors; which yet was the only sustenance of my distressed life, no body daring to show so much charity, as to lend me a hand to guide my dark steps: Till this son of mine (God knows, worthy of a more virtuous, and more fortunate father) forgetting my abominable wrongs, not recking danger, and neglecting the present good way he was in of doing himself good, came hither to do this kind office you see him perform towards me, to my unspeakable grief; not only because his kindness is a glass even to my blind eyes, of my naughtiness, but that above all griefs, it grieves me he should desperately adventure the loss of his well deserving life for mine, that yet own more to fortune for my deserts, as if he would carry mud in a chest of crystal. For well I know, he that now reigneth, how much so ever (and with good reason) he despiseth me, of all men despised; yet he will not let slip any advantage to make away him, whose just title (ennobled by courage and goodness) may one day shake the seat of a never secure tyranny. And for this cause I craved of him to lead me to the top of this rock, indeed I must confess, with meaning to free him from so Serpentine a companion as I am. But he finding what I purposed, only therein since he was borne, showed himself disobedient unto me. And now gentlemen, you have the true story, which I pray you publish to the world, that my mischievous proceedings may be the glory of his filial piety, the only reward now left for so great a merit. And if it may be, let me obtain that of you, which my son denies me: for never was there more pity in saving any, then in ending me; both because therein my agonies shall end, and so shall you preserve this excellent young man, who else wilfully follows his own ruin.  
The matter in itself lamentable, lamentably expressed by the old Prince (which needed not take to himself the gestures of pity, since his face could not put of the marks thereof) greatly moved the two Princes to compassion, which could not stay in such hearts as theirs without seeking remedy. But by and by the occasion was presented: for Plexirtus (so was the bastard called) came thither with forty horse, only of purpose to murder this brother; of whose coming he had soon advertisement, and thought no eyes of sufficient credit in such a matter, but his own; and therefore came himself to be actor, and spectator. And as soon as he came, not regarding the weak (as he thought) guard of but two men, commanded some of his followers to set their hands to his, in the kill of Leonatus. But the young Prince (though not otherwise armed but with a sword) how falsely soever he was dealt with by others, would not betray himself: but bravely drawing it out, made the death of the first that assailed him, warn his fellows to come more warily after him. But then Pyrocles and Musidorus were quickly become parties (so just a defence deserving as much as old friendship) and so did behave them among that company (more injurious, then valiant) that many of them lost their lives for their wicked master.  
Yet perhaps had the number of them at last prevailed, if the King of Pontus (lately by them made so) had not come unlooked for to their succour. Who (having had a dream which had fixed his imagination vehemently upon some great danger presently to follow those two Princes whom he most dearly loved) was come in all haste, following as well as he could their tract with a hundredth horses in that country, which he thought (considering who then reigned) a fit place enough to make the stage of any Tragedy.  
But then the match had been so ill made for Plexirtus, that his ill-led life, and worse gotten honour should have tumbled together to destruction; had there not come in Tydeus and Telenor, with forty or fifty in their suit, to the defence of Plexirtus. These two were brothers, of the noblest house of that country, brought up from their infancy with Plexirtus: men of such prowess, as not to know fear in themselves, and yet to teach it others that should deal with them: for they had often made their lives triumph over most terrible dangers; never dismayed, and ever fortunate; and truly no more settled in valour, then disposed to goodness and justice, if either they had lighted on a better friend, or could have learned to make friendship a child, and not the father of Virtue. But bringing up (rather then choice) having first knit their minds unto him, (indeed crafty enough, either to hid his faults, or never to show them, but when they might pay home) they willingly held out the course, rather to satisfy him, than all the world; and rather to be good friends, then good men: so as though they did not like the evil he did, yet they liked him that did the evil; and though not councillors of the offence, yet protectors of the offender. Now they having heard of this sudden going out, with so small a company, in a country full of evill-wishing minds toward him (though they knew not the cause) followed him; till they found him in such case as they were to venture their lives, or else he to lose his: which they did with such force of mind and body, that truly I may justly say, Pyrocles and Musidorus had never till then found any, that could make them so well repeat their hardest lesson in the feats of arms. And briefly so they did, that if they overcame not; yet were they not overcome, but carried away that ungrateful master of theirs to a place of security; howsoever the Princes laboured to the contrary. But this matter being thus far begun, it became not the constancy of the Princes so to leave it; but in all haste making forces both in Pontus and Phrigia, they had in few days, left him but only that one strong place where he was. For fear having been the only knot that had fastened his people unto him, that once untied by a greater force, they all scattered from him; like so many birds, whose cage had been broken.  
In which season the blind King (having in the chief city of his Realm, set the crown upon his son Leonatus head) with many tears (both of joy and sorrow) setting forth to the whole people, his own fault and his sons virtue, after he had kissed him, and forced his son to accept honour of him (as of his new-become subject) even in a moment died, as it should seem: his heart broken with unkindness and affliction, stretched so far beyond his limits with this excess of comfort, as it was able no longer to keep safe his vital spirits. But the new King (having no less lovingly performed all duties to him dead, then alive) pursued on the siege of his unnatural brother, as much for the revenge of his father, as for the establishing of his own quiet. In which siege truly I cannot but acknowledge the prowess of those two brothers, than whom the Princes never found in all their travail two of greater ability to perform, nor of habler skill for conduct.  
But Plexirtus finding, that if nothing else, famine would at last bring him to destruction, thought better by humbleness to creep, where by pride he could not march. For certainly so had nature form him, and the exercise of craft conformed him to all turningnes of of sleights, that though no man had less goodness in his soul than he, no man could better find the places whence arguments might grow of goodness to another: though no man felt less pity, no man could tell better how to stir pity: no man more impudent to deny, where proofs were not manifest; no man more ready to confess with a repenting manner of aggravating his own evil, where denial would but make the fault fowler. Now he took this way that having gotten a passport for one (that pretended he would put Plexirtus alive into his hands) to speak with the King his brother, he himself (though much against the minds of the valiant brothers, who rather wished to die in brave defence) with a rope about his neck, barefooted, came to offer himself to the discretion of Leonatus. Where what submission he used, how cunningly in making greater the fault he made the faultiness the less, how artificially he could set out the torments of his own conscience, with the burdensome cumber he had found of his ambitious desires, how finely seeming to desire nothing but death, as ashamed to live, he begged life, in the refusing it, I am not cunning enough to be able to express: but so fell out of it, that though at first sight Leonatus saw him with no other eye, then as the murderer of his father; and anger already began to paint revenge in many colours, ere long he had not only gotten pity, but pardon, and if not an excuse of the fault past, yet an opinion of a future amendment: while the poor villains (chief ministers of his wickedness, now betrayed by the author thereof,) were delivered to many cruel sorts of death; he so handling it, that it rather seemed, he had more come into the defence of an unremediable mischief already committed, then that they had done it at first by his consent.  
In such sort the Princes left these reconciled brothers (Plexirtus in all his behaviour carrying him in far lower degree of service, than the ever-noble nature of Leonatus would suffer him) and taking likewise their leaves of their good friend the King of Pontus (who returned to enjoy their benefit, both of his wife and kingdom) they privately went thence, having only with them the two valiant brothers, who would needs accompany them, through divers places; they four doing acts more dangerous, though less famous, because they were but private chivalries: till hearing of the fair and virtuous Queen Erona of Lycia, besieged by the puissant King of Armenia, they bent themselves to her succour, both because the weaker (and weaker as being a Lady,) and partly because they heard the King of Armenia had in his company three of the most famous men living, for matters of arms, that were known to be in the world. Whereof one was the Prince Plangus, (whose name was sweetened by your breath, peerless Lady, when the last day it pleased you to mention him unto me) the other two were two great Princes (though holding of him) Barzanes and Euardes, men of Giantlike both hugeness and force: in which too especially, the trust the King had of victory, was reposed. And of them, those brothers Tydeus and Telenor (sufficient judges in warlike matters) spoke so high commendations, that the two Princes had even a youthful longing to have some trial of their virtue. And therefore as soon as they were entered into Lycia they joined themselves with them that faithfully served the poor Queen, at that time besieged: & ere long animated in such sort their almost overthrown hearts, that they went by force to relieve the town, though they were deprived of a great part of their strength by the parting of the two brothers, who were sent for in all haste to return to their old friend and master, Plexirtus: who (willingly hood-winking themselves from seeing his faults, and binding themselves to believe what he said) often abused the virtue of courage to defend his fowl vice of injustice. But now they were sent for to advance a conquest he was about; while Pyrocles and Musidorus pursued the delivery of the Queen Erona.  
I have heard (said Pamela) that part of the story of Plangus when he passed through this country: therefore you may (if you list) pass over that war of Eronaes quarrel, lest if you speak too much of war matters, you should wake Mopsa, which might happily breed a great broil. He looked, and saw that Mopsa indeed sat swallowing of sleep with open mouth, making such a noise withal, as no body could lay the stealing of a nap to her charge. Whereupon, willing to use that occasion, he kneeled down, and with humble-hartednesse, and hardy earnestness printed in his graces, Alas (said he) divine Lady, who have wrought such miracles in me, as to make a Prince (none of the basest) to think all principalities base, in respect of the sheephook, which may hold him up in your sight; vouchsafe now at last to hear in direct words my humble suit, while this dragon sleeps, that keeps the golden fruit. If in my desire I wish, or in my hopes aspire, or in my imagination feign to myself any thing which may be the least spot to that heavenly virtue, which shines in all your do; I pray the eternal powers, that the words I speak may be deadly poisons, while they are in my mouth, and that all my hopes, all my desires, all my imaginations, may only work their own confusion. But if love, love of you, love of your virtues, seek only that favour of you, which becometh that gratefulness, which cannot misbecome your excellency, O do not: He would have said further, but Pamela calling aloud Mopsa, she suddenly start up, staggering, and rubbing her eyes, ran first out of the door, and then back to them, before she knew how she went out, or why she came in again: till at length, being fully come to her little self, she asked Pamela, why she had called her. For nothing (said Pamela) but that you might hear some tales of your servants telling and: therefore now (said she Dorus go on.  
But as he (who found no so good sacrifice, as obedience) was returning to the story of himself, Philoclea came in, and by and by after her, Miso; so as for that time they were feign to let Dorus depart. But Pamela (delighted even to preserve in her memory, the words of so well a beloved speaker) repeated the whole substance to her sister, till their sober dinner being come and gone, to recreate themselves something, (even tired with the noisomeness of Misos conversation) they determined to go (while the heat of the day lasted) to bathe themselves (such being the manner of the Arcadian nymphs often to do) in the river of Ladon, and take with them a Lute, meaning to delight them under some shadow. But they could not stir, but that Miso with her daughter Mopsa was after them: and as it lay in their way to pass by the other lodge, Zelmane out of her window espied them, and so stolen down after them: which she might the better do because that Gynoecia was sick, and Basilius (that day being his birthday) according to his manner, was busy about his devotions; and therefore she went after, hoping to find some time to speak with Philoclea: but not a word could she begin, but that Miso would be one of the audience; so that she was driven to recommend thinking, speaking, and all, to her eyes, who diligently performed her trust, till they came to the rivers side which of all the rivers of Greece had the price for excellent pureness and sweetness, in so much as the very bathing in it, was accounted exceeding healthful. It ran upon so fine and delicate a ground, as one could not easily judge, whether the River did more wash the gravel, or the gravel did purify the River; the River not running forth right, but almost continually winding, as if the lower streams would return to their spring, or that the River had a delight to play with itself. The banks of either side seeming arms of the loving earth, that feign would embrace it; and the River a wanton nymph which still would slip from it; either side of the bank being fringed with most beautiful trees, which resisted the suns darts from overmuch piercing the natural coldness of the River. There was the But among the rest a goodly Cypress, who bowing her fair head over the water, it seemed she looked into it, & dressed her green locks, by that running River. There the Princesses determining to bathe themselves, though it was so privileged a place, upon pain of death, as on body durst presume to come thither, yet for the more surety, they looked round about, and could see nothing but a water spaniel, who came down the river showing that he hunted for a duck, & with a snuffling grace, disdaining that his smelling force could not as well prevail thorough the water, as thorough the air; & therefore waiting with his eye, to see whether he could espy the ducks getting up a gain: but then a little below them failing of his purpose, he got out of the river, & shaking off the water (as great men do their friends, now he had no further cause to use it) inweeded himself so, as the Ladies lost the further marking his sportfulness: & inviting Zelmane also to wash herself with them, & she excusing herself with having taken a late cold, they begun by piece-meal to take away the eclipsing of their apparel.  
Zelmane would have put to her helping hand, but she was taken with such a quivering, that she thought it more wisdom to lean herself to a tree and look on, while Miso and Mopsa (like a couple of foreswat melters) were getting the pure silver of their bodies out of the ure of their garments. But as the raiments went of to receive kisses of the ground, Zelmane envied the happiness of all, but of the smock was even jealous, and when that was taken away too, and that Philoclea remained (for her Zelmane only marked) like a Dyamon taken from out the rock, or rather like the Sun getting from under a cloud, and showing his naked beams to the full view, than was the beauty too much for a patiented sight, the delight too strong for a stayed conceit: so that Zelmane could not choose but run, to touch, embrace and kiss her; But conscience made her come to herself, and leave Philoclea, who blushing, and withal smiling, making shamefastness pleasant, and pleasure shamefast, tenderly moved her feet, unwonted to feel the naked ground, till the touch of the cold water made a pretty kind of shrugging come over her body, like the twinkling of the fairest among the fixed stars. But the River itself gave way unto her, so that she was straight breast high; which was the deepest that thereabout she could be: & when cold Ladon had once fully embraced them, himself was no more so cold to those Ladies, but as if his cold complexion had been heated with love, so seemed he to play about every part he could touch.  
Ah sweet, now sweetest Ladon (said Zelmane) why dost thou not stay thy course to have more full taste of thy happiness? But the reason is manifest, the upper streams make such haste to have their part of embracing, that the nether (though loathly) must needs give place unto them. O happy Ladon, within whom she is, upon whom her beauty falls, thorough whom her eye pierceth. O happy Ladon, which art now an unperfect mirror of all perfection, canst thou ever forget the blessedness of this impression? if thou do, then let thy bed be turned from fine gravel, to weeds and mud; if thou do, let some unjust niggards make wears to spoil thy beauty; if thou do, let some greater river fall into thee, to take away the name of Ladon. Oh Ladon, happy Ladon, rather slide then run by her, lest thou shouldest make her legs slip from her; and then, O happy Ladon, who would then call thee, but the most cursed Ladon? But as the Ladies played them in the water, sometimes striking it with their hands, the water (making lines in his face) seemed to smile at such beating, and with twenty bubbles, not to be content to have the picture of their face in large upon him, but he would in each of those bubbles set forth the miniature of them.  
But Zelmane, whose sight was gainsaid by nothing but the transparent vail of Ladon, (like a chamber where a great fire is kept, though the fire be at one stay, yet with the continuance continually hath his heat increased) had the coals of her affection so kindled with wonder, and blown with delight, that now all her parts grudged, that her eyes should do more homage, than they, to the Princess of them. In so much that taking up the Lute, her wit began to be with a divine fury inspired; her voice would in so beloved an occasion second her wit; her hands accorded the Lutes music to the voice; her panting heart danced to the music; while I think her feet did beat the time; while her body was the room where it should be celebrated; her soul the Queen which should be delighted. And so together went the utterance and the invention, that one might judge, it was Philoclea's beauty which did speedily write it in her eyes; or the sense thereof, which did word by word indite it in her mind, whereto she (but as an organ) did only lend utterance. The song was to this purpose.  
WHat tongue can her perfections tell  
In whose each part all pens may dwell?  
Her hair fine threads of finest gold  
In curled knots man's thought to hold:  
But that her forehead says in me  
A whiter beauty you may see.  
Whiter indeed; more white than snow,  
Which on cold winter's face doth grow.  
That doth present those even brows,  
Whose equal line their angles bows,  
Like to the Moon when after change  
Her horned head abroad doth range:  
And arches be to heavenly lids,  
Whose wink each bold attempt forbids.  
For the black stars those Spheres contain,  
The matchless pair, even praise doth stain.  
No lamp, whose light by Art is got,  
No Sun, which shines, and seethe not,  
Can liken them without all peer,  
Save one as much as other clear:  
Which only thus unhappy be,  
Because themselves they cannot see.  
Her cheeks with kindly claret spread.  
Aurora like new out of bed,  
Or like the fresh Queene-apples side,  
Blushing at sight of Phoebus' pride.  
Her nose, her chin pure ivory wears:  
No purer than the pretty ears.  
So that therein appears some blood,  
Like wine and milk that mingled stood.  
In whose Incirclets if ye gaze,  
Your eyes may tread a lovers maze.  
But with such turns the voice to stray,  
No talk untaught can find the way.  
The tip no jewel needs to wear:  
The tip is jewel of the ear.  
But who those ruddy lips can miss?  
Which blessed still themselves do kiss.  
Rubies, Cherries, and Roses new,  
In worth, in taste, in perfect hew:  
Which never part but that they show  
Of precious pearl the double row,  
The second sweetly-fenced ward,  
Her heau'nly-dewed tongue to guard.  
Whence never word in vain did flow.  
Fair under these doth stately grow,  
The handle of this precious work,  
The neck, in which strange graces lurk.  
Such be I think the sumptuous towers  
Which skill doth make in Princes bowers.  
So good a say invites the eye,  
A little downward to espy,  
The lively clusters of her breasts,  
Of Venus' babe the wanton nests:  
Like pomels round of Marble clear:  
Where azurde veins well mixed appear.  
With dearest tops of porphyry.  
Betwixt these two a way doth lie,  
Away more worthy beauty's fame,  
Then that which bears the Milky name.  
This leads into the joyous field,  
Which only still doth Lilies yield:  
But Lilies such whose native smell  
The Indian odours doth excel.  
Waste it is called, for it doth waste  
men's lives, until it be embraced.  
There may one see, and yet not see  
Her ribs in white all armed be.  
More white than Neptune's foamy face,  
When struggling rocks he would embrace.  
In those delights the wandering thought  
Might of each side astray be brought,  
But that her navel doth unite,  
In curious circle, busy sight:  
A dainty seal of virgin-waxe,  
Where nothing but impression lacks.  
Her belly then glad sight doth fill,  
justly entitled Cupid's hill.  
A hill most fit for such a master,  
A spotless mine of Alabaster.  
Like Alabaster fair and sleek,  
But soft and supple satin like.  
In that sweet seat the Boy doth sport:  
Loath, I must leave his chief resort.  
" For such a use the world hath gotten,  
" The best things still must be forgotten.  
Yet never shall my song omit  
Her thighs, for Ovid's song more fit;  
Which flanked with two sugared flanks,  
Lift up their stately swelling banks;  
That Albion clives in whiteness pass:  
With haunches smooth as looking glass.  
But bow all knees, now of her knees  
My tongue doth tell what fancy sees.  
The knots of joy, the gems of love,  
Whose motion makes all graces move.  
Whose bought incaued doth yield such sight,  
Like cunning Painter shadowing white.  
The gartering place with childlike sign,  
Shows easy print in metal fine.  
But then again the flesh doth rise  
In her brave calves, like crystal skies.  
Whose Atlas is a smallest small,  
More white than whitest bone of all.  
Thereout steals out that round clean foot  
This noble Cedars precious root:  
In show and sent pale violets,  
Whose step on earth all beauty sets.  
But back unto her back, my Muse,  
Where Leda's swan his feathers mews,  
Along whose ridge such bones are met,  
Like comfits round in marchpane set.  
Her shoulders be like two white Doves,  
Perching within square royal rooves,  
Which leaded are with silver skin,  
Passing the hate-spott Ermelin.  
And thence those arms derived are;  
The Phoenix wings are not so rare  
For faultless length, and stainelesse hew,  
Ah woe is me, my woes renew;  
Now course doth lead me to her hand,  
Of my first love the fatal band.  
Where whiteness doth for ever sit:  
Nature herself enameled it.  
For there with strange compact doth lie  
Warm snow, moist pearl, soft ivory.  
There fall those Saphir-coloured brooks,  
Which conduit-like with curious crooks,  
Sweet islands make in that sweet land.  
As for the fingers of the hand,  
The bloody shafts of Cupid's war,  
With amatists they headed are.  
Thus hath each part his beauty's part,  
But how the Graces do impart  
To all her limbs a special grace,  
Becoming every time and place.  
Which doth even beauty beautify,  
And most bewitch the wretched eye.  
How all this is but a fair Inn  
Of fairer guests, which dwell within.  
Of whose high praise, and praiseful bliss,  
Goodness the pen, heaven paper is.  
The ink immortal fame doth lend:  
As I began, so must I end.  
No tongue can her perfections tell,  
In whose each part all tongues may dwell.  
But as Zelmane was coming to the latter end of her song, she might see the same water-spaniel which before had hunted, come and fetch away one of Philoclea's gloves; whose fine proportion, showed well what a dainty guest was wont there to be lodged. It was a delight to Zelmane, to see that the dog was therewith delighted, and so let him go a little way withal, who quickly carried it out of sight among certain trees and bushes, which were very close together. But by and by he came again, and amongst the raiments (Miso and Mopsa being preparing sheets against their coming out) the dog lighted upon a little book of four or five leaves of paper, and was bearing that away too. But then Zelmane (not knowing what importance it might be of) ran after the dog, who going straight to those bushes, she might see the dog deliver it to a Gentleman who secretly lay there. But she hastily coming in, the Gentleman risen up, and with a courteous (though sad) countenance presented himself unto her. Zelmane's eyes straight willed her mind to mark him: for she thought, in her life she had never seen a man of a more goodly presence, in whom strong making took not away delicacy, nor beauty fierceness: being indeed such a right manlike man, as Nature often erring, yet shows she would feign make. But when she had a while (not without admiration) viewed him, she desired him to deliver back the glove and paper, because they were the Lady Philoclea's; telling him withal, that she would not willingly let them know of his close lying in in that prohibited place, while they were bathing themselves; because she knew they would be mortally offended withal. Fair Lady (answered he) the worst of the complaint is already passed, since I feel of my fault in myself the punishment. But for these things I assure you, it was my dogs wanton boldness, not my presumption. With that he gave her back the paper: But for the glove (said he) since it is my Lady Philoclea's, give me leave to keep it, since my heart cannot persuade itself to part from it. And I pray you tell the Lady (Lady indeed of all my desires) that owes it, that I will direct my life to honour this glove with serving her. O villain (cried out Zelmane, madded with finding an unlookedfor Rival, and that he would make her a messenger) dispatch (said she) and deliver it, or by the life of her that owes it, I will make thy soul (though too base a price) pay for it. And with that drew out her sword, which (Amazon-like) she ever ware about her. The Gentleman retired himself into an open place from among the bushes; and then drawing out his too, he offered to deliver it unto her, saying withal, God forbidden I should use my sword against you, since (if I be not deceived) you are the same famous Amazon, that both defended my Ladies just title of beauty against the valiant Phalantus, and saved her life in killing the Lion: therefore I am rather to kiss your hands, with acknowledging myself bound to obey you. But this courtesy was worse than a bastonado to Zelmane: so that again with rageful eyes she bade him defend himself, for no less than his life should answer it. A hard case (said he) to teach my sword that lesson, which hath ever used to turn itself to a shield in a Lady's presence. But Zelmane hearkening to no more words, began with such witty fury to pursue him with blows and thrusts, that Nature and Virtue commanded the Gentleman to look to his safety. Yet still courtesy, that seemed incorporate in his heart, would not be persuaded by danger to offer any offence, but only to stand upon the best defensive guard he could; sometimes going back, being content in that respect to take on the figure of cowardice; sometime with strong and wellmet wards; sometime cunning avoidings of his body; and sometimes feigning some blows, which himself pulled back before they needed to be withstood. And so with play did he a good while fight against the fight of Zelmane, who (more spited with that courtesy, that one that did nothing should be able to resist her) burned away with choler any motions, which might grow out of her own sweet dsposition, determining to kill him if he fought no better; and so redoubling her blows, drove the stranger to no other shift, then to ward, and go back; at that time seeming the image of innocency against violence. But at length he found, that both in public and private respects, who stands only upon defence, stands upon no defence: For Zelmane seeming to strike at his head, and he going to ward it, withal stepped back as he was accustomed, she stopped her blow in the air, and suddenly turning the point, ran full at his breast; so as he was driven with the pommel of his sword (having no other weapon of defence) to beat it down: but the thrust was so strong, that he could not so wholly beat it away, but that it met with his thigh, thorough which it ran. But Zelmane retiring her sword, and seeing his blood, victorious anger was conquered by the before-conquered pity; and heartily sorry, and even ashamed with herself she was, considering how little he had done, who well she found could have done more. In so much that she said, truly I am sorry for your hurt, but yourself gave the cause, both in refusing to deliver the glove, and yet not fight as I know you could have done. But (said she) because I perceive you disdain to fight with a woman, it may be before a year come about, you shall meet with a near kinsman of mine, Pyrocles Prince of Macedon, and I give you my word, he for me shall maintain this quarrel against you. I would (answered Amphialus) I had many more such hurts to meet and know that worthy Prince, whose virtue I love and admire, though my good destiny hath not been to see his person.  
But as they were so speaking, the young Ladies came, to whom Mopsa( curious in any thing, but her own good behaviour) having followed and seen Zelmane fight, had cried, what she had seen, while they were drying themselves, and the water (with some drops) seemed to weep, that it should part from such bodies. But they careful of Zelmane (assuring themselves that any Arcadian would bear reverence to them) Pamela with a noble mind, and Philoclea with a loving (hastily hiding the beauties, whereof Nature was proud, and they ashamed) they made quick work to come to save Zelmane. But already they found them in talk, and Zelmane careful of his wound. But when they saw him they knew it was their cousin german, the famous Amphialus; whom yet with a sweete-graced bitterness they blamed for breaking their father's commandment, especially while themselves were in such sort retired. But he craved pardon, protesting unto them that he had only been to seek solitary places, by an extreme melancholy that had a good while possessed him, and guided to that place by his spaniel, where while the dog hunted in the river, he had withdrawn himself to pacify with sleep his overwatched eyes: till a dream waked him, and made him see that whereof he had dreamt, and withal not obscurely signified that he felt the smart of his own do. But Philoclea (that was even jealous of herself for Zelmane) would needs have her glove, and not without so mighty a louvre as that face could yield. As for Zelmane when she knew, it was Amphialus, Lord Amphialus (said she) I have long desired to know you, heretofore I must confess with more good will, but still with honouring your virtue, though I love not your person: and at this time I pray you let us take care of your wound, upon condition you shall hereafter promise, that a more knightly combat shallbe performed between us. Amphialus answered in honourable sort, but with such excusing himself, that more and more accused his love to Philoclea, and provoked more hate in Zelmane. But Mopsa had already called certain shepherds not far off (who knew and well observed their limits) to come and help to carry away Amphialus, whose wound suffered him not without danger to strain it: and so he leaving himself with them, departed from them, faster bleeding in his heart, then at his wound: which bond up by the sheets, wherewith Philoclea had been wrapped, made him thank the wound, and bless the sword for that favour.  
He being gone, the Ladies (with merry anger talking, in what naked simplicity their cousin had seen them) returned to the lodge-warde: yet thinking it too early (as long as they had any day) to break off so pleasing a company, with going to perform a cumbersome obedience, Zelmane invited them to the little arbour, only reserved for her, which they willingly did: and there sitting, Pamela having a while made the lute in his language, show how glad it was to be touched by her fingers, Zelmane delivered up the paper, which Amphialus had at first yielded unto her: and seeing written upon the backside of it, the complaint of Plangus, remembering what Dorus had told her, and desiring to know how much Philoclea knew of her estate, she took occasion in the presenting of it, to ask whether it were any secret, or no. No truly (answered Philoclea) it is but even an exercise of my father's writing, upon this occasion: He was one day somwhile before your coming hither) walking abroad, having us two with him, almost a mile hence; and crossing a high way, which comes from the city of Megalopolis, he saw this Gentleman, whose name is there written, one of the properest and best-graced men that ever I saw, being of middle age, and of a mean stature. He lay as then under a tree, while his servants were getting fresh post-horses for him. It might seem he was tired with the extreme travail he had taken, and yet not so tired, that he forced to take any rest; so hasty he was upon his journey: and withal so sorrowful, that the very face thereof was painted in his face; which with pitiful motions, even groans, tears, and possionate talking to himself, moved my Father to fall in talk with him: who at first not knowing him, answered him in such a desperate phrase of grief, that my Father afterward took a delight to set it down in such form as you see: which if you read, what you doubt of, my sister and I are able to declare unto you. Zelmane willingly opened the leaves, and read it, being written Dialoguewise in this manner.  Plangus. Basilius. Plangus. 
ALas how long this pilgrimage doth last?  
What greater ills have now the heavens in store,  
To couple coming harms with sorrows past?  
Long since my voice is hoarse, and throat is sore,  
With cries to skies, and curses to the ground,  
But more I plain, I feel my woes the more.  
Ah where was first that cruel cunning found,  
To frame of Earth a vessel of the mind,  
Where it should be to selfe-destruction bound?  
What needed so high spirits such mansions blind?  
Or wrapped in flesh what do they here obtain,  
But glorious name of wretched humaine-kind?  
Balls to the stars, and thralls to Fortune's reign;  
Turned from themselves, infected with their cage,  
Where death is feared, and life is held with pain.  
Like players placed to fill a filthy stage,  
Where change of thoughts one fool to other shows,  
And all but jests, save only sorrows rage,  
The child feels that; the man that feeling knows,  
With cries first borne, the presage of his life,  
Where wit but serves, to have true taste of woes.  
A Shop of shame, a Book where blots be rife  
This body is: this body so composed,  
As in itself to nourish mortal strife,  
So divers be the Elements disposed  
In this weak work, that it can never be  
Made uniform to any state reposed.  
Grief only makes his wretched state to see  
(Even like a top which nought but whipping moves)  
This man, this talking beast, this walking tree.  
Grief is the stone which finest judgement proves:  
For who grieves not hath but a blockish brain,  
Since cause of grief no cause from life removes.  Basilius. 
How long wilt thou with moanful music stain  
The cheerful notes these pleasant places yield,  
Where all good haps a perfect state maintain?  Plangus. 
Cursed be good haps, and cursed be they that build  
Their hopes on haps, and do not make despair  
For all these certain blows the surest shield.  
Shall I that saw Eronaes shining hair  
Torn with her hands, and those same hands of snow  
With loss of purest blood themselves to tear?  
Shall I that saw those breasts, where beauties flow,  
Swelling with sighs, made pale with minds disease,  
And saw those eyes (those Sons) such showers to show,  
Shall I, whose ears her mournful words did seize,  
Her words in syrup laid of sweetest breath,  
Relent those thoughts, which then did so displease?  
No, no: Despair my daily lesson saith,  
And saith, although I seek my life to fly,  
Plangus must live to see Eronaes death,  
Plangus must live some help for her to try  
(Though in despair) for Love so forceth me;  
Plangus doth live, and shall Erona die?  
Erona die? O heaven (if heaven there be)  
Hath all thy whirling course so small effect?  
Serve all thy starry eyes this shame to see?  
Let dolts in haste some altars fair erect  
To those high powers, which idly sit above,  
And virtue do in greatest need neglect.  Basilius. 
O man, take heed, how thou the Gods do move  
To causeful wrath, which thou canst not resist.  
Blasphemous words the speaker vain do prove.  
Alas while we are wrapped in foggy mist  
Of one self-love (so passions do deceive)  
We think they hurt, when most they do assist.  
To harm us worms should that high justice leave  
His nature? nay, himself? for so it is.  
What glory from our loss can he receive?  
But still our dazzled eyes their way do miss,  
While that we do at his sweet scourge repine,  
The kindly way to beat us on to bliss.  
If she must die, then hath she passed the line  
Of loathsome days, whose loss how canst thou moon,  
That dost so well their miseries define?  
But such we are with inward tempest blown  
Of winds quite contrary in waves of will:  
We moon that lost, which had we did bemoan.  Plangus. 
And shall she die? shall cruel fire spill  
Those beams that set so many hearts on fire?  
Hath she not force even death with love to kill?  
Nay even cold Death inflame with hot desire  
Her to enjoy, where joy itself is thrall,  
Will spoil the earth of his most rich attire.  
Thus Death becomes a rival to us all,  
And hopes with foul embracements her to get,  
In whose decay Virtues fair shrine must fall.  
O Virtue weak, shall death his triumph set  
Upon thy spoils, which never should lie waste?  
Let Death first dye; be thou his worthy let.  
By what eclipse shall that Son be defaced?  
What my hath erst thrown down so fair a tower?  
What sacrilege hath such a saint disgraced?  
The world the garden is, she is the flower  
That sweetens all the place; she is the guest  
Of rarest price, both heaven and earth her bower.  
And shall (o me) all this in ashes rest?  
Alas, if you a Phoenix new will have  
Burnt by the Sun, she first must build her nest.  
But well you know, the gentle Sun would save  
Such beams so like his own, which might have might  
In him, the thoughts of Phaëtons' dam to grave.  
Therefore, alas, you use vile Vulcan's spite,  
Which nothing spares, to melt that Virgin-waxe  
Which while it is, it is all Asia's light.  
O Mars, for what doth serve thy armed axe?  
To let that wit-old beast consume in flames  
Thy Venus' child, whose beauty Venus lacks?  
O Venus (if her praise no envy frames,  
In thy high mind) get her thy husband's grace.  
" Sweet speaking oft a currish heart reclaims.  
O eyes of mine, where once she saw her face,  
Her face which was more lively in my heart;  
O brain, where thought of her hath only place;  
O hand, which touched her hand when we did part;  
O lips, that kissed that hand with my tears sprent;  
O tongue, then dumb, not daring tell my smart;  
O soul whose love in her is only spent,  
What ere you see, think, touch, kiss, speak, or love,  
Let all for her, and unto her be bend.  Basilius. 
Thy wailing words do much my spirits move,  
They uttered are in such a feeling fashion,  
That sorrows work against my will I prove.  
Methinks I am partaker of thy passion,  
And in thy case do glass mine own debility:  
Selfe-guiltie folk most prone to feel compassion.  
Yet Reason saith, Reason should have ability,  
To hold these worldly things in such proportion,  
As let them come or go with even facility.  
But our Desires tyrannical extortion  
Doth force us there to set our chief delightfulness,  
Where but a baiting place is all our portion.  
But still, although we fail of perfect rightfulness,  
Seek we to tame these childish superfluities:  
Let us not wink though void of purest sightfulnes.  
For what can breed more peevish incongruities,  
Then man to yield to female lamentations?  
Let us some grammar learn of more congruities.  Plangus. 
If through mine ears pierce any consolation  
By wise discourse, sweet tunes, or Poet's fiction;  
If aught I cease these hideous exclamations,  
While that my soul, she, she lives in affliction;  
Then let my life long time on earth maintained be,  
To wretched me, the last worst malediction.  
Can I, that know her sacred parts, restrained be  
From any joy? know fortunes vile displacing her,  
In moral rules let raging woes contained be?  
Can I forget, when they in prison placing her,  
With swelling heart in spite and due disdainfulness  
She lay for dead, till I helped with unlasing her?  
Can I forget, from how much mourning plainfulnes  
With Diamond in window-glasse she graved,  
Erona die, and end this ugly painfulness?  
Can I forget in how strange phrase she craved  
That quickly they would her burn, drown, or smother,  
As if by death she only might be saved?  
Then let me eke forget one hand from other:  
Let me forget that Plangus I am called:  
Let me forget I am son to my mother,  
But if my memory must thus be thralled  
To that strange stroke which conquered all my senses,  
Can thoughts still thinking so rest unappalled?  Basilius. 
Who still doth seek against himself offences,  
What pardon can avail? or who employs him  
To hurt himself, what shields can be desenses?  
Woe to poor man: each outward thing annoys him  
In divers kinds; yet as he were not filled,  
He heaps in outward grief, that most destroys him.  
Thus is our thought with pain for thistles tilled:  
Thus be our noblest parts dried up with sorrow:  
Thus is our mind with too much minding spilt.  
One day lays up stuff of grief for the morrow:  
And whose good haps do leave him unprovided,  
Condoling cause of friendship he will borrow.  
Betwixt the good and shade of good divided,  
We pity deem that which but weakness is:  
So are we from our high creation slided.  
But Plangus lest I may your sickness miss  
Or rubbing hurt the sore, I here do end.  
The ass did hurt when he did think to kiss.  
When Zelmane had read it over, marvelling very much of the speech of Eronas death, and therefore desirous to know further of it, but more desirous to hear Philoclea speak, Most excellent Lady (said she) one may be little the wiser for reading this Dialogue, since it nether sets forth what this Plangus is, nor what Erona is, nor what the cause should be which threatens her with death, and him with sorrow: therefore I would humbly crave to understand the particular discourse thereof: because (I must confess) some thing in my travail I have heard of this strange matter, which I would be glad to find by so sweet an authority confirmed. The truth is (answered Philoclea) that after he knew my father to be Prince of this country, while he hoped to prevail something with him in a great request he made unto him, he was content to open fully the estate both of himself, and of that Lady; which with my sister's help (said she) who remembers it better than I, I will declare unto you: and first of Erona, (being the chief Subject of this discourse) this story (with more tears and exclamations than I list to spend about it) he recounted. Of late there reigned a King in Lydia, who had for the blessing of his marriage, this only daughter of his, Erona; a Princess worthy for her beauty, as much praise, as beauty may be praiseworthy. This princess Erona, being 19 years of age, seeing the country of Lydia so much devoted to Cupid, as that in every place his naked pictures and images were superstitiously adored (either moved thereunto by the esteeming that could be no Godhead, which could breed wickedness, or the shamefast consideration of such nakedness) procured so much of her father, as utterly to pull down, and deface all those statues & pictures. Which how terribly he punished (for to that the Lydians impute it) quickly after appeared.  
For she had not lived a year longer, when she was stricken with most obstinate Love, to a young man but of mean parentage, in her father's court, named Antiphilus: so mean, as that he was but the son of her Nurse, and by that means (without other desert) became known of her. Now so evil could she conceal her fire, and so wilfully persevered she in it, that her father offering her the marriage of the great Tiridates, king of Armenia (who desired her more than the joys of heaven) she for Antiphilus sake refused it. Many ways her father sought to with draw her from it; sometimes persuasions, sometimes threatenings; once hiding Antiphilus, and giving her to understand that he was fled the country: Lastly, making a solemn execution to be done of another, under the name of Antiphilus, whom he kept in prison. But nether she liked persuasions, nor feared threatenings, nor changed for absence: and when she thought him dead, she sought all means (as well by poison as knife) to send her soul, at least, to be married in the eternal church with him. This so broke the tender father's heart, that (leaving things as he found them) he shortly after died. Then forth with Erona (being seized of the crown, and arming her will with authority) sought to advance her affection to the holy title of matrimony.  
But before she could accomplish all the solemnities, she was overtaken with a war the King Tiridates made upon her, only for her person; towards whom (for her ruin) Love had kindled his cruel heart; indeed cruel and tyrannous: for (being far too strong in the field) he spared not man, woman, and child, but (as though there could be found no foil to set forth the extremity of his love, but extremity of hatred) wrote (as it were) the sonnets of his Love, in the blood, and tuned them in the cries of her subjects; although his fair sister Artaxia (who would accompany him in the army) sought all means to appease his fury: till lastly, he besieged Erona in her best city, vowing to win her, or lose his life. And now had he brought her to the point either of a woeful consent, or a ruinous denial; when there came thither (following the course which Virtue and Fortune led them) two excellent young Princes, Pyrocles & Musidorus, the one Prince of Macedon, the other of Thessalia: two princes, as Plangus said, (and he witnessed his saying with sighs and tears) the most accomplished both in body & mind, that the Sun ever looked upon. While Philoclea spoke those words, O sweet words (thought Zelmane to herself) which are not only a praise to me, but a praise to praise itself, which out of that mouth issueth.  
These 2. princes (said Philoclea) aswell to help the weaker (especially being a Lady) as ta save a Greek people from being ruined by such, whom we call and count Barbarous, gathering together such of the honestest Lycians, as would venture their lives to secure their Princess: giving order by a secret message they sent into the City, that they should issue with all force at an appointed time; they set upon Tiridates camp, with so well-guided a fierceness, that being of both sides assaulted, he was like to be overthrown: but that this Plangus (being General of Tiridates horsemen) especially aided by the two mighty men, Euardes and Barzanes, rescued the footmen, even almost defeated: but yet could not bar the Princes (with their succours both of men and victual) to enter the City.  
Which when Tiridates found would make the war long, (which length seemed to him worse than a languishing consumption) he made a challenge of three Princes in his retinue, against those two Princes and Antiphilus: and that thereupon the quarrel should be decided; with compact, that neither side should help his fellow: but of whose side the more overcame, with him the victory should remain. Antiphilus (though Erona chose rather to bide the brunt of war, then venture him, yet) could not for shame refuse the offer, especially since the two strangers that had no interest in it, did willingly accept it: besides that, he saw it like enough, that the people (weary of the miseries of war) would rather give him up, if they saw him shrink, then for his sake venture their ruin: considering that the challengers were far of greater worthiness than himself. So it was agreed upon; and against Pyrocles was Euardes, King of Bithynia; Barzanes of Hyrcania, against Musidorus, two men, that thought the world scarce able to resist them: and against Antiphilus he placed this same Plangus, being his own cousin german, and son to the King of Iberia. Now so it fell out that Musidorus slew Barzanes, and Pyrocles Euardes; which victory those Princes esteemed above all that ever they had: but of the other side Plangus took Antiphilus prisoner: under which colour (as if the matter had been equal, though indeed it was not, the greater part being overcome of his side) Tiridates continued his war: and to bring Erona to a compelled yielding, sent her word, that he would the third morrow after, before the walls of the town strike off Antiphilus head; without his suit in that space were granted: adding withal (because he had heard of her desperate affection) that if in the mean time she did herself any hurt, what tortures could be devised should be laid upon Antiphilus.  
Then lo if Cupid be a God, or that the tyranny of our own thoughts seem as a God unto us. But whatsoever it was, than it did set forth the miserableness of his effects: she being drawn to two contraries by one cause. For the love of him commanded her to yield to no other: the love of him commanded her to preserve his life: which knot might well be cut, but untied it could not be. So that Love in her passions (like a right makebate) whispered to both sides arguments of quarrel. What (said he of the one side) dost thou love Antiphilus, o Erona? and shall Tiridates enjoy thy body? with what eyes wilt thou look upon Antiphilus, when he shall know that an other possesseth thee? But if thou wilt do it, canst thou do it? canst thou force thy heart? Think with thyself, if this man have thee, thou shalt never have more part of Antiphilus then if he were dead. But thus much more, that the affection shallbe still gnawing, and the remorse still present. Death perhaps will cool the rage of thy affection: where thus, thou shalt ever love, and ever lack. Think this beside, if thou marry Tiridates, Antiphilus is so excellent a man, that long he cannot be from being in some high place married: canst thou suffer that too? If an other kill him, he doth him the wrong: if thou abuse thy body, thou dost him the wrong. His death is a work of nature, and either now, or at another time he shall die. But it shallbe thy work, thy shameful work, which is in thy power to shun, to make him live to see thy faith falsified, and his bed defiled. But when Love had well kindled that party of her thoughts, then went he to the other side. What (said he) O Erona, and is thy Love of Antiphilus come to that point, as thou dost now make it a question, whether he shall die, or no? O excellent affection, which for too much love, will see his head off. Mark well the reasons of the other side, and thou shalt see, it is but love of thyself which so disputeth. Thou canst not abide Tiridates: this is but love of thyself: thou shalt be ashamed to look upon him afterward; this is but fear of shame, and love of thyself: thou shalt want him as much then; this is but love of thyself? he shallbe married; if he be well, why should that grieve thee, but for love of thyself? No, no, pronounce these words if thou canst, let Antiphilus die. Then the images of each side stood before her understanding; one time she thought she saw Antiphilus dying: an other time she thought Antiphilus saw her by Tiridates enjoyed: twenty times calling for a servant to carry message of yielding, but before he came the mind was altered. She blushed when she considered the effect of granting; she was pale, when she remembered the fruits of denying. For weeping, sighing, wring her hands, and tearing her hair, were indifferent of both sides. Easily she would have agreed to have broken all disputations with her own death, but that the fear of Antiphilus further torments stayed her. At length, even the evening before the day appointed of his death, the determination of yielding prevailed, especially, growing upon a message of Antiphilus; who with all the conjuring terms he could devise, besought her to save his life, upon any conditions. But she had no sooner sent her messenger to Tiridates, but her mind changed, and she went to the two young Princes, Pyrocles and Musidorus, & falling down at their feet, desired them to try some way for her deliverance; showing herself resolved, not to over-live Antiphilus, nor yet to yield to Tiridates.  
They that knew not what she had done in private, prepared that night accordingly: & as sometimes it falls out, that what is inconstancy, seems cunning; so did this change indeed stand in as good steed as a witty dissimulation. For it made the King as reckless, as them diligent: so that in the dead time of the night, the Princes issued out of the town; with whom she would needs go, either to die herself, or rescue Antiphilus, having no armour, nor weapon, but affection. And I cannot tell you how, by what devise (though Plangus at large described it) the conclusion was, the wonderful valour of the two Princes so prevailed, that Antiphilus was succoured, and the King slain. Plangus was then the chief man left in the camp; and therefore seeing no other remedy, conveyed in safety into her country Artaxia, now Queen of Armenia; who with true lamentations, made known to the world, that her new greatness did no way comfort her in respect of her brother's loss, whom she studied all means possible to revenge upon every one of the occasioners, having (as she thought) overthrown her brother by a most abominable treason. In somuch, that being at home, she proclaimed great rewards to any private man, and herself in marriage to any Prince, that would destroy Pyrocles and Musidorus. But thus was Antiphilus redeemed, and (though against the consent of all her nobility) married to Erona; in which case the two Greek Princes (being called away by an other adventure) left them.  
But now me thinks as I have read some Poets, who when they intent to tell some horrible matter, they bid men shun the hearing of it: so if I do not desire you to stop your ears from me, yet may I well desire a breathing time, before I am to tell the execrable treason of Antiphilus, that brought her to this misery; and withal wish you all, that from all mankind indeed you stop your ears. O most happy were we, if we did set our loves one upon another. (And as she spoke that word, her cheeks in red letters writ more, than her tongue did speak.) And therefore since I have named Plangus, I pray you sister (said she) help me with the rest, for I have held the stage long enough; and if it please you to make his fortune known, as I have done Eronas, I will after take heart again to go on with his falsehood; and so between us both, my Lady Zelmane shall understand both the cause and parties of this Lamentation. Nay I beshrew me then (said Miso) I will none of that, I promise you, as long as I have the government, I will first have my tale, & then my Lady Pamela, my Lady Zelmane, & my daughter Mopsa (for Mopsa was then returned from Amphialus) may draw cuts, & the shortest cut speak first. For I tell you, and this may be suffered, when you are married you will have first, and last word of your husbands. The Ladies laughed to see with what an eager earnestness she looked, having threatening not only in her Ferret eyes, but while she spoke, her nose seeming to threaten her chin, & her shaking limbs one to threaten another. But there was no remedy, they must obey: and Miso (sitting on the ground with her knees up, and her hands upon her knees) tuning her voice with many a quavering cough, thus discoursed unto them. I tell you true (said she) whatsoever you think of me, you will one day be as I am; & I, simple though I sit here, thought once my penny as good silver, as some of you do: and if my father had not played the hasty fool (it is no lie I tell you) I might have had an other-gaines husband, than Dametas. But let that pass, God amend him: and yet I speak it not without good cause. You are full in your tittle tattle of Cupid: here is Cupid, & there is Cupid. I will tell you now, what a good old woman told me, what an old wise man told her, what a great learned clerk told him, and gave it him in writing; and here I have it in my prayer book. I pray you (said Philoclea) let us see it, & read it. No haste but good (said Miso) you shall first know how I came by it. I was a young girl of a seven and twenty year old, & I could not go thorough the street of our village, but I might hear the young men talk; O the pretty little eyes of Miso; O the fine thin lips of Miso; O the goodly fat hands of Miso: besides, how well a certain wrying I had of my neck, became me. Then the one would wink with one eye, and the other cast daiseys at me: I must confess, seeing so many amorous, it made me set up my peacocks tail with the highest. Which when this good old woman perceived (O the good would woman, well may the bones rest of the good would woman) she called me to her into her house. I remember full well it stood in the lane as you go to the Barber's shop, all the town knew her, there was a great loss of her: she called me to her, and taking first a sop of wine to comfort her heart (it was of the same wine that comes out of Candia, which we pay so dear for now adays, and in that good world was very good cheap) she called me to her; Minion said she, (indeed I was a pretty one in those days though I say it) I see a number of lads that love you; Well (said she) I say no more: do you know what Love is? With that she brought me into a corner, where there was painted a foul fiend I trow: for he had a pair of horns like a Bull, his feet cloven, as many eyes upon his body, as my gray-mare hath dappels, & for all the world so placed. This monster sat like a hangman upon a pair of gallows, in his right hand he was painted holding a crown of Laurel, in his left hand a purse of money, & out of his mouth hung a lace of two fair pictures, of a man and a woman, and such a countenance he showed, as if he would persuade folks by those allurements to come thither & be hanged. I, like a tender hearted wench, skriked out for fear of the devil. Well (said she) this same is even Love: therefore do what thou list with all those fellows, one after another; and it recks not much what they do to thee, so it be in secret; but upon my charge, never love none of them. Why mother (said I) could such a thing come from the belly of the fair Venus? for a few days before, our (priest between him & me) had told me the whole story of Venus. Tush (said she) they are all deceived: and therewith gave me this Book, which she said a great maker of ballets had given to an old painter, who for a little pleasure, had bestowed both book and picture of her. Read there (said she) & thou shalt see that his mother was a cow, and the false Argus his father. And so she gave me this Book, and there now you may read it. With that the remembrance of the good old woman, made her make such a face to weep, as if it were not sorrow, it was the carcase of sorrow that appeared there. But while her tears came out, like rain falling upon dirty furrows, the latter end of her prayer book was read among these Ladies, which contained this.  
Poor Painters oft with silly Poets join,  
To fill the world with strange but vain conceits:  
One brings the stuff, the other stamps the coin,  
Which breeds nought else but gloss of deceits.  
Thus Painters Cupid paint, thus Poets do  
A naked God, blind young, with arrows two.  
Is he a God, that ever flies the light?  
Or naked he, disguised in all untruth?  
If he be blind, how hitteth he so right?  
How is he young, that tamed old Phoebus' youth?  
But arrows two, and tipped with gold or lead?  
Some hurt accuse a third with horny head.  
No, nothing so; an old false knave he is  
By Argus got on Io, than a cow:  
What time for her juno her jove did miss,  
And charge of her to Argus did allow.  
Mercury killed his false sire for this act,  
His dam a beast was pardoned beastly fact.  
With father's death, and mother's guilty shame,  
With Ioues disdain at such a rivals seed,  
The wretch compelled a runagate became,  
And learned what ill a miser state doth breed,  
To lie, to steal, to pry, and to accuse,  
nought in himself each other to abuse.  
Yet bears he still his parents stately gifts,  
A horned head, cloven feet, and thousand eyes,  
Some gazing still, some winking wily shifts,  
With long large ears where never rumour dies.  
His horned head doth seem the heaven to spite:  
His cloven foot doth never tread aright.  
Thus half a man, with man he daily haunts,  
Clothed in the shape which soon may deceive:  
Thus half a beast, each beastly vice he plants,  
In those weak hearts that his advice receive.  
He proules each place still in new colours decked,  
Sucking one's ill, another to infect.  
To narrow breasts he comes all wrapped in gain:  
To swelling hearts he shines in honour's fire:  
To open eyes all beauties he doth rain;  
Creeping to each with flattering of desire.  
But for that Love is worst which rules the eyes,  
Thereon his name, there his chief triumph lies.  
Millions of years this old drivel Cupid lives;  
While still more wretch, more wicked he doth prove:  
Till now at length that jove him office gives,  
(At junos' suit who much did Argus' love)  
In this our world a hangman for to be,  
Of all those fools that will have all they see.  
The Ladies made sport at the description and story of Cupid. But Zelmane could scarce suffer those blasphemies (as she took them) to be read, but humbly besought Pamela she would perform her sister's request of the other part of the story. Noble Lady (answered she, beautifying her face with a sweet smiling, and the sweetness of her smiling with the beauty of her face) since I am borne a Prince's daughter, let me not give example of disobedience. My governess will have us draw cuts, and therefore I pray you let us do so: and so perhaps it will light upon you to entertain this company with some story of your own; and it is reason our ears should be willinger to hear, as your tongue is abler to deliver. I will think (answered Zelmane) excellent Princess my tongue of some value, if it can procure your tongue thus much to favour me. But Pamela pleasantly persisting to have fortune their judge, they set hands, and Mopsa (though at the first for squeamishnes going up and down, with her head like a boat in a storm) put to her golden golls among them, and blind Fortune (that saw not the colour of them) gave her the pre-eminence: and so being her time to speak (wiping her mouth, as there was good cause) she thus tumbled into her matter. In time past (said she) there was a King, the mightiest man in all his country, that had by his wife, the fairest daughter that ever did eat pap. Now this King did keep a great house, that every body might come and take their meat freely. So one day, as his daughter was sitting in her window, playing upon a harp, as sweet as any Rose; and combing her head with a comb all of precious stones, there came in a Knight into the court, upon a goodly horse, one hair of gold, and the other of silver; and so the Knight casting up his eyes to the window, did fall into such love with her, that he grew not worth the bread he eat; till many a sorry day going over his head, with Daily Diligence and Grisly Groans, he won her affection, so that they agreed to run away together. And so in May, when all true hearts rejoice, they stolen out of the castle, without staying so much as for their breakfast. Now forsooth, as they went together, often all to kissing one another, the Knight told her, he was brought up among the water Nymphs, who had so bewitched him, that if he were ever asked his name, he must presently vanish away: and therefore charged her upon his blessing, that she never ask him what he was, nor whether he would. And so a great while she kept his commandment; till once, passing through a cruel wilderness, as dark as pitch; her mouth so watered, that she could not choose but ask him the question. And then, he making the greevousest complaints that would have melted a tree to have heard them, vanished quite away: and she lay down, casting forth as pitiful cries as any shrich-owle. But having lain so, (wet by the rain, & burnt by the Sun) five days, and five nights, she got up and went over many a high hill, and many a deep river; till she came to an Aunt's house of hers; and came, and cried to her for help: and she for pity gave her a Nut, and bade her never open her Nut, till she was come to the extremest misery that ever tongue could speak of. And so she went, and she went, and never rested the evening, where she went in the morning; till she came to a second Aunt; and she gave her another Nut.  
Now good Mopsa (said the sweet Philoclea) I pray thee at my request keep this tale, till my marriage day, and I promise thee that the best gown I wear that day shallbe thine. Mopsa was very glad of the bargain, especially that it should grow a festival Tale: so that Zelmane, who desired to find the uttermost what these Ladies understood touching herself, and having understood the danger of Erona (of which before she had never heard) purposing with herself (as soon as this pursuit she now was in, was brought to any effect) to secure her, entreated again, that she might know as well the story of Plangus, as of Erona. Philoclea referred it to her sisters perfecter remembrance, who with so sweet a voice, and so winning a grace, as in themselves were of most forcible eloquence to procure attention, in this manner to their earnest request soon condescended.  
The father of this Prince Plangus as yet lives, and is King of Iberia: a man (if the judgement of Plangus may be accepted) of no wicked nature, nor willingly doing evil, without himself mistake the evil, seeing it disguised under some form of goodness. This Prince, being married at the first to a Princess (who both from her ancestors, and in herself was worthy of him) by her had this son, Plangus. Not long after whose birth, the Queen (as though she had performed the message for which she was sent into the world) returned again unto her maker. The King (sealing up all thoughts of love under the image of her memory) remained a widower many years after; recompensing the grief of that disjoining from her, in conjoining in himself both a fatherly and a motherly care toward her only child, Plangus. Who being grown to man's age, as our own eyes may judge, could not but fertilly requite his father's fatherly education.  
This Prince (while yet the errors in his nature were excused by the greenness of his youth, which took all the fault upon itself) loved a private man's wife of the principal City of that Kingdom, if that may be called love, which he rather did take into himself willingly, then by which he was taken forcibly. It sufficeth, that the young man persuaded himself he loved her: she being a woman beautiful enough, if it be possible, that the only outside can justly entitle a beauty. But finding such a chase as only fled to be caught, the young Prince brought his affection with her to that point, which ought to engrave remorse in her heart, & to paint shame upon her face. And so possessed he his desire without any interruption; he constantly favouring her, and she thinking, that the enameling of a Prince's name, might hid the spots of a broken wedlock. But as I have seen one that was sick of a sleeping disease, could not be made wake, but with pinching of him: so out of his sinful sleep his mind (unworthy so to be lost) was not to be called to itself, but by a sharp accident. It fell out, that his manytimes leaving of the court (in undue times) began to be noted; and (as Prince's ears be manifold) from one to another came unto the King; who (careful of his only son) sought, and found by his spies (the necessary evil servants to a King) what it was, whereby he was from his better delights so diverted. Whereupon, the King (to give his fault the greater blow) used such means, by disguising himself, that he found them (her husband being absent) in her house together: which he did, to make him the more feelingly ashamed of it. And that way he took, laying threatenings upon her, and upon him reproaches. But the poor young Prince (deceived with that young opinion, that if it be ever lawful to lie, it is for ones Lover,) employed all his wit to bring his father to a better opinion. And because he might bend him from that (as he counted it) crooked conceit of her he wrested him, as much as he could possibly, to the other side: not sticking with prodigal protestations to set forth her chastity; not denying his own attempt, but thereby the more extolling her virtue. His Sophistry prevailed, his father believed; and so believed, that ere long (though he were already stepped into the winter of his age) he found himself warm in those desires, which were in his son far more excusable. To be short, he gave himself over unto it; and (because he would avoid the odious comparison of a young rival) sent away his son with an army, to the subduing of a Province lately rebelled against him, which he knew could not be a less work, then of three or four years. Wherein he behaved him so worthily, as even to this country the fame thereof came, long before his own coming: while yet his father had a speedier success, but in a far unnobler conquest. For while Plangus was away, the old man (growing only in age and affection) followed his suit with all means of unhonest servants, large promises, and each thing else that might help to countervail his own unlovelines.  
And she (whose husband about that time died) forgetting the absent Plangus, or at lest not hoping of him to obtain so aspiring a purpose, left no art unused, which might keep the line from breaking, whereat the fish was already taken; not drawing him violently, but letting him play himself upon the hook, which he had so greedily swallowed. For, accompanying her mourning garments with a doleful countenance, yet neither forgetting handsomeness in her mourning garments, nor sweetness in her doleful countenance; her words were ever seasoned with sighs; and any favour she showed, bathed in tears, that affection might see cause of pity; and pity might persuade cause of affection. And being grown skilful in his humours she was no less skilful in applying his humours: never suffering his fear to fall to a despair, nor his hope to hasten to an assurance: she was content he should think that she loved him; and a certain stolen look should sometimes (as though it were against her will) bewray it: But if thereupon he grew bold, he strait was encountered with a mask of virtue. And that which seemeth most impossible unto me, (for as near as I can I repeat it as Plangus told it) she could not only sigh when she would, as all can do; & weep when she would, as (they say) some can do; but (being most impudent in her heart) she could, when she would, teach her cheeks blushing, & make shamefastness the cloak of shamelessness. In sum, to leave out many particularities which he recited, she did not only use so the spur, that his Desire ran on, but so the bit, that it ran on even in such a career as she would have it; that within a while the king, seeing with no other eyes but such as she gave him, & thinking on other thoughts, but such as she taught him; having at the first liberal measure of favours, them shortened of them, when most his Desire was inflamed; he saw no other way but marriage to satisfy his longing, and her mind (as he thought) loving, but chastened loving. So that by the time Plangus returned from being notably victorious of the Rebels, he found his father, not only married, but already a father of a son and a daughter by this woman. Which though Plangus (as he had every way just cause) was grieved at; yet did his grief never bring forth either contemning of her, or repining at his father. But she (who besides she was grown a mother, and a stepmother, did read in his eyes her own fault, and made his conscience her guiltiness) thought still that his presence carried her condemnation: so much the more, as that she (unchastly attempting his wont fancies) found (for the reverence of his father's bed) a bitter refusal: which breeding rather spite then shame in her, or if it were a shame, a shame not of the fault, but of the repulse, she did not only (as hating him) thirst for a revenge, but (as fearing harm form him) endeavoured to do harm unto him. Therefore did she try the uttermost of her wicked wit, how to overthrow him in the foundation of his strength, which was, in the favour of his father: which because she saw strong both in nature and desert, it required the more cunning how to undermine it. And therefore (shunning the ordinary trade of hireling sycophants) she made her praises of him, to be accusations; and her advancing him, to be his ruin. For first with words (nearer admiration than liking) she would extol his excellencies, the goodliness of his shape, the power of his wit, the valiantness of his courage, the fortunatenes of his successes: so as the father might find in her a singular love towards him: nay, she shunned not to kindle some few sparks of jealousy in him. Thus having gotten an opinion in his father, that she was far from meaning mischief to the son, than fell she to praise him with no less vehemency of affection, but with much more cunning of malice. For than she sets forth the liberty of his mind the high flying of his thoughts, the fitness in him to bear rule, the singular love the Subjects bore him; that it was doubtful, whether his wit were greater in winning their favours, or his courage in employing their favours: that he was not borne to live a subiect-life, each action of his bearing in it Majesty, such a Kingly entertainment, such a Kingly magnificence, such a Kingly heart for enterprises: especially remembering those virtues, which in successor are no more honoured by the subjects, then suspected of the Princes. Then would she by putting-off objections, bring in objections to her husband's head, already infected with suspicion. Nay (would she say) I dare take it upon my death, that he is no such son, as many of like might have been, who loved greatness so well, as to build their greatness upon their father's ruin. Indeed Ambition, like Love, can abide no lingering, and ever urgeth on his own successes; hating no thing, but what may stop them. But the Gods forbidden, we should ever once dream of any such thing in him, who perhaps might be content, that you and the world should know, what he can do: but the more power he hath to hurt, the more admirable is his praise, that he will not hurt. Then ever remembering to strengthen the suspicion of his estate with private jealousy of her love, doing him excessive honour when he was in presence, & repeating his pretty speeches and graces in his absence; besides, causing him to be employed in all such dangerous matters, as either he should perish in them, or if he prevailed, they should increase his glory: which she made a weapon to wound him, until she found that suspicion began already to speak for itself, and that her husband's ears were grown hungry of rumours, and his eyes prying into every accident.  
Then took she help to her of a servant near about her husband, whom she knew to be of a hasty ambition, and such a one, who wanting true sufficiency to raise him, would make a ladder of any mischief. Him she useth to deal more plainly in alleging causes of jealousy, making him know the fittest times when her husband already was stirred that way. And so they two, with divers ways, nourished one humour, like musicans, that singing divers parts, make one music. He sometime with fearful countenance would desire the King to look to himself; for that all the court and City were full of whisperings, and expectation of some sudden change, upon what ground himself knew not. Another time he would counsel the King to make much of his son, and hold his favour, for that it was too late now to keep him under. Now seeming to fear himself, because (he said) Plangus loved none of them that were great about his father. Lastly, breaking with him directly (making a sorrowful countenance, and an humble gesture bear false witness for his true meaning) that he found, not only soldiery, but people weary of his government, and all their affections bend upon Plangus. Both he and the Queen concurring in strange dreams, and each thing else, that in a mind (already perplexed) might breed astonishment: so that within a while, all Plangus actions began to be translated into the language of suspicion.  
Which though Plangus found, yet could he not avoid, even contraries being driven to draw one yoke of argument: if he were magnificent, he spent much with an aspiring intent: if he spared, he heaped much with an aspiring intent: if he spoke courteously, he angled the people's hearts: if he were silent he mused upon some dangerous plot. In sum, if he could have turned himself to as many forms as Proteus, every form should have been made hideous.  
But so it fell out, that a mere trifle gave them occasion of further proceeding. The King one morning, going to a vineyard that lay a long the hill where upon his castle stood, he saw a vine-labourer, that finding a bow broken, took a branch of the same bow for want of another thing, and tied it about the place broken. The King ask the fellow what he did, Marry (said he) I make the son bind the father. This word (finding the King already superstitious through suspicion) amazed him straight, as a presage of his own fortune: so that, returning, and breaking with his wife how much he misdoubted his estate, she made such gainsaying answers as while they strove, strove to be overcome. But even while the doubts most boiled, she thus nourished them.  
She underhand dealt with the principal men of that country, that at the great Parliament (which was then to be held) they should in the name of all the estates persuade the King (being now stepped deeply into old age) to make Plangus, his associate in government with him: assuring them, that not only she would join with them, but that the father himself would take it kindly; charging them not to acquaint Plangus withal; for that perhaps it might be harmful unto him, if the King should find, that he were a party. They (who thought they might do it, not only willingly, because they loved him, and truly, because such indeed was the mind of the people, but safely because she who ruled the King was agreed thereto) accomplished her counsel: she indeed keeping promise of vehement persuading the same: which the more she and they did, the more she knew her husband would fear, and hate the cause of his fear. Plangus found this, and humbly protested against such desire, or will to accept. But the more he protested, the more his father thought he dissembled, accounting his integrity to be but a cunning face of falsehood: and therefore delaying the desire of his subjects, attended some fit occasion to lay hands upon his son: which his wife thus brought to pass.  
She caused that same minister of hers to go unto Plangus, and (enabling his words with great show of faith, and endearing them with desire of secrecy) to tell him, that he found his ruin conspired by his stepmother, with certain of the noble men of that country, the King himself giving his consent, and that few days should pass before the putting it in practise: with all discovering the very truth indeed, with what cunning his stepmother had proceeded. This agreeing with Plangus his own opinion, made him give him the better credit: yet not so far, as to fly out of his country (according to the naughty fellows persuasion) but to attend, and to see further. Whereupon the fellow (by the direction of his mistress) told him one day, that the same night about one of the clock, the King had appointed to have his wife, and those noble men together, to deliberate of their manner of proceeding against Plangus: and therefore offered him, that if himself would agree, he would bring him into a place where he should hear all that passed; and so have the more reason both to himself, and to the world, to seek his safety. The poor Plangus (being subject to that only disadvantage of honest hearts, credulity) was persuaded by him: and arming himself (because of his late going) was closely conveyed into the place appointed. In the mean time his stepmother, making all her gestures cunningly counterfeit a miserable affliction, she lay almost groveling on the flower of her chamber, not suffering any body to comfort her; until they calling for her husband, and he held of with long inquiry, at length, she told him (even almost crying out every word) that she was weary of her life, since she was brought to that plunge, either to conceal her husband's murder, or accuse her son, who had ever been more dear, than a son unto her. Then with many interruptions and exclamations she told him, that her son Plangus (soliciting her in the old affection between them) had besought her to put her helping hand to the death of the King; assuring her, that though all the laws in the world were against it, he would marry her when he were King.  
She had not fully said thus much, with many pitiful digressions, when in comes the same fellow, that brought Plangus: & running himself out of breath, fell at the King's feet, beseeching him to save himself; for that there was a man with a sword drawn in the next room. The King affrighted, went out, & called his guard, who entering the place, found indeed Plangus with his sword in his hand, but not naked, but standing suspiciously enough, to one already suspicious. The King (thinking he had put up his sword because of the noise) never took leisure to hear his answer, but made him prisoner, meaning the next morning to put him to death in the market place.  
But the day had no sooner opened the eyes & ears of his friends & followers, but that there was a little army of them, who came, & by force delivered him; although numbers on the other side (abused with the fine framing of their report) took arms for the King. But Plangus, though he might have used the force of his friends to revenge his wrong, and get the crown; yet the natural love of his father, and hate to make their suspicion seem just, caused him rather to choose a voluntary exile, then to make his father's death the purchase of his life: and therefore went he to Tiridates, whose mother was his father's sister, living in his Court eleven or twelve years, ever hoping by his intercession, and his own desert, to recover his father's grace. At the end of which time, the war of Erona happened, which my sister with the cause thereof discoursed unto you.  
But his father had so deeply engraved the suspicion in his heart, that he thought his flight rather to proceed of a fearful guiltiness, then of an humble faithfulness; and therefore continued his hate, with such vehemency, that he did even hate his Nephew Tiridates, and afterwards his niece Artaxia, because in their Court he received countenance, leaving no means unattempted of destroying his son; among other, employing that wicked servant of his, who undertook to empoison him. But his cunning disguised him not so well, but that the watchful servants of Plangus did discover him. Whereupon the wretch was taken, & (before his well deserved execution) by torture forced to confess the particularities of this, which in general I have told you.  
Which confession autentically set down (though Tiridates with solemn Embassage sent it to the King) wrought no effect. For the King having put the reins of the government into his wives hand, never did so much as read it; but sent it straight by her to be considered. So as they rather heaped more hatred upon Plangus, for the death of their servant. And now finding, that his absence, and their reports had much diminished the wavering people's affection towards Plangus, with advancing fit persons for faction, and granting great immunities to the commons, they prevailed so far; as to cause the son of the second wife, called Palladius, to be proclaimed successor, and Plangus quite excluded: so that Plangus was driven to continue his serving Tiridates, as he did in the war against Erona, and brought home Artaxia, as my sister told you; when Erona by the treason of Antiphilus, But at that word she stopped. For Basilius (not able longer to abide their absence) came suddenly among them, and with smiling countenance (telling Zelmane he was afraid she had stolen away his daughters) invited them to follow the suns counsel in going then to their lodging; for indeed the Sun was ready to set. They yielded, Zelmane meaning some other time to understand the story of Antiphilus treason, and Eronas danger, whose cause she greatly tendered. But Miso had no sooner espied Basilius, but that as spitefully, as her rotten voice could utter it, she set forth the sauciness of Amphialus. But Basilius only attended what Zelmane's opinion was, who though she hated Amphialus, yet the nobility of her courage prevailed over it, and she desired he might be pardoned that youthful error; considering the reputation he had, to be one of the best knights in the world; so as hereafter he governed himself, as one remembering his fault. Basilius giving the infinite terms of praises to Zelmane's both valour in conquering, and pitifulness in pardoning, commanded no more words to be made of it, since such he thought was her pleasure.  
So brought he them up to visit his wife, where between her, and him, the poor Zelmane received a tedious entertainment; oppressed with being loved, almost as much, as with loving. Basilius not so wise in covering his passion, could make his tongue go almost no other pace, but to run into those immoderate praises, which the foolish Lover thinks short of his Mistress, though they reach far beyond the heavens. But Gynoecia (whom womanly modesty did more outwardly bridle) yet did oftentimes use the advantage of her sex in kissing Zelmane, as she sat upon her bedde-side by her; which was but still more and more sweet incense, to cast upon the fire wherein her heart was sacrificed: Once Zelmane could not stir, but that, (as if they had been poppets, whose motion stood only upon her pleasure) Basilius with serviceable steps, Gynoecia with greedy eyes would follow her. Basilius' mind Gynoecia well knew, and could have found in her heart to laugh at, if mirth could have borne any proportion with her fortune. But all Gynoecia's actions were interpreted by Basilius, as proceeding from jealousy of his amorousness. Zelmane betwixt both (like the poor child, whose father while he beats him, will make him believe it is for love; or like the sick man, to whom the Physician swears, the ill-tasting wallowish medicine he proffers, is of a good taste) their love was hateful, their courtesy troublesome, their presence cause of her absence thence, were not only her light, but her life consisted. Alas (thought she to herself) Dear Dorus, what odds is there between thy destiny and mine? For thou hast to do in thy pursuit but with shepherdish folks, who trouble thee with a little envious care, and affected diligence. But I (besides that I have now Miso the worst of thy devils, let lose upon me) am waited on by Princes, and watched by the two wakeful eyes of Love and jealousy. Alas, incomparable Philoclea, thou ever seest me, but dost never see me as I am: thou hearest willingly all that I dare say, and I dare not say that which were most fit for thee to hear. Alas who ever but I was imprisoned in liberty, and banished being still present? To whom but me have lovers been iaylours, & honour a captivity?  
But the night coming on with her silent steps upon them, they parted each from other (if at lest they could be parted, of whom every one did live in another) and went about to flatter sleep with their beds, that disdained to bestow itself liberally upon such eyes which by their will would ever be looking: and in lest measure upon Gynoecia. who (when Basilius after long tossing was gotten a sleep, and the cheerful comfort of the lights removed her) kneeling up in her bed, began with a soft voice, and swollen heart, to renew the curses of her birth; & then in a manner embracing her bed; Ah chastest bed of mine (said she) which never heretofore couldst accuse me of one defiled thought, how canst thou now receive this desastred changeling? Happy, happy be they only which be not: and thy blessedness only in this respect thou mayest feel, that thou hast no feeling. With that she furiously tore off great part of her fair hair: Take here o forgotten virtue (said she) this miserable sacrifice; while my soul was clothed with modesty, that was a comely ornament: now why should nature crown that head, which is so wicked, as her only despair is, she cannot be enough wicked? More she would have said, but that Basilius (awaked with the noise) took her in his arms, and began to comfort her; the goodman thinking, it was all for a jealous love of him: which humour if she would a little have maintained, perchance it might have weakened his new conceived fancies. But he finding her answers wandering from the purpose, left her to herself (glad the next morning to take the advantage of a sleep, which a little before day, over-watched with sorrow, her tears had as it were sealed up in her eyes) to have the more conference with Zelmane, who baited on this fashion by these two lovers, and ever kept for many mean to declare herself, found in herself a daily increase of her violent desires; like a river the more swelling, the more his current is stopped.  
The chief recreation she could find in her anguish, was sometime to visit that place, where first she was so happy as to see the cause of her unhap. There would she kiss the ground, and thank the trees, bliss the air, & do dutiful reverence to every thing that she thought did accompany her at their first meeting: then return again to her inward thoughts; sometimes despair darkening all her imaginations, sometimes the active passion of Love cheering and cleared her invention, how to unbar that cumbersome hindrance of her two ill-matched lovers, But this mourning Basilius himself gave her good occasion to go beyond them. For having combed and tricked himself more curiously, than any time forty winters before, coming where Zelmane was, he found her given over to her musical muses, to the great pleasure of the good old Basilius, who retired himself behind a tree, while she with a most sweet voice did utter these passionate verses.  
Loved I am, and yet complain of Love:  
As loving not, accused in Love I die.  
When pity most I crave, I cruel prove:  
Still seeking Love, love found as much I fly.  
Burnt in myself, I muse at others fire:  
What I call wrong, I do the same, and more:  
Bard of my will, I have beyond desire:  
I wail for want, and yet am choked with store.  
This is thy work, thou God for ever blind:  
Though thousands old, a Boy entitled still.  
Thus children do the silly birds they find,  
With stroking hurt, and too much cramming kill.  
Yet thus much Love, O Love, I crave of thee:  
Let me be loved, or else not loved be.  
Basilius made no great haste from behind the tree, till he perceived she had fully ended her music. But then loath to lose the precious fruit of time, he presented himself unto her, falling down upon both his knees, and holding up his hands, as the old governess of Danae is painted, when she suddenly saw the golden shower, O heavenly woman, or earthly Goddess (said he) let not my presence be odious unto you, nor my humble suit seem of small weight in your ears. Vouchsafe your eyes to descend upon this miserable old-man, whose life hath hitherto been maintained but to serve as an increase of your beautiful triumphs. You only have overthrown me, and in my bondage consists my glory. Suffer not your own work to be despised of you: but look upon him with pity, whose life serves for your praise. Zelmane (keeping a countenance ascanses she understood him not) told him, It became her evil to suffer such excessive reverence of him, but that it worse became her to correct him, to whom she owed duty: that the opinion she had of his wisdom was such, as made her esteem greatly of his words; but that the words themselves sounded so, as she could not imagine what they might intend. Intent? (said Basilius, proud that that was brought in question) what may they intent, but a refreshing of my soul, and a swaging of my heat, and enjoying those your excellencies, wherein my life is upheld, and my death threatened? Zelmane lifting up her face as if she had received a mortal injury of him. And is this the devotion your ceremonies have been bend unto? said she: Is it the disdain of my estate, or the opinion of my lightness, that have emboldened such base fancies towards me? enjoying quoth you? now little joy come to them that yield to such enjoying. Poor Basilius was so appalled, that his legs bowed under him; his eyes looked as though he would gladly hid himself; and his old blood going to his heart, a general shaking all over his body possessed him. At length with a wan mouth; he was about to give a stammering answer, when it came into Zelmane's head by this devise to make her profit of his folly; and therefore with a relented countenance, thus said unto him. Your words (mighty Prince) were unfit either for me to hear, or you to speak: but yet the large testimony I see of your affection makes me willing to suppress a great number of errors. Only thus much I think good to say, that the same words in my Lady Philoclea's mouth, as from one woman to another (so as there were no other body by) might have had a better grace; and perchance have found a gentler receipt.  
Basilius (whose senses by Desire were held open, and conceit was by Love quickened) heard scarcely half her answer out, but that (as if speedy flight might save his life) he turned away, and ran with all the speed his body would suffer him, towards his daughter Philoclea: whom he found at that time dutifully watching by her mother, and Miso curiously watching her; having left Mopsa to do the like service to Pamela. Basilius forthwith calling Philoclea aside, (with all the conjuring words which Desire could indite, and authority utter) besought her she would preserve his life, in whom her life was begun; she would save his grey hairs from rebuke, and his aged mind from despair; that if she were not cloyed with his company, and that she thought not the earth over-burdened with him, she would cool his fiery grief, which was to be done but by her breath. That in fine, whatsoever he was, he was nothing but what it pleased Zelmane; all the powers of his spirit depending of her: that if she continued cruel, he could no more sustain his life, than the earth remain fruitful in the suns continual absence. He concluded, she should in one payment requite all his deserts: and that she needed not disdain any service (though never so mean) which was warranted by the sacred name of a father. Philoclea more glad than ever she had known herself, that she might by this occasion, enjoy the private conference of Zelmane, yet had so sweet a feeling of virtue in her mind, that she would not suffer a vile colour to be cast over her fair thoughts; but with humble grace answered her father: That there needed neither promise nor persuasion to her, to make her do her uttermost for her father's service. That for Zelmane's favour, she would in all virtuous sort seek it towards him: and that as she would not pierce further into his meaning, than himself should declare, so would she interpret all his do to be accomplished in goodness: and therefore desired, (if otherwise it were) that he would not impart it to her, who then should be forced to begin (by true obedience) a show of disobedience: rather performing his general commandment, which had ever been, to embrace virtue, than any new particular, sprung out of passion, and contrary to the former. Basilius' content to take that, since he could have no more (thinking it a great point, if by her means, he could get but a more free access unto Zelmane) allowed her reasons, and took her proffer thankfully, desiring only a speedy return of comfort. Philoclea was parting, and Miso straight behind her, like Allecto following Proserpina. But Basilius forced her to stay, though with much a do, she being sharp-set upon the fulfilling of a shrewd office, in overlooking Philoclea: and so said to Basilius, that she did as she was commanded, and could not answer it to Gynoecia, if she were any whit from Philoclea: telling him true, that he did evil to take her charge from her. But Basilius, (swearing he would put out her eyes, if she stirred a foot to trouble his daughter) gave her a stop for that while.  
So away departed Philoclea, with a new field of fancies for her travailing mind. For well she saw, her father was grown her adverse party, and yet her fortune such, as she must favour her Rival; and the fortune of that fortune such, as neither that did hurt her, nor any contrary mean help her.  
But she walked but a little on, before she saw Zelmane lying upon a bank, with her face so bend over Ladon, that (her tears falling into the water) one might have thought, that she began meltingly to be metamorphosed to the under-running river. But by and by, with speech she made known, as well that she lived, as that she sorrowed. Fair streams (said she) that do vouchsafe in your clearness to represent unto me my blubbered face, let the tribute-offer of my tears unto you, procure your stay a while with me, that I may begin yet at last, to find some thing that pities me: and that all things of comfort and pleasure do not fly away from me. But if the violence of your spring command you to haste away, to pay your duties to your great prince, the Sea, yet carry with you these few words, and let the uttermost ends of the world know them. A love more clear than yourselves, dedicated to a Love (I fear) more cold than yourselves, with the clearness lays a night of sorrow upon me; and with the coldness inflames a world of fire within me. With that she took a willow stick, and wrote in a sandy bank these few verses.  

OVer these brooks trusting to ease mine eyes,  
(Mine eyes even great in labour with their tears)  
I laid my face; my face wherein there lies  
Clusters of clouds, which no Sun ever clears.  
In watery glass my watery eyes I see:  
Sorrows ill eased, where sorrows painted be.   

My thoughts imprisonde in my secret woes,  
With flamie breathes do issue oft in sound:  
The sound to this strange air no sooner goes,  
But that it doth with Echoes force rebound.  
And make me hear the plaints I would refrain:  
Thus outward helps my inward grief maintain.   

Now in this sand I would discharge my mind,  
And cast from me part of my burdenous cares:  
But in the sand my tales foretold I find,  
And see therein how well the writer fares.  
Since stream, air, sand, mine eyes and ears conspire:  
What hope to quench, where each thing blows the fire?   
And assoon she had written them (a new swarm of thoughts stinging her mind) she was ready with her foot to give the new-born letters both death and burial. But Philoclea (whose delight of hearing and seeing was before a stay from interrupting her) gave herself to be seen unto her, with such a lightning of Beauty upon Zelmane, that neither she could look on, nor would look off. At last Philoclea (having a little mused how to cut the thread even, between her own hopeless affection, and her father's unbridled hope) with eyes, cheeks, and lips, (whereof each sang their part, to make up the harmony of bashfulness) began to say, My Father to whom I own myself, and therefore, When Zelmane (making a womanish habit to be the Armour of her boldness, giving up her life to the lips of Philoclea, and taking it again by the sweetness of those kisses) humbly besought her to keep her speech for a while within the Paradise of her mind. For well she knew her father's errand, who should soon receive a sufficient answer. But now she demanded leave not to lose this long sought-for commodity of time, to ease her heart thus far, that if in her agonies her destiny was to be condemned by Philoclea's mouth, at lest Philoclea might know, whom she had condemned. Philoclea easily yielded to grant her own desire: and so making the green bank the situation, and the river the prospect of the most beautiful buildings of Nature, Zelmane doubting how to begin, though her thoughts already had run to the end, with a mind fearing the unworthiness of every word that should be presented to her ears, at length brought it forth in this manner.  
Most beloved Lady, the incomparable excellencies of yourself, (waited-on by the greatness of your estate) and the importance of the thing (whereon my life consisteth) doth require both many ceremonies before the beginning, and many circumstances in the uttering my speech, both bold, and fearful. But the small opportunity of envious occasion (by the malicious eye hateful Love doth cast upon me) and the extreme bent of my affection (which will either break out in words, or break my heart) compel me, not only to embrace the smallest time, but to pass by the respects due unto you, in respect of your poor caitiffs life, who is now, or never to be preserved. I do therefore vow unto you, hereafter never more to omit all dutiful form: do you only now vouchsafe to hear the matter of a mind most perplexed. If ever the sound of Love have come to your ears, or if ever you have understood, what force it hath had to conquer the strongest hearts, and change the most settled estates: receive here an example of those strange Tragedies; one, that in himself containeth the particularities of all those misfortunes: and from henceforth believe that such a thing may be, since you shall see it is. You shall see (I say) a living image, and a present story of what Love can do, when he is bend to ruin.  
But alas, whether goest thou my tongue? or how doth my heart consent to adventure the revealing his nearest touching secret? But peace Fear, thou comest too late, when already the harm is taken. Therefore I say again, O only Princess, attend here a miserable miracle of affection. Behold here before your eyes Pyrocles, Prince of Macedon, whom you only have brought to this game of Fortune, and unused Metamorphosis: whom you only have made neglect his country, forget his Father, and lastly, forsake to be Pyrocles: the same Pyrocles, who (you heard) was betrayed by being put in a ship, which being burned, Pyrocles was drowned. O most true presage: for these traitors, my eyes, putting me into a ship of Desire, which daily burneth, those eyes (I say) which betrayed me, will never leave till they have drowned me. But be not, be not, (most excellent Lady) you that Nature hath made to be the Lodestar of comfort, be not the Rock of shipwreck: you whom virtue hath made the Princess of felicity, be not the minister of ruin: you, whom my choice hath made the Goddess of my safety, O let not, let not, from you be powered upon me destruction. Your fair face hath many tokens in it of amazement at my words: think then what his amazement is, from whence they come: since no words can carry with them the life of the inward feeling. I desire, that my desire may be weighed in the balances of Honour, and let Virtue hold them. For if the highest Love in no base person may aspire to grace, then may I hope your beauty will not be without pity. If otherwise you be (alas but let it never be so) resolved, yet shall not my death be comfortless, receiving it by your sentence.  
The joy which wrought into Pygmalion's mind, while he found his beloved image was softer, and warmer in his folded arms, till at length it accomplished his gladness with a perfect woman's shape (still beautified with the former perfections) was even such, as by each degree of Zelmane's words creepingly entered into Philoclea: till her pleasure was fully made up with the manifesting of his being; which was such as in hope did overcome Hope. Yet Doubt would feign have played his part in her mind, and called in question, how she should be assured that Zelmane was Pyrocles. But Love straight stood up and deposed, that a lie could not come from the mouth of Zelmane. Besides, a certain spark of honour, which risen in her well-disposed mind, made her fear to be alone with him, with whom alone she desired to be (with all the other contradictions growing in those minds, which neither absolutely climb the rock of Virtue, nor freely sink into the sea of Vanity) but that spark soon gave place, or at lest gave no more light in her mind, than a candle doth in the suns presence. But even sick with a surfeit of joy, and fearful of she knew not what (as he that newly finds huge treasures, doubts whether he sleep or no; or like a fearful Deer, which then looks most about, when he comes to the best feed) with a shrugging kind of tremor through all her principal parts, she gave these affectionate words for answer. Alas, how painful a thing it is to a divided mind to make a well-joined answer? how hard it is to bring inward shame to outward confession? and what handsomeness trow you can be observed in that speech, which is made one knows not to whom? Shall I say o Zelmane? Alas your words be against it. Shall I say Prince Pyrocles? wretch that I am, your show is manifest against it. But this, this I may well say; If I had continued as I ought, Philoclea, you had either never been, or ever been Zelmane: you had either never attempted this change, set on with hope, or never discovered it, stopped with despair. But I fear me, my behaviour ill governed, gave you the first comfort: I fear me, my affection ill hid, hath given you this last assurance: I fear indeed, the weakness of my government before, made you think such a mask would be grateful unto me: and my weaker government since, makes you to pull off the visar. What shall I do then? shall I seek farfetched inventions? shall I labour to lay marble colours over my ruinous thoughts? or rather, though the pureness of my virgin-minde be stained, let me keep the true simplicity of my word. True it is, alas, too true it is, o Zelmane (for so I love to call thee, since in that name my love first began, and in the shade of that name my love shall best lie hidden,) that even while so thou wert, (what eye bewitched me I know not) my passions were fit to desire, then to be desired. Shall I say then, I am sorry, or that my love must be turned to hate, since thou art turned to Pyrocles? how may that well be, since when thou wert Zelmane, the despair thou mightest not be thus, did most torment me. Thou hast then the victory: use it with virtue. Thy virtue won me; with virtue preserve me. Dost thou love me? keep me then still worthy to be beloved.  
Then held she her tongue, and cast down a self-accusing look, finding, that in herself she had (as it were) shot out of the bow of her affection, a more quick opening of her mind, than she minded to have done. But Pyrocles so carried up with joy, that he did not envy the God's felicity, presented her with some jewels of right princely value, as some little tokens of his love, and quality: and withal showed her letters from his father King Euarchus, unto him, which even in the Sea had amongst his jewels been preserved. But little needed those proofs to one, who would have fallen out with herself, rather than make any contrary conjectures to Zelmane speeches; so that with such embracements, as it seemed their souls desired to meet, and their hearts to kiss, as their mouths did: which feign Pyrocles would have sealed with the chief arms of his desire, but Philoclea commanded the contrary; and yet they passed the promise of marriage.  
And then at Philoclea's entreaty, who was willing to purloin all occasions of remaining with Zelmane, she told her the story of her life, from the time of their departing from Erona, for the rest she had already understood of her sister. For (said she) I have understood, how you first in the company of your Noble cousin Musidorus parted from Thessalia, and of divers adventures, which with no more danger than glory you passed through, till your coming to the succour of the Queen Erona; and the end of that war (you might perceive by myself) I had understood of the Prince Plangus. But what since was the course of your do, until you came, after so many victories, to make a conquest of poor me, that I know not, the fame thereof having rather showed it by pieces; then delivered any full form of it. Therefore, dear Pyrocles (for what can mine ears be so sweetly fed with as to hear you of you) be liberal unto me of those things which have made you indeed precious to the world, and now doubt not to tell of your perils; for since I have you here out of them, even the remembrance of them is pleasant. Pyrocles easily perceived she was content with kindness, to put off occasion of further kindness; wherein Love showed himself a cowardly boy, that durst not attempt for fear of offending. But rather Love proved himself valiant, that durst with the sword of reverent duty gainstand the force of so many enraged desires. But so it was, that though he knew this discourse was to entertain him from a more straight parley, yet he durst not but kiss his rod, and gladly make much of that entertainment which she allotted unto him: and therefore with a desirous sigh chastening his breast for too much desiring, Sweet Princess of my life (said he) what Trophies, what Triumph, what Monuments, what Histories might ever make my fame yield so sweet a Music to my ears, as that it pleaseth you to lend your mind to the knowledge of any thing touching Pyrocles, only therefore of value, because he is your Pyrocles? And therefore grow I now so proud, as to think it worth the hearing, since you vouchsafe to give it the hearing. Therefore (only height of my hope) vouchsafe to know, that after the death of Tiridates, and settling Erona in her government; for settled we left her, howsoever since (as I perceived by your speech the last day) the ungrateful treason of her ill-chosen husband overthrew her (a thing in truth never till this time by me either heard, or suspected) for who could think without having such a mind as Antiphilus, that so great a beauty as Eronas (indeed excellent) could not have held his affection? so great goodness could not have bound gratefulness? and so high advancement could not have satisfied his ambition? But therefore true it is, that wickedness may well be compared to a bottomless pit, into which it is far easier to keep one's self from falling, then being fallen, to give one's self any stay from falling infinitely. But for my cozen, and me, upon this cause we parted from Erona.  
Euardes (the brave and mighty Prince, whom it was my fortune to kill in the combat for Erona) had three Nephews, sons to a sister of his; all three set among the foremost ranks of Fame for great minds to attempt, and great force to perform what they did attempt; especially the eldest, by name Anaxius; to whom all men would willingly have yielded the height of praise, but that his nature was such, as to bestow it upon himself, before any could give it. For of so unsupportable a pride he was, that where his deeds might well stir envy, his demeanour did rather breed disdain. And if it be true that the Giants ever made war against heaven, he had been a fit ensign-baerer for that company. For nothing seemed hard to him, though impossible; and nothing unjust, while his liking was his justice. Now he in these wars flatly refused his aid; because he could not brook, that the worthy Prince Plangus was by his cozen Tiridates preferred before him. For allowing no other weights, but the sword and spear in judging of desert, how-much he esteemed himself before Plangus in that, so much would he have had his allowance in his service.  
But now that he understood that his uncle was slain by me, I think rather scorn that any should kill his uncle, than any kindness (an un-used guest to an arrogant soul) made him seek his revenge; I must confess in manner gallant enough. For he sent a challenge unto me to meet him at a place appointed, in the confines of the kingdom of Lycia; where he would prove upon me, that I had by some treachery overcome his uncle, whom else many hundreds such as I, could not have withstood. Youth and success made me willing enough to accept any such bargain; especially, because I had heard that your cozen Amphialus (who for some years hath universally borne the name of the best Knight in the world) had divers times fought with him, and never been able to master him; but so had left him, that every man thought Anaxius in that one virtue of courtesy far short of him, in all other his match; Anaxius still deeming himself for his superior. Therefore to him I would go, and I would needs go alone, because so I understood for certain, he was; and (I must confess) desirous to do something without the company of the incomparable Prince Musidorus, because in my heart I acknowledge that I owed more to his presence, then to any thing in myself, whatsoever before I had done. For of him indeed (as of any worldly cause) I must grant, as received, what ever there is, or may be good in me. He taught me by word, and best by example, giving me in him so lively an Image of virtue, as ignorance could not cast such mist over mine eyes, as not to see, and to love it, and all with such dear friendship and care, as (o heaven) how can my life ever requite unto him? which made me indeed find in myself such a kind of depending upon him, as without him I found a weakness, and a mistrustfulness of myself, as one strayed from his best strength, when at any time I missed him. Which humour perceiving to overrule me, I strove against it; not that I was unwilling to depend upon him in judgement, but by weakness I would not; which though it held me to him, made me unworthy of him. Therefore I desired his leave, and obtained it: such confidence he had in me, preferring my reputation before his own tenderness; and so privately went from him, he determining (as after I knew) in secret manner, not to be far from the place, where we appointed to meet, to prevent any foul play that might be offered unto me. Full loath was Erona to let us departed from her, (as it were) forefeeling the harms which after fell to her. But I, (rid fully from those combers of kindness, and half a days journey in my way toward Anaxius) met an adventure, which (though in itself of small importance) I will tell you at large, because by the occasion thereof I was brought to as great cumber and danger, as lightly any might escape.  
As I passed through a Land (each side whereof was so bordered both with high timber trees, and copses of far more humble growth, that it might easily bring a solitary mind to look for no other companions than the wild burgesses of the forest) I heard certain cries, which coming by pauses to mine ears from within the wood of the right hand, made me well assured by the greatness of the cry, it was the voice of a man, though it were a very unmanlike voice, so to cry. But making mine ear my guide, I left not many trees behind me, before I saw at the bottom of one of them a gentleman bound (with many garters) hand & foot, so as well he might tumble and toss, but neither run nor resist he could. Upon him (like so many Eagles upon an Ox) were nine Gentlewomen; truly such, as one might well enough say, they were handsome. Each of them held bodkins in their hands, wherewith they continually pricked him, having been beforehand unarmed of any defence from the waist upward, but only of his shirt: so as the poor man wept and bled, cried and prayed, while they sported themselves in his pain, and delighted in his prayers, as the arguments of their victory.  
I was moved to compassion, and so much the more that he strait called to me for succour, desiring me at lest to kill him, to deliver him from those torments. But before myself could resolve, much less any other tell what I would resolve, there came in choleric haste towards me about seven or eight knights; the foremost of which willed me to get me away, & not to trouble the Ladies, while they were taking their due revenge, but with so over-mastring a manner of pride, as truly my heart could not brook it: and therefore (answering them, that how I would have defended him from the Ladies I knew not, but from them I would) I began a combat first with him particularly, and after his death with the others (that had less good manners) jointly. But such was the end of it, that I kept the field with the death of some, and flight of others. In so much as the women (afraid, what angry victory would bring forth) ran all away; saving only one; who was so fleshed in malice, that neither during, nor after the fight, she gave any truce to her cruelty, but still used the little instrument of her great spite, to the well-witnest pain of the impatient patient: and was now about to put out his eyes, which all this while were spared, because they should do him the discomfort of seeing who prevailed over him. When I came in, and after much ado, brought her to some conference, (for sometime it was before she would hearken, more before she would speak; and most, before she would in her speech leave off the sharp remembrance of her bodkin) but at length when I pulled off my headpiece, and humbled entreated her pardon, or knowledge why she was cruel; out of breath more with choler (which increased in his own exercise) then with the pain she took, much to this purpose she gave her grief unto my knowledge. Gentleman (said she) much it is against my will to forbear any time the executing of my just revenge upon this naughty creature, a man in nothing, but in deceiving women; But because I see you are young, and like enough to have the power (if you would have the mind) to do much more mischief, than he, I am content upon this bad subject to read a lecture to your virtue.  
This man called Pamphilus, in birth I must confess is noble (but what is that to him, if it shallbe a stain to his dead ancestors to have left such an offspring?) in shape as you see not uncomely (indeed the fit mask of his disguised falsehood) in conversation wittily pleasant, and pleasantly gamesome; his eyes full of merry simplicity, his words of hearty companablenesse; and such a one, whose head one would not think so stayed, as to think mischievously: delighted in all such things, which by imparting the delight to there's, makes the user thereof welcome; as, Music, Dancing, Hunting, Feasting, Riding, and such like. And to conclude, such a one, as who can keep him at arms end, need never wish a better companion. But under these qualities lies such a poisonous addar as I will tell you. For by those gifts of Nature and Fortune (being in all places acceptable) he creeps, nay (to say truly) he flies so into the favour of poor silly women, that I would be too much ashamed to confess, if I had not revenge in my hand, as well as shame in my cheeks. For his heart being wholly delighted in deceiving us, we could never be warned, but rather one bird caught, served for a stolen to bring in more. For the more he got, the more still he showed, that he (as it were) gave away to his new mistress, when he betrayed his promises to the former. The cunning of his flattery, the readiness of his tears, the infiniteness of his vows, were but among the weakest threads of his net. But the stirring our own passions, and by the entrance of them, to make himself Lord of our forces; there lay his Master's part of cunning, making us now jealous, now envious, now proud of what we had, desirous of more; now giving one the triumph, to see him that was Prince of many, Subject to her; now with an estranged look, making her fear the loss of that mind. which indeed could never be had: never ceasing humbleness and diligence, till he had embarked us in some such disadvantage, as we could not return dryshod; and then suddenly a tyrant, but a crafty tyrant. For so would he use his imperiousness, that we had a delightful fear & an awe which made us loath to lose our hope. And, which is strangest (when sometimes with late repentance I think of it) I must confess, even in the greatest tempest of my judgement was I never driven to think him excellent, and yet so could set my mind, both to get and keep him, as though therein had lain my felicity: like them I have seen play at the ball, grow extremely earnest, who should have the ball, and yet every one knew it was but a ball. But in end, the bitter sauce of the sport was, that we had either our hearts broken with sorrow, or our estates spoiled with being at his direction, or our honours for ever lost, partly by her own faults, but principally by his faulty using of our faults. For never was there man that could with more scornful eyes behold her, at whose feet he had lately lain, nor with a more unmanlike bravery use his tongue to her disgrace, which lately had song Sonnets of her praises: being so naturally inconstant, as I marvel his soul finds not some way to kill his body, whereto it had been so long united. For so hath he dealt with us (unhappy fools,) as we could never tell, whether he made greater haste after he once liked, to enjoy, or after he once enjoyed, to forsake. But making a glory of his own shame, it delighted him to be challenged of unkindness: it was a triumph unto him to have his mercy called for: and he thought the fresh colours of his beauty were painted in nothing so well, as in the ruins of his Lovers: yet so far had we engaged ourselves, (unfortunate souls) that we listed not complain, since our complaints could not but carry the greatest accusation to ourselves. But every of us (each for herself,) laboured all means how to recover him, while he rather daily sent us companions of our deceit, than ever returned in any sound and faithful manner. Till at length he concluded all his wrongs with betrothing himself to one (I must confess) worthy to be liked, if any worthiness might excuse so unworthy a changeableness; leaving us nothing but remorse for what was past, and despair of what might follow. Then in deed the common injury made us all join in fellowship, who till that time, had employed our endeavours one against the other. For we thought nothing was a more condemning of us, than the iustifiing of his love to her by marriage: then Despair made Fear valiant, and Revenge gave Shame countenance: whereupon, we (that you saw here) devised how to get him among us alone: which he (suspecting no such matter of them, whom he had by often abuses he thought made tame to be still abused) easily gave us opportunity to do.  
And a man may see, even in this, how soon Rulers grow proud, and in their pride foolish: he came with such an authority among us, as if the Planets had done enough for us, that by us once he had been delighted. And when we began in courteous manner, one after the other, to lay his unkindness unto him, he seeing himself confronted by so many (like a resolute Orator,) went not to denial, but to justify his cruel falsehood, and all with such jests, and disdainful passages, that if the injury could not be made greater, yet were our conceits made the apt to apprehend it.  
Among other of his answers (forsooth) I shall never forget, how he would prove it was no inconstancy to change from one love to another, but a great constancy; and contrary, that which we call constancy, to be most changeable. For (said he) I ever loved my delight, and delighted always in what was Lovely: and where-soever I found occasion to obtain that, I constantly followed it. But these constant fools you speak of, though their Mistress grow by sickness foul, or by fortune miserable, yet still will love her, and so commit the absurdest inconstancy that may be, in changing their love from fairness to foulness, and from loulinesse to his contrary; like one not content to leave a friend, but will straight give over himself to his mortal enemy: where I (whom you call inconstant) am ever constant; to Beauty, in others; and Delight in myself. And so in this jolly scoffing bravery he went over us all, saying, He left one, because she was overwaiward: another, because she was too soon won: a third, because she was not merry enough: a fourth, because she was over-gamesome: the fifth, because she was grown with grief subject to sickness: the sixth because she was so foolish, as to be jealous of him: the seventh, because she had refused to carry a letter for him, to another that he loved: the eight, because she was not secret, the ninth, because she was not liberal: but to me, who am named Dido, (and indeed have met with a false AEneas) to me, I say, (o the ungrateful villainy) he could find no other fault to object, but that (perdie) he met with many fairer.  
But when he had thus played the careless Prince, we (having those servants of ours in readiness, whom you lately so manfully overcame) laid hold of him; beginning at first but that trifling revenge, in which you found us busy; but meaning afterwards to have mangled him so, as should have lost his credit for ever abusing more. but as you have made my fellows fly away, so for my part the greatness of his wrong overshadowes in my judgement the greatness of any danger. For was it not enough for him, to have deceived me, and through the deceit abused me, and after the abuse forsaken me, but that he must now, of all the company, and before all the company lay want of beauty to my charge? Many fairer? I trow even in your judgement, Sir, (if your eyes do not beguile me) not many fairer; and I know (whosoever says the contrary) there are not many fairer. And of whom should I receive this reproach, but of him, who hath best cause to know there are not many fairer? And therefore howsoever my fellows pardon his injuries, for my part I will ever remember, and remember to revenge this scorn of all scorns. With that she to him afresh; and surely would have put out his eyes (who lay mute for shame, if he did not sometimes cry for fear) if I had not leapt from my horse, and mingling force with entreaty, stayed her fury.  
But, while I was persuading her to meekness, comes a number of his friends, to whom he forthwith cried, that they should kill that woman, that had thus betrayed and disgraced him. But then I was feign to forsake the ensign; under which I had before served, and to spend my uttermost force in the protecting of the Lady; which so well prevailed for her, that in end there was a faithful peace promised of all sides. And so I leaving her in a place of security (as she thought) went on my journey towards Anaxius, for whom I was feign to stay two days in the appointed place, he disdaining to wait for me, till he was sure I were there.  
I did patiently abide his angry pleasure, till about that space of time he came (indeed, according to promise) alone: and (that I may not say too little, because he is wont to say too much) like a man, whose courage was apt to climb over any danger. And assoon as ever he came near me, in fit distance for his purpose, he with much fury, (but with fury skilfully guided) ran upon me; which I (in the best sort I could) resisted, having kept myself ready for him, because I had understood, that he observed few compliments in matter of arms, but such as a proud anger did indite unto him. And so putting our horses into a full career, we hit each other upon the head with our Lances: I think he felt my blow, for my part (I must confess) I never received the like: but I think though my senses were astonished, my mind forced them to quicken themselves, because I had learned of him, how little favour he is wont to show in any matter of advantage. And indeed he was turned, and coming upon me with his sword drawn, both our staves having been broken at that encounter. But I was so ready to answer him, that truly I know not who gave the first blow. But whosoever gave the first, was quickly seconded by the second. And indeed (excellentest Lady) I must say truly, for a time it was well fought between us; he undoubtedly being of singular valour, (I would to God, it were not abased by his too much loftiness) but as by the occasion of the combat, winning and losing ground, we changed places, his horse happened to come upon the point of the broken spear, which fallen to the ground chanced to stand upward so as it lighting upon his heart, the horse died. He driven to dismount, threatened, if I did not the like, to do as much for my horse, as Fortune had done for his. But whether for that, or because I would not be beholding to Fortune for any part of the victory, I descended. So began our foote-fight in such sort that we were well entered to blood of both sides, when there comes by, that unconstant Pamphilus, whom I had delivered (easy to be known, for he was bare faced) with a dozen armed men after him; but before him he had Dido (that Lady, who had most sharply punished him) riding upon a palfery, he following her with most unmanlike cruelty; beating her with wands he had in his hand, she crying for sense of pain, or hope of succour: which was so pitiful a sight unto me, that it moved me to require Anaxius to defer our combat, till an other day, and now to perform the duties of Knighthood in helping this distressed Lady. But he that disdains to obey any thing but his passion (which he calls his mind) bade me leave of that thought; but when he had killed me, he would then (perhaps) go too her succour. But I well finding the fight would be long between us (longing in my heart too deliver the poor Dido) giving him so great a blow, as somewhat stayed him, to term it a right) I flatly ran away from him toward my horse, who trotting after the company, in in mine armour I was put to some pain, but that use made me nimble unto it. But as I followed my horse, Anaxius followed me: but his proud heart did so disdain that exercise, that I had quickly overrun him, and overtaken my horse, being (I must confess) ashamed to see a number of country folks, who happened to pass thereby, who hallowed& howted after me as at the arrantest coward, that ever showed his shoulders to his enemy. But when I had leapt on my horse (with such speedy agility, that they all cried, OH see how fear gives him wings) I turned to Anaxius,& aloud promised him to return thither again, as soon as I had relieved the injured Lady. But he railing at me, with all the base words angry contempt could indite; I said no more, but, Anaxius, assure thyself, I neither fear thy force, nor thy opinion. And so using no weapon of a Knight as at that time, but my spurs, I ran in my knowledge after Pamphilus, but in all their conceits from Anaxius, which as far as I could hear, I might well hear testified with such laughters and games, that I was some few times moved to turn back again.  
But the Lady's misery over-balanced my reputation so that after her I went, and with six hours hard riding (through so wild places, as it was rather the cunning of my horse sometimes, then of myself, so rightly to hit the way) I overgat them a little before night, near to an old ill-favoured castle, the place where I perceived they meant to perform their unknightly errand. For there they begun to strip her of her clothes, when I come in among them, and running through the first with a lance, the justness of the cause so enabled me against the rest (false-harted in their own wrong doing) that I had, in as short time almost as I had been fight with only Anaxius, delivered her from those injurious wretches: most of whom carried news to the other world, that among men secret wrongs are not always left unpunished. As for Pamphilus, he having once seen,& (as it should seem) remembered me, even from the beginning begun to be in the rerewarde, and before they had left fight, he was too far of to give them thanks for their pains. But when I had delivered to the Lady a full liberty, both in effect, and in opinion, (for some time it was before she could assure herself she was out of their hands, who had laid so vehement apprehension of death upon her) she then told me, how as she was returning toward her fathers, weakly accompanied (as too soon trusting to the falsehood of reconcilement) Pamphilus had set upon her, and kill those that that were with her, carried herself by such force, and with such manner as I had seen, to this place, where he meant in cruel and shameful manner to kill her, in the sight of her own Father; to whom he had already sent word of it, that out of his castle window (for this castle, she said, was his) he might have the prospect of his only child's destruction, if my coming, whom (she said) he feared (as soon as he knew me by the armour) had not warranted her from that near approaching cruelty. I was glad I had done so good a deed for a Gentlewoman not unhandsome, whom before I had in like sort helped. But the night beginning to persuade some retiring place, the Gentlewoman, even out of countenance before she begun her speech, much after this manner invited me to lodge that night with her father.  
Sir (said she) how much I own you, can be but abased by words, since the life I have, I hold it now the second time of you: and therefore need not offer service unto you, but only to remember you, that I am your servant: and I would, my being so, might any way yield any small contentment unto you. Now only I can but desire you to harbour yourself this night in this castle; because the time requires it; and in truth this country is very dangerous for murdering thieves, to trust a sleeping life among them. And yet I must confess, that as the love I bear you makes me thus invite you, so the same love makes me ashamed to bring you to a place, where you shallshall-be so (not spoken by ceremony but by truth) miserably entertained. With that she told me, that though she spoke of her father (whom she named Chremes) she would hid no truth from me; which was in sum, that as he was of all that region the man of greatest possessions, and richeses, so was he either by nature, or an evil received opinion, given to sparing, in so unmeasurable sort, that he did not only bar himself from the delightful, but almost from the necessary use thereof; scarcely allowing himself fit sustenance of life, rather then he would spend of those goods, for whose sake only he seemed to joy in life. Which extreme dealing (descending from himself upon her) had driven her to put herself with a great Lady of that country, by which occasion she had stumbled upon such mischances, as were little for the honour either of her, or her family. But so wise had he showed himself therein, as while he found his daughter maintained without his cost, he was content to be deaf to any noise of infamy: which though it had wronged her much more then she deserved, yet she could not deny, but she was driven thereby to receive more then decent favours. She concluded, that there at lest I should be free from injuries, and should be assured to her-wards to abound as much in the true causes of welcomes, as I should find want of the effects thereof.  
I, who had acquainted myself to measure the delicacy of food and rest, by hunger and weariness, at that time well stored of both, did not abide long entreaty; but went with her to the Castle: which I found of good strength, having a great mote round about it; the work of a noble Gentleman, of whose unthrifty son he had bought it. The bridge drawn up, where we were feign to cry a good while before we could have answer, and to dispute a good while before answer would be brought to acceptance. At length a willingness, rather than a joy to receive his daughter, whom he had latly seen so near death, and an opinion brought into his head by course, because he herded himself called a Father; rather then any kindness that he found in his own heart, made him take us in; for my part by that time grown so weary of such entertainment, that no regard of myself, but only the importunity of his daughter made me enter. Where I was met with this Chremes, a drivelling old fellow, lean, shaking both of head and hands, already half earth, and yet then most greedy of Earth: who scarcely would give me thanks for what I had done, for fear I suppose, that thankfulness might have an introduction of reward. But with a hollow voice, giving me a false welcome, I might perceive in his eye to his daughter, that it was hard to say, whither the displeasure of her company did not overweigh the pleasure of her own coming. But on he brought me, into so bore a house, that it was the picture of miserable happiness, and rich beggary (served only by a company of rustical villains, full of sweat and dust, not one of them other, then a labourer) in sum (as he counted it) profitable drudgery: and all preparations both for food and lodging such, as would make one detest niggardnesse, it is so sluttish a vice. His talk of nothing but of his poverty, for fear belike jest I should have proved a young borrower. In sum, such a man, as any enemy could not wish him worse then to be himself. But there that night bid I the burden of being a tedious guest to a loathsome host; overhearing him sometimes bitterly warn his daughter of bringing such costly mates under his roof: which she grieving at, desired much to know my name, I think partly of kindness to remember who had done something for her, and partly because she assured herself I was such a one as would make enen his miser-minde contented, with what he had done. And accordingly she demanded my name, and estate, with such earnestness, that I whom Love had not as then so rob me of myself, as to be another then I am, told her directly my name and condition: whereof she was no more glad than her father, as I might well perceive by some ill favoured cheerfulness, which then first began to wrinkle itself in his face.  
But the causes of their joys were far different; for as the shepherd and the butcher both may look upon one sheep with pleasing conceits, but the shepherd with mind to profit himself by preserving, the butcher with killing him: So she rejoiced to find that mine own benefits had tied me to be her friend, who was a Prince of such greatness, and lovingly rejoiced: but his joy grew, (as I to my danger after perceived) by the occasion of the Queen Artaxias setting my head to sale, for having slain her brother Tiridates; which being the sum of an hundredth thousand crowns (to whosoever brought me alive into her hands) that old wretch, (who had over-lived all good nature) though he had lying idly by him much more than that, yet above all things loving money, for moneys own sake determined to betray me, so well deserving of him to have that which he was determined never to use. And so knowing that the next morning I was resolved to go to the place where I had left Anaxius, he sent in all speed to a Captain of a Garrison near by; which though it belonged to the King of Iberia, (yet knowing the captains humour to delight so in riotous spending as he cared not how he came by the means to maintain it) doubted not that to be half with him in the gain, he would play his quarter's part in the treason. And therefore that night agreeing of the fittest places where they might surprise me the morning, the old caitiff was grown so ceremonious, as he would needs accompany me some miles in my way; a sufficient token to me, if Nature had made me apt to suspect; since a churls courtesy rarely comes but either for gain, or falsehood. But I suffered him to stumble into that point of good manner: to which purpose he came out with all his clowns, horsed upon such cart-iades, and so furnished, as in good faith I thought with myself, if that were thrift, I wished none of my friends or subjects ever to thrive. As for his daughter (the gentle Dido) she would also (but in my conscience with a far better mind) prolong the time of farewell, as long as he.  
And so we went on together: he so old in wickedness, that he could look me in the face, and freely talk with me, whose life he had already contracted for: till coming into the falling of a way which led us into a place, of each-side whereof men might easily keep themselves undiscovered, I was encompassed suddenly by a great troop of enemies both of horse and foot, who willed me to yield myself to the Queen Artaxia. But they could not have used worse eloquence to have persuaded my yielding, then that; I knowing the little good will Artaxia bore me. And therefore making necessity and justice my best sword and shield, I used the other weapons I had as well as I could; I am sure to the little ease of a good number, who trusting to their number more than to their valour, and valueing money higher than equity, felt, that guiltlessness is not always with ease oppressed. As for Chremes, he withdrew himself, yet so guilding his wicked conceits with his hope of gain, that he was content to be a beholder, how I should be taken to make his prey.  
But I was grown so weary, that I supported myself more with anger then strength, when the most excellent Musidorous came to my succour; who having followed my trace as well as he could, after he found I had left the fight with Anaxius, came to the niggards Castle, where he found all burnt and spoiled by the country people, who bore mortal hatred to that covetous man, and now took the time, when the castle was left almost without guard, to come in, and leave monuments of their malice therein: which Musidorus not staying either to further, or impeach, came upon the spur after me (because with one voice many told him, that if I were in his company, it was for no good meant unto me) and in this extremity found me. But when I saw that cozen of mine, me thought my life was doubled, and where before I thought of a noble death, I now thought of a noble victory. For who can fear that hath Musidorus by him? who, what he did there for me, how many he killed, not stranger for the number then for the strange blows wherewith he sent them to a wel-deserued death, might well delight me to speak off, but I should so hold you too long in every particular. But in truth, there if ever, and ever, if ever any man, did Musidorus show himself second to none in able valour.  
Yet what the unmeasurable excess of their number would have done in the end I know not, but the trial thereof was cut off by the chanceable coming thither of the King of Iberia, that same father of the worthy Plangus, whom it hath pleased you sometimes to mention: who, (not yielding over to old age his country delights, especially of hawking) was at that time (following a Merline) brought to see this injury offered unto us: and having great numbers of Courtiers waiting upon him, was strait known by the soldiers that assaulted us, to be their King, and so most of them withdrew themselves.  
He by his authority knowing of the Captains own constrained confession what was the motive of this mischievous practice; misliking much such violence should be offered in his country to men of our rank? but chiefly disdaining it should be done in respect of his Niece, whom (I must confess wrongfully) he hated, because he interpreted that her brother and she had maintained his son Plangus against him, caused the captains head presently to be stricken off, and the old bad Chremes to be hanged: though truly for my part, I earnestly laboured for his life, because I had eaten of his bread. But one thing was notable for a conclusion of his miserable life, that neither the death of his daughter, who (alas poor Gentlewoman was by chance slain among his clowns, while she overboldelye for her weak sex sought to hold them from me, nor yet his own shameful end was so much in his mouth as he was led to execution, as the loss of his goods, and burning of his house: which often, with more laughter than tears of the hearers, he made pitiful exclamations upon.  
This justice thus done, and we delivered, the King indeed in royal sort invited us to his Court, not far thence: in all points entertaining us so, as truly I must ever acknowledge a behold unto him: although the stream of it fell out not to be so sweet as the spring. For after some days being there (curing ourselves of such wounds as we had received, while I, causing diligent search to be made of Anaxius, could learn thing, but that he was goneno out of the country, boasting in every place how he had made me run away) we were brought to receive the favour of acquaintance with this Queen Andromana, whom the Princess Pamela did in so lively colours describe the last day, as still me thinks the figure thereof possesseth mine eyes confirmed by the knowledge myself had.  
And therefore I shall need the less to make you know what kind of woman she was; but this only, that first with the rains of affection, and after with the very use of directing, she had made herself so absolute a master of her husband's mind, that a while he would not, and after, he could not tell how to govern without being governed by her: but finding an ease in not understanding, let lose his thoughts wholly to pleasure, entrusting to her the entire conduct of all his royal affairs. A thing that may luckily fall out to him that hath the blessing, to match with some Heroical minded Lady. But in him it was neither guided by wisdom, nor followed by Fortune, but thereby was slipped insensibly into such an estate, that he lived at her undiscreet discretion: all his subjects having by some years learned so to hope for good, and fear of harm, only from her, that it should have needed a stronger virtue than his, to have unwound so deeply an entered vice. So that either not striving (because he was contented) or contented (because he would not strive) he scarcely knew what was done in his own chamber, but as it pleased her Instruments to frame the relation.  
Now we being brought known unto her (the time that we spent in curing some very dangerous wounds) after once we were acquainted, (and acquainted we were sooner than ourselves expected) she continually almost haunted us, till (and it was not long a doing) we discovered a most violent bent of affection: and that so strangely, that we might well see, an evil mind in authority, doth not only follow the sway of the desires already within it, but frames to itself new desires, not before thought of. For, with equal ardour she affected us both: & so did her greatness disdain shamefastness, that she was content to acknowledge it to both. For, (having many times torn the vail of modesty) it seemed, for a last delight, that she delighted in infamy: which often she had used to her husband's shame, filling all men's ears (but his) with his reproach; while he hoodwinked with kindness) lest of all men knew who strake him. But her first degree was, by setting forth her beauties, (truly in nature not to be misliked, but as much advanced to the eye, as abased to the judgement by art) thereby to bring us (as willingly-caught fishes) to by't at her bait. And thereto had she that scutcheon of her desires supported by certain badly-diligent ministers, who often cloyed our ears with her praises, and would needs teach us a way of felicity by seeking her favour. But when she found, that we were as deaf to them as dumb to her; them she listed no longer stay in the suburbs of her foolish desires, but directly entered upon them; making herself an impudent suitor, authorizing herself very much with making us see that all favour and power in that realm, so depended upon her, that now (being in her hands) we were either to keep, or lose our liberty, at her discretion; which yet a while she so tempted, as that we might rather suspect, them she threaten. But when our wounds grew so, as that they gave us leave to travel, and that she found we were purposed to use all means we could to departed thence, she (with more and more importunatenes) craved, which in all good manners was either of us to be desired, or not granted. Truly (most fair and every way excellent Lady) you would have wondered to have seen, how before us she would confess the contention in her own mind between that lovely (indeed most lovely) brounnes of Musidorus his face, & this colour of mine, which she (in the deceivable stile of affection) would entitle beautiful: how her eyes wandered like a glutton at a feast) from the one to the other; and how her words would begin half of the sentence to Musidorus, & end the other half to Pyrocles: not ashamed (seeing the friendship between us) to desire either of us to be a mediator to the other; as if we should have played one request at Tennis between us: and often wishing that she might be the angle, where the lines of our friendship might meet; and be the knot which might tie our hearts together. Which proceeding of hers I do the more largely set before you (most dear Lady) because by the foil thereof, you may see the nobleness of my desire to you, and the warrantableness of your favour to me.  
At that Philoclea smiled, with a little nod. But (said Pyrocles) when she perceived no hope by suit to prevail, than (persuaded by the rage of affection, and encouraged by daring to do any thing) she found means to have us accused to the King, as though we went about some practice to overthrow him in his own estate. Which because of the strange successes we had had in the Kingdoms of Phrigia, Pontus & Galatia) seemed not unlikely to him, who (but skimming any thing that came before him) was disciplined to leave the through-handling of all, to his gentle wife: who forthwith caused us to be put in prison, having (while we slept) deprived us of our arms: a prison, indeed injurious, because a prison, but else well testifying affection because in all respects as commodious, as a prison might be: and indeed so placed, as she might at all hours (not seen by many, though she cared not much how many had seen her) come unto us. Then fell she to sauce her desires with threatenings, so that we were in a great perplexity, restrained to so unworthy a bondage, and yet restrained by love, which I (I cannot tell how (in noble minds, by a certain duty, claims an answering. And how much that love might move us, so much, and more that faultiness of her mind removed us; her beauty being balanced by her shamelessness. But that which did (as it were) tie us in captivity, was, that to grant, had been wickedly injurious to him, that had saved our lives: and to accuse a Lady that loved us, of her love unto us, we esteemed almost as dishonourable: and but by one of those ways we saw no likelihood of going out of that place, where the words would be injurious to your ears, which should express the manner of her suit: while yet many times earnestness died her cheeks with the colour of shamefastness; and wanton languishing borrowed of her eyes the down-castlooke of modesty. But we in the mean time far from loving her, and often assuring her, that we would not so recompense her husbands saving of our lives; to such a ridiculous degree of trusting her, she had brought him, that she caused him send us word, that upon our lives, we should do whatsoever she commanded us: good man, not knowing any other, but that all her pleasures were directed to the preservation of his estate. But when that made us rather pity, then obey his folly, than fell she to servile entreating us, as though force could have been the school of Love, or that an honest courage would not rather strive against, then yield to injury. All which yet could not make us accuse her, though it made us almost pine away for spite, to lose any of our time in so troublesome an idleness.  
But while we were thus full of weariness of what was past, and doubt of what was to follow, Love (that I think in the course of my life hath a spot sometimes to poison me with roses, sometimes to heal me with wormwood) brought forth a remedy unto us: which though it helped me out of that distress, alas the conclusion was such, as I must ever while I live, think it worse than a wrack, so to have been preserved. This King by this Queen had a son of tender age, but of great expectation, brought up in the hope of themselves, and already acceptation of the inconstant people, as successor of his father's crown: whereof he was as worthy, considering his parts, as unworthy, in respect of the wrong was thereby done against the most noble Plangus: whose great deserts now either forgotten, or ungratefully remembered, all men set their sails with the favourable wind, which blewe on the fortune of this young Prince, perchance not in their hearts, but surely not in their mouths, now giving Plangus (who some years before was their only champion) the poor comfort of calamity, pity. This youth therefore accounted Prince of that region, by name Palladius, did with vehement affection love a young Lady, brought up in his father's court, called Zelmane, daughter to that mischievouslie unhappy Prince Plexirtus (of whom already I have, and sometimes must make, but never honourable mention) left there by her father, because of the intricate changeableness of his estate; he by the motherside being half brother to this Queen Andromana, and therefore the willinger committing her to her care. But as Love (alas) doth not always reflect itself, so fell it out that this Zelmane, (though truly reason there was enough to love Palladius) yet could not ever persuade her heart to yield thereunto: with that pain to Palladius, as they feel, that feel an unloved love. Yet loving indeed, and therefore constant, he used still the intercession of diligence and faith, ever hoping, because he would not put himself into that hell, to be hopeless: until the time of our being come, and captived there, brought forth this end, which truly deserves of me a further degree of sorrow than tears.  
Such was therein my ill destiny, that this young Lady Zelmane (like some unwisely liberal, that more delight to give presents, then pay debts) she chose (alas for the pity) rather to bestow her love (so much undeserved, as not desired) upon me, then to recompense him, whose love (besides many other things) might seem (even in the court of Honour) justly to claim it of her. But so it was (alas that so it was) whereby it came to pass (that as nothing doth more naturally follow his cause, then care to preserve, and benefit doth follow unfeigned affection) she felt with me, what I felt of my captivity, and straight laboured to redress my pain, which was her pain: which she could do by no better means, then by using the help therein of Palladius: who (true Lover) considering what, and not why, in all her commandments; and indeed she concealing from him her affection (which she entitled compassion,) immediately obeyed to employ his uttermost credit to relieve us: which though has great, as a beloved son with a mother, faulty otherwise, but not hard-hearted toward him, yet it could not prevail to procure us liberty. Wherefore he sought to have that by practice, which he could not by prayer. And so being allowed often to visit us (for indeed our restraints were more, or less, according as the ague of her passion was either in the fit or intermission) he used the opportunity of a fit time thus to deliver us.  
The time of the marrying that Queen was every year, by the extreme love of her husband, and the serviceable love of the Courtiers, made notable by some public honours, which did (as it were) proclaim to the world, how dear she was to that people. Among other, none was either more grateful to the beholders, or more noble in itself, than justs, both with sword & lance, maintained for a seven-night together: wherein that Nation doth so excel, both for comeliness and ableness, that from neighbour-countries they ordinarily come, some to strive, some to learn, some to behold.  
This day it happened that divers famous Knights came thither from the Court of Helen, Queen of Corinth, a Lady, whom fame at that time was so desirous to honour, that she borrowed all men's mouths to join with the sound of her Trumpet. For as her beauty hath won the prize from all women, that stand in degree of comparison (for as for the two sisters of Arcadia, they are far beyond all conceit of comparison) so hath her government been such as hath been no less beautiful to men's judgements, than her beauty to the eyesight. For being brought by right of birth, a woman, a young woman, a fair woman, to govern a people, in nature mutinously proud, and always before so used to hard governors, as they knew not how to obey without the sword were drawn. Yet could she for some years, so carry herself among them, that they found cause in the delicacy of her sex, of admiration, not of contempt: & which was notable, even in the time that many countries about her were full of wars (which for old grudges to Corinth were thought still would conclude there) yet so handled she the matter, that the threatens ever smarted in the threatners; she using so strange, and yet so well-succeding a temper, that she made her people by peace, warlike; her courtiers by sports, learned; her Ladies by Love, chaste. For by continual martial exercises without blood, she made them perfect in that bloody art. Her sports were such as carried riches of Knowledge upon the stream of Delight: and such the behaviour both of herself and her Ladies, as builded their chastity not upon waywardness, but choice of worthiness: So as it seemed, that court to have been the marriage place of Love & Virtue, and that herself was a Diana appareled in the garments of Venus. And this which Fame only delivered unto me, (for yet I have never seen her) I am the willinger to speak of to you, who (I know) know her better, being your near neighbour, because you may see by her example (in herself wise, and of others beloved) that neither folly is the cause of vehement love, nor reproach the effect. For never (I think) was there any woman, that with more unremovable determination gave herself to the council of love, after she had once set before her mind the worthiness of your cousin Amphialus; and yet is nether her wisdom doubted of, nor honour blemished. For (O God) what doth better become wisdom, then to discern what is worthy the loving? what more agreeable to goodness, them to love it so discerned? and what to greatness of heart, then to be constant in it once loved? But at that time, that love of hers was not so publicly known, as the death of Philoxenus and search of Amphialus hath made it: but then seemed to have such leisure to send thither diverse choice knights of her court, because they might bring her, at lest the knowledge, perchance the honour of, that triumph. Wherein so they behaved themselves as for three days they carried the prize; which being come from so far a place to disgrace her servants, Palladius (who himself had never used arms) persuaded the Queen Andromana to be content (for the honour sake of her court) to suffer us two to have our horse and armour, that he with us might undertake the recovery of their lost honour: which she granted; taking our oath to go no further than her son, nor ever to abandon him. Which she did not more for saving him, then keeping us: and yet not satisfied with our oath, appointed a band of horsemen to have eye, that we should not go beyond appointed limits. We were willing to gratify the young Prince, who (we saw) loved us. And so the fourth day of that exercise, we came into the field: where (I remember) the manner was, that the forenoon they should run at tilt, one after the other: the afternoon in a broad field, in manner of a battle, till either the strangers, or that country Knights won the field.  
The first that ran was a brave Knight, whose devise was to come in, all chained with a Nymph leading him: his Impresa was  
Against him came forth an Iberian, whose manner of entering was, with Bagpipes in steed of trumpets; a shepherds boy before him for a Page, and by him a dozen appareled like shepherds for the fashion, though rich in stuff, who carried his Lances, which though strong to give a launcely blow indeed, yet so were they coloured with hooks near the mourn, that they pretilye represented shephooks. His own furniture was dressed over with wool, so enriched with jewels artificially placed, that one would have thought it a marriage between the lowest and the highest. His Impresa was a Sheep marked with pitch, with this word Spotted to be known. And because I may tell you out his conceit (though that were not done, till the running for that time was ended) before the Ladies departed from the windows, among whom there was one (they say) that was the Star, whereby his course was only directed. The Shepherds attending upon PHILISIDES went among them, and sang an eclogue; one of them answering another, while the other shepherds pulling out recorders (which possessed the place of pipes) accorded their music to the others voice. The Eclogue had great praise: I only remember six verses, while having questioned one with the other, of their fellow-shepheards sudden growing a man of arms, and the cause of his so doing, they thus said.  
ME thought some staves he missed: if so, not much amiss:  
For where he most would hit, he ever yet did miss.  
Once said he broke a cross; full well it so might be:  
For never was there man more crossly crossed than he.  
But most cried, O well broke: O fool full gaily blest:  
Where failing is a shame, and breaking is his best.  
Thus I have digressed, because his manner liked me well: But when he began to run against LElius,, it had near grown (though great love had ever been betwixt them) to a quarrel. For Philisides breaking his staves with great commendation, Lelius (who was known to be second to none in the perfection of that art) ran ever over his head, but so finely to the skilful eyes, that one might well see he showed more knowledge in missing, than others did in hitting. For with so gallant a grace his staff came swimming close over the crest of the Helmet as if he would represent the kiss, and not the stroke of Mars. But Philisides was much moved with it, while he thought Lelius would show a contempt of his youth: till Lelius (who therefore would satisfy him, because he was his friend (made him know, that to such bondage he was for so many courses tied by her, whose disgraces to him were graced by her excellency, and whose injuries he could never otherwise return, than honours.  
But so by Lelius willing-missing was the odds of the Iberian side, and continued so in the next by the excellent running of a Knight, though fostered so by the Muses, as many times the very rustic people left both their delights and profits to hearken to his songs, yet could he so well perform all armed sports, as if he had never had any other pen, than a Lance in his hand. He came in like a wild man; but such a wildness, as showed his eyesight had tamed him, full of withered leaves, which though they fell not, still threatened falling. His Impresa was, a mill-horse still bound to go in one circle; with this word, Data fata secutus. But after him the Corinthian knights absolutely prevailed, especially a great noble man of Corinth, whose devise was to come without any devise, all in white like a new Knight, as indeed he was; but so new, as his newness shamed most of the others long exercise. Then another from whose tent I remember a bird was made fly, With such art to carry a written embassage among the Ladies, that one might say, If a live bird, how so taught? if a dead bird, how so made? Then he, who hidden, man and horse in a great figure lively representing the Phoenix: the fire took so artificially, as it consumed the bird, and left him to rise as it were, out of the ashes thereof. Against whom was the fine frozen Knight, frozen in despair; but his armour so naturally representing Ice, and all his furniture so lively answering thereto, as yet did I never see any thing that pleased me better.  
But the delight of those pleasing sights, have carried me too far into an unnecessary discourse. Let it then suffice (most excellent Lady) that you know the Corinthians that morning in the exercise (as they had done the days before) had the better; Palladius neither suffering us, nor himself to take in hand the party till the after noon; when we were to fight in troops, not differing otherwise from earnest, but that the sharpness of the weapons was taken away. But in the trial Palladius (especially led by Musidorus, and somewhat aided by me) himself truly behaving himself nothing like a beginner, brought the honour to rest itself that night on the Iberian side: and the next day, both morning, and afternoon being kept by our party, He (that saw the time fit for the delivery he intended, called unto us to follow him; which we both bound by oath, and willing by goodwill, obeyed: and so the guard not daring to interrupt us (he commanding passage) we went after him upon the spur to a little house in a forest near by: which he thought would be the fittest resting place, till we might go further from his mother's fury, whereat he was no less angry, and ashamed, then desirous to obey Zelmane.  
But his mother (as I learned since) understanding by the guard her sons conveying us away (forgetting her greatness, and resining modesty to more quiet thoughts (flew out from her place, and cried to be accompanied, for she herself would follow us. But what she did (being rather with vehemency of passion, then conduct of reason) made her stumble while she ran, & by her own confusion hinder her own desires. For so impatiently she commanded, as a good while no body knew what she commanded; so as we had gotten so far the start, as to be already past the confines of her kingdom before she overtook us: and overtake us she did in the Kingdom of Bythinia, not regarding shame, or danger of having entered into another's dominions: but (having with her about a threescore horsemen) straight commanded to take us alive, and not to regard her sons threatening therein: which they attempted to do, first by speech, and then by force. But neither liking their eloquence, nor fearing their might, we esteemed few sword in a just defence, able to resist many unjust assaulters. And so Musidorus incredible valour (beating down all lets) made both me, and Palladius, so good way, that we had little to do to overcome weak wrong.  
And now had the victory in effect without blood, when Palladius (heated with the fight, and angry with his mother's fault) so pursued our assailers, that one of them (who as I heard since had before our coming been a special minion of Andromanas, and hated us for having dispossessed him of her heart) taking him to be one of us, with a traitorous blow slew his young Prince: who falling down before our eyes, whom he specially had delivered, judge (sweetest Lady) whether anger might not be called justice in such a case: once, so it wrought in us, that many of his subjects bodies we left there dead, to wait on him more faithfully to the other world.  
All this while disdain, strengthened by the fury of a furious love, made Andromana stay to the last of the combat: and when she saw us light down, to see what help we might do to the helpless Palladius, she came running madly unto us, then no less threatening, when she had no more power to hurt. But when she perceived it was her only son that lay hurt, and that his hurt was so deadly, as that already his life had lost the use of the reasonable, and almost sensible part; then only did misfortune lay his own ugliness upon her fault, and make her see what she had done, and to what she was come: especially, finding in us rather detestation than pity, (considering the loss of that young Prince) and resolution presently to depart, which still she laboured to stay. But deprived of all comfort, with eyes full of death, she ran to her sons dagger, and before we were aware of it (who else would have stayed it) strake herself a mortal wound. But then her love, though not her person, awaked pity in us, and I went to her, while Musidorus laboured obout Palladius. But the wound was past the cure of a better surgeon than myself, so as I could but receive some few of her dying words; which were curse of her ill set affection, and wishing unto me many crosses and mischances in my love, when soever I should love, wherein I fear, and only fear that her prayers is from above granted. But the noise of this fight, and issue thereof being blazed by the country people to some noblemen thereabouts, they came thither, and finding the wrong offered us, let us go on our journey, we having recommended those royal bodies unto them to be conveyed to the King of Iberia. With that Philoclea, seeing the tears stand in his eyes with remembrance of Palladius, but much more of that which thereupon grew, she would needs drink a kiss from those eyes, and he suck another from her lips; whereat she blushed, and yet kissed him again to hid her blushing, Which had almost brought Pyrocles into another discourse, but that she with so sweet a rigour forbade him, that he durst not rebel, though he found it a great war to keep that peace, but was feign to go on in his story: for so she absolutely bade him, and he durst not know how to disobey.  
So (said he) parting from that place before the Sun had much abased himself of his greatest height, we saw sitting upon the dry sands) which yielded at that time a very hot reflection) a fair Gentlewoman, whose gesture accused her of much sorrow, and every way showed she cared notwhat pain she put her body to, since the better part (her mind) was laid under so much agony: and so was she dulled withal, that we could come so near, as to hear her speeches, and yet she not perceive the hearers of her lamentation. But well we might understand her at times say. Thou dost kill me with thy unkind falsehood: and, It grieves me not to die, but it grieves me that thou art the murderer: neither doth mine own pain so much vex me, as thy error. For God knows, it would not trouble me to be slain for thee, but much it torments me to be slain by thee. Thou art untrue, Pamphilus, thou art untrue, and woe is me therefore. How oft didst thou swear unto me, that the Sun should lose his light, and the rocks run up and down like little kids, before thou wouldst falsify thy faith to me? Sun therefore put out thy shining, and rocks run mad for sorrow, for Pamphilus is false. But alas, the Sun keeps his light, though thy faith be darkened; the rocks stand still; though thou change like a weathercock. O fool that I am, that thought I could grasp water, and bind the wind. I might well have known thee by others, but I would not; and rather wished to learn poison by drinking it myself, while my love helped thy words to deceive me. Well, yet I would thou hadst made a better choice when thou didst forsake thy unfortunate Leucippe. But it is no matter, Baccha (thy new mistress) will revenge my wrongs. But do not Baccha, let Pamphilus live happy though I die.  
And much more to such like phrase she spoke, but that I (who had occasion to know something of that Pamphilus) stepped to comfort her: and though I could not do that, yet I got thus much knowledge of her, that this being the same Leucippe, to whom the unconstant Pamphilus had betrothed himself, which had moved the other Ladies to such indignation as I told you: neither her worthiness (which in truth was great) nor his own suffering for her (which is wont to endear affection) could fetter his fickleness, but that before his mariage-daye appointed, he had taken to wife that Baccha, of whom she complained; one, that in divers places I had heard before blazed, as the most impudently unchaste woman of all Asia; and withal, of such an imperiousness therein, that she would not stick to employ them (whom she made unhappy with her favour) to draw more companions of their folly: in the multitude of whom she did no less glory, than a Captain would do, of being followed by brave Soldiers: waiwardly proud; and therefore bold, because extremely faulty: and yet having no good thing to redeem both these, and other unlovely parts, but a little beauty, disgraced with wandering eyes, and unwaied speeches; yet had Pamphilus (for her) left Leucippe, and withal, left his faith: Leucippe, of whom one look (in a clear judgement) would have been more acceptable, than all her kindnesses so prodigally bestowed. For myself, the remembrance of his cruel handling Dido, joined to this, stirred me to seek some revenge upon him, but that I thought, it should be a gain to him to lose his life, being so matched: and therefore (leaving him to be punished by his own election) we conveyed Leucippe to a house thereby, dedicated to Vestal Nuns, where she resolved to spend all her years (which her youth promised should be many) in bewailing the wrong, and yet praying for the wrong doer.  
But the next morning, we (having striven with the suns earliness) were scarcely beyond the prospect of the high turrets of that building, when there overtook us a young Gentleman, for so he seemed to us, but indeed (sweet Lady) it was the fair Zelmane, Plexirtus daughter; whom unconsulting affection (unfortunately borne to me-wardes) had made borrow so much of her natural modesty, as to leave her more-decent raiments, and taking occasion of Andromanas tumultuous pursuing us, had appareled herself like a page, with a pitiful cruelty cutting of her golden hair, leaving nothing, but the short curls, to cover that noble head, but that she ware upon it a fair headpiece, a shield at her back, and a lance in her hand, else disarmed. Her apparel of white, wrought upon with broken knots, her horse, fair and lusty, which she rid so, as might show a fearful boldness, daring to do that, which she knew that she knew not how to do: and the sweetness of her countenance did give such a grace to what she did, that it did make handsome the unhansomnes, and make the eye force the mind to believe, that there was a praise in that unskilfulness. But she strait approached me, and with few words (which borrowed the help of her countenance to make themselves understood) she desired me to accept her into my service; telling me she was a nobleman's son of Iberia, her name Daiphantus, who having seen what I had done in that court, had stolen from her father, to follow me. I inquired the particularities of the manner of Andromanas following me, which by her I understood, she hiding nothing (but her sex) from me. And still me thought I had seen that face, but the great alteration of her fortune, made her far distant from my memory: but liking very well the young Gentleman, (such I took her to be) admitted this Daiphantus about me, who well showed there is no service like his, that serves because he loves. For though born of Prince's blood, brought up with tenderest education, unapt to service (because a woman) and full of thoughts (because in a strange estate;) yet Love enjoined such diligence, that no apprentice, no, no bondslave could ever be by fear more ready at all commandments, than that young Princess was. How often (alas) did her eyes say unto me, that they loved? and yet, I not looking for such a matter) had not my conceit open, to understand them, how often would she come creeping to me, between gladness to be near me, and fear to offend me? Truly I remember, that then I marveled to see her receive my commandments with sighs, and yet do them with cheerfulness: sometimes answering me in such riddles, as I then thought a childish inexperience: but since returning to my remembrance they have come more clear unto my knowledge: and pardon me (only dear Lady) that I use many words: for her affection to me deserves of me an affectionate speech.  
But in such sort did she serve me in that kingdom of Bythinia, for two months space. In which time we brought to good end, a cruel war long maintained between the king of Bythinia and his brother. For my excellent cousin, and I (dividing ourselves to either side) found means (after some trial we had made of ourselves) to get such credit with them, as we brought them to as great peace between themselves, as love towards us, for having made the peace. Which done, we intended to return through the Kingdom of Galatia, toward Thrace, to ease the care of our father and mother, who (we were sure) first with the shipwreck; and then with the other dangers we daily passed, should have little rest in their thoughts till they saw us. But we were not entered into that kingdom, when by the noise of a great fight, we were guided to a pleasant valley, which like one of those Circusses, which in great cities somewhere doth give a pleasant spectacle of running horses; so of either side stretching itself in a narrow length was it hemmed in by woody hills; as if indeed Nature had meant therein to make a place for beholders. And there we beheld one of the cruelest fights between two Knights, that ever hath adorned the most martial story. So as I must confess, a while we stood bewondred, another while delighted with the rare bravery thereof; till seeing such streams of blood, as threatened a drowning of life, we galloped toward them to part them. But we were prevented by a dozen armed Knights, or rather villains, who using this time of their extreme feebleness, all together set upon them. But common danger broke off particular discord, so that (though with a dying weakness) with a lively courage they resisted, and by our help drove away, or slew those murdering attempters: among whom we happed to take alive the principal. But going to disarm those two excellent Knights, we found with no less wonder to us, than astonishment to themselves, that they were the two valiant, and indeed famous Brothers, Tydeus and Telenor; whose adventure (as afterward we made that ungracious wretch confess) had thus fallen out.  
After the noble Prince Leonatus had by his father's death succeeded in the kingdom of Galatia, he (forgetting all former injuries) had received that naughty Plexirtus into a straight degree of favour, his goodness being as apt to be deceived, as the others craft was to deceive. Till by plain proof finding, that the ungrateful man went about to poison him, yet would not suffer his kindness to be overcome, not by justice itself: but calling him to him, used words to this purpose. Plexirtus (said he) this wickedness is found by thee. No good deeds of mine have been able to keep it down in thee. All men counsel me to take away thy life, likely to bring forth nothing, but as dangerous, as wicked effects. But I cannot find it in my heart, remembering what fathers son thou art. But since it is the violence of ambition, which perchance pulls thee from thine own judgement, I will see, whether the satisfying that, may quiet the ill working of thy spirits. Not far hence is the great city of Trebisonde; which, with the territory about it, anciently pertained unto this crown, now unjustly possessed, and as unjustly abused by those, who have neither title to hold it, nor virtue to rule it. To the conquest of that for thyself I will lend thee force, and give thee my right. Go therefore, and with less unnaturalness glut thy ambition there; and that done, if it be possible, learn virtue.  
Plexirtus, mingling forsworn excuses with false-meant promises, gladly embraced the offer: and hastily sending back for those two Brothers (who at that time were with us succouring the gracious Queen Erona) by their virtue chief (if not only) obtained the conquest of that goodly dominion. Which indeed done by them, gave them such an authority, that though he reigned, they in effect ruled, most men honouring them, because they only deserved honour; and many, thinking therein to please Plexirtus, considering how much he was bound unto them: while they likewise (with a certain sincere boldness of selfe-warranting friendship) accepted all openly and plainly, thinking nothing should ever by Plexirtus be thought too much in them, since all they were, was his.  
But he (who by the rules of his own mind, could construe no other end of men's do, but self seeking) suddenly feared what they could do; and as suddenly suspected, what they would do, and as suddenly hated them, as having both might, and mind to do. But dreading their power, standing so strongly in their own valour, and others affection, he durst not take open way against them: and as hard it was to take a secret, they being so continually followed by the best, and every way ablest of that region: and therefore used this devilish sleight (which I will tell you) not doubting (most wicked man) to turn their own friendship toward him to their own destruction. He, (knowing that they well knew, there was no friendship between him and the new King of Pontus, never since he succoured Leonatus and us, to his overthrow) gave them to understand that of late there had passed secret defiance between them, to meet privately at a place appointed. Which though not so fit a thing for men of their greatness, yet was his honour so engaged, as he could not go back. Yet feigning to find himself weak by some counterfeit infirmity, the day drawing near, he requested each of them to go in his stead; making either of them swear, to keep the matter secret, even each from other, delivering the self same particularities to both, but that he told Tydeus, the King would meet him in a blue armour; and Telenor, that it was a black armour: and with wicked subtlety (as if it had been so appointed) caused Tydeus to take a black armour, and Telenor a blue; appointing them ways how to go, so as he knew they should not meet, till they came to the place appointed, where each had promised to keep silence, lest the King should discover it was not Plexirtus: and there in a wait had he laid these murderers, that who overlived the other, should by them be dispatched: he not daring trust more than those, with that enterprise, and yet thinking them too few, till themselves by themselves were weakened.  
This we learned chief, by the chief of those way-beaters, after the death of those two worthy brothers, whose love was no less, than their valour: but well we might find much thereof by their pitiful lamentation, when they knew their mismeeting, and saw each other (in despite of the Surgery we could do unto them) striving who should run fastest to the goal of death: each bewailing the other, and more dying in the other, then in himself: cursing their own hands for doing, and their breasts for not sooner suffering: detesting their unfortunately-spent time in having served so ungrateful a Tyrant: and accusing their folly in having believed, he could faithfully love, who did not love faithfulness: wishing us to take heed, how we placed our good will upon any other ground, than proof of virtue: since length of acquaintance, mutual secrecies, nor height of benefits could bind a savage heart; no man being good to other, that is not good in himself. Then (while any hope was) beseeching us to leave the care of him that besought, and only look to the other. But when they found by themselves, and us, no possibility, they desired to be joined; and so embracing and craving that pardon each of other, which they denied to themselves, they gave us a most sorrowful spectacle of their death; leaving few in the world behind them, their matches in any thing, if they had soon enough known the ground and limits of friendship. But with woeful hearts, we caused those bodies to be conveyed to the next town of Bythinia, where we learning thus much (as I have told you) caused the wicked Historian to conclude his story, with his own well-deserued death.  
But then (I must tell you) I found such woeful countenances in Daiphantus, that I could not but much marvel (finding them continue beyond the first assault of pity) how the case of strangers (for further I did not conceive) could so deeply pierce. But the truth indeed is, that partly with the shame and sorrow she took of her father's faultiness, partly with the fear, that the hate I conceived against him, would utterly disgrace her in my opinion, whensoever I should know her, so vehemently perplexed her, that her fair colour decayed; and daily, & hastily grew into the very extreme working of sorowfulness: which oft I sought to learn, and help. But she, as fearful as loving, still concealed it; and so decaying still more & more, in the excellency of her fairness, but that whatsoever weakness took away, pity seemed to add: yet still she forced herself to wait on me, with such care and diligence, as might well show had been taught in no other school, but love.  
While we returning again to embark ourselves for Greece, understood that the mighty Otanes (brother to Barzanes slain by Musidorus, in the battle of the six Princes) had entered upon the kingdom of Pontus, partly upon the pretences he had to the crown, but principally, because he would revenge upon him (whom he knew we loved) the loss of his brother: thinking (as indeed he had cause) that wheresoever we were, hearing of his extremity, we would come to relieve him; in spite whereof he doubted not to prevail, not only upon the confidence of his own virtue and power, but especially because he had in his company two mighty Giants, sons to a couple whom we slew in the same realm: they having been absent at their father's death, and now returned, willingly entered into his service, hating (more than he) both us, and that King of Pontus. We therefore with all speed went thetherward, but by the way this fell out, which whensoever I remember without sorrow, I must forget withal, all humanity.  
Poor Daiphantus fell extreme sick, yet would needs conquer the delicacy of her constitution, and force herself to wait on me: till one day going toward Pontus, we met one, who in great haste went seeking for Tydeus and Telenor, whose death as yet was not known unto the messenger; who (being their servant, and knowing how dearly they loved Plexirtus) brought them word, how since their departing, Plexirtus was in present danger of a cruel death, if by the valiantness of one of the best Knights of the world, he were not rescued: we inquired no further of the matter (being glad he should now to his loss find what an unprofitable treason it had been unto him, to dismember himself of two such friends) and so let the messenger part, not sticking to make him know his master's destruction, by the falsehood of Plexirtus.  
But the grief of that (finding a body already brought to the last degree of weakness) so overwhelmed the little remnant of the spirits left in Daiphantus, that she fell suddenly into deadly soundings; never coming to herself, but that withal she returned to make most pitiful lamentations; most strange unto us, because we were far from guessing the ground thereof. But finding her sickness such, as began to print death in her eyes, we made all hast possible to convey her to the next town: but before we could lay her on a bed, both we, and she might find in herself, that the harbingers of overhasty death, had prepared his lodging in that dainty body, which she undoubtedly feeling, with a weak cheerfulness, showed comfort therein; and then desiring us both to come near her, and that no body else might be present; with pale, and yet (even in paleness) lovely lips, Now or never, and never indeed, but now is it time for me (said she) to speak: and I thank death which gives me leave to discover that, the suppressing whereof perchance hath been the sharpest spur, that hath hasted my race to this end. Know then my Lords, and especially you my Lord and master, Pyrocles, that your page Daiphantus is the unfortunate Zelmane, who for your sake caused my (as unfortunate) lover, and cozen, Palladius, to leave his father's court, and consequently, both him and my Aunt his mother, to lose their lives. For your sake myself have become, of a Princess a Page: and for your sake have put off the apparel of a woman, and (if you judge not more mercifully) the modesty. We were amazed at her speech, and then had (as it were) new eyes given us to perceive that which before had been a present stranger to our minds. For indeed, we forthwith knew it to be the face of Zelmane, whom before we had known in the court of Iberia. And sorrow & pity laying her pain upon me, I comforted her the best I could by the tenderness of goodwill, pretending indeed better hope than I had of her recovery.  
But she that had inward ambassadors from the tyrant that shortly would oppress her, No, my dear master (said she) I neither hope nor desire to live. I know you would never have loved me (and with that word she wept) nor, alas, had it been reason you should, considering many ways my unworthiness. It sufficeth me that the strange course I have taken, shall to your remembrance, witness my love: and yet this breaking of my heart, before I would discover my pain, will make you (I hope) think that I was not altogether unmodest. Think of me so, dear Master, and that thought shall be my life: and with that, languishingly looking upon me; And I pray you (said she) even by these dying eyes of mine (which are only sorry to die, because they shall lose your sight) and by these pouled locks of mine (which while they were long, were the ornament of my sex, now in their short curls, the testimony of my servitude) and by the service I have done you (which God knows hath been full of love) think of me after my death with kindness, though ye cannot with love. And whensoever ye shall make any other Lady happy with your well placed affection, if you tell her my folly, I pray you speak of it, not with scorn, but with pity. I assure you (dear Princess of my life, for how could it be otherwise?) her words and her manner, with the lively consideration of her love, so pierced me, that, though I had diverse griefs before, yet me thought I never felt till then, how much sorrow enfeebleth all resolution. For I could not choose, but yield to the weakness of abundant weeping; in truth with such grief, that I could willingly at that time have changed lives with her.  
But when she saw my tears, O God (said she) how largely am I recompensed for my losses? why then (said she) I may take boldness to make some requests unto you. I besought her to do, vowing the performance, though my life were the price thereof. She showed great joy: The first (said she) is this, that you will pardon my father the displeasure you have justly conceived against him, and for this once, secure him out of the danger wherein he is: I hope he will amend: and I pray you, whensoever you remember him to be the faulty Plexirtus, remember withal that he is Zelmane's father. The second is, that when you come once into Greece, you will take unto yourself this name (though unlucky) of Daiphantus, and vouchsafe to be called by it: for so shall I be sure, you shall have cause to remember me: and let it please your noble cousin to be called Palladius, that I do that right to that poor Prince, that his name yet may live upon the earth in so excellent a person: and so between you, I trust sometimes your unlucky page shall be (perhaps with a sigh) mentioned. Lastly, let me be buried here obscurely, not suffering my friends to know my fortune, till (when you are safely returned to your own country) you cause my bones to be conveyed thither, and laid (I beseech you) in some place, where yourself vouchsafe sometimes to resort. Alas, small petitions for such a suitor; which yet she so earnestly craved, that I was feign to swear the accomplishment. And then kissing me, and often desiring me not to condemn her of lightness, in mine arms she delivered her pure soul to the purest place: leaving me as full of agony, as kindness, pity, and sorrow could make an honest heart. For I must confess for true, that if my stars had not wholly reserved me for you, there else perhaps I might have loved, and (which had been most strange) begun my love after death: whereof let it be the less marvel, because somewhat she did resemble you: though as far short of your perfection, as herself dying, was of herself flourishing: yet something there was, which (when I saw a picture of yours) brought again her figure into my remembrance, and made my heart as apt to receive the wound, as the power of your beauty with unresistible force to pierce.  
But we in woeful (and yet private) manner burying her, performed her commandment: and then inquiring of her father's estate, certainly learned that he was presently to be succoured, or by death to pass the need of succour. Therefore we determined to divide ourselves; I, according to my vow, to help him, and Musidorus toward the King of Pontus, who stood in no less need then immediate succour, & even ready to departed one from the other, there came a messenger from him, who after some enquiry found us, giving us to understand, that he trusting upon us two, had appointed the combat between him and us, against Otanes, and the two Giants. Now the day was so accorded, as it was impossible for me both to secure Plexirtus, and be there, where my honour was not only so far engaged, but (by the strange working of unjust fortune) I was to leave the standing by Musidorus, whom better than myself I loved, to go save him whom for just causes I hated. But my promise given, and given to Zelmane, & to Zelmane dying, prevailed more with me, than my friendship to Musidorus: though certainly I may affirm, nothing had so great rule in my thoughts, as that. But my promise carried me the easier, because Musidorus himself would not suffer me to break it. And so with heavy minds (more careful each of others success, then of our own) we parted; I toward the place, where I understood Plexirtus was prisoner to an ancient Lord, absolutely governing a goodly Castle, with a large territory about it, whereof he acknowledged no other sovereign, but himself: whose hate to Plexirtus, grew for a kinsman of his, whom he maliciously had murdered, because in the time that he reigned in Galatia, he found him apt to practise for the restoring of his virtuous brother Leonatus. This old Knight, still thirsting for revenge, used (as the way to it) a policy, which this occasion I will tell you, prepared for him. Plexirtus in his youth had married Zelmane's mother, who dying of that only childbirth, he a widower, and not yet a King, haunted the Court of Armenia; where (as he was cunning to win favour) he obtained great good liking of Artaxia, which he pursued, till (being called home by his father) he falsely got his father's kingdom; and then neglected his former love: till thrown out of that (by our means) before he was deeply rooted in it, and by and by again placed in Trebisonde, understanding that Artaxia by her brother's death was become Queen of Armenia, he was hotter than ever, in that pursuit, which being understood by this old Knight, he forged such a letter, as might be written from Artaxia, entreating his present (but very private) repair thither, giving him faithful promise of present marriage: a thing far from her thought, having faithfully, and publicly protested, that she would never marry any, but some such Prince who would give sure proof, that by his means we were destroyed. But he (no more witty to frame, then blind to judge hopes) bitten hastily at the bait, and in private manner  posted toward her, but by the way he was met by this Knight, far better accompanied, who quickly laid hold of him, and condemned him to death, cruel enough, if any thing may be both cruel and just. For he caused him to be kept in a miserable prison, till a day appointed, at which time he would deliver him to be devoured by a monstrous beast of most ugly shape, armed like a Rhinoceros, as strong as an Elephant, as fierce as a Lion, as nimble as a Leopard, and as cruel as a Tiger: whom he having kept in a strong place, from the first youth of it, now thought no fit match, than such a beastly monster with a monstrous Tyrant: proclaiming yet withal, that if any so well loved him, as to venture their lives against his beast, for him, if they overcame, he should be saved: not caring how many they were (such confidence he had in that monster's strength) but especially hoping to entrap thereby the great courages of Tydeus and Telenor, whom he no less hated, because they had been principal instruments of the others power.  
I dare say, if Zelmane had known what danger I should have passed, she would rather have let her father perish, then me to have bidden that adventure. But my word was past, and truly, the hardness of the enterprise, was not so much a bit," as a spur unto me; knowing well, that the journey of high honour lies not in plain ways. Therefore, going thither, and taking sufficient security, that Plexirtus should be delivered if I were victorious, I undertook the combat: and (to make short, excellent Lady, and not to trouble your ears with recounting a terrible matter) so was my weakness blessed from above, that without dangerous wounds I slew that monster, which hundreds durst not attempt: to so great admiration of many (who from a safe place might look on) that there was order given, to have the fight, both by sculpture and picture, celebrated in most parts of Asia. And the old nobleman so well liked me, that he loved me; only bewailing, my virtue had been employed to save a worse monster than I killed: whom yet (according to faith given) he delivered, and accompanied me to the kingdom of Pontus, whether I would needs in all speed go, to see whether it were possible for me (if perchance the day had been delayed) to come to the combat. But that (before I came) had been thus finished.  
The virtuous Leonatus understanding two so good friends of his were to be in that danger, would perforce be one himself: where he did valiantly, and so did the King of Pontus. But the truth is, that both they being sore hurt, the incomparable Musidorus finished the combat by the death of both the Giants, and the taking of Otanes prisoner. To whom as he gave his life, so he got a noble friend: for so he gave his word to be, and he is well known to think himself greater in being subject to that, then in the greatness of his principality.  
But thither (understanding of our being there) flocked great multitudes of many great persons, and even of Princes; especially those, whom we had made beholding unto us: as, the Kings of Phrygia, Bythinia, with those two hurt, of Pontus and Galatia, and Otanes the prisoner, by Musidorus set free; and thither came Plexirtus of Trebisonde, and Antiphilus, than King of Lycia; with as many more great Princes, drawn either by our reputation, or by willingness to acknowledge themselves obliged unto us, for what we had done for the others. So as in those parts of the woild, I think, in many hundreds of years, there was not seen so royal an assembly: where nothing was let pass to do us the highest honours, which such persons (who might command both purses and inventions) could perform. All from all sides bringing unto us right royal presents (which we to avoid both unkindness, and importunity, liberally received,) and not content therewith, would needs accept, as from us, their crowns, and acknowledge to hold them of us: with many other excessive honours, which would not suffer the measure of this short leisure to describe unto you.  
But we quickly weary thereof, hasted to Greece-ward, led thither partly with the desire of our parents, but hastened principally, because I understood that Anaxius with open mouth of defamation had gone thither to seek me, and was now come to Peloponnesus where from Court to Court he made enquyrie of me, doing yet himself so noble deeds, as might hap to aucthorize an ill opinion of me. We therefore suffered but short delays, desiring to take this country in our way, so renowned over the world, that no Prince could pretend height, nor bigger lowness, to bar him from the sound thereof: renowned indeed, not so much for the ancient praises attributed thereunto, as for the having in it Argalus and Amphialus (two knights of such rare prows, as we desired especially to know) and yet by far, not so much for that, as without suffering of comparison for the beauty of you and your sister, which makes all indifferent judges, that speak thereof, account this country as a temple of deities. But these causes indeed moving us to come by this land, we embarked ourselves in the next port, whether all those Princes (saving Antiphilus, who returned, as he pretended, not able to tarry longer from Erona) conveyed us. And there found we a ship most royally furnished by Plexirtus, who had made all things so proper (as well for our defence, as ease) that all the other Princes greatly commended him for it: who (seeming a quite altered man) had nothing but repentance in his eyes, friendship in his gesture, and virtue in his mouth: so that we who had promised the sweet Zelmane to pardon him, now not only forgave, but began to favour; persuading ourselves with a youthful credulity, that pechance things were not so evil as we took them and as it were desiring our own memory, that it might be so. But so were we licenced from those Princes, truly not without tears, especially of the virtuous Leonatus, who with the king of Pontus, would have come with us, but that we (in respect of the ones young wife, and both their new settled kingdoms) would not suffer it. Then would they have sent whole fleets to to guard us: but we, that desired to pass secretly into Greece, made them leave that motion, when they found that more ships, than one, would be displeasing unto us. But so committing ourselves to the uncertain discretion of the wind, we (then determining as soon as we came to Greece, to take the names of Daiphantus & Palladius as well for our own promise to Zelmane, as because we desired to come unknown into Greece) left the Asian shore full of Princely persons, who even upon their knees recommended our safeties to the devotion of their chief desires: among whom none had been so officious (though I dare affirm, all quite contrary to his unfaithfulness) as Plexirtus.  
And So having sailed almost two days, looking for nothing but when we might look upon the land, a grave man (whom we had seen of great trust with Plexirtus and was sent as our principal guide) came unto us, and with a certain kind manner mixed with shame, & repentance, began to tell us, that he had taken such a love unto us (considering our youth & fame) that though he were a servant & a servant of such, trust about Plexirtus, as that he had committed unto him even those secrets of his heart, which abhorred all other knowledge; yet he rather chose to reveal at this time a most pernicious counsel; then by councealing it bring to ruin those, whom he could not choose but honour. So went he on, and told us, that Plexirtus (in hope thereby to have Artaxia, endowed with the great Kingdom of Armenia, to his wife) had given him order when we were near Greece, to find some opportunity to murder us, bidding him to take us a sleep, because he had seen what we could do waking. Now sirs (said he) I would rather a thousand times lose my life, then have my remembrance (while I lived) poisoned with such a mischief: and therefore if it were only I, that knew herein the King's order, than should my disobedience be a warrant of your safety. But to one more (said he) namely the Captain of the ship, Plexirtus hath opened so much touching the effect of murdering you, though I think laying the cause rather upon old grudge, than his hope of Artaxia. And myself, (before the consideration of your excellencies had drawn love and pity into mind imparted it to such, as I thought fittest for such a mischief. Therefore, I wish you to stand upon your guard assuring you, that what I can do for your safety, you shall see (if it come to the push) by me performed. We thanked him, as the matter indeed deserved, and from that time would no more disarm ourselves, nor the one" sleep without his friends eyes waked for him: so that it delayed the going forward of their bad enterprise, while they thought it rather chance, than providence, which made us so behave ourselves.  
But when we came within half a days sailing of the shore, so that they saw it was speedily, or not at all to be done. Than (& I remember it was about the first watch in the night) came the Captain and whispered the councillor in the ear: But he (as it should seem) dissuading him from it, the Captain (who had been a pirate from his youth, and often blooded in it) with a loud voice swore, that if Plexirtus bade him, he would not stick to kill God himself. And therewith called his mates, and in the King's name willed them to take us, alive or dead; encouraging them with the spoil of us, which he said, (and indeed was true) would yield many exceeding rich jewels. But the councillor according to his promise) commanded them they should not commit such a villainy, protesting that he would stand between them and the King's anger therein. Wherewith the Captain enraged: Nay (said he) than we must begin with this traitor himself: and therewith gave him a sore blow upon the head, who honestly did the best he could to revenge himself.  
But then we knew it time rather to encounter, then wait for mischief. And so against the Captain we went, who strait was environed with most part of the Soldiers and Mariners. And yet the truth is, there were some, whom either the authority of the councillor, doubt of the kings mind, or liking of us, made draw their swords of our side: so that quickly it grew a most confused fight. For the narrowness of the place, the darkness of the time, and the uncertainty in such a tumult how to know friends from foes, made the rage of sword rather guide, then be guided by their masters. For my cousin and me, truly I think we never performed less in any place, doing no other hurt, than the defence of ourselves, and succouring them who came for it, drove us too: for not discerning perfectly, who were for, or against us, we thought it less evil to spare a foe, then spoil a friend. But from the highest to the lowest part of the ship there was no place left, without cries of murdering, and murdered persons. The Captain I happed a while to fight withal, but was driven to part with him, by hearing the cry of the councillor, who received a mortal wound, mistaken of one of his own side. Some of the wiser would call to parley, and wish peace, but while the words of peace were in their mouths, some of their evil auditors gave them death for their hire. So that no man almost could conceive hope of living, but by being last alive: and therefore every one was willing to make himself room, by dispatching almost any other: so that the great number in the ship was reduced to exceeding few, when of those few the most part weary of those troubles leapt into the boat, which was fast to the ship: but while they that were first, were cutting of the rope that tied it, others came leaping in, so disorderly, that they drowned both the boat, and themselves.  
But while even in that little remnant (like the children of Cadmus) we continued still to slay one an other, a fire, which (whether by the desperate malice of some, or intention to separate, or accidentally while all things were cast up and down) it should seem had taken a good while before, but never heeded of us, (who only thought to preserve, or revenge) now violently burst out in many places, and began to master the principal parts of the ship. Then necessity made us see, that, a common enemy sets at one a civil war: for that little all we were (as if we had been waged by one man to quench a fire) straight went to resist that furious enemy by all art and labour: but it was to late, for already it did embrace and devour from the stern, to the waist of the ship: so as labouring in vain, we were driven to get up to the prow of the ship, by the work of nature seeking to preserve life, as long as we could: while truly it was a strange and ugly sight, to see so huge a fire, as it quickly grew to be, in the Sea, and in the night, as if it had come to light us to death. And by and by it had burned off the mast, which all this while had proudly borne the sail (the wind, as might seem, delighted to carry fire & blood in his mouth) but now it fell overboard, and the fire growing nearer us, it was not only terrible in respect of what we were to attend, but insupportable through the heat of it.  
So that we were constrained to bide it no longer, but disarming and stripping ourselves, and laying ourselves upon such things, as we thought might help our swimming to the land (too far for our own strength to bear us) my cousin and I threw ourselves into the Sea. But I had swam a very little way, when I felt (by reason of a wound I had) that I should not be able to bide the travail, and therefore seeing the mast (whose tackling had been burnt of) float clear from the ship, I swam unto it, and getting on it, I found mine own sword, which by chance, when I threw it away (caught by a piece of canvas) had hung to the mast. I was glad, because I loved it well; but gladder, when I saw at the other end, the Captain of the ship and of all this mischief; who having a long pike, belike had borne himself up with that, till he had set himself upon the mast. But when I perceived him. Villain (said I) dost thou think to overlive so many honest men, whom thy falsehood hath brought to destruction? with that bestriding the mast, I got by little and little towards him, after such a manner as boys are wont (if ever you saw that sport) when they ride the wild mare. And he perceiving my intention, like a fellow that had much more courage than honesty, set himself to resist. But I had in short space gotten within him, and (giving him a sound blow) sent him to feed fishes. But there myself remained, until by pirates I was taken up, & among them again taken prisoner, and brought into Laconia.  
But what (said Philoclea) became of your cousin Musidorus? Lost said Pyrocles. Ah my Pyrocles, said Philoclea, I am glad I have taken you. I perceive you lovers do not always say truly: as though I knew not your cousin Dorus, the shepherd? Life of my desires (said Pyrocles) what is mine, even to my soul is yours: but the secret of my friend is not mine. But if you know so much, than I may truly say, he is lost, since he is no more his own. But I perceive, your noble sister and you are great friends, and well doth it become you so to be. But go forward dear Pyrocles, I long to hear out till your meeting me: for there to meward is the best part of your story. Ah sweet Philoclea (said Pyrocles) do you think I can think so precious leisure as this well spent in talking. Are your eyes a fit book (think you) to read a tale upon? Is my love quiet enough to be an historian? Dear Princess, be gracious unto me. And then he feign would have remembered to have forgot himself. But she, with a sweetly disobeying grace, desired him that her desire (once for ever) might serve, that no spot might disgrace that love which shortly she hoped should be to the world warrantable. Feign he would not have heard, till she threatened anger. And then the poor lover durst not, because he durst not. Nay I pray thee, dear Pyrocles (said she) let me have my story. Sweet Princess (said he) give my thoughts a little respite: and if it please you, since this time must so be spoiled, yet it shall suffer the less harm, if you vouchsafe to bestow your voice, and let me know, how the good Queen Erona was betrayed into such danger, and why Plangus sought me. For indeed, I should pity greatly any mischance fallen to that Princess. I will, said Philoclea smiling, so you give me your word, your hands shall be quiet auditors. They shall, said he, because subject. Then began she to speak, but with so pretty and delightful a majesty, when she set her countenance to tell the matter, that Pyrocles could not choose but rebel so far, as to kiss her. She would have pulled her head away, and speak, but while she spoke he kissed, & it seemed he fed upon her words: but she gate away. How will you have your discourse (said she) without you let my lips alone? He yielded and took her hand. On this (said he) will I revenge my wrong: and so began to make much of that hand, when her tale, & his delight were interrupted by Miso: who taking her time, while Basilius back was turned, came unto them: and told Philoclea, she deserved she knew what, for leaving her mother, being evil at ease, to keep company with strangers. But Philoclea telling her, that she was there by her father's commandment, she went away muttering, that though her back, & her shoulders, & her neck were broken, yet as long as her tongue would wag, it should do her errand to her mother. And so went up to Gynoecia, who was at that time miserably vexed with this manner of dream. It seemed unto her to be in a place full of thorns, which so molested her, as she could neither abide standing still, nor tread safely going forward. In this case she thought Zelmane, being upon a fair hill, delightful to the eye, and easy in appearance, called her thither: whither with much anguish being come, Zelmane was vanished, and she found nothing but a dead body like unto her husband, which seeming at the first with a strange smell to infect her, as she was ready likewise within a while to die, the dead body she thought took her in his arms, and said, Gynoecia, leave all; for here is thy only rest.  
With that she awaked, crying very loud, Zelmane, Zelmane. But remembering herself, and seeing Basilius by, (her guilty conscience more suspecting, then being suspected she turned her call, and called for Philoclea. Miso forthwith like a valiant shrew, (looking at Basilins, as though she would speak though she died for it) told Gynoecia, that her daughter had been a whole hour together in secret talk with Zelmane: And (says she) for my part I could not be heard (your daughters are brought up in such awe) though I told her of your pleasure sufficiently. Gynoecia, as if she had heard her last doom pronounced against her, with a side-looke & changed countenance, O my Lord (said she) what mean you to suffer these young folks together Basilius (that aimed nothing at the mark of her suspicion) smilingly took her in his arms, sweet wife (said he) I thank you for your care of your child: but they must be youths of other metal, than Zelmane, that can endanger her. O but; cried Gynoecia, and therewith she stayed: for then indeed she did suffer a right conflict, betwixt the force of love, and rage of jealousy. Many times was she about to satisfy the spite of her mind, and tell Basilius, how she knew Zelmane to be far otherwise then the outward appearance. But those many times were all put back by the manifold objections of her vehement love. Feign she would have bard her daughter's hap, but loath she was to cut off her own hope. But now, as if her life had been set upon a wager of quick rising, as weak as she was, she got up; though Basilius, (with a kindness flowing only from the fountain of unkindness, being indeed desirous to win his daughter as much time as might be) was loath to suffer it, swearing he saw sickness in her face, and therefore was loath she should adventure the air.  
But the great and wretched Lady Gynoecia, possessed with those devils of Love and jealousy, did rid herself from her tedious husband: and taking no body with her going toward them; O jealousy (said she) the frenzy of wise folks, the well-wishing spite, and unkind carefulness, the selfe-punishment for others fault, and selfe-miserie in others happiness, the cousin of envy, daughter of love, and mother of hate, how couldst thou so quietly get thee a seat in the unquiet heart of Gynoecia, Gynoecia (said she sighing) thought wise, and once virtuous? Alas it is thy breeders power which plants thee there: it is the flaming agony of affection, that works the chilling access of thy fever, in such sort, that nature gives place; the growing of my daughter seems the decay of myself; the blessings of a mother turn to the curses of a competitor; and the fair face of Philoclea, appears more horrible in my sight, than the image of death. Then remembered she this song, which she thought took a right measure of her present mind, 

With two strange fires of equal heat possessed,  
The one of Love, the other jealousy,  
Both still do work, in neither find I rest:  
For both, alas, their strengths together tie:  
The one aloft doth hold, the other high.  
Love wakes the the jealous eye lest thence it moves:  
The jealous eye, the more it looks, it loves.   

These fires increase: in these I daily burn:  
They feed on me, and with my wings do fly:  
My lovely joys to doleful ashes turn:  
Their flames mount up, my powers prostrate lie:  
They live in force. I quite consumed die.  
One wonder yet far passeth my conceit:  
The fuel small: how be the fires so great?   But her unleasured thoughts ran not over the ten first words; but going with a pace, not so much to fast for her body, as slow for her mind, she found them together, who after Misos departure, had left their tale, and determined what to say to Basilius. But full abashed was poor Philoclea, (whose conscience now began to know cause of blushing) for first salutation, receiving an eye from her mother, full of the same disdainful scorn, which Pallas showed to poor Arachne, that durst contend with her for the prize of well weaving: yet did the force of love so much rule her, that though for Zelmane's sake she did detest her, yet for Zelmane's sake she used no harder words to her, then to bid her go home, and accompany her solitary father.  
Then began she to display to Zelmane the storehouse of her deadly desires, when suddenly the confused rumour of a mutinous multitude gave just occasion to Zelmane to break of any such conference, (for well she found, they were not friendly voices they heard) and to retire with as much diligence as conveniently they could towards the lodge. Yet before they could win the lodge by twenty paces, they were overtaken by an unruly sort of clowns, and other rebels, which like a violent flood, were carried, they themselves knew not whether. But assoon as they came within perfect discerning these Ladies, like enraged beasts, without respect of their estates, or pity of their sex, they began too run against them, as right villains, thinking ability to do hurt, to be a great advancement: yet so many as they were, so many almost were their minds, all knit together only in madness. Some cried, Take; some, Kill; some, Save: but even they that cried save, ran for company with them that meant to kill. Every one commanded, none obeyed, he only seemed chief Captain, that was most rageful.  
Zelmane (whose virtuous courage was ever awake) drew out her sword, which upon those il-armed churls giving as many wounds as blows and as many deaths almost as wounds (lightning courage, and thundering smart upon them) kept them at a bay, while the two Ladies got themselves into the lodge: out of the which, Basilius (having put on an armour long untried) came to prove his authority among his subjects, or at least, to adventure his life with his dear mistress, to whom he brought a shield, while the Ladies tremblingly attended the issue of this dangerous adventure. But Zelmane made them perceive the odds between an Eagle and a Kite, with such a nimble staidness, and such an assured nimbleness, that while one was running back fear, his fellow had her sword in his guts.  
And by and by was both her heart and help well increased by the coming of Dorus, who having been making of hurdles for his master's sheep, heard the horrible cries of this mad multitude; and having straight represented before the eyes of his careful love, the peril wherein the soul of his soul might be, he went to Pamela's lodge, but found her in a cave hard by, with Mopsa and Dametas, who at that time would not have opened the entry to his father. And therefore leaving them there (as in a place safe, both for being strong, and unknown) he ran as the noise guided him. But when he saw his friend in such danger among them, anger and contempt (ask no counsel but of courage) made him run among them, with no other weapon but his sheephook, and with that overthrowing one of the villains, took away a twohand sword from him, and withal, helped him from ever being ashamed of losing it. Then lifting up his brave head, and flashing terror into their faces, he made arms and legs go complain to the earth, how evil their masters had kept them. Yet the multitude still growing, and the very killing wearying them (fearing, lest in long fight they should be conquered with conquering) they drew back toward the lodge; but drew back in such sort, that still their terror went forward: like a valiant mastiff, whom when his master pulls back by the tail from the bear (with whom he hath already interchanged a hateful embracement) though his pace be backward, his gesture is forward, his teeth and eyes threatening more in the retiring, than they did in the advancing: so guided they themselves homeward, never stepping step backward, but that they proved themselves masters of the ground where they stepped.  
Yet among the rebels there was a dapper fellow, a tailor by occupation, who fetching his courage only from their going back, began to bow his knees, and very fencer-like to draw near to Zelmane. But as he came within her distance, turning his sword very nicely about his crown, Basilius, with a side blow, strake off his nose. He (being a suitor to a seimsters daughter, and therefore not a little grieved for such a disgrace) stooped down, because he had hard, that if it were fresh put to, it would cleave on again. But as his hand was on the ground to bring his nose to his head, Zelmane with a blow, sent his head to his nose. That saw a butcher, a butcherly chuff indeed (who that day was sworn brother to him in a cup of wine) and lifted up a great leaver, calling Zelmane all the vile names of a butcherly eloquence. But she (letting slip the blow of the leaver) hit him so surely upon the side of his face, that she left nothing but the nether jaw, where the tongue still wagged, as willing to say more, if his master's remembrance had served. O (said a miller that was half drunk) see the luck of a good fellow, and with that word, ran with a pitchforke at Dorus: but the nimbleness of the wine carried his head so fast, that it made it overrun his feet, so that he fell withal, just between the legs of Dorus: who setting his foot on his neck (though he offered two milche kine, and four fat hogs for his life) thrust his sword quite through, from one ear to the other; which took it very unkindly, to feel such news before they heard of them, in stead of hearing, to be put to such feeling. But Dorus (leaving the miller to vomit his soul out in wine and blood) with his twohand sword strake off another quite by the waste, who the night before had dreamt he was grown a couple, and (interpreting it that he should be married) had bragged of his dream that morning among his neighbours. But that blow astonished quite a poor painter, who stood by with a pike in his hands. This painter was to counterfette the skirmish between the Centaurs and Lapiths, and had been very desirous to see some notable wounds, to be able the more lively to express them; and this morning (being carried by the stream of this company) the foolish fellow was even delighted to see the effect of blows. But this last (happening near him) so amazed him, that he stood stock still, while Dorus (with a turn of his sword) strake off both his hands. And so the painter returned, well skilled in wounds, but with never a hand to perform his skill.  
In this manner they recovered the lodge, & gave the rebels a face of wood of the outside. But they then (though no more furious, yet more courageous when they saw no resister) went about with pickaxe to the wall, & fire to the gate, to get themselves entrance. Then did the two Ladies mix fear with love, especially Philoclea, who ever caught hold of Zelmane, so (by the folly of love) hindering the succour which she desired. But Zelmane seeing no way of defence, nor time to deliberate (the number of those villains still increasing, and their madness still increasing with their number) thought it only the means to go beyond their expectation with an unused boldness, and with danger to avoid danger: and therefore opened again the gate, and (Dorus and Basilius standing ready for her defence) she issued again among them. The blows she had dealt before (though all in general were hasty) made each of them in particular take breath, before they brought them suddenly ouer-neere her, so that she had time to get up to the judgement-seat of the Prince, which (according to the guise of that country) was before the court gate. There she paused a while, making sign with her hand unto them, and withal, speaking aloud, that she had something to say unto them, that would please them. But she was answered awhile with nothing but shouts and cries; and some beginning to throw stones at her, not daring to approach her. But at length, a young farmer (who might do most among the country sort, and was caught in a little affection towards Zelmane) hoping by this kindness to have some good of her, desired them, if they were honest men, to hear the woman speak. Fie fellows, fie, (said he) what will all the maids in our town say, if so many tall men shall be afraid to hear a fair wench? I swear unto you by no little ones, I had rather give my team of oxen, than we should show ourselves so uncivil wights. Besides, I tell you true, I have heard it of old men counted wisdom, to hear much, and say little. His sententious speech so prevailed, that the most part began to listen. Then she, with such efficacy of gracefulness, and such a quiet magnanimity represented in her face in this uttermost peril, as the more the barbarous people looked, the more it fixed their looks upon her, in this sort began unto them.  
It is no small comfort unto me (said she) having to speak something unto you for your own behoofs, to find that I have to deal with such a people, who show indeed in themselves the right nature of valour, which as it leaves no violence unattempted, while the choler is nourished with resistance; so when the subject of their wrath, doth of itself unloked-for offer itself into their hands, it makes them at lest take a pause before they determine cruelty. Now than first (before I come to the principal matter) have I to say unto you; that your Prince Basilius himself in person is within this Lodge, and was one of the three, whom a few of you went about to fight withal: (and this she said, not doubting but they knew it well enough; but because she would have them imagine, that the Prince might think that they did not know it) by him am I sent unto you, as from a Prince to his well approved subjects, nay as from a father to beloved children, to know what it is that hath bred just quarrel among you, or who they be that have any way wronged you? what it is with which you are displeased, or of which you are desirous? This he requires: and indeed (for he knows your faithfulness) he commands you presently to set down, and to choose among yourselves some one, who may relate your griefs or demands unto him.  
This (being more than they hoped for from their Prince) assuaged well their fury, and many of them consented (especially the young farmer helping on, who meant to make one of the demands that he might have Zelmane for his wife) but when they began to talk of their grieves, never Bees made such a confused humming: the town dwellers demanding putting down of imposts: the country fellows laying out of commons: some would have the Prince keep his Court in one place, some in another. All cried out to have new councillors: but whē they should think of any new, they liked them as well as any other, that they could remember, especially they would have the treasure so looked unto, as that he should never need to take any more subsidies. At length they fell to direct contrarieties. For the Artisans, they would have corn & wine set at a lower price, & bound to be kept so still: the plowmen, vine-laborers, & farmers would none of that. The countriemē demanded that every man might be free in the chief towns: that could not the Burgesses like of. The peasants would have all the Gentlemen destroyed, the Citizens'( especially such as Cooks, Barbers, and those other that lived most on Gentlemen) would but have them reformed. And of each side were like divisions, one neighbourhood beginning to find fault with another. But no confusion was greater than of particular men's like and dislikings: one dispraising such a one, whom another praised, and demanding such a one to be punished, whom the other would have exalted. No less ado was there about choosing him, who should be their spokesman. The finer sort of Burgesses, as Merchants, Prentices, and Clothworkers, because of their riches, disdaining the base occupations, and they because of their number as much disdaining them: all they scorning the countrymen's ignorance, and the countrymen suspecting as much their cunning: So that Zelmane (finding that their united rage was now grown, not only to a dividing, but to a crossing one of another, and that the mislike grown among themselves did well allay the heat against her) made tokens again unto them (as though she took great care of their well doing, and were afraid of their falling out) that she would speak unto them. They now grown jealous one of another (the stay having engendered division, and division having manifested their weakness) were willing enough to hear, the most part striving to show themselves willinger than their fellows: which Zelmane (by the acquaintance she had had with such kind of humours) soon perceiving, with an angerles bravery, and an unabashed mildness, in this manner spoke unto them.  
An unused thing it is, and I think not heretofore seen, o Arcadians, that a woman should give public counsel to men, a stranger to the country people, and that lastly in such a presence by a private person, the regal throne should be possessed. But the strangeness of your action makes that used for virtue, which your violent necessity imposeth. For certainly, a woman may well speak to such men, who have forgotten all manlike government: a stranger may with reason instruct such subjects, that neglect due points of subjection: and is it marvel this place is entered into by another, since your own Prince (after thirty years government) dare not show his face unto his faithful people? Hear therefore o Arcadians, and be ashamed: against whom hath this zealous rage been stirred? whether have been bend these manful weapons of yours? In this quiet harmless lodge there be harboured no Argians your ancient enemies, nor Laconians your now feared neighbours. Here be nether hard landlords, nor biting usurers. Here lodge none, but such, as either you have great cause to love, or no cause to hate: here being none, besides your Prince, Princess, & their children, but myself. Is it I then, o Arcadians, against whom your anger is armed? Am I the mark of your vehement quarrel? if it be so, that innocency shall not be a stop for fury; if it be so, that the law of hospitality (so long & holily observed among you) may not defend a stranger fled to your arms for succour: if in fine it be so, that so many valiant men's courages can be inflamed to the mischief of one silly woman; I refuse not to make my life a sacrifice to your wrath. Exercise in me your indignation, so it go no further, I am content to pay the great favours I have received among you, with my life, not ill deserving I present it here unto you, o Arcadians, if that may satisfy you; rather than you (called over the world the wise and quiet Arcadians) should be so vain, as to attempt that alone, which all the rest of your country will abhor; than you should show yourselves so ungrateful, as to forget the fruit of so many years peaceable government; or so unnatural, as not to have with the holy name of your natural Prince, any fury overmastered. For such a hellish madness (I know) did never enter into your hearts, as to attempt any thing against his person; which no successor, though never so hateful, will ever leave (for his own sake) unrevenged. Neither can your wont valour be turned to such a baseness, as in stead of a Prince, delivered unto you by so many royal ancestors, to take the tyrannous yoke of your fellow subject, in whom the innate means will bring forth ravenous covetousness, and the newness of his estate, suspectful cruelty. Imagine, what could your enemies more wish unto you, then to see your own estate with your own hands undermined? O what would your forefathers say, if they lived at this time, and saw their offspring defacing such an excellent principality, which they with much labour and blood so wisely have established? Do you think them fools, that saw you should not enjoy your vines, your cattle, no not your wives and children, without government; and that there could be no government without a Magistrate, and no Magistrate without obedience, and no obedience where every one upon his own private passion, may interpret the do of the rulers? Let your wits make your present example a lesson to you. What sweetness (in good faith) find you in your present condition? what choice of choice find you, if you had lost Basilius? under whose ensign would you go, if your enemies should invade you? If you cannot agree upon one to speak for you, how will you agree upon one to fight for you? But with this fear of I cannot tell what, one is troubled, and with that passed wrong another is grieved. And I pray you did the Sun ever bring you a fruitful harvest, but that it was more hot than pleasant? Have any of you children, that be not sometimes cumbersome? Have any of you fathers, that be not sometime weerish? What, shall we curse the Son, hate our children, or disobey our fathers? But what need I use these words, since I see in your countenances (now virtuously settled) nothing else but love and duty to him, by whom for your only sakes the government is embraced. For all what is done, he doth not only pardon you, but thank you; judging the action by the minds, & not the minds by the action. Your grieves, and desires, whatsoever, and whensoever you list, he will consider of, and to his consideration it is reason you should refer them. So then, to conclude; the uncertainty of his estate made you take arms; now you see him well, with the same love lay them down. If now you end (as I know you will) he will make no other account of this matter, but as of a vehement, I must confess over-vehement affection: the only continuance might prove a wickedness. But it is not so, I see very well, you began with zeal, and will end with reverence.  
The action Zelmane used, being beautified by nature and appareled with skill, her gestures being such, that as her words did paint out her mind, so they served as a shadow, to make the picture more lively and sensible, with the sweet clearness of her voice, rising and falling kindly as the nature of the word, and efficacy of the matter required, altogether in such an admirable person, whose incomparable valour they had well felt, whose beauty did pierce through the thick dullness of their senses, gave such a way unto her speech through the rugged wilderness of their imaginations, who (besides they were stricken in admiration of her, as of more than a human creature) were cooled with taking breath, and had learned doubts out of leasute, that in steed of roaring cries, there was now heard nothing, but a confused muttering, whether her saying were to be followed, betwixt fear to pursue, and loathness to leave: most of them could have been content, it had never been begun, but how to end it (each afraid of his companion,) they knew not, finding it far easier to tie then to lose knots. But Zelmane thinking it no evil way in such mutinies, to give the mutinous some occasion of such service, as they might think (in their own judgement) would countervail their trespass, withal, to take the more assured possession of their minds, which she feared might begin to waver, Loyal Arcadians (said she) now do I offer unto you the manifesting of your duties: all those that have taken arms for the Prince's safety, let them turn their backs to the gate, with their weapons bend against such as would hurt his sacred person. O weak trust of the manyheaded multitude, whom inconstancy only doth guide to well doing: who can set confidence there, where company takes away shame, and each may lay the fault on his fellow? So said a crafty fellow among them, named Clinias, to himself, when he saw the word no sooner out of Zelmane's mouth, but that there were some shouts of joy, with, God save Basilius, and divers of them with much jollity grown to be his guard, that but little before meant to be his murderers.  
This Clinias in his youth had been a scholar so far, as to learn rather words than manners, and of words rather plenty than order; and oft had used to be an actor in Tragedies, where he had learned, besides a slidingnesse of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame his face to bear the figure of them: long used to the eyes and ears of men, and to reckon no fault, but shamefastness; in nature, a most notable Coward, and yet more strangely then rarely venturous in privy practices.  
This fellow was become of near trust to Cecropia, Amphialus his mother, so that he was privy to all the mischievous devices, wherewith she went about to ruin Basilius, and his children, for the advancing of her son: and though his education had made him full of tongue, yet his love to be doing, taught him in any evil to be secret; and had by his mistress been used (ever since the strange retiring of Basilius) to whisper rumours into the people's ears: and this time (finding great aptness in the multitude) was one of the chief that set them in the uproar (though quite without the consent of Amphialus, who would not for all the Kingdoms of the world so have adventured the life of Philoclea.) But now perceiving the flood of their fury began to ebb, he thought it policy to take the first of the tide, so that no man cried louder than he, upon Basilius. And some of the lustiest rebels not yet agreeing to the rest, he caused two or three of his mates that were at his commandment to lift him up, & then as if he had had a prologue to utter, he began with a nice gravity to demand audience. But few attending what he said, with vehement gesture, as if he would tear the stars from the skies, he fell to crying out so loud, that not only Zelmane, but Basilius might hear him. O unhappy men, more mad than the Giants that would have plucked jupiter out of heaven, how long shall this rage continue? why do you not all throw down your weapons, and submit yourselves to our good Prince, our good Basilius, the Pelops of wisdom, and Minos of all good government? when will you begin to believe me, and other honest and faithful subjects, that have done all we could to stop your fury?  
The farmer that loved Zelmane could abide him no longer. For as at the first he was willing to speak of conditions, hoping to have gotten great soverainties, and among the rest Zelmane: so now perceiving, that the people, once anything down the hill from their fury, would never stay till they came to the bottom of absolute yielding, and so that he should be nearer fears of punishment, than hopes of such advancement, he was one of them that stood most against the agreement: and to begin withal, disdaining this fellow should play the preacher, who had been one of the chiefest make-bates, strake him a great wound upon the face with his sword. The cowardly wretch fell down, crying for succour, and (scrambling through the legs of them that were about him) got to the throne, where Zelmane took him, and comforted him, bleeding for that was past, and quaking for fear of more.  
But as soon as that blow was given (as if AEolus had broke open the door to let all his winds out) no hand was idle, each one killing him that was next, for fear he should do as much to him. For being divided in minds and not divided in companies, they that would yield to Basilius were intermingled with them that would not yield. These men thinking their ruin stood upon it; those men to get favour of their Prince, converted their ungracious motion into their own bowels, and by a true judgement grew their own punishers. None was sooner killed then those that had been leaders in the disobedience: who by being so, had taught them, that they did lead disobedience to the same leaders. And many times it fell out that they killed them that were of their own faction, anger whetting, and doubt hastening their fingers. But than came down Zelmane; and Basilius with Dorus issued, and sometimes seeking to draw together those of their party, sometimes laying indifferently among them, made such havoc (among the rest Zelmane striking the farmer to the heart with her sword, as before she had done with her eyes) that in a while all they of the contrary side were put to flight, and fled to certain woods upon the frontiers; where feeding wildly, and drinking only water, they were disciplined for their drunken riots; many of them being slain in the chase, about a score only escaping. But when these late rebels, now soldiers, were returned from the chase, Basilius calling them together, partly for policy sake, but principally because Zelmane before had spoken it (which was to him more than a divine ordinance) he pronounced their general pardon, willing them to return to their houses, and thereafter be more circumspect in their proceed: which they did most of them with sharp marks of their folly. But imagining Clinias to be one of the chief that had bred this good alteration, he gave him particular thanks, and withal willed him to make him know, how this frenzy had entered into the people.  
Clinias purposing indeed to tell him the truth of all, saving what did touch himself, or Cecropia, first, dipping his hand in the blood of his wound, Now by this blood (said he) which is more dear to me, than all the rest that is in my body, since it is spent for your safety: this tongue (perchance unfortunate, but never false) shall not now begin to lie unto my Prince, of me most beloved. Then stretching out his hand, and making vehement countenances the ushers to his speeches, in such manner of terms recounted this accident. Yesterday (said he) being your birthday, in the goodly green two mile hence before the city of Enispus, to do honour to the day, were a four or five thousand people (of all conditions, as I think) gathered together, spending all the day in dance & other exercises: and when night came, under tents and bows making great cheer, and meaning to observe a wassaling watch all that night for your sake. Bacchus (the learned say) was begot with thunder: I think, that made him ever since so full of stir & debate. Bacchus indeed it was which sounded the first trumpet to this rude Alarun. For that barbarous opinion being generally among them, to think with vice to do honour, & with activity in beastliness to show abundance of love, made most of them seek to show the depth of their affection in the depth of their draft. But being once well chafed with wine (having spent all the night, and some piece of the morning in such reveling) & emboldened by your absented manner of living, there was no matter their ears had ever heard of that grew not to be a subject of their winie conference. I speak it by proof: for I take witness of the Gods (who never leave perjuries unpunished) that I often cried out against their impudence, and (when that would not serve) stopped mine ears, because I would not be partaker of their blasphemies, till with buffets they forced me to have mine ears and eyes defiled. Public affairs were mingled with private grudges neither was any man thought of wit, that did not pretend some cause of mislike. Railing was counted the fruit of freedom, and saying nothing had his uttermost praise in ignorance. At the length, your sacred person (alas) why did I live to hear it? alas how do I breath to utter it? But your commandment doth not only enjoin obedience, but give me force: your sacred person (I say) fell to be their tabletalk: a proud word swelling in their stomachs, & disdainful reproaches against so great a greatness, having put on the show of greatness in their little minds: till at length the very unbridled use of words having increased fire in their minds (which God wot thought their knowledge notable, because they had at all no knowledge to condemn their own want of knowledge) they descended (O never to be forgotten presumption) to a direct mislike of your living from among them. Whereupon it were tedious to remember their farfetched constructions. But the sum was, you disdained them: and what were the pomps of your estate, if their arms maintained you not? Who would call you a Prince, if you had not a people? When certain of them of wretched estates, & worse minds (whose fortunes change could not impair) began to say, that your government was to be looked into; how the great treasures (you had levied among them) had been spent; why none but great men and gentlemen could be admitted into counsel, that the commons (forsooth) were too plain headed to say their opinnions: but yet their blood and sweat must maintain all. Who could tell whether you were not betrayed in this place, where you lived? nay whether you did live or no? Therefore that it was time to come and see; and if you were here, to know (if Arcadia were grown loathsome in your sight) why you did not rid yourself of the trouble? There would not want those that would take so fair a cumber in good part. Since the Country was theirs, and the government an adherent to the country, why should they not consider of the one as well as inhabit the other? Nay rather (said they) let us begin that, which all Arcadia will follow. Let us deliver our Prince from danger of practices, and ourselves from want of a Prince. Let us do that, which all the rest think. Let it be said, that we only are not astonished with vain titles, which have their force but in our force. Lastly, to have said and heard so much, was as dangerous, as to have attempted: and to attempt they had the glorious name of liberty with them. These words being spoken (like a furious storm) presently carried away their well inclined brains. What I, & some other of the honester sort could do, was no more them if with a puff of breath, one should go about to make a sail go against a mighty wind: or, with one hand, stay the ruin of a mighty wall. So general grew this madness among them, there needed no drum, where each man cried, each spoke to other that spoke as fast to him, and the disagreeing sound of so many voices was the chief token of their unmeet agreement. Thus was their banquet turned to a battle, their winie mirths to bloody rages, and the happy prayers for your life to monstrous threatening of your estate; the solemnising your birthday, tended to have been the cause of your funerals. But as a drunken rage hath (besides his wickedness) that folly, that the more it seeks to hurt, the less it considers how to be able to hurt: they never weighed how to arm themselves but took up every thing for a weapon, that fury offered to their hands. Many sword, pikes, and bills there were: others took pitchforkes and rakes, converting husbandry to soldiery some caught hold of spits (things serviceable for life) to be the instruments of death. And there was some such one, who held the same pot wherein he drank to your health, to use it (as he could) to your mischief. Thus armed, thus governed forcing the unwilling, and heartening the willing, adding fury to fury, and encresing rage with running, they came headlong toward this lodge: no man (I dare say) resolved in his own heart, what was the uttermost he would do when he came hither. But as mischief is of such nature, that it cannot stand but with strengthening one evil by an other, and so multiply in itself, till it come to the highest, and then fall with his own weight: so to their minds (once passed the bounds of obedience) more and more wickedness opened itself, so that they who first pretended to preserve you, then to reform you, (I speak it in my conscience, and with a bleeding heart) now thought no safety for them, without murdering you, So as if the Gods (who preserve you for the preservation of Arcadia) had not showed their miraculous power, and that they had not used for instruments, both your own valour (not fit to be spoken of by so mean a mouth as mine) and some (I must confess) honest minds, (whom alas why should I mention, since what we did, reached not to the hundred part of our duty?) our hands (I tremble to think of it) had destroyed all that, for which we have cause to rejoice that we are Arcadians.  
With that the fellow did wring his hands, and wrong out tears: so as Basilius, that was not the sharpest pearcer into masked minds, took a good liking to him; and so much the more as he had tickled him with praise in the hearing of his mistress. And therefore pitying his wound willed him to get him home, and look well unto it, & make the best search he could, to know if there were any further depth in this matter, for which he should be well rewarded. But before he went away, certain of the shepherds being come (for that day was appointed for their pastorals) he sent one of them to Philanax, and an other to other principal noblemen, and cities there abouts, to make through-inquirie of this uproar, and withal, to place such garrisons in all the towns and villages near unto him, that he might thereafter keep his solitary lodge in more security, upon the making of a fire, or ringing of a bell, having them in a readiness for him.  
This, Clinias (having his ear one way when his eye was an other) had perceived and therefore hasted away, with mind to tell Cecropia that she was to take some speedy resolution, or else it were danger those examinations would both discover, and ruin her: and so went his way, leaving that little company with embracements, & praising of Zelmane's excellent proceeding, to show, that no decking sets forth any thing so much, as affection. For as, while she stood at the discretion of those undiscreet rebels, every angry countenance any of them made, seemed a knife laid upon their own throats; so unspeakable was now their joy, that they saw (besides her safety and their own) the same wrought, and safely wrought by her means, in whom they had placed all their delights. What examples Greece could ever allege of wit and fortitude, were set in the rank of trifles, being compared to this action.  
But as they were in the midst of those unfeigned ceremonies, a Gittern, ill-played on, accompanied with a hoarse voice (who seemed to sing maugre the Muses, and to be merry in spite Fortune) made them look the way of the ill-noysed song. The song was this.  

A Hateful cure with hate to heal:  
A bloody help with blood to save:  
A foolish thing with fools to deal:  
Let him be bobbed that bobs will have.  
But who by means of wisdom high  
Hath saved his charge? it is even I.   

Let others deck their pride with scars,  
And of their wounds make lame shows:  
First let them die, then pass the stars,  
When rotten Fame will tell their blows.  
But eye from blade, and ear from cry:  
Who hath saved all? it is even I.   
They had soon found it was Dametas, who came with no less lifted up countenance, then if he had passed over the bellies of all his enemies: so wise a point he thought he had performed, in using the natural strength of the cave. But never was it his doing to come so soon thence, till the coast were more assuredly clear: for it was a rule with him, that after a great storm there ever fall a few drops before it be fully finished. But Pamela (who had now experienced how much care doth solicit a lovers heart) used this occasion of going to her parents and sister, indeed aswell for that cause, as being unquiet, till her eye might be assured how her shepherd had gone through the danger. But Basilius with the sight of Pamela (of whom almost his head otherwise occupied, had left the wont remembrance) was suddenly stricken into a devout kind of admiration, remembering the oracle, which (according to the fawning humour of false hope) he interpreted now his own to his own best, and with the willing blindness of affection (because his mind ran wholly upon Zelmane) he thought the Gods in their oracles did principally mind her.  
But as he was deeply thinking of the matter, one of the shepherds told him, that Philanax was already come with a hundred horse in his company. For having by chance rid not far of the little desert, he had heard of this uproar, and so was come upon the spur (gathering a company of Gentlemen as fast as he could) to the succour of his Master. Basilius was glad of it; but not willing to have him, nor any other of the Noble men, see his Mistress) he himself went out of the Lodge, and so giving order unto him of placing garrisons, and examining these matters; and Philanax with humble earnestness beginning to entreat him to leave of this solitary course (which already had been so dangerous unto him) Well (said Basilius) it may be ere long I will condescend unto your desire. In the mean time, take you the best order you can to keep me safe in my solitatinesse. But, (said he) doo you remember, how earnestly you wrote unto me, that I should not be moved by that Oracle's authority, which brought me to this resolution? Full well Sir (answered Philanax) for though it pleased you not as then to let me know, what the Oracles words were, yet all Oracles holding (in my conceit) one degree of reputation, it sufficed me to know, it was but an Oracle, which led you from your own course. Well (said Basilius) I will now tell you the words; which before I thought not good to do; because when all the events fall out (as some already have done) I may charge you with your incredulity. So he repeated them in this sort.  
THy elder care shall from thy careful face  
By princely mean be stolen, and yet not lost.  
Thy younger shall with Nature's bliss embrace  
And uncouth love, which Nature hateth most.  
Both they themselves unto such two shall wed,  
Who at thy beer, as at a bar, shall plead;  
Why thee (a living man) they had made dead.  
In thy own seat a foreign state shall fit.  
And ere that all these blows thy head do hit,  
Thou, with thy wife, adultery shall commit.  
For you forsooth (said he) whn I told you, that some supernatural cause sent me strange visions, which being confirmed with presagious chances, I had gone to Delphos, & there received this answer, you replied to me, that the only supernatural causes were the humours of my body, which bred such melancholy dreams; and that both they framed a mind full of conceits, apt to make presages of things, which in themselves were merely chanceable: and with all as I say, you remember what you wrote unto me, touching authority of the Oracle: but now I have some notable trial of the truth thereof, which hereafter I will more largely communicate unto you. Only now, know that the thing I most feared is already performed; I mean that a foreign state should possess my throne. For that hath been done by Zelmane, but not as I feared, to my ruin, but to my preservation. But when he had once named Zelmane, that name was as good as a pulley, to make the clock of his praises run on in such sort, that (Philanax found) was more exquisite than the only admiration of virtue breedeth: which his faithful heart inwardly repining at, made him shrink away as soon as he could, to go about the other matters of importance, which Basilius had enjoined unto him.  
Basilius' returned into the Lodge, thus by himself construing the oracle, that in that he said, his elder care should by Princely mean be stolen away from him, and yet not lost, it was now performed, since Zelmane had as it were robbed from him the care of his first begotten child, yet was it not lost, since in his heart the ground of it remained. That his younger should with Nature's bliss embrace the love of Zelmane, because he had so commanded her for his sake to do; yet should it be with as much hate of Nature, for being so hateful an opposite to the jealousy he thought her mother had of him. The sitting in his seat he deemed by her already performed: but that which most comforted him, was his interpretation of the adultery, which he thought he should commit with Zelmane, whom afterwards he should have to his wife. The point of his daughter's marriage, because it threatened his death withal, he determined to prevent with keeping them (while he lived) unmarried. But having as he thought, gotten thus much understanding of the Oracle, he determined for three days after to perform certain rites to Apollo: and even then began with his wife and daughters to sing this Hymn, by them yearly used.  
APollo great, whose beams the greater world do light,  
And in our little world do clear our inward sight,  
Which ever shine, though hid from earth by earthly shade,  
Whose lights do ever live, but in our darkness fade;  
Thou God, whose youth was decked with spoil of Phythons' skin:  
(So humble knowledge can throw down the snakish sin)  
Latona's son, whose birth in pain and travail long  
Doth teach, to learn the good what travails do belong:  
In travail of our life (a short but tedious space)  
While brickle houreglas runs, guide thou our panting pace:  
Give us foresightful minds: give us minds to obey  
What fore sight tells; our thoughts upon thy knowledge stay.  
Let so our fruits grow up that nature be maintained:  
But so our hearts keep down, with vice they be not stained.  
Let this assured hold our iudgemeuts overtake,  
That nothing wins the heaven, but what doth earth forsake.  
Assoon as he had ended his devotion (all the privileged shepherds being now come) knowing well enough he might lay all his care upon Philanax, he was willing to sweeten the taste of this passed tumult, with some rural pastimes. For which while the shepherds prepared themselves in their best manner, Basilius took his daughter Philoclea aside, and with such haste, as if his ears hunted for words, desired to know how she had found Zelmane. She humbly answered him, according to the agreement betwixt them, that thus much for her sake Zelmane was content to descend from her former resolution, as to hear him, whensoever he would speak; and further than that (she said) as Zelmane had not granted, so she neither did, nor ever would desire. Basilius kissed her with more than fatherly thanks, and strait (like a hard-kept ward new come to his lands) would feign have used the benefit of that grant, in laying his sickness before his only physician. But Zelmane (that had not yet fully determined with herself, how to bear herself toward him) made him in a few words understand, that the time in respect of the company was unfit for such a parley, and therefore to keep his brains the busier, letting him understand what she had learned of his daughters, touching Eronas distress (whom in her travail she had known, and been greatly beholding to) she desired him to finish the rest, for so far as Plangus had told him; Because she said (and she said truly) she was full of care for that Lady, whose desert (only except an overbase choice) was nothing agreeable to misfortune. Basilius' glad that she would command him any thing, but more glad, that in excusing the unfitness of that time, she argued an intention to grant a fit obeyed her in this manner.  
Madam (said he) it is very true, that since years enhabled me to judge what is, or is not to be pitied. I never saw any thing that more moved me to justify a vehement compassion in myself, than the estate of that Prince, whom strong against all his own afflictions (which yet were great, as I perceive you have heard) yet true and noble love had so pulled down, as to lie under sorrow for another In so much as I could not temper my long idle pen in that subject, which I perceive you have seen. But then to leave that unrepeated, which I find my daughters have told you It may please you to understand, since it pleaseth you to demand, that Antiphilus being crowned, and so left by the famous Princes Musidorus and Pyrocles (led thence by the challenge of Anaxius, who is now in these provinces of Greece making a dishonourable enquiry after that excellent prince Pyrocles already perished) Antiphilus (I say) being crowned, and delivered from the presence of those two, whose virtues (while they were presents. good schoolmasters) suppressed his vanities, he had not strength of mind enough in him to make long delay, of discovering what manner of man he was. But straight like one carried up to so high a place, that he looseth the discerning of the ground over which he is; so was his mind lifted so far beyond the level of his own discourse, that remembering only that himself was in the high seat of a King, he could not perceive that he was a king of reasonable creatures, who would quickly scorn follies, and repine at injuries. But imagining not so true property of sovereignty, as to do what he listed, and to list whatsoever pleased his fancy, he quickly made his kingdom a Teniscourt, where his subjects should be the balls; not in truth cruelly, but licentiously abusing them, presuming so far upon himself, that what he did was liked of every body: nay, that his disgraces were favours, & all because he was a King. For in Nature not able to conceive the bounds of great matters (suddenly borne into an unknown Ocean of absolute power) he was swayed with all (he knew not how) as every wind of passions puffed him. Whereto nothing helped him better, than that poisonous sugar of flattery: which some used, out of the innate baseness of their heart, strait like dogs fawning upon the greatest; others secretly hating him, and disdaining his great rising so suddenly, so undeservedly (finding his humour) bent their exalting him only to his overthrow; like the bird that carries the shellfish high, to break him the easier with his fall. But his mind) being an apt matter to receive what form their amplifying speeches would lay upon it) danced so pretty a music to their false measure, that he thought himself the wisest, the woorthyest, and best beloved, that ever gave honour to a royal title. And being but obscurely borne, he had found out unblushing pedigrees, that made him not only of the blood royal, but true heir though unjustly dispossessed by Eronas ancestors, & like the foolish bird, that when it so hides the head that it sees not itself, thinks no body else sees it: so did he imagine, that no body knew his baseness, while he himself turned his eyes from it.  
Then vainness (a meager friend to gratefulness) brought him so to despise Erona, as of whom he had received no benefit, that within half a years marriage he began to pretend barrenness: & making first an unlawful law of having more wives than one, he still keeping Erona, underhand, by messages sought Artaxia, who no less hating him, then loving (as unlucky a choice) the naughty King Plexirtus, yet to bring to pass what she purposed, was content to train him into false hopes, till already his imagination had crowned him King of Armenia, and had made that, but the foundation of more, and more monarchies; as if fortune had only got eyes to cherish him. In which time a great assembly of most part of all the Princes of Asia being to do honour to the never sufficiently praised Pyrocles & Musidorus, he would be one not to acknowledge his obligation (which was as great as any of the others,) but looking to have been yong-mastered among those great estates, as he was among his abusing underlings. But so many valorous Princes, indeed far nearer to disdain him then otherwise, he was quickly (as standing upon no true ground, inwardly) out of countenance with himself, till his seldom-comfortlesse flatterers (persuading him, it was envy and fear of his expected greatness) made him hast away from that company, and without further delay appointed the meeting with Artaxia; so incredibly blinded with the over-bright shining of his royalty, that he could think such a Queen would be content to be joined-patent with an other to have such an husband. Poor Erona to all this obeyed, either vehemency of affection making her stoop to so overbase a servitude, or astonished with an unlookedfor fortune, dull to any behoveful resolution, or (as many times it falls out even in great hearts when they can accuse none but themselves) desperately bend to maintain it. For so went she on in that way of her love, that (poor Lady) to be beyond all other examples of ill-set affection, she was brought to write to Artaxia, that she was content; for the public good, to be a second wife, and yield the first place to her: nay to extol him, and even woe Artaxia for him.  
But Artaxia (mortally hating them both for her brother's sake) was content to hid her hate, till she had time to show it: and pretending that all her grudge was against the two paragons of virtue, Musidorus and Pyrocles, even met them half way in excusing her brother's murder, as not being principal actors; and of the otherside, driven to what they did by the ever-pardonable necessity: and so well handled the matter, as, though she promised nothing, yet Antiphilus promised himself all that she would have him think. And so a solemn interview was appointed. But (as the Poets say) Hymen had not there his saffron-coloured cote. For Artaxia laying men secretly (and easily they might be secret, since Antiphilus thought she overran him in love) when he came even ready to embrace her, showing rather a countenance of accepting then offering, they came forth, and (having much advantage both in number, valour, and fore-preparation) put all his company to the sword; but such as could fly away. As for Antiphilus she caused him and Erona both to be put in irons, hasting back toward her brother's tomb, upon which she meant to sacrifice them; making the love of her brother stand between her and all other motions of grace, from which by nature she was alienated.  
But great diversity in them two quickly discovered itself for the bearing of that affliction. For Antiphilus that had no greatness but outward, that taken away, was ready to fall faster than calamity could thrust him; with fruitless begging of life (where reason might well assure him his death was resolved) and weak bemoaning his fortune, to give his enemies a most pleasing music, with many promises, and protestations, to as little purpose, as from a little mind. But Erona sad indeed, yet like one rather used, then new fallen to sadness (as who had the joys of her heart already broken) seemed rather to welcome then to shun that end of misery, speaking little, but what she spoke was for Antiphilus, remembering his guiltlessness, being at that time prisoner to Tiridates, when the valiant princes slew him: to the disgrace of men, showing that there are women both more wise to judge what is to be expected, and more constant to bear it when it is happened.  
But her wit endeared by her youth, her affliction by her birth, and her sadness by her beauty, made this noble prince Plangus, who (never almost from his cousin Artaxia) was now present at Eronaes taking, to perceive the shape of loveliness more perfectly in woe, then in joyfulness (as in a picture which receives greater life by the darkness of shadows, then by more glittering colours) and seeing to like; and liking to love; and loving strait to feel the most incident effects of love, to serve and preserve. So borne by the hasty tide of short leisure, he did hastily deliver together his affection, and affectionate care. But she (as if he had spoken of a small matter, when he mentioned her life, to which she had not leisure to attend) desired him if he loved her, to show it, in finding some way to save Antiphilus. For her, she found the world but a wearisome stage unto her, where she played a part against her will: and therefore besought him, not to cast his love in so unfruitful a place, as could not love itself: but for a testimony of constancy, and a suitableness to his word, to do so much comfort to her mind, as that for her sake Antiphilus were saved. He told me how much he argued against her tendering him, who had so ungratefully betrayed her, and foolishly cast away himself. But perceiving she did not only bend her very good wits to speak for him against herself, but when such a cause could be allied to no reason, yet love would needs make itself a cause, and bar her rather from hearing, then yield that she should yield to such arguments: he likewise in whom the power of Love (as they say of spirits) was subject to the love in her, with grief consented, & (though backwardly) was diligent to labour the help of Antiphilus: a man whom he not only hated, as a traitor to Erona, but envied as a possessor of Erona. Yet Love swore, his heart, in spite of his heart, should make him become a servant to his rival. And so did he, seeking all the means of persuading Artaxia, which the authority of so near, and so virtuous a kinsman could give unto him. But she to whom the eloquence of hatred had given revenge the face of delight, rejected all such motions; but rather the more closely imprisoning them in her chief city, where she kept them with intention at the birthday of Tiridates (which was very near) to execute Antiphilus, and at the day of his death (which was about half a year after) to use the same rigour towards Erona. Plangus much grieved (because much loving) attempted the humours of the Lycians, to see, whether they would come in with forces to succour their Princess. But there the next inheritor to the crown (with the true play that is used in the game of kingdoms) had no sooner his mistress in captivity, but he had usurped her place, and making her odious to her people, because of the unfit election she had made, had so left no hope there: but which is worse, had sent to Artaxia, persuading the iusticing her, because that unjustice might give his title the name of justice. Wanting that way, Plangus practised with some dear friends of his, to save Antiphilus out of prison, whose day because it was much nearer than Eronaes, and that he well found, she had twisted her life upon the same thread with his, he determined first to get him out of prison: and to that end having prepared all matters as well as in such case he could, where Artaxia had set many of Tiridates old servants to have well-marking eyes, he conferred with Antiphilus, as (by the authority he had) he found means to do; and agreed with him of the time & manner, how he should by the death of some of his jailers escape. But all being well ordered, and Plangus willingly putting himself into the greatest danger, Antiphilus (who, like a bladder, swelled ready to break, while it was full of the wind of prosperity, that being out, was so abjected, as apt to be trodden on by every body) when it came to the point, that with some hazard, he might be in apparent likelihood to avoid the uttermost harm, his heart fainted, and (weak fool, neither hoping, nor fearing as he should) got a conceit, that with bewraying this practice, he might obtain pardon: and therefore, even a little before Plangus should have come unto him, opened the whole practice to him that had the charge, with unpitied tears idly protesting, he had rather die by Artaxias commandment, then against her will escape: yet begging life upon any the hardest, and wretchedest conditions that she would lay upon him. His keeper provided accordingly, so that when Plangus came, he was like, himself to have been entrapped: but that finding (with a lucky insight) that it was discovered, he retired; and (calling his friends about him) stood upon his guard, as he had good cause. For, Artaxia (accounting him most ungrateful, considering that her brother and she, had not only preserved him against the malice of his father, but ever used him much liker his birth, than his fortune) sent forces to apprehend him. But he among the martial men had gotten so great love, that he could not only keep himself from her malice, but work in their minds a compassion of Eronas adversity.  
But for the succour of Antiphilus he could get no body to join with him, the contempt of him having not been able to qualify the hatred; so that Artaxia might easily upon him perform her will; which was (at the humble suit of all the women of that city) to deliver him to their censure, who mortally hating him for having made a law of Polygamy, after many tortures, forced him to throw himself from a high Pyramid, which was built over Tiridates tomb, and so to end his falseharted life, which had planted no strong thought in him, but that he could be unkind.  
But Plangus well perceiving that Artaxia stayed only for the appointed day, that the fair Eronas body, (consumed to ashes) should make a notorious testimony, how deeply her brother's death was engraven in her breast, he assembled good numbers of friends, whom his virtue (though a stranger) had tied unto him, by force to give her liberty. Contrariwise, Artaxia, to whom Anger gave more courage than her sex did fear, used her regal authority (the most she could) to suppress that sedition, and have her will: which (she thought) is the most princely thing that may be. But Plangus, who indeed (as all men witness) is one of the best captains (both for policy and valour) that are trained in the school of Mars, in a conflict overthrew Artaxias power, though of far greater number: and there took prisoner a base son of her brothers, whom she dearly affected, and then sent her word that he should run the same race of fortune (whatsoever it was) that Erona did: and happy was that threatening for her; for else Artaxia had hastened the day of her death, in respect of those tumults.  
But now (some principal noblemen of that country interposing themselves) it was agreed, that all persons else fully pardoned, and all prisoners (except Erona) delivered, she should be put into the hands of a principal nobleman, who had a castle of great strength, upon oath, that if by the day two year from Tiridates death, Pyrocles and Musidorus did not in person combat, and overcome two knights, whom she appointed to maintain her quarrel against Erona and them, of having by treason destroyed her brother, that then Erona should be that same day burned to ashes: but if they came, and had the victory, she should be delivered; but upon no occasion, neither freed, nor executed, till that day. And hereto of both sides, all took solemn oath, and so the peace was concluded; they of Plangus party forcing him to agree, though he himself the sooner condescended, knowing the courtesy of those two excellent Princes, not to refuse so noble a quarrel, and their power such, as two more (like the other two) were not able to resist. But Artaxia was more, and upon better ground, pleased with this action; for she had even newly received news from Plexirtus, that upon the sea he had caused them both to perish, and therefore she held herself sure of the match.  
But poor Plangus knew not so much, and therefore seeing his party (as most times it falls out in like case) hungry of any conditions of peace, accepted them; and then obtained leave of the Lord, that indifferently kept her, to visit Erona, whom he found full of desperate sorrow, not suffering, neither his unworthiness, nor his wrongs, nor his death (which is the natural conclusion of all worldly acts) either to cover with forgetfulness, or diminish with consideration, the affection she had borne him: but even glorying in affliction, and shunning all comfort, she seemed to have no delight, but in making herself the picture of misery. So that when Plangus came to her, she fell in deadly trances, as if in him she had seen the death of Antiphilus, because he had not succoured him: and yet (her virtue striving) she did at one time acknowledge herself bound, and profess herself injured; in steed of allowing the conclusion they had made, or writing to the Princes (as he wished her to do) craving nothing but some speedy death to follow, her (in spite of just hate) beloved Antiphilus.  
So that Plangus having nothing but a ravished kiss from her hand at their parting, went away toward Greece, whetherward he understood the Princes were embarked. But by the way it was his fortune to intercept letters, written by Artaxia to Plexirtus: wherein she signified her accepting him to her husband, whom she had ever favoured, so much the rather, as he had performed the conditions of her marriage, in bringing to their deserved end, her greatest enemies: withal, thanking the sea, in such terms, as he might well perceive, it was by some treason wrought in Plexirtus ship. Whereupon (to make more diligent search) he took ship himself, and came into Laconia, inquiring, and by his enquiry finding, that such a ship was indeed with fight, and fire, perished, none (almost) escaping. But for Pyrocles and Musidorus, it was assuredly determined that they were cast away: for the name of such Princes (especially in Greece) would quickly else have been a large witness to the contrary. Full of grief with that, for the loss of such, who left the world poor of perfection: but more sorry for Eronas sake, who now by them could not be relieved. A new advertisement from Armenia overtook him, which multiplied the force of his anguish. It was a message from the Nobleman who had Erona in ward, giving him to understand, that since his departure, Artaxia (using the benefit of time) had besieged him in his castle, demanding present delivery of her, whom yet for his faith given, he would not, before the day appointed, if possibly he could resist, which he foresaw, long he should not do for want of victual, which he had not so wisely provided, because he trusted upon the general oath taken for two years space: and therefore willed him to make haste to his succour, and come with no small forces; for all they that were of his side in Armenia, were consumed, and Artaxia had increased her might by marriage of Plexirtus, who now crowned King there, sticked not to glory in the murder of Pyrocles and Musidorus, as having just cause thereto, in respect of the deaths of his sister Andromana, her son his nephew, and his own daughter Zelmane, all whose loss he unjustly charged them withal, and now openly sticked not to confess, what a revenge his wit had brought forth. Plangus much astonished herewith, bethought himself what to do. For to return to Armenia was vain, since his friends there were utterly overthrown. Then thought he of going to his father; but he had already (even since the death of his stepmother, and brother) attempted the recovering his favour, and all in vain. For they, that had before joined with Andromana to do him the wrong, thought now no life for them if he returned, and therefore kept him still (with new forged suspicions) odious to his father. So that Plangus reserving that for a work of longer time, than the saving of Erona could bear, determined to go to the mighty and good King Euarchus: who lately having (to his eternal fame) fully, not only conquered his enemies, but established good government in their countries, he hoped he might have present succour of him, both for the justness of the cause, & revenge of his children's death, by so heinous a treason murdered. Therefore with diligence he went to him; & by the way (passing through my country) it was my hap to find him, the most overthrown man with grief, that ever I hope to see again. For still it seemed he had Erona at a stake before his eyes; such an apprehension he had taken of her danger; which in despite of all the comfort I could give him, he poured out in such lamentations, that I was moved not to let him pass, till he had made full declaration, which by pieces my daughters and I have delivered unto you. Feign he would have had succour of myself, but the course of my life being otherwise bend, I only accompanied him with some that might safely guide him to the great Euarchus: for my part having had some of his speeches so feelingly in my memory, that at an idle time (as I told you) I set them down Dialoguewise, in such manner as you have seen. And thus, excellent Lady, I have obeyed you in this story; wherein if it well please you to consider, what is the strange power of Love, and what is due to his authority, you shall exercise therein the true nobleness of your judgement, and do the more right to the unfortunate Historian. Zelmane (sighing for Eronaes sake, yet inwardly comforted in that she assured herself, Euarchus would not spare to take in hand the just delivering of her, joined with the just revenge of his children's loss) having now what she desired of Basilius, to avoid his further discourses of affection, encouraged the shepherds to begin, whom she saw already ready for them.  

The second Eclogues.  
THE rude tumult of the Enispians gave occasion to the honest shepherds to begin their Pastorals this day with a dance, which they called the skirmish betwixt Reason and Passion. For seven shepherds (which were named the reasonable shepherds) joined themselves; four of them making a square, and the other two going a little wide of either side, like wings for the main battle, and the seventh man foremost, like the forlorn hope, to begin the skirmish. In like order came out the seven appassionated shepherds, all keeping the pace of their foot by their voice, and sundry consorted instruments they held in their arms. And first, the foremost of the Reasonable side began to sing: R. 
Thou Rebel vile, come, to thy master yield.   
And the other that met with him answered: P. 
No, Tyrant, no: mine, mine shall be the field,  Reason. 
Can Reason then a Tyrant counted be?  Passion. 
If Reason will, that Passions be not free.  R. 
But Reason will, that Reason govern most.  P. 
And Passion will, that Passion rule the roast.  R. 
Your will is will, but Reason reason is.  P. 
Will hath his will, when Reasons will doth miss.  R. 
Whom Passion leads unto his death is bend.  P. 
And let him die, so that he die content.  R. 
By nature you to Reason faith have sworn.  P. 
Not so, but fellowlike together borne.  R. 
Who Passion doth ensue, lives in annoy.  P. 
Who Passion doth forsake, lives void of joy.  R. 
Passion is blind, and treads an unknown trace.  P. 
Reason hath eyes to see his own ill case.   
Then as they approached nearer, the two of Reason's side, as if they shot at the other, thus sang: R. 
Dare Passions then abide in Reason's light?  P. 
And is not Reason dim with Passions might?  R. 
O foolish thing, which glory doth destroy.  P. 
O glorious title of a foolish toy.  R. 
Weakness you are, dare you with our strength fight?  P. 
Because our weakness weakeneth all your might.  R. 
O sacred Reason, help our virtuous toils.  P. 
O Passion, pass on feeble Reasons spoils.  R. 
We with ourselves abide a daily strife.  P. 
We gladly use the sweetness of our life.  R. 
But yet our strife sure peace in end doth breed.  P. 
We now have peace, your peace we do not need.   
Then did the two square battles meet, and in steed of fight embrace one another, singing thus: R. 
We are too strong: but Reason seeks no blood.  P. 
Who be too weak, do feign they be too good.  R. 
Though we cannot o'ercome, our cause is just.  P. 
Let us o'ercome, and let us be unjust.  R. 
Yet Passions yield at length to Reason's stroke.  P. 
What shall we win by taking Reasons yoke.  R. 
The joys you have shall be made permanent.  P. 
But so we shall with grief learn to repent.  R. 
Repent in deed, but that shall be your bliss.  P. 
How know we that, since present joys we miss?  R. 
You know it not: of Reason therefore know it.  P. 
No Reason yet had ever skill to show it.  R. 
Then let us both to heavenly rules give place.  P. 
Which Passions kill, and Reason do deface.   
Then embraced they one another, and came to the King, who framed his praises of them according to Zelmane's liking; whose unrestrained parts, the mind & eye had their free course to the delicate Philoclea, whose look was not short in well requiting it, although she knew it was a hateful sight to her jealous mother. But Dicus (that had in this time taken a great liking of Dorus, for the good parts he found above his age in him) had a delight to taste the fruits of his wit, though in a subject which he himself most of all other despised: & so entered to speech with him in the manner of this following Eclogue.  Dicus. Dorus. Dicus. 
Dorus, tell me, where is thy wont motion,  
To make these woods resound thy lamentation?  
Thy saint is dead, or dead is thy devotion,  
For who doth hold his love in estimation,  
To witness that he thinks his thoughts delicious,  
Thinks to make each thing badge of his sweet passion.  Dorus. 
But what doth make thee Dicus so suspicious  
Of my due faith, which needs must be immutable?  
Who others virtue doubt, themselves are vicious,  
Not so; although my metals were most mutable,  
Her beams have wrought therein most fair impression,  
To such a force some change were nothing suitable.  Dicus. 
The heart well set doth never shun confession:  
If noble be thy bands, make them notorious:  
Silence doth seem the mask of base oppression.  
Who glories in his love, doth make Love glorious:  
But who doth fear, or bideth mute wilfully,  
Shows, guilty heart doth deem his state opprobrious.  
Thou then, that framest both words and voice most skilfully,  
Yield to our ears a sweet and sound relation,  
If Love took thee by force, or caught thee guilefully.  Dorus. 
If sunny beams shame heavenly habitation,  
If three-leaued grass seem to the sheep unsavoury,  
Then base and sour is loves most high vocation.  
Or if sheeps cries can help the Suns own bravery,  
Then may I hope, my pipe may have ability,  
To help her praise, who decks me in her slavery,  
No, no: no words ennoble self nobility,  
As for your doubts, her voice was it deceived me,  
Her eye the force beyond all possibility.  Dicus. 
Thy words well voiced, well grac'de had almost heaved me,  
Quite from myself to love loves contemplation;  
Till of these thoughts thy sudden end bereaved me,  
Go on therefore, and tell us by what fashion  
In thy own proof he gets so strange possession,  
And how possessed he strengthens his invasion.  Dorus. 
Sight is his root, in thought is his progression,  
His child hood wonder, prentizeship attention,  
His youth delight, his age the soul's oppression  
Doubt is his sleep, he waketh in invention,  
Fancy his food, his clothing is of carefulness;  
Beauty his book, his play lovers dissension:  
His eyes are curious search, but veiled with warefulnesse:  
His wings desire oft clipped with desperation.  
Largesse his hands could never skill of sparefulnesse  
But how he doth by might, or by persuasion  
To conquer, and his conquest how to ratify,  
Experience doubts, and schools hold disputation.  Dicus. 
But so thy sheep may thy good wishes satisfy  
With large increase, and wool of fine perfection,  
So she thy love, her eyes thy eyes may gratify;  
As thou wilt give our souls a dear refection,  
By telling how she was, how now she framed is  
To help, or hurt in thee her own infection.  Dorus. 
Blessed be the name, wherewith my mistress named is:  
Whose wounds are salves, whose yokes please more than pleasure doth  
Her stains are beams; virtue the fault she blamed is,  
The heart, eye, eare here only find his treasure doth.  
All numbering arts her endless graces number not:  
Time, place, life. wit, scarcely her rare gifts measure doth.  
Is she in rage? so is the Sun in summer hot,  
Yet harvest brings. Doth she, alas! absent herself?  
The Sun is hid; his kindly shadows cumber not.  
But when to give some grace she doth content herself,  
O then it shines, then are the heavens distributed,  
And Venus seems, to make up her, she spent herself.  
Thus then (I say) my mischiefs have contributed  
A greater good by her divine reflection,  
My harms to me, my bliss to her attributed.  
Thus she is framed: her eyes are my direction,  
Her love my life, her anger my destruction,  
Lastly what so she is, that's my protection.  Dicus. 
Thy safety sure is wrapped in destruction,  
For that construction thine own words do bear.  
A man to fear a woman's moody eye,  
Makes Reason lie a slave to servile sense,  
A weak defence where weakness is thy force:  
So is remorse in folly dearly bought.  Dorus. 
If I had thought to hear blasphemous words,  
My breast to swords, my soul to hell have sold  
I rather would, then thus mine ears defile  
With words so vile, which viler breath doth breed.  
O herds take heed; for I a wolf have found,  
Who hunting round the strongest for to kill,  
His breast doth fill with earth of others woe,  
And laden so pulls down, pulled down destroys.  
O shepherds boys, eschew these tongues of venom,  
Which do enuenome both the soul and senses.  
Our best defences are to fly these adders.  
O tongues like ladders made to climb dishonour,  
Who judge that honour, which hath scope to slander!  Dicus. 
Dorus you wander far in great reproaches,  
So Love encroches on your charmed reason,  
But it is season for to end our singing.  
Such anger (bringing: as for me, my fancy  
In sick-man's frenzy rather takes compassion,  
Then rage for rage: rather my wish I send to thee,  
Thou soon may have some help, or change of passion,  
She oft her looks, the stars her favour bend to thee,  
Fortune store, Nature health, Love grant persuasion.  
A quiet mind none but thyself can lend to thee,  
Thus I commend to thee all our former love.  Dorus. 
Well do I prove, error lies oft in zeal,  
Yet it is seal, though error, of true heart.  
Nought could impart such heats to friendly mind,  
But for to find thy words did her disgrace,  
Whose only face the little heaven is,  
Which who doth miss his eyes are but delusions,  
Barred from their chiefest object of delightefulnesse  
Thrown on this earth the Chaos of confusions;  
As for thy wish, to my enraged spitefulness  
The lovely blow, with rare reward, my prayer is  
Thou mayst love her that I may see thy sightfulnesse.  
The quiet mind (whereof myself empairer is,  
As thou dost think) should most of all disquiet me  
Without her love, than any mind who fairer is,  
Her only cure from surfeit woes can diet me:  
She holds the balance of my contentation:  
Her cleared eyes, nought else, in storms can quiet me,  
Nay rather than my ease discontentation  
Should breed to her. let me for aye dejected be  
From any joy, which might her grief occasion.  
With so sweet plagues my happy harms infected be:  
Pain wills me die, yet will of death I mortify:  
For though life irks, in life my loves protected be,  
Thus for each change my changeless heart I fortify.  
When they had ended to the good pleasing of the assistants, especially of Zelmane, who never forgot to give due commendations to her friend Dorus, Basilius called for Lamon to end his discourse of Strephon & Klaius, wherewith the other day he marked Zelmane to have been exceedingly delighted. But him sickness had stayed from that assembly. which gave occasion to Histor and Damon two young shepherds, taking upon them the two friendly rivalles names, to present Basilius with some other of their complaints Ecloge-wise, and first with this double Sestine.  Strephon. Klaius. Strephon. 
Ye Goteheard Gods, that love the grassy mountains,  
Ye nymphs that haunt the springs in pleasant valleys,  
Ye Satyrs joyed with free and quiet forests,  
Vouchsafe your silent ears to plaining music,  
Which to my woes give still an early morning.  
And draws the dolour on till weary evening.  Klaius. 
O Mercury, foregoer to the evening,  
O heavenly huntress, of the savage mountains,  
O lovely star, entitled of the morning,  
While that my voice doth fill these woeful valleys,  
Vouchsafe your silent ears to plaining music,  
Which oft hath Echo tired in secret forests.  Strephon. 
I that was once free burges of the forests,  
Where shade from Sun, and sports I sought at evening,  
I that was once esteemed for pleasant, music,  
Am banished now among the monstrous mountains  
Of huge despair, and foul afflictions valleys,  
Am grown a shrich owl to myself each morning.  Klaius. 
I that was once delighted every morning,  
Hunting the wild inhabiters of forests,  
I that was once the music of these valleys,  
So darkened am, that all my day is evening,  
heart broken so, that molehilles seem high mountains,  
And fill the vales with cries in steed of music.  Strephon. 
Long since alas, my deadly swannish music  
Hath made itself a crier of the morning,  
And hath with wailing strength climbed highest mountains:  
Long since my thoughts more desert be then forests:  
Long since I see my joys come to their evening,  
And state thrown down to overtrodden valleys.  Klaius. 
Long since the happy dwellers of these valleys,  
Have prayed me leave my strange exclaiming music,  
Which troubles their days work, & joys of evening,  
Long since I hate the night, more hate the morning:  
Long since my thoughts chase me like beasts in forests,  
And make me wish myself laid under mountains.  Strephon. 
Me seems I see the high and stately mountains,  
Transform themselves to low dejected valleys:  
Me seems I hear in these ill changed forests,  
The Nightingales do learn of Owls their music:  
Me seems I feel the comfort of the morning  
Turned to the mortal serene of an evening.  Klaius. 
Me seems I see a filthy cloudy evening,  
As soon as Sun gins to climb the mountains:  
Me seems I feel a noisome sent, the morning  
When I do smell the flowers of these valleys:  
Me seems I hear, when I do hear sweet music,  
The dreadful cries of murdered men in forests.  Strephon. 
I wish to fire the trees of all these forests,  
I give the Sun a last farewell each evening,  
I curse the fiddling finders out of music:  
With envy I do hate the lofty mountains;  
And with despite despise the humble valleys:  
I do detest night, evening, day, and morning.  Klaius. 
Curse to myself my prayer is, the morning;  
My fire is more than can be made with forests;  
My state more base, then are the basest valleys:  
I wish, no evenings more to see, each evening;  
Shamed I hate myself in sight of mountains,  
And stop mine ears, lest I grow mad with music.  Strephon. 
For she whose parts maintained a perfect music  
Whose beauty shined more than the blushing morning,  
Who much did pass in state the stately mountains,  
In straightness past the Cedars of the forests,  
Hath cast me wretch into eternal evening,  
By taking her two Suns from these dark valleys.  Klaius. 
For she, to whom compared, the Alps are valleys,  
She, whose lest word brings from the spheres their music,  
At whose approach the Sun risen in the evening,  
Who where she went bare in her forehead morning,  
Is gone, is gone, from these our spoiled forests,  
Turning to deserts our best pastur'de mountains.  Strephon. 
These mountains witness shall, so shall these valleys,  
These forests eke, made wretched by our music,  Klaius. 
Our morning hymn is this, and song at evening.  
But, as though all this had been but the taking of a taste of their wail, Strephon again began this Dizaine, which was answered unto him in that kind of verse which is called the crown.  Strephon. Klaius. Strephon. 
I joy in grief, and do detest all joys:  
Despise delight am tired with thought of ease:  
I turn my mind to all forms of annoys,  
And with the change of them my fancy please,  
I study that which may me most displease,  
And in despite of that displeasures might,  
Embrace that most, that most my soul destroys.  
Blinded with beams, fell darkness is my sight:  
Dwell in my ruins, feed with sucking smart  
I think from me, not from my woes to part.  Klaius. 
I think from me, not from my woes to part,  
And loath this time, called life, nay think, that life  
Nature to me for torment did emparte;  
Think, my hard haps have blunted deaths sharp knife,  
Not sparing me, in whom his works be rife:  
And thinking this, think nature, life, and death  
Place Sorrows triumph on my conquered heart,  
Whereto I yield, and seek none other breath,  
But from the sent of some infectious grave:  
Nor of my fortune ought, but mischieve crave,  Strephon. 
Nor of my fortune ought but mischieve crave,  
And seek to nourish that, which now contains  
All what I am: if I myself will save,  
Then must I save, what in me chiefly reigns,  
Which is the hateful web of sorrows pains.  
Sorrow, then cherish me, for I am sorrow:  
No being now, but sorrow I can have:  
Then deck me as thine own; thy help I borrow,  
Since thou my riches art, and that thou haste  
Enough to make a fertile mind lie waste.  Klaius. 
Enough to make a fertile mind lie waste,  
Is that huge storm, which powers itself on me:  
Hailstones of tears, of sighs a monstrous blast,  
Thunders of cries; lightnings my wild looks be,  
The darkened heaven my soul, which nought can see.  
The flying spirits which trees by roots up tear,  
Be those despairs, which have my hopes quite waste.  
The difference is; all folks those storms forbear,  
But I cannot; who then myself should fly.  
So close unto myself my wracks do lie.  Strephon. 
So close unto myself my wracks do lie,  
Both cause, effect, beginning, and the end  
Are all in me: what help then can I try?  
My ship, myself, whose course to love doth bend,  
Sore beaten doth her mast of comfort spend:  
Her cable, Reason, breaks from anchor, Hope:  
Fancy, her tackling, torn away doth fly:  
Ruin, the wind, hath blown her from her scope:  
Bruised with waves of Cares, but broken is  
On rock, Despair, the burial of my bliss.  Klaius. 
On rock, Despair, the burial of my bliss,  
I long doo plough with plough of deep desire:  
The seed Fast meaning is, no truth to miss:  
I harow it with Thoughts, which all conspire  
Favour to make my chief and only hire.  
But, woe is me, the year is gone about,  
And now I feign would reap, I reap but this  
Hatefully grown, Absence new sprongen out.  
So that I see, although my sight impair,  
Vain is their pain, who labour in despair.  Strephon. 
Vain is their pain, who labour in despair.  
For so did I, when with my angle Will,  
I sought to catch the fish Torpedo fair.  
Even then Despair did Hope already kill:  
Yet fancy would perforce employ his skill,  
And this hath got; the catcher now is caught,  
Lamed with the angle, which itself did bear,  
And unto death, quite drowned in dolours, brought  
To death, as then disguised in her fair face.  
Thus, Thus alas, I had my loss in chase.  Klaius. 
Thus, Thus alas, I had my loss in chase,  
When first that crowned Basilisk I knew,  
Whose footsteps I with kisses oft did trace,  
Till by such hap, as I must ever rue,  
Mine eyes did light upon her shining hue,  
And hers on me, astonished with that sight.  
Since than my heart did lose his wont place,  
Infected so with her sweet poisons might,  
That, leaving me for dead, to her it went:  
But ah her flight hath my dead relics spent.  Strephon. 
But ah her flight hath my dead relics spent,  
Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me,  
Yet living still in her, while her beams lent  
Such vital spark, that her mine eyes might see.  
But now those living lights absented be,  
Full dead before, I now to dust shall fall,  
But that eternal pains my soul have hent,  
And keep it still within this body thrall:  
That thus I must, while in this death I dwell,  
In earthly fetters feel a lasting hell.  Klaius. 
In earthly fetters feel a lasting hell  
Alas I do; from which to find release,  
I would the earth, I would the heavens sell.  
But vain it is to think these pains should cease,  
Where life is death, and death cannot breed peace.  
O fair, o only fair, from thee alas,  
These foul, most foul, desastres to me fell;  
Since thou from me (o me) o Sun didst pass.  
Therefore esteeming all good blessings toys  
I joy in grief, and do detest all joys.  Strephon. 
I joy in grief, and do detest all joys  
But now an end, (O Claius) now an end:  
For even the herbs our hateful music stroyes,  
And from our burning breath the trees do bend.  
So well were these wailful complaints accorded to the passions of all the princely hearers, while every one made what he heard of another the balance of his own fortune, that they stood a long while stricken in a sad and silent consideration of them. Which the old Geron no more marking than condemning in them, desirous to set forth what counsels the wisdom of age had laid up in store against such fancies (as he thought) follies of youth (yet so as it might not appear that his words respected them) bending himself to a young shepherd named Philisides, (who neither had danced nor song with them, and had all this time lain upon the ground at the foot of a Cypress tree, leaning upon his elbow with so deep a melancholy that his senses carried to his mind no delight from any of their objects) he strake him upon the shoulder, with a right old man's grace, that will seem livelier than his age will afford him, And thus began unto him his Ecloge.  Geron. Philisides. Geron. 
UP, up Philisides, let sorrows go,  
Who yields to woe, doth but increase his smart.  
Do not thy heart, to plaintfull custom bring,  
But let us sing, sweet tunes do passions ease,  
An old man hear, who would thy fancies raise.  Philisides. 
Who minds to please the mind drowned in annoys  
With outward joys, which inly cannot sink,  
As well may think with oil to cool the fire:  
Or with desire to make such foe a friend,  
Who doth his soul to endless malice bend.  Geron. 
Yet sure an end, to each thing time doth give,  
Though woes now live, at length thy woes must die.  
Then virtue try, if she can work in thee  
That which we see in many time hath wrought,  
And weakest hearts to constant temper brought.  Philisides. 
Who ever taught a skilless man to teach,  
Or stop a breach, that never Cannon saw?  
Sweet virtues law bars not a causeful moan.  
Time shall in one my life and sorrows end,  
And me perchance your constant temper lend.  Geron. 
What can amend where physic is refused?  
The wits abused with will no counsel take.  
Yet for my sake discover us thy grief.  
Oft comes relief when most we seem in trap.  
The stars thy state, fortune may change thy hap.  Philisides. 
If fortune's lap became my dwelling place,  
And all the stars conspired to my good,  
Still were I one, this still should be my case,  
Ruins relic, cares web, and sorrows food:  
Since she fair fierce to such a state me calls,  
Whose wit the stars, whose fortune fortune thralls.  Geron. 
Alas what falls are fallen unto thy mind?  
That there where thou confessed thy mischief lies  
Thy wit dost use still still more harms to find.  
Whom wit makes vain, or blinded with his eyes,  
What counsel can prevail, or light give light?  
Since all his force against himself he tries.  
Then each conceit that enters in his sight,  
Is made, forsooth, a Iurate of his woes,  
Earth, sea, air, fire, heaven, hell, and ghastly spirit.  
Then cries to senseless things, which neither knows  
What aileth thee, and if they knew thy mind  
Would scorn in man (their king) such feeble shows.  
Rebel, Rebel, in golden fetters bind  
This tyrant Love; or rather do suppress  
Those rebel thoughts which are thy slaves by kind.  
Let not a glittering name thy fancy dress  
In painted clothes, because they call it love.  
There is no hate that can thee more oppress.  
Begin (and half the work is done) to prove  
By rising up, upon thyself to stand.  
And think she is a she, that doth thee move.  
He water ploughs, and soweth in the sand,  
And hopes the flickering wind with net to hold,  
Who hath his hopes laid up in woman's hand.  
What man is he that hath his freedom sold?  
Is he a manlike man, that doth not know man  
Hath power that Sex with bridle to withhold?  
A fickle Sex, and true in trust to no man,  
A servant Sex, soon proud if they be coi'de  
And to conclude thy mistress is a woman.  Philisides. 
O gods, how long this old fool hath annoyed  
My wearied ears! O gods yet grant me this,  
That soon the world of his false tongue be void.  
O noble age who place their only bliss  
In being heard until the hearer die  
Uttering a serpent's mind with serpent's hiss.  
Then who will hear a well authorised lie,  
(And patience hath) let him go learn of him  
What swarms of virtues did in his youth fly  
Such hearts of brass, wise heads, and garments trim  
Were in his days: which heard, one nothing hears,  
If from his words the falsehood he do skim.  
And herein most their folly vain appears  
That since they still allege, When they were young:  
It shows they fetch their wit from youthful years  
Like beast for sacrifice, where save the tongue  
And belly nought is left, such sure is he,  
This life-deadman in this old dungeon flung.  
Old houses are thrown down for new we see:  
The oldest Rams are culled from the flock:  
No man doth wish his horse should aged be.  
The ancient oak well makes a fired block:  
Old men themselves, do love young wives to choose:  
Only fond youth admires a rotten stock.  
Who once a white long beard, well handle does,  
(As his beard him, not he his beard did bear)  
Though cradle witted, must not honour lose.  
Oh when will men leave off to judge by hair,  
And think them old, that have the oldest mind,  
With virtue fraught and full of holy fear!  Geron. 
If that thy face were hid, or I were blind,  
I yet should know a young man speaketh now,  
Such wandering reason in thy speech I find.  
He is a beast, that beasts use will allow  
For proof of man, who sprung of heavenly fire  
Hath strongest soul, when most his reins do bow.  
But foundlings fond, know not your own desire  
Loath to die young, and then you must be old,  
Fond blame that to which yourselves aspire.  
But this light choler that doth make you bold,  
Rather to wrong then unto just defence,  
Is passed with me, my blood is waxed cold.  
Thy words, though full of malapert offence,  
I way them not, but still will thee advise  
How thou from foolish love mayst purge thy sense.  
First think they err, that think them gaily wise,  
Who well can set a passion out to show:  
Such sight have they that see with goggling eyes.  
Passion bears high when puffing wit doth blow,  
But is indeed a toy, if not a toy,  
True cause of evils, and cause of causeless woe.  
If once thou mayst that fancy gloss destroy  
Within thyself, thou soon wilt be ashamed  
To be a player of thine own annoy.  
Then let thy mind with better books be tamed,  
Seek to espy her faults as well as praise,  
And let thine eyes to other sports be framed.  
In hunting fearful beasts, do spend some days,  
Or catch the birds with pitfalls, or with lime,  
Or train the fox that trains so crafty lays.  
Lie but to sleep, and in the early prime  
Seek skill of herbs in hills, haunt brooks near night,  
And try with bait how fish will by't sometime.  
Go graft again, and seek to graft them right,  
Those pleasant plants, those sweet and fruitful trees,  
Which both the palate, and the eyes delight.  
Cherish the hives of wisely painful Bees:  
Let special care upon thy flock be stayed,  
Such active mind but seldom passion sees.  Philisides. 
Hath any man heard what this old man said?  
Truly not I, who did my thoughts engage,  
Where all my pains one look of her hath paid.  
Geron was even out of countenance, finding the words he thought were so wise, win so little reputation at this young man's hands; and therefore sometimes looking upon an old acquaintance of his called Mastix, one of the repiningest fellows in the world, and that beheld no body but with a mind of mislike (saying still the world was amiss, but how it should be amended, he knew not) sometimes casting his eyes to the ground, even ashamed to see his grey hairs despised, at last he spied his two dogs, whereof the elder was called Melampus, and the younger Laelaps (in deed the jewels he ever had with him) one brawling with another; which occasion he took to restore himself to his countenance, and rating Melampus, he began to speak to his dogs, as if in them a man should find more obedience then in unbridled young men.  Geron. Mastix. Geron. 
Down, down Melampus; what? your fellow by't?  
I set you over the flock I dearly love,  
Them to defend, not with yourselves to fight.  
Do you not think this will the wolves remove  
From former fear, they had of your good minds,  
When they shall such divided weakness prove?  
What if Laelaps a better morsel find?  
Then you erst knew? rather take part with him  
Then iarle: lo, lo, even these how envy blinds.  
And then Laelaps let not pride make thee brim  
Because thou hast thy fellow overgone,  
But thank the cause, thou seest, where he is dim.  
Here Laelaps, here, in deed against the foes  
Of my good sheep, thou never trew's time took:  
Be as thou art, but be with mine at one.  
For though Melampus like a wolf do look,  
(For age doth make him of a wolvish hue)  
Yet have I seen when well a wolf he shook.  
Fool that I am that with my dogs speak grew.  
Come near good Mastix, 'tis now full tway score  
Of years (alas) since I good Mastix knew.  
Thou heardst even now a young man snebb me sore,  
Because I read him, as I would my son.  
Youth will have will: Age must to age therefore.  Masttix. 
What marvel is in youth such faults be done,  
Since that we see our saddest Shepherds out  
Who have their lesson so long time begun?  
Quickly secure, and easily in doubt,  
Either a sleep be all if nought assail,  
Or all abroad if but a Cubb start out.  
We shepherds are like them that under sail  
Do speak high words, when all the coast is clear,  
Yet to a passenger will bonnet vail.  
I con thee thank to whom thy dogs be dear,  
But commonly like curs we them entreat,  
Save when great need of them perforce appear.  
Then him we kiss, whom before we beatt  
With such intemperance, that each way grows  
Hate of the first, contempt of later feat:  
And such discordtwixt greatest shepherds flows,  
That sport it is to see with how great art  
By justice work they their own faults disclose:  
Like busy boys, to win their tutor's heart,  
One saith, He mocks; the other saith, he plays;  
The third his lesson mist, till all do smart.  
As for the rest, how shepherds spend their days,  
At blow point, hotcocles, or else at keels  
While, Let us pass our time each shepherd says.  
So small account of time the shepherd feels  
And doth not feel, that life is nought but time  
And when that time is paste, death holds his heels.  
To age thus do they draw there youthful prime,  
Knowing no more, than what poor trial shows,  
As fish trial hath of muddy slime.  
This pattern good, unto our children goes,  
For what they see, their parent's love or hate  
Their first caught sense prefers to teacher's blows.  
These cocklinges cockered we be wail to late,  
When that we see our offspring gaily bend,  
Women manwood, & men effeminate.  Geron. 
Fie man, fie man, what words hath thy tongue lent?  
Yet thou art much wars then ere was I,  
Thy too much zeal, I fear thy brain hath spent.  
We oft are angrier, with the feeble fly  
For business, where it pertains him not,  
Then with the poisno'us toads that quiet lie.  
I pray thee what hath ere the Parrot got,  
And yet they say he talks in great men's bowers?  
A Cage (guilded perchance) is all his lot.  
Who of his tongue the lickowr gladly powers,  
A good fool called with pain, perhaps may be,  
But even for that shall suffer mighty Lours.  
Let swans example siker serve for thee,  
Who once all birds, in sweetly-singing past,  
But now to silence turned his minstrelsy.  
For he would sing, but others were defaced;  
The peacocks pride, the pies piled stattery,  
Cormoraunts' glut, Kites spoil, king fisher's waste.  
The Falcon's fercenes, Sparrows lechery  
The Cockows shame, the Goose's good intent,  
Even turtle toutcht he with hypocrisy.  
And worse of other more, till by assent  
Of all the birds, but namely those were grieved,  
Of fowls there called was a parliament.  
There was the swan of dignity deprived,  
And statute made he never should have voice,  
Since when I think he hath in silence lived.  
I warn thee therefore (since thou mayst have choice)  
Let not thy tongue become a fiery match,  
No sword so bites as that evil tool annoys.  
Let our unpartial eyes a little watch  
Our own demean, and soon we wondre shall  
That hunting faults, ourselves we did not catch.  
Into our minds let us a little fall,  
And we shall find more spots than Leopard's skin.  
Then who makes us such judges over all?  
But farewell now, thy fault is no great sin,  
Come, come my curs, 'tis late I will go in.  
And away with his dogs straight he went as if he would be sure to have the last word: all the assembly laughing at the lustiness of the old fellow who departed muttering to himself he had seen more in his days then twenty of them. But Basilius, who never before had heard Philisides (though having seldom failed to beat these metings) desired him he would begin some Ecloge with some other of the shepherds according to the accustomed guise. Philisides though very unwilling, at the King's cōmaundemēt offered to sing with Thyrsis. But he directly refused him, seeing, he should within few days be married to the fair Kala; and since he had gotten his desire he would sing no more. Then the king willed Philisides to declare the discourse of his own fortunes unknown to them as being a stranger in that country but he prayed the King to pardon him, the time being far to joyful to suffer the rehearsal of his miseries. But to satisfy Basilius someway, he began an Eclogue betwixt himself and the Echo, framing his voice so in those desert places as what words he would have the Echo reply unto, those he would sing higher than the rest; and so, kindly framed a disputation betwixt himself and it, which with these hexam eters in the following order he uttered.  Philisides. Echo. 
Fair Rocks, goodly rivers, sweet woods, when shall I see peace? Peace,  
Peace? what bars me my tongue? who is it that comes me so nigh? I.  
Oh! I do know what guest I have met; it is Echo. it is Echo.  
Well met Echo, approach: then tell me thy will too. I will too.  
Echo, what do I get yielding my spirit to my grieves? Grieves.  
What medicine may I find for a grief that draw's me to death? Death.  
O poisonous medicine! what worse to me can be then it? It.  
In what state was I then, when I took this deadly disease? Ease.  
And what manner a mind which had to that humour a vain? Vain.  
Hath not Reason enough vehemence the desire to reprove? Prove.  
Oft prove I: but what salve, when Reason seeks to be gone? One  
Oh! what is it? what is it that may be a salve to my Love? love.  
What do lovers seek for, long seeking for to enjoy? joy..  
What be the joys which for to enjoy they went to the pains? pains.  
Then to an earnest Love what doth best victory lend? End.  
End? but I can never end, love will not give me the leave? Leave.  
How be the minds disposed that can not taste thy physic? Sick.  
Yet say again thy advise for th' evils that I told thee? I told thee.  
Doth th'infected wretch, of his harm th' extremity know? No.  
But if he know not his harms what guides hath he whilst he be blind? Blind.  
What blind guides can he have that leans to a fancy? A fancy.  
Can fancies want eyes, or he fall that steppeth aloft? Oft.  
What causes first made these torments on me to light? Light.  
Can then a cause be so light that forceth a man to go die? Yea.  
Yet tell what light thing I had in me to draw me to die? Eye.  
Eyesight made me to yield, but what first pierced to my eyes? Eyes.  
Eyes hurters, eyes hurt but what from them to me falls? Falls.  
But when I first did fall, what brought most fall to my heart? Arte.  
Art? what can be that art that thou dost mean by thy speech? Speech.  
What be the fruits of speaking art? what grows by the words? Words.  
O much more than words: those words served more me to bless. Less.  
Oh when shall I be known, where most to be known I do long? Long.  
Long be thy woes for such news, but how recks she my thoughts? Ought.  
Then then what do I gain, since unto her will I do wind? Wind.  
Wind, tempests, & storms, yet in end what gives she desire? Ire,  
Silly reward! yet among women hath she of virtue the most, Most.  
What great name may I give to so heavenly a woman? A woman,  
Woe, but seems to me joy, that agrees to my thought so. I thought so.  
Think so, for of my desired bliss it is only the course. Curse.  
Cursed be thyself for cursing that which leads me to joys. Toys.  
What be the sweet creatures where lowly demands be not heard? Hard.  
What makes them be unkind? speak for th' hast narroly pride? Pride.  
Whence can pride come there, since springs of beauty be thence? Thence,  
Horrible is this blasphemy unto the most holy. O lie.  
Thou list false Echo, their minds as virtue be just, Iust.  
Mockest thou those Diamonds which only be matched by the gods? Ods.  
Odds? what an odds is their since them to the heavens I prefer? err.  
Tell yet again me the names of these fair formed to do evils. Deu'lls.  
Deu'lls? if in hell such deu'lls do a bide, to the hells I do go. Go.  
Philisides was commended for the placing of his Echo, but little did he regard their praises, who had set the foundation of his honour there, where he was most despised: and therefore returning again to the train of his desolate pensiveness, Zelmane's seeing no body offer to fill the stage, as if her long restrained conceits did now burst out of prison: she thus desiring her voice should be accorded to nothing, but to Philoclea's ears, threw down the burden of her mind in Anacreous kind of verses.  

My muse what ails this ardour  
To blaze my only secrets?  
Alas it is no glory  
To sing my own decayed state.  
Alas it is no comfort,  
To speak without an answer.  
Alas it is no wisdom  
To show the wound without cure,   

My muse what ails this ardour?  
Mine eyes be dim, my limbs shake,  
My voice is hoarse, my throat scerchte,  
My tongue to this my roof cleaves,  
My fancy amazed, my thought dulled,  
My heart doth ache, my life faints,  
My soul begins to take leave.  
So great a passion all feel,  
To think a soar so deadly  
I should so rashly rip up.   

My muse what ails this ardour?  
If that to sing thou art bend  
Go sing the fall of old, Thebes  
The wars of ugly Centaurs,  
The life, the death of Hector  
So may the song be famous,  
Or if to love thou art bend,  
Rocount the rape of Europe,  
Adonis' end, Venus' net  
The sleepy kiss the moon stolen:  
So may thy song be pleasant.   

My muse what ails this ardour  
To blaze my only secrets?  
Wherein do only flourish  
The sorry fruits of anguish.  
The song thereof a last will,  
The tunes be cries, the words plaints,  
The singer is the songs theme  
When no ear can have joy,  
Nor eye receive due object  
Ne pleasure here, ne fame get.   

My muse what ails this ardour?  
Alas she saith I am thine,  
So are thy pains my pains too.  
Thy heated heart my seat is  
Wherein I burn thy breath is  
My voice, too hot to keep in,  
Besides lo here the author  
Of all thy harms: Lo here she,  
That only can redress thee,  
Of her I will demand help.   

My muse I yield, my muse sing,  
But all thy song herein knit,  
The life we lead is all love:  
The love we hold is all death,  
Nor ought I crave to feed life,  
Nor ought I seek to shun death,  
But only that my goddess  
My life my death do count hers.   
Basilius when she had fully ended her song, fell prostrate upon the ground, and thanked the Gods they had preserved his life so long, as to hear the very music they themselves used, in an earthly body. And then with like grace to Zelmane never left entreating her till she had (taking a Lyra Basilius held for her) sung these Phaleuciakes 

Reason, tell me thy mind, if here be reason  
In this strange violence, to make resistance.  
Where sweet graces erect the stately banner  
Of virtues regiment, shining in harness  
Of fortunes Diadems, by beauty mustered.  
Say then Reason, I say what is thy counsel?   

Her lose hair be the shot, the breast the pikes be,  
Skowts each motion is, the hands be horsemen,  
Her lips are the riches the wars to maintain,  
Where well couched abides a coffer of pearl,  
Her legs carriage is of all the sweet camp:  
Say then Reason I say what is thy counsel?   

Her cannons be her eyes, mine eyes the walls be,  
Which at first voly gave too open entry,  
Nor rampart did abide; my brain was up blown,  
Undermined with a speech the pearcer of thoughts.  
Thus weakened by myself, no help remaineth  
Say then Reason; I say, what is thy counsel?   

And now fame the herald of her true honour,  
Doth proclaim with a sound made all by men's mouths  
That nature sovereign of earthly dwellers,  
Commands all creatures, to yield obeisance  
Under this, this her own, her only darling.  
Say then Reason I say what is thy counsel?   

Reason sighs but in end he thus doth answer.  
Nought can reason avail in heavenly matters.  
Thus nature's Diamond receives thy conquest,  
Thus pure pearl, I do yield, my senses and soul.  
Thus sweet pain, I do yield, what ere I can yield,  
Reason look to thyself, I serve a goddess.    
Dorus had long he thought kept silence from saying, somewhat which might tend to the glory of her in whom all glory to his seeming was included, but now he broke it, singing these verses called Asclepiadikes.  

O sweet woods the delight of solitariness!  
O how much I do like your solitariness!  
where man's mind hath afreed consideration  
Of goodness to receive lovely direction.  
Where senses do behold th'order of heavenly host,  
And wise thoughts do behold what the creator is:  
Contemplation here holdeth his only seat:  
Bowndedwith no limits, borne with a wing of hope  
climes even unto the stars, Nature is under it.  
Nought disturbs thy quiet, all to thy service yields,  
Each sight draws on a thought, thought mother of science,  
Sweet birds kindly do grant harmony unto thee,  
Fair trees shade is enough fortification,  
Nor danger to thyself if be not in thyself.   

O sweet woods the delight of solitariness!  
O how much I do like your solitariness!  
Here nor treason is hid, veiled in innocence,  
Nor envies snaky eye, finds any harbour here,  
Nor flatterers venomous insinuations,  
Nor coming humorists puddled opinions,  
Nor courteous ruin of proffered usury,  
Nor time prattled away, cradle of ignorance,  
Nor causeless duty, nor cumber of arrogance,  
Nor trifling title of vanity dazzleth us,  
Nor golden manacles, stand for a paradise,  
Here wrongs name is unheard: slander a monster is  
Keep thy spirit from abuse, here no abuse doth haunt.  
What man grafts in a tree dissimulation?   

O sweet woods the delight of solitariness!  
O how well I do like your solitariness!  
Yet dear soil, if a soul closedin a mansion  
As sweet as violets, fair as lily is,  
Straight as Cedar, a voice stains the Canary birds,  
Whose shade safely doth hold, danger avoideth her:  
Such wisdom, that in her lives speculation:  
Such goodness that in her simplicity triumphs:  
Where envies snaky eye, winketh or else dieth,  
Slander wants aprelext, flattery gone beyond:  
Oh! if such a one have bend, to a lonely life,  
Her steps glad we receive, glad we receive her eyes.  
And think not she doth hurt our solitariness,  
For such company decks such solitariness.   
The other Shepherds were offering themselves to have continued the sports, but the night had so quietly spent the most part of herself among them that the king for that time licenced them. And so bringing Zelmane to her lodging, who would much rather have done the same for Philoclea, of all sides they went to counterfeit a sleep in their bed, for a true one there agonies could not afford them. Yet there they Lay (so might they be most solitary for the food of their thoughts) till it was near noon the next day, after which Basilius was to continue his Apollo devotions, and the other to meditate upon their private desires.   
The end of the second Eclogues.   

THE third BOOK OF THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.  
THis last days danger, having made Pamalaes' love discern, what a loss it should have suffered, if Dorus had been destroyed, bred such tenderness of kindness in her toward him: that she could no longer keep love from looking out through her eyes, and going forth in her words; whom before as a close prisoner she had to her heart only committed; so as finding not only by his speeches and letters, but by the pitiful oration of a languishing behaviour, and the easily discyphered character of a sorrowful face, that Despair began now to threaten him destruction, she grew content both to pity him, and let him see she pitied him: as well by making her own beautiful beams to thaw away the former icinesse of her behaviour, as by entertaining his discourses (whensoever he did use them) in the third person of Musidorus; to so far a degree, that in the end she said, that if she had been the Princes, whom that disguised Prince had virtuously loved, she would have requited his faith with faithful affection: finding in her heart, that nothing could so heartily love as virtue: with many more words to the same sense of noble favour, and chaste plainness. Which when at the first it made that expected bliss shine upon Dorus; he was like one frozen with extremity of cold, over-hastilye brought to a great fire, rather oppressed, then relieved with such a lightning of felicity. But after the strength of nature had made him able to feel the sweetness of joyfulness, that again being a child of Passion, and never acquainted with mediocrity, could not set bounds upon his happiness, nor be content to give Desire a kingdom, but that it must be an unlimited Monarchy. So that the ground he stood upon being ouerhigh in happiness, and slippery through affection, he could not hold himself from falling into such an error, which with sighs blew all comfort out of his breast, & washed away all cheerfulness of his cheer, with tears. For this favour filling him with hope, Hope encouraging his desire, and Desire considering nothing, but opportunity: one time (Mopsa being called away by her mother, and he left alone with Pamela) the sudden occasion called Love, and that never staid to ask Reasons leave; but made the toomuch loving Dorus take her in his arms, offering to kiss her, and as it were, to establish a trophy of his victory. But she, as if she had been ready to drink a wine of excellent taste & colour, which suddenly she perceived had poison in it, so did she put him away from her: looking first up to heaven, as amazed to find herself so beguiled in him; then laying the cruel punishment upon him of angry Love, and lowering beauty, showing disdain, & a despising disdain, Away (said she) unworthy man to love, or to be loved. Assure thyself, I hate myself for being so deceived; judge then what I do thee, for deceiving me. Let me see thee no more, the only fall of my judgement, and stain of my conscience. With that she called Mopsa, not staying for any answer (which was no other, but a flood of tears) which she seemed not to mark (much less to pity) & chid her for having so left her alone.  
It was not an amazement, it was not a sorrow, but it was even a death, which then laid hold of Dorus: which certainly at that instant would have killed him, but that the fear to tarry longer in her presence (contrary to her commandment) gave him life to carry himself away from her sight, and to run into the woods, where throwing himself down at the foot of a tree, he did not fall to lamentation, for that proceeded of pitying) or grieving for himself (which he did no way) but to curses of his life, as one that detested himself. For finding himself not only unhappy, but unhappy after being fallen from all happiness: and to be fallen from all happiness, not by any misconceiving, but by his own fault, and his fault to be done to no other but to Pamela: he did not tender his own estate, but despised it; greedily drawing into his mind, all conceits which might more and more torment him. And so remained he two days in the woods, disdaining to give his body food, or his mind comfort, loving in himself nothing, but the love of her. And indeed that love only strove with the fury of his anguish, telling it, that if it destroyed Dorus, it should also destroy the image of her that lived in Dorus: and when the thought of that was crept in unto him, it began to win of him some compassion to the shrine of that image, & to bewail not for himself (whom he hated, but that so notable a love should perish. Than began he only so far to wish his own good, as that Pamela might pardon him the fault, though not the punishment: and the uttermost height he aspired unto, was, that after his death she might yet pity his error, & know that it proceeded of love, & not of boldness. That conceit found such friendship in his thoughts, that at last he yielded since he was banished her presence, to seek some means by writing to show his sorrow and testify his repentance. Therefore getting him the necessary instruments of writing, he thought best to counterfeit his hand (fearing that as already she knew his, she would cast it away as soon as she saw it) & to put it in verse, hoping that would draw her on to read the more, choosing the Elegiac as fittest for mourning: but never pen did more quakingly perform his office; never was paper more double moistened with ink & tears; never words more slowly married together, & never the Muse's more tired than now with changes & rechanges of his devices: fearing how to end, before he had resolved how to begin, mistrusting each word, condemning each sentence. This word was not significant, that word was too plain: this would not be conceived, the other would be ill conceived. Here Sorrow was not enough expressed; there he seemed too much for his own sake to be sorry. This sentence rather showed art, them passion; that sentence rather foolishly passionate, them forcibly moving. At last, marring with mending and putting out better, than he left, he made an end of it; and being ended, was diverse times ready to tear it: till his reason assuring him, the more he studied, the worse it grew, he folded it up, devoutly invoking good acceptation unto it; and watching his time, when they were all gone one day to dinner (saving Mopsa) to the other lodge, stolen up into Pamelaes' chamber, and in her standish (which first he kissed; and craved of it a safe and friendly keeping) left it there, to be seen at her next using her ink (himself returning again to be true prisoner to desperate sorrow) leaving her standish upon her bed's head, to give her the more occasion to mark it: which also fell out.  
For she finding it at her after noone-returne, in another place than she left it, opened it. But when she saw the letter, her heart gave her from whence it came. And therefore clapping it to again, she went away from it, as if it had been a contagious garment of an infected person: and yet was not long away, but that she wished she had read it, though she were loath to read it. Shall I (said she) second his boldness so far, as to read his presumptuous letters? And yet (said she) he sees me not now to grow the bolder thereby: And how can I tell, whether they be presumptuous? The paper came from him & therefore not worthy to be received? and yet the paper (she thought was not guilty. At last, she concluded, it were not much amiss to look it over, that she might out of his words pick some further quarrel against him. Then she opened it, and threw it away, and took it up again, till (ere she were aware) her eyes would needs read it, containing this matter.  
Unto a caitiff wretch, whom long affliction holdeth,  
and now fully believes help to be quite perished;  
Grant yet, grant yet a look, to the last monument of his anguish,  
O you (alas so I find) cause of his only ruin.  
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruel) that pity may enter  
into thy heart by the sight of this Epistle I send:  
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recital,  
lest it might th'allure home to thyself to return,  
(Unto thyself I do mean those graces dwell so within thee,  
gratefulness, sweetness, holy love, hearty regard)  
Such thing cannot I seek (Despair hath given me my answer  
Despair most tragical clause to a deadly request)  
Such thing cannot he hope, that knows thy determinat hardness;  
hard like a rich marble: hard, but a fair Diamond.  
Can those eyes that of eyes drowned in most hearty flowing tears,  
(tears and tears of a man) had no return to remorse;  
Can those eyes now yield to the kind conceit of a sorrow,  
which ink only relates, but ne laments, ne replies?  
Ah, that, that I do I not conceive (though that to my bliss were)  
more than Nestor's years, more than a King's diadem.  
Ah, that, that do I not conceive; to the heaven when a mouse climbs  
then may I hope t'achieve grace of a heavenly tiger.  
But, but alas, like a man condemned doth crave to be heard speak  
not that he hopes for amends of the desaster he feels,  
But finding th'approach of death with an inly relenting,  
gives an adieu to the world, as to his only delight:  
Right so my boiling heart, enflamed with fire of a fair eye,  
bubbling out doth breath signs of his huge dolours:  
Now that he finds to what end his life, and love be reserved,  
and that he thence must part where to live only he lived.  
O fair, O fairest, are such thy triumphs to thy fairness?  
can death beauty become? must I be such monument?  
Must I be only the mark, shall prove that virtue is angry?  
shall prove that fierceness can with a white dove abide?  
Shall to the world appear that faith and love be rewarded  
with mortal disdain, bend to unendly revenge?  
Unto revenge? O sweet, on a wretch wilt thou be revenged?  
shall such high Planets tend to the loss of a worm?  
And to revenge who do bend, would in that kind be revenged,  
as th'offence was done, and go beyond if he can.  
All my'offence was Love: with Love then must I be chastened,  
and with more, by the laws that to revenge do belong.  
If that love be a fault, more fault in you to be lovely:  
Love never had me oppressed, but that I saw to be loved.  
You be the cause that I loud: what Reason blameth a shadow,  
that with a body it goes? since by a body it is.  
If that Love you did hate, you should your beauty have hidden:  
you should those fair eyes have with a veil covered.  
But fooole, fool that I am, those eyes would shine from a dark cave.  
what veils then do prevail, but to a more miracle?  
Or those golden locks, those locks which lock me to bondage,  
torn you should disperse unto the blasts of a wind.  
But fool, fool that I am, though I had but a hair of her head found,  
even as I am, so I should unto that hair be a thrall.  
Or with fair hands-nailes (o hand which nails me to this death)  
you should have your face (since Love is ill) blemished.  
O wretch, what do I say? should that fair face be defaced?  
should my toomuch sight cause so true a Sun to be lost?  
First let Cimmerian darkness be my onel'habitacion:  
first be mine eyes pulled out, first be my brain perished;  
Ere that I should consent to do so excessive a damage  
unto the earth, by the hurt of this her heavenly jewel.  
O not, but such love you say you could have afoorded,  
as might learn Temperance void of a rages events.  
O sweet simplicity: from whence should Love be so learned?  
unto Cupid that boy shall a Pedante be found?  
Well: but faulty I was: Reason to my Passion yielded,  
Passion unto my rage, Rage to a hasty revenge.  
But what's this for a fault, for which such faith be abolished,  
such saith, so staineles, inviolate, violent?  
Shall I not? o may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance,  
what sweet joys I had once, and what a place I did hold?  
Shall I not once object, that you, you granted a favour  
unto the man, whom now such miseries you award?  
Bend your thoughts to the dear sweet words which then to me given were:  
think what a world is now, think who hath altered her heart.  
What? was I than worthy such good, now worthy such evil?  
now fled, then cherished? then so nigh, now so remote?  
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosy proceeding,  
say, that I should well find in what a care I was had?  
With much more: now what do I find, but Care to abhor me,  
Care that I sink in grief, Care that I live banished?  
And banished do I live, nor now will seek a recou'rie,  
since so she will, whose will is to me more than a law.  
If then a man in most ill case may give you a farewell;  
farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.  
What this would have wrought in her, she herself could not tell: for, before her Reason could moderate the disputation between Favour & Faultiness, her sister, and Miso, called her down to entertain Zelmane, who was come to visit the two sisters; about whom, as about two Poles, the Sky of Beauty was turned: while Gynoecia wearied her bed with her melancholy sickness, and made Misos shrewdness (who like a spirit, set to keep a treasure, bard Zelmane from any further conference) to be the Lieutenant of her jealousy: Both she and her husband, driving Zelmane to such a straight of resolution, either of impossible granting, or dangerous refusing, as the best escape she had, was (as much as she could) to avoid their company. So as, this day, being the fourth day after the uproar, (Basilius being with his sick wife, conferring upon such examinations, as Philanax, and other of his noblemen had made of this late sedition, all touching Cecropia with vehement suspicion of giving either flame or fuel unto it) Zelmane came with her body, to find her mind, which was gone long before her, and had gotten his seat in Philoclea: who now with a bashful cheerfulness (as though she were ashamed, that she could not choose but be glad) joined with her sister, in making much of Zelmane.  
And so as they sat devising how to give more feathers to the wings of Time, there came to the lodge door, six maids, all in one livery of scarlet petticoats, which were tucked up almost to their knees, the petticoats themselves being in many places garnished with leaves, their legs naked, saving that above the ankles they had little black silk laces, upon which did hang a few silver bells: like which they had a little above their elbows, upon their bare arms. Upon their hair they ware garlands of roses and gilly-flowers; and the hair was so dressed, as that came again above the garlands; enterchaunging a mutual covering: so as it was doubtful, whether the hair dressed the garlands, or the garlands dressed the hair. Their breasts liberal to the eye: the face of the foremost of them, in excellency fair; and of the rest lovely, if not beautiful: and beautiful might have been, if they had not suffered greedy Phoebus, overoften, and hard, to kiss them. Their countenances full of a graceful gravity; so as the gesture matched with the apparel, it might seem a wanton modesty, and an enticing soberness. Each of them had an instrument of music in their hands, which consorting their well-pleasing tunes, did charge each ear with unsensibleness, that did not lend itself unto them. The Music entering alone into the lodge, the Ladies were all desirous to see from whence so pleasant a guest was come: and therefore went out together; where before they could take the pains to doubt, much less to ask the question of their quality, the fairest of them (with a gay, but yet discreet demeanour) in this sort spoke unto them. Most excellent Ladies, (whose excellencies have power to make cities envy these woods, and solitariness to be accounted the sweetest company) vouchsafe our message your gracious hearing, which as it comes from Love, so comes it from lovely persons. The maids of all this coast of Arcadia, understanding the often access that certain shepherds of these quarters, are allowed to have in this forbidden place; and that their rural sports are not disdained of you, have been stirred with emulation to them, & affection to you, to bring forth some thing, which might as well breed your contentment: and therefore hoping that the goodness of their intention, & the hurtlesnes of their sex shall excuse the breach of the commandment in coming to this place unsent for, they chose out us, to invite both your princely parents, and yourselves, to a place in the woods about half a mile hence: where they have provided some such sports, as they trust your gracious acceptations will interpret to be delightful. We have been at the other lodge, but finding them there, busied in weightier affairs, our trust is, that you yet will not deny the shining of your eyes upon us. The Ladies stood in some doubt, whether they should go or not, lest Basilius might be angry withal. But Miso (that had been at none of the pastorals, & had a great desire to lead her old senses abroad to some pleasure) told them plainly, they should nor will nor choose, but go thither, and make the honest country people know, that they were not so squeamish as folks thought of them. The Ladies glad to be warranted by her authority; with a smiling humbleness obeyed her: Pamela only casting a seeking look, whether she could see Dorus (who poor wretch wandered half mad for sorrow in the woods, crying for pardon of her, who could not hear him) but indeed was grieved for his absence, having given the wound to him through her own heart. But so the three Ladies & Miso went with those six Nymphs, conquering the length of the way with the force of music, leaving only Mopsa behind, who disgraced weeping with her countenance, because her mother would not suffer her to show her newskoured face among them. But the place appointed (as they thought) met them half in their way, so well were they pleased with the sweet tunes & pretty conversation of their inviters. There found they in the midst of the thickest part of the wood, a little square place, not burdened with trees, but with a board covered, & beautified with the pleasantest fruits, that sunburnt Autumn could deliver unto them. The maids besought the Ladies to sit down and taste of the swelling grapes, which seemed great with child of Bacchus: and of the divers coloured plums, which gave the eye a pleasant taste before they came to the mouth. The Ladies would not show to scorn their provision, but eat, & drank a little of their cool wine, which seemed to laugh for joy to come to such lips.  
But after the collation was ended, and that they looked for the coming forth of such devices, as were prepared for them, there rushed out of the woods twenty armed men, who round about environed them, and laying hold of Zelmane before she could draw her sword, and taking it from her, put hoods over the heads of all four, and so muffled, by force set them on horseback and carried them away; the sisters in vain crying for succour, while Zelmane's heart was  rend in pieces with rage of the injury, and disdain of her fortune. But when they had carried them a four or five mile further, they left Miso with a gag in her mouth, and bound hand and foot, so to take her fortune: and brought the three Ladies (by that time that the Night seemed with her silence to conspire to their treason) to a castle about ten mile from the Lodges: where they were fain to take a boat which waited for them. For the castle stood in the midst of a great lake upon a high rock, where partly by Art, but principally by Nature, it was by all men esteemed impregnable. But at the Castle gate their faces were discovered, & there were met with a great number of torches, after whom the sisters knew their aunt in law, Cecropia. But that sight increased the deadly terror of the Princesses, looking for nothing but death, since they were in the power of the wicked Cecropia: who yet came unto them, making courtesy the outside of mischief, and desiring them not to be discomforted: for they were in a place dedicated to their service, Philoclea (with a look where Love shined through the mist of Fear) besought her to be good unto them, having never deserved evil of her. But Pamela's high heart disdaining humbleness to injury, Aunt, (said she) what you have determined of us I pray you do it speedily: for my part I look for no service, where I find violence.  
But Cecropia (using no more words with them) conveyed them all three to several lodgings (Zelmane's heart so swelling with spite, that she could not bring forth a word) and so left them: first taking from them their knives, because they should do themselves no hurt, before she had determined of them: and then giving such order that they wanted nothing but liberty, & comfort, she went to her son, who yet kept his bed, because of his wound he had received of Zelmane, & told him, whom now he had in his power. Amphialus was but even then returned from far countries, where he had won immortal fame, both of courage & courtesy, when he met with the Princesses, and was hurt by Zelmane, so as he was utterly ignorant of all his mother's wicked devices, to which he would never have consented, being (like a rose out of a brier) an excellent son of an evil mother: and now when he heard of this, was as much amazed, as if he had seen the Sun fall to the earth. And therefore desired his mother that she would tell him the whole discourse, how all these matters had happened. Son (said she) I will do it willingly, & since all is done for you, I will hid nothing from you. And howsoever I might be ashamed to tell it strangers, who would think it wickedness, yet what is done for your sake (how evil soever to others) to you is virtue. To begin then even with the beginning, this doting fool Basilius that now reigns, having lived unmarried till he was nigh threescore years old (and in all his speeches affirming, and in all his doings assuring, that he never would marry) made all the eyes of this country to be bend upon your father, his only brother (but younger by thirty years) as upon the undoubted successor: being indeed a man worthy to reign, thinking nothing enough for himself: where this goose (you see) puts down his head, before there be any thing near to touch him. So that he holding place and estimation as heir of Arcadia, obtained me of my father the King of Argos, his brother helping to the conclusion, with protesting his bachelerly intention: for else you may be sure the King of Argos, nor his daughter would have suffered their Royal blood to be stained with the base name of subjection. So that I came into this country as apparent Princess thereof, and accordingly was courted, and followed of all the Ladies of this country. My port and pomp did well become a King of Argos daughter: in my presence their tongues were turned into ears, and their ears were captives unto my tongue. Their eyes admired my Majesty, & happy was he or she, on whom I would suffer the beams thereof to fall. Did I go to church? it seemed the very Gods waited for me, their devotions not being solemnised till I was ready. Did I walk abroad to see any delight? Nay, my walking was the delight itself: for to it was the concourse; one thrusting upon another, who might show himself most diligent and serviceable towards me: my sleeps were inquired after, and my wake never unsaluted: the very gate of my house full of principal persons, who were glad, if their presents had received a grateful acceptation. And in this felicity wert thou borne, the very earth submitting itself unto thee to be trodden on as by his Prince; & to that pass had my husband's virtue (by my good help) within short time brought it, with a plot we laid, as we should not have needed to have waited the tedious work of a natural end of Basilius; when the heavens (I think envying my great felicity) then stopped thy father's breath, when he breathed nothing but power and sovereignty. Yet did not thy orphancie, or my widowhood, deprive us of the delightful prospect, which the hill of honour doth yield, while expectation of thy succession did bind dependencies unto us.  
But before, (my son) thou wert come to the age to feel the sweetness of authority, this beast (whom I can never name with patience) falsely and foolishly married this Gynoecia, than a young girl, and brought her to sit above me in all feasts to turn her shoulder to mewarde in all our solemnities. It is certain, it is not so great a spite to be surmounted by strangers, as by ones own allies. Think then what my mind was, since withal there is no question: The fall is greater from the first to the second, then from the second to the undermost. The rage did swell in my heart, so much the more as it was feign to be suppressed in silence, and disguised with humbleness. But above all the rest, the grief of grieves was, when with these two daughters (now thy prisoners (she cut of all hope of thy succession. It was a tedious thing to me; that my eyes should look lower than any bodies, that (my self being by) another's voice then mine, should be more respected. But it was in supportable unto me, to think that not only I, but thou shouldst spend all thy time in such misery and that the Sun should see my eldest son less than a Prince. And though I had been a saint I could not choose, finding the change this change of fortune bred unto me, for now from the multitude of followers, silence grew to be at my gate, & absence in my presence. The guess of my mind could prevail more before; then now many of my earnest requests. And thou (my dear son) by the fickle multitude no more than an ordinary person (borne of the mud of the people) regarded. But I (remembering that in all miseries weeping becomes fools, and practise wise folks) have tried divers means to pull us out of the mire of subjection. And though many time's Fortune failed me, yet did I never fail myself. Wild beasts I kept in a cave hard by the lodges, which I caused by night to be fed in the place of their pastorales, I as then living in my house hard by the place, and against the hour they were to meet (having kept the beasts without meat) then let them lose, knowing that they would seek their food there, and devour what they found. But blind Fortune hating sharp-sighted inventions, made them unluckily to be killed. After I used my servant Clinias to stir a notable tumult of country people: but those louts were too gross instruments for delicate conceits. Now lastly, finding Philanax his examinations grow dangerous, I thought to play double or quit; and with a sleight I used of my fine-witted wench Artesia, with other maids of mine, would have sent these goodly inheritrixes of Arcadia, to have pleaded their cause before Pluto, but that over-fortunatly for them, you made me know the last day how vehemently this childish passion of love, doth torment you. Therefore I have brought them unto you, yet wishing rather hate then love in you. For Hate often begetteth victory; Love commonly is the instrument of subjection. It is true, that I would also by the same practice have entrapped the parents, but my maids failed of it, not daring to tarry long about it. But this sufficeth, since (these being taken away) you are the undoubted inheritor, and Basilius will not long over-live this loss.  
O mother (said Amphialus) speak not of doing them hurt, no more them to mine eyes, or my heart, or if I have any thing more dear than eyes, or heart unto me. Let others find what sweetness they will in ever fearing, because they are ever feared: for my part, I will think myself highly entitled, if I may be once by Philoclea accepted for a servant. Well (said Cecropia) I would I had borne you of my mind, as well as of my body: then should you not have sunk under these base weaknesses. But since you have tied your thoughts in so wilful a knot, it is happy my policy hath brought matters to such a pass, as you may both enjoy affection, and upon that build your sovereignty. Alas (said Amphialus) my heart would feign yield you thanks for setting me in the way of felicity, but that fear kills them in me, before they are fully borne. For if Philoclea be displeased, how can I be pleased? if she count it unkindness, shall I give tokens of kindness? perchance she condemns me of this action, and shall I triumph? perchance she drowns now the beauties I love with sorrowful tears, and where is then my rejoicing? You have reason said (Cecropia with a feigned gravity) I will therefore send her away presently, that her contentment may be recovered. No good mother (said Amphialus) since she is here, I would not for my life constrain presence, but rather would I die then consent to absence. Pretty intricate follies (said Cecropia) but get you up, and see how you can prevail with her, while I go to the other sister. For after we shall have our hands full to defend ourselves, if Basilius' hap to besiege us. But remembering herself, she turned back and asked him what he would have done with Zelmane, since now he might be revenged of his hurt. Nothing but honourably, answered Amphialus, having deserved no other of me, especially being (as I hear) greatly cherished of Philoclea: and therefore I could wish they were lodged together. O no (said Cecropia) company confirms resolutions, and loneliness breeds a weariness of ones thoughts, and so a sooner consenting to reasonable proffers.  
But Amphialus (taking of his mother Philoclea's knives, which he kept as a relic, since she had worn them) got up, and calling for his richest apparel, nothing seemed sumptuous enough for his mistress' eyes: and that which was costly, he feared were not dainty: and though the invention were delicate, he misdoubted the making. As careful he was too of the colour; lest if gay, he might seem to glory in his injury, & her wrong; if mourning, it might strike some evil presage unto her of her fortune. At length he took a garment more rich than glaring, the ground being black velvet, richly embroidered with great pearl, & precious stones, but they set so among certain tuffes of cypress, that the cypress was like black clouds, through which the stars might yield a dark lustre. About his neck he ware a broad & gorgeous collar; whereof the pieces interchangeably answering; the one was of diamonds & pearl, set with a white enamel, so as by the cunning of the workman it seemed like a shining ice, and the other piece being of Rubies, and Opals, had a fiery glistering, which he thought pictured the two passions of Fear & Desire, wherein he was enchained. His hurt (not yet fully well) made him a little halt, but he strove to give the best grace he could unto his halting.  
And in that sort he went to Philoclea's Chamber: whom he found (because her Chamber was over-lightsome) sitting of that side of her bed which was from the window; which did cast such a shadow upon her, as a good Painter would bestow upon Venus, when under the trees she bewailed the murder of Adonis: her hands and fingers (as it were) indented one within the other: her shoulder leaning to her bed's head, and over her head a scarf, which did eclipse almost half her eyes, which under it fixed their beams upon the wall by, with so steady a manner, as if in that place they might well change, but not mend their object: and so remained they a good while after his coming in, he not daring to trouble her, nor she perceiving him, till that (a little varying her thoughts something quickening her senses) she heard him as he happened to stir his upper garment: and perceiving him, rose up, with a demeanour, where in the book of Beauty there was nothing to be read but Sorrow: for Kindness was blotted out, & Anger was never there.  
But Amphialus that had entrusted his memory with long and forcible speeches, found it so locked up in amazement, that he could pike nothing out of it, but the beseeching her to take what was done in good part, and to assure herself there was nothing but honour meant unto her person. But she making no other answer, but letting her hands fall one from the other, which before were joined (with eyes something cast aside, and a silent sigh) gave him to understand, that considering his doings, she thought his speech as full of incongruity, as her answer would be void of purpose: whereupon he kneeling down, and kissing her hand, (which she suffered with a countenance witnessing captivity, but not kindness) he besought her to have pity of him, whose love went beyond the bounds of conceit, much more of uttering: that in her hands the balance of his life or death did stand; whereto the least motion of hers would serve to determine, she being indeed the mistress of his life, and he her eternal slave; and with true vehemency besought her that he might hear her speak, whereupon she suffered her sweet breath to turn itself into these kind of words.  
Alas cousin, (said she) what shall my tongue be able to do, which is informed by the ears one way, and by the eyes another? You call for pity, and use cruelty; you say, you love me, and yet do the effects of enmity. You affirm your death is in my hands, but you have brought me to so near a degree to death, as when you will, you may lay death upon me: so that while you say I mistress of your life, I am not mistress of mine own. You entitle yourself my slave, but I am sure I am yours. If then violence, injury, terror, and depriving of that which is more dear than life itself, liberty, be fit orators for affection, you may expect that I will be easily persuaded. But if the dearness of our kindred breed any remorse in you, or there be any such thing in you, which you call love toward me, then let not my fortune be disgraced with the name of imprisonment: let not my heart waste itself by being vexed with feeling evil, and fearing worse. Let not me be a cause of my parents woeful destruction; but restore me to myself; and so doing I shall account I have received myself of you. And what I say for myself, I say for my dear sister, and my friend Zelmane: for I desire no well-being, without they may be partakers. With that her tears rained down from her heavenly eyes, and seemed to water the sweet and beautiful flowers of her face.  
But Amphialus was like the poor woman, who loving a tame Do she had, above all earthly things, having long played withal, and made it feed at her hand and lap, is constrained at length by famine (all her flock being spent, and she fallen into extreme poverty) to kill the Dear, to sustain her life. Many a pitiful look doth she cast upon it, and many a time doth she draw back her hand before she can give the stroke. For even so Amphialus by a hunger-starved affection, was compelled to offer this injury, and yet the same affection made him with a tormenting grief, think unkindness in himself, that he could find in his heart any way to restrain her freedom. But at length, neither able to grant, nor deny, he thus answered her. Dear Lady (said he) I will not say unto you (how justly soever I may do it) that I am nether author, nor accessary unto this your with holding. For since I do not redress it, I am as faulty as if I had begun it. But this I protest unto you (and this protestation of mine, let the heavens hear, and if I lie, let them answer me with a deadly thunderbolt) that in my soul I wish I had never seen the light, or rather, that I had never had a father to beget such a child, then that by my means those eyes should overflow their own beauties, then by my means the sky of your virtue should be overclowded with sorrow. But woe is me, most excellent Lady, I find myself most willing to obey you: neither truly do mine ears receive the least word you speak, with any less reverence, then as absolute, and unresistible commandments. But alas, that tyrant Love, (which now possesseth the hold of all my life and reason) will not way suffer it. It is Love, it is Love, not I, which disobey you. What then shall I say? but that I, who am ready to lie under your feet, to venture, nay to lose my life at your least commandment: I am not the stay of your freedom, but Love, Love, which ties you in your own knots. It is you yourself, that imprison yourself: it is your beauty which makes these castlewalles embrace you: it is your own eyes, which reflect upon themselves this injury. Then is there no other remedy, but that you some way vouchsafe to satisfy this loves vehemency; which (since it grew in yourself) without question you shall find it (far more than I) tractable.  
But with these words Philoclea fell to so extreme a quaking, and her lively whiteness did degenerate to such a deadly paleness, that Amphialus feared some dangerous trance: so that taking her hand, and feeling that it (which was wont to be one of the chief firebrands of Cupid) had all the sense of it wrapped up in coldness, he began humbly to beseech her to put away all fear, and to assure herself upon the vow he made thereof unto God, and herself, that the uttermost forces he would ever employ to conquer her affection, should be Desire, and Desert. That promise brought Philoclea again to herself, so that slowly lifting up her eyes upon him, with a countenance ever courteous, but then languishing, she told him, that he should do well to do so, if indeed he had ever tasted what true love was: for that where now she did bear him good will, she should (if he took any other way) hate, and abhor the very thought of him: assuring him withal, that though his mother had taken away her knives, yet the house of Death had so many doors, as she would easily fly into it, if ever she found her honour endangered.  
Amphialus having the cold ashes of Care cast upon the coals of Desire, leaving some of his mother's Gentlewomen to wait upon Philoclea, himself indeed a prisoner to his prisoner, and making all his authority to be but a footstool to Humbleness, went from her to his mother. To whom with words which Affection indited, but Amazement uttered, he delivered what had passed between him and Philoclea: beseeching her to try what her persuasions could do with her, while he gave order for all such things as were necessary against such forces, as he looked daily Basilius would bring before his castle. His mother bade him quiet him self, for she doubted not to take fit times. But that the best way was, first to let her own Passion a little tire itself.  
So they calling Clinias, and some other of their counsel, advised upon their present affairs. First, he dispatched private letters to all those principal Lords and gentlemen of the country, whom he thought either alliance, or friendship to himself might draw; with special motions from the general consideration of duty: not omitting all such, whom either youthful age, or youthlike minds did fill with unlimited desires: besides such, whom any discontentment made hungry of change, or an over-spended want, made want a civil war: to each (according to the counsel of his mother) conforming himself after their humours. To his friends, friendliness; to the ambitious, great expectations; to the displeased, revenge; to the greedy, spoil: wrapping their hopes with such cunning, as they rather seemed given over unto them as partakers: then promises sprung of necessity. Then sent he to his mother's brother, the king of Argos: but he was as then so over-laid with war himself, as from thence he could attend small succour.  
But because he knew how violently rumours do blow the sails of popular judgements, and how few there be that can discern between truth and truthlikenes, between shows and substance; he caused a justification of this his action to be written, whereof were sowed abroad many copies, which with some glosses of probability, might hid in deed the foulness of his treason; and from true commonplaces, fetch down most false applications. For, beginning how much the duty which is owed to the country, goes beyond all other duties, since in itself it contains them all, and that for the respect thereof, not only all tender respects of kindred, or whatsoever other friendships, are to be laid aside, but that even long-helde opinions (rather builded upon a secret of government, than any ground of truth) are to be forsaken. He fell by degrees to show, that since the end whereto any thing is directed, is ever to be of more noble reckoning, than the thing thereto directed: that therefore, the weal-public was more to be regarded, than any person or magistrate that thereunto was ordained. The feeling consideration whereof, had moved him (though as near of kin to Basilius as could be, yet) to set principally before his eyes, the good estate of so many thousands, over whom Basilius reigned: rather then so to hoodwink himself with affection, as to suffer the realm to run to manifest ruin. The care whereof, did kindly appertain to those who being subaltern magistrates and officers of the crown, were to be employed as from the Prince, so for the people; and of all other, especially himself, who being descended of the Royal race, and next heir male, Nature had no sooner opened his eyes, but that the soil where-upon they did look, was to look for at his hands a continual carefulness: which as from his childhood he had ever carried; so now finding that his uncle had not only given over all care of government, but had put it into the hands of Philanax, (a man neither in birth comparable to many, nor for his corrupt, proud, and partial dealing, liked of any) but beside, had set his daughters (in whom the whole estate, as next heirs thereunto, had no less interest than himself) in so unfit and il-guarded a place, as it was not only dangerous for their persons, but (if they should be conveyed to any foreign country) to the whole commonwealth pernicious: that therefore he had brought them into this strong castle of his, which way, if it might seem strange, they were to consider, that new necessities require new remedies: but there they should be served and honoured as belonged to their greatness, until by the general assembly of the estates, it should be determined how they should to their best (both private, and public) advantage be matched; vowing all faith & duty both to the father & children, never by him to be violated. But if in the mean time, before the estates could be assembled, he should be assailed, he would them for his own defence take arms: desiring all, that either tendered the dangerous case of their country, or in their heart's loved justice, to defend him in this just action. And if the Prince should command them otherwise, yet to know, that therein he was no more to be obeyed, then if he should call for poison to hurt himself withal: since all that was done, was done for his service, howsoever he might (seduced by Philanax) interpret of it: he protesting, that whatsoever he should do for his own defence, should be against Philanax, and no way against Basilius.  
To this effect, amplified with arguments and examples, and painted with rhetorical colours, did he sow abroad many discourses: which as they prevailed with some of more quick than sound conceit, to run his fortune with him; so in many did it breed a coolness, to deal violently against him, and a false-minded neutrality to expect the issue. But besides the ways he used to weaken the adverse party, he omitted nothing for the strengthening of his own. The chief trust whereof (because he wanted men to keep the field) he reposed in the surety of his castle; which at lest would win him much time, the mother of many mutations. To that therefore he bent both his outward and inward eyes, striving to make Art strive with Nature, to whether of them two that fortification should be most beholding. The seat Nature bestowed, but Art gave the building: which as his rocky hardness would not yield to undermining force, so to open assaults he took counsel of skill, how to make all approaches, if not impossible, yet difficult; as well at the foot of the castle, as round about the lake, to give unquiet lodgings to them, whom only enmity would make neighbours. Then omitted he nothing of defence, as well simple defence, as that which did defend by offending, fitting instruments of mischief to places, whence the mischief might be most liberally bestowed. Nether was his smallest care for victuals, as well for the providing that which should suffice, both in store & goodness, as in well preserving it, and wary distributing it, both in quantity, and quality; spending that first which would keep lest.  
But wherein he sharpened his wits to the pearcingest point, was touching his men (knowing them to be the weapon of weapons, & master-spring (as it were) which makes all the rest to stir; and that therefore in the Art of man stood the quintessence, and ruling skill of all prosperous government, either peaceable, or military) he chose in number as many as without pestering (and so danger of infection) his victual would serve for two year to maintain; all of able bodies, and some few of able minds to direct, not seeking many commanders, but contenting himself, that the multitude should have obeying wits, every one knowing whom he should command, and whom he should obey, the place where, and the matter wherein; distributing each office as near as he could, to the disposition of the person that should exercise it: knowing no love, danger, nor discipline can suddenly alter an habit in nature. Therefore would he not employ the still man to a shifting practice, nor the liberal man to be a dispenser of his victuals, nor the kindhearted man to be a punisher: but would exercise their virtues in sorts, where they might be profitable, employing his chief care to know them all particularly, and thoroughly, regarding also the constitution of their bodies; some being able better to abide watching, some hunger, some labour, making his benefit of each ability, and not forcing beyond power. Time to every thing by just proportion he allotted, and as well in that, as in every thing else, no small error winked at, lest greater should be animated. Even of vices he made his profit, making the cowardly Clinias to have care of the watch, which he knew his own fear would make him very wakefully perform. And before the siege began, he himself caused rumours to be sowed, and libels to be spread against himself, fuller of malice, then witty persuasion: partly, to know those that would be apt to stumble at such motions, that he might cull them from the faithfuller band; but principally, because in necessity they should not know when any such thing were in earnest attempted, whether it were, or not, of his own invention. But even then (before the enemy's face came near to breed any terror) did he exercise his men daily in all their charges, as if Danger had presently presented his most hideous presence: himself rather instructing by example, than precept; being neither more sparing in travail, nor spending in diet, than the meanest soldier: his hand and body disdaining no base matters, nor shrinking from the heavy.  
The only odds was, that when others took breath, he sighed; and when others rested, he crossed his arms. For Love passing thorough the pikes of Danger, and tumbling itself in the dust of Labour, yet still made him remember his sweet desire, and beautiful image. Often when he had begun to command one, somewhat before half the sentence were ended, his inward guest did so entertain him, that he would break it off, and a pretty while after end it, when he had (to the marvel of the standers by) sent himself in to talk with his own thoughts. Sometimes when his hand was lifted up to do some thing, as if with the sight of Gorgon's head he had been suddenly turned into a stone, so would he there abide with his eyes planted, and hand lifted, till at length, coming to the use of himself, he would look about whether any had perceived him; then would he accuse, and in himself condemn all those wits, that durst affirm Idleness to be the wellspring of love. O, would he say, all you that affect the title of wisdom, by ungrateful scorning the ornaments of Nature, am I now piping in a shadow? or do slothful feathers now enwrap me? Is not hate before me, and doubt behind me? is not danger of the one side, and shame of the other? And do I not stand upon pain, and travail, and yet over all, my affection triumphs? The more I stir about urgent affairs, the more me thinks the very stirring breeds a breath to blow the coals of my love: the more I exercise my thoughts, the more they increase the appetite of my desires. O sweet Philoclea (with that he would cast up his eyes wherein some water did appear, as if they would wash themselves against they should see her) thy heavenly face is my Astronomy; thy sweet virtue, my sweet Philosophy: let me profit therein, and farewell all other cogitations. But alas, my mind misgives me, for your planets bear a contrary aspect unto me. Woe, woe is me, they threaten my destruction: and whom do they threaten this destruction? even him that loves them; and by what means will they destroy, but by loving them? O dear (though killing) eyes, shall death head his dart with the gold of Cupid's arrow? Shall death take his aim from the rest of Beauty? O beloved (though hating Philoclea, how if thou be'st merciful, hath cruelty stolen into thee? Or how if thou be'st cruel, doth cruelty look more beautiful than ever Mercy did? Or alas, is it my destiny that makes Mercy cruel? Like an evil vessel which turns sweet liquor to sowernes; so when thy grace falls upon me, my wretched constitution makes it become fierceness. Thus would he exercise his eloquence, when she could not hear him, and be dumbe-striken, when her presence gave him fit occasion of speaking: so that his wit could find out no other refuge, but the comfort and counsel of his mother, desiring her (whose thoughts were unperplexed) to use for his sake the most prevailing manners of intercession.  
She seeing her sons safety depend thereon, (though her pride much disdained the name of a desirer) took the charge upon her, not doubting the easy conquest of an unexpert virgin, who had already with subtlety and impudency begun to undermine a monarchy. Therefore, weighing Philoclea's resolutions by the counterpoise of her own youthful thoughts, which she then called to mind, she doubted not at least to make Philoclea receive the poison distilled in sweet liquor, which she with little disguising had drunk up thirstily. Therefore she went softly to Philoclea's chamber, and peeping through the side of the door, then being a little open, she saw Philoclea sitting low upon a cushion, in such a given-over manner, that one would have thought, silence, solitariness, and melancholy were come there, under the ensign of mishap, to conquer delight, and drive him from his natural seat of beauty: her tears came dropping down like rain in Sunshine, and she not taking heed to wipe the tears, they hung upon her cheeks, and lips, as upon cherries which the dropping tree bedeweth. In the dressing of her hair and apparel, she might see neither a careful art, nor an art of carelessness, but even left to a neglected chance, which yet could no more unperfect her perfections, than a Die any way cast, could lose his squareness.  
Cecropia (stirred with no other pity, but for her son) came in, and haling kindness into her countenance, What ails this sweet Lady, (said she) will you mar so good eyes with weeping? shall tears take away the beauty of that complexion, which the women of Arcadia wish for, and the men long after? Fie of this peevish sadness; in sooth it is untimely for your age. Look upon your own body, and see whether it deserve to pine away with sorrow: see whether you will have these hands (with that she took one of her hands and kissing it, looked upon it as if she were enamoured with it) fade from their whiteness, which makes one desire to touch them; and their softness, which rebounds again a desire to look on them, and become dry, lean and yellow, and make every body wonder at the change, and say, that sure you had used some art before, which now you had left? for if the beauties had been natural, they would never so soon have been blemished. Take a glass, and see whether these tears become your eyes: although, I must confess, those eyes are able to make tears comely. Alas Madam (answered Philoclea) I know not whether my tears become mine eyes, but I am sure mine eyes thus beteared, become my fortune. Your fortune (said Cecropia) if she could see to attire herself, would put on her best raiments. For I see, and I see it with grief, and (to tell you true) unkindness: you misconstrue every thing, that only for your sake is attempted. You think you are offended and are indeed defended: you esteem yourself a prisoner, and are in truth a mistress: you fear hate, and shall find love. And truly, I had a thing to say to you, but it is no matter, since I find you are so obstinately melancholy, as that you woe his fellowship: I will spare my pains, and hold my peace: And so stayed indeed, thinking Philoclea would have had a female inquisitive of the matter. But she, who rather wished to unknown what she knew, then to burden her heart with more hopeless knowledge, only desired her to have pity of her, and if indeed she did mean her no hurt, then to grant her liberty: for else the very grief and fear, would prove her unappointed executioners. For that (said Cecropia) believe me upon the faith of a king's daughter, you shall be free, so soon as your freedom may be free of mortal danger, being brought hither for no other cause, but to prevent such mischiefs as you know not of. But if you think indeed to win me to have care of you, even as of mine own daughter, then lend your ears unto me, and let not your mind arm itself with a wilfulness to be flexible to nothing. But if I speak reason, let Reason have his due reward, persuasion. Then sweet niece (said she) I pray you presuppose, that now, even in the midst of your agonies, which you paint unto yourself most horrible, wishing with sighs, and praying with vows, for a soon and safe delivery. Imagine niece (I say) that some heavenly spirit should appear unto you, and bid you follow him through the door, that goes into the garden, assuring you, that you should thereby return to your dear mother, and what other delights soever your mind esteems delights: would you (sweet niece) would you refuse to follow him, and say, that if he led you not through the chief gate, you would not enjoy your over-desired liberty? Would you not drink the wine you thirst for, without it were in such a glass, as you especially fancied? tell me (dear niece:) but I will answer for you, because I know your reason & wit is such, as must needs conclude, that such niceness can no more be in you, to disgrace such a mind, than disgracefulnesse can have any place in so faultless a beauty. Your wisdom would assuredly determine, how the mark were hit, not whether the bow were of Ewe or no, wherein you shot. If this be so, & thus sure (my dear niece) it is, than (I pray you) imagine, that I am that same good Angel, who grieving in your grief, and in truth not able to suffer, that bitter sighs should be sent forth with so sweet a breath, am come to lead you, not only to your desired, and imagined happiness, but to a true and essential happiness; not only to liberty, but to liberty with commandment. The way I will show you (which if it be not the gate builded hitherto in your private choice, yet shall it be a door to bring you through a garden of pleasures, as sweet as this life can bring forth; nay rather, which makes this life to be a life: (My son,) let it be no blemish to him that I name him my son, who was your fathers own nephew: for you know I am no small king's daughter,) my son (I say) far passing the nearness of his kindred, with nearness of goodwill, and striving to match your matchless beauty with a matchless affection, doth by me present unto you the full enjoying of your liberty, so as with this gift you will accept a greater, which is, this castle, with all the rest which you know he hath, in honourable quantity; and will confirm his gift, and your receipt of both, with accepting him to be yours. I might say much both for the person and the matter; but who will cry out the Sun shines? It is so manifest a profit unto you, as the meanest judgement must strait apprehend it: so far is it from the sharpness of yours, thereof to be ignorant. Therefore (sweet niece) let your gratefulness be my intercession, and your gentleness my eloquence, and let me carry comfort to a heart which greatly needs it. Philoclea looked upon her, and cast down her eye again. Aunt (said she) I would I could be so much a mistress of my own mind, as to yield to my cousins virtuous request: for so I construe of it. But my heart is already set (and staying a while on that word, she brought forth afterwards) to lead a virgin's life to my death: for such a vow I have in myself devoutly made. The heavens prevent such a mischief (said Cecropia.) A vow, quoth you? no, no, my dear niece, Nature, when you were first borne, vowed you a woman, and as she made you child of a mother, so to do your best to be mother of a child: she gave you beauty to move love; she gave you wit to know love; she gave you an excellent body to reward love: which kind of liberal rewarding is crowned with an unspeakable felicity. For this, as it bindeth the receiver, so it makes happy the bestower: this doth not impoverish, but every the giver. O the sweet name of a mother: O the comfort of comforts, to see your children grow up, in whom you are (as it were) eternised: if you could conceive what a hart-tickling joy it is to see your own little ones, with awful love come running to your lap, & like little models of yourself, still carry you about them, you would think unkindness in your own thoughts, that ever they did rebel against the mean unto it. But perchance I set this blessedness before your eyes, as Captains do victory before their soldiers, to which they must come through many pains, grieves & dangers. No, I am content you shrink from this my counsel, if the way to come unto it, be not most of all pleasant. I know not (answered the sweet Philoclea, fearing least silence would offend for sullenness) what contentment you speak of: but I am sure the best you can make of it, (which is marriage) is a burdenous yoke. Ah, dear niece (said Cecropia) how much you are deceived? A yoke indeed we all bear, laid upon us in our creation, which by marriage is not increased, but thus far eased, that you have a yoke-fellow to help to draw through the cloddy cumbers of this world. O widow-nights, bear witness with me of the difference. How often alas do I embrace the orfan-side of my bed, which was wont to be imprinted by the body of my dear husband, and with tears acknowledge, that I now enjoy such a liberty as the banished man hath; who may, if he list, wander over the world, but is for ever restrained from his most delightful home? that I have now such a liberty as the seeled dove hath, which being first deprived of eyes, is them by the falconer cast off? For believe me, niece, believe me, man's experience is woman's best eyesight. Have you ever seen a pure Rosewater kept in a crystal glass? how fine it looks? how sweet it smells, while that beautiful glass imprisons it? Break the prison, and let the water take his own course, doth it not embrace dust, and lose all his former sweetness, & fairness? Truly so are we, if we have not the stay, rather than the restraint of Crystalline marriage. My heart melts to think of the sweet comforts, I in that happy time received, when I had never cause to care, but the care was doubled: when I never rejoiced, but that I saw my joy shine in another's eyes. What shall I say of the free delight, which the heart might embrace, without the accusing of the inward conscicene, or fear of outward shame? and is a solitary life as good as this? then can one string make as good music as a consort: then can one colour set forth a beauty. But it may be, the general consideration of marriage doth not so much mislike you, as the applying of it to him. He is my son, I must confess, I see him with a mother's eyes, which if they do not much deceive me, he is no such one, over whom Contempt may make any just challenge. He is comely, he is noble, he is rich; but that which in itself should carry all comeliness, nobility, and riches, he loves you; and he loves you, who is beloved of others. Drive not away his affection (sweet Lady) and make no other Lady hereafter proudly brag, that she hath rob you of so faithful and notable a servant. Philoclea heard some pieces of her speeches, no otherwise then one doth when a tedious prattler combers the hearing of a delightful music. For her thoughts had left her ears in that captivity, and conveyed themselves to behold (with such eyes as imagination could lend them) the estate of her Zelmane: for whom how well she thought many of those sayings might have been used with a far more grateful acceptation. Therefore listing not to dispute in a matter whereof herself was resolved, and desired not to inform the other, she only told her, that whilst she was so captived, she could not conceive of any such persuasions (though never so reasonable) any otherwise, then as constraints: and as constraints must needs even in nature abhor them, which at her liberty, in their own force of reason, might more prevail with her: and so feign would have returned the strength of Cecropias' persuasions, to have procured freedom.  
But neither her witty words in an enemy, nor those words, made more than eloquent with passing through such lips, could prevail in Cecropia, no more than her persuasions could win Philoclea to disavow her former vow, or to leave the prisoner Zelmane, for the commanding Amphialus. So that both sides being desirous, and neither graunters, they broke off conference. Cecropia sucking up more and more spite out of her denial, which yet for her sons sake, she disguised with a visard of kindness, leaving no office unperformed, which might either witness, or endear her sons affection. Whatsoever could be imagined likely to please her, was with liberal diligence performed: Musics at her window, and especially such Musics, as might (with doleful embassage) call the mind to think of sorrow, and think of it with sweetness; with ditties so sensibly expressing Amphialus case, that every word seemed to be but a diversifying of the name of Amphialus. Daily presents, as it were oblations, to pacify an angry Deity, sent unto her: wherein, if the workmanship of the form, had striven with the sumptuousness of the matter, as much did the invention in the application, contend to have the chief excellency: for they were as so many stories of his disgraces, and her perfections; where the richness did invite the eyes, the fashion did entertain the eyes, and the device did teach the eyes, the present misery of the presenter himself awefully serviceable: which was the more notable, as his authority was manifest. And for the bondage wherein she lived, all means used to make known, that if it were a bondage, it was a bondage only knit in love-knots: but in heart already understanding no language but one. The Music wrought indeed a dolefulness, but it was a dolefulness to be in his power: the ditty intended for Amphialus, she translated to Zelmane: the presents seemed so many tedious clogs of a thralled obligation: and his service, the more diligent it was, the more it did exprobrate (as she thought) unto her, her unworthy estate: that even he that did her service, had authority of commanding her, only construing her servitude in his own nature, esteeming it a right, and a right bitter servitude: so that all their shots (how well soever leveled) being carried awry from the mark, by the storm of her mislike, the Prince Amphialus affectionately languished, and Cecropia spitefully cunning, disdained at the barrenness of their success.  
Which willingly Cecropia would have revenged, but that she saw, her hurt could not be divided from her sons mischief: wherefore, she bethought herself to attempt Pamela, whose beauty being equal, she hoped, if she might be won, that her sons thoughts would rather rest on a beautiful gratefulness, than still be tormented with a disdaining beauty. Therefore, giving new courage to her wicked inventions, and using the more industry, because she had missed in this, and taking even precepts of prevailing in Pamela, by her failing in Philoclea, she went to her chamber, and (according to her own ungracious method of subtle proceeding) stood listening at the door, because that out of the circumstance of her present behaviour, there might kindly arise a fit beginning of her intended discourse.  
And so she might perceive that Pamela did walk up and down, full of deep (though patiented) thoughts. For her look and countenance was settled, her pace soft and almost still of one measure, without any passionate gesture, or violent motion: till at length (as it were) awaking, and strengthening herself, Well (said she) yet this is, the best, and of this I am sure, that how soever they wrong me, they cannot overmaster God. No darkness blinds his eyes, no jail bars him out. To whom then else should I fly, but to him for succour? And therewith kneeling down, even where she stood, she thus said. O allseeing Light, and eternal Life of all things to whom nothing is either so great, that it may resist; or so small, that it is contemned: look upon my misery with thine eye of mercy, and let thine infinite power vouchsafe to limit out some proportion of deliverance unto me, as to thee shall seem most convenient. Let not injury, o Lord, triumph over me, and let my faults by thy hand be corrected, and make not mine unjust enemy the minister of thy justice. But yet, my God, if in thy wisdom, this be the aptest chastisement for my unexcusable folly; if this low bondage be fittest for my over-hie desires; if the pride of my notinough humble heart, be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yield unto thy will, and joyfully embrace what sorrow thou wilt have me suffer. Only thus much let me crave of thee, (let my craving, o Lord, be accepted of thee, since even that proceeds from thee) let me crave, even by the noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I may give myself, that I am thy creature, and by thy goodness (which is thyself) that thou wilt suffer some beam of thy Majesty so to shine into my mind, that it may still depend confidently upon thee. Let calamity be the exercise, but not the overthrow of my virtue: let their power prevail, but prevail not to destruction: let my greatness be their pray: let my pain be the sweetness of their revenge: let them (if so it seem good unto thee) vex me with more and more punishment. But, o Lord, let never their wickedness have such a hand, but that I may carry a pure mind in a pure body. (And pausing a while) And o most gracious Lord (said she) what ever become of me, preserve the virtuous Musidorus.  
The other part Cecropia might well hear, but this latter prayer for Musidorus, her heart held it, as so iewel-like a treasure, that it would scarce trust her own lips withal. But this prayer, sent to heaven, from so heavenly a creature, with such a fervent grace, as if Devotion had borrowed her body, to make of itself a most beautiful representation; with her eyes so lifted to the skieward, that one would have thought they had begun to fly thitherward, to take their place among their fellow stars; her naked hands raising up their whole length, and as it were kissing one another, as if the right had been the picture of Zeal, and the left, of Humbleness, which both united themselves to make their suits more acceptable. Lastly, all her senses being rather tokens than instruments of her inward motions, altogether had so strange a working power, that even the hardeharted wickedness of Cecropia, if it found not a love of that goodness, yet it felt an abashment at that goodness; and if she had not a kindly remorse, yet had she an irksome accusation of her own naughtiness, so that she was put from the biasle of her fore-intended lesson. For well she found there was no way at that time to take that mind, but with some, at least, image of Virtue, and what the figure thereof was her heart knew not.  
Yet did she prodigally spend her uttermost eloquence, leaving no argument unproved, which might with any force invade her excellent judgement: the justness of the request being, but for marriage; the worthiness of the suitor: then her own present fortune, which should not only have amendment, but felicity: besides falsely making her believe, that her sister would think herself happy, if now she might have his love which before she contemned: and obliquely touching, what danger it should be for her, if her son should accept Philoclea in marriage, and so match the next heir apparent, she being in his power: yet plentifully periuring how extremely her son loved her, and excusing the little shows he made of it, with the dutiful respect he bore unto her, and taking upon herself that she restrained him, since she found she could set no limits to his passions. And as she did to Philoclea, so did she to her, with the tribute of gifts, seek to bring her mind into servitude: and all other means, that might either establish a beholdingness, or at lest awake a kindness; doing it so, as by reason of their imprisonment, one sister knew not how the other was wooed; but each might think, that only she was sought. But if Philoclea with sweet and humble dealing did avoid their assaults, she with the Majesty of Virtue did beat them of.  
But this day their speech was the sooner broken of, by reason that he, who stood as watch upon the top of the keep, did not only see a great dust arise (which the earth sent up, as if it would strive to have clouds as well as the air) but might spy sometimes, especially when the dust (wherein the naked wind did apparel, itself) was carried a side from them, the shining of armour; like flashing of lightning, wherewith the clouds did seem to be with child; which the Sun guilding with his beams, it gave a sight delightful to any, but to them that were to abide the terror. But the watch gave a quick Alarm to the soldiers within, whom practice already having prepared, began each, with unabashed hearts or at least countenances, to look to their charge, or obedience, which was allotted unto them.  
Only Clinias and Amphialus did exceed the bounds of mediocrity: the one in his natural coldness of cowardice, the other in heat of courage. For Clinias (who was bold only in busy whisper, and even in that whisperingnes rather indeed confident in his cunning, that it should not be bewrayed, than any way bold, if ever it should be bewrayed) now that the enemy gave a dreadful aspect unto the castle, his eyes saw no terror, nor ear heard any martial sound, but that they multiplied the hideousness of it to his mated mind. Before their coming he had many times felt a dreadful expectation, but yet his mind (that was willing to ease itself of the burden offeare) did sometime feign unto itself possibility of let; as the death of Basilius, the discord of the nobility, and (when other cause failed him) the nature of chance served as a cause unto him: and sometimes the hearing other men speak valiantly, and the quietness of his unassailed senses, would make himself believe, that he durst do something. But now, that present danger did display itself unto his eye, and that a dangerous doing must be the only mean to prevent the danger of suffering, one that had marked him would have judged, that his eyes would have run into him, and his soul out of him; so unkindly did either take a sent of danger. He thought the lake was too shallow, and the walls too thin: he misdouted each man's treason, and conjectured every possibility of misfortune, not only forecasting likely perils, but such as all the planets together could scarcely have conspired: and already began to arm himself, though it was determined he should tarry within doors; and while he armed himself, imagined in what part of the vault he would hid himself, if the enemies won the castle. Desirous he was that every body should do valiantly, but himself; and therefore was afraid to show his fear, but for very fear would have hid his fear; lest it should discomfort others: but the more he sought to disguise it, the more the unsutablenes of a weak broken voice to high brave words, and of a pale shaking countenance to a gesture of animating did discover him.  
But quite contrarily Amphialus, who before the enemies came was careful, providently diligent, & not sometimes with out doubting of the issue; now the nearer danger approached (like the light of a glow-worm) the less still it seemed: and now his courage began to boil in choler, and with such impatience to desire to power out both upon the enemy, that he issued presently into certain boats he had of purpose and carrying with him some choice men, went to the fortress he had upon the edge of the lake, which he thought would be the first thing, that the enemy would attempt; because it was a passage, which commanding all that side of the country, and being lost would stop victual, or other supply, that might be brought into the castle & in that fortress having some force of horsemen, he issued out with two hundred horse, & five hundred footmen, embushed his footmen in the falling of a hill, which was over shadowed with a wood, he with his horsemen went a quarter of a mile further; aside hand of which he might perceive the many troops of the enemy, who came but to take view where best to encamp themselves.  
But as if the sight of the enemy had been a Magnes stone to his courage he could not contain himself, but showing his face to the enemy, and his back to his soldiers, used that action, as his only oration, both of denouncing war to the one and persuading help of the other. Who faithfully following an example of such authority, they made the earth to groan under their furious burden, and the enemies to begin to be angry with them, whom in particular they knew not. Among whom there was a young man, youngest brother to Philanax, whose face as yet did notbewray his sex, with so much as show of hair; of a mind having no limits of hope, nor knowing why to fear; full of jollity in conversation, and lately grown a Lover. His name was Agenor, of all that army the most beautiful: who having ridden in sportful conversation among the foremost, all armed saving that his beaver was up, to have his breath in more freedom, seeing Amphialus come a pretty way before his company, neither staying the commandment of the captain, nor recking whether his face were armed, or no, set spurs to his horse, and with youthful bravery casting his staff about his head, put it then in his rest, as careful of comely carrying it, as if the mark had been but a ring, and the lookers on Ladies, But Amphialus lance was already come to the last of his descending line, and began to make the full point of death against the head of this young Gentleman, when Amphialus perceiving his youth and beauty, Compassion so rebated the edge of Choler, that he spared that fair nakedness, and let his staff fall to Agenor's vampalt: so as both with brave breaking should hurtleslie have performed that match, but that the pitiless lance of Amphialus (angry with being broken) with an unlucky counterbuff full of unsparing splinters, lighted upon that face far fit for the combats of Venus; giving not only a sudden, but a fowl death, leaving scarcely any tokens of his former beauty: but his hands abandoning the reins, and his thighs the saddle, he fell sidewarde from the horse. Which sight coming to Leontius, a dear friend of his, who in vain had lamentably cried unto him to stay, when he saw him begin his career, it was hard to say, whether pity of the one, or revenge against the other, held as then the sovereignty in his passions. But while he directed his eye to his friend, and his hind to his enemy, so worngly-consorted a power could not resist the ready minded force of Amphialus: who perceiving his il-directed direction against him, so paid him his debt before it was lent, that he also fell to the earth only happy that one place, and one time, did finish both their Loves and lives together.  
But by this time there had been a furious meeting of either side: where after the terrible salutation of warlike noise, the shaking of hands was with sharp weapons: some lances according to the metal they met, and skill of the guider, did stain themselves in blood; some flew up in pieces, as if they would threaten heaven, because they failed on earth. But their office was quickly inherited, either by (the Prince of weapons) the sword, or by some heavy maze, or biting axe; which hunting still the weakest chase, sought ever to light there, where smallest resistance might worse prevent mischief. The clashing of armour, and crushing of staves; the justling of bodies, the resounding of blows, was the first part of that ill-agreeing music, which was beautified with the griselinesse of wounds, the rising of dust; the hideous falls, and groans of the dying. The very horses angry in their master's anger, with love and obedience brought forth the effects of hate and resistance, and with minds of servitude, did as if they affected glory. Some lay dead under their dead masters, whom unknightly wounds had unjustly punished for a faithful duty, Some lay upon their Lords by like accidents, and in death had the honour to be borne by them, whom in life they had borne. Some having lost their commanding burdens, ran scattered about the field, abashed with the madness of mankind. The earth itself wont to be a burial of men) was now (as it were) buried with men: so was the face thereof hidden with dead bodies, to whom Death had come masked in diverse manners. In one place lay disinherited heads, dispossessed of their natural seignories: in an other, whole bodies to see to, but that their hearts wont to be bound all over so close, were now with deadly violence opened: in others, fouler deaths had ouglily displayed their trailing guts. There lay arms, whose fingers yet moved, as if they would feel for him that made them feel: and legs, which contrary to common reason, by being discharged of their burden, were grown heavier. But no sword paid so large a tribute of souls to the eternal Kingdom, as that of Amphialus, who like a Tiger, from whom a company of Wolves did seek, to ravish a new gotten pray; so he (remembering they came to take away Philoclea) did labour to make valour, strength, choler and hatred, to answer the proportion of his love, which was infinite.  
There died of his hands the old knight AEschylus, who though by years might well have been allowed to use rather the exercises of wisdom, then of courage; yet having a lusty body and a merry heart, he ever took the summons of Time in jest, or else it had so creepingly stolen upon him, that he had heard scarcely the noise of his feet, and therefore was as fresh in apparel, and as forward in enterprises, as a far younger man: but nothing made him bolder, than a certain prophecy had been told him, that he should die in the arms of his son, and therefore feared the less the arm of an enemy. But now when Amphialus sword was passed through his throat, he thought himself abused; but that before he died, his son, indeed seeing his father begin to fall, held him up in his arms, till a pitiless soldier of of the other side, with a mace brained him, making father & son become twins in the never again dying birth. As for Drialus. Memnon, Nisus and Polycrates; the first had his eyes cut out so, as he could not see to bid the near following death welcome: the second had met with the same Prophet that old AEschylus had, and having found many of his speeches true, believed this to, that he should never be killed, but by his own companions: and therefore no man was more valiant than he against an enemy, no man more suspicious of his friends: so as he seemed to sleep in security, when he went to a battle, and to enter into a battle, when he began to sleep, such guards he would set about his person; yet mistrusting those very guards lest they would murder him. But now Amphialus helped to unriddle his doubts; for he overthrowing him from his horse, his own companions coming with a fresh supply, pressed him to death. Nisus grasping with Amphialus, was with a short dagger slain. And for Polycrates, while he shunned as much as he could, keeping only his place for fear of punishment, Amphialus with a memorable blow strake of his head, where, with the convulsions of death setting his spurs to his horse, he gave so brave a charge upon the enemy, as it grew a proverb, that Polycrates was only valiant, after his head was off. But no man escaped so well his hands as Phebilus did: for he having long loved Philoclea, though for the meanness of his estate he never durst reveal it, now knowing Amphialus, setting the edge of a rival upon the sword of an enemy, he held strong fight with him. But Amphialus had already in the daungerousest places disarmed him, and was lifting up his sword to send him away from himself, when he thinking indeed to die, O Philoclea (said he) yet this joys me, that I die for thy sake. The name of Philoclea first stayed his sword, and when he heard him out, though heabhord him much worse than before, yet could he not vouchsafe him the honour of dying for Philoclea, but turned his sword another way, doing him no hurt for overmuch hatred. But what good did that to poor Phebilus, if escaping a valiant hand, he was slain by base soldier, who seeing him so disarmed, thrust him through?  
But thus with the well-followed valour of Amphialus were the other almost overthrown, when Philanax (who was the marshal of the army) came in, with new force renewing the almost decayed courage of his soldiers. For, crying to them (and ask them whether their backs or their arms were better fighters) he himself thrust into the press, and making force and fury wait upon discretion and government, he might seem a brave Lion who taught his young Lionets, how in taking of a pray, to join courage with cunning. Then Fortune (as if she had made chaces enough of the one side of that bloody Teniscourt) went of the other side the line, making as many fall down of Amphialus followers, as before had done of Philanaxis, they losing the ground, as fast as before they had won it, only leaving them to keep it, who had lost themselves in keeping it. Then those that had killed, inherited the lot of those that had been killed; and cruel Deaths made them lie quietly together, who most in their lives had sought to disquiet each other; and many of those first overthrown, had the comfort to see the murderers overrun them to Charon's ferry.  
Codrus, Ctesiphon, and Milo, lost their lives upon Philanax his sword: but no bodies case was more pitied, then of a young esquire of Amphialus, called Ismenus, who never abandoning his master, and making his tender age aspire to acts of the strongest manhood, in this time that his side was put to the worst, and that Amphialushis valour was the only stay of them from delivering themselves over to a shameful flight, he saw his master's horse killed under him. Whereupon, ask no advise of no thought, but of faithfulness and courage, he presently lighted from his own horse, and with the help of some choice and faithful servants, got his master up. But in the multitude that came of either side, some to secure, some to save Amphialus, he came under the the hand of Philanax: and the youth perceiving he was the man that did most hurt to his party, (desirous even to change his life for glory) strake at him, as he road by him, and gave him a hurt upon the leg, that made Philanax turn towards him; but seeing him so young, and of a most lovely presence, he rather took pity of him; meaning to make him prisoner, & then to give him to his brother Agenor to be his companion, because they were not much unlike, neither in years, nor countenance. But as he looked down upon him with that thought he spied where his brother lay dead, & his friend Leontius by him, even almost under the squires feet. Then soroing not only his own sorrow, but the past-comfort sorrow which he foreknew his mother would take, (who with many tears, and misgiving sighs had suffered him to go with his elder brother Philanax) blotted out all figures of pity out of his mind, and putting forth his horse (while Ismenus doubled two or three more valiant, then well set blows) saying to himself, Let other mothers bewail and untimely death as well as mine; he thrust him through. And the boy fierce though beautiful; & beautiful, though dying, not able to keep his failing feet, fell down to the earth, which he bitten for anger, repining at his Fortune, and as long as he could resisting Death, which might seem unwilling to; so long he was in taking away his young struggling soul.  
Philanax himself could have wished the blow ungiven, when he saw him fall like a fair apple, which some uncourteous body (breaking his bow) should throw down before it were ripe. But the case of his brother made him forget both that, and himself: so as overhastily pressing upon the retiring enemies, he was (ere he was aware) further engaged then his own soldiers could relieve him; where being overthrown by Amphialus, Amphialus glad of him, kept head against his enemies while some of his men carried away Philanax.  
But Philanax-his men as if with the loss of Philanax they had lost the fountain of their valour, had their courages so dried up in fear; that they began to set honour at their backs, and to use the virtue of patience in an untimely time: when into the press comes (as hard as his horse, more afraid of the spur, than the sword could carry him) a Knight in armour as dark as blackness could make it, followed by none, and adorned by nothing; so far without authority that he was without knowledge, But virtue quickly made him known, and admiration bred him such authority, that though they of whose side he came knew him not, yet they all knew it was fit to obey him: and while he was followed by the valiantest, he made way for the vilest. For, taking part with the besiegers, he made the Amphialians blood serve for a caparison to his horse, and a decking to his armour. His arm no oftener gave blows, than the blows gave wounds, than the wounds gave deaths: so terrible was his force, and yet was his quickness more forcible than his force, and his judgement more quick than his quickness. For though his sword went faster than eyesight could follow it, yet his own judgement went still before it. There died of his hand, Sarpedon, Plistonax, Strophilus, and Hippolytus, men of great proof in wars, and who had that day undertaken the guard of Amphialus. But while they sought to save him, they lost the fortresses that Nature had placed them in. Then slew he Megalus, who was a little before proud, to see himself stained in the blood of his enemies: but when his own blood came to be married to theirs, he then felt, that Cruelty doth never enjoy a good cheap glory. After him sent he Palemon, who had that day vowed (with foolish bravery) to be the death of ten: and nine already he had killed, and was careful to perform his (almost performed) vow, when the Black Knight helped him to make up the tenth himself.  
And now the often-changing Fortune began also to change the hew of the battles. For at the first, though it were terrible, yet Terror was decked so bravely with rich furniture, guilt swords, shining armours, pleasant pencils, that the eye with delight had scarce leisure to be afraid: But now all universally defiled with dust, blood, broken armours, mangled bodies, took away the mask, and set forth Horror in his own horrible manner. But neither could danger be dreadful to Amphialus his undismayable courage, nor yet seem ugly to him, whose truely-affected mind, did still paint it over with the beauty of Philoclea. And therefore he, rather inflamed then troubled with the increase of dangers, and glad to find a worthy subject to exercise his courage, sought out this new Knight, whom he might easily find: for he, like a wanton rich man, that throws down his neighbour's houses, to make himself the better prospect, so had his sword made him so spacious a room, that Amphialus had more cause to wonder at the finding, then labour for the seeking: which, if it stirred hate in him, to see how much harm he did to the one side, it provoked as much emulation in him, to perceive how much good he did to the other side. Therefore, they approaching one to the other, as in two beautiful folks, Love naturally stirs a desire of joining, so in their two courages Hate stirred a desire of trial. Then began there a combat between them, worthy to have had more large lists, and more quiet beholders: for with the spur of Courage, and the bit of Respect, each so guided himself, that one might well see, the desire to overcome, made them not forget how to overcome: in such time and proportion they did employ their blows, that none of Ceres' servants could more cunningly place his flail: while the left foot spur set forward his own horse, the right set backward the contrary horse, even sometimes by the advantage of the enemy's leg, while the left hand (like him that held the stern) guided the horses obedient courage: All done in such order, that it might seem, the mind was a right Prince indeed, who sent wise and diligent Lieutenants into each of those well governed parts. But the more they fought, the more they desired to fight; and the more they smarted, the less they felt the smart: and now were like to make a quick proof, to whom Fortune or Valour would seem most friendly, when in comes an old Governor of Amphialus, always a good Knight, and careful of his charge; who giving a sore wound to the black Knight's thigh, while he thought not of him, with an other blow slew his horse under him. Amphialus cried to him, that he dishonoured him: You say well (answered the old Knight) to stand now like a private soldier, setting your credit upon particular fight, while you may see Basilius with all his host, is getting between you and your town. He looked that way, and found that true indeed, that the enemy was beginning to encompass him about, and stop his return: and therefore causing the retreat to be sounded, his Governor led his men homeward, while he kept himself still hindmost, as if he had stood at the gate of a sluse, to let the stream go, with such proportion, as should seem good unto him: and with so manful discretion performed it, that (though with loss of many of his men) he returned in himself safe, and content, that his enemies had felt, how sharp the sword could by't of Philoclea's Lover. The other party being sorry for the loss of Philanax, was yet sorrier when the black Knight could not be found. For he having gotten a horse, whom his dying master had bequeathed to the world, finding himself sore hurt, and not desirous to be known, had in the time of the enemies retiring, retired away also: his thigh not bleeding blood so fast, as his heart bled revenge. But Basilius having attempted in vain to bar the safe return of Amphialus, encamped himself as strongly as he could, while he (to his grief) might hear the joy was made in the town by his own subjects, that he had that day sped no better. For Amphialus (being well beloved of that people) when they saw him not vanquished, they esteemed him as victorious, his youth setting a flourishing show upon his worthiness, and his great nobility ennobling his dangers.  
But the first thing Amphialus did, being returned, was to visit Philoclea, and first presuming to cause his dream to be song unto her (which he had seen the night before he fell in love with her) making a fine boy he had, accord a pretty dolefulness unto it. The song was this.  
NOw was our heavenly vault deprived of the light  
With suns depart: and now the darkness of the night  
Did light those beamy stars which greater light did dark:  
Now each thing that enjoyed that fiery quickening spark  
(Which life is called) were moved their spirits to repose,  
And wanting use of eyes their eyes began to close:  
A silence sweet each where with one consent embraced  
(A music sweet to one in careful musing placed)  
And mother Earth, now clad in mourning weeds, did breathe  
A dull desire to kiss the image of our death:  
When I, disgraced wretch, not wretched then, did give  
My senses such relief, as they which quiet live,  
Whose brains broil not in woes, nor breasts with beat ache,  
With nature's praise are wont in safest home to take.  
Far from my thoughts was aught, whereto their minds aspire,  
Who under courtly pomps do hatch a base desire.  
Free all my powers were from those captiving snares,  
Which heavenly purest gifts defile in muddy cares.  
Ne could my soul itself accuse of such a fault,  
As tender conscience might with furious pangs assault.  
But like the feeble flower (whose stalk cannot sustain  
His weighty top) his top downward doth drooping lean:  
Or as the silly bird in well acquainted nest  
Doth hid his head with cares but only how to rest:  
So I in simple course, and unentangled mind  
Did suffer drowsy lids mine eyes then clear to blind;  
And laying down my head, did natures rule observe,  
Which senses up doth shut the senses to preserve.  
They first their use forgot, then fancies lost their force;  
Till deadly sleep at length possessed my living coarse.  
A living coarse I lay: but ah, my wakeful mind  
(Which made of heavenly stuff no mortal change doth blind)  
Flew up with freer wings of fleshly bondage free;  
And having placed my thoughts, my thoughts thus placed me.  
Me thought, nay sure I was, I was in fairest wood  
Of Samothea land; a land, which whilom stood  
An honour to the world, while Honour was their end,  
And while their line of years they did in virtue spend.  
But there I was, and there my calmy thoughts I fed  
On Nature's sweet repast, as healthful senses led.  
Her gifts my study was, her beauties were my sport:  
My work her works to know, her dwelling my resort.  
Those lamps of heavenly fire to fixed motion bound,  
The everturning spheres, the never-moving ground;  
What essence dest'nie hath; if fortune be or no;  
Whence our immortal souls to mortal earth do flow:  
What life it is, and how that all these lives do gather,  
With outward makers force, or like an inward father.  
Such thoughts, me thought, I thought, and strained my single mind  
Then void of nearer cares, the depth of things to find.  
When lo with hugest noise (such noise a tower makes  
When it blown down with wind a fall of ruin takes)  
(Or such a noise it was, as highest thunders send,  
Or canons thunderlike, all shot together, lend)  
The Moon a sunder  rend; whereout with sudden fall  
(More swift than falcons stoop to feeding Falconers call)  
There came a chariot fair by doves and sparrows guided:  
Whose stormlike course stayed not till hard by me it bided.  
I wretch astonished was, and thought the deathful doom  
Of heaven, of earth, of hell, of time and place was come.  
But straight there issued forth two Ladies (Ladies sure  
They seemed to me) on whom did wait a Virgin pure,  
Strange were the Lady's weeds; yet more unfit than strange.  
The first with cloth's tucked up as Nymphs in woods do range;  
Tucked up even with the knees, with bow and arrows priest:  
Her right arm naked was, discovered was her breast.  
But heavy was her pace, and such a meager cheer,  
As little hunting mind (God knows) did there appear.  
The other had with art (more than our women know,  
As stuff meant for the sale set out to glaring show)  
A wanton woman's face, and with curled knots had twined  
Her hair, which by the help of painters cunning, shined.  
When I such guests did see come out of such a house,  
The mountains great with child I thought brought forth a mouse.  
But walking forth, the first thus to the second said,  
Venus come on: said she, Diane you are obeyed.  
Those names abashed me much, when those great names I hard:  
Although their fame (me seemed) from truth had greatly iard.  
As I thus musing stood, Diana called to her  
The waiting Nymph, a Nymph that did excel as far  
All things that erst I saw, as orient pearls exceed,  
That which their mother height, or else their silly seed.  
Indeed a perfect hew, indeed a sweet consent  
Of all those Grace's gifts the heavens have ever lent.  
And so she was attired, as one that did not prise  
Too much her peerless parts, nor yet could them despise.  
But called, she came apace; a pace wherein did move  
The band of beauties all, the little world of love.  
And bending humbled eyes (o eyes the Sun of sight)  
She waited mistress will: who thus disclosed her sprite.  
Sweet Mira mine (quoth she) the pleasure of my mind,  
In whom of all my rules the perfect proof I find,  
To only thee thou seest we grant this special grace  
Us to attend, in this most private time and place.  
Be silent therefore now, and so be silent still  
Of that thou seest: close up in secret knot thy will.  
She answered was with look, and well performed behest:  
And Mira I admired: her shape sunk in my breast.  
But thus with ireful eyes, and face that shook with spite  
Diana did begin. What moved me to invite  
Your presence (sister dear) first to my Moony sphere,  
And hither now, vouchsafe to take with willing ear.  
I know full well you know, what discord long hath reigned  
Betwixt us two; how much that discord foul hath stained  
Both our estates, while each the other did deprave,  
Proof speaks too much to us that feeling trial have.  
Our names are quite forgot, our temples are defaced:  
Our offerings spoiled, our priests from priesthood are displaced.  
Is this the fruit of strife? those thousand churches high,  
Those thousand altars fair now in the dust to lie?  
In mortal minds our minds but planet's names preserve:  
No knees once bowed, forsooth, for them they say we serve.  
Are we their servants grown? no doubt a noble stay:  
Celestial powers to worms, Ioues children serve to clay.  
But such they say we be: this praise our discord bred,  
While we for mutual spite, a striving passion fed.  
But let us wiser be; and what foul discord broke,  
So much more strong again let fastest concord make.  
Our years do it require: you see we both do feel  
The weakening work of Times for ever-whirling wheel.  
Although we be divine, our grandsire Saturn is  
With ages force decayed, yet once the heaven was his.  
And now before we seek by wise Apollo's skill  
Our young years to renew (for so he saith he will)  
Let us a perfect peace between us two resolve:  
Which lest the ruinous want of government dissolve,  
Let one the Princess be, to her the other yield:  
For vain equality is but contention's field.  
And let her have the gifts that should in both remain:  
In her let beauty both, and chasteness fully reign.  
So as if I prevail, you give your gifts to me:  
If you, on you I lay what in my office be.  
Now resteth only this, which of us two is she,  
To whom precedence shall of both accorded be.  
For that (so that you like) hereby doth lie a youth  
(She beckoned untome) as yet of spotless truth,  
Who may this doubt discern: for better, wit, than lot  
Becometh us: in us fortune determines not.  
This crown of amber fair (an amber crown she held)  
To worthiest let him give, when both he hath beheld:  
And be it as he saith. Venus was glad to hear  
Such proffer made, which she well showed with smiling cheer.  
As though she were the same, as when by Paris doom  
She had chief Goddesses in beauty overcome.  
And smirkly thus 'gan say. I never sought debate  
Diana dear; my mind to love and not to hate  
Was ever apt: but you my pastimes did despise.  
I never spited you, but thought you overwise.  
Now kindness proffered is, none kinder is then I:  
And so most ready am this mean of peace to try.  
And let him be our judge: the lad doth please me well.  
Thus both did come to me, and both began to tell  
(For both together spoke, each loath to be behind)  
That they by solemn oath their Deities would bind  
To stand unto my will: their will they made me know.  
I that was first aghast, when first I saw their show:  
Now bolder waxed, waxed proud, that I such sway must bear:  
For near acquaintance doth diminish reverent fear.  
And having bound them fast by Styx, they should obey  
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict say.  
How ill both you can rule, well hath your discord taught:  
Ne yet for aught I see, your beauties merit aught.  
To yonder Nymph therefore (to Mira I did point)  
The crown above you both for ever I appoint.  
I would have spoken out: but out they both did cry;  
Fie, fie, what have we done? ungodly rebel fie.  
But now we needs must yield, to that our oaths require.  
Yet thou shalt not go free (quoth Venus) such a fire  
Her beauty kindle shall within thy foolish mind,  
That thou full oft shalt wish thy judging eyes were blind.  
Nay then (Diana said) the chasteness I will give  
In ashes of despair (though burnt) shall make thee live.  
Nay thou (said both) shalt see such beams shine in her face  
That thou shalt never dare seek help of wretched case.  
And with that cursed curse away to heaven they fled,  
First having all their gifts upon fair Mira spread.  
The rest I cannot tell, for therewithal I waked  
And found with deadly fear that all my sinews shaked.  
Was it a dream? O dream, how hast thou wrought in me,  
That I things erst unseen should first in dreaming see?  
And thou o traitor Sleep, made for to be our rest,  
How hast thou framed the pain wherewith I am oppressed?  
O coward Cupid thus dost thou thy honour keep,  
Unarmed (alas) vnwarned to take a man asleep?  
Laying not only the conquests, but the heart of the conqueror at her feet. *** But she receiving him after her wonted sorrowful (but otherwise unmoved) manner, it made him think, his good success was but as a pleasant monument of a doleful burial: joy itself seeming bitter unto him, since it agreed not to her taste.  
Therefore, still craving his mother's help to persuade her, he himself sent for Philanax unto him, whom he had not only long hated, but now had his hate greatly increased by the death of his Squire Ismenus. Besides he had made him as one of the chief causes that moved him to this rebellion, and therefore was inclined (to colour the better his action, and the more to imbrue the hands of his accomplices by making them guilty of such a trespass) in some formal sort to cause him to be executed: being also greatly egged thereunto by his mother, and some other, who long had hated Philanax, only because he was more worthy, than they to be loved.  
But while that deliberation was handled, according rather to the humour then the reason of each speaker, Philoclea coming to knowledge of the hard plight wherein Philanax stood, she desired one of the gentlewomen appointed to wait upon her, to go in her name, and beseech Amphialus, that if the love of her had any power of persuasion in his mind, he would lay no further punishment, than imprisonment, upon Philanax. This message was delivered even as Philanax was entering to the presence of Amphialus, coming (according to the warning was given him) to receive a judgement of death. But when he with manful resolution attended the fruit of such a tyrannical sentence, thinking it wrong, but no harm to him that should die in so good a cause; Amphialus turned quite the form of his pretended speech, & yielded him humble thanks, that by his means he had come to that happiness, as to receive a commandment of his Lady: and therefore he willingly gave him liberty to return in safety whether he would, quitting him, not only of all former grudge, but assuring him that he would be willing to do him any friendship, and service: only desiring thus much of him, that he would let him know the discourse and intent of Basilius-his proceeding.  
Truly my Lord (answered Philanax) if there were any such known to me, secret in my masters counsel, as that the revealing thereof might hinder his good success, I should loathe the keeping of my blood, with the loss of my faith; & would think the just name of a traitor a heard purchase of a few years living. But since it is so, that my master hath indeed no way of privy practice, but means openly & forcibly to deal against you, I will not stick in few words to make your required declaration. Then told he him in what a maze of a mazement, both Basilius & Gynoecia were, when they missed their children & Zelmane. Sometimes apt to suspect some practice of Zelmane, because she was a stranger; sometimes doubting some relics of the late mutiny, which doubt was rather increased, them any way satisfied, by Miso: who (being found, almost dead for hunger, by certain country-people) brought home word, with what cunning they were trained out, & with what violence they were carried away. But that within a few days they came to knowledge where they were, by Amphialushis own letters sent abroad to procure confederates in his attempts. That Basilius his purpose was never to leave the sieg of this town, till he had taken it, & revenged the injury done unto him. That he meant rather to win it by time, & famine, then by force of assault: knowing how valiant men he had to deal withal in the town: that he had sent order, that supplies of soldiers, pioneers, and all things else necessary, should daily be brought unto him: so as, my Lord (said Philanax) let me now, having received my life by your grace. let me give you your life and and honour by my counsel; protesting unto you, that I cannot choose but love you, being my maister-his nephew; and that I wish you well in all causes but this, You know his nature is as apt to forgive, as his power is able to conquer. Your fault passed is excusable, in that Love persuaded, and youth was persuaded. Do not urge the effects of angry victory, but rather seek to obtain that constantly by courtesy, which you can never assuredly enjoy by violence. One might easily have seen in the cheer of Amphialus, that disdainful choler would feign have made the answer for him, but the remembrance of Philoclea served for forcible barriers between Anger, and angry effects: so as he said no more, but that he would not put him to the trouble to give him any further counsel: But that he might return, if he listed, presently. Philanax glad to receive an uncorrupted liberty, humbly accepted his favourable convoy out of the town; and so departed, not visiting the Princesses, thinking it might be offensive to Amphialus, and no way fruitful to them who were no way but by force to be rescued.  
The poor Ladies indeed, not suffered either to meet together, or to have conference with any other, but such as Cecropia had already framed to sing all their songs to her tune, she herself omitting no day, and catching hold of every occasion to move forward her sons desire, and remove their own resolutions: using the same arguments to the one sister, as to the other; determining that whom she could win first, the other should (without her sons knowledge) by poison be made away. But though the reasons were the same to both, yet the handling was diverse, according as she saw their humours to prepare a more or less aptness of apprehension. This day having used long speech to Philoclea, amplifying not a little the great dutifulness her son had showed in delivering Philanax: of whom she could get no answer, but a silence sealed up in virtue, & so sweetly graced, as that in one instant it carried with it both resistance, and humbleness: Cecropia threatening in herself to run a more rugged race with her, went to her sister Pamela: who that day having wearied herself with reading, & with the height of her heart disdaining to keep company with any of the Gentlewomen appointed to attend her, whom she accounted her iaylours, was working upon a purse certain Roses & Lilies, as by the fineness of the work, one might see she had borrowed her wits of the sorrow that then owed them, & lent them wholly to that exercise. For the flowers she had wrought, carried such life in them, that the cunningest painter might have learned of her needle: which with so pretty a manner made his careers to & fro through the cloth, as if the needle itself would have been loath to have gone fronward such a mistress, but that it hoped to return thitherward very quickly again: the cloth looking with many eyes upon her, & lovingly embracing the wounds she gave it: the shears also were at hand to behead the silk, that was grown to short. And if at any time she put her mouth to by't it off it seemed, that where she had been long in making of a Rose with her hands, she would in an instant make Roses with her lips; as the Lilies seemed to have their whiteness, rather of the hand that made them, then of the matter whereof the were made; & that they grew thereby the Suns of her eyes, & were refreshed by the most indiscomfort comfortable air, which an unwares sigh might bestow upon them. But the colours for the ground were so well chosen, neither sullenly dark, nor glaringly lightsome, & so well proportioned, as that, though much cunning were in it, yet it was but to serve for an ornament of the principal work; that it was not without marvel to see, how a mind which could cast a careless semblant upon the greatest conflicts of Fortune, could command itself to take care for so small matters. Neither had she neglected the dainty dressing of herself: but as if it had been her marriage time to Affliction, she rather seemed to remember her own worthiness, than the unworthiness of her husband. For well one might perceive she had not rejected the counsel of a glass, & that her hands had pleased themselves, in paying the tribute of undeceyving skill, to so high perfections of Nature.  
The sight whereof so diverse from her sister, (who rather suffered sorrow to dress itself in her beauty, then that she would bestow any entertainment of so unwelcome a guest made Cecropia take a sudden assuredness of hope, that she should obtain somewhat of Pamela: thinking (according to the squaring out of her own good nature) that beauty, carefully set forth, would soon prove a sign of an unrefusing harbour. Animated wherewith, she sat down by Pamela: and taking the purse, and with affected curiosity looking upon the work, Full happy is he (said she) at least if he knew his own happiness, to whom a purse in this manner, and by this hand wrought, is dedicated. In faith he shall have cause to account it, not as a purse for treasure, but as a treasure itself, worthy to be pursed up in the purse of his own heart. And think you so indeed (said Pamela half smiling) I promise you I wrought it, but to make some tedious hours believe, that I thought not of them: for else I valued it, but even as a very purse. It is the right nature (said Cecropia) of Beauty, to work unwitting effects of wonder. Truly (said Pamela) I never thought till now, that this outward glass, entitled Beauty, which it pleaseth you to lay to my (as I think) unguilty charge, was but a pleasant mixture of natural colours, delightful to the eye, as music is to the ear, without any further consequence: since it is a thing, which not only beasts have; but even stones and trees many of them do greatly excel in it. That other things (answered Cecropia) have some portion of it, takes not away the excellency of it, where indeed it doth excel: since we see, that even those beasts, trees, & stones, are in the name of Beauty only highly praised. But that the beauty of human persons be beyond all other things there is great likelihood of reason, since to them only is given the judgement to discern Beauty; and among reasonable wights, as it seems, that our sex hath the pre-eminence, so that in that pre-eminence, Nature countervails all other liberalities, wherein she may be thought to have dealt more favourably toward mankind. How do men crown (think you) themselves with glory, for having either by force brought others to yield to their mind, or with long study, and premeditated orations, persuaded what they would have persuaded? and see, a fair woman shall not only command without authority, but persuade without speaking. She shall not need to procure attention, for their own eyes will chain their ears unto it. Men venture lives to conquer; she conqueres lives without venturing. She is served, and obeyed, which is the most notable, not because the law: so command it, but because they become laws themselves to obey her; not for her parent's sake, but for her own sake. She need not dispute, whether to govern by Fear or Love, since without her thinking thereof, their love will bring forth fear, and their fear will fortify their love: and she need not seek offensive, or defensive force, since her only lips may stand for ten thousand shields, and ten thousand unevitable shot go from her eyes. Beauty, Beauty (dear Niece) is the crown of the feminine greatness; which gift, on whom soever the heavens (therein most niggardly) do bestow, without question, she is bound to use it to the noble purpose, for which it is created: not only winning, but preserving; since that indeed is the right happiness, which is not only in itself happy, but can also derive the happiness to another. Certainly Aunt (said Pamela) I fear me you will make me not only think myself fairer than ever I did, but think my fairness a matter of greater value than heretofore I could imagine it. For I ever (till now) conceived these conquests you speak of, rather to proceed from the weakness of the conquered, then from the strength of the conquering power: as they say, the Crane's overthrow whole battles of Pigmies, not so much of their Cranish courage, as because the other are Pigmies, and that we see, young babes think babies of wonderful excellency, and yet the babies are but babies. But since your elder years, & abler judgement, find Beauty to be worthy of so incomparable estimation, certainly me thinks it ought to be held in dearnes, according to the excellency, and (no more than we would do of things which we account precious) ever to suffer it to be defiled.  
Defiled? (said Cecropia) Marry God forbidden that my speech should tend to any such purpose, as should deserve so foul a title. My meaning is to join your beauty to love; your youth to delight. For truly, as colours should be as good as nothing if there were no eyes to behold them: so is Beauty nothing, without the eye of Love behold it: and therefore, so far is it from defiling it, that it is the only honouring of it, the only preserving of it: for Beauty goes away, devoured by Time, but where remains it ever flourishing, but in the heart of a true lover? And such a one (if ever there were any) is my son: whose love is so subjecteth unto you, that rather them breed any offence unto you, it will not delight itself in beholding you. There is no effect of his love (answered Pamela) better pleaseth me then that: but as I have often answered you, so, resolutely I say unto you, that he must get my parent's consent, and then he shall know further of my mind; for, without that, I know I should offend God. O sweet youth (said Cecropia) how untimely subject it is to devotion (No, no sweet niece, let us old folks think of such precise considerations; do you enjoy the heaven of your age, whereof you are sure: and like good householders, which spend those things that will not be kept, so do you pleasantly enjoy that, which else will bring an over-late repentance, when your glass shall accuse you to your face, what a change there is in you. Do you see how the spring-time is full of flowers, decking it self with them, and not aspiring to the fruits of Autumn? what lesson is that unto you, but that in the april of your age, you should be like April? Let not some of them for whom already the grave gapeth, and perhaps envy the felicity in you, which themselves cannot enjoy, persuade you to lose the hold of occasion; while it may not only be taken, but offers, nay sues to be taken: which if it be not now taken, will never hereafter be overtaken. Yourself know, how your father hath refused all offers made by the greatest Princes about you, & will you suffer your beauty to be hidden in the wrinkles of his peevish thoughts? If he be peevish (said Pamela) yet is he my father, and how beautiful so ever I be, I am his daughter: so as God claims at my hands obedience, and makes me no judge of his imperfections·  
These often replies upon conscience in Pamela; made Cecropia think, that there was no righter way for her, then as she had (in her opinion) set her in liking of Beauty, with persuasion not to suffer it to be void of purpose, so if she could make her less feeling of those heavenly conceits, that then she might easily wind her to her crooked bias. Therefore, employing the uttermost of her mischievous wit, and speaking the more earnestly, because she spoke as she thought, she thus dealt with her. Dear niece, or rather, dear daughter, if my affection & wish might prevail therein, how much doth it increase (trow you) the earnest desire I have of this blessed match, to see these virtues of yours knit fast with such zeal of Devotion (indeed the best bond) which the most politic wits have found, to hold man's wit in well doing? For, as children must first by fear be induced to know that, which after (when they do know) they are most glad of: So are these bugbears of opinions brought by great Clerks into the world, to serve as shewelles to to keep them from those faults, whereto else the vanity of the world, and weakness of senses might pull them. But in you (Niece) whose excellency is such, as it need not to be held up by the staff of vulgar opinions, I would not you should love Virtue seruillie, for fear of I know not what, which you see not: but even for the good effects of virtue which you see. Fear, and indeed, foolish fear, & fearful ignorance, was the first inventor of those conceits. For, when they heard it thunder, not knowing the natural cause, they thought there was some angry body above, that spoke so loud: and ever the less they did perceive, the more they did conceive. Whereof they knew no cause that grew straight a miracle: foolish folks, not marking that the alterations be but upon particular accidents, the universality being always one. Yesterday was but as to day, and to morrow will tread the same footsteps of his foregoers: so as it is manifest enough, that all things follow but the course of their own nature, saving only Man, who while by the pregnancy of his imagination he strives to things supernatural, meanwhile he looseth his own natural felicity. Be wise, and that wisdom shallbe a God unto thee; be contented, and that is thy heaven: for else to think that those powers (if there be any such) above are moved either by the eloquence of our prayers, or in a chafe at the folly of our actions; carries as much reason as if flies should think, that men take great care which of them hums sweetest, and which of them flies nimblest.  
She would have spoken further to have enlarged and confirmed her discourse: when Pamela (whose cheeks were died in the beautifullest grain of virtuous anger, with eyes which glisteren forth beams of disdain) thus interrupted her. Peace (wicked woman) peace, unworthy to breath, that dost not acknowledge the breathgiuer; most unworthy to have a tongue, which speakest against him, through whom thou speakest: keep your affection to yourself, which like a bemired dog, would defile with fawning. You say yesterday was as to day. O foolish woman, and most miserablely foolish, since wit makes you foolish. What doth that argue, but that there is a constancy in the everlasting governor? Would you have an inconstant God, since we count a man foolish that is inconstant? He is not seen you say, and would you think him a God, who might be seen by so wicked eyes, as yours? which yet might see enough if they were not like such, who for sport-sake willingly hoodwink themselves to receive blows the easier. But though I speak to you without any hope of fruit in so rotten a heart, and there be no body else here to judge of my speeches, yet be thou my witness, O captivity, that my years shall not be willingly guilty of my Creator's blasphemy. You say, because we know not the causes of things; therefore fear was the mother of superstition: nay, because we know that each effect hath a cause, that hath engendered a true & lively devotion. For this goodly work of which we are, & in which we live, hath not his being by Chance; on which opinion it is beyond marvel by what chance any brain could stumble. For if it be eternal (as you would seem to conceive of it) Eternity, and Chance are things unsufferable together. For that is chanceable which happeneth; and if it happen, there was a time before it happened, when it might have not happened; or else it did not happen; and so if chanceable, not eternal. And as absurd it is to think that if it had a beginning, his beginning was derived from Chance: for Chance could never make all things of nothing: and if there were substances before, which by chance should meet to make up this work, thereon follows another bottomless pit of absurdities. For then those substances must needs have been from ever and so eternal: and that eternal causes should bring forth chanceable effects, is as sensible, as that the Sun should be the author of darkness. Again, if it were chanceable, then was it not necessary; whereby you take away all consequents. But we see in all things, in some respect or other, necessity of consequence: therefore in reason we must needs know that the causes were necessary.  
Lastly Chance is variable, or else it is not to be called Chance: but we see this work is steady and permanent. If nothing but Chance had glued those pieces of this All, the heavy parts would have gone infinitely downward, the light infinitely upward, and so never have met to have made up his goodly body. For before there was a heaven, or a earth, there was neither a heaven to stay the height of the rising, nor an earth, which (in respect of the round walls of heaven) should become a centre. Lastly, perfect order, perfect beauty, perfect constancy, if these be the children of Chance, let wisdom be counted the root of wickedness. But you will say it is so by nature, as much as if you said it is so, because it is so: if you mean of many natures conspiring together, as in a popular government to establish this fair estate; as if the Elementishe and ethereal parts should in their townhouse set down the bounds of each one's office; then consider what follows: that there must needs have been a wisdom which made them concur: for their natures being absolute contrary, in nature rather would have sought each others ruin, then have served as well consorted parts to such an unexpressible harmony. For that contrary things should meet to make up a perfection without a force and Wisdom above their powers, is absolutely impossible; unless you will fly to that hissed-out opinion of Chance again. But you may perhaps affirm, that one universal Nature (which hath been for ever) is the knitting together of these many parts to such an excellent unity. If you mean a Nature of wisdom, goodness, & providence, which knows what it doth, then say you that, which I seek of you, and cannot conclude those blasphemies, which which you defiled your mouth, & mine ears. But if you mean a Nature, as we speak of the fire, which goeth upward, it knows not why: and of the nature of the Sea which in ebbing and flowing seems to observe so just a dance and yet understands no music, it is but still the same absurdity superscribed with another title. For this word, one, being attributed to that which is All, is but one mingling of many, and many ones; as in a less matter, when we say one kingdom which contains many cities; or one city which contains many persons, wherein the under ones (if there be not a superior power and wisdom) cannot by nature regard to any preservation but of themselves: no more we see they do, since the water willingly quenches the fire, and drowns the earth; so far are they from a conspired unity: but that a right heavenly Nature indeed, as it were unnaturinge them, doth so bridle them.  
Again, it is as absurd in nature that from an unity many contraries should proceed still kept in a unity: as that from the number of contrarieties an unity should arise. I say still, if you banish both a singularity, and plurality of judgement from among them then (if so earthly a mind can lift itself up so high) do but conceive, how a thing whereto you give the highest, and most excellent kind of being (which is eternity) can be of a base & vilest degree of being, and next to a not-being; which is so to be, as not to enjoy his own being? I will not here call all your senses to witness which can hear, nor see nothing, which yields not most evident evidence of of the unspeakeablenesse of that Wisdom: each thing being directed to an end, and an end of preservation: so proper effects of judgement, as speaking, and laughing are of mankind.  
But what mad fury can ever so enueagle any conceit, as to see our mortal and corruptible selves to have a reason, and that this universality (whereof we are but the lest pieces) should be utterly devoid thereof? as if one should say, that one's foot might be wise, and himself foolish. This heard I once alleged against such a godless mind as yours, who being driven to acknowledge this beastly absurdity that our bodies should be better than the whole world, if it had the knowledge, whereof the other were void; he sought (not able to answer directly) to shift it off in this sort: that if that reason were true, then must it follow also, that the world must have in it a spirit, that could write and read too, and be learned; since that was in us commendable: wretched fool, not considering that Books be but supplies of defects; and so are praised, because they help our want, and therefore cannot be incident to the eternal intelligence, which needs no recording of opinions to confirm his knowledge, no more than the Sun wants wax to be the fuel of his glorious lightfulnes. This world therefore cannot otherwise consist but by a mind of Wisdom, which governs it, which whether you will allow to be the Creator thereof, as undoubtedly he is, or the soul and governor thereof, most certain it is that whether he govern all, or make all, his power is above either his creatures, or his government. And if his power be above all things, then consequently it must needs be infinite, since there is nothing above it to limit it. For beyond which there is nothing, must needs be boundless, and infinite: if his power be infinite, then likewise must his knowledge be infinite: for else there should be an infinite proportion of power which he should not know how to use; the unsensibleness whereof I think even you can conceive: and if infinite, then must nothing, no not the estate of flies (which you with so unsavoury scorn did jest at) be unknown unto him. For if it were, than there were his knowledge bounded, and so not infinite: if knowledge and power be infinite, then must needs his goodness and justice march in the same rank: for infiniteness of power, and knowledge, without like measure of goodness, must necessarily bring forth destruction and ruin, and not ornament and preservation. Since than there is a God, and an all-knowing God, so as he sees into the darkest of all natural secrets, which is the heart of Man; and sees therein the deepest dissembled thoughts, nay sees the thoughts before they be thought: since he is just to exercise his might, and mighty to perform his justice, assure thyself, most wicked woman (that hast so plaguily a corrupted mind, as thou canst not keep thy sickness to thyself, but must most wickedly infect others) assure thyself, I say, (for what I say depends of everlasting and unremooveable causes) that the time will come, when thou shalt know that power by feeling it, when thou shalt see his wisdom in the manifesting thy ugly shamefulness, and shalt only perceive him to have been a Creator in thy destruction.  
Thus she said, thus she ended, with so fair majesty of unconquered virtue, that captivity might seem to have authority over tyranny: so foully was the filthiness of impiety discovered by the shining of her unstained goodness, so far, as either Cecropia saw indeed, or else the guilty amazement of a self-accusing conscience, made her eyes untrue judges of their natural object, that there was a light more than human, which gave a lustre to her perfections. But Cecropia, like a Bat (which though it have eyes to discern that there is a Sun, yet hath so evil eyes, that it cannot delight in the Sun) found a truth, but could not love it. But as great persons are wont to make the wrong they have done, to be a cause to do the more wrong, her knowledge risen to no higher point, but to envy a worthier, and her will was not otherwise bend, but the more to hate, the more she found her enemy provided against her. Yet all the while she spoke (though with eyes cast like a horse that would strike at the stirrup, and with colour which blushed through yellowness) she sat rather still then quiet, and after her speech rather muttered, then replied: for the war of wickedness in herself, brought forth disdainful pride to resist cunning dissimulation; so as, saying little more unto her, but that she should have leisure enough better to bethink herself; she went away repining, but not repenting: condemning greatly (as she thought) her sons over-feeble humbleness, and purposing to egg him forward to a course of violence. For herself, determining to deal with neither of them both any more in manner of a suitor: for what majesty of virtue did in the one, that did silent humbleness in the other. But finding her son over-apt to lay both condemnation, and execution of sorrow upon himself, she sought to mitigate his mind with feigned delays of comfort, who (having this inward overthrow in himself) was the more vexed, that he could not utter the rage thereof upon his outward enemies.  
For Basilius taught by the last days trial, what dangerous effects chosen courages can bring forth, rather used the spade, than the sword; or the sword, but to defend the spade; girding about the whole town with trenches; which beginning a good way off from the town, with a number of well directed pioneers, he still carried before him till they came to a near distance, where he builded Forts, one answering the other, in such sort, as it was a pretty consideration in the discipline of war, to see building used for the instrument of ruin, and the assayler entrenched as if he were besieged. But many sallies did Amphialus make to hinder their working. But they (exercising more melancholy, than choler in their resolution) made him find, that if by the advantage of place, few are able to defend themselves from many, that many must needs have power, (making themselves strong in seat) to repel few; referring the revenge rather to the end, than a present requital. Yet oftentimes they dealt some blows in light skirmishes, each side having a strong retiring place, and rather fight with many alarms, to vex the enemy, then for any hope of great success.  
Which every way was a tedious cumber to the impatient courage of Amphialus: till the fame of this war, bringing thither diverse, both strangers, and subjects, as well of princely, as noble houses, the gallant Phalantus, who refrained his sportful delights as then, to serve Basilius, (whom he honoured for received honours) when he had spent some time in considering the Arcadian manner in marching, encamping, and fight, and had learned in what points of government, and obedience their discipline differed from others, and so had satisfied his mind in the knowledges, both for the cutting off the enemy's helps, and furnishing one's self, which Basilius orders could deliver unto him, his young spirits (weary of wanting cause to be weary) desired to keep his valour in knowledge, by some private act, since the public policy restrained him; the rather, because his old mistress Artesia might see, whom she had so lightly forsaken: and therefore demanding and obtaining leave of Basilius; he caused a Herald to be furnished with apparel of his office, and tokens of a peaceable message, and so sent him to the gate of the town to demand audience of Amphialus: who understanding thereof, caused him both safely, and courteously to be brought into his presence: who making lowly reverence unto him, presented his Letters, desiring Amphialus that whatsoever they contained, he would consider that he was only the bearer, and not the inditer. Amphialus with noble gentleness assured him both, by honourable speeches, and a demeanour which answered for him, that his revenge, whensoever, should sort unto itself a higher subject. But opening the Letters, he found them to speak in this manner.  
PHalantus of Corinthe, to Amphialus of Arcadia, sendeth the greeting of a hateless enemy. The liking of martial matters without any mislike of your person, hath brought me rather to the company, then to the mind of your besiegers: where languishing in idleness, I desire to refresh my mind with some exercise of arms, which might make known the doers, with delight of the beholders. Therefore, if there be any Gentleman in your Town, that either for the love of Honour, or honour of his Love, will armed on horseback, with lance, and sword, win another, or lose himself, to be a prisoner at discretion of the conqueror, I will to morrow morning by Sun rising, with a trumpet and a Squire only, attend him in like order furnished. The place I think fittest, the Island within the Lake, because it stands so well in the view of your Castle, as that the Ladies may have the pleasure of seeing the combat: which though it be within the commandment of your Castle, I desire no better security, than the promise I make to myself of your virtue. I attend your answer, and wish you such success as may be to your honour, rather in yielding to that which is just, then in maintaining wrong by violence.  
AMphialus read it with cheerful countenance, and thinking but a little with himself, called for ink and paper, and wrote this answer.  
AMphialus of Arcadia, to Phalantus of Corinthe, wisheth all his own wishes, saving those which may be hurtful to another. The matter of your letters so fit for a worthy mind, and the manner so suitable to the nobleness of the matter, give me cause to think how happy I might account myself, if I could get such a friend, who esteem it no small happiness to have met with so noble an enemy. Your challenge shall be answered, and both time, place, and weapon accepted. For your security from any treachery (having no hostage worthy to countervail you) take my word, which I esteem above all respects. Prepare therefore your arms to fight, but not your heart to malice; since true valour needs no other whetstone, then desire of honour.  
Having writ and sealed his letter, he delivered it to the Herald, and withal took a fair chain from off his own neck, and gave it him. And so with safe convoy sent him away from out his City: and he being gone, Amphialus showed unto his mother, and some other of his chief Counsellors, what he had received, and how he had answered: telling them withal, that he was determined to answer the challenge in his own person. His mother with prayers authorized by motherly commandment; his old governor with persuasions mingled with reprehensions, (that he would rather affect the glory of a private fighter, then of a wise General) Clinias with falling down at his feet, and beseeching him to remember, that all their lives depended upon his safety, sought all to dissuade him. But Amphialus (whose heart was inflamed with courage, and courage inflamed with affection) made an imperious resolution cut off the tediousness of replies, giving them in charge, what they should do upon all occasions, and particularly to deliver the Ladies, if otherwise then well happened unto him: only desiring his mother, that she would bring Philoclea to a window, whence she might with ease perfectly discern the combat. And so, as soon as the morning began to draw dew from the fairest greene's, to wash her face withal, against the approach of the burning Sun, he went to his stable, where himself chose out a horse, whom (though he was near twenty year old) he preferred for a piece of sure service, before a great number of younger. His colour was of a brown bay, dapled thick with black spots; his forehead marked with a white star; to which, in all his body there was no part suitable, but the left foot before; his mane and tail black, and thick, of goodly, and well proportioned greatness. He caused him to be trimmed with a sumptuous saddle of tawny, and gold enamel, enriched with precious stones: his furniture was made into the fashion of the branches of a tree, from which the leaves were falling: and so artificially were the leaves made, that as the horse moved, it seemed indeed that the leaves wagged, as when the wind plays with them; and being made of a pale cloth of gold, they did bear the straw-coloured livery of ruin. His armour was also of tawny and gold, but form into the figure of flames darkened, as when they newly broke the prison of a smoky furnace. In his shield he had painted the Torpedo fish. And so appointed; he caused himself, with his trumpet and squire (whom he had taken since the death of Ismenus) to be ferried over into the Island: a place well chosen for such a purpose. For, it was so plain, as there was scarcely any bush, or hillock, either to unlevell, or shadow it: of length and breadth enough, to try the uttermost both of lance and sword, and the one end of it facing the castle, the other extending itself toward the camp, and no access to it, but by water: there could no secret treachery be wrought, and for manifest violence, either side might have time enough to secure their party.  
But there he found Phalantus, already waiting for him upon a horse, milk white, but that upon his shoulder and withers, he was freckned with red stains, as when a few strawberries are scattered into a dish of cream. He had caused his mane and tail to be died in carnation; his reins were vine branches, which engendering one with the other, at the end, when it came to the bit, there, for the boss, brought forth a cluster of grapes, by the workman made so lively, that it seemed, as the horse champed on his bit, he chopped for them, and that it did make his mouth water, to see the grapes so near him. His furniture behind was of vines, so artificially made, as it seemed the horse stood in the shadow of the vine, so prettily were clusters of ruby grapes dispersed among the trappers which embraced his sides. His armour was blue, like the heaven, which a Sun did with his rays (proportionately delivered) gild in most places. His shield was beautified with this device; A greyhound, which overrunning his fellow, and taking the hare, yet hurts it not when it takes it. The word was, The glory, not the prey.  
But as soon as Amphialus landed, he sent his squire to Phalantus, to tell him, that there was the Knight, ready to know whether he had any thing to say to him. Phalantus answered, that his answer now must be in the language of lances; and so each attended the warning of the trumpets, which were to sound at the appointment of four judges, who with consideration of the same, had divided the ground. Phalantus-his horse young, and feeling the youth of his master, stood curveting; which being well governed by Phalantus, gave such a glittering grace, as when the Sun in a clear day shines upon a waving water. Amphialus-horse stood panting upon the ground, with his further foot before, as if he would for his master's cause begin to make himself angry: till the trumpet sounding together, Together they set spurs to their horses, together took their lances from their thighs, conveyed them up into their rests together, together let them sink downward; so as it was a delectable sight, in a dangerous effect; and a pleasant consideration, that there was so perfect agreement, in so mortal disagreement: like a music, made of cunning discords. But their horses keeping an even line their masters had skilfully allotted unto them, passed one by another without encountering, although either might feel the angry breath of other. But the staves being come to a just descent, but even when the mark was ready to meet them, Amphialus was run through the vamplate, and under the arm: so as the staff appearing behind him, it seemed to the beholders he had been in danger. But he strake Phalantus just upon the gorget, so as he battered the lamms thereof, and made his head almost touch the back of his horse. But either side having stayed the spur, & used the bit to stop their horse's fury, casting away the troncheons of their staves, & drawing their swords, they attended the second summons of the death-threatning trumpet, which quickly followed; and they assoon making their horses answer their hands, with a gentle gallop, set one toward the other, till being come in the nearness of little more than a staves length. Amphialus trusting more to the strength, then to the nimbleness of his horse, put him forth with speedy violence, and making his head join to the others flank, guiding his blow with discretion, and strengthening it with the course of his horse, strake Phalantus upon the head, in such sort, that his feeling sense did both dazzle his sight, and astonish his hearing. But Phalantus (not accustomed to be ungrateful to such benefits) strake him upon the side of his face, with such force, that he thought his jaw had been cut asunder: though the faithfulness of his armour indeed guarded him from further damage. And so remained they awhile, rather angry with fight, then fight for anger, till Amphialushis horse, leaning hard upon the other, and winning ground, the other horse feeling himself priest, began to rise a little before, as he was wont to do in his curvet: which advantage Amphialus taking, set forward his own horse with the further spur, so as Phalantus-his horse came over with his master under him. Which Amphialus seeing, lighted, with intention to help Phalantus. But his horse that had faulted, rather with untimely art, then want of force, got up from burdning his burden, so as Phalantus (in the fall having gotten his feet free off the stirrup) could (though something bruised) arise, and seeing Amphialus near him, he asked him, Whether he had given him any help in removing his horse. Amphialus said No. Truly said Phalantus, I asked it, because I would not willingly have fought with him, that had had my life in his mercy. But now (said Phalantus) before we proceed further, let me know who you are, because never yet did any man bring me to the like fortune. Amphialus listing to keep himself unknown, told him he was a Gentlemen, to whom Amphialus that day had given armour and horse to try his valour, having never before been in any combat worthy remembrance. Ah, (said Phalantus in a rage) And must I be the exercise of your prentisage? and with that, choler took away either the bruise, or the feeling of the bruise, so as he entered a fresh into the combat, and boiling into his arms the disdain of his heart, strake so thick upon Amphialus, as if every blow would feign have ben foremost. But Amphialus (that many like trials had taught, great spending to leave small remnants) let pass the storm with strong wards, and nimble avoidings: till seeing his time fit, both for distance & nakedness, he strake him so cruel a blow on the knee, that the poor Gentleman fell down withal in a sown.  
But Amphialus, pitying approved valour, made precious by natural courtesy, went to him, & taking off his headpiece to give him air, the young Knight (disdaining to buy life with yielding) bade him use his fortune: for he was resolved never to yield. No more you shall (said Amphialus) if it be not to my request, that you will account yourself to have great interest in me. Phalantus more overcome by his kindness, then by his fortune, desired yet once again to know his name, who in his first beginning had showed such fury in his force, and yet such stay in his fury. Amphialus, then named himself, telling him withal, he would think his name much bettered, if it might be honoured by the title of his friend. But no Balm could be more comfortable to his wound, than the knowledge thereof was to his mind, when he knew his mishap should be excused by the renowned valour of the other. And so promising each to other assuredness of good will, Phalantus, (of whom Amphialus would have no other ransom, but his word of friendship) was conveyed into the camp, where he would but little remain among the enemies of Amphialus: but went to seek his adventures otherwhere.  
As for Amphialus he was received with triumph into the castle; although one might see by his eyes (humbly lifted up to the window where Philoclea stood) that he was rather suppliant, then victorious: which occasion Cecropia taking, (who as then stood by Philoclea, and had lately left Pamela in another room, whence also she might see the combat) Sweet Lady (said she) now you may see, whether you have cause to love my son, who then lies under your feet, when he stands upon the neck of his bravest enemies. Alas said Philoclea, a simple service to me, me thinks it is, to have those, who come to secure me, destroyed: If it be my duty to call it love, be it so: but the effects it brings forth I confess I account hateful. Cecropia grew so angry with this unkind answer, that she could not abstain from telling her, that she was like them that could not sleep, when they were softly laid: but that if her son would follow her counsel, he should take another course with her: and so flung away from her.  
Yet (knowing the desperate melancholy of Amphialus in like cases) framed to him a very thankful message, powdering it with some hope-giving phrases; which were of such joy to Amphialus, that he (though against public respect, and importunity of dissuaders) presently caused it to be made known to the camp, that whatsoever Knight would try the like fortune as Phalantus did, he should in like sort be answered: so as divers of the valiantest, partly of themselves, partly at the instigation of Basilius, attempted the combat with him: and according to every one's humour, so were the causes of the challenge grounded: one laying treason to his charge; another preferring himself in the worthiness to serve Philoclea; a third, exalting some Lady's beauty beyond either of the sisters; a fourth, laying disgraces to Love itself, naming it the bewitcher of the wit, the rebel to Reason, the betrayer of resolution, the defiler of thoughts, the underminer of magnanimity, the flatterer of vice, the slave to weakness, the infection of youth, the madness of age; the curse of life, and reproach of death; a fifth, disdaining to cast at less than at all, would make the cause of his quarrel the causers of love, and proclaim his blasphemies against womankind; that namely that sex was the oversight of Nature, the disgrace of reasonableness, the obstinate cowards, the slave-borne tyrants, the shops of vanities, the guilded weathercocks; in whom conscience is but peevishness, chastity way wardness, and gratefulness a miracle. But all these challenges (how well so ever indited) were so well answered, that some by death taught others, though past learning themselves; and some by yielding gave themselves the lie for having blasphemed; to the great grief of Basilius, so to see his Rebel prevail, and in his own sight to crown himself with deserved honour.  
Whereupon thirsting for revenge, and else not hoping to prevail, the best of his camp being already overthrown; he sent a messenger to Argalus, in whose approved courage and force, he had (and had cause) to have great confidence, with a letter; requiring him, to take this quarrel in hand, from which he had hitherto spared him in respect of his late marriage. But now his honour, and (as he esteemed it) felicity standing upon it, he could no longer forbear to challenge of him his faithful service.  
The messenger made speed, and found Argalus at a castle of his own, sitting in a parlour with the fair Parthenia, he reading in a book the stories of Hercules, she by him, as to hear him read; but while his eyes looked on the book, she looked on his eyes, and sometimes staying him with some pretty question, not so much to be resolved of the doubt; as to give him occasion to look upon her. A happy couple, he joying in her, she joying in herself, but in herself, because she enjoyed him: both increasing their riches by giving to each other; each making one life double, because they made a double life one; where desire never wanted satisfaction, nor satisfaction ever bred satiety; he ruling, because she would obey: or rather because she would obey, she therein ruling.  
But when the messenger came in with letters in his hand, and hast in his countenance, though she knew not what to fear, yet she feared, because she knew not; but she risen, and went aside, while he delivered his letters and message; yet a far off she looked, now at the messenger, and then at her husband: the same fear, which made her loath to have cause of fear, yet making her seek cause to nourish her fear. And well she found there was some serious matter; for her husband's countenance figured some resolution between loathness and necessity: and once his eye cast upon her, and finding hers upon him, he blushed; and she blushed, because he blushed; and yet straight grew pale, because she knew not why he had blushed. But when he had read, and heard, and dispatched away the messenger (like a man in whom Honour could not be rocked a sleep by Affection) with promise quickly to follow; he came to Parthenia, and as sorry as might be for parting, and yet more sorry for her sorrow, he gave her the letter to read. She with fearful slowness took it, and with fearful quickness read it; and having read it, Ah my Argalus (said she) and have you made such haste to answer? and are you so soon resolved to leave me? But he discoursing unto her, how much it imported his honour (which since it was dear to him, he knew it would be dear unto her) her reason overclowded with sorrow, suffered her not presently to reply, but left the charge thereof to tears, and sighs; which he not able to bear, left her alone, and went to give order for his present departure.  
But by that time he was armed, & ready to go, she had recovered a little strength of spirit again and coming out, and seeing him armed, and wanting nothing for his departure but her fearewell, she ran to him, took him by the arm, and kneeling down without regard, who either heard her speech, or saw her demeanour, My Argalus, my Argalus (said she) do not thus forsake me. Remember, alas, Remember that I have interest in you, which I will never yield shallbe thus adventured. Your valour is already sufficiently known: sufficiently have you already done for your country: ennow, ennow there are besides you to lose less worthy lives. Woe is me, what shall become of me, if you thus abandon me? Then was it time for you to follow these adventures, when you adventured no body but yourself, and were no bodies but your own. But now pardon me, that now, or never, I claim mine own; mine you are, and without me you can undertake no danger: and will you endanger Parthenia? Parthenia shallbe in the battle of your fight: Parthenia shall smart in your pain and your blood must be bled by Parthenia. Dear Parthenia (said he) this is the first time, that ever you resisted my will: I thank you for it; but persever not in it; and let not the tears of those most beloved eyes be a presage unto me of that, which you would not should happen. I shall live, doubt not: for so great a blessing, as you are was not given unto me, so soon to be deprived of it. Look for me therefore shortly, and victorious; and prepare a joyful welcome, and I will wish for no other triumph. She answered not, but stood as it were thunder-striken with amazement: for true Love made obedience stand up against all other passions. But when he took her in his arms, and sought to print his heart in her sweet lips, she fell in a sound, so as he was feign to leave her to her Gentlewomen: and carried away by the tyranny of Honour, though with many a backe-cast look, and hearty groan, went to the camp. Where understanding the notable victories of Amphialus, he thought to give him some days respite of rest, because he would not have his victory disgraced by the others weariness. In which days, he sought by all means (having leave to parley with him) to dissuade him from his enterprise: & then imparting his mind to Basilius, because he found Amphialus was inflexible, wrote his defy unto him in this manner.  
RIght famous Amphialus, if my persuasion in reason, or prayer in good will, might prevail with you, you should by better means be like to obtain your desire. You should make many brave enemies become your faithful servants, and and make your honour fly up to heaven, being carried up by both the wings of valour and justice; whereof now it wants the latter. But since my suit, nor counsel can get no place in you, disdain not to receive a mortal challenge, from a man so far inferior unto you in virtue, as that I do not so much mislike of the deed, as I have the doer in admiration. Prepare therefore yourself, according to the noble manner you have used and think not lightly of never so weak an arm, which strikes with the sword of justice,  
To this he quickly received this answer.  
Much more famous Argalus, I whom never threatenings could make afraid, am now terrified by your noble courtesy. For well I know, from what height of virtue it doth proceed, and what cause I have to doubt such virtue bend to my ruin: but Love, which justifieth the unjustice you lay unto me, doth also animate me against all dangers, since I come full of him by whom yourself have been (if I be not deceived) sometimes conquered. I will therefore attend your appearance in the isle, carrying this advantage with me, that as it shall be a singular honour if I get the victory, so there can be no dishonour in being overcome by Argalus.  
The challenge thus denounced, and accepted, Argalus was armed in a white armour, which was all guilded over with knots of woman's hair, which came down from the crest of his headpiece, & spread itself in rich quantity over all his armour: his furniture was cut out into the fashion of an Eagle, whereof the beak (made into a rich jewel) was fastened to the saddle, the tail covered the crupper of the horse, and the wings served for trappers; which falling of each side, as the horse stirred, the bird seemed to fly. His petrell and rains, were embroidered with feathers suitable unto it: upon his right arm he ware a sleeve, which his dear Parthenia had made for him, to be worn in a jousts, in the time that success was ungrateful to their well-deserued love: it was full of bleeding hearts, though never intended to any bloody enterprise. In his shield (as his own device) he had two Palm trees, near one another, with a word signifying, In that sort flourishing. His horse was of a fiery sorrel, with black feet, & black list on his back, who with open nostrils breathed war, before he could see an enemy: and now up with one leg, and then with another, seemed to complain of Nature, that she had made him any whit earthy.  
But he had scarcely viewed the ground of the Island, and considered the advantages (if any were) thereof, before the castle boat had delivered Amphialus, in all points provided to give a hard entertainment. And then sending each to other their Squires in honourable manner, to know whether they should attend any further ceremony; the trumpets sounding, the horses with smooth running, the staves with unshaked motion, obediently performed their choleric commandements. But when they drew near, Argalus horse being hot, priest in with his head: which Amphialus perceiving, knowing if he gave him his side, it should be to his disadvantage, priest in also with him, so as both the horses & men met shoulder to shoulder, so as the horses (hurt as much with the striking, as being stricken) tumbled down to the earth, dangerously to their masters, but that they by strength nimble, & by use skilful, in the falling shunned the harm of the fall, and without more respite, drew out their sword with a gallant bravery, each striving to show himself the less endamaged, and to make known that they were glad, they had now nothing else to trust to, but their own virtue. True it is, that Amphialus was the sooner up; but Argalus had his sword out the sooner: and then fell they to the cruelest combat, that any present eye had seen. Their swords first, like Canons, battering down the walls of their armour, making breaches almost in every place for troops of wounds to enter. Among the rest, Argalus gave a great wound to Amphialus disarmed face; though part of the force of it Amphialus warded upon his shield, and withal (first casting his eye up to Philoclea's Window, as if he had fetched his courage thence) feigning to intend the same sort of blow, turned his sword, and with a mighty reverse, gave a cruel wound to the right arm of Argalus, the unfaithful armour yielding to the swords strong-guiuded sharpness. But though the blood accused the hurt of Argalus, yet would he in no action of his confess it: but keeping himself in a lower ward, stood watching with timely thrusts to repair his loss; which quickly he did. For Amphialus (following his fawning fortune) laid on so thick upon Argalus, that his shield had almost fallen piece-meal to the earth, when Argalus coming in with his right foot, and something stowping to come under his armour, thrust him into the belly dangerously, and mortally it would have been but that, with the blow before, Amphialus had over stricken himself so, as he fell side-ward down, and with falling saved himself from ruin, The sword by that means slipping aside, and not piercing more deeply. Argalus seeing him fall, threatening with voice and sword, bade him yield. But he striving without answer to rise, Argalus strake with all his might upon his head. But his hurt arm not able to master so sound a force, let the sword fall so, as Amphialus, though astonished with the blow, could arispe: which Argalus considering, ran in to grasp with him, & so closed together; falling so to the ground, now one getting above, and then the other; at length, both weary of so unlovely embracements, with a dissending consent gate up, and went to their sword: but happened each of his enemies: where Argalus finding his foe's sword garnished in his blood, his heart raze with the same sword to revenge it, and on that blade to ally their bloods together. But his mind was evil wayted-on by his lamed force, so as he received still more & more wounds which made all his armour seem to blush, that it had defended his master no better. But Amphialus perceiving it, & weighing the small hatefulness of their quarrel, with the worthiness of the Knight, desired him to take pity of himself. But Argalus, the more repining, the more he found himself in disadvantage, filling his veins with spite in stead of blood, and making courage arise against faintness, (like a Candle, which a little before it goes out, gives then the greatest blaze) so did he unite all his force, that casting away the little remnant of his shield, and taking his sword in both hands, he struck such a notable blow, that he cloven his shield armour, and arm almost to the bone.  
But then Amphialus forgot all ceremonies, & with cruel blows made more of his best blood succeed the rest; till his hand being stayed by his ear, his ear filled with a pitiful cry, the cry guided his sight to an excellent fair Lady, who came running as fast as she could, and yet because she could not as fast as she would, she sent her lamentable voice before her: and being come, and being known to them both, to be the beautiful Parthenia, (who had that night dreamt she saw her husband in such estate, as she then found him, which made her make such haste thither) they both marveled. But Parthenia ran between them (fear of love making her forget the fear of Nature) and then fell down at their feet, determining so to part them, till she could get breath to sigh out her doleful speeches: and when her breath (which running had spent, & dismaidness made slow to return) had by sobs; gotten into her sorow-closed breast, for a while she could say nothing, but, O wretched eyes of mine, O wailful sight, O day of darkness: at length turning her eyes (where in sorrow swam) to Amphialus, My Lord (said she) it is said you love; in the power of that love, I beseech you to leave of this combat, as ever your heart may find comfort in his affection, even for her sake, I crave it: or if you be mortally determined, be so pitiful unto me, as first to kill me, that I may not see the death of Argalus. Amphialus was about to have answered, when Argalus, vexed with his Fortune, but most vexed that she should see him in that fortune, Ah Parthenia (said he) never till now unwelcome unto me, do you come to get my life by request? And cannot Argalus live but by request? Is that a life? With that he went aside, for fear of hurting her, & would have begun the combat afresh. But Amphialus not only conjured by that which held the Monarchy of his mind, but even in his noble heart melting with compassion at so passionate a sight, desired him to withhold his hands, for that he should strike one, who sought his favour, & would not make resistance. A notable example of the wonderful effects of Virtue, where the conqueror, sought for friendship of the conquered, & the conquered would not pardon the conqueror: both indeed being of that mind to love each other for accepting, but not for giving mercy, & neither affected to over-live a dishonour: so that Argalus not so much striving with Amphialus (for if he had had him in the like sort, in like sort he would have dealt with him) as labouring against his own power (which he chief despised) set himself forward, stretching his strength to the uttermost. But the fire of that strife, blown with his inward rage, boiled out his blood in such abundance, that he was driven to rest him upon the pommel of his sword: and then each thing beginning to turn round in the dance of Death before his eyes, his sight both dazzled & dimmed, till (thinking to sit down) he fell in a sown, Parthenia, and Amphialus both hastily went unto him: Amphialus took off his helmet, and Parthenia laid his head in her lap, tearing of her linen sleeves & partlet, to serve about his wounds to bind which, she took of her hair-lace, and would have cut of her fair hair herself, but that the squires and judges came in with fit things for the purpose: while she bewailed herself with so lamentable sweetness, as was enough to have taught sorrow to the gladdest thoughts, and have engraved it in the minds of hardest metal.  
O Parthenia, no more Parthenia (said she) What art thou? what seest thou? how is thy bliss in a moment fallen? how art thou, even-now before all Ladies the example of perfect happiness, and now the gasing-stocke of endless misery? O God, what hath been my desert to be thus punished? or if such have been my desert, why was I not in myself punished? O wandering life, to what wilderness wouldst thou lead me? But Sorrow, I hope thou art sharp enough to save my labour from other remedies. Argalus, Argalus, I will follow thee, I will follow thee.  
But with that Argalus came out of his sown, and lifting up his languishing eyes (which a painful rest, and iron sleep did seek to lock up) seeing her, in whom (even dying) he lived, and himself seated in so beloved a place, it seemed a little cheerful blood came up to his cheeks, like a burning coal, almost dead, if some breath a little revive it: and forcing up (the best he could) his feeble voice, My dear, my better half (said he) I find I must now leave thee: and by that sweet hand, and fair eyes of thine I swear, that Death brings nothing with it to grieve me, but that I must leave thee, and cannot remain to answer part of thy infinite deserts, with being some comfort unto thee. But since so it pleaseth him, whose wisdom and goodness guideth all, put thy confidence in him, and one day we shall blessedly meet again, never to departed: mean while live happily, dear Parthenia, and I persuade myself, it will increase the blessedness of my soul, so to see thee. Love well the remembrance of thy loving, and truly loving, Argalus: and let not (with that word he sighed) this disgrace of mine, make thee one day think, thou hadst an unworthy husband. They could scarcely understand the last words: for Death began to seize himself of his heart, neither could Parthenia make answer, so full was her breast of anguish. But while the other sought to staunch his remediless wounds, she with her kisses made him happy: for his last breath was delivered into her mouth.  
But when indeed she found his ghost was gone, than Sorrow lost the wit of utterance, and grew rageful, and mad, so that she tore her beautiful face, and  rend her hair, as though they could serve for nothing, since Argalus was gone; till Amphialus (so moved with pity of that sight, as that he honoured his adversaries death with tears) caused her (with the help of her women that came with her partly by force, to be conveyed into the boat, with the dead body of Argalus, from which she would not departed. And being come of the other side, there she was received by Basilius himself, with all the funeral pomp of military discipline, trailing all their ensigns upon the ground, making these warlike instruments sound doleful notes, and Basilius (with comfort in his mouth, and woe in his face) sought to persuade some ease into Parthenia's mind: but all was as easeful to her, as the handling of sore wounds: all the honour done, being to her but the triumph of her ruin, she finding no comfort, but in desperate yielding to Sorrow: and rather determined to hate herself, if ever she should find ease thereof. And well might she hear as she passed through the Camp, the great praises spoken of her husband, which all were records of her loss. But the more excellent he was (being indeed accounted second to none in all Greece) the more did the breath of those praises, bear up the wings of Amphialushis fame: to whom yet (such was his case) that Trophy upon Trophy, still did but build up the monument of his thraldom; he ever finding himself in such favour of Philoclea, that she was most absent, when he was present with her; and ever sorriest, when he had best success: which would have made him renounce all comfort, but that his mother, with diversity of devices, kept up his heart.  
But while he allayed thus his outward glory, with inward discomfort, he was like to have been overtaken with a notable treason, the beginning whereof (though merely ridiculous) had like to have brought forth unto him a weeping effect.  
Among other that attended Basilius in this expedition, Damaetas was one; whether to be present with him, or absent from Miso: once, certain it was without any mind to make his sword cursed by any widow. Now being in the camp, while each talk seemed injurious, which did not acknowledge some duty to the fame of Amphialus, it fell out sometimes in communication, that as the speech of heaven doth often beget the mention of hell, so the admirable prows of Amphialus (by a contrary) brought forth the remembrance of the cowardice of Clinias: in so much, as it grew almost to a proverb, As very a coward, as Clinias. Describing him in such sort, that in the end, Damaetas began to think with himself, that if he made a challenge unto him, he would never answer it; and that then he should greatly increase the favourable conceit of Basilius. This fancy of his he uttered to a young Gentleman, that waited upon Philanax, in whose friendship he had especial confidence, because he haunted his company, laughing often merely at his speeches, and not a little extolling the goodly dotes of Mopsa. The young Gentleman as glad, as if he had found a Hare sitting, egged him on, breaking the matter with Philanax, and then (for fear the humour should quail in him) wrote a challenge himself for Damaetas, and brought it to him. But when Damaetas read it, putting his head on his shoulder, and somewhat smiling; he said, it was pretty indeed; but that it had not a lofty stile enough: and so would needs indite it in this sort.  
O Clinias, thou Clinias, the wickedest worm that ever went upon two legs; the very fritter of fraud, and seething pot of iniquity: I Damaetas, chief governor of all the royal cattle, & also of Pamela (whom thy Master most perniciously hath suggested out of my dominion) do defy thee, in a mortal affray from the bodkin to the pike upward. Which if thou dost presume to take in hand, I will out of that superfluous body of thine make thy soul to be evacuated.  
The young Gentleman seemed dumbe-striken with admiration, and presently took upon him to be the bearer thereof, while the heat of the fit lasted, and having gotten leave of Basilius (every body helping on, to ease his mind overcharged with melancholy) he went into the town according to the manner before time used, and in the presence of Amphialus delivered this letter to Clinias; desiring to have an answer, which might be fit for his reputation. Clinias opened it, read it; and in the reading, his blood not daring to be in so dangerous a place, went out of his face, and hid itself more inwardly: and his very words (as if they were afraid of blows) came very slowly out of his mouth: but, aswell as his panting breath would utter it, he bade him tell the lout that sent him, that he disdained to have any thing to do with him. But Amphialus, perceiving the matter, took him aside, and very earnestly dealt with him not to shame himself; Amphialus only desirous to bring it to pass to make some sport to Philoclea, but not being able to persuade with him, Amphialus licensed the Gentleman, telling him, that by next morning he should have answer.  
The young Gentleman (sorry he had sped no better) returned to Damaetas, who had fetched many a sower-breathed sigh, for fear Clinias would accept the challenge. But when he perceived by his trusty messenger, that this delay was in effect a denial, there being no disposition in him to accept it; then lo, Damaetas began to speak his loud voice, to look big, to march up & down, & in his march to lift his legs higher than he was wont, swearing by no mean devotions, that the walls should not keep the coward from him, but he would fetch him out of his connie-berrie: and then was hotter than ever to provide himself of horse & armour, saying, he would go to the Island bravely addoubed, & show himself to his charge Pamela. To this purpose many willing hands were about him, letting him have reins, pettrell, with the rest of the furniture, and very brave bases; but all coming from divers houses, nether in colour nor fashion, showing any kindred one with another; but that liked Damaetas the better: for that he thought would argue, that he was master of many brave furnitures. Then gave he order to a painter for his device; which was, a plough with the oxen lewsed from it, a sword with a great number of arms and legs cut off; and lastly a great army of pen and inkhorns, and books. Nether did he stick to tell the secret of his intent, which was, that he had left off the plough, to do such bloody deeds with his sword, as many inkhorns and books should be employed about the historifying of them: and being asked, why he set no word unto it, he said, that was indeed like the painter, that sayeth in his picture, Here is the dog, and there is the Hare: & with that he laughed so perfectly, as was great consolation to the beholders. Yet remembering, that Miso would not take it well at his return, if he forgot his duty to her, he caused in a border about to be written: 
Miso mine own pigsney, thou shalt hear news of Damaetas.   
Thus all things being condignly ordered, with an ill favoured impatiency he waited, until the next morning, that he might make a muster of himself in the Island; often ask them that very diligently waited upon him, whether it were not pity, that such a coward, as Clinias, should fet his runaway feet upon the face of the earth?  
But as he was by divers principal young Gentlemen, to his no small glory, lifted up on horseback, comes me a page of Amphialus, who with humble smiling reverence delivered a letter unto him from Clinias: whom Amphialus had brought to this, first with persuasions (that for certain, if he did accept the combat, Damaetas would never dare to appear, and that then the honour should be his) but principally threatening him, that if he refused it, he would turn him out of the town to be put to death for a traitor by Basilius: so as the present fear (ever to a coward most terrible) of being turned out of the town, made him, though full unwillingly, undertake the other fear, wherein he had some show of hope, that Damætas might hap either to be sick, or not to have the courage to perform the matter. But when Damætas herded the name of Clinias, very aptly suspecting what the matter might be, he bade the page carry back his letter, like a naughty boy as he was: for he was in no humour, he told him, of reading letters. But Damætas-is friend, first persuading him, that for certain it was some submission, took upon him so much boldness, as to open his letter, and to read it aloud in this sort. FIlthy drivel, unworthy to have thy name set in any letter by a soldiers hand written: could thy wretched heart think it was timorousness, that made Clinias suspend a while his answer? Not caitiff, no: it was but as a Ram, which goes back to return with the greater force. Know therefore that thou shalt not sooner appear (appear now if thou darest) I say thou shalt not sooner appear in the Island (OH happy thou, if thou do not appear) but that I will come upon thee with all my force; and cut thee in pieces (mark, what I say) joint after joint, to the eternal terror of all presumptuous villains. Therefore look what thou dost: for I tell thee, horrible smart, and pain shall-be thy lot, if thou will't needs be so foolish (I having given thee no such cause) as to meet with me.  
These terrible words Clinias used, hoping they would give a cooling to the heat of Damætas-is courage: and so indeed they did, that he did groan to hear the thundering of those threatenings. And when the Gentleman had ended the reading of them, Damætas told them, that in his opinion he thought this answer come too late, and that therefore he might very well go, and disarm himself: especially considering, the other had in courteous manner warned him not to come. But they (having him now on horseback) led him unto the ferry, and so into the Island; the clashing of his own armour striking miserable fear into him, and in his mind thinking great unkindness in his friend, that he had brought him to a matter so contrary to his complexion. There stayed he but a little (the Gentlemen that come with him teaching him how to use his sword and lance, while he cast his eye about, to see which way he might run away, cursing all islands for being evil situated) when Clinias with a brave sound of trumpets landed at the other end: who come all the way debating with himself, what he had deserved of Amphialus to drive him to those inconveniences. Sometimes his wit made him bethink himself what was best to be done: but fear did so corrupt his wit, that whatsoever he thought was best, he still found danger therein; fearfulness (contrary to all other vices) making him think the better of another, the worse he found himself; rather imagining in himself, what words he would use (if he were overcome) to get his life of Damætas, then how to overcome, whereof he could think with no patience. But oftentimes looking to the Earth pitifully complaining, that a man of such sufficiency (as he thought himself) should in his best years be swallowed up by so base an element. Feign he would have prayed, but he had not heart enough to have confidence in prayer; the glittering of the armour, and sounding of the trumpets giving such an assault to the weake-breache of his false senses, that he grew from the degree of fear to an amazement, not almost to know what he did; till two judges (choose for the purpose) making the trumpets cease, and taking the oath of those champions, that they come without guile or witchcraft, set them at wont distance; one from the other.  
Than the trumpets sounding, Damætas horse (used to such causes) when he thought least of the matter, started out so lustily, that Damætas was iogde back with head, and body, and pulling withal his bridle-hand, the horse (that was tender of mouth) made half a stop, and fallen to bounding, so that Damætas threw away his lance, and with both his hands held by the pummel: the horse, half running, half leaping, till he met with Clinias: who fearing he should miss his rest, had put his staff therein before he begun his career: neither would he then have begun, but that at the trumpets warning, one (that stood behind) strake on his horse, who running swiftly, the wind took such hold of his staff, that it crossed quite over his breast, and in that sort gave a flat bastonado to Damætas: who half out of his saddle, went near to his old occupation of digging the earth, but with the crest of his helmet. Clinias when he was passed him, not knowing what he had done, but fearing jest Damætas were at his back, turned with a wide turn; and seeing him on the ground, he thought then was his time, or never, to tread him under his horses feet; and withal (if he could) hurt him with his lance, which had not broken; the encounter was so easy. But putting forth his horse, what with the falling of the staff too low before the legs of the horse, and the coming upon Damætas, who was then scrambling up, the horse fallen over and over, and lay upon Clinias. Which Damætas (who was got up) perceiving, drawn out his sword, prying which way he might best come to kill Clinias behind. But the horse that lay upon him, kept such a pawing with his feet, that Damætas dared not approach, but very leisurely; so as the horse (being lusty) got up, and withal fallen to strike, and leap, that Damætas started back a good way, and gave Clinias time to rise, but so bruised in body, and broken in heart, that he meant to yield himself to mercy: and with that intent drawn out his sword, intending when he come nearer, to present the pommel of it to Damætas. But Damætas, when he seen him come with his sword drawn, nothing conceiving of any such intent, went back as fast as his back and heels could lead him. But as Clinias found that, he begun to think a possibility in the victory, and therefore followed with the cruel haste of a prevailing coward; laying upon Damætas, who did nothing but cry out to him to hold his hand: sometimes that he was dead, sometimes that he would complain to Basilius: but still bore the blows ungratefully, going back, till at length he come into the water with one of his feet.  
But then a new fear of drowning took him, so that not daring to go back, nor to deliberate (the blows still so lighted on him) nor to yield (because of the cruel threatenings of Clinias) fear being come to the extremity, fallen to a madness of despair: so that (winking as hard as ever he could) he begun to deal some blows, and his arm (being used to a flail in his youth) laid them on so thick, that Clinias now begun with lamentable eyes to see his own blood come out in many places, and before he had lost half an ounce, finding in himself that he fainted, cried out aloud to Damætas, that he yielded. Throw away thy sword then (said Damætas)& I will save thee; but still laying on, as fast as he could. Clinias strait obeyed,& humbly craved mercy, telling him, his sword was go. Than Damætas first opened his eyes, and seeing him indeed unweaponed, made him stand a good way of from it; and then willed him to lie down upon the earth as flat as he could. Clinias obeyed; and Damaetas (who never could think himself safe, till Clinias were dead) began to think with himself, that if he strake at him with his sword, if he did not kill him at the first blow, that then Clinias might hap to arise, and revenge himself. Therefore he thought best to kneel down upon him, and with a great whittle he had (having disarmed his head) to cut his throat, which he had used so with Calves, as he had no small dexterity in it. But while he sought for his Knife, which under his armour he could not well find out, and that Clinias lay with so sheepish a quietness, as if he would have been glad to have his throat cut for fear of more pain, the judges came in, and took Damaetas from off him, telling him he did against the law of Arms, having promised life, if he threw away his sword. Damaetas was loath to consent, till they swore, they would not suffer him to fight any more, when he was up: and then more forced, then persuaded, he let him rise, crowing over him, and warning him to take heed how he dealt any more with any that came of his father's kindred. But thus this combat of cowards being finished, Damaetas was with much mirth and melody received into the camp as victorious, never a Page there failing to wait upon this Triumph.  
But Clinias, though he wanted heart to prevent shame, yet he wanted not wit to feel shame; not so much repining at it for the abhorring of shame, as for the discommodities, that to them that are shamed, ensue. For well he deemed, it would be a great bar to his practise, and a pulling on of injuries, when men needed not care, how they used him. Insomuch, that Clinias (finding himself the scorning-stocke of every company) fell with repining to hate the cause thereof; and hate in a coward's heart, could set itself no other limits, but death. Which purpose was well egged on by representing unto himself, what danger he lately was in; which still kept no less ugly figure in his mind, then when it was present: and quickly (even in his dissembling countenance) might be discerned a concealed grudge. For though he forced in himself a far more diligent officiousness toward Amphialus, then ever before, yet a leering eye upon the one side at him, a countenance still framed to smiling before him (how little cause soever there was of smiling) and grombling behind him, at any of his commandments, with an uncertain manner of behaviour: his words coming out, though full of flattery, yet slowly, and hoarsely pronounced, might well have blazed, what arms his false heart bare. But despised, because of his cowardliness, and not marked, because despised, he had the freer scope of practise. Which he did the more desperately enter into, because the daily dangers Amphialus did submit himself into, made Clinias assuredly look for his overthrow, and for his own consequently, if he did not redeem his former treason to Basilius, with a more treasonable falsehood toward Amphialus. His chief care therefore was, to find out among all sorts of the Amphialians, whom either like fear, tediousness of the siege, or discontentment of some unsatisfied ambition would make apt to dig in the same mine that he did: & some already of wealthy weary folks, & unconstant youths (who had not found such sudden success as they had promised themselves) he had made stoup to his lure. But of none he made so good account as of Artesia, sister to the late slain Ismenus, & the chief of the six maids, who had trained out the Princesses to their banquet of misery: so much did the sharpness of her wit countervail (as he thought) any other defects of her sex: for she had undertaken that dangerous practice by the persuasion of Cecropia; who assured her that the two princesses should be made away; and than Amphialus would marry her: which she was the apt to believe, by some false persuasion her glass had given her of her own incomparable excellencies, & by the great favour she knew he bore to her brother Ismenus, which (like a self-flattering woman) she conceived was done for her sake. But when she had achieved her attempt, and that she found the Princesses were so far from their intended death, as that the one of them was like to be her sovereign, & that neither her service had won of Amphialus much more than ordinary favour, nor her over-large offering herself to a mind otherwise owed, had obtained a loked-for acceptation; disdain to be disdained spite of a frustrate hope, & perchance unquenched lust-growne rage, made her unquiet thoughts find no other rest, but malice: which was increased by the death of her brother, whom she judged neither succoured against Philanax, nor revenged upon Philanax. But all these coals were well blown by the company she especially kept with Zelmane, all this time of her imprisonment. For finding her presence uncheerfull to the mourning Philoclea, and contemned of the high hearted Pamela, she spent her time most with Zelmane. Who though at the first hardly brooking the instrument of their misery, learning cunning in the school of adversity, in time framed herself to yield her acceptable entertainment. For Zelmane, when she had by that unexpected mischief her body imprisoned, her valour overmastred, her wit beguiled, her desires barred, her love eclipsed; assured of evil, fearing worse, able to know Philoclea's misfortune, and not able to secure her, she was a great while, before the greatness of her heart could descend to sorrow, but rather risen boiling up in spite and disdain; Reason hardly making Courage believe, that it was distressed: but as if the walls would be afraid of her, so would her looks shoot out threatening upon them. But the fetters of servitude (growing heavier with wearing) made her feel her case, and the little prevailing of repining: and then grief got a seat in her softened mind, making sweetness of passed comforts by due title claim tears of present discomforts: and since her fortune made her able to help as little as any body, yet to be able to wail as much as any body; solitary Sorrow, with a continual circle in herself, going out at her own mouth, to come in again at her own ears. Then was the name of Philoclea graved in the glass windows, and by the foolish idolatry of affection, no sooner written, then adored; and no sooner adored, then pitied: all the wont praises (she was wont to give unto her) being now but figures of rhetoric to amplify the injuries of misfortune; against which being alone, she would often make invective declamations, methodized only by raging sorrow.  
But when Artesia did insinuat herself into her acquaintance, she gave the government of her courage to wit, & was content to familiarize herself with her: so much the rather, as that she perceived in her certain flaws of il-concealed discontentment. Insomuch that when Zelmane would sweeten her mouth with the praises of the sisters, especially setting forth their noble gratefulness, in never forgetting welintended services, & invoking the justice of the gods, not to suffer such treasures to be wrongfully hidden, & sometimes with a kind unkindness, charging Artesia that she had been abused to abuse so worthy persons: Artesia (though falsely) would protest, that she had been beguiled in it, never meaning other matter them recreation: & yet withal (by alleging how ungratefully she was dealt with) it was easy to be seen, it was the unrewarding, and not the evil employing her service, which grieved her. But Zelmane (using her own bias to bowl near the mistress of her own thoughts) was content to lend her belief, and withal, to magnify her desert, if willingly she would deliver, whom unwillingly she had imprisoned; leaving no argument which might tickle ambition, or flatter revenge. So that Artesia, (pushed forward by Clinias, & drawn on ward by Zelmane) bound herself to that practice; wherein Zelmane (for her part) desired no more, but to have armour and weapons brought into her chamber, not doubting therewith to perform any thing, how impossible soever, which longing Love can persuade, and invincible Valour dare promise.  
But Clinias (whose faith could never comprehend the mysteries of Courage) persuaded Artesia, while he by corruption had drawn the guard of one gate, to open it (when he would appoint the time) to the enemy: that she should empoison Amphialus, which she might the easier do, because she herself had used to make the broths, when Amphialus (either wearied or wounded) did use such diet. And all things already were ready to be put in execution, when they thought best to break the matter with the two excellent sisters, not doubting of their consent in a thing so behoveful to themselves: their reasons being, that the Princesses knowing their service, might be sure to preserve them from the fury of the entering soldiers: whereof Clinias (even so) could scarcely be sufficiently certain: and withal, making them privy to their action, to bind them afterwards to a promised gratefulness towards them. They went therefore at one time, when they knew them to be alone, Clinias to Philoclea, and Artesia to Pamela: and Clinias, with no few words, did set forth what an exploit was intended for her service. But Philoclea (in whose clear mind treason could find no hiding place) told him, that she would be glad, if he could persuade her cousin to deliver her, and that she would never forget his service therein: but that she desired him to lay down any such way of mischief, for that (for her part) she would rather yield to perpetual imprisonment, than consent to the destroying her cousin, who (she knew) loved her, though wronged her. This unlookedfor answer amazed Clinias, so that he had no other remedy in his mind, but to kneel down to Philoclea, and beseech her to keep it secret, considering that the intention was for her service: and vowing (since she misliked it) to proceed no further therein. She comforted him with promise of silence, which she performed.  
But that little availed: for Artesia having in like sort opened this device to Pamela, she (in whose mind Virtue governed with the sceptre of Knowledge) hating so horrible a wickedness, and straight judging what was fit to do, Wicked woman (said she) whose vnrepenting heart can find no way to amend treason, but by treason: now the time is come, that thy wretched wiles have caught thyself in thine own net: as for me, let the God's dispose of me as shall please them; but sure it shall be no such way, nor way-leader, by which I will come to liberty. This she spoke something with a louder voice than she was wont to use, so as Cecropia heard the noise; who was (sooner than Artesia imagined she would) come up, to bring Pamela to a window, where she might see a notable skirmish happened in the Camp, as she thought, among themselves: and being a cunning fisher in troubled waters, straight found by their voices and gestures, there was some matter of consequence, which she desired Pamela to tell her. Ask of her (said Pamela) and learn to know, that who do falsehood to their superiors, teach falsehood to their inferiors. More she would not say. But Cecropia taking away the each-way guilty Artesia, with fear of torture, got of her the whole practice: so as Zelmane was the more closely imprisoned, and Clinias (with the rest of his corrupted mates, according to their merits) executed: For, as for Artesia, she was but locked up in her chamber, Amphialus not consenting (for the love he bore to Ismenus) that further punishment should be laid upon her.  
But the noise they heard in the camp, was occasion of the famous Prince Anaxius, nephew to the Giant Euardes whom Pyrocles slew: A Prince, of body exceedingly strong; in arms so skilful and fortunate, as no man was thought to excel him; of courage that knew not how to fear: parts worthy praise, if they had not been guided by pride, and followed by unjustice. For by a strange composition of mind, there was no man more tenderly sensible in any thing offered to himself, which in the farthest-fette construction, might be wrested to the name of wrong; no man, that in his own actions could worse distinguish between Valour and Violence: So proud, as he could not abstain from a Thrasolike boasting, and yet (so unlucky a lodging his virtues had gotten) he would never boast more than he would accomplish: falsely accounting an unflexible anger, a courageous constancy: esteeming fear, and astonishment, righter causes of admiration, than Love and Honour. This man had four sundry times fought with Amphialus, but Mars had been so unpartial an arbiter, that neither side gate advantage of the other. But in the end it happened, that Anaxius found Amphialus (unknown) in a great danger, and saved his life: whereupon (loving his own benefit) began to favour him, so much the more as, thinking so well of himself, he could not choose but like him, whom he found a match for himself: which at last grew to as much friendship towards him, as could by a proud heart conceived. So as in this travail (seeking Pyrocles to be revenged of his uncles death) hearing of this siege, never taking pains to examine the quarrel (like a man whose will was his God, and his hand his law taking with him his two brothers (men accounted little inferior to himself in martial matters) and two hundred chosen horsemen (with whom he thought himself able to conquer the world) yet commanding the rest of his forces to follow, he himself upon such an unexpected suddenness entered in upon the back of Basilius, that many with great unkindness took their death, not knowing why, nor how they were so murdered. There, if ever, did he make known the wonderfulness of his force. But the valiant, and faithful Philanax, with well governed speed made such head against him, as would have showed, how soon Courage falls in the ditch which hath not the eye of Wisdom: but that Amphialus at the same time issued out, and winning with an abundance of courage one of the sconces, which Basilius had builded, made way for his friend Anaxius with great loss of both sides, but especially of the Basilians; such notable monuments had those two swords especially left of their masters redoubted worthiness.  
There with the respect fit to his estate, the honour dew to his worthiness, and the kindness which accompanies friendship (made fast by enterchaunged benefits) did Amphialus enforce himself (as much as in a besieged town he could) to make Anaxius know, that his succour was not so needful, as his presence grateful. For causing the streets and houses of the town to witness his welcome (making both soldiers and Magistrates in their countenances to show their gladness of him) he led him to his mother, whom he besought to entertain him with no less love and kindness, then as one, who once had saved her sons life, and now came to save both life and honour. Tush (said Anaxius, speaking aloud, looking upon his brothers) I am only sorry there are not half a dozen Kings more about you: that what Anaxius can do, might be the better manifested. His brothers smiled, as though he had overmodestly spoken far underneath the pitch of his power. Than was he disarmed at the earnest request of Amphialus: for Anaxius boiled with desire to issue out upon the enemies, persuading himself, that the Sun should not be set, before he had overthrown them. And having reposed himself, Amphialus asked him, whether he would visit the young Princesses. But Anaxius whispered him in the ear: In truth (said he) dear friend Amphialus, though I am none of those, that love to speak of themselves, I never came yet in company of Ladies, but that they fell in love with me. And I that in my heart scorn them as a peevish paltry sex, not worthy to communicate with my virtues, would not do you the wrong: since (as I hear) you do debase yourself so much as to affect them. The courteous Amphialus could have been angry with him for those words; but knowing his humour suffered him to dance to his own music: and gave himself to entertain both him and his brothers, with as cheerful a manner, as could issue from a mind whom unlucky love had filled with melancholy. For to Anaxius he yielded the direction of all. He gave the watchword, and if any grace were granted, the means were to be made to Anaxius. And that night when supper was ended, wherein Amphialus would needs himself wait upon him, he caused in Boats upon the Lake an excellent music to be ordered: which, though Anaxius might conceive was for his honour, yet indeed he was but the Bricke-wall to convey it to the ears of the beloved Philoclea.  
The music was of Cornets, whereof one answering the other, with a sweet emulation, striving for the glory of music, and striking upon the smooth face of the quiet Lake, was then delivered up to the castle walls, which with a proud reverberation, spreading it into the air; it seemed before the harmony came to the ear, that it had enriched itself in travail, the nature of those places adding melody to that melodious instrument. And when a while that instrument had made a brave proclamation to all vnpossessed minds of attention, an excellent consort straight followed of five Viols, and as many voices; which all being but Orators of their masters passions, bestowed this song upon her, that thought upon another matter.  
THe Fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth:  
The Air in rain for my affliction weary:  
The Sea to ebb for grief his flowing turneth:  
The Earth with pity dull his centre keepeth  
Fame is with wonder blazed:  
Time runs away for sorrow:  
Place standeth still amazed,  
To see my night of evils, which hath no morrow.  
Alas all only she no pity taketh  
To know my miseries, but chaste and cruel  
My fall her glory maketh;  
Yet still her eyes give to my flames their fuel.  
Fire, burn me quite till sense of burning leave me:  
air, let me draw thy breath no more in anguish:  
Sea, drowned in thee of tedious life bereave me:  
Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish.  
Fame, say I was not borne:  
Time, hast my dying hour:  
Place, see my grave uptorne:  
Fire, air, sea, earth, fame, time, place show your power.  
Alas from all their helps I am exiled:  
For hers am I, and Death fears her displeasure.  
Fie Death thou art beguiled:  
Though I be hers, she makes of me no treasure.  
But Anaxius (seeming a weary before it was ended) told Amphialus, that for his part he liked no music, but the neighing of horses, the sound of trumpets, and the cries of yielding persons: and therefore desired, that the next morning they should issue upon the same place, where they had entered that day, not doubting to make them quickly a weary of being the besiegers of Anaxius. Amphialus, who had no whit less courage, though nothing blown up with pride, willingly condescended and so the next morning (giving false alarm to the other side of the camp) Amphialus at Anaxius earnest request, staying within the town to see it guarded, Anaxius and his brethren, Lycurgus, and Zoilus, sallied out with the best chosen men. But Basilius (having been the last day some what unprovided) now had better fortified the overthrown sconce; and so well had prepared every thing for defence, that it was impossible for any valour from within, to prevail. Yet things were performed by Anaxius beyond the credit of the credulous. For thrice (valiantly followed by his brothers) did he set up his banner upon the rampire of the enemy: though thrice again by the multitude, & advantage of the place, but especially by the coming of three valiant Knights, he were driven down again. Numbers there were that day, whose deaths and overthrows were excused by the well known sword of Anaxius: but the rest, by the length of time & injury of Historians, have been wrapped up in dark forgetfulness: only Tressennius is spoken of, because when all abandoned the place, he only made head to Anaxius; till having lost one of his legs, yet not lost the heart of fight, Lycurgus (second brother to Anaxius) cruelly murdered him; Anaxius himself disdaining any further to deal with him.  
But so far had Anaxius at the third time prevailed, that now the Basilians began to let their courage descend to their feet, Basilius, & Philanax in vain striving with reverence of authority to bridle the flight of astonishment, and to teach Fear discretion: so that Amphialus, seeing Victory show such a flattering countenance to him, came out with all his force; hoping that day to end the siege.  
But that fancy altered quickly by the sudden coming to the other side of three Knights, whereof the one was in white armour, the other in green, and the third by his black armour; and device straight known to be the notable Knight, who the first day had given Fortune so short a stop with his notable deeds and fight hand to hand the deemed invincible Amphialus. For the very cowards no sooner saw him, but as borrowing some of his spirit, they went like young Eagles to the pray, under the wing of their dam. For the three adventurers, not content to keep them from their rampire, leapt down among them, and entered into a brave combat with the three valiant brothers. But to whither side Fortune would have been partial, could not be determined. For the Basilians, lightened with the beams of these strangers valour; followed so thick, that the Amphilians were glad with some haste to retire to the walls ward: though Anaxius neither reason, fear, nor example, could make him assuage the fury of his fight: until one of the Basilians (unworthy to have his name registered, since he did it cowardly, sideward, when he lest looked that way) almost cut of one of his legs: so as he fallen down, blaspheming heaven, that all the influences thereof had power to overthrow him; and there death would have seized of his proud heart, but that Amphialus took in hand the black knight, while some of his soldiers conveyed away Anaxius, so requiting life for life unto him.  
And for the love and example of Amphilalus, the fight begun to enter a new fit of heat: when Basilius (that thought enough to be done for that day) caused retreat to be sounded; fearing lest his men following over-earnestly, might be the loss of those excellent Knights whom he desired to know. The Knights as soon as they herded the retreat (though they were eagerly set, knowing that courage with out discipline is nearer beastliness then manhood) drawn back their swords, though hungry of more blood: especially the black Knight, who, knowing Amphialus, could not refrain to tell him, that this was the second time he escaped out of his hands, but that he would shortly bring him a bill of all the former accounts. Amphialus seeing it fit to retire also (most of his people being hurt, both in bodies and hearts) withdrew himself, with so well seated a resolution, that it was as far from anger, as from dismayednesse; answering no other to the black Knights threats, but that when he brought him his account, he should find a good paymaster.  
The fight being ceased, and each side withdrawn within their strengths, Basilius sent Philanax to entertain the strange Knights, and to bring them unto him, that he might acknowledge what honour was due to their virtue. But they excused themselves, desiring to be known first by their deeds, before their names should accuse their unworthiness: and though the other replied according as they deserved, yet (finding that unwelcome courtesy is a degree of injury) he suffered them to retire themselves to a tent of their own without the camp, where they kept themselves secret: Philanax himself being called away to another strange Knight, strange not only by the unlookedforness of his coming. but by the strange manner of his coming.  
For he had before him four damosels, and so many behind him, all upon palfreys and all apparelled in mourning weeds; each of them a servant of each side, with like liveries of sorrow. Himself in an armour, all painted over with such a cunning of shadow, that it represented a gaping sepulchre, the furniture of his horse was all of Cypress branches: wherewith in old time they were wont to dress graves. His Bases (which he beware so long, as they come almost to his ankle) were embroidered only with black worms, which seemed to crawl up and down, as ready already to devour him. In his shield for Impresa, he had a beautiful child, but having two heads; whereon the one showed, that it was already dead: the other alive, but in that case, necessarily looking for death. The word was, No way to be rid from death, but by death.  
This Knight of the tomb (for so the soldiers termed him) sent to, Basilius to demand leave to sand in a damosel into the town, to call out Amphialus, according as before time some others had done. Which being granted, (as glad any would undertake the charge, which no body else in that camp was known willing to do) the damosel went in& having with tears sobbed out a brave challenge to Amphialus, from the Knight of the Tomb, Amphialus, honourably entertaining the gentlewoman and desiring to know the Knights name (which the doolefull Gentlewoman would not discover) accepted the challenge, only desiring the Gentlewoman to say thus much to the strange Knight, from him; that if his mind were like to his title, there were more cause of affinity, then enmity between them. And therefore presently (according as he was wont) as soon as he perceived the Knight of the Tomb, with his Damosels and judge, was come into the Island, he also went over in accustomed manner: and yet for the courtesy of his nature, desired to speak with him.  
But the Knight of the Tomb, with silence, and drawing his horse back, showed no will to hear, nor speak: but with a Lance on thigh, made him know, it was fit for him to go to the other end of the Career, whence waiting the start of the unkowne Knight, he likewise made his spurs claim haste of his horse. But when his staff was in his rest, coming down to meet with the Knight, now very near him, he perceived the Knight had missed his rest: wherhfore the courteous Amphilalus would not let his Lance descend, but with a gallant grace, ran over the head of his there-in friended enemy: and having stopped his horse, and with the turning of him, blessed his sight with the Window where he thought Philoclea might stand, he perceived the Knight had lighted from his horse, and thrown away his staff, angry with his misfortune, as of having missed his rest, and drawn his sword to make that supply his fellows fault. He also lighted, and drawn his sword, esteeming victory by advantage, rather rob then purchased: and so the other coming eagerly toward him, he with his shield out, and sword aloft, with more bravery then anger, drawn unto him; and strait made their swords speak for them a pretty-while with equal fierceness. But Amphialus, (to whom the earth brought forth few matches) having both much more skill to choose the places, and more force to work upon the choose, had already made many windows in his armour for death to come in at; when in the nobleness of his nature abhorring to make the punishment overgo the offence he stepped a little back, and withal, Sir Knight (said he) you may easily see, that it pleaseth God to favour my cause; employ your valour against them that wish you hurt: for my part, I have not deserved hate of you. Thou liest false traitor, said the other, with an angry, but weak voice. But Amphialus, in whom abused kindness become spiteful rage, Ah barbarous wretch (said he) only courageous in discourtesy; thou shalt soon see whither thy tongue hath betrayed thy heart, or no: and with that, redoubling his blows, gave him a great wound upon his neck, and closing with him overthrew him,& in the fall thrust him mortally into the body: and with that went to pull of his helmet, with intention to make him give himself the lie, for having so said, or to cut of his head.  
But the headpiece was not sooner of, but that there fallen about the shoulders of the overcome Knight the treasure of fair golden hair, which with the face (soon known by the badge of excellency) witnessed that it was Parthenia, the unfortunately virtuous wife of Argalus: her beauty then even in despite of the passed sorrow, or coming death, assuring all beholders, that it was nothing short of perfection.  
For her exceeding fair eyes, having with continual weeping gotten a little redness about them; her roundy sweetly swelling lips a little trembling, as though they kissed their neighbour death; in her cheeks the whiteness striving by little & little to get upon the rosines of them; her neck, a neck indeed of Alabaster, displaying the wound, which with most dainty blood laboured to drown his own beauties; so as here was a river of purest red, there an Island of perfitest white, each giving lustre to the other; with the sweet countenance (God-knowes) full of an unafected languishing: though these things to a grossly conceiving sense might seem disgraces; yet indeed were they but apparaling beauty in a new fashion, which all looked-upon through the spectacles of pity, did even increase the lines of her natural fairness, so as Amphialus was astonished with grief, compassion, and shame, detesting his fortune, that made him unfortunate in victory.  
Therefore, putting off his headpiece and gauntlet; kneeling down unto her, and with tears testifying his sorrow, he offered his (by himself accursed) hands to help her: protesting his life and power to be ready to do her honour. But Parthenia (who had inward messengers of the desired deaths approach) looking upon him and straight turning away her feeble sight, as from a delightless object, drawing out her words, which her breath (loath to depart from so sweet a body) did faintly deliver, Sir (said she) I pray you (if prayers have place in enemies) to let my maids take my body untouched by you: the only honour I now desire by your means, is, that I have no honour of you. Argalus made no such bargain with you, that the hands which killed him, should help me. I have of them (and I do not only pardon you, but thank you for it) the service which I desired. There rests nothing now, but that I go live with him, since whose death I have done nothing but die. Then pausing, and a little fainting, and again coming to herself, O sweet life, well come (said she) now feel I the bands untied of the cruel death, which so long hath held me. And O life, O death, answer for me, that my thoughts have not so much as in a dream tasted any comfort; since they were deprived of Argalus. I come, my Argalus, I come: And, O God hid my faults in thy mercies, and grant (as I feel thou dost grant) that in thy eternal love, we may love each other eternally. And this O Lord: But there Atropos cut off her sentence: for with that, casting up both eyes and hands to the skies, the noble soul departed (one might well assure himself) to heaven, which left the body in so heavenly a demeanour.  
But Amphialus (with a heart oppressed with grief, because of her request) withdrew himself, but the judges, as full of pity, had been all this while disarming her, and her gentlewomen with lamentable cries, labouring to staunch the remediless wounds: and a while she was dead before they perceived it; death being able to divide the soul, but not the beauty from that body. But when the infallible tokens of death assured them of their loss, one of the women would have killed herself, but that the squire of Amphialus perceiving it, by force held her. Others that had as strong passion, though weaker resolution, fell to cast dust upon their heads, to tear their garments: all falling upon the earth & crying upon their sweet mistress; as if their cries could persuade the soul to leave the celestial happiness, to come again into the elements of sorrow: one time calling to remembrance her virtue, chasteness, sweetness, goodness to them: another time accursing themselves, that they had obeyed her, they having been deceived by her words, who assured them, that it was revealed unto her, that she should have her hearts desire in the battle against Amphialus, which they wrongly understood. Then kissing her cold hands and feet, weary of the world, since she was gone, who was their world. The very heavens seemed, with a cloudy countenance, to louvre at the loss, and Fame itself (though by nature glad to tell such rare accidents, yet) could not choose but deliver it in lamentable accents, and in such sort went it quickly all over the Camp: and, as if the air had been infected with sorrow, no heart was so hard, but was subject to that contagion; the rareness of the accident, matching together (the rarely matched together) pity with admiration, Basilius himself came forth, and brought the fair Gynoecia with him, who was come into the camp under colour of visiting her husband, and hearing of her daughters: but indeed Zelmane was the Saint, to which her pilgrimage was intended: cursing, envying, blessing, and in her heart kissing the walls which imprisoned her. But both they with Philanax, and the rest of the principal Nobility, went out, to make Honour triumph over Death, conveying that excellent body (whereto Basilius himself would needs lend his shoulder) to a Church a mile from the Camp, where the valiant Argalus lay entombed; recommending to that sepulchre, the blessed relics of faithful and virtuous Love: giving order for the making of marble images, to represent them, and each way enriching the tomb. Upon which, Basilius himself caused this Epitaph to be written.  

The Epitaph.  

HIs being was in her alone:  
And he not being, she was none.   

They joyed one joy, one grief they grieved,  
One love they loved, one life they lived.  
The hand was one, one was the sword  
That did his death, her death afford.   

As all the rest, so now the stone  
That tombs the two, is justly one.  ARGALUS & PARTHENIA.   
Then with eyes full of tears, and mouths full of her praises, returned they to the camp, with more and more hate against Amphialus: who (poor Gentleman) had therefore greater portion of woe, than any of them. For that courteous heart, which would have grieved but to have heard the like adventure, was  rend with remembering himself to be the author: so that his wisdom could not so far temper his passion, but that he took his sword, counted the best in the world (which with much blood he had once conquered of a mighty Giant) and broke it into many pieces (which afterwards he had good cause to repent) saying, that neither it was worthy to serve the noble exercise of chivalry, nor any other worthy to feel that sword, which had strooken so excellent a Lady: and withal, banishing all cheerfulness of his countenance, he returned home. Where he gate him to his bed, not so much to rest his restless mind, as to avoid all company, the sight whereof was tedious unto him. And then melancholy (only rich in unfortunate remembrances) brought before him all the mishaps, with which his life had wrestled: taking this, not only as a confirming of the former, but a presage of following misery; and to his heart (already overcome by sorrowfulness) even trifling misfortunes came, to fill up the roll of a grieved memory, labouring only his wits to pierce farther & farther into his own wretchedness. So as all that night (in despite of darkness) he held his eyes open; and the morning when the light began to restore to each body his colour, then with curtains barred he himself from the enjoying of it: neither willing to feel the comfort of the day, nor the ease of the night: until his mother (who never knew what love meant, but only to himward) came to his bed side, and beginning with loving earnestness to lay a kind chiding upon him, because he would suffer the weakness of sorrow, to conquer the strength of his virtues; he did with a broken piecemeal speech (as if the tempest of passion unorderly blewe out his words) remember the mishaps of his youth, the evils he had been cause of, his rebelling with Shame, & that shame increased with shameful accidents, the deaths of Philoxenus & Parthenia, wherein he found himself hated of the ever-ruling powers, but especially (and so especially, as the rest seemed nothing when he came to that) his fatal love to Philoclea: to whom he had so governed himself, as one that could neither conquer, nor yield; being of the one side a slave, & of the other a jailor: and with all, almost upbraiding unto his mother the little success of her large hoping promises, he in effect finding Philoclea nothing mollified, and now himself so cast down, as he thought him unworthy of better. But his mother (as she had plentiful cause) making him see, that of his other griefs there was little or no fault in himself, and therefore there ought to be little or no grief in him; when she came to the head of the sore, indeed seeing that she could no longer patch up her former promises (he taking a desperate deafness to all delaying hopes) she confessed plainly, that she could prevail nothing: but the fault was his own, who had marred the young Girl by seeking to have that by prayer, which he should have taken by authority. That as it were an absurd cunning to make high ladders to go in a plain way; so was it an untimely and foolish flattery, there to beseech, where one might command, puffing them up by being besought, with such a selfe-pride of superiority, that it was not (forsooth) to be held out, but by a denial. O God (said Amphialus) how well I thought my fortune would bring forth this end of your labours? assure yourself, mother, I will sooner pull out these eyes, than they shall look upon the heavenly Philoclea, but as upon a heaven, whence they have their light, & to which they are subject, if they will power down any influences of comfort, O happy I: but if by the sacrifice of a faithful heart, they will not be called unto me, let me languish, & whither with languishing, and grieve with withering, but never so much as repine with never so much grieving. Mother, o Mother, lust may well be a tyrant, but true love where it is indeed, it is a servant. Accursed more than I am, may I be, if ever I did approach her, but that I friezed as much in a fearful reverence, as I burned in a vehement desire. Did ever man's eye look through love upon the majesty of virtue, shining through beauty, but that he became (as it well became him) a captive, & is it the stile of a captive to write, Our will and pleasure?  
Tush, tush son (said Cecropia) if you say you love, but withal you fear; you fear lest you should offend; offend? and how know you, that you should offend? because she doth deny: deny? Now by my truth, if your sadness would let me laugh, I could laugh heartily, to see that yet you are ignorant, that No, is no negative in a woman's mouth. My son, believe me, a woman, speaking of women: a lovers" modesty among us is much more praised, then liked: or if we like it, so well we like it, that for marring of his modesty, he shall never proceed further. Each virtue hath his time: if you command your soldier to march foremost, and he for courtesy put others before him, would you praise his modesty? love is your General: he bids you dare: and will Amphialus be a dastard? Let examples serve: do you think Theseus should ever have gotten Antiope with sighing, and crossing his arms? he ravished her, and ravished her that was an Amazon, and therefore had gotten a habit of stoutness above the nature of a woman; but having ravished her, he got a child of her. And I say no more, but that (they say) is not gotten without consent of both sides. jole had her own father killed by Hercules, and herself ravished, by force ravished, and yet ere long this ravished, and unfathered Lady could sportfully put on the Lion's skin upon her own fair shoulders, and play with the club with her own delicate hands: so easily had she pardoned the ravisher, that she could not but delight in those weapons of ravishing. But above all, mark Helen daughter to jupiter, who could never brook her manerly-wooing Menelaus, but disdained his humbleness, and loathed his softness. But so well she could like the force of enforcing Paris, that for him she could abide what might be abidden. But what? Menelaus takes heart, he recovers her by force, by force carries her home, by force enjoys her; and she, who could never like him for serviceableness, ever after loved him for violence. For what can be more agreeable, then upon force to lay the fault of desire, and in one instant to join a dear delight with a just excuse? or rather the true cause is (pardon me o womankind for revealing to mine own son the truth of this mystery) we think there wants fire, where we find no sparkles at lest of fury. Truly I have known a great Lady, long sought by most great, most wise, most beautiful, most valiant persons; never won, because they did over-superstitiously solicit her: the same Lady brought under by an other, inferior to all them in all those qualities, only because he could use that imperious maisterfulnesse, which nature gives to men above women. For indeed (son, I confess unto you) in our very creation we are servants: and who praiseth his servants shall never be well obeyed: but as a ready horse straight yields, when he finds one that will have him yield, the same falls to bounds when he feels a fearful horseman. Awake thy spirits (good Amphialus) and assure thyself, that though she refuseth, she refuseth but to endear the obtaining. If she weep, and chide, and protest, before it be gotten, she can but weep, and chide, and protest, when it is gotten. Think, she would not strive, but that she means to try thy force: and my Amphialus, know thyself a man, and show thyself a man: and (believe me upon my word) a woman is a woman.  
Amphialus was about to answer her, when a Gentleman of his made him understand, that there was a messenger come, who had brought a letter unto him from out of the camp: whom he presently calling for, took, opened, and read the letter, importing this.  
TO thee Amphialus of Arcadia, the forsaken Knight wisheth health, and courage, that by my hand thou mayest receive punishment for thy treason, according to thine own offer, which wickedly occasioned, thou hast proudly begun, and accursedly maintained. I will presently (if thy mind faint thee not for his own guiltiness) meet thee in thy Island, in such order, as hath by the former been used: or if thou likest not the time, place, or weapon, I am ready to take thine own reasonable choice in any of them; so as thou do perform the substance. Make me such answer as may show that thou hast some taste of honour: and so I leave thee, to live till I meet thee.  
Amphialus read it, and with a deep sigh (according to the humour of inward affliction) seemed even to condemn himself, as though indeed his reproaches were true. But howsoever the dullness of Melancholy would have languishingly yielded thereunto, his Courage (unused to such injuries) desired help of Anger to make him this answer.  
FOrsaken Knight, though your nameless challenge might carry in itself excuse for a man of my birth and estate, yet herein set your heart at rest, you shall not be forsaken. I will without stay answer you in the wonted manner, and come both armed in your foolish threatenings, and yet the more fearless, expecting weak blows, where I find so strong words. You shall not therefore long attend me in the Island, before proof teach you, that of my life you have made yourself too large a promise. In the mean time, Farewell.  
This being written, and delivered, the messenger told him, that his Lord would (if he liked the same) bring two Knights with him to be his Patrons. Which Amphialus accepted, and withal shaking off (with resolution) his mother's importunate dissuasions, he furnished himself for the fight: but not in his wont furniture. For now (as if he would turn his inside outward) he would needs appear all in black; his decking both for himself, and horse, being cut out into the fashion of very rags: yet all so daintily joined together with precious stones, as it was a brave raggedness, and a rich poverty: and so cunningly had a workman followed his humour in his armour, that he had given it a rusty show, and yet so, as any man might perceive was by art, and not negligence; carrying at one instant a disgraced handsomeness, and a new oldness. In his shield he bore for his devise, a Night, by an excellent painter excellently painted, with a Sun with a shadow, and upon the shadow with a speech signifying, that it only was barred from enjoying that, whereof it had his life: or, From whose I am, banished. In his crest he carried Philoclea's knives, the only token of her forced favour.  
So passed he over into the Island, taking with him the two brothers of Anaxius; where he found the forsaken Knight, attired in his own livery, as black, as sorrow itself could see itself in the blackest glass: his ornaments of the same hue, but form into the figure of Ravens, which seemed to gape for carrion: only his reins were snakes, which finely wrapping themselves one within the other, their heads came together to the cheeks and bosses of the bit, where they might seem to by't at the horse, and the horse (as he champte the bit) to by't at them; and that the white foam was engendered by the poisonous fury of the combat. His Impresa was a Catoblepta which so long lies dead, as the Moon (whereto it hath so natural a sympathy) wants her light. The word signified that The Moon wanted not the light, but the poor beast wanted the moons light. He had in his head-piece, a whip, to witness a selfe-punishing repentance. Their very horses were coal-black too, not having so much as one star to give light to their night of blackness: so as one would have thought they had been the two sons of Sorrow, and were come thither to fight for their birthright in that sorry inheritance.  
Which alliance of passions so moved Amphialus (already tender-minded by the afflictions of Love) that without staff or sword drawn, he trotted fairly to the forsaken Knight, willing to have put off this combat, to which his melancholy heart did (more than ever in like occasion) misgive him: and therefore saluting him, Good Knight (said he) because we are men, and should know reason why we do things; tell me the cause, that makes you thus eager to fight with me. Because I affirm (answered the forsaken Knight) that thou dost most rebellious injury to those Ladies, to whom all men own service. You shall not fight with me (said Amphialus) upon that quarrel: for I confess the same too: but it proceeds from their own beauty, to enforce Love to offer this force. I maintain then (said the forsaken Knight) that thou art not worthy so to love. And that confess I too (said Amphialus) since the world is not so richly blessed, as to bring forth any thing worthy thereof. But no more unworthy than any other, since in none can be a more worthy love. Yes, more unworthy than myself (said the forsaken Knight) for though I deserve contempt, thou deservest both contempt, and hatred.  
But Amphialus by that thinking (though wrongly, each indeed mistaking other) that he was his rival, forgot all mind of reconciliation, and having all his thoughts bound up in choler, never staying either judge, trumpet, or his own lance, drew out his sword, and saying, Thou liest false villain, unto him; his words & blows came so quick together, as the one seemed a lightning of the others thunder. But he found no barren ground of such seed: for it yielded him his own with such increase, that though Reason and Amazement go rarely together, yet the most reasonable eyes that saw it, found reason to be amazed at the fury of their combat. Never game of death better played; never fury set itself forth in greater bravery. The courteous Vulcan, when he wrought at his more courteous wives request, AEnaeas an armour, made not his hammer beget a greater sound, than the swords of those noble Knights did, they needed no fire to their forge, for they made the fire to shine at the meeting of their swords, & armours, each side fetching still new spirit from the castle window, and careful of keeping their sight that way as a matter of greater consideration in their combat, then either the advantage of Sun or wind: which Sun & wind (if the astonished eyes of the beholders were not by the astonishment deceived) did both stand still to be beholders of this rare match. For neither could their amazed eyes discern motion in the Sun, and no breath of wind stirred, as if either for fear it would not come among such blows, or with delight had his eyes so busy, as it had forgot to open his mouth. This fight being the more cruel, since both Love and Hatred conspired to sharpen their humours, that hard it was to say, whether Love with one trumpet, or Hatred with another, gave the louder alarum to their courages. Spite, rage, disdain, shame, revenge, came weighting upon Hatred: of the other side came with love-longing Desire, both invincible Hope, and fearless Despair, with rivallike jealousy, which (although brought up within doors in the school of Cupid) would show themselves no less forward, than the other dusty band of Mars, to make themselves notable in the notablenes of this combat. Of either side Confidence, unacquainted with Loss, but assured trust to overcome, and good experience how to overcome: now seconding their terrible blows with cunning labouring the horses, to win ground of the enemy; now unlookedfor parting one from the other, to win advantage by an advantageous return. But force against force, skill against skill, so interchangeably encountered, that it was not easy to determine, whether enterprising, or preventing came former: both, sometimes at one instant, doing and suffering wrong, and choler no less rising of the doing, then of the suffering. But as the fire, the more fuel is put to it, the more hungry still it is to devour more: so the more they strake, the more unsatisfied they were with striking. Their very armour by piecemeal fell away from them: and yet their flesh abode the wounds constantly, as though it were less sensible of smart, than the senseless armour: their blood in most places staining their black colour, as if it would give a more lively colour of mourning, then black can do. And so a long space they fought, while neither virtue, nor fortune seemed partial of either side: which so tormented the unquiet heart of Amphialus, that he resolved to see a quick end: and therefore with the violence of courage, adding strength to his blow, he strake in such wise upon the side of the others head, that his remembrance left that battered lodging: so as he was quite from himself, casting his arms abroad, and ready to fall down; his sword likewise went out of his hand; but that being fast by a chain to his arm, he could not lose. And Amphialus used the favour of occasion, redoubling his blows: but the horse (weary to be beaten, as well as the master) carried his master away, till he came unto himself: But than who could have seen him, might well have discerned shame in his cheeks, and revenge in his eyes: so as setting his teeth together with rage, he came running upon Amphialus, reaching out his arm, which had gathered up the sword, meaning with that blow to have cleaved Amphialus in two. But Amphialus seeing the blow coming, shunned it with nimble turning his horse aside; wherewith the forsaken Knight over-strake himself so, as almost he came down with his own strength. But the more hungry of his purpose, the more he was bard the food of it: disdaining the resistance, both of force, and fortune, he returned upon the spur again, and ran with such violence upon Amphialus, that his horse with the force of the shock risen up before, almost overturned: which Amphialus perceiving, with rain and spur put forth his horse; and withal gave a mighty blow in the descent of his horse, upon the shoulder of the forsaken Knight; from whence sliding, it fell upon the neck of his horse, so as horse and man fell to the ground: but he was scarce down before he was up on his feet again, with brave gesture showing rising of courage, in the falling of fortune. But the courteous Amphialus excused himself, for having (against his will) killed his horse. Excuse thyself for viler faults (answered the forsaken Knight) and use this poor advantage the best thou canst; for thou shalt quickly find thou hast need of more. Thy folly (said Amphialus) shall not make me forget myself: and therewith (trotting a little aside) alighted from his horse, because he would not have fortune come to claim any part of the victory. Which courteous act would have mollified the noble heart of the forsaken Knight, if any other had done it, besides the jailor of his mistress: but that was a sufficient defeazaunce for the firmest bond of good nature; and therefore he was no sooner alighted, but that he ran unto him, re-entering into as cruel a fight, as eye did ever see, or thought could reasonably imagine; far beyond the reach of weak words to be able to express it. For what they had done on horseback, was but as a morsel to keep their stomachs in appetite, in comparison of that, which now (being themselves) they did. Nor ever glutton by the change of dainty diet could be brought to fresh feeding (when he might have been satisfied before) with more earnestness, than those (by the change of their manner of fight) fell clean to a new fight, though any else would have thought they had had their fill already. Amphialus being the taller man, for the most part stood with his right leg before; his shield at the utterm oft length of his arm; his sword high, but with the point toward his enemy. But when he strake, which came so thick, as if every blow would strive to be foremost, his arm seemed still a  postilion of death. The forsaken Knight showed with like skill, unlike gesture, keeping himself in continual motion, proportioning the distance between them to any thing that Amphialus attempted: his eye guided his foot, and his foot conveyed his hand; and since nature had made him something the lower of the two, he made art follow, and not strive with nature: shunning rather then warding his blows; like a cunning mastiff, who knows the sharpness of the horn & strength of the Bull; fights low to get his proper advantage; answering mightiness with nimbleness, and yet at times employing his wonderful force, wherein he was second to none. In sum, the blows were strong, the thrusts thick, and the avoydinges cunning. But the forsaken Knight (that thought it a degree of being conquered to belong in conquering) strake him so mighty a blow, that he made Amphialus put knee to the ground, without any humbleness. But when he felt himself stricken down, and saw himself stricken down by his rival, than shame seemed one arm, and disdain another; fury in his eyes, and revenge in his heart; skill and force gave place, and they took the place of skill and force: with so unweariable a manner, that the forsaken Knight also was driven to leave the stern of cunning, & give himself wholly to be guided by the storm of fury: there being in both (because hate would not suffer admiration) extreme disdain to find themselves so matched.  
What (said Amphialus to himself) am I Amphialus, before whom so many monsters and Giants have fallen dead, when I only sought causeless adventures? and can one Knight now withstand me in the presence of Philoclea, and fight for Philoclea? or since I lost my liberty, have I lost my courage? have I got the heart of a slave, as well as the fortune? If an army were against me in the sight of Philoclea, could it resist me? O beast, on man resists thee: thy rival resists thee or am I indeed Amphialus? have not passions killed him, and wretched I (I know not how) succeeded into his place? Of the other side the forsaken Knight with no less spite, fell out with himself; Hast thou broken (said he to himself) the commandment of thy only Princess to come now into her presence, and in her presence to prove thyself a coward? Doth Asia and Egypt set up Trophies unto thee, to be matched here by a traitor? O noble Barsanes, how shamed will thy soul be, that he that slew thee, should be resisted by this one man? O incomparable Pyrocles, more grieved wilt thou be with thy friend's shame, then with thine own imprisonment, when thou shalt know how little I have been able to do for the delivery of thee, and those heavenly Princesses. Am I worthy to be friend to the most valorous Prince that ever was entitled valorous, and show myself so weak a wretch? No, shamed Musidorus, worthy for nothing, but to keep sheep, get thee a sheephook again, since thou canst use a sword no better.  
Thus at times did they, now with one thought, then with another, sharpen their over-sharpe humours; like the Lion that beats himself with his own tail, to make himself the more angry. These thoughts indeed not staying, but whetting their angry sword, which now had put on the apparel of Cruelty: they bleeding so abundantly, that every body that saw them, fainted for them, and yet they fainted not in themselves: their smart being more sensible to others eyes, then to their own feeling: Wrath and Courage barring the common sense from bringing any message of their case to the mind: Paine, Weariness, and Weakness, not daring to make known their case (though already in the limits of death) in the presence of so violent fury: which filling the veins with rage, in stead of blood, and making the mind minister spirits to the body, a great while held out their fight, like an arrow shot upward by the force of the bow, though by his own nature he would go downward. The forsaken Knight had the more wounds, but Amphialus had the soarer; which the other (watching time and place) had cunningly gəuen unto him. Who ever seen a well-mand Galley fight with a tall ship, might make unto himself some kind of comparison of the difference of these two Knights; a better couple then which the world could not brag of. Amphialus seemed to excel in strength, the forsaken Knight in nimbleness; and yet did the one's strength excel in nimbleness, and the others nimbleness excel in strength: but now, strength and nimbleness were both go, and excess of courage only maintained the fight. Three times had Amphialus with his mighty blows driven the forsaken Knight to go staggering backward, but every one of those times he requited pain with smart and shame with repulse. And now, whither he had cause, or that overmuch confidence (an overforward scholar of unconquered Courage) made him think he had cause, he begun to persuade himself he had the advantage of the combat, though the advantage he took himself to have, was only that he should be the later to die: which hope, Hate (as unsecrete as Love) could not conceal, but drawing himself a little back from him, broke out in these manner of words.  
Ah Amphialus (said the forsaken knight) this third time thou shalt not escape me but thy death shall satisfy thy injury& my malice;& pay for the cruelty thou showedst in kill the noble Argalus,& the fair Parthenia. In troth (said Amphialus) thou art the best knight that ever I fought withal, which would make me willing to grant thee thy life, if thy wit were as good as thy courage; (that besides other follies) layst that to my charge, which most against my will was committed. But whither my death be in thy power, or no, let this tell thee; And upon the word waited a blow, which parted his shield into two pieces;& despising the weak resistance of his already broken armour, made a great breach into his heart side, as if he would make a passage for his love to get out at.  
But pain rather seemed to increase life, then to weaken life in those champions. For, the forsaken Knight coming in with his right leg, and making it guide the force of the blow, strake Amphialus upon the belly, so horrible a wound, that his guts come out withal. Which Amphialus perceiving (fearing death, only because it should come with overthrow) he seemed to conjure all his strength for one moments service;& so, lifting up his, sword with both hands, hit the forsaken knight upon the head, a blow, wherewith his sword broke. But (as if it would do a notable service before it died) it prevailed so, even in the instant of breaking, that the forsaken Knight fallen to the ground; quite for that instant forgetting both love and hatred: & Amphialus (finding himself also in such weakness, as he looked for speedy death) glad of the victory, though little hoping to enjoy it, pulled up his visar, meaning with his dagger to give him death; but in stead of death, he gave him life: for, the air so revived his spirits, that coming to himself, and seeing his present danger, with a life conquering death, he took Amphialus by the thigh, and together risen himself, and overturned him. But Amphialus scrambled up again, both now so weak indeed, as their motions rather seemed the afterdrops to a storm, then any matter of great fury.  
But Amphialus might repent himself of his wilful breaking his good sword: for, the forsaken Knight (having with extremity of iustlie-conceived hate, and the unpitifulnes of his own near-threatening death, blotted out all compliments of courtesy) let fly at him so cruelly, that though the blows were weak, yet weakness upon a weakened subject, proved such strength, that Amphialus having attempted in vain, once or twice to close with him, receiving wound upon wound, sent his whole burden to strike the earth with falling, since he could strike his foe not better in standing: giving no other tokens of himself, then as of a man even ready to take his oath to be deaths true servant.  
Which when the hardy brothers of Anaxius perceived, not recking law of arms, nor use of chivalry, they flew in to defend their friend, or revenge their loss of him. But they were forth with encountered with the two brave companions of the forsaken Knight; whereof the one being all in green, both armour and furniture, it seemed a pleasant garden, wherein grew orange trees; which with their golden fruits, cunningly beaten in and embroidered, greatly enriched the eye-pleasing colour of green. In his shield was a sheep, feeding in a pleasant field, with this word, Without fear, or envy. And therefore was called the Knight of the sheep. The other Knight was all in milk white, his attiring else all cut in stars, which made of cloth of silver, and silver spangles, each way seemed to cast many aspects. His device was the very Pole itself, about which many stars stirring, but the place itself left void. The word was, The best place yet reserved. But these four Knights, inheriting the hate of their friends, begun a most fierce combat: the forsaken Knight himself not able to help his side, but was driven to sit him down, with the extreme faintness of his more and more fainting body. But those valiant couples seeking honour by dishonouring, and to build safety upon ruin, gave new appetites, to the almost glutted eyes of the beholders: and now blood begun to put sweat from the full possession of their outsides, no advantage being yet to be seen; only the Knight of the sheep seeming most deliver, and affecting most all that viewed him, when a company of soldiers sent by Cecropia, come out in boats to the Island: and all come running to the destruction of the three Knights, whereof the one was utterly unable to defend himself.  
But then did the other two Knights show their wonderful courage and fidelity. For turning back to back, and both bestriding the black forsaken Knight (who had fainted so long till he had lost the the feeling of faintness) they held play against the rest, though the two brothers unknightly helped them; till Philanax (who watchfully attended such traitorous practices) sent likewise over, both by boat and swimming, so choice a number as did put most of the other to the sword. Only the two Brothers, with some of the bravest of them, carrying away the body of Amphialus, which they would rather have died, then have left behind them.  
So was the forsaken Knight (laid upon cloaks) carried home to the camp. But his two friends knowing his earnest desire not to be known, covering him from any body's eyes, conveyed him to their own tent: Basilius himself conquering his earnest desire to see him, with fear to displease him, who had fought so notably in his quarrel. But Fame set the honour upon his back, which he would not suffer to shine in his face: no man's mouth being barren of praises to the noble Knight, that had bettered the most esteemed Knight in the world: every body praying for his life, and thinking that therein they prayed for themselves. But he himself, when by the diligent care of friends, and well applied cunning of surgeons, he came to renew again the league between his mind and body; then fell he to a fresh war with his own thoughts, wrongfully condemning his manhood, laying cowardice to himself, whom the impudentest backbiter would not so have wronged. For his courage (used to use victory as an inheritance) could brook no resistance at any time: but now that he had promised himself not only the conquest of him, but the scaling of the walls, and delivery of Pamela, though he had done beyond all others expectation, yet so short was he of his own; that he hated to look upon the Sun, that had seen him do so weakly: and so much abhorred all visitation or honour, whereof he thought himself unworthy, that he besought his two noble friends to carry him away to a castle not far of, where he might cure his wounds, and never be known till he made success excuse this (as he thought) want in him. They lovingly obeyed him, leaving Basilius and all the camp very sorry for the parting of these three unknown Knights, in whose prowess they had reposed greatest trust of victory.  
But they being gone, Basilius and Philanax gave good order to the strengthening of the siege, fortifying themselves, so as they feared no more any such sudden onset, as that of Anaxius. And they within (by reason of Anaxius hurt, but especially of Amphialusis) gave themselves only to diligent watch & ward, making no sallies out, but committing the principal trust to Zoilus and Lycurgus. For Anaxius was yet forced to keep his chamber. And as for Amphialus, his body had such wounds, and he gave such wounds to his mind; as easily it could not be determined, whether death or he made the greater haste one to the other: for when the diligent care of cunning surgeons had brought life to the possession of his own right, Sorrow and Shame (like two corrupted servants) came waiting of it, persuading nothing but the giving over of itself to destruction. They laid before his eyes his present case, painting every piece of it in most ugly colours: they showed him his love wrapped in despair, his fame blotted by overthrow; so that if before he languished, because he could not obtain his desiring, he now lamented because he durst not desire the obtaining. Recreant Amphialus, (would he say to himself) how darest thou entitle thyself the lover of Philoclea, that hast neither showed thyself a faithful coward, nor a valiant rebel, but both rebellious and cowardly, which no law can quite, nor grace have pity of? Alas life, what little pleasure thou dost me, to give me nothing but sense of reproach, and exercise of ruin? I would sweet Philoclea, I had died, before thy eyes had seen my weakness: & then perchance with some sigh thou wouldst have confessed, thou hadst lost a worthy servant. But now, caitiff that I am, what ever I have done, serves but to build up my rivals glory. To these speeches he would couple such gestures of vexation, and would fortify the gestures with such effects of fury, as sometimes offering to tear up his wounds, sometimes to refuse the sustenance of meat, and counsel of physicians, that his perplexed mother was driven to make him by force to be tended, with extreme corsie to herself, and annoyance to him: till in the end he was contented to promise her, he would attempt no violence upon himself, upon condition he might be troubled by no body, but only his Physicians: his melancholy detesting all company, so as not the very surgeons nor servants durst speak unto him in doing him service: only he had prayed his mother, as she tendered his life, she would procure him grace; and that without that, she would never come at him more.  
His mother, who had confined all her love only unto him, set only such about him, as were absolutely at her commandment, whom she forbade to let him know any thing that passed in the castle, till his wounds were cured, but as she from time to time should instruct them: she (for herself) being resolved, now she had the government of all things in her own hands, to satisfy her sons love, by their yielding, or satisfy her own revenge in their punishment. Yet first, because she would be the freer from outward force, she sent a messenger to the camp, to denounce unto Basilius, that if he did not presently raise his siege, she would cause the heads of the three Ladies, prisoners, to be cut off before his eyes. And to make him the more fear a present performance, she caused his two daughters and Zelmane to be led unto the walls, where she had made a scaffold, easy to be seen by Basilius: and there caused them to be kept, as ready for the slaughter, till answer came from Basilius. A sight full of pity it was, to see those three (all excelling in all those excellencies, wherewith Nature can beautify any body: Pamela giving sweetness to majesty, Philoclea enriching nobleness with humbleness, Zelmane setting in womanly beauty manlike valour) to be thus subjecteth to the basest injury of unjust Fortune. One might see in Pamela a willingness to die, rather than to have life at others discretion, though sometimes a princely disdain would sparkle out of her Princely eyes, that it should be in others power to force her to die. In Philoclea a pretty fear came up, to endamaske her rosy cheeks: but it was such a fear, as rather seemed a kindly child to her innate humbleness, than any other dismayednes: or if she were dismayed, it was more for Zelmane, then for herself; or if more for herself, it was because Zelmane should lose her. As for Zelmane, as she went with her hands bound (for they durst not adventure on her well known valour, especially among a people which perchance might be moved by such a spectacle to some revolt) she was the true image of overmastered courage, and of spite, that sees no remedy. For her breast swollen withal, the blood burst out at her nose, and she looked paler than accustomed, with her eyes cast on the ground, with such a grace, as if she were fallen out with the heavens, for suffering such an injury. The lookers on were so moved withal, as they misliked what themselves did, and yet still did what themselves misliked. For some, glad to rid themselves of the dangerous annoyance of this siege, some willing to shorten the way to Amphialushis succession (whereon they were dependants) some, and the greatest some, doing because others did, and suffering because none durst begin to hinder, did in this sort set their hands to this (in their own conscience) wicked enterprise.  
But when this message was brought to Basilius, and that this pitiful preparation was a sufficient letter of credit for him to believe it, he called unto him his chief councelors: among which, those he chief trusted were Philanax & Kalander (lately come to the camp at Basilius' commandment, and in himself weary of his solitary life, wanting his son's presence, & never having heard from his beloved guests since they parted from him). Now in this doubt what he should do, he willed Kalander to give him his advise: who spoke much to this purpose. You command me Sir (said he) to speak, rather because you will keep your wont grave, and noble manner, to do nothing of importance without council, then that in this cause (which indeed hath but one way) your mind needs to have any council: so as my speech shall rather be to confirm what you have already determined then to argue against any  possibility of other determination. For what sophistical scholar can find any question in this, whether you will have your incomparable daughters live, or die? whether since you be here to cause their deliverance, you will make your being here the cause of their destruction? for nothing can be more unsensible, then to think what one doth, and to forget the end why it is done. Do therefore as I am sure you mean to do, remove the siege, and after seek by practice, or other gentle means, to recover that which by force you cannot: and thereof is indeed (when it please you) more counsel to be taken. Once, in extremities the winning of time is the purchase of life, & worse by no means then their deaths can befall unto you. A man might use more words, if it were to any purpose to gild gold, or that I had any cause to doubt of your mind: But you are wise, and are a father. He said no more, for he durst not attempt to persuade the marrying of his daughter to Amphialus, but left that to bring in at another consultation. But Basilius made sign to Philanax, who standing a while in a maze as inwardly perplexed, at last thus delivered his opinion.  
If ever I could wish my faith untried, & my counsel untrusted, it should be at this time, when in truth I must confess I would be content to purchase silence with discredit. But since you command, I obey: only let me say thus much, that I obey not to these excellent Lady's father, but to my Prince: & a Prince it is to whom I give counsel. Therefore as to a Prince I say, that the grave & (I well know) true-minded counsel of my Lord Kalander had come in good time when you first took arms, before all your subjects gate notice of your intention, before so much blood was spent, and before they were driven to seek this shift for their last remedy. But if now, this force you away, why did you take arms? since you might be sure when ever they were in extremity they would have recourse to this threatening? and for a wise man to take in hand that which his enemy may with a word overthrow, hath in my conceit great incongruity, and as great not to forethink what his enemy in reason will do. But they threaten they will kill your daughters. What if they promised you if you removed your siege, they would honourably send home your daughters? would you be angled by their promises? truly no more ought you be terrified by their threatenings. For yet of the two, promise binds faith more them threatening. But indeed a Prince of judgement ought not to consider what his enemies promise, or threaten, but what the promisers and threatners in reason will do: and the nearest conjecture thereunto, is what is best for their own behoof to do. They threaten if you remove not, they will kill your daughters, and if you do remove, what surety have you, but that they will kill them, since if the purpose be to cut off all impediments of Amphialushis ambition, the same cause will continue when you are away; and so much the more encoraged, as the revenging power is absent, and they have the more opportunity to draw their factious friends about them: but if it be for their security only, the same cause will bring forth the same effect: and for their security they will preserve them. But it may be said, no man knows what desperate folks will do: it is true, and as true that no reason nor policy can prevent what desperate folks will do: & therefore they are among those dangers, which wisdom is not to reckon. Only let it suffice to take away their despair, which may be by granting pardon for what is past; so as the Ladies may be freely delivered. And let them that are your subjects, trust you that are their Prince: do not you subject yourself to trust them, who are so untrusty as to be manifest traitors. For if they find you so baseminded, as by their threatening to remove your force, what indignity is it, that they would not bring you unto, still by the same threatening? since than if Love stir them, love will keep them from murdering what they love; and if Ambition provoke them, ambitious they will be, when you are away, as well as while you are here: take not away your force, which bars not the one, and bridles the other. For as for their shows and words they are but fearebabes, not worthy once to move a worthy man's conceit; which must still consider what in reason they are like to do. Their despair I grant you shall do well to prevent, which as it is the last of all resolutions, so no man falls" into it, while so good a way as you may offer, is open unto them. In sum, you are a Prince, and a father of a people, who ought with the eye of wisdom, the hand of fortitude, and the heart of justice to set down all private conceits, in comparison of what for the public is profitable.  
He would have proceeded on, when Gynoecia came running in amazed for her daughter Pamela, but mad for Zelmane: and falling at Basilius' feet, besought him to make no delay: using such gestures of compassion in steed of stopped words, that Basilius, otherwise enough tender minded, easily granted to raise the siege, which he saw dangerous to his daughters: but indeed more careful for Zelmane, by whose besieged person, the poor old man was straightly besieged: so as to rid him of the famine of his mind, he went in speed away, discharging his soldiers: only leaving the authority, as before, in Philanaxis hands, he himself went with Gynoecia to a strong Castle of his, where he took counsel how first to deliver Zelmane, whom he called the poor stranger, as though only Law of hospitality moved him, and for that purpose sent divers messengers to traffic with Cecropia.  
But she by this means rid of the present danger of the siege (desiring Zoilus and Lycurgus to take the care, till their brother recovered, of revictualling, and furnishing the City, both with men and what else wanted, against any new occasion should urge them, she herself disdaining to hearken to Basilius, without he would grant his daughter in marriage to her son, which by no means he would be brought unto) bent all the sharpness of her malicious wit, how to bring a comfortable grant to her son, whereupon she well found no less than his life depended. Therefore for a while she attempted all means of eloquent praying, & flattering persuasion, mingling sometimes gifts, sometimes threatenings, as she had cause to hope, that either open force, or undermining, would best win the castle of their Resolution. And ever as much as she did to Philoclea, so much did she to Pamela, though in manner sometimes differing, as she found fit to level at the ones noble height, and the others sweet lowliness. For though she knew her sons heart had wholly given itself to Philoclea, yet seeing the equal gifts in Pamela, she hoped, a fair grant would recover the sorrow of a fair refusal: cruelly intending the present empoisoning the one, as soon as the others affection were purchased.  
But in vain was all her vain oratory employed. Pamelaes' determination was built upon so brave a Rock, that no shot of hers could reach unto it: and Philoclea (though humbly seated) was so environed with sweet rivers of clear virtue, as could neither be battered, nor undermined: her witty persuasions had wise answers; her eloquence recompensed with sweetness; her threatenings repelled with disdain in the one, and patience in the other; her gifts either not accepted, or accepted to obey, but not to bind. So as Cecropia in nature violent; cruel, because ambitious; hateful, for old rooted grudge to their mother, and now spiteful because she could not prevail with girls, as she counted them; lastly, drawn on by her love to her son, and held up by a tyrannical authority, forthwith followed the bias of her own crooked disposition, and doubling and redoubling her threatenings, fell to confirm some of her threatened effects: first withdrawing all comfort, both of servants, & service from them. But that those excellent Ladies had been used unto, even at home, and then found in themselves how much good the hardness of education doth to the resistance of misery. Then dishonourably using them both in diet, and lodging, by a contempt to pull down their thoughts to yielding. But as before, the consideration of a prison had disgraced all ornaments, so now the same consideration made them attend all diseasefulnes. Then still, as she found those not prevail, would she go forward with giving them terrors, sometimes with noices of horror, sometimes with sudden frightings in the night, when the solitary darkness thereof might easier astonish the disarmed senses. But to all Virtue, and Love resisted, strengthened one by the other, when each found itself over-vehemently assaulted. Cecropia still sweetening her fiercenesses with fair promises, if they would promise fair; that feeling evil, and seeing a way far better, their minds might the sooner be mollified. But they that could not taste her behaviour, when it was pleasing indeed, could worse now, when they had lost all taste by her injuries.  
She resolving all extremities, rather than fail of conquest, pursued on her rugged way: letting no day pass, without new and new perplexing the poor Lady's minds, and troubling their bodies: and still swelling, the more she was stopped, and growing hot with her own do, at length, abominable rage carried her to absolute tyrannies, so that taking with her certain old women (of wicked dispositions, and apt for enuie-sake to be cruel to youth and beauty) with a countenance empoisoned with malice, flew to the sweet Philoclea, as if so many Kites should come about a white Dove, and matching violent gestures with mischievous threatenings, she having a rod in her hand (like a fury that should carry wood to the burning of Diana's temple) fell to scourge that most beautiful body: Love in vain holding the shield of Beauty against her blind cruelty. The Son drew clouds up to hid his face from so pitiful a sight; and the very stone walls did yield drops of sweat for agony of such a mischief: each senseless thing had sense of pity; only they that had sense, were senseless. Virtue rarely found her worldly weakness more, then by the oppression of that day: and weeping Cupid told his weeping mother, that he was sorry he was not deaf, as well as blind, that he might never know so lamentable a work. Philoclea, with tearful eyes, and sobbing breast (as soon as her weariness rather than compassion, gave her respite) kneeled down to Cecropia, & making pity in her face honourable, and torment delightful, besought her, since she hated her (for what cause she took God to witness she knew not) that she would at once take away her life, and not please herself with the tormenting of a poor Gentlewoman. If (said she) the common course of humanity cannot move you, nor the having me in your own walls, cannot claim pity: nor womanly mercy, nor near alliance, nor remembrance (how miserable so ever now) that I am a Prince's daughter; yet let the love (you have often told me) your son bears me, so much procure, that for his sake, one death may be thought enough for me; I have not lived so many years, but that one death may be able to conclude them: neither have my faults, I hope, been so many, but that one death may satisfy them. It is no great suit to an enemy, when but death is desired. I crave but that, and as for the granting your request, know for certain you lose your labours, being every day furtherof-minded from becoming his wife, who useth me like a slave. But that in stead of getting grace, renewed again Cecropias' fury: so that (excellent creature) she was newly again tormented by those hellish monsters: Cecropia using no other words, but that she was a proud and ungrateful wench: and that she would teach her to know her own good, since of herself she would not conceive it. So that with silence and patience (like a fair gorgeous armour, hammered upon by an ill-favoured Smith) she abode their pitiless dealing with her: till, rather reserving her for more, then meaning to end, they left her to an uncomfortable leisure, to consider with herself her fortune; both helpless herself, being a prisoner, and hopeless, since Zelmane was a prisoner: who therein only was short of the bottom of misery, that she knew not how unworthily her Angel, by these devils was abused: but wanted (God wots) no stings of grief, when those words did but strike upon her heart, that Philoclea was a captive, and she not able to secure her. For well she knew the confidence Philoclea had in her, and well she knew, Philoclea had cause to have confidence: and all trodden under foot by the wheel of senseless Fortune. Yet if there be that imperious power in the soul, as it can deliver knowledge to another, without bodily organs; so vehement were the workings of their spirits, as one met with other, though themselves perceived it not, but only thought it to be the doubling of their own loving fancies. And that was the only worldly thing, whereon Philoclea rested her mind, that she knew she should die beloved of Zelmane, and should die, rather than be false to Zelmane. And so this most dainty Nymph, easing the pain of her mind with thinking of another's pain; and almost forgetting the pain of her body, through the pain of her mind, she wasted, even longing for the conclusion of her tedious tragedy.  
But for a while she was unuisited, Cecropia employing her time in using the like cruelty upon Pamela, her heart growing not only to desire the fruit of punishing them, but even to delight in the punishing them. But if ever the beams of perfection shined through the clouds of affliction, if ever Virtue took a body to show his (else unconceaveable) beauty, it was in Pamela. For when Reason taught her there was no resistance, (for to just resistance first her heart was inclined) then with so heavenly a quietness, and so graceful a calmness, did she suffer the divers kinds of torments they used to her, that while they vexed her fair body, it seemed, that she rather directed, then obeyed the vexation. And when Cecropia ended, and asked whether her heart would yield: she a little smiled, but such a smiling as showed no love, and yet could not but be lovely. And then, Beastly woman (said she) follow on, do what thou wilt, and canst upon me: for I know thy power is not unlimited. Thou mayst well wrack this silly body, but me thou canst never overthrow. For my part, I will not do thee the pleasure to desire death of thee: but assure thyself, both my life and death, shall triumph with honour, laying shame upon thy detestable tyranny.  
And so, in effect, conquering their doing with her suffering, while Cecropia tried as many sorts of pains, as might rather vex them, then spoil them (for that she would not do while she were in any hope to win either of them for her son) Pamela remained almost as much content with trial in herself, what virtue could do, as grieved with the misery wherein she found herself plunged: only sometimes her thoughts softened in her, when with open wings they flew to Musidorus. For than she would think with herself, how grievously Musidorus would take this her misery; and she, that wept not for herself, wept yet Musidorus tears, which he would weep for her. For gentle Love did easilier yield to lamentation, than the constancy of virtue would else admit. Then would she remember the case wherein she had left her poor shepherd, and she that wished death for her self, feared death for him; and she that condemned in herself the feebleness of sorrow, yet thought it great reason to be sorry for his sorrow: and she that long had prayed for the virtuous joining themselves together, now thinking to die herself, heartily prayed, that long time their fortunes might be separated. Live long my Musidorus (would she say) and let my name live in thy mouth; in thy heart my memory. Live long, that thou mayst love long the chaste love of thy dead Pamela. Then would she wish to herself, that no other woman might ever possess his heart: and yet scarcely the wish was made a wish, when herself would find fault with it, as being too unjust, that so excellent a man should be banished from the comfort of life. Then would she fortify her resolution, with bethinking the worst, taking the counsel of virtue, and comfort of love.  
So these diamonds of the world whom Nature had made to be preciously set in the eyes of men, to be the chief works of her workmanship, the chief ornaments of the world, and Princesses of felicity, by rebellious injury were brought to the uttermost distress that an enemy's heart could wish, or a woman's spite invent: Cecropia daily in one or other sort punishing them, still with her evil torments giving them fear of worse, making the fear itself the sorest torment of all; that in the end weary of their bodies, they should be content to bestow them at her appointment. But as in labour, the more one doth exercise it, the more by the doing one is enabled to do; strength growing upon the work, so as what at first would have seemed impossible, after grows easy: so these Princesses second to none, and far from any second, only to be matched by themselves, with the use of suffering their minds got the habit of suffering so, as all fears and terrors were to them but summons to a battle, whereof they knew before hand they would be victorious, and which in the suffering was painful, being suffered, was a trophy to itself: whereby Cecropia found herself still farther off: for where at first she might perchance have persuaded them to have visited her son, and have given him some comfort in his sickness, drawing near to the confines of Death's kingdom, now they protested, that they would never otherwise speak to him, then as to the enemy, of most unjust cruelty towards them, that any time or place could ever make them know.  
This made the poison swell in her cankered breast, perceiving that (as in water) the more she grasped the less she held: but yet now having run so long the way of rigour, it was too late in reason, and too contrary to her passion, to return to a course of meekness. And therefore (taking counsel of one of her old associates who so far excelled in wickedness, as that she had not only lost all feeling of conscience, but had gotten a very glory in evil) in the end they determined, that beating, and other such sharp dealing did not so much pull down a woman's heart, as it bred anger, and that nothing was more enemy to yielding, than anger; making their tender hearts take on the armour of obstinacy: (for thus did their wicked minds blind to the light of virtue, and owly eyed in the night of wickedness interpret of it) and that therefore that was no more to be tried. And for fear of death (which no question would do most with them) they had been so often threatened, as they began to be familiarly acquainted with it, and learned to esteem threatening words to be but words. Therefore the last, but best way now was, that the one seeing indeed the others death, should perceive, there was no dallying meant: and then there was no doubt, that a woman's soul would do much, rather than leave so beautiful a body.  
This being concluded, Cecropia went to Philoclea, and told her, that now she was to come to the last part of the play: for her part, though she found her hard hearted obstinacy such, that neither the sweetness of loving means, nor the force of hard means could prevail with her, yet before she would pass to a further degree of extremity; she had sought to win her sister; in hope, that her son might be with time satisfied with the love of so fair a Lady: but finding her also rather more than less wilful, she was now minded that one of their deaths should serve for an example to the other, that despising worthy folks was more hurtful to the despiser, than the despised: that yet because her son especially affected her, and that" in her own self she was more inclinable to pity her, than she had deserved, she would begin with her sister; who that afternoon should have her head cut off before her face; if in the mean time one of them, did not pull out their il-wrought stiches of unkindness, she bade her look for no other, nor longer time than she told her. There was no assault given to the sweet Philoclea's mind, that entered so far, as this: for where to all pains and dangers of herself, foresight with (his Lieutenant Resolution) had made ready defence; now with the love she bore her sister, she was driven to a stay, before she determined: but long she stayed not, before this reason did shine unto her, that since in herself she preferred death before such a base servitude, love did teach her to wish the same to her sister. Therefore crossing her arms, and looking side-ward upon the ground, Do what you will (said she) with us: for my part, heaven shall melt before I be removed. But if you will follow my counsel, for your own sake (for as for prayers for my sake I have felt how little they prevail) let my death first serve for example to win her, who perchance is not so resolved against Amphialus, and so shall you not only justly punish me (who indeed do hate both you and your son) but, if that may move you, you shall do more virtuously in preserving one most worthy of life, and killing an other most desirous of death: lastly in winning her, in steed of a peevish unhappy creature, that I am, you shall bless your son with the most excellent woman in all praiseworthy things, that the world holdeth. But Cecropia, (who had already set down to herself what she would do) with bitter both terms, and countenance, told her, that she should not need to woe death over-egerly: for if her sister going before her did not teach her wit, herself should quickly follow. For since they were not to be gotten, there was no way for her sons quiet, but to know, that they were past getting. And so since not entreating, nor threatening might prevail, she bade her prepare her eyes for a new play, which she should see within few hours in the hall of that castle.  
A place indeed overfit for so unfit a matter: for being so stately made that the bottom of it being even with the ground, the roof reached as high as any part of the castle, at either end it had convenient lodgings. In the one end was (one story from the ground) Philoclea's abode, in the other of even height, Pamela's, and Zelmane's in a chamber above her: but all so vaulted of strong, and thickly built stone, as one could not way hear the other: each of these chambers had a little window to look into the hall, but because the sisters should not have so much comfort, as to look one to another, there was (of the outsides) curtains drawn, which they could not reach with their hands, so barring the reach of their sight. But when the hour came that the Tragedy should begin, the curtains were withdrawn from before the windows of Zelmane, and of Philoclea: a sufficient challenge to call their eyes to defend themselves in such an encounter. And by and by came in at one end of the hall, with about a dozen armed soldiers a Lady, led by a couple, with her hands bound before her: from above her eyes to her lips muffled with a fair kerchief, but from her mouth to the shoulders all bare: and so was led on to a scaffold raised a good deal from the floor, and all covered with crimson velvet. But neither Zelmane, nor Philoclea needed to be told who she was: for the apparel she ware made them too well assured, that it was the admirable Pamela. Whereunto the rare whiteness of her naked neck gave sufficient testimony to their astonnished senses. But the fair Lady being come to the scaffold, and then made to kneel down, and so left by her unkind supporters, as it seemed that she was about to speak somewhat (whereunto Philoclea, poor soul, earnestly listened, according to her speech even minding to frame her mind, her heart never till then almost wavering to save her sister's life) before the unfortunate Lady could pronounce three words, the executioner cut off the one's speech, and the others attention, with making his sword do his cruel office upon that beautiful neck. Yet the pitiless sword had such pity of so precious an object, that at first it did but hit flat long. But little availed that, since the Lady falling down astonnished withal, the cruel villain forced the sword with another blow to divorce the fair marriage of the head and body.  
And this was done so in an instant, that the very act did overrun Philoclea's sorrow (sorrow not being able so quickly to thunderbolt her heart through her senses, but first only oppressed her with a storm of amazement) but when her eyes saw that they did see, as condemning themselves to have seen it, they became weary of their own power of seeing: and her soul then drinking up woe with great draughts, she fell down to deadly trances: but her waiting jailers with cruel pity brought loathed life unto her; which yet many times took his leave as though he would indeed departed: but when he was stayed by force, he kept with him deadly Sorrow, which thus exercised her mourning speech. Pamela my sister, my sister Pamela, woe is me for thee, I would I had died for thee. Pamela never more shall I see thee: never more shall I enjoy thy sweet company, and wise counsel. Alas, thou art gone to beautify heaven, and hast left me here, who have nothing good in me, but that I did ever love thee, and ever will lament thee. Let this day be noted of all virtuous folks for most unfortunate: let it never be mentioned, but among curses; and cursed be they that did this mischief, and most accursed be mine eyes that beheld it. Sweet Pamela; that head is stricken of, where only wisdom might be spoken withal; that body is destroyed, which was the living book of virtue. Dear Pamela how haste thou left me to all wretchedness, and misery? Yet while thou livedst, in thee I breathed, of thee I hoped. O Pamela, how much did I for thy excellency honour thee, more than my mother, and love thee more than myself? Never more shall I lie with thee: never more shall we bathe in the pleasant river together: never more shall I see thee in thy shepherd apparel. But thou art gone, and where am I? Pamela is dead; and live I? O my God, And with that she fell again in a son, so as it was a great while before they could bring her to herself again; but being come to herself, Alas (said she) unkind women, since you have given me so many deaths, torment me not now with life: for God's sake let me go, and excuse your hands of more blood. Let me follow my Pamela, whom ever I sought to follow. Alas Pamela, they will not let me come to thee. But if they keep promise, I shall tread thine own steps after thee. For to what am I borne (miserable soul) but to be most unhappy in myself, and yet more unhappy in others? But o that a thousand more miseries had chanced unto me, so thou hadst not died: Pamela, my sister Pamela. And so, like lamentable Philomela complained she the horrible wrong done to her sister, which if it stirred not in the wickedly closed minds of her tormentors, a pity of her sorrow, yet bred it a weariness of her sorrow: so as only leaving one to prevent any harm she should do herself, the rest went away, consulting again with Cecropia, how to make profit of this their late bloody act.  
In the end, that woman that used most to keep company with Zelmane, told Cecropia, that she found by many most sensible proofs in Zelmane, that there was never woman so loved another, as she loved Philoclea: which was the cause that she (further then the commandment of Cecropia) had caused Zelmane's curtains to be also drawn: because having the same spectacle that Philoclea had, she might stand in the greater fear for her, whom she loved so well: and that indeed she had hit the needle in that devise: for never saw she creature so astonished as Zelmane, exceedingly sorry for Pamela, but exceedingly exceeding that exceedingnes in fear for Philoclea. Therefore her advice was, she should cause Zelmane to come and speak with Philoclea. For there being such vehemency of friendship between them, it was most likely both to move Zelmane to persuade, and Philoclea to be persuaded, Cecropia liked well of the counsel, and gave order to the same woman to go deal therein with Zelmane, and to assure her with oath, that Cecropia was determined Philoclea should pass the same way that Pamela had done, without she did yield to satisfy the extremity of her sons affection: which the woman did, adding thereunto many (as she thought) good reasons to make Zelmane think Amphialus a fit match for Philoclea.  
But Zelmane (who had from time to time understood the cruel dealing they had used to the sisters, and now had her own eyes wounded with the sight of ones death) was so confused withal (her courage still rebelling against her wit, desiring still with force to do impossible matters) that as her desire was stopped with power, so her conceit was darkened with a mist of desire. For blind Love; and invincible valour still would cry out, that it could not be, Philoclea should be in so miserable estate, and she not relieve her: and so while she haled her wit to her courage, she drew it from his own limits. But now Philoclea's death (a word able to marshal all his thoughts in order) being come to so short a point either with small delay to be suffered, or by the giving herself to another to be prevented, she was driven to think, and to desire some leisure of thinking: which the woman granted for that night unto her. A night that was not half so black, as her mind; not half so silent, as was fit for her musing thoughts. At last, he that would feign have desperately lost a thousand lives for her sake, could not find in his heart, that she should lose any life for her own sake; and he that despised his own death in respect of honour, yet could well nigh dispense with honour itself in respect of Philoclea's death: for once the thought could not enter into his heart, nor the breath issue out of his mouth, which could consent to Philoclea's death for any bargain. Then how to prevent the next degree to death (which was her being possessed by another) was the point of his minds labour: and in that he found no other way, but that Philoclea should pretend a yielding unto Cecropias' request; and so by speaking with Amphialus, and making fair (but delaying) promises, procure liberty for Zelmane; who only wished but to come by a sword, not doubting then to destroy them all, and deliver Philoclea: so little did both the men, and their forces seem in her eyes, looking down upon them from the high top of affections tower.  
With that mind therefore (but first well bound) she was brought to Philoclea, having already plotted out in her conceit, how she would deal with her: and so came she with heart and eyes, which did each sacrifice either to Love upon the altar of Sorrow: and there had she the pleasing displeasing sight of Philoclea: Philoclea, whom already the extreme sense of sorrow had brought to a dullness therein, her face not without tokens that beauty had been by many miseries cruelly battered, and yet showed it most the perfection of that beauty, which could remain unoverthrowne by such enemies. But when Zelmane was set down by her, and the women gone away (because she might be the better persuaded when no body was by, that had heard her say she would not be persuaded) then began first the eyes to speak, and the hearts to cry out: Sorrow a while would nedees speak his own language without using their tongues to be his interpreters. At last Zelmane broke silence, but spoke with the only eloquence of amazement: for all her long methodized oratione was inherited only by such kind of speeches. Dear Lady, in extreme necessities we must not. But alas unfortunate wretch that I am, that I live to see this day. And I take heaven and earth to witness, that nothing: and with that her breast swollen so with spite and grief, that her breath had not leisure to turn itself into words. But the sweet Philoclea that had already died in Pamela, & of the other side had the heaviness of her heart something quickened in the most beloved sight of Zelmane, guessed somewhat at Zelmane's mind; and therefore spoke unto her in this sort. My Pyrocles (said she) I know this exceeding comfort of your presence, is not brought unto me for any goodwill that is owned unto me: but (as I suppose to make you persuade me to save my life with the ransom of mine honour: although no body should be so unfit a pleader in that cause, as yourself, yet perchance you would have me live. Your honour? God forbidden (said Zelmane) that ever, for any cause, I should yield to any touch of it. But a while to pretend some affection, till time, or my liberty might work something for your service: this, if my astonished senses would give me leave, I would feign have persuaded you.  
To what purpose my Pyrocles? (said Philoclea) of a miserable time what gain is there? hath Pamelaes' example wrought no more in me? is a captive life so much worth? can ever it go out of these lips, that I love any other but Pyrocles? shall my tongue be so false a traitor to my heart, as to say I love any other but Pyrocles? And why should I do all this? to live? O Pamela, sister Pamela, why should I live? only for thy sake Pyrocles I would live: but to thee I know too well I shall not live; and if not to thee, hath thy love so base allay, my Pyrocles, as to wish me to live? for dissimulation, my Pyrocles, my simplicity is such, that I have hardly been able to keep a strait way; what shall I do in a crooked? But in this case there is no mean of dissimulation, not for the cunningest: present answer is required, and present performance upon the answer. Art thou so terrible, o Death? No my Pyrocles; and for that I do thank thee, and in my soul thank thee; for I confess the love of thee is herein my chiefest virtue. Trouble me not therefore, dear Pyrocles, nor double not my death by tormenting my resolution: since I cannot live with thee, I will die for thee. Only remember me dear Pyrocles; and love the remembrance of me: & if I may crave so much of thee, let me be thy last love, for though I be not worthy of thee (who indeed art the worthiest creature living) yet remember that my love was a worthy love. But Pyrocles was so overcome with sorrow (which wisdom and virtue made just in so excellent a Lady's case, full of so excellent kindness) that words were ashamed to come forth knowing how weak they were to express his mind, and her merit: and therefore so stayed in a deadly silence, forsaken of hope and forsaking comfort: till the appointed guardians came in, to see the fruits of Zelmane's labour: and then Zelmane warned by their presence, fell again to persuade, though scarcely herself could tell what; but in sum, desirous of delays. But Philoclea sweetly continuing constant, and in the end punishing her importunity with silence, Zelmane was feign to end. Yet craving an other times conference, she obtained it, and divers others; till at the last Cecropia found it was to no purpose, and therefore determined to follow her own way. Zelmane yet still desirous to win (by any means) respite, even wasted with sorrow, and uncertain, whether in worse case in her presence, or absence, being able to do nothing for Philoclea's succour, but by submitting the greatest courage of the earth to fall at the feet of Cecropia, and crave stay of their sentence till the uttermost was seen, what her persuasions might do.  
Cecropia seemed much to be moved by her importunity, so as divers days were won of painful life to the excellent Philoclea: while Zelmane suffered some hope to cherish her mind, especially trusting upon the help of Musidorus, who (she knew) would not be idle in this matter, till one morning a noise awaked Zelmane, from whose over-watchfull mind, the tired body had stolen a little sleep: & straight with the first opening of her eyes, Care taking his wonted place, she ran to the window which looked into the hall (for that way the noise guided her,) and there might she see (the curtain being left open ever since the last execution) seven or eight persons in a cluster upon the scaffold: who by and by retiring themselves, nothing was to be seen thereupon, but a basan of gold, pitifully enamelled with blood, and in the midst of it, the head of the most beautiful Philoclea. The horribleness of the mischief was such, as Pyrocles could not at first believe his own senses, but bent his woeful eyes to discern it better: where too well he might see it was Philoclea's self, having no veil, but beauty, over the face, which still appeared to be alive: so did those eyes shine, even as they were wont, and they were wont more than any other: and sometimes as they moved, it might well make the beholder think, that death therein had borrowed her beauty, and not they any way disgraced by death: so sweet and piercing a grace they carried with them.  
It was not a pity, it was not an amazement, it was not a sorrow which then laid hold on Pyrocles, but a wild fury of desperate agony, so that he cried out, O tyrant heaven, traitor earth, blind providence; no justice, how is this done? how is this suffered? hath this world a government? If it have, let it pour out all his mischiefs upon me, and see whether it have power to make me more wretched than I am. Did she excel for this? have I prayed for this? abominable hand that did it; detestable devil that commanded it; cursed light that beheld it: and if the light be cursed, what are then mine eyes that have seen it? And have I seen Philoclea dead, and do I live? and have I lived, not to help her, but to talk of her? and stand I still talking? And with that (carried with the madness of anguish, not having a readier way to kill himself) he ran as hard as ever he could, with his head against the wall, with intention to brain himself: but the haste to do it made the doing the slower. For, as he came to give the blow, his foot tripped, so as it came not with the full force: yet forcible enough to strike him down; and withal, to deprive him of his sense, so that he lay a while comforted by the hurt, in that he felt not his discomfort.  
And when he came again to himself, he heard, or he thought he heard a voice which cried, Revenge, Revenge unto him; whether indeed it were his good Angel, which used that voice to stay him from unnatural murdering of himself; or that his wandering spirits lighted upon that conceit, and by their weakness subject to apprehensions) supposed they heard it. But that indeed, helped with Virtue, and her valiant servant Anger, stopped him from present destroying himself: yielding, in reason and manhood, first to destroy, man, woman, and child, that were any way of kin to them that were accessary to this cruelty; then to raze the Castle, and to build a sumptuous monument for her sister; and a most sumptuous for herself, and then, himself to die upon her tomb. This determining in himself to do, and to seek all means how (for that purpose) to get out of prison: he was content a while to bear the thirst of death: and yet went he again to the window, to kiss the beloved head with his eyes, but there saw he nothing but the scaffold, all covered over with scarlet, & nothing but solitary silence, to mourn this mischief. But then, Sorrow having dispersed itself from his heart, into all his noble parts, it proclaimed his authority, in cries, and tears, and with a more gentle dolefulness, could pour out his inward evil.  
Alas (said he) and is that head taken away too, so soon from mine eyes? What, mine eyes, perhaps they envy the excellency of your sorrow? Indeed, there is nothing now left to become the eyes of all mankind, but tears: and woe be to me, if any exceed me in woefulness. I do conjure you all, my senses, to accept no object, but of Sorrow: be ashamed, nay, abhor to think of comfort. Unhappy eyes you have seen too much, that ever the light should be welcome to you: unhappy ears, you shall never hear the music of Music in her voice unhappy haste, that haste lived to feel these pangs. Thou hast done thy worst, World, and cursed be thou, and cursed art thou, since to thine own self thou hast done the worst thou couldst do. Exiled Beauty, let only now thy beauty be blubbered faces, Widowed Music, let now thy tunes be roar, and lamentations. Orphan Virtue, get thee wings, and fly after her into heaven; here is no dwelling place for thee. Why lived I, alas? Alas why loved I? to die wretched, and to be the example of the heavens hate? And hate, and spare not, for your worst blow is stricken. Sweet Philoclea, thou art gone, and hast carried with thee my love; and hast left thy love in me, and I wretched man do live; I live, to die continually, till thy revenge do give me leave to die: & them die I will, my Philoclea, my heart willingly makes this promise to itself. Surely he did not look upon thee, that gave the cruel blow: for no eye could have abidden to see such beauty overthrown by such mischief. Alas, why should they divide such a head from such a body? no other body is worthy of that head; no other head is worthy of that body: O yet, if I had taken my last leave, if I might have taken a holy kiss from that dying mouth. Where art thou Hope which promisest never to leave a man while he liveth? Tell me, what canst thou hope for? nay tell me, what is there which I would willingly hope after? Wishing power (which is accounted infinite) what now is left to wish for? She is gone, and gone with her all my hope, all my wishing. Love, be ashamed to be called Love: cruel Hate, unspeakable Hate is victorious over thee. Who is there now left, that can justify thy tyranny, and give reason to thy passion? O cruel divorce of thy sweetest marriage that ever was in Nature: Philoclea is dead, and dead is with her all goodness, all sweetness all excellency. Philoclea is dead, & yet Life is not ashamed to continue upon the earth. Philoclea is dead: O deadly word; which containeth in itself the uttermost of all misfortunes. But happy word when thou shalt be said of me, and long it shall not be, before it be said.  
Then stopping his words with sighs, drowning his sighs in tears, and drying again his tears in rage, he would sit a while in a wandering muse, which represented nothing but vexations unto him: then throwing himself sometime upon the floor, and sometimes upon the bed: then up again, till walking was wearisome and rest loathsome: and so neither suffering food, nor sleep to help his afflicted nature, all that day and night he did nothing, but weep Philoclea, sigh Philoclea, and cry out Philaclea: till as it happened (at that time upon his bed) toward the dawning of the day, he heard one stir in his chamber, by the motion of garments; and with an angry voice asked, Who was there? A poor Gentlewoman (answered the party) that wish long life unto you. And I soon death to you (said he) for the horrible curse you have given me. Certainly (said she) an unkind answer, and far unworthy the excellency of your mind; but not unsuitable to the rest of your behaviour. For most part of this night I have heard you (being let into your chamber, you never perceiving it, so was your mind estranged from your senses) and have heard nothing of Zelmane, in Zelmane, nothing but weak wailings fitter, for some nurse of a village, than so famous a creature as you are. O God (cried out Pyrocles) that thou wert a man that usest these words unto me. I tell thee I am sorry: I tell thee I will be sorry in despite of thee, and all them that would have me joyful. And yet (replied she) perchance Philoclea is not dead, whom you so much bemoan I would we were both dead of that condition, said Pyrocles. See the folly of your passion (said she) as though you should be nearer to her, you being dead, and she alive; then she being dead, and you alive: and if she be dead, was she not borne to die? what then do you cry out for? not for her, who must have died one time or other; but for some few years: so as it is time, and this world that seem so lovely things, and not Philoclea unto you. O noble Sisters (cried Pyrocles) now you be gone (who were the only exalters of all womankind) what is left in that sex, but babbling, and business? And truly (said she) I will yet a little longer trouble you. Nay, I pray you do (said Pyrocles) for I wish for nothing in my short life, but mischiefs, and combers: and I am content you shall be one of them. In truth (said she) you would think yourself a greatly privileged person, if since the strongest building, and lastingest monarchies are subject to end, only your Philoclea (because she is yours) should be exempted. But indeed you bemoan yourself, who have lost a friend: you cannot her, who hath in one act both preserved her honour, and lest the miseries of this world. O woman's philosophy, childish folly (said Pyrocles) as though if I do bemoan myself, I have not reason to do so, having lost more than any Monarchy, nay then my life can be worth unto me. Alas (said she) comfort yourself, Nature did not forget her skill, when she had made them: you shall find many their superiors, and perchance such, as (when your eyes shall look abroad) your self will like better.  
But that the speech put all good manners out of the conceit of Pyrocles; in so much, that leaping out of his bed, he ran to have stricken her: but coming near her (the morning then winning the field of darkness) he saw, or he thought he saw, indeed, the very face of Philoclea; the same sweetness, the same grace, the same beauty: with which carried into a divine astonishment, he fell down at her feet. Most blessed Angel (said he) well haste thou done to take that shape, since thou wouldst submit thyself to mortal sense; for a more Angelical form could not have been created for thee. Alas, even by that excellent beauty, so beloved of me, let it be lawful for me to ask of thee, what is the cause, that she, that heavenly creature, whose form you have taken, should by the heavens be destined to so unripe an end? Why should unjustice so prevail? Why was she seen to the world so soon to be ravished from us? Why was she not suffered to live, to teach the world perfection? Do not deceive thyself (answered she) I am no Angel; I am Philoclea, the same Philoclea, so truly loving you, so truly beloved of you. If it be so (said he) that you are indeed the soul of Philoclea, you have done well to keep your own figure: for no heaven could have given you a better. Then alas, why have you taken the pains to leave your blissful seat to come to this place most wretched, to me, who am wretchedness itself, & not rather obtain for me, that I might come where you are, there eternally to behold, and eternally to love your beauties? you know (I know) that I desire nothing but death, which I only stay, to be justly revenged of your unjust murderers. Dear Pyrocles (said she) I am thy Philoclea, and as yet living: not murdered, as you supposed, and therefore be comforted. And with that gave him her hand, But the sweet touch of that hand seemed, to his astraied powers so heavenly a thing, that it rather for a while confirmed him in his former belief: till she, with vehement protestations (and desire that it might be so, helping to persuade that it was so) brought him to yield; yet doubtfully to yield to this height of all comfort, that Philoclea lived: which witnessing with tears of joy, Alas (said he) how shall I believe mine eyes any more? or do you yet but appear thus unto me, to stay me from some desperate end? For alas I saw the excellent Pamela beheaded: I saw your head (the head indeed, and chief part of all nature's works) standing in a dish of gold, too mean a shrine (God wot) for such a relic. How can this be, my only dear, and you live? or if this be not so, how can I believe mine own senses? and if I can not believe them, why should I now believe these blessed tidings they bring me?  
The truth is (said she) my Pyrocles, that neither I (as you find) nor yet my dear sister is dead: although the mischievously subtle Cecropia used slights to make either of us think so of other. For, having in vain attempted the farthest of her wicked eloquence, to make either of us yield to her son, and seeing that neither it, accompanied with great flatteries, and rich presents, could get any ground of us, nor yet the violent way she fell into of cruelly tormenting our bodies, could prevail with us; at last, she made either of us think the other dead, and so hoped to have wrested our minds to the forgetting of virtue: and first she gave to mine eyes the miserable spectacle of my sisters (as I thought) death: but indeed it was not my sister: it was only Artesia, she who so cunningly brought us to this misery. Truly I am sorry for the poor Gentlewoman, though justly she be punished for her double falsehood: but Artesia muffled so, as you could not easily discern her; and in my sister's apparel (which they had taken from her under colour of giving her other) did they execute: And when I (for thy sake especially dear Pyrocles) could by no force, nor fear be won, they assayed the like with my sister, by bringing me down under the scaffold, and (making me thrust my head up through a hole they had made therein) they did put about my poor neck a dish of gold, whereout they had beaten the bottom, so as having set blood in it, you saw how I played the part of death (God knows even willing to have done it in earnest) and so had they set me, that I reached but on tiptoes to the ground, so as scarcely I could breath, much less speak: And truly if they had kept me there any whit longer, they had strangled me, in steed of beheading me: but then they took me away, and seeking to see their issue of this practice, they found my noble sister (for the dear love she vouchsafeth to bear me) so grieved withal, that she willed them to do their uttermost cruelty unto her: for she vowed, never to receive sustenance of them, that had been the causers of my murder: and finding both of us, even given over, not like to live many hours longer, and my sister Pamela, rather worse than myself, (the strength of her heart worse bearing those indignities) the good woman Cecropia (with the same pity as folks keep foul, when they are not fat enough for their eating) made us know her deceit, and let us come one to another; with what joy you can well imagine, who I know feel the like; saving that we only thought ourselves reserved to miseries, and therefore fit for condoling, then congratulating. For my part, I am fully persuaded, it is but with a little respite, to have a more feeling sense of the torments she prepares for us. True it is, that one of my guardians would have me to believe, that this proceeds of my gentle cousin Amphialus: who having heard some inkling that we were evil entreated, had called his mother to his bedside, from whence he never risen since his last combat, and besought, and charged her upon all the love she bore him, to use us with all kindness: vowing, with all the imprecations he could imagine, that if ever he understood for his sake, that I received further hurt then the want of my liberty, he would not live an hour longer. And the good woman swore to me that he would kill his mother, if he knew how I had been dealt with; but that Cecropia keeps him from understanding things how they pass, only having heard a whispering, and myself named, he had (of abundance, forsooth, of honourable love) given this charge for us. Whereupon this enlargement of mine was grown: for my part I know too well their cunning (who leave no money unoffered that may buy mine honour) to believe any word they say, but (my dear Pyrocles) even look for the worst, and prepare myself for the same. Yet I must confess, I was content to rob from death, and borrow of my misery the sweet comfort of seeing my sweet sister, and most sweet comfort of thee my Pyrocles. And so having leave, I came stealing into your chamber: where (O Lord) what a joy it was unto me, to hear you solemnise the funerals of the poor Philoclea? That I myself might live to hear my death bewailed? and by whom? by my dear Pyrocles. That I saw death was not strong enough to divide thy love from me? O my Pyrocles, I am too well paid for my pains I have suffered: joyful is my woe for so noble a cause; and welcome be all miseries, since to thee I am so welcome. Alas how I pitied to hear thy pity of me; and yet a great while I could not find in my heart to interrupt thee, but often had even pleasure to weep with thee: and so kindly came forth thy lamentations, that they enforced me to lament to, as if indeed I had been a looker on, to see poor Philoclea die. Till at last I spoke with you, to try whether I could remove thee from sorrow, till I had almost procured myself a beating. And with that she prettily smiled, which, mingled with her tears, one could not tell whether it were a mourning pleasure, or a delightful sorrow: but like when a few April drops are scattered by a gentle Zephyrus among fine coloured flowers. But Pyrocles, who had felt (with so small distance of time) in himself the overthrow both of hope and despair, knew not to what key he should tune his mind, either of joy, or sorrow. But finding perfit reason in neither, suffered himself to be carried by the tide of his imagination, and his imaginations to be raised even by the sway, which hearing or seeing, might give unto them: he saw her alive, he was glad to see her alive: he saw her weep, he was sorry to see her weep: he heard her comfortable speeches, nothing more gladsome: he hard her prognosticating her own destruction, nothing more doleful. But when he had a little taken breath from the panting motion of such contrariety in passions, he fell to consider with her of her present estate, both comforting her, that certainly the worst of this storm was past, since already they had done the worst, which man's wit could imagine: and that if they had determined to have killed her, now they would have done it: and also earnestly counseling her, and inhabling his counsels with vehement prayers, that she would so far second the hopes of Amphialus, as that she might but procure him liberty; promising then as much to her, as the liberality of loving courage durst promise to himself.  
But who would lively describe the manner of these speeches, should paint out the lightsome colours of affection, shaded with the deepest shadows of sorrow, finding then between hope and fear, a kind of sweetness in tears: till Philoclea content to receive a kiss, and but a kiss of Pyrocles, sealed up his moving lips, and closed them up in comfort: and herself (for the passage was left between them open) went to her sister: with whom she had stayed but a while, fortifying one another (while Philoclea tempered Pamela's just disdain, and Pamela ennobled Philoclea's sweet humbleness) when Amphialus come unto them: who never since he had heard Philoclea named, could be quiet in himself, although none of them about him (fearing more his mother's violence than his power) would discover what had passed: and many messages he sent to know her estate, which brought answers back, according as it pleased Cecropia to indite them, till his heart full of unfortunate affection, more and more misgiving him, having impatiently borne the delay of the night's unfitness, this morning he got up, and though full of wounds (which not without danger could suffer such exercise) he appareled himself, and with a countenance, that showed strength in nothing but in grief, he came where the sisters were; and weakly kneeling down, he besought them to pardon him, if they had not been used in that castle according to their worthiness, and his duty; beginning to excuse small matters, poor Gentleman, not knowing in what sort they had been handled.  
But Pamelaes' high heart (having conceived mortal hate for the injury offered to her and her sister) could scarcely abide his sight, much less hear out his excuses; but interrupted him with these words. Traitor (said she) to thine own blood, and false to the profession of so much love as thou hast vowed, do not defile our ears with thy excuses; but pursue on thy cruelty, that thou and thy godly mother have used towards us: for my part, assure thyself, and so do I answer for my sister (whose mind I know) I do not more desire mine own safety than thy destruction. Amazed with this speech, he turned his eye, full of humble sorrowfulness, to Philoclea. And is this (most excellent Lady) your doom of me also? She, sweet Lady, sat weeping: for as her most noble kinsman she had ever favoured him, and loved his love, though she could not be in love with his person; and now partly unkindness of his wrong, partly pity of his case, made her sweet mind yield some tears, before she could answer; and her answer was no other, but that she had the same cause as her sister had. He replied no further, but delivering from his heart two or three (untaught) sighs, rose, and with most low reverence went out of their chamber: and straight by threatening torture, learned of one of the women, in what terrible manner those Princesses had been used. But when he heard it, crying out, O God; and then not able to say any more (for his speech went back to rebound woe upon his heart) he needed no judge to go upon him: for no man could ever think any other worthy of greater punishment, than he thought himself. Full therefore of the horriblest despair, which a most guilty conscience could breed, with wild looks promising some terrible issue, understanding his mother was upon the top of the leads, he caught one of his servants swords from him, and none of them daring to stay him, he went up, carried by fury, in steed of strength; where she was at that time, musing how to go thorough with this matter, and resolving to make much of her Nieces in show, and secretly to impoison them; thinking since they were not to be won, her sons love would not otherwise be mitigated.  
But when she saw him come in with a sword drawn, and a look more terrible than the sword, she straight was stricken with the guiltiness of her own conscience: yet the well known humbleness of her son somewhat animated her, till he, coming nearer her, and crying to her, Thou damnable creature, only fit to bring forth such a monster of unhappiness as I am; she fearing he would have stricken her (though indeed he meant it not, but only intended to kill himself in her presence) went back so far, till ere she were aware, she overthrew herself from over the Leads, to receive her deaths kiss at the ground: and yet was she not so happy as presently to die, but that she had time with hellish agony to see her sons mischief (whom she loved so well) before her end; when she confessed (with most desperate, but not repenting mind) the purpose she had to impoison the princesses, and would then have had them murdered. But every body sing, and glad to see her end, had left obedience to her tyranny.  
And (if it could be) her ruin increased woe in the noble heart of Amphialus, who when he seen her fall, had his own rage stayed a little with the suddenness of her destruction. And was I not enough miserable before (said he) but that before my end I must be the death of my mother? who how wicked so ever, yet I would she had received her punishment by some other. OH Amphialus, wretched Amphialus; thou hast lived to be the death of thy most dear companion and friend Philoxenus, and of his father, thy most careful fosterfather. Thou hast lived to kill a Lady with thy own hands, and so excellent, and virtuous a Lady, as the fair Parthenia was: thou hast lived to see thy faithful Ismenus slain in succouring thee, and thou not able to defend him: thou hast lived to show thyself such a coward, as that one unknown Knight could overcome thee in thy Lady's presence: thou hast lived to bear arms against thy rightful Prince, thy own uncle: Thou hast lived to be accounted, and justly accounted, a traitor, by the most excellent people, that this world holds: Thou hast lived to be the death of her, that gave thee life. But ah wretched Amphialus, thou hast lived for thy sake, and by thy authority, to have Philoclea tormented: OH heavens, in Amphialus castle, where Amphialus commanded; tormented, tormented? torment of my soul, Philoclea tormented: and thou hast had such comfort in thy life, as to live all this while. Perchance this hand (used only to mischievous acts) thinks it were too good a deed to kill me; or else filthy hand, only worthy to kill women, thou art afraid to strike a man. Fear not cowardly hand, for thou shalt kill but a cowardly traitor: and do it gladly; for thou shalt kill him, whom Philoclea hates. With that, furiously he tear open his doublet, and setting the pommel of the sword to the ground, and the point to his breast, he fallen upon it. But the sword more merciful then he to himself, with the slipping of the pommel, the point swerved, and razed him but upon the side: yet with the fall, his other wounds opened so, as he bledde in such extremity, that Charon's boat might very well be carried in that flood: which yet he sought to hasten by this means. As he opened his doublet, and fallen, there fallen out Philoclea's knives, which Cecropia at the first had taken from her, and delivered to her son; and he had ever worn them next his heart, as the only relic he had of his Saint: now seeing them by him, (his sword being so, as weakness could not well draw it out from his doublet) he took the knives, and pulling one of them out, and many times kissing it, and then, first with the passions of kindness, and unkindness, melting in tears, OH dear knives, you are come in good time, to revenge the wrong I have done you all this while, in keeping you from her blessed side, and wearing you without your mistress leave. Alas, be witness with me, yet before I die, (and well you may, for you have lain next my heart) that by my consent, your excellent mistress should have had as much honour, as this poor place could have brought forth, for so high an excellency; and now I am condemned to die by her mouth. Alas, other, far other hope would my desire often have given me: but other event it hath pleased her to lay upon me. Ah Philoclea (with that his tears gushed out, as though they would strive to overflow his blood) I would yet thou knewest how I love thee. Unworthy I am, unhappy I am, false I am; but to thee, alas, I am not false. But what a traitor am I, any way to excuse him, whom she condemneth? Since there is nothing left me, wherein I may do her service, but in punishing him, who hath so offended her. Dear knife, then do your noble mistress' commandment, With that, he stabbed himself into divers places of his breast, and throat, until those wounds (with the old, freshly bleeding) brought him to the senseless gate of Death. By which time, his servants having (with fear of his fury) abstained awhile from coming unto him, one of them (preferring dutiful affection before fearful duty) come in, and there found him swimming in his own blood, giving a pitiful spectacle, where the conquest was the conquerors overthrow, and self-ruin the only triumph of a battle, fought between him, and himself. The time full of danger, the person full of worthiness, the manner full of horror, did greatly astonish all the beholders; so as by and by, all the town was full of it, and then of all ages come running up to see the beloved body; every body thinking, their safety bled in his wounds, and their honour died in his destruction.  
But when it come, (and quickly it come) to the ears of his proud friend Anaxius, (who by that time was grown well of his wound, but never had come abroad, disdaining to abase himself to the company of any other but of Amphialus) he was exceedingly vexed, either with kindness, or (if a proud heart be not capable thereof) with disdain, that he, who had the honour to be called the friend of Anaxius, should come to such an unexpected ruine. Therefore, then coming abroad, with a face read in anger, and engrained in pride, with lids raised, and eyes leveling from top to toe of them that met him, treading, as though he thought to make the earth shake under him, with his hand upon his sword; short speeches, and disdainful answers, giving strength order to his two brothers, to go take the oath of obedience, in his name, of all the soldiers, and Citizens in the town: and withal, to swear them to revenge the death of Amphialus, upon Basilius. He himself went to see him, calling for all the surgeons and physicians there; spending some time in viewing the body, and threatening them all to be hanged, if they did not heal him. But they (taking view of his wounds, and falling down at Anaxius feet) assured him, that they were mortal, and no possible means to keep him above two days alive: and he stood partly in doubt, to kill, or save them, between his own fury, and their humbleness. But vowing, with his own hands to kill the two sisters, as causers of his friends death: when his brothers come to him, and told him they had done his commandment, in having received the oath of allegiance, with no great difficulty: the most part terrified by their valour, and force of their servants, and many that had been forward actors in the rebellion, willing to do any thing, rather then come under the subjection of Basilius again; and such few as dared gainsay, being cut of by present slaughter.  
But withal (as the chief matter of their coming to him) they told Anaxius, that the fair Queen Helen was come, with an honourable retinue, to the town: humbly desiring leave to see Amphialus, whom she had sought in many places of the world;& lastly, being returned into her own country, she herded together of the late siege, and of his combat with the strange Knight, who had dangerously hurt him. Whereupon, full of loving care, (which she was content even to publish to the world, how ungratefully soever he dealt with her) she had got leave of Basilius, to come by his frontiers, to carry away Amphialus with her, to the excellentest surgeon then known, whom she had in her Country, but so old, as not able to travail: but had given her sovereign annointments, to preserve his body withal, till he might be brought unto him: and that Basilius had granted leave: either natural kindness prevailing over all the offences done, or rather glad to make any passage, which might lead him out of his country, and from his daughters. This discourse Lycurgus' understanding of Helen, delivered to his brother, with her vehement desire to see the body, and take her last farewell of him. Anaxius, though he were fallen out with all womankind (in respect of the hate he bore the sisters, whom he accounted murderers of Amphialus) yet at his brother's request, granted her leave. And she (poor Lady) with grievous expectation, and languishing desire, carried her faint legs to the place where he lay, either not breathing, or in all appearance breathing nothing but death.  
In which piteous plight when she saw him, though Sorrow had set before her mind the pitifullest conceit thereof that it could paint, yet the present sight went beyond all former apprehensions: so that beginning to kneel by the body, her sight ran from her service, rather than abide such a sight; and she fell in a son upon him, as if she could not choose but die of his wounds. But when her breath (weary to be closed up in woe) broke the prison of her fair lips, and brought memory (with his servant senses) to his natural office, she yet made the breath convey these doleful words with it. Alas (said she) Amphialus, what strange disasters be these, that having sought thee so long, I should be now sorry to find thee? that these eyes should look upon Amphialus, and be grieved withal? that I should have thee in my power without glory, and embrace thee without comfort? How often have I blest the means that might bring me near thee? Now, woe worth the cause that brings me so near thee. Often, alas, often hast thou disdained my tears: but now, my dear Amphialus, receive them: these eyes can serve for nothing else, but to weep for thee; since thou wouldst never vouchsafe them thy comfort, yet disdain not them thy sorrow. I would they had been more dear unto thee; for then hadst thou lived. Woe is me that thy noble heart could love who hated thee, and hate who loved thee. Alas, why should not my faith to thee cover my other defects, who only sought to make my Crown thy footstool, myself thy servant? that was all my ambition; and alas thou disdainedst it to serve them, by whom thy incomparable self were disdained. Yet (o Philoclea) wheresoever you are, pardon me, if I speak in the bitterness of my soul, excellent may you be in all other things (and excellent sure you are since he loved you) your want of pity, where the fault only was infiniteness of desert, cannot be excused. I would, O God, I would that you had granted his deserved suit of marrying you, and that I had been your seruing-maide, to have made my estate the foil of your felicity, so he had lived. How many weary steps have I trodden after thee, while my only complaint was, that thou wert unkind? Alas I would now thou wert, to be unkind. Alas why wouldst thou not command my service, in persuading Philoclea to love thee? who could, or (if every one could) who would have recounted thy perfections so well, as I? who with such kindly passions could have stirred pity for thee as I? who should have delivered not only the words, but the tears I had of thee? and so shouldest thou have exercised thy disdain in me, and yet used my service for thee.  
With that the body moving somewhat, and giving a groneful of death's music, she fell upon his face, and kissed him, and with all cried out. O miserable I, that have only favour by misery: and then, would she have returned to a fresh career of complaints, when an aged and wise Gentleman came to her, and besought her, to remember what was fit for her greatness, wisdom, and honour: and with all, that it was fit to show her love, in carrying the body to her excellent Surgeon, first applying such excellent medicines as she had received of him for that purpose, rather than only show herself a woman-lover in fruitless lamentations. She was straight warned with the obedience of an overthrown mind, and therefore leaving some surgeons of her own to dress the body, went herself to Anaxius, and humbling herself to him, as low as his own pride could wish, besought him, that since the surgeons there had utterly given him over, that he would let her carry him away in her litter with her, since the worst he could have should be to die, and to die in her arms that loved him above all things; and where he should have such monuments erected over him, as were fit for her love, and his worthiness: beseeching him withal, since she was in a country of enemies (where she trusted more to Anaxius valour, than Basilius promise) that he would convey them safely out of those territories Her reasons something moved him, but nothing thoroughly persuaded him, but the last request of his help: which he straight promised, warranting all security, as long as that sword had his master alive. She as happy therein as unhappiness could be (having received as small comfort of her own surgeons as of the others) caused yet the body to be easily conveyed into the litter: all the people then beginning to roar and cry, as though never till then they had lost their Lord. And if the terror of Anaxius had not kept them under, they would have mutinied, rather than suffered his body to be carried away.  
But Anaxius himself riding before the litter, with the choice men of that place" they were afraid even to cry, though they were ready to cry for fear: but (because that they might do) every body forced (even with harming themselves) to do honour to him: some throwing themselves upon the ground; some tearing their clothes, and casting dust upon their heads, and some even wounding themselves and sprinkling their own blood in the air.  
The general consort of whose mourning, performed so the natural tunes of sorrow; that even to them (if any such were) that felt not the loss, yet others grief taught them grief; having before their compassionate sense so passionate a spectacle, of a young man, of great beauty, beautified with great honour, honoured by great valour, made of inestimable value, by the noble using of it, to lie there languishing, under the arrest of death, and a death, where the manner could be no comfort to the discomfortablenes of the matter. But when the body was carried through the gate, and the people (saving such as were appointed) not suffered to go further, then was such an universal cry, as if they had all had but one life, and all received but one below.  
Which so moved Anaxius to consider the loss of his friend, that (his mind apt to revenge, than tenderness) he presently giving order to his brother to keep the prisoners safe, and unuisited, till his return from conveying Helen he sent a messenger to the sisters, to tell them this courteous message: that at his return with his own hands; he would cut off their heads, and send them for tokens to their father.  
This message was brought unto the sisters, as they sat at that time together with Zelmane, conferring how to carry themselves, having heard of the death of Amphialus. And as no expectation of death is so painful, as where the resolution is hindered by the intermixing of hopes, so did this new alarm, though not remove, yet move somewhat the constancy of their minds, which were so unconstantly dealt with. But within a while, the excellent Pamela had brought her mind again to his old acquaintance: and then, as careful for her sister (whom most dearly she loved) Sister (said she) you see how many acts our Tragedy hath: Fortune is not yet a weary of vexing us: but what? A ship is not counted strong for biding one storm? It is but the same trumpet of death, which now perhaps gives the last sound: and let us make that profit of our former miseries, that in them we learned to die willingly. Truly said Philoclea, dear sister, I was so beaten with the evils of life, that though I had not virtue enough to despise the sweetness of it, yet my weakness bred that strength, to be weary of the pains of it: only I must confess, that little hope, which by these late accidents was awaked in me, was at the first angry withal. But even in the darkness of that horror, I see a light of comfort appear; and how can I tread amiss, that see Pamela steps? I would only (O that my wish might take place) that my schoole-Mistres might live, to see me say my lesson truly. Were that a life, my Philoclea? said Pamela. No, no, (said she) let it come, and put on his worst face: for at the worst it is but a bugbear. joy is it to me to see you so well resolved; and since the world will not have us, let it lose us. Only (with that she stayed a little, and sighed) only my Philoclea, (than she bowed down, and whispered in her ear) only Musidorus, my shepherd, comes between me and death, and makes me think I should not die, because I know he would not I should die. With that Philoclea sighed also, saying no more, but looking upon Zelmane: who was walking up and down the chamber, having heard this message from Anaxius, and having in times past heard of his nature, thought him like enough to perform it, which wound her again into the former maze of perplexity. Yet debating with herself of the manner how to prevent it, she continued her musing humour, little saying, or indeed, little finding in her heart to say, in a case of such extremity, where peremptorily death was threatened: and so stayed they; having yet that comfort, that they might tarry together. Pamela nobly, Philoclea sweetly, and Zelmane sadly, and desperately none of them entertaining sleep, which they thought should shortly begin never to awake.  
But Anaxius came home, having safely conduct Helen and safely he might well do it: For though many of Basilius Knights would have attempted something upon Anaxius, by that means to deliver the Ladies; yet Philanax, having received his master's commandment, and knowing his word was given, would not consent unto it. And the black-Knight (who by them was able to carry abroad his wounds) did not know thereof; but was bringing force, by force to deliver his Lady. So as Anaxius, interpreting it rather fear, than faith, and making even chance an argument of his virtue, returned: and as soon as he was returned, with afelon heart calling his brothers up with him, he went into the chamber, where they were all three together; with full intention to kill the sisters with his own hands, and send their heads for tokens to their father: Though his brothers (who were otherwise inclined) dissuaded him: but his reverence stayed their persuasions. But when he was come into the chamber, with the very words of choleric threatening climbing up his throat, his eyes first lighted upon Pamela; who hearing he was coming, and looking for death, thought she would keep her own majesty in welcoming it; but the beams thereof so strake his eyes, with such a counterbuff unto his pride, that if his anger could not so quickly love, nor his pride so easily honour, yet both were forced to find a worthiness.  
Which while it bred a pause in him, Zelmane (who had ready in her mind both what and how to say) stepped out unto him, and with a resolute staidness (voided either of anger, kindness, disdain, or humbleness) speak in this sort. Anaxius (said she) if Fame have not been overpartiall to thee, thou art a man of exceeding valour. Therefore I do call thee even before that virtue, & will make it the judge between us. And now I do affirm, that to the eternal blot of all the fair acts that thou hast done, thou dost weakly, in seeking without danger to revenge his death, whose life with danger thou mightst perhaps have preserved: thou dost cowardly, in going about by the death of these excellent Ladies, to prevent the just punishment that hereafter they by the powers, which they better than their father, or any other could make, might lay upon thee; and dost most basely, in once presenting thyself as an executioner; a vile office upon men, and in a just cause: beyond the degree of any vile word, in so unjust a cause, and upon Ladies, and such Ladies. And therefore, as a hangman. I say, thou art unworthy to be counted a knight, or to be admitted into the company of Knights. Neither for what, I say, will I allege other reasons, of wisdom, or justice, to prove my speech, because I know thou dost disdain to be tied to their rules: but even in thine own virtue (whereof thou so much gloriest) I will make my trial: and therefore defy thee, by the death of one of us two to prove, or disprove these reproaches. Choose thee what arms thou likest, I only demand, that these Ladies (whom I defend) may in liberty see the combat.  
When Zelmane began her speech, the excellency of her beauty, and grace, made him a little content to hear. Besides that, a new lesson he had read in Pamela had already taught him some regard. But when she entered into bravery of speech, he thought at first, a mad, and railing humour possessed her; till, finding the speeches hold well together, and at length come to flat challenge of combat; he stood leaning back with his body and head, sometimes with bend brows looking upon the one side of her, sometimes of the other, beyond marvel marveling, that he, who had never heard such speeches from any Knight, should be thus rebuffed by a woman; and that marvel made him hear out her speech: which ended, he turned his head to his brother Zoilus, and said nothing, but only lifting up his eyes, smiled. But Zelmane finding his mind, Anaxius (said she) perchance thou disdainest to answer me because, as a woman, thou thinkest me not fit to be fought with all. But I tell thee, that I have been trained up in martial matters, with so good success, that I have many times overcome braver Knights than thyself: and am well known to be equal in feats of arms, to the famous Pyrocles, who slew thy valiant Uncle, the Giant Euardes. The remembrance of his uncles death something nettled him, so as he answered thus.  
Indeed (said he) any woman may be as valiant as that coward, and traytorly boy, who slew my Uncle traitorously, and after ran from me in the plain field. Five thousand such could not have overcome Euardes, but by falsehood. But I sought him all over Asia, following him still from one of his cony-holes to another: till coming into this Country, I heard of my friends being besieged, and so came to blow away the wretches that troubled him. But wheresoever the miserable boy fly, heaven, nor hell, shall keep his heart from being torn by these hands. Thou liest in thy throat (said Zelmane) that boy, where ever he went, did so noble acts, as thy heart (as proud as it is) dares not think of, much less perform. But to please thee the better with my presence, I tell thee, no creature can be nearer of kin to him, than myself: and so well we love, that he would not be sorrier for his own death then for mine: I being begotten by his father, of an Amazon Lady. And therefore, thou canst not devise to revenge thyself more upon him, then by killing me: which if thou darest do manfully, do it; otherwise, if thou harm these incomparable Ladies, or my self without daring to fight with me, I protest before these Knights, and before heaven and earth, (that will reveal thy shame) that thou art the beggerliest dastardly villain, that dishonoureth the earth with his steps: and if thou lettest me over-live them, so will I blaze thee. But all this could not move Anaxius, but that he only said, Evil should it become the terror of the world, to fight, much worse to scold with thee.  
But (said he) for the death of these same (pointing to the Princesses) of my grace, I give them life. And withal, going to Pamela, and offering to take her by the chin, And as for you, Minion (said he) yield but gently to my will, and you shall not only live, but live so happily, He would have said further, when Pamela, displeased both with words, matter, and manner, putting him away with her fair hand, Proud beast (said she) yet thou playest worse thy Comedy, than thy Tragedy. For my part, assure thyself, since my destiny is such, that at each moment my life and death stand in equal balance, I had rather have thee, and think thee far fit to be my hangman, than my husband. Pride and anger, would feign have cruelly revenged so bitter an answer, but already Cupid had begun to make it his sport, to pull his plumes: so that, unused to a way of courtesy, and put out of his bias of pride, he hastily went away, grumbling to himself; between threatening and wishing; leaving his brothers with them: the elder of whom, Lycurgus, liked Philoclea, and Zoilus would needs love Zelmane; or at least, entertain themselves with making them believe so. Lycurgus more braggart, and near his brother's humour, began, with setting forth their blood, their deeds, how many they had despised, of most excellent women; how much they were bound to them, that would seek that of them. In sum, in all his speeches, more like the bestower, than the desirer of felicity. Whom it was an excellent pastime (to those that would delight in the play of virtue) to see, with what a witty ignorance she would not understand: and how: acknowledging his perfections, she would make, that one of his perfections, not to be injurious to Ladies. But when he knew not how to reply, than would he fall to touching and toying, still viewing his graces in no glass but selfliking. To which, Philoclea's shamefastness, and humbleness, were as strong resisters, as choler, and disdain. For though she yielded not, he thought she was to be overcome: and that thought a while stayed him from further violence. But Zelmane had eye to his behaviour, and set in her memory, upon the score of Revenge, while she herself was no less attempted by Zoilus; who less full of brags was forwardest in offering (indeed) dishonourable violence.  
But when after their fruitless labours they had gone away called by their brother, (who began to be perplexed between new conceived desires, and disdain, to be disdained) Zelmane (who with most assured quietness of judgement looked into their present estate) earnestly persuaded the two sisters, that to avoid the mischiefs of proud outrage they would only so far suit their behaviour to their estates, as they might win time; which as it could not bring them to worse case than they were, so it might bring forth inexpected relief. And why (said Pamela) shall we any longer flatter adversity? Why should we delight to make ourselves any longer balls to injurious Fortune since our own parents are content to be tyrants over us, since our own kin are content traitorously to abuse us? Certainly, in mishap it may be some comfort to us, that we are lighted in these fellows hands, who yet will keep us from having cause of being miserable by our friends means. Nothing grieves me more, then that you, noble Lady Zelmane (to whom the world might have made us able to do honour) should receive only hurt by the contagion of our misery. As for me, and my sister, undoubtedly it becomes our birth to think of dying nobly, while we have done, or suffered nothing, which might make our soul ashamed at the parture from these bodies. Hope is the fawning traitor of the mind, while under colour of friendship, it robs it of his chief" force of resolution. Virtuous and fair Lady (said Zelmane) what you say is true; and that truth may well make up a part in the harmony of your noble thoughts. But yet the time (which ought always to be one) is not tuned for it; while that may" bring forth any good, do not bar yourself thereof: for than will be the time to die nobly, when you can not live nobly. Then so earnestly she persuaded with" them both, to refer themselves to their father's consent (in obtaining whereof they knew some while would besprent) and by that means to temper the minds of their proud wooers; that in the end Pamela yielded to her, because she spoke reason; and Philoclea yielded to her reason, because she spoke it.  
And so when they were again solicited in that little pleasing petition, Pamela forced herself to make answer to Anaxius, that if her father gave his consent she would make herself believe, that such was the heavenly determination, since she had no means to avoid it. Anaxius (who was the most frank promiser to himself of success) nothing doubted of Basilius consent, but rather assured himself, he would be his orator in that matter: And therefore he chose out an officious servant (whom he esteemed very wise, because he never found him but just of his opinion) and willed him to be his ambassador to Basilius, and to make him know, that if he meant to have his daughter both safe and happy, and desired himself to have such a son in law, as would not only protect him in his quiet course, but (if he listed to accept it) would give him the monarchy of the world, that then he should receive Anaxius, who never before knew what it was to pray any thing. That if he did not, he would make him know, that the power of Anaxius was in every thing beyond his will, and yet his will not to be resisted by any other power. His servant with smiling and caste-up look, desired God to make his memory able to contain the treasure of that wise speech: and therefore besought him to repeat it again, that by the oftener hearing it, his mind might be the better acquainted with the divines thereof, and that being graciously granted, he then doubted not by carrying with him in his conceit, the grace wherewith Anaxius spoke it, to persuade rocky minds to their own harm: so little doubted he to win Basilius to that, which he thought would make him think the heavens opened, when he hard but the proffer thereof. Anaxius gravely allowed the probability of his conjecture, and therefore sent him away, promising him he should have the bringing up of his second son by Pamela.  
The messenger with speed performed his Lord's commandment to Basilius, who by nature quiet, and by superstition made doubtful, was loath to take any matter of arms in hand, wherein already he had found so slow success; though Philanax vehemently urged him thereunto, making him see that his retiring back did encourage injuries. But Basilius betwixt the fear of Anaxius might, the passion of his love and jealousy of his estate, was so perplexed, that notable to determine, he took the common course of men, to fly only then to devotion, when they want resolution: therefore detaining the messenger with delays, he deferred the directing of his course to the counsel of Apollo, which because himself at that time could not well go to require, he entrusted the matter to his best trusted Philanax: who (as one in whom obedience was a sufficient reason unto him) went with diligence to Delphos, where being entered into the secret place of the temple, and having performed the sacrifices usual, the spirit that possessed the prohesying woman, with a sacred fury, attended not his demand, but as if it would argue him of incredulity, told him, not in dark wont speeches, but plainly to be understood, what he came for, and that he should return to Basilius, and will him to deny his daughters to Anaxius and his brothers, for that they were reserved for such as were better beloved of the gods. That he should not doubt, for they should return unto him safely and speedily. And that he should keep on his solitary course, till both " Philanax & Basilius fully agreed in the understanding of the former prophecy: withal, commanding Philanax from thenceforward to give tribute, but not oblation, to human wisdom.  
" Philanax then finding that reason cannot show itself more reasonable, then to leave reasoning in things above reason, returns to his Lord, and like one that preferred truth before the maintaining of an opinion, hid nothing from him, nor from thence forth durst any more dissuade him, from that which he found by the celestial providence directed; but he himself looking to repair the government as much as in so broken an estate by civil dissension he might, and fortifying with notable art, both the lodges, so as they were almost made unaprochable, he left Basilius to bemoan the absence of his daughters, and to bewail the imprisonment of Zelmane: yet wholly given holily to obey the Oracle, he gave a resolute negative unto the messenger of Anaxius, who all this while had waited for it, yet in good terms desiring him to show himself, in respect of his birth and profession, so Princely a Knight, as without forcing him to seek the way of force, to deliver in noble sort those Ladies unto him, and so should the injury have been in Amphialus, and the benefit in him.  
The messenger went back with this answer, yet having ever used to sugar any thing which his Master was to receive, he told him, that when Basilius first understood his desires, he did overreach so far all his most hopeful expectations, that he thought it were too great a boldness to hearken to such a man, in whom the heavens had such interest, without ask the God's counsel, and therefore had sent his principal counsellor to Delphos, who although he kept the matter never so secret, yet his diligence, inspired by Anaxius privilege over all worldly things, had found out the secret, which was, that he should not presume to marry his daughters, to one who already was enroled among the demie-Gods, and yet much less he should dare the attempting to take them out of his hands.  
Anaxius, who till then had made Fortune his creator, and Force his God, now began to find an other wisdom to be above, that judged so rightly of him: and where in this time of his servants waiting for Basilius' resolution, he and his brothers had courted their Ladies, as whom they vouchsafed to have for their wives, he resolved now to dally no longer in delays, but to make violence his Orator, since he had found persuasions had gotten nothing but answers. Which intention he opened to his brothers, who having all this while wanted nothing to take that way, but his authority, gave spurs to his running, and, unworthy men, neither feeling virtue in themselves, nor tendering it in others, they were headlong to make that evil consort of love and force, when Anaxius had word, that from the Tower there were descried some companies of armed men, marching towards the town; wherefore he gave present order to his servants, and soldiers, to go to the gates and walls, leaving none within but himself, and his brothers: his thoughts then so full of their intended prey, that Mars-his loudest trumpet could scarcely have awaked him.  
But while he was directing what he would have done, his youngest brother Zoilus, glad that he had the commission, went in the name of Anaxius, to tell the sisters, that since he had answer from their father, that he and his brother Lycurgus, should have them in what sort it pleased them, that they would now grant them no longer time, but presently to determine, whether they thought it more honourable comfort to be compelled, or persuaded. Pamela made him answer, that in a matter whereon the whole state of her life depended, and wherein she had ever answered, she would not lead, but follow her parent's pleasure; she thought it reason she should, either by letter, or particular messenger understand something from themselves, & not have her belief bound to the report of their partial servant, and therefore, as to their words, she & her sister, had ever a simple & true resolution, so against their unjust force, God, they hoped, would either arm their lives, or take away their lives. Well Ladies (said he) I will leave my brothers, who by and by will come unto you, to be their own ambassadors, for my part, I must now do myself service. And with that turning up his moustaches, and marching as if he would begin a pavane, he went toward Zelmane. But Zelmane (having had all this while of the messengers being with Basilius, much to do to keep those excellent Ladies from seeking by the passport of death, to escape those base dangers whereunto they found themselves subject) still hoping that Musidorus would find some means to deliver them; and therefore had often both by her own example, and comfortable reasons, persuaded them to overpass many insolent indignities of their proud suitors, who thought it was a sufficient favour not to do the uttermost injury, now come again to the straight she most feared for them, either of death or dishonour, if heroical courage would have let her, she had been beyond herself amazed: but that yet held up her wit, to attend the uttermost occasion, which even then brought his hairy forehead unto her: for Zoilus smacking his lips, as for the Prologue of a kiss, and something advancing himself, Darling (said he) let thy heart be full of joy, and let thy fair eyes be of counsel with it, for this day thou shalt have Zoilus, whom many have longed for; but none shall have him, but Zelmane. And oh, how much glory I have to think what a race will be between us. The world, by the heavens, the world will be too little for them: And with that, he would have put his arm about her neck, but she, withdrawing herself from him, My Lord (said she) much good may your thoughts do you, but that I may not dissemble with you, my nativity being cast by one that never failed in any of his prognostications, I have been assured, that I should never be apt to bear children. But since you will honour me with so high favour, I must only desire that I may perform a vow which I made among my countriwomen, the famous Amazons, that I would never marry none, but such one as was able to withstand me in Arms: therefore, before I make mine own desire serviceable to yours, you must vouchsafe to lend me armour and weapons, that at least, with a blow or two of the sword, I may not find myself perjured to myself. But Zoilus (but laughing with a hearty loudness) went by force to embrace her; making no other answer, but since she had a mind to try his Knighthood, she should quickly know what a man of arms he was: and so, without reverence to the Ladies, began to struggle with her.  
But in Zelmane then Disdain became wisdom, and Anger gave occasion. For abiding no longer abode in the matter, she that had not put off, though she had disguised, Pyrocles, being far fuller of strong nimbleness, tripped up his feet, so that he fell down at hers. And withal (meaning to pursue what she had begun) pulled out his sword, which he ware about him: but before she could strike him withal, he got up, and ran to a fair chamber, where he had left his two brethren, preparing themselves to come down to their mistresses. But she followed at his heels, and even as he came to throw himself into their arms for succour, she hit him with his own sword, such a blow upon the waste, that she almost cut him asunder: once, she sundered his soul from his body, sending it to Proserpina, an angry Goddess against ravishers. But Anaxius, seeing before his eyes the miserable end of his brother, fuller of despite then wrath, and yet fuller of wrath than sorrow, looking with a woeful eye upon his brother Lycurgus, Brother, said he, chastise this vile creature, while I go down, and take order lest further mischief arise: and so went down to the Ladies, whom he visited, doubting there had been some further practice than yet he conceived. But finding them only strong in patience, he went and locked a great Iron gate, by which only any body might mount to that part of the Castle, rather to conceal the shame of his brother, slain by a woman, then for doubt of any other annoyance, and then went up to receive some comfort of the execution, he was sure his brother had done of Zelmane. But Zelmane no sooner saw those brothers, of whom Reason assured her she was to expect revenge, but that she leapt to a target," as one that well knew the first mark of valour to be defence. And then accepting the opportunity of Anaxius going away, she waited not the pleasure of Lycurgus, but without any words (which she ever thought vain, when resolution took the place of persuasion) gave her own heart the contentment to be the assailer. Lycurgus, who was in the disposition of his nature hazardous, and by the lucky passing through many dangers, grown confident in himself, went toward her, rather as to a spoil, then to fight, so far from fear, that his assuredness disdained to hope. But when her sword made demonstrations above all flattery of arguments, and that he found she priest so upon him, as showed that her courage sprang not from blind despair, but was guarded both with cunning and strength: self-love than first in him divided itself from vainglory, and made him find that the world of worthiness had not this whole globe comprised in his breast, but that it was necessary to have strong resistance against so strong assailing. And so between them, for a few blows, Mars himself might have been delighted to look on. But Zelmane, who knew that in her case, slowness of victory was little better than ruin, with the bellows of hate, blew the fire of courage, and he striking a main blow at her head, she warded it with the shield, but so warded, that the shield was cut in two pieces, while it protected her, and withal she ran in to him, and thrusting at his breast, which he put by with his target, as he was lifting up his sword to strike again, she let fall the piece of her shield, and with her left hand catching his sword of the inside of the pommel, with nimble and strong sleight, she had gotten his sword out of his hand before his sense could convey to his imagination, what was to be doubted. And having now two swords against one shield, meaning not foolishly to be ungrateful to good fortune, while he was no more amazed with his being unweapned, then with the suddainnes thereof, she gave him such a wound upon his head, in despite of the shields over-weake resistance, that withal he fell to the ground, astonished with the pain, & aghast with fear. But seeing Zelmane ready to conclude her victory in his death, bowing up his head to her, with a countenance that had forgotten all pride, Enough excellent Lady, said he, the honour is yours: Whereof you shall want the best witness, if you kill me. As you have taken from men the glory of manhood, return so now again to your own sex, for mercy. I will redeem my life of you with no small services, for I will undertake to make my brother obey all your commandments. Grant life I beseech you, for your own honour, and for the persons sake that you love best. Zelmane repressed a while her great heart, either disdaining to be cruel, or pitiful, & therefore not cruel: & now the image of human condition, began to be an Orator unto her of compassion, when she saw, as he lifted up his arms with a suppliants grace, about one of them, unhappily tied, a garter with a jewel, which (given to Pyrocles by his aunt of Thessalia, & greatly esteemed by him) he had presented to Philoclea, & with inward rage promising extreme hatred, had seen Lycurgus with a proud force, & not without some hurt unto her, pull away from Philoclea, because at entreaty she would not give it him. But the sight of that was like a cipher, signifying all the injuries which Philoclea had of him suffered, & that remembrance feeding upon wrath, trod down all conceits of mercy. And therefore saying no more, but No villain, die: It is Philoclea that sends thee this token for thy love. With that she made her sword drink the blood of his heart, though he wresting his body, & with a countenance prepared to excuse, would feign have delayed the receiving of death's ambassadors. But neither that stayed Zelmane's hand, nor yet Anaxius cry unto her, who having made fast the iron gate, even than came to the top of the stairs, when, contrary to all his imaginations, he saw his brother lie at Zelmane's mercy. Therefore crying, promising, and threatening to her to hold her hand: the last groan of his brother was the only answer he could get to his unrespected eloquence. But then Pity would feign have drawn tears, which Fury in their spring dried; and Anger would feign have spoken, but that Disdain sealed up his lips; but in his heart he blasphemed heaven, that it could have such a power over him; no less ashamed of the victory he should have of her, then of his brother's overthrow: and no more spited, that it was yet unrevenged, then that the revenge should be no greater, than a woman's destruction. Therefore with no speech, but such a groaning cry, as often is the language of sorrowful anger, he came running at Zelmane, use of fight then serving in steed of patiented consideration what to do. Guided wherewith, though he did not with knowledge, yet did he according to knowledge, pressing upon Zelmane in such a well defended manner, that in all the combats that ever she had fought, she had never more need of quick senses, and ready virtue. For being one of the greatest men of stature then living, as he did fully answer that stature in greatness of might, so did he exceed both in greatness of courage, which with a countenance form by the nature both of his mind and body, to an almost horrible fierceness, was able to have carried fear to any mind, that was not privy to itself of a true and constant worthiness. But Pyrocles, whose soul might well be separated from his body, but never alienated from the remembering what was comely, if at the first he did a little apprehend the dangerousness of his adversary, whom once before he had something tried, and now perfectly saw, as the very picture of forcible fury: yet was that apprehension quickly stayed in him, rather strengthening, then weakening his virtue by that wrestling; like wine, growing the stronger by being moved. So that they both, prepared in hearts, and able in hands, did honour solitariness there with such a combat, as might have demanded, as a right of fortune, whole armies of beholders. But no beholders needed there, where manhood blew the trumpet, and satisfaction did whet, as much as glory. There was strength against nimbleness; rage, against resolution; fury, against virtue; confidence, against courage; pride, against nobleness: love, in both, breeding mutual hatred, and desire of revenging the injury of his brother's slaughter, to Anaxius, being like Philoclea's captivity to Pyrocles. Who had seen the one, would have thought nothing could have resisted; who had marked the other, would have marveled that the other had so long resisted. But like two contrary tides, either of which are able to carry worlds of ships, and men upon them, with such swiftness, as nothing seems able to withstand them: yet meeting one another, with mingling their watery forces, and struggling together, it is long to say whether stream gets the victory: So between these, if Pallas had been there, she could scarcely have told, whether she had nurced better in the feats of arms. The Irish greyhound, against the English mastiff; the swordfish, against the whale; the Rhinoceros, against the elephant, might be models, and but models of this combat. Anaxius was better armed defensively: for (beside a strong cask bravely covered, wherewith he covered his head) he had a huge shield, such perchance, as Achilles showed to the pale walls of Troy, wherewithal that great body was covered. But Pyrocles, utterly unarmed for defence, to offend had the advantage: for, in either hand he had a sword, and with both hands nimbly performed that office. And according as they were diversly furnished, so did they differ in the manner of fight. For Anaxius most by warding, and Pyrocles oftenest by avoiding, resisted the adversaries assault. Both hasty to end, yet both often staying for advantage. Time, distance, and motion, custom made them so perfect in, that as if they had been fellow Counsellors, and not enemies, each knew the others mind, and knew how to prevent it. So as their strength failed them sooner than their skill, and yet their breath failed them sooner than their strength. And breathless indeed they grew, before either could complain of any loss of blood.  
So that consenting by the mediation of necessity, to a breathing time of truce, being withdrawn a little one from the other; Anaxius stood leaning upon his sword, with his grim eye, so settled upon Zelmane, as is wont to be the look of an earnest thought. Which Zelmane marking, and, according to the Pyroclean nature, fuller of gay bravery in the midst, then in the beginning of danger; What is it (said she) Anaxius, that thou so deeply musest on? Doth thy brother's example make thee think of thy fault past, or of thy coming punishment? I think (said he) what spiteful God it should be, who, envying my glory, hath brought me to such a wayward case, that neither thy death can be a revenge, nor thy overthrow a victory. Thou dost well indeed (said Zelmane) to impute thy case to the heavenly providence, which will have thy pride find itself (even in that whereof thou art most proud) punished by the weak sex, which thou most contemnest.  
But then, having sufficiently rested themselves, they renewed again their combat, far more terribly than before: like nimble vaulters, who at the first and second leap, do but stir, and (as it were) awake the fiery and aery parts, which after in the other leaps, they do with more excellency exercise. For in this pausing, each had brought to his thoughts the manner of the others fight, and the advantages, which by that, and by the quality of their weapons, they might work themselves; and so again repeated the lesson they had said before, more perfectly, by the using of it. Anaxius oftener used blows, his huge force (as it were) more delighting therein, and the large protection of his shield, animating him unto it. Pyrocles, of a more fine, and deliver strength, watching his time when to give fit thrusts; as, with the quick obeying of his body, to his eyes quick commandment, he shunned any harm Anaxius could do to him: so would he soon have made an end of Anaxius, if he had not found him a man of wonderful, and almost matchless excellency in matters of arms. Pyrocles used divers feignings to bring Anaxius on, into some inconvenience. But Anaxius keeping a sound manner of fight, never offered, but seeing fair cause, and then followed it with wel-governed violence. Thus spent they a great time, striving to do, and with striving to do, wearying themselves, more than with the very doing. Anaxius finding Zelmane so near unto him, that with little motion he might reach her, knitting all his strength together, at that time mainly foyn at her face. But Zelmane strongly putting it by with her right hand sword, coming in with her left foot, and hand, would have given a sharp visitation to his right side, but that he was feign to leap away. Whereat ashamed, (as having never done so much before in his life.)  How this combat ended, how the Ladies by the coming of the discovered forces were delivered, and restored to Basilius, and how Dorus again returned to his old master Damaetas, is altogether unknown. What afterward chanced, out of the Authors own writings and conceits hath been supplied, as followeth. 
AFter that Basilius (according to the oracles promise) had received home his daughters, and settled himself again in his solitary course and accustomed company, there passed not many days ere the now fully recomforted Dorus having waited a time of Zelmane's walking alone towards her little Arbour, took leave of his master Damaetas husbandry to follow her. near whereunto overtaking her, and sitting down together among the sweet flowers whereof that place was very plentiful, under the pleasant shade of a broad leaved Sycamore, they recounted one to another their strange pilgrimage of passions, omitting nothing which the open hearted friendship is wont to lay forth, where there is cause to communicate both joys & sorrows, for indeed there is no sweeter taste of friendship, than the coupling of souls in this mutuality either of condoling or comforting: where the oppressed mind finds itself not altogether miserable, since it is sure of one which is feelingly sorry for his misery: and the joyful spends not his joy, either alone, or there where it may be envy: but may freely send it to such a well grounded object, from whence he shall be sure to receive a sweet reflection of the same joy, and, as in a clear mirror of sincere good will, see a lively picture of his own gladness. But after much discourse on either part, Dorus (his heart scarce serving him to come to the point, whereunto his then coming had been wholly directed, as loath in the kindest sort to discover to his friend his own unkindness) at length, one word emboldening another made known to Zelmane, how Pamela upon his vehement oath to offer no force unto her, till he had invested her in the Duchy of Thessalia, had condescended to his stealing her away to the next sea port. That besides the strange humours she saw her father more and more falling into, and unreasonable restraint of her liberty, whereof she knew no cause but light grounded jealousies, added to the hate of that manner of life, and confidence she had in his virtue, the chiefest reason had won her to this, was the late danger she stood in of losing him, the like whereof (not unlike to fall if this course were continued) she chose rather to die then again to undergo. That now they waited for nothing else, but some fit time for their escape, by the absence of their three loathsome companions, in whom folly engendered suspicion. And therefore now, said Dorus, my dear Cousin, to whom nature began my friendship, education confirmed it, and virtue hath made it eternal, here have I discovered the very foundation whereupon my life is built: be you the judge betwixt me and my fortune. The violence of love is not unknown to you: And I know my case shall never want pity in your consideration. How all the joys of my heart do leave me, in thinking I must for a time be absent from you, the eternal truth is witness unto me, I know I should not so sensibly feel the pangs of my last departure. But this enchantment of my restless desire hath such authority in myself above myself, that I am become a slave unto it, I have no more freedom in mine own determinations. My thoughts are now all bent how to carry away my burdenous bliss. Yet, most beloved Cousin, rather than I should think I do herein violate that holy band of true friendship, wherein I unworthy am knit unto you, command me stay. Perchance the force of your commandment may work such impression into my heart, that no reason of mine own can imprint into it. For the Gods forbidden, the foul word of abandoning Pyrocles, might ever be objected to the faithful Musidorus. But if you can spare my presence, whose presence no way serves you, and by the division of these two Lodges is not oft with you: nay if you can think my absence may, as it shall, stand you in stead, by bringing such an army hither, as shall make Basilius, willing or unwilling, to know his own hap in granting you Philoclea: then I will cheerfully go about this my most desired enterprise, and shall think the better half of it already achieved, being begun in the fortunate hour of my friends contentment. These words, as they were not knit together with such a constant course of flowing eloquence, as Dorus was wont to use: so was his voice interrupted with sighs, and his countenance with interchanging colour dismayed. So much his own heart did find him faulty to unbende any way the continual use of their dear friendship. But Zelmane, who had all this while gladly harkened to the other tidings of her friends happy success, when this last determination of Dorus strake her attentive ears, she stayed a great while oppressed with a dead amazement. There came straight before her mind, made tender with woes, the images of her own fortune. Her tedious long, her causes to despair, the cumbersome folly of Basilius, the enraged jealousy of Gynoecia, herself a Prince without retinue; a man annoyed with the troubles of womankind; loathsomely loved, and dangerously loving; And now for the perfecting of all, her friend to be taken away by himself, to make the loss the greater by the unkindness. But within a while she resolutely passed over all in ward objections, and preferring her friends proffitt to her own desire, with a quiet but hearty look, she thus answered him. If I bore thee this Love virtuous Musidorus, for mine own sake, and that our friendship grew because I for my part, might rejoice to enjoy such a friend: I should now so thoroughly feel mine own loss, that I should call the heavens and earth to witness, how cruelly ye rob me, of my greatest comfort, measuring the breach of friendship by mine own passion. But because indeed I love thee for thyself, and in my judgement judge of thy worthiness to beloved, I am content to build my pleasure upon thy comfort: And then will I deem my hap in friendship great, when I shall see thee, whom I love happy. Let me be only sure, thou lovest me still, the only price of true affection go therefore on, worthy Musidorus, with the guide of virtue, and service of fortune. Let thy love be loved, thy desires prosperous, thy escape safe, and thy iornye easy. Let every thing yield his help to thy desert, for my part absence shall not take thee from mine eyes, nor afflictions shall bar me from gladding in thy good, nor a possessed heart shall keep thee from the place it hath for ever allotted unto thee. Dorus would feign have replied again, to have made a liberal confession that Zelmane had of her side the advantage of well performing friendship: but partly his own grief of parting from one he loved so dearly, partly the kind care in what state he should leave Zelmane, bred such a conflict in his mind, that many times he wished, he had either never attempted, or never revealed this secret enterprise. But Zelmane, who had now looked to the uttermost of it, and established her mind upon an assured determination, my only friend said she since to so good towardness, your courteous destinies have conducted you, let not a ceremonial consideration of our mutual love, be a bar unto it. I joy in your presence, but I joy more in your good, that friendship brings forth the fruits of enmity, which prefers his own tenderness, before his friends damage. For my part my greatest grief herein shallbe, I can be no further serviceable unto you O Zelmane said Dorus with his eyes even covered with water, I did not think so soon to have displayed my determination unto you, but to have made my way first in your loving judgement. But alas as your sweet disposition drew me so far: so doth it now strengthen me in it. To you therefore be the due commendation given, who can conquer me in Love, and Love in wisdom. As for me, then shall goodness turn to evil, and ungratefulness be the token of a true heart when Pyrocles shall not possess a principal seat in my soul, when the name of Pyrocles shall not be held of me in devout reverence.  
They would never have come to the cruel instant of parting, nor to the il-faring word of farewell, had not Zelmane seen a far off the old Basilius, who having performed a sacrifice to Apollo, for his daughters, but principally for his mistress happy return, had since been every where to seek her. And now being come within compass of discerning her, he began to frame the loveliest countenance he could, stroking up his legs, setting his beard in due order, and standing bolt upright. Alas said Zelmane, behold an evil fore-token of your sorrowful departure. Yonder see I one of my furies, which doth daily vex me, farewell far well my Musidorus, the Gods make fortune to wait on thy virtues, and make me wade through this lake of wretchedness. Dorus burst out into a flood of tears wring her fast by the hand. No, no, said he, I go blindfold, whither the course of my ill hap carries me: for now too late my heart gives me this our separating can never be prosperous. But if I live, attend me here shortly with an army. Thus both appalled with the grievous renting of their long Combination, (having first resolved with themselves that, whatsoever fell unto them, they should never upon no occasion utter their names for the conserving the honour of their Royal parentage, but keep the names of Daiphantus & Palladius, as before had been agreed between them) they took diverse ways: Dorus to the lodg-ward, where his heavy eyes might be something refreshed; Zelmane towards Basilius: saying to herself with a scornful smiling: yet hath not my friendly fortune deprived me of a pleasant companion. But he having with much search come to her presence, Doubt & Desire bred a great quarrel in his mind. For his former experience had taught him to doubt: & true feeling of Love made doubts dangerous, but the working of his desire had ere long won the field. And therefore with the most submissive manner his behaviour could yield: O Goddess, said he towards whom I have the greatest feeling of Religion, be not displeased at some show of devotion I have made to Apollo: since he (if he know any thing) knows that my heart bears far more awful reverence to yourself then to his, or any other the like Deity. You will ever be deceived in me, answered Zelmane: I will make myself no competitor with Apollo, neither can blasphemies to him be duties to me. With that Basilius took out of his bosom certain verses he had written, and kneeling down, presented them to her. They contained this: 

Phaebus' farewell, a sweeter Saint I serve,  
The high conceits thy heavenly wisdoms breed  
My thoughts forget: my thoughts, which never swerver  
From her, in whom is sown their freedoms seed,  
And in whose eyes my daily doom I reed.   

Phoebus' farewell, a sweeter Saint I serve.  
Thou art far off, thy kingdom is above:  
She heaven on earth with beauties doth preserve.  
Thy beams I like, but her clear rays I love:  
Thy force I fear, her force I still do prove.   

Phoebus' yield up thy title in my mind.  
She doth possess, thy Image is defaced,  
But if thy rage some brave revenge will find,  
On her, who hath in me thy temple razed,  
Employ thy might, that she my fires may taste.  
And how much more her worth surmounteth thee,  
Make her as much more base by loving me.    
This is my Hymn to you, said he, not left me by my ancestors, but begun in myself. The temple wherein it is daily song, is my soul: and the sacrifice I offer to you withal is all whatsoever I am. Zelmane, who ever thought she found in his speeches the ill taste of a medicine, and the operation of a poison, would have suffered a disdainful look to have been the only witness of her good acceptation; but that Basilius began a fresh to lay before her many pitiful prayers, and in the end to conclude that he was fully of opinion it was only the unfortunatenes of that place that hindered the prosperous course of his desires. And therefore since the hateful influence; which made him embrace this solitary life, was now past over him (as he doubted not the judgement of Philanax would agree with his) and his late mishapes had taught him how perilous it was to commit a Prince's state to a place so weakly guarded: He was now inclined to return to his palace in Mantinaea, and there he hoped he should be better able to show how much he desired to make all he had hers: with many other such honey words which my pen grows almost weary to set down: This indeed nearly pierced Zelmane. For the good beginning she had there obtained of Philoclea made her desire to continue the same trade, till unto the more perfecting of her desires: and to come to any public place she did deadly fear, lest her mask by many eyes might the sooner be discovered, and so her hopes stopped, and the state of her joys endangered. Therefore while she rested, musing at the daily changing labyrinth of her own fortune, but in herself determined it was her only best to keep him there: and with favours to make him love the place, where the favours were received, as disgraces had made him apt to change the Soil.  
Therefore casting a kind of corner look upon him, it is truly said, (said she) that age cooleth the blood. How soon goodman you are terrified before you receive any hurt? Do you not know that daintiness is kindly unto us? And that hard obtaining, is the excuse of woman's granting? Yet speak I not as though you were like to obtain, or I to grant. But because I would not have you imagine, I am to be won by courtely vanities, or esteem a man the more, because he hath handsome men to wait of him, when he is afraid to live without them. You might have seen Basilius humbly swell, and with a lowly look stand upon his tiptoes; such diversity her words delivered unto him. O Hercules answered he; Basilius afraid? Or his blood cold, that boils in such a furnace? Care I who is with me, while I enjoy your presence? Or is any place good or bad to me, but as it pleaseth you to bless or curse it? O let me be but armed in your good grace, and I defy whatsoever there is or can be against me. No, no, your love is forcible, and my age is not without vigor. Zelmane thought it not good for his stomach, to receive a surfeit of too much favour, and therefore thinking he had enough for the time, to keep him from any sudden removing, with a certain gracious bowing down of her head toward him, she turned away, saying, she would leave him at this time to see how temperately he could use so bountiful a measure, of her kindness. Basilius that thought every drop a flood that bred any refreshment, durst not further press her, but with an ancient modesty left her to the sweet repast of her own fancies. Zelmane assoon as he was departed went toward Pamela's lodge in hope to have seen her friend Dorus, to have pleased herself with another painful farewell, and further to have taken some advise with him touching her own estate, whereof before sorrow had not suffered her to think. But being come even near the lodge, she saw the mouth of a cave, made as it should seem by nature in despite of Art: so fitly did the rich growing marble serve to beautify the vawt of the first entry. underfoot, the ground seemed mineral, yielding such a glistering show of gold in it, as they say the river Tagus carries in his sandy bed. The cave framed out into many goodly spacious Rooms such as the selfe-liking men, have with long and learned delicacy found out the most easeful. There ran through it a little sweet River, which had left the face of the earth to drown herself for a small way in this dark but pleasant mansion. The very first show of the place enticed the melancholy mind of Zelmane to yield herself over there to the flood of her own thoughts. And therefore sitting down in the first entry, of the caves mouth, with a song she had lately made, she gave a doleful way to her bitter Affects, she sung to this effect: 

SInce that the stormy rage of passions dark  
(Of passions dark, made dark of beauty's light)  
With rebel force, hath closed in dungeon dark  
My mind ere now led forth by reason's light:   

Since all the things which give mine eyes their light  
Do foster still, the fruits of fancies dark:  
So that the windows of my inward light  
Do serve, to make my inward powers dark:   

Since, as I say, both mind and senses dark  
Are hurt, not helped, with piercing of the light:  
While that the light may show the horrors dark  
But cannot make resolved darkness light:  
I like this place, whereat the least the dark  
May keep my thoughts, from thought of wont light.    
In steed of an instrument, her song was accompanied with the wring of her hands, the closing of her weary eyes, and even sometime cut off with the swelling of her sighs, which did not suffer the voice to have his free and native passage. But as she was a while musing upon her song, raising up her spirits, which were something fallen into the weakness of lamentation, considering solitary complaints do no good to him whose help stands with out himself, she might a far off, first hear a whispering sound which seemed to come from the inmost part of the Cave, and being kept together with the close hollowness of the place, had as in a Trunk the more liberal access to her ears, and by and by she might perceive the same voice, deliver itself into musical tunes, and with a base Lyra give forth this song: 

Hark plaintfull ghosts, infernal furies hark  
Unto my woes the hateful heavens do send,  
The heavens conspired, to make my vital spark  
A wretched wrack, a glass of Ruins end.   

Seeing, Alas; so mighty powers bend  
Their ireful shot against so weak a mark,  
Come cave, become my grave, come death, and lend  
receit to me, within thy bosom dark.   

For what is life to daily dying mind,  
Where drawing breath, I suck the air of woe:  
Where too much sight, makes all the body blind,  
And highest thoughts, downward most headlong throw?  
Thus than my form, and thus my state I find,  
Death wrapped in flesh, to living grave assigned.    
And pausing but a little, with moanful melody it continued this octave: 
Like those sick folks, in whom strange humours flow,  
Can taste no sweets, the sour only please:  
So to my mind, while passions daily grow,  
Whose fiery chains, upon his freedom seize,  
joys strangers seem, I cannot bide their show,  
Nor brook ought else but well acquainted woe.  
Bitter grief tastes me best pain is my ease,  
Sick to the death, still loving my disease.   
O Venus, said Zelmane, who is this so well acquainted with me, that can make so lively a portraiture of my miseries? It is surely the spirit appointed to have care of me, which doth now in this dark place bear part with the complaints of his unhappy charge. For if it be so, that the heavens have at all times a measure of their wrathful harms, surely so many have come to my blistlesse lot, that the rest of the world hath too small a portion, to make with cause so wailful a lamentation. But said she; whatsoever thou be, I will seek thee out, for thy music well assures me we are at least-hand fellow prentices to one ungracious master. So raise she and went guiding herself, by the still plaining voice, till she saw upon a stone a little wax light set, and under it a piece of paper with these verses very lately (as it should seem) written in it: 

How is my Sun, whose beams are shining bright  
Become the cause of my dark ugly night?  
Or how do I captived in this dark plight,  
Bewail the case, and in the cause delight?   

My mangled mind huge horrors still do fright,  
With sense possessed, and claimed by reasons right:  
Betwixt which two in me I have this fight,  
Where who so wynns, I put myself to flight.   

Come cloudy fears close up my dazzled sight,  
Sorrows suck up the marrow of my might,  
Due sighs blow out all sparks of joyful light,  
tire on despaier upon my tired spirit.  
An end, an end, my dulled pen cannot write,  
Nor mas'de head think, nor faltering tongerecite.    
And hard underneath the sonnet, were these words written: 

This cave is dark, but it had never light.  
This wax doth waste itself, yet painless dies.  
These words are full of woes, yet feel they none.   

I darkened am, who once had clearest sight.  
I waste my heart, which still new torment tries.  
I plain with cause, my woes are all mine own,   

No cave, no wasting wax, no words of grief,  
Can hold, show, tell, my pains without relief.    
She did not long stay to read the words, for not far off from the stone she might discern in a dark corner, a Lady lying with her face so prostrate upon the ground, as she could neither know, nor be known. But (as the general nature of man is desirous of knowledge, and sorrow especially glad to find fellows,) she went as softly as she could convey her foot, near unto her, where she heard these words come with vehement sobbings from her. O darkness (said she) which dost light somly (me thinks) make me see the picture of my inward darkness: since I have chosen thee, to be the secret witness of my sorrows, let me receive a safe receit in thee; and esteem them not tedious, but if it be possible, let the uttering them be some discharge to my overloaden breast. Alas sorrow, now thou hast the full sack of my conquered spirits, rest thyself a while, and set not still new fire to thy own spoils: O accursed reason, how many eyes thou hast to see thy evils, and thou dim, nay blind thou art in preventing them? Forlorn creature that I am! I would I might be freely wicked, since wickedness doth prevail, but the foot steps of my ouertroden virtue, lie still as bitter accusations unto me: I am divided in myself, how can I stand? I am overthrown in myself, who shall raise me? Vice is but a nurse of new agonies, and the virtue I am divorced from, makes the hateful comparison the more manifest. No, no virtue, either I never had but a shadow of thee, or thou thyself, art but a shadow. For how is my soul abandoned? How are all my powers laid waste? My desire is pained, because it cannot hope, and if hope came, his best should be but mischief. O strange mixture of human minds! only so much good left, as to make us languish in our own evils. Ye infernal furies, (for it is too late for me, to awake my dead virtue, or to place my comfort in the angry Gods) ye infernal furies I say, aid one that dedicates herself unto you, let my rage be satisfied, since the effect of it is fit for your service. Neither be afraid to make me too happy, since nothing can come to appease the smart of my guilty conscience. I desire but to assuage the sweltering of my hellish longing, dejected Gynoecia. Zelmane, no sooner heard the name of Gynoecia, but that with a cold sweat all over her, as if she had been ready to tread upon a deadly stinging Adder, she would have withdrawn herself, but her own passion made her yield more unquiet motions, than she had done in coming. So that she was perceived, & Gynoecia suddenly risen up, for in deed it was Ginecia, gotten into this Cave, (the same Cave, wherein Dametas had safely kept Pamela in the late uproar) to pass her pangs, with change of places. And as her mind ran still upon Zelmane, her piercing lovers eye had soon found it was she. And seeing in her a countenance to fly away, she fell down at her feet, and catching fast hold of her: Alas, said she, whether, or from whom dost thou fly away? the savagest beasts are won with service, and there is no flint but may be mollified: How is Gynoecia so unworthy in thine eyes? or whom cannot abundance of love, make worthy? O think not that cruelty, or ungratefulness, can flow from a good mind! O weigh, Alas! weigh with thy self, the new effects of this mighty passion, that I unfit for my state, uncomely for my sex, must become a suppliant at thy feet! By the happy woman that bore thee, by all the joys of thy heart, and success of thy desire, I beseech thee turn thyself to some consideration of me; and rather show pity in now helping me, then into late repenting my death which hourly threatens me. Zelmane imputing it, to one of her continual mishaps, thus to have met with this Lady, with a full weary countenance; Without doubt Madam, said she, where the desire is such, as may be obtained, and the party well deserving as yourself, it must be a great excuse that may well colour a denial; but when the first motion carries with it a direct impossibility, then must the only answer be, comfort without help, and sorrow to both parties; to you not obtaining to me not able to grant. O said Gynoecia, how good leisure you have to frame these scornful answers? Is Ginecia thus to be despised? am I so vile a worm in your sight? no no, trust to it hard hearted tiger, I will not be the only Actor of this Tragedy: since I must fall, I will press down some others with my ruins: since I must burn, my spiteful neighbours shall feel of my fire. Dost thou not perceive that my diligent eyes have pierced through the cloudy mask of thy desguisement? Have I not told thee, o fool, (if I were not much more fool) that I know thou wouldst abuse us with thy outward show? Wilt thou still attend the rage of love in a woman's heart? the girl thy well chosen mistress, perchance shall defend thee, when Basilius shall know how thou hast sotted his mind with falsehood, and falsely sought the dishonour of his house. Believe it, believe it unkind creature, I will end my miseries with a notable example of revenge, and that accursed cradle of mine shall feel the smart of my wound, thou of thy tyranny, and lastly (I confess) myself of mine own work. Zelmane that had long before doubted herself to be discovered by her, and now plainly finding it, was as the proverb saith, like them that hold the wolf by the ears, bitten while they hold, and slain if they lose. If she held her off in these wont terms, she saw rage would make her love work the effects of hate; to grant unto her, her heart was so bound upon Philoclea, it had been worse than a thousand deaths. Yet found she it was necessary for her, to come to a resolution, for Gynoecia's sore could bide no leisure, and once discovered, besides the danger of Philoclea, her desires should be for ever utterly stopped. She remembered withal the words of Basilius, how apt he was to leave this life, & return to his court, a great bar to her hopes. Lastly she considered Dorus enterprise, might bring some strange alteration of this their well liked fellowship. So that encompassed with these instant difficulties, she bent her spirits to think of a remedy, which might at once both save her from them, and serve her to the accomplishment of her only pursuit. Lastly, she determined thus, that there was no way but to yield to the violence of their desires, since striving did the more chafe them. And that following their own current, at length of itself it would bring her to the other side of her burning desires.  
Now in the mean while the divided Dorus, long divided between love and friendship, and now for his love divided from his friend, though indeed without prejudice of friendships loyalty, which doth never bar the mind from his free satisfaction: yet still a cruel judge over himself, thought he was somewayes faulty, and applied his mind how to amend it, with a speedy and behoveful return. But than was his first study, how to get away, whereto already he had Pamela's consent, confirmed and concluded under the name of Mopsa in her own presence, Dorus taking this way, that whatsoever he would have of Pamela he would ask her, whether in such a case it were not best for Mopsa so to behave herself, in that sort making Mopsa's envy, an instrument of that she did envy. So having passed over, his first and most feared difficulty, he busied his spirits how to come to the harvest of his desires, whereof he had so fair a show. And thereunto (having gotten leave for some days of his master Damaetas, who now accounted him as his son in law,) he rome round about the desert, to find some unknown way, that might bring him to the next Sea port, as much as might be out of all course of other passengers: which all very well succeeding him, and he having hired a Bark for his lives traffic, and provided horses to carry her thither, returned homeward, now come to the last point of his care, how to go beyond the loathsome watchfulness of these three uncomely companions, and therein did wisely consider, how they were to be taken with whom he had to deal, remembering that in the particularities of every body's mind & fortune, there are particular advantages, by which they are to be held. The muddy mind of Damaetas, he found most easily stirred with covetousness. The cursed mischievous heart of Miso, most apt to be tickled with jealousy, as whose rotten brain could think well of no body. But young mistress Mopsa, who could open her eyes upon nothing, that did not all to bewonder her, he thought curiosity the fittest bait for her. And first for Damaetas, Dorus having employed a whole days work, about a ten mile off from the lodge (quite contrary way to that he meant to take with Pamela) in digging & opening the ground, under an ancient oak that stood there, in such sort as might longest hold Damaetas greedy hopes, in some show of comfort, he came to his master, with a countenance mixed betwixt cheerfulness and haste, and taking him by the right hand, as if he had a great matter of secrecy to reveal unto him: Master said he, I did never think that the gods had appointed my mind freely brought up, to have so longing a desire to serve you, but that they minded thereby to bring some extraordinary fruit to one so beloved of them, as your honesty makes me think you are. This binds me even in conscience, to disclose that which I persuade myself is allotted unto you, that your fortune may be of equal balance with your deserts. He said no further, because he would let Damaetas play upon the bit a while, who not understanding what his words intended, yet well finding, they carried no evil news, was so much the more desirous to know the matter, as he had free scope to imagine what measure of good hap himself would. Therefore putting off his cap to him, which he had never done before, & assuring him he should have Mopsa, though she had been all made of cloth of gold, he besought Dorus not to hold him long in hope, for that he found it a thing his heart was not able to bear. Master, answered Dorus, you have so satisfied me, with promising me the uttermost of my desired bliss, that if my duty bound me not, I were in it sufficiently rewarded. To you therefore shall my good hap be converted, and the fruit of all my labour dedicated. Therewith he told him, how under an ancient oak, (the place he made him easily understand, by sufficient marks he gave unto him) he had found digging but a little depth, scatteringly lying a great number of rich Medailles, and that piercing further into the ground, he had met with a great stone, which by the hollow sound it yielded, seemed to be the cover of some greater vault, and upon it a box of Cypress, with the name of the valiant Aristomenes graven upon it: and that within the box, he found certain verses, which signified that some depth again under that all his treasures lay hidden, what time for the discord fell out in Arcadia he lived banished. Therewith he gave Damaetas certain Medailles of gold he had long kept about him, and asked him because it was a thing much to be kept secret, and a matter one man in twenty hours might easily perform, whether he would have him go and seek the bottom of it, which he had refrained to do till he knew his mind, promising he would faithfully bring him what he found, or else that he himself would do it, and be the first beholder of that comfortable spectacle. No man need doubt which part Damaetas would choose, whose fancy had already devoured all this great riches, and even now began to grudge at a partenor, before he saw his own share. Therefore taking a strong jade, loaden with spades and mattocks, which he meant to bring back otherwise laden, he went in all speed thetherward, taking leave of no body, only desiring Dorus he would look well to the Princes Pamela. Promising him mountains of his own labour, which nevertheless he little meant to perform, like a fool not considering, that no man is to be moved with part, that neglects the whole. Thus away went Damaetas, having already made an image in his fancy, what Palaces he would build, how sumptuously he would far, and among all other things imagined what money to employ in making coffers to keep his money, his ten mile seemed twice so many leagues, and yet contrary to the nature of it, though it seemed long, it was not wearisome. Many times he cursed his horses want of consideration, that in so important a matter would make no greater speed: many times he wished himself the back of an Ass, to help to carry away the new sought riches, (an unfortunate wisher, for if he had aswell wished the head, it had been granted him.) At length being come to the tree, which he hoped should bear so golden Acorns, down went all his instruments, and forthwith to the renting up of the hurtless earth, where by and by he was caught with the lime of a few promised Medailles, which was so perfect a pawn unto him of his further expectation, that he deemed a great number of hours well employed in groping further into it, which with logs and great stones was made as cumbersome as might be, till at length with sweaty brows he came to the great stone. A stone, God knows, full unlike to the cover of a Monument, but yet there was the Cipres box with Aristomenes graven upon it, and these verses written in it.  

A Banished man, long bard from his desire  
By inward lets, of them his state possessed,  
Hid here his hopes, by which he might aspire  
To have his harms with wisdoms help redressed.   

Seek then and see, what man esteemeth best,  
All is but this, this is our labours hire,  
Of this we live, in this we find our rest,  
Who hold this fast no greater wealth require.  
Look further then, so shalt thou find at least,  
A bait most fit, for hungry minded guest.   
He opened the box, and to his great comfort read them, and with fresh courage went about to lift up that stone. But in the mean time, ere Damaetas was half a mile gone to the treasure ward, Dorus came to Miso, whom he found sitting in the attorneys end, babbling to herself, and showing me all her gestures that she was loathsomely weary of the world, not for any hope of a better life, but finding no one, good neither in mind nor body, whereout she might nourish a quiet thought, having long since hated each thing else, began now to hate herself. Before this sweet humoured Dame, Dorus set himself, and framed towards her, such a smiling countenance, as might seem to be mixed between a tickled mirth, and a forced pity. Miso, to whom cheerfulness in others, was ever a sauce of envy in herself, took quickly mark of his behaviour, and with a look full of foreworne spite: Now the Devil, said she, take these villains, that can never leave grinning, because I am not so fair as mistress Mopsa, to see how this skipiacke looks at me. Dorus that had the occasion he desired, Truly mistress answered he, my smiling is not at you, but at them that are from you, and in deed I must needs alittle accord my countenance with other sport. And therewithal took her in his arms, and rocking her too and fro, In faith mistress, said he, it is high time for you, to bid us good night for ever, since others can possess your place in your own time. Miso that was never void of malice enough to suspect the uttermost evil, to satisfy a further shrewdness, took on a present mildness, and gently desired him, to tell her what he meant, for, said she, I am like enough to be knavishly dealt with, by that churl my husband. Dorus fell off from the matter again, as if he had meant no such thing, till by much refusing her entreaty, and vehemently stirring up her desire to know, he had strengthened a credit in her to that he should say. And then with a formal countenance, as if the conscience of the case had touched himself: Mistress, said he, I am much perplexed in my own determination, for my thoughts do ever will me to do honestly, but my judgement fails me what is honest: betwixt the general rule, that entrusted secreacies are holily to be observed, and the particular exception that the dishonest secreacies are to be revealed: especially there, whereby revealing they may either be prevented, or at least amended. Yet in this balance, your judgement ways me down, because I have confidence in it, that you will use what you know moderately, and rather take such faults as an advantage to your own good desert, then by your bitter using it, be contented to be revenged on others with your own harms. So it is mistress said he, that yesterday driving my sheep up to the stately hill, which lifts his head over the fair City of Mantinaea, I happened upon the side of it, in a little falling of the ground which was a rampire against the suns rage, to perceive a young maid, truly of the finest stamp of beauty, & that which made her beauty the more admirable, there was at all no art added to the helping of it. For her apparel was but such as shepherds daughters are wont to wear: and as for her hair, it hung down at the free liberty of his goodly length, but that sometimes falling before the clear stars of her sight, she was forced to put it behind her ears, and so open again the treasure of her perfections, which that for a while had in part hidden. In her lap there lay a Shepherd, so wrapped up in that well liked place, that I could discern no piece of his face, but as mine eyes were attended in that, her Angelic voice strake mine ears with this song: 

MY true love hath my heart, and I have his,  
By just exchange, one for the other giu'ne.  
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss:  
There never was a better bargain driu'ne.   

His heart in me, keeps me and him in one,  
My heart in him, his thoughts and senses guides:  
He loves my heart, for once it was his own:  
I cherish his, because in me it bides.   

His heart his wound received from my sight:  
My heart was wounded, with his wounded heart,  
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,  
So still me thought in me his hurt did smart:  
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss:  
My true love hath my heart and I have his.    
But as if the Shepherd that lay before her, had been organs, which were only to be blown by her breath, she had no sooner ended with the joining her sweet lips together, but that he recorded to her music this rural poesy: 

O Words which fall like summer dew on me,  
O breath more sweet, then is the growing bean,  
O tongue in which, all honeyed likoures be,  
O voice that doth, the Thrush in shrillness stain,  
Do you say still, this is her promise due,  
That she is mine, as I to her am true.   

Gay hair more gay than straw when harvest lies,  
Lips red and plum, as cherries ruddy side,  
Eyes fair and great, like fair great ox's eyes,  
O breast in which two white sheep swell in pride:  
join you with me, to seal this promise due,  
That she be mine, as I to her am true.   

But thou white skin, as white as cruddes well priest,  
So smooth as sleekestone-like, it smooths each part,  
And thou dear flesh, as soft as wool new dressed,  
And yet as hard, as brawn made hard by art:  
First four but say, next four their saying seal,  
But you must pay, the gage of promised weal.    
And with the conclusion of his song, he embraced her about the knees, O sweet Charita said he, when shall I enjoy the rest of my toiling thoughts? And when shall your blissful promise now due, be verified with just performance? with that I drew nearer to them, and saw (for now he had lifted up his face to glass himself in her fair eyes) that it was my master Damaetas, but here Miso interrupted his tale, with railing at Damaetas, with all those exquisite terms, which I was never good scold enough to imagine. But Dorus, as if he had been much offended with her impatience, would proceed no further till she had vowed more stillness. For said he, if the first drum thus chafe you, what will you be when it comes to the blows? Then he told her, how after many familiar entertainments betwixt them, Damaetas, laying before her, his great credit with the Duke, and withal giving her very fair presents, with promise of much more, had in the end concluded together to meet as that night at Mantinaea, in the Oudemian street, at Charitas uncles house, about ten of the clock. After which bargain Damaetas had spied Dorus, and calling him to him, had with great bravery told him all his good hap, willing him in any case to return to the old witch Miso (for so indeed mistress of liveliness, and not of ill will he termed you) and to make some honest excuse of his absence, for said he, kissing Charita, if thou didst know what a life I lead with that drivel, it would make thee even of pity, receive me into thy only comfort. Now Mistress said he, exercise your discretion, which if I were well assured of, I would wish you to go yourself to Mantinaea, and (lying secret in some one of your gossypps houses, till the time appointed come) so may you find them together, and using mercy, reform my Master from his evil ways. There had nothing more enraged Miso, than the praises Dorus gave to Charitas beauty, which made her jealousy swell the more, with the poison of envy. And that being increased with the presents she heard Damaetas had given her (which all seemed torn out of her bowels) her hollow eyes, yielded such wretched looks, as one might well think Pluto at that time, might have had her soul very good cheap. But when the fire of spite had fully caught hold of all her inward parts, than whosoever would have seen the picture of Allecto, or with what manner of countenance Medea killed her own children, needed but take Miso for the full satisfaction of that point of his knowledge. She that could before scarce go, but supported by crutches, now flew about the house, borne up with the wings of Anger, there was no one sort of mortal revenge, that had ever come to her ears, but presented itself now to her gentle mind. At length with few words, for her words were choked up with the rising of her revengeful heart, she ran down, and with her own hands saddled a mare of hers, a mare that 7. year before had not been acquainted with a saddle, & so to Mantinaea she went, casting with herself, how she might couple shame with the punishment of her accursed husband: but the person is not worthy in whose passion I should too long stand. Therefore now must I tell you that Mistress Mopsa (who was the last party Dorus was to practise his cunning withal) was at the parting of her parents, attending upon the Princes Pamela, whom because she found to be placed in her father's house, she knew it was for suspicion the Duke had of her. This made Mopsa with a right base nature (which joys to see any hard hap happen to them, they deem happy) grow proud over her, & use great ostentation of her own diligence, in prying curiously into each thing that Pamela did. Neither is there any thing sooner overthrows a weak heart, than opinion of authority, like too strong a liquor for so feebl a glass, which joined itself to the humour of envying Pamela's beauty, so far, that oft she would say to herself, if she had been borne a Duchess as well as Pamela, her perfections then should have been as well seen as Pamela's, with this manner of woman, and placed in these terms, had Dorus to play his last part, which he would quickly have dispatched in tying her up in such a manner, that she should little have hindered his enterprise. But that the virtuous Pamela, (when she saw him so minded,) by countenance absolutely forbade it, resolutely determining, she would not leave behind her any token of wrong since the wrong done to herself was the best excuse of her escape. So that Dorus was compelled to take her in the manner he first thought of, and accordingly Pamela sitting musing at the strange attempt she had condescended unto, and Mopsa hard by her, (looking in a glass with very partial eyes) Dorus put himself between them, and casting up his face to the top of the house, shrugging all over his body, and stamping sometimes upon the ground, gave Mopsa occasion (who was as busy as a Bee to know any thing) to ask her lover Dorus what ailed him, that made him use so strange a behaviour, he, as if his spirits had been ravished with some supernatural contemplation, stood still muett, sometimes rubbing his forehead, sometime starting in himself, that he set Mopsa in such an itch of inquiry, that she would have offered her maidenhead, rather than belong kept from it. Dorus not yet aunswearing to the purpose, still keeping his amazement. O Hercules, said he, resolve me in this doubt. A tree to grant one's wishes? Is this the cause of the kings solitary life? Which part shall I take? Happy in either, unhappy because I cannot know which were my best hap. These doubtful self speeches, made Mopsa yet in a further longing of knowing the matter, so that the pretty pig, laying her sweet burden about his neck, my Dorus, said she, tell me these words, or else I know not what will befall me, honey Dorus tell them me. Dorus having stretched her mind upon a right last, extremely loved Mopsa, said he, the matters be so great, as my heart fails me in the telling them, but since you hold the greatest seat in it, it is reason your desire should add life unto it. There with he told her a far fet tale how that many millions of years before, jupiter fallen out with Apollo had thrown him out of heaven, taking from him the privilege of a God. So that poor Apollo was feign to lead a very miserable life, unacquainted to work and never used to beg, that in this order having in time learned to be Admetus' herdman, he had upon occasion of fetching a certain breed of beasts out of Arcadia, come to that very desert, where wearied with travail, and resting himself in the boughs of a pleasant Ash tree, stood little of from the lodge, he had with pitiful complaints gotten his father jupiters' pardon, and so from that tree was received again to his golden sphere. But having that right nature of a God, never to be ungrateful, to Admetus he had granted a double life, and because that tree was the chapel of his prosperous prayers, he had given it this equality, that whatsoever of such estate, and in such manner as he then was, sat down in that tree, they should obtain whatsoever they wished. This Basilius having understood by the oracle, was the only cause which had made him try, whether framing himself to the state of an herdman, he might have the previledge of wishing only granted to that degree, but that having often in vain attempted it, because indeed he was not such, he had now opened the secret to Dametas, making him swear he should wish according to his direction. But because said Dorus, Apollo was at that time with extreme grief muffled, round about his face, with a scarlet cloak, Admetus had given him, and because they that must wish must be muffled in like sort, and with like stuff, my master Dametas is gone I know not whither to provide him a scarlet cloak, and to morrow doth appoint to return with it, my Mistress I cannot tell how, having gotten some inkling of it, is trudged to Mantinaea to get herself a cloak before him: because she would have the first wish. My master at his parting of great trust told me this secret, commanding me to see no body should climb that tree. But now my Mopsa, said he, I have here the like cloak of mine own and am not so very a fool as though I keep his commandment in others to bar myself, I rest only extremely perplexed, because having nothing in the world I wish for, but the enjoying you & your favour, I think it a much pleasanter conquest to come to it by your own consent, then to have it by such a charming force, as this is. Now therefore choose since have you I will, in what sort I shall have you. But never child was so desirous of a gay puppet, as Mopsa was to be in the tree, and therefore without squeamishnes, promising all he would, she conjured him by all her precious Loves, that she might have the first possession of the wishing tree, assuring him that for the enjoying her he should never need to climb far. Dorus to whom time was precious, made no great ceremonies with her, but helping her up to the top of the tree, from whence likewise she could ill come down without help, he muffled her round about the face, so truly that she herself could not undo it. And so he told her the manner was, she should hold her mind in continual devotion to Apollo, without making at all any noise, till at the farthest within twelve hours space, she should hear a voice call her by name three times, & that till the third time she must in no wise answer; & than you shall not need to doubt your coming down, for at that time said he, be sure to wish wisely, & in what shape soever he come unto you speak boldly unto him, and your wish shall have as certain effect, as I have a desire to enjoy your sweet Loves, in this plight did he leave Mopsa, resolved in her heart, to be the greatest Lady of the world, & never after to feed of worse than furmentie. Thus Dorus having delivered his hands of his three tormentors, took speedily the benefit of his devise, and mounting the gracious Pamela upon a fair horse he had provided for her he thrust himself forthwith into the wildest part of the desert, where he had left marks to guide him, from place to place to the next sea port, disguising her very fitly with scarves although he rested assured, he should meet that way with no body, till he came to his bark, into which he meant to enter by night. But Pamela who all this while, transported with desire & troubled with fear had never free scope of judgement to look with perfect consideration into her own enterprise but even by the laws of love, had bequeathed the care of herself upon him to whom she had given herself. Now that the pang of desire with evident hope was quieted, & most part of the fear passed, reason began to renew his shining in her heart, & make her see herself in herself; & weigh with what wings she flew out of her native country; and upon what ground she built so strange a determination. But love fortified with her lovers presence kept still his own in her heart. So that as they rid together with her hand upon her faithful servants shoulder, suddenly casting her bashful eyes to the ground, and yet bending herself towards him, (like the client that commits the cause of all his worth to a well trusted advocate,) from a mild spirit said unto him these sweetly delivered words: Prince Musidorus, (for so my assured hope is I may justly call you, since with no other my heart would ever have yielded to go; And if so I do not rightly term you, all other words are as bootless, as my deed miserable and I as unfortunate, as you wicked) my Prince Musidorus I say now that the vehement shows of your faithful Love towards me, have brought my mind to answer it, in so due a proportion, that contrary to all general rules of reason, I have laid in you, my estate, my life, my honour: it is your part to double your former care, and make me see your virtue no less in preserving then in obtaining: and your faith to be a faith as much in freedom, as bondage. Tender now your own workmanship; and so govern your love towards me as I may still remain worthy to be loved. Your promise you Remember, which here by the eternal givers of virtue, I conjure you to observe, let me be your own as I am, but by no unjust conquest; let not our joys which ought ever to last, be stained in our own consciences, let no shadow of repentance steal into the sweet consideration of our mutual happiness. I have yielded to be your wife, stay then till the time that I may rightly be so; let no other defiled name burden my heart. What should I more say? If I have chosen well, all doubt is past, since your action only must determine, whether I have done virtuously or shamefully in following you. Musidorus that had more abundance of joy in his heart, than Ulysses had what time with his own industry he stolen the fatal Palladium, imagined to be the only relic of Troy's safety, taking Pamela's hand, and many times kissing it. What I am said he, the Gods I hope will shortly make your own eyes judges; and of my mind towards you, the mean time shallbe my pledge unto you your contentment is dearer to me then mine own, & therefore doubt not of his mind, whose thoughts are so thralled unto you, as you are to bend or slack them as it shall seem best unto you. You do wrong to yourself, to make any doubt that a base estate could ever undertake so high an enterprise; or a spotted mind be able to behold your virtues. Thus much only I must confess, I can never do, to make the world see you have chosen worthily, since all the world is not worthy of you. In such delightful discourses, kept they on their journye, maintaining their hearts in that right harmony of affection, which doth interchangeably deliver each to other the secret workings of their souls, till with the unused travail, the Princess being weary, they lighted down in a fair thyckwood, which did entice them with the pleasantness of it to take their rest there. It was all of Pine trees, whose brodeheades meeting together, yielded a perfect shade to the ground, where their bodies gave a spacious and pleasant room to walk in, they were set in so perfect an order, that every way the eye being full, yet no way was stopped. And even in the midst of them, were there many sweet springes, which did lose themselves upon the face of the earth. Here Musidorus drew out such provision of fruits, & other cates, as he had brought for that days repast, and laid it down upon the fair Carpet of the green grass. But Pamela had much more pleasure to walk under those trees, making in their barks pretty knots, which tied together the names of Musidorus and Pamela, sometimes entermixedly changing there, to Pammedorus and Musimela, with twenty other flowers of her traviling fancies, which had bound themselves to a greater restraint, than they could without much painewell endure, and to one tree more beholding to her, than the rest she entrusted the treasure of her thoughts in these verses: 

DO not disdain, o straight up raised Pine  
That wounding thee, my thoughts in thee I grave:  
Since that my thoughts, as straight as straightness thine  
No smaller wound, alas! far deeper have.   

Deeper engraved, which salve nor time can save,  
Giu'ne to my heart, by my fore wounded eyen:  
Thus cruel to myself how canst thou crave  
My inward hurt should spare thy outward rind?   

Yet still fairetree, lift up thy stately line,  
Live long, and long witness my chosen smart,  
Which bard desires, (bard by myself) impart   

And in this growing bark grow verses my.  
My heart my word, my word hath giu'ne my heart.  
The giver given from gift shall never part.    
Upon a root of the tree, that the earth had left something barer than the rest, she wrat this couplet: 
Sweet root say thou, the root of my desire  
Was virtue clad in constant loves attire.   
Musidorus, seeing her fancies drawn up to such pleasant contemplations, accompanied her in them, and made the trees aswell bear the badges of his passions· As this song engraved in them did testify: 

YOu goodly pines, which still with brave assent  
In nature's pride your heads to heau'nwarde heave,  
Though you besides such grace's earth hath lent,  
Of some late grace a greater grace receive,   

By her who was (O blessed you) content,  
With her fair hand, your tender barks to cleave,  
And so by you (O blessed you) hath sent,  
Such piercing words as no thoughts else conceive:   

Yet yield your grant, a base hand may leave  
His thoughts in you, where so sweet thoughts were spent,  
For how would you the mistress thoughts bereave  
Of waiting thoughts all to her service meant?   

Nay higher thoughts (though thralled thoughts) I call  
My thoughts then hers, who first your ryne did rent.  
Then hers, to whom my thoughts a lonely thrall  
Rising from low, are to the highest bent;  
Where hers, whom worth makes highest over all  
Coming from her, cannot but downward fall.    
While Pamela sitting her down under one of them, and making a posy of the fair undergrowinge flowers, filled Musidorus ears with the heavenly sound of her music, which before he had never heard, so that it seemed unto him a new assault given to the castle of his heart, already conquered, which to signify and with all reply to her sweet notes, he sang in a kind of still, but ravishing tune a few verses, her song was this, and his Reply follows: Pamela. 

LIke divers flowers, whose divers beauties serve  
To deck the earth with his well-colourde weed,  
Though each of them, his private form preserve,  
Yet joining forms one sight of beauty breed.   

Right so my thoughts, where on my heart I feed:  
Right so my inward parts, and outward glass,  
Though each possess a divers working kind,  
Yet all well knit to one fair end do pass:  
That he to whom, these sundry gifts I bind  
All what I am, still one, his own, do find.   Musidorus. 

All what you are still one, his own to find,  
You that are borne to be the worlds eye,  
What were it else, but to make each thing blind?  
And to the sun with waxed wings to fly?   

No no, such force with my small force to try  
Is not my skill, or reach of mortal mind.  
Call me but yours, my title is most high:  
Hold me most yours, than my long suit is signed.   

You none can claim but you yourself aright,  
For you do pass yourself, in virtues might.  
So both are yours: I, bound with gauged heart:  
You only yours, too far beyond desert.    
In this virtuous wantonness, suffering their minds to descend to each tender enjoying their united thoughts, Pamela, having tasted of the fruits, and growing extreme sleepy, having been long kept from it, with the perplexity of her dangerous attempt, laying her head in his lap, was invited by him to sleep with these softly uttered verses: 

Lock up, fair lids, the treasure of my heart:  
Preserve those beams, this ages only light:  
To her sweet sense, sweet sleep some ease impart,  
Her sense too weak to bear her spirits might.   

And while o sleep thou closest up her sight,  
(Her sight where love did forge his fairest dart)  
o harbour all her parts in easeful plight:  
Let no strange dream make her fair body start.   

But yet o dream, if thou wilt not depart  
In this rare subject from the common right:  
But will't thyself in such a seat delight,   

Then take my shape, and play a lovers part:  
Kiss her from me, and say unto her spirit,  
Till her eyes shine, I live in darkest night.    
The sweet Pamela, was brought into a sweet sleep with this song which gave Musidorus opportunity at leisure to behold her excellent beauties. He thought her fair forehead was a field where all his fancies fought; and every hair of her head seemed a strong chain thattied him. Her fairer lids then hiding her fairer eyes, seemed unto him sweet boxes of mother of pearl, rich in themselves, but contaning in them far richer jewels. Her cheeks with their colour most delicately mixed would have entertained his eyes somewhile, but that the roses of her lips (whose separating was wont to be accompanied with most wise speeches) now by force drew his sight to mark how preatily they lay one over the other, uniting their divided beauties: and through them the eye of his fancy delivered to his memory the lying (as in ambush) under her lips of those armed ranks, all armed in most pure white, and keeping the most precise order of military discipline. And lest this beauty might seem the picture of some excellent artificer, fourth there stolen a soft breath, carrying good testimony of her inward sweetness: and so stealingly it came out, as it seemed loath to leave his contentful mansion, but that it hoped to be drawn in again to that well closed paradise, which did so tyrannize over Musidorus affects that he was compelled to put his face as low to hers, as he could, sucking the breath with such joy, that he did determine in himself, there had been no life to a Camaeleons if he might be suffered to enjoy that food. But long he was not suffered being within a while interrupted by the coming of a company of clownish villains, armed with divers sorts of weapons, and for the rest both in face and apparel so forewasted that they seemed to bear a great conformity with the savages; who miserable in themselves, taught to increase their mischiefs in other body's harms, came with such cries as they both awaked Pamela, and made Musidorus turn unto them full of a most violent rage, with the look of a she Tigree, when her whelps are stolen away.  
But Zelmane whom I left in the Cave hardly bestead, having both great wits and stirring passions to deal with, makes me lend her my pen a while to see with what dexterity she could put by her dangers. For having in one instant both to resist rage and go beyond wisdom, being to deal with a Lady that had her wits a wake in every thing, but in helping her own hurt, she saw now no other remedy in her case, but to qualify her rage with hope, and to satisfy her wit with plainness. Yet lest to abrupt falling into it, should yield too great advantage unto her, she thought good to come to it by degrees with this kind of insinuation. Your wise, but very dark speeches, most excellent Lady, are woven up in so intricate a manner, as I know not how to proportion mine answer unto them: so are your prayers mixed with threats, and so is the show of your love hidden with the name of revenge, the natural effect of mortal hatred. You seem displeased with the opinion you have of my disguising, and yet if be not disguised, you must needs be much more displeased. Hope then (the only succour of perplexed minds) being quite cut off, you desire my affection, and yet you yourself think my affection already bestowed. You pretend cruelty, before you have the subjection, and are jealous of keeping that, which as yet you have not gotten. And that which is strangest in your jealousy, is both the unjustice of it, in being loath that should come to your daughter, which you deem good, and the vaynnesse, since you two are in so divers respects, that there is no necessity one of you should fall to be a bar to the other. For neither (if I be such as you fancy) can I marry you, which must needs be the only end I can aspire to in her: neither need the marrying of her keep me from a grateful consideration how much you honour me in the love you vouchsafe to bear me. Gynaecia, to whom the fearful agonies she still lived in made any small reprivall sweet, did quickly find her words falling to a better way of comfort, and therefore with a mind ready to show nothing could make it rebellious against Zelmane, but to extreme tyranny, she thus said: Alas too much beloved Zelmane, the thoughts are but outflowing of the mind, and the tongue is but a servant of the thoughts, therefore marvel not that my words suffer contrarieties, since my mind doth hourly suffer in itself whole armies of mortal adversaries. But, alas, if I had the use of mine own reason, than should I not need, for want of it, to find myself in this desperate mischief, but because my reason is vanished, so have I likewise no power to correct my unreasonableness. Do you therefore accept the protection of my mind, which hath no other resting place, and drive it not, by being unregarded to put itself into unknown extremities. I desire but to have my affection answered, and to have a right reflection of my love in you. That granted, assure yourself mine own love will easily teach me to seek your contentment: and make me think my daughter a very mean price to keep still in mine eyes the food of my spirits. But take heed that contempt drive me not into despair, the most violent cause of that miserable effect. Zelmane that already saw some fruit of her last determined fancy (so far as came to a mollifyeng of Gynoecia's rage) seeing no other way to satisfy suspicion, which was help open with the continual pricks of love, resolved now with plainness to win trust, which trust she might after deceive with a greater subtlety. Therefore looking upon her with a more relenting grace, than ever she had done before, pretending a great bashfulness before she could come to confess such a fault, she thus said unto her: Most worthy Lady, I did never think, till now, that pity of another could make me betray myself, nor that the sound of words could overthrow any wise body's determination. But your words (I think) have charmed me, and your grace bewitched me. Your compassion makes me open my heart to you, and leave unharboured mine own thoughts. For proof of it, I will disclose my greatest secret, which well you might suspect, but never know, and so have your wandering hope in a more painful wilderness, being neither way able to be lodged in a perfect resolution. I will, I say, unwrap my hidden estate, and after make you judge of it, perchance director. The truth is, I am a man: nay, I will say further to you, I am borne a Prince. And to make up your mind in a through understanding of me, since I came to this place, I may not deny I have had some sprinkling of I know not what good liking to my Lady Philoclea. For how could I ever imagine, the heavens would have rained down so much of your favour upon me? and of that side there was a show of possible hope, the most comfortable Counsellor of love. The cause of this my changed attire, was a journey two years ago I made among the Amazons, where having sought to try my unfortunate valour, I met not one in all the Country but was too hard for me, till in the end in the presence of their Queen Marpesia, I hoping to prevail against her, challenged an old woman of fourscore years, to fight on horseback to the uttermost with me. Who having overthrown me, for the saving of my life, made me swear I should go like an unarmed Amazon, till the coming of my beard did, with the discharge of my oath, deliver me of that bondage. Here Zelmane ended, not coming to a full conclusion, because she would see what it wrought in Gynoecia's mind, having in her speech sought to win a belief of her, and, if it might be, by disgrace of herself to diminish Gynoecia's affection. For the first it had much prevailed. But Gynoecia whose end of loving her, was not her fight, neither could her love too deeply grounded receive diminishment; and besides she had seen herself, sufficient proofs of Zelmane's admirable prowess. Therefore slightly passing over that point of her feigned dishonour, but taking good hold of the confessing her manly sex, with the shamefast look of that suitor, who having already obtained much, is yet forced by want to demand more, put forth her sorrowful suit in these words: The gods, said she, reward thee for thy virtuous pity of my overladen soul, who yet hath received some breath of comfort, by finding thy confession to maintain some possibility of my languishing hope. But alas! as they who seek to enrich themselves by mineral industry, the first labour is to find the mine, which to their cheerful comfort being found, if after any unlooked for stop, or casual impediment keep them from getting the desired ure, they are so much the more grieved, as the late conceived hope adds torment to their former want. So falls it out with me (happy or hapless woman as it pleaseth you to ordain) who am now either to receive some guerdon of my most woeful labours, or to return into a more wretched darkness, having had some glimmering of my blissful Sun. O Zelmane, tread not upon a soul that lies under your foot: let not the abasing of myself make me more base in your eyes, but judge of me according to that I am and have been, and let my errors be made excusable by the immortal name of love. With that, under a feigned rage, tearing her clothes, she discovered some parts of her fair body, which if Zelmane's heart had not been so fully possessed as there was no place left for any new guest, no doubt it would have yielded to that gallant assault. But Zelmane so much the more arming her determination, as she saw such force threatened, yet still remembering she must wade betwixt constancy and curtesey, embracing Gynoecia, and once or twice kissing her, Dear Lady, said she, he were a great enemy to himself, that would refuse such an offer, in the purchase of which a man's life were blessedly bestowed. Nay, how can I ever yield due recompense, for so excessive a favour? but having nothing to give you but my self, take that: I must confess a small, but a very free gift what other affection soever I have had, shall give place to as great perfection, working besides upon the bond of gratefulness. The gods forbidden I should be so foolish, as not to see, or so wicked as not to remember, how much my small deserts are overballanced by your unspeakable goodness. Nay happy may I well account my mishap among the Amazons, since that dishonour hath been so true a path to my greatest honour, and the changing of my outward raiment, hath clothed my mind in such inward contentation. Take therefore noble Lady as much comfort to your heart, as the full commandment of me can yield you: wipe your fair eyes, and keep them for nobler services. And now I will presume thus much to say unto you, that you make of yourself for my sake, that my joys of my new obtained riches may be accomplished in you. But let us leave this place, lest you be too long miss, and henceforward quiet your mind from any further care, for I will now (to my too much joy) take the charge upon me, within few days to work your satisfaction, and my felicity. Thus much she said, and withal led Gynoecia out of the Cave, for well she saw the boiling mind of Gynoecia did easily apprehend the fitness of that lonely place. But in deed this direct promise of a short space, joined with the cumbersome familiar of womankind, I mean modesty, stayed so Gynoecia's mind, that she took thus much at that present for good payment: remaining with a painful joy, and a wearisome kind of comfort, not unlike to the condemned prisoner, whose mind still running upon the violent arrival of his cruel death, hears that his pardon is promised, but not yet signed. In this sort they both issued out of that obscure mansion: Gynoecia already half persuaded in herself (o weakness of human conceit) that Zelmane's affection was turned towards her. For such alas! we are all, in such a mould are we cast, that with the too much love we bear our selves, being first our own flatterers, we are easily hooked with our own flattery, we are easily persuaded of others love.  
But Zelmane who had now to play her prize, seeing no way things could long remain in that state, and now finding her promise had tied her trial to a small compass of time, began to throw her thoughts into each corner of her invention how she might achieve her lives enterprise: for well she knew deceit cannot otherwise be maintained but by deceit: and how to deceive such heedful eyes, and how to satisfy, and yet not satisfy such hopeful desires, it was no small skill. But both their thoughts were called from themselves, with the sight of Basilius, who then lying down by his daughter Philoclea, upon the fair, though natural, bed of greene-grasse, seeing the sun what speed he made, to leave our West to do his office in the other Hemisphere, his inward Muses made him in his best music, sing this Madrigal.  
WHy dost thou haste away  
O Titan fair the giver of the day?  
Is it to carry news  
To Western wights, what stars in East appear?  
Or dost thou think that hear  
Is left a Sun, whose beams thy place may use?  
Yet stay and well peruse,  
What be her gifts, that make her equal thee,  
Bend all thy light to see  
In earthly clothes enclosed a heavenly spark.  
Thy running course cannot such beauties mark:  
No, no, thy motions be  
Hastened from us with bar of shadow dark,  
Because that thou the author of our sight  
Disdainest we see thee stained with others light.  
And having ended, Dear Philoclea, said he, sing something that may divert my thoughts from the continual task of their ruinous harbour: She obedient to him, and not unwilling to disburden her secret passion, made her sweet voice be heard in these words: 

O Stealing time the subject of delay,  
(Delay, the rack of vnreframed desire)  
What strange dessein haste thou my hopes to stay  
My hopes which do but to mine own aspire?   

Mine own? o word on whose sweet sound doth pray  
My greedy soul, with gripe of inward fire:  
Thy title great, I justly challenge may,  
Since in such phrase his faith he did attire.   

O time, become the chariot of my joys:  
As thou drawest on, so let my bliss draw near.  
Each moment lost, part of my hap destroys:   

Thou art the father of occasion dear:  
join with thy son, to ease my long annoys.  
In speedy help, thank worthy friends appear.    
Philoclea broke off her Song, as soon as her mother with Zelmane came near unto them, rising up with a kindly bashfulness, being not ignorant of the spite her mother bore her, and stricken with the sight of that person, whose love made all those troubles, seem fair flowers of her dearest garland, Nay rather all those troubles, made the love increase. For as the arrival of enemies, makes a town so fortify itself, as ever after it remains stronger, so that a man may say, enemies were no small cause to the towns strength: So to a mind once fixed in a well pleased determination, who hopes by annoyance to overthrow it, doth but teach it to knit together all his best grounds, and so perchance of a chanceable purpose, make an unchangeable resolution. But no more did Philoclea see, the wont signs of Zelmane's affection towards her; she thought she saw an other light in her eyes, with a bold and careless look upon her which was wont to be dazzled with her beauty; and the framing of her courtesyes rather ceremonious then affectionate, and that which worst liked her, was, that it proceeded with such quiet settledness, as it rather threatened a full purpose, than any sudden passion. She found her behaviour bend altogether to her mother, and presumed in herself, she discerned the well acquainted face of his fancies now turned to another subject. She saw her mother's worthiness, and too well knew her affection. These joining their divers working powers together in her mind, but yet a prentice in the painful mystery of passions, brought Philoclea into a new travers of her thoughts, and made her keep her careful look the more attentive upon Zelmane's behaviour, who in deed (though with much pain, and condemning herself to commit a sacrilege, against the sweet saint that lived in her in most Temple) yet strengthening herself in it, being the surest way to make Gynoecia by't off her other baits, did so quite overrule all wont shows of love to Philoclea, and convert them to Gynoecia, that the part she played, did work in both a full and lively persuasion: to Gynoecia, such excessive comfort, as the being preferred to a rival doth deliver to swelling desire: But to the delicate Philoclea, whose calm thoughts were unable to nourish any strong debate, it gave so stinging a hurt, that fainting under the force of her inward torment, she withdrew herself to the Lodge, and there weary of supporting her own burden, cast herself upon her bed, suffering her sorrow to melt itself into abundance of tears, at length closing her eyes, as if each thing she saw was a picture of her mishap, and turning upon her hurtside, which with vehement panting, did summon her to consider her fortune, she thus bemoaned herself.  
Alas Philoclea, is this the price of all thy pains? Is this the reward of thy given away liberty? Hath too much yielding bred cruelty? or can too great acquaintance, make me held for a stranger? Hath the choosing of a companion, made me left alone? or doth granting desire, cause the desire to be neglected? Alas, despised Philoclea, why didst thou not hold thy thoughts in their simple course, and content thyself with the love of thy own virtue, which would never have betrayed thee? Ah silly fool, didst thou look for truth in him, that with his own mouth confessed his falsehood? for plain proceeding in him, that still goes disguised? They say the falsest men will yet bear outward shows of a pure mind. But he that even outwardly bears the badge of treachery, what hells of wickedness must needs in the depth be contained? But o wicked mouth of mine, how darest thou thus blaspheme the ornament of the earth, the vessel of all virtue? O wretch that I am that will anger the gods in dispraising their most excellent work! O no, no, there was no fault but in me, that could ever think so high eyes would look so low, or so great perfections would stain themselves with my unworthiness. Alas! why could I not see? I was too weak a band to tie so heavenly a heart: I was not fit to limit the infinite course of his wonderful destinies. Was it ever like that upon only Philoclea his thoughts should rest? Ah silly soul that couldst please thyself with so impossible an imagination! An universal happiness is to flow from him. How was I so inueagled to hope, I might be the mark of such a mind? He did thee no wrong, o Philoclea, he did thee no wrong, it was thy weakness to fancy the beams of the son should give light to no eyes but thine! And yet, o Prince Pirocles, for whom I may well begin to hate myself, but can never leave to love thee, what triumph canst thou make of this conquest? what spoils wilt thou carry away of this my undeserved overthrow? could thy force find out no fit field, than the feeble mind of a poor maid, who at the first sight did wish thee all happiness? shall it be said the mirror of mankind hath been employed to destroy a hurtless gentlewoman? O Pirocles, Pirocles, let me yet call thee before the judgement of thine own virtue, let me be accepted for a plaintiff in a cause which concerns my life: what need hadst thou to arm thy face, with the enchanting mask of thy painted passions? what need hadst thou to fortify thy excellencies with so exquisite a cunning, in making our own arts betray us? what needest thou descend so far from thy incomparable worthiness, as to take on the habit of weak womankind? Was all this to win the undefended Castle of a friend, which being won, thou wouldst after raze? Can so small a cause allure thee? or did not so unjust a cause stop thee? o me, what say I more, this is my case, my love hates me, virtue deals wickedly with me, and he does me wrong, whose doing I can never account wrong. With that the sweet Lady turning herself upon her weary bed, she haply saw a Lute, upon the belly of which Gynoecia had written this song, what time Basilius imputed her jealous motions to proceed of the doubt she had of his untimely loves. Under which vail she contented to cover her never ceasing anguish, had made the Lute a monument of her mind, which Philoclea had never much marked, till now the fear of a competitor more stirred her, then before the care of a mother. The verses were these.  

MY Lute which in thyself thy tunes enclose,  
Thy mistress song is now a sorrow's cry,  
Her hand benumde with fortunes daily blows,  
Her mind amazed can neither's help apply.  
Wear these my words as mourning weed of woes,  
Black ink becomes the state wherein I die.  
And though my moans be not in music bound,  
Of written griefs, yet be the silent ground.   

The world doth yield such ill consorted shows,  
With circkled course, which no wise stay can try,  
That childish stuff which knows not friends from foes,  
(Better despised) bewondre gazing eye.  
Thus noble gold, down to the bottom goes,  
When worthless cork, aloft doth floating lie.  
Thus in thyself, least strings are loudest found,  
And lowest stops do yield the highest sound.   
Philoclea read them, and throwing down the Lute, is this the legacy you have bequeathed me, O kind mother of mine said she? did you bestow the light upon me for this? or did you bear me to be the Author of my burial? A trim purchase you have made of your own shame; rob your daughter to ruin yourself! The birds unreasonable, yet use so much reason, as to make nests for their tender young ones; my cruel Mother turns me out of mine own harbour; Alas, plaint boots not, for my case can receive no help, for who should give me help? shall I fly to my parents? they are my murderers, shall I go to him who already being won and lost, must needs have killed all pity? Alas I can bring no new intercessions, he knows already what I am is his. Shall I come home again to myself? o me contemned wretch; I have given away myself. With that the poor soul beat her breast, as if that had been guilty of her faults, neither thinking of revenge, nor studying for remedy, but sweet creature gave grief a free dominion, keeping her chamber a few days after, not needing to feign herself sick, feeling even in her soul the pangs of extreme pain. But little did Gynoecia reck that, neither when she saw her go away from them, neither when she after found that sickness made her hid her fair face: so much had fancy prevailed against nature. But o you that have ever known, how tender to every motion love makes the lovers heart, how he measures all his joys upon her contentment: & doth with respectful eye hang all his behaviour upon her eyes, judge I pray you now of Zelmane's troubled thoughts, when she saw Philoclea, with an amazed kind of sorrow, carry away her sweet presence, and easily found, (so happy a conjecture unhappy affection hath) that her demeanour was guilty of that trespass. There was never foolish soft hearted mother, that forced to beat her child, did weep first for his pains, and doing that she was loath to do, did repent before she began, did find half that motion in her weak mind, as Zelmane did, now that she was forced by reason, to give an outward blow to her passions, and for the lending of a small time, to seek the usury of all her desires. The unkindness she conceived, Philoclea might conceive, did wound her soul, each tear she doubted she spent, drowned all her comfort. Her sickness was a death unto her. Often would she speak to the image of Philoclea, which lived and ruled in the highest of her inward part, and use vehement oaths and protestations unto her; that nothing should ever falsify the free chosen vow she had made. Often would she desire her that she would look well to Pyrocles heart, for as for her she had no more interest in it to bestow it any way: Alas would she say only Philoclea hast thou not so much feeling of thine own force, as to know no new conqueror can prevail against thy conquests? Was ever any dazzled with the moon, that had used his eyes to the beams of the Sun? Is he carried away with a greedy desire of Acorns, that hath had his senses ravished with a garden of most delightful fruits? O Philoclea Philoclea, be thou but as merciful a Princess to my mind, as thou art a true possessor, and I shall have as much cause of gladness as thou hast no cause of misdoubting. O no no, when a mans own heart is the gage of his debt, when a mans own thoughts are willing witnesses to his promise, last when a man is the gaoler over himself: There is little doubt of breaking credit, and less doubt of such an escape. In this combat of Zelmane's doubtful imaginations, in the end reason well backed with the vehement desire, to bring her matters soon to the desired haven, did over rule the boiling of her inward kindness, though as I say with such a manifest strife, that both Basilius and Gynoecia's well waiting eyes, had marked her muses had laboured in deeper subject, then ordinary, which she likewise perceiving they had perceived, a waking herself out of those thoughts, and principally caring how to satisfy Gynoecia (whose judgement and passion she stood most in regard of) bowing her head to her attentive ear, Madam said she, with practice of my thoughts, I have found out a way by which your contentment shall draw on my happiness. Gynoecia delivering in her face as thankful a joyfulness, as her heart could hold, said it was then time to retire themselves to their rest, for what, with riding abroad the day before, and late sitting up for Egloges, their bodies had dearly purchased that nights quiet. So went they home to their lodge, Zelmane framing of both sides bountiful measures of loving countenances to either's joy, and neythers jealousy; to the especial comfort of Basilius, whose weaker bowels were straight full with the least liquor of hope. So that still holding her by the hand, and sometimes tickling it, he went by her with the most gay conceits that ever had entered his brains, growing now so hearted in his resolution, that he little respected Gynoecia's presence. But with a lustier note than wont, clearing his voice, and cheering his spirits, looking still upon Zelmane (whom now the moon did beautify with her shining almost at the full) as if her eyes had been his song book, he did the message of his mind in singing these verses: 

WHen two Suns do appear  
Some say it doth betoken wonders near  
As Prince's loss or change:  
Two gleaming Suns of splendour like I see,  
And seeing feel in me  
Of Prince's heart quite lost the ruin strange.   

But now each where doth range  
With ugly cloak the dark envious night:  
Who full of guilty spite,  
Such living beams should her black seat assail,  
Too weak for them our weaker sight doth vail.   

No says fair moon, my light  
Shall bar that wrong; and though it not prevail  
Like to my brothers raise, yet those I send  
Hurt not the face, which nothing can amend.    
And by that time being come to the lodge, and visited the sweet Philoclea, with much less than natural care of the parents, and much less than wont kindness of Zelmane, each party full fraught with diversly working fancies, made their pillows weak props of their over loaden heads. Yet of all other were Zelmane's brains most turmoiled, troubled with love both active and passive; and lastly and especially with care, how to use her short limited time, to the best purpose, by some wise and happy diverting her two lovers unwelcome desires. Zelmane having had the night her only councillor in the busy enterprise she was to undertake, and having all that time mused, and yet not fully resolved, how she might join prevailing with preventing, was offended with the days bold entry into her chamber, as if he had now by custom grown an assured bringer of evil news. Which she taking a Cittern to her, did lay to Aurora's charged with these well song verses.  

Aurora now thou showst thy blushing light  
(Which oft to hope lays out a guileful bait,  
That trusts in time, to find the way aright  
To ease those pains, which on desire do wait)   

Blush on for shame: that still with thee do light  
On pensive souls (in steed of restful bait)  
Care upon care (in steed of doing right)  
To over pressed breasts, more grievous weight.   

As oh! myself, whose woes are never light  
(Tide to the stake of doubt) strange passions bait,  
While thy known course, observing natures right  
Stirs me to think what dangers lie in wait.  
For mischiefs great, day after day doth show:  
Make me still fear, thy fair appearing show.   
Alas said she, am not I run into a strange gulf, that am feign for love to hurt her I love? And because I detest the others, to please them I detest? O only Philoclea, whose beauty is matched with nothing, but with the unspeakable beauty of thy fairest mind, if thou didst see upon what a rack my tormented soul is set, little would you think I had any scope now, to leap to any new change, with that, with hasty hands she got herself up turning her sight to every thing, as if change of object might help her invention. So went she again to the cave where forthwith it came into her head, that should be the fittest place to perform her exploit, of which she had now a kind of confused conceit, although she had not set down in her fancy, the meeting with each particularity that might fall out. But as the painter doth at the first but show a rude proportion of the thing he imitates, which after with more curious hand, he draws to the representing each lineament. So had her thoughts beating about it continually, received into them a ground plot of her devise, although she had not in each part shaped it according to a full determination. But in this sort having early visited the mornings beauty, in those pleasant deserts, she came to the King and Queen and told them, that for the performance of certain her country devotions, which only were to be exercised in solitariness, she did desire their leave she might for a few days, lodge herself in the Cave, the fresh sweetness of which did greatly delight her, in that hot country; and that for that small space, they would not otherwise trouble themselves in visiting her, but at such times as she would come to wait upon them, which should be every day at certain hours, neither should it be long, she would desire his privileged absence of them. They whose minds had already taken out that lesson, perfectly to yield a willing obedience to all her desires, which consenting countenance made her soon see her pleasure was a law unto them. Both indeed inwardly glad of it, Basilius hoping that her dividing herself from them, might yet give him some freer occasion of coming in secret unto her, whose favourable face, had lately strengthened his fainting courage. But Gynoecia of all other most joyous, holding herself assured that this was but a prologue to the play she had promised her. Thus both flattering themselves, with diversly grounded hopes, they rang a bell which served to call certain poor women which ever lay in cabins not far off, to do the household services of both lodges, and never came to either but being called for: And commanded them to carry forthwith Zelmane's bed and furniture of her chamber, into the pleasant Cave; and to deck it up as finely, as it was possible for them, That their soul's rest might rest her body to her best pleasing manner, that was with all diligence performed of them, and Zelmane already in possession of her new chosen lodging, where she like one of Vesta's nuns, entertained herself for a few days in all show of straightness, yet once a day coming to do her duty to the King and Queen, in whom the seldomnes of the sight increased the more unquiet longing, though somewhat qualified, as her countenance was decked to either of them with more comfort than wont. Especially to Gynoecia who seeing her wholly neglecting her daughter Philoclea, had now promised herself a full possession of Zelmane's heart, still expecting the fruit, of the happy & hoped for invention. But both she and Basilius kept such a continual watch about the Precincts of the Cave, that either of them was a bar to the other from having any secret, commoning with Zelmane. While in the mean time the sweet Philoclea forgotten of her father, despised of her mother, and in appearance left of Zelmane had yielded up her soul to be a pray to sorrow and unkindness, not with raging conceit of revenge as had passed thorough the stout and wise heart of her mother, but with a kindly meekness taking upon her the weight of her own woes, and suffering them to have so full a course as it did exceedingly weaken the estate of her body, aswell for which cause as for that, she could not see Zalmane, without expressing (more than she would) how far now her love, was imprisoned in extremity of sorrow, she bond herself first to the limits of her own chamber, and after, (grief breeding sickness) of her bed. But Zelmane having now a full liberty to cast about every way, how to bring her conceived attempt to a desired success, was oft so perplexed with the manifold difficulty of it, that sometimes she would resolve by force to take her a way, though it were with the death of her parents, sometimes to go away herself with Musidorus and bring both their forces, so to win her. But lastly even the same day that Musidorus by feeding the humour of his three loathsome gardiens, had stolen away the Princes Pamela (whether it were that love meant to match them every way, or that her friends example had helped her invention, or that indeed Zelmane forbore to practise her devise till she found her friend had passed through his.) The same day, I say, she resolved on a way to rid out of the lodge her two cumbersome lovers, and in the night to carry away Philoclea: where unto she was assured her own love, no less than her sisters, would easily win her consent. Hoping that although their abrupt parting had not suffered her to demand of Musidorus which way he meant to direct his journey) yet either they should by some good fortune, find him: or if that course failed, yet they might well recover some town of the Helotes, near the frontieres of Arcadia, who being newly again up in arms against the Nobility, she knew would be as glad of her presence, as she of their protection. Therefore having taken order for all things requisite for their going, and first put on a sleight undersute of man's apparel, which before for such purposes she had provided, she curiously trimmed herself to the beautifiing of her beauties, that being now at her last trial, she might come unto it in her bravest armour. And so putting on that kind of mild countenance, which doth encourage the looker on to hope for a gentle answer, according to her late received manner, she left the pleasant darkness of her melancholy cave, to go take her dinner of the King and Queen, and give unto them both a pleasant food of seeing the owner of their desires. But even as the Persians were anciently wont, to leave no rising Sun unsaluted, but as his fair beams appeared clearer unto them would they more heartily rejoice, laying upon them a great fortoken, of their following fortunes: So was there no time that Zelmane encountered their eyes, with her beloved presence, but that it bred a kind of burning devotion in them, yet so much the more gladding their greedy souls, as her countenance were cleared with morefavour unto them, which now being determinately framed to the greatest descent of kindness, it took such hold of her infortunate lovers, that like children about a tender father, from along voyage returned, with lovely childishness hang about him, and yet with simple fear measure by his countenance, how far he acceptes their boldness: So were these now thrown into so serviceable an affection, that the turning of Zelmane's eye, was a strong stern enough to all their motions, wending no way, but as the enchanting force of it; guided them. But having made a light repast of the pleasunt, fruits of that country, enterlarding their food with such manner of general discourses, as lovers are wont to cover their passions in, when respect of a third person keeps them from plain particulars, at the earnest entreaty of Basilius, Zelmane, first saluting the muses with a base voyal hung hard by her, sent this ambassade in versified music, to both her ill requited lovers.  

Beauty hath force to catch the human sight.  
Sight doth bewitch, the fancy evil awaked.  
Fancy we feel, encludes all passions might,  
Passion rebelde, oft reasons strength hath shaked.   

No wondre then, though sight my sight did taint,  
And though thereby my fancy was infected,  
Though (yoked so) my mind with sickness faint,  
Had reasons weight for passions ease rejected.   

But now the fit is past: and time hath giu'ne  
Leisure to weigh what due desert requireth.  
All thoughts so sprung, are from their dwelling driu'n,  
And wisdom to his wont seat aspireth.  
Crying in me: eye hopes deceitful prove.  
Things rightelie prized, love is the band of love.   
And after her song with an affected modesty, she threw down her eye, as if the conscience of a secret grant her inward mind made, had suddenly cast a bashful vail over her. Which Basilius finding, and thinking now was the time, to urge his painful petition, beseeching his wife with more careful eye to accompany his sickly daughter Philoclea, being rid for that time of her, who was content to grant him any scope, that she might after have the like freedom, with a gesture governed by the force of his passions, making his knees his best supporters he thus said unto her.  
If either, said he, O Lady of my life, my deadly pangs could bear delay or that this were the first time the same were manifested unto you, I would now but maintain still the remembrance of my misfortune, without urging any further reward, than time and pity might procure for me. But, alas, since my martyrdom is no less painful, then manifest, and that I no more feel the miserable danger, than you know the assured truth thereof: why should my tongue deny his service to my heart? Why should I fear the breath of my words who daily feel the flame of your works? Embrace in sweet consideration I beseech you, the misery of my Case, acknowledge yourself to be the cause, and think it is reason for you to redress the effects. Alas let not certain imaginatife rules, whose truth stands but upon opinion, keep so wise a mind from gratefulness and mercy, whose never failing laws nature hath planted in us. I plainly lay my death unto you, the death of him that loves you, the death of him whose life you may save, say your absolute determination, for hope itself is a pain, while it is over mastered with fear, and if you do resolve to be cruel, yet is the speediest condemnation, as in evils, most welcome. Zelmane who had fully set to herself the train she would keep, yet knowing that who soon means to yield doth well to make the bravest parley, keeping countenance aloft. Noble prince said she, your words are to well couched, to come out of a restless mind, and thanked be the Gods your face threatens no danger of death. These are but those swelling speeches, which give the uttermost name to every trifle, which all were worth nothing, if they were not enameled with the goodly outside of love. Truly love were very unlovely, if it were half foe deadly, as your lovers (still living) term it I think well it may have a certain childish vehemency, which for the time to one desire will engage all the soul, so long as it lasteth. But with what impatience you yourself show, who confess the hope of it a pain, and think your own desire so unworthy, as you would feign be rid of it, and so with overmuch love sue hard for a hasty refusal. A refusal! (cried out Basilius, amazed with all, but pierced with the last) Now assure yourself, when soever you use that word diffinitively, it will be the undoubted doom of my approaching death. And then shall your own experience know in me, how soon the spirits dried up with anguish, leave the performance of their ministery, whereupon our life dependeth. But alas what a cruelty is this, not only to torment but to think the torment slight? The terriblest tyrants would say by no man they killed, he died not, nor by no man they punished, that he escaped free, for of all other, there is least hope of mercy where there is no acknowledging of the pain: and with like cruelty, are my words breathed out from a flamy heart, accounted as messengers of a quiet mind. If I speak nothing, I choke myself, and am in no way of relief: if simply neglected: if confusedly not understood: if by the bending together all my inward powers, they bring forth any lively expressing of that they truly feel, that is a token, forsooth, the thoughts are at too much leisure. Thus is silence desperate, folly punished, and wit suspected. But indeed it is vain to say any more, for words can bind no belief. Lady, I say, determine of me, I must confess I cannot bear this battle in my mind, and therefore let me soon know what I may account of myself, for it is a hell of dolours, when the mind still in doubt for want of resolution, can make no resistance.  
In deed answered Zelmane, if I should grant to your request, I should show, an example in myself that I esteem the holy band of chastity to be but and Imaginatife rule, as you termed it: and not the truest observance of nature the most noble commandment that mankind can have over themselves, as indeed both learning teacheth, and inward feeling assureth. But first shall Zelmane's grave, become her marriage bed, before my soul shall consent to his own shame, before I will leave a mark in myself of an unredemable trespass. And yet must I confess that if ever my heart were stirred, it hath been with the manifest & manifold shows of the misery you live in for me. For in truth so it is, nature gives not to us her degenerate children, any more general precept, than one to help the other, one to feel a true compassion of the others mishap. But yet if I were never so contented to speak with you, (for further never o Basilius look for at my hands) I know not how you can avoid your wives jealous attendance, but that her suspicion shall bring my honour into question. Basilius whose small sails the least wind did fill, was forth with as far gone into a large promising himself his desire, as before he was stricken down with a threatened devil. And therefore bending his brows as though he were not a man to take the matter as he had done, what said he, shall my wife become my mistresses? Think you not that thus much time hath taught me to rule her? I will mewe the gentlewoman till she have cast all her feathers, if she rouse her self against me. And with that he walked up and down, nodding his head, as though they mistook him much that thought he was not his wives master. But Zelmane now seeing it was time to conclude, of your wisdom and manhood said she, I doubt not, but that sufficeth not me, for both they can hardly tame a malicious tongue, and impossibly bar the freedom of thought, which be the things that must be only witnesses, of honour, or judges of dishonour. But that you may see I do not set light your affection, if to night after your wife be assuredly asleep, whereof by your love I conjure you, to have a most precise care, you will steal handsomely to the cave unto me, there do I grant you as great proportion as you will take of free conference with me, ever remembering you seek no more, for so shall you but deceive yourself, and for ever lose me. Basilius that was old enough to know, that women are not wont to appoint secret night meetings for the purchasing of land, holding himself already an undoubted possessor of his desires, kissing her hand, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, as if the greatness of the benefit did go beyond all measure of thanks, said no more, least stirring of more words, might bring forth some perhaps contrary matter. In which trance of joy, Zelmane went from him, saying she would leave him to the remembrance of their appointment, and for her she would go visit the Lady Philoclea, into whose chamber being come, keeping still her late taken on gravity, and ask her how she did, rather in the way of dutiful honour, than any special affection, with extreme inward anguish to them both, she turned from her, and taking the Queen Ginaecia, led her into a bay window of the same Chamber, determining in herself, not to utter to so excellent a wit as Gynaecia had, the uttermost point of her pretended devise, but to keep the clause of it for the last instant, when the shortness of the time should not give her spirits leisure to look into all those doubts, that easily enter to an open invention. But with smiling eyes, and with a delivered over grace, feigning as much love to her, as she did counterfeit love to Philoclea, she began with more credible than eloquent speech to tell her, that with much consideration of a matter so nearly importing her own fancy, and Gynaecias' honour, she had now concluded that the night following should be the fittest time for the joining together their several desires, what time sleep should perfectly do his office upon the King her husband, and that the one should come to the other into the Cave. Which place, as it was the first receipt of their promised love, so it might have the first honour of the due performance. That the cause why those few days past, she had not sought the like, was, lest the new change of her lodging, might make the Duke more apt to mark any sudden event: which now the use of it would take out of his mind. And therefore now, most excellent Lady said she, there resteth nothing but that quickly after supper, you train up the King to visit his daughter Philoclea, and then feigning yourself not well at ease, by your going to bed, draw him not long to be after you. In the mean time I will be gone home to my lodging, where I will attend you, with no less devotion, but as I hope with better fortune, than Thisbe did the toomuch loving and toomuch loved Pyramus. The blood that quickly came into Ginecias' fair face, was the only answer she made, but that one might easily see, contentment and consent were both to the full in her; which she did testify with the wring Zelmane fast by the hand, cloasing her eyes, & letting her head fall, as if she would give her to know, she was not ignorant of her fault, although she were transported with the violence of her evil. But in this triple agreement did the day seem tedious of all sides, till his never erring course, had given place to the nights succession: And the supper by each hand hasted, was with no less speed ended, when Gynoecia presenting a heavy sleepiness in her countenance, brought up both Basilius and Zelmane to see Philoclea still keeping her bed, and far more sick in mind then body, and more grieved then comforted with any such visitation. Thence Zelmane wishing easeful rest to Philoclea, did seem to take that nights leave of this princely crew, when Gynoecia likewise seeming somewhat diseased, desired Basilius to stay a while with her daughter, while she recommended her sickness to her bed's comfort, in deed desirous to determine again of the manner of her stealing away; to no less comfort to Basilius, who the sooner she was asleep, the sooner hoped to come by his long pursued pray. Thus both were bend to deceive each other, and to take the advantage of either others disadvantage. But Gyneacia having taken Zelmane into her bedchamber, to speak a little with her of their sweet determination: Zelmane upon a sudden (as though she had never thought of it before) Now the Gods forbidden, said she, so great a Lady as you are should come to me: or that I should leave it to the hands of fortune, if by either the ill governing of your passion, or your husband's sudden waking, any danger might happen unto you. No, if there be any superiority in the points of true love, it shall be yours: if there be any danger, since myself am the author of this devise, it is reason it should be mine. Therefore do you but leave with me the keys of the gate, and upon yourself take my upper garment, that if any of Damaetas house see you, they may think you to be myself, and I will presently lie down in your place, so muffled for your supposed sickness, as the King shall nothing know me. And then as soon as he is a sleep, will I (as it much better becomes me) wait upon you. But if the uttermost of mischiefs should happen, I can assure you the King's life shall sooner pay for it, than your honour. And with the ending of her words, she threw off her gown, not giving Gynaecia any space to take the full image of this new change into her fancy. But seeing no ready objection against it in her heart, and knowing that there was no time then to stand long disputing; besides, remembering the giver was to order the manner of his gift, yielded quickly to this conceit, in deed not among the smallest causes, tickled thereunto by a certain wanton desire, that her husband's deceit might be the more notable. In this sort did Zelmane, nimbly disarayeng herself, possess Gynaecias' place, hiding her head in such a close manner, as grievous and overwatched sickness in wont to invite to itself the solace of sleep. And of the other side the Queen putting on Zelmane's utmost apparel, went first into her closet, there quickly to beautify herself, with the best and sweetest night deckings. But there, casting an hasty eye over her precious things, which ever since Zelmane's coming, her head otherwise occupied had left unseen, she happened to see a bottle of gold, upon which down along were graved these verses: 
Let him drink this, whom long in arms to fold  
Thou dost desire, and with free power to hold.   
She remembered the bottle, for it had been kept of long time by the Kings of Cyprus, as a thing of rare virtue, and given to her by her mother, when she being very young married to her husband of much greater age, her mother persuaded it was of property to force love, with love effects, had made a precious present of it to this her beloved child, though it had been received rather by tradition to have such a quality, then by any approved experiment. This Gynaecia, (according to the common disposition, not only (though especially) of wives, but of all other kinds of people, not to esteem much ones own, but to think the labour lost employed about it) had never cared to give to her husband, but suffered his affection to run according to his own scope. But now that love of her particular choice had awaked her spirits, and perchance the very unlawfulness of it had a little blown the coal: among her other ornaments with glad mind she took most part of this liquor, putting it into a fair cup, all set with diamonds: for what dares not love undertake armed with the night, and provoked with lust? And thus down she went to the Cave-ward, guided only by the moons fair shining, suffering no other thought to have any familiarity with her brains, but that which did present unto her a picture of her approaching contentment. She that had long disdained this solitary life her husband had entered into, now wished it much more solitary, so she might only obtain the private presence of Zelmane. She that before would not have gone so far, especially by night, and to so dark a place, now took a pride in the same courage, and framed in her mind a pleasure out of the pain itself. Thus with thick doubled paces she went to the Cave, receiving to herself, for her first contentment, the only lying where Zelmane had done: whose pillow she kissed a thousand times, for having borne the print of that beloved head. And so keeping, with panting heart, her traveling fancies so attentive, that the wind could stir nothing, but that she stirred herself, as if it had been the pace of the longed-for Zelmane, she kept her side of the bed; defending only and cherishing the other side with her arm, till after a while waiting, counting with herself how many steps were betwixt the Lodge and the Cave, and oft accusing Zelmane of more curious stay than needed, she was visited with an unexpected guest.  
For Basilius, after his wife was departed to her feigned repose, as long as he remained with his daughter, to give his wife time of unreadying herself, it was easily seen it was a very thorny abode he made there: and the discourses with which he entertained his daughter, not unlike to those of earnest players, when, in the midst of their game, trifling questions be put unto them, his eyes still looking about, and himself still changing places, begin to speak of a thing, and break it off before it were half done. To any speech Philoclea ministered unto him, with a sudden starting, and casting up his head, make an answer far out of all Grammar: a certain deep musing, and by and by out of it: uncertain motions, unstaid graces. Having borne out the limit of a reasonable time with as much pain as might be, he came darkeling into his chamber, forcing himself to tread as softly as he could. But the more curious he was, the more he thought every thing creaked under him: and his mind being out of the way with another thought, and his eyes not serving his turn in that dark place, each Coffer or Cupboard he met, one saluted his shins, another his elbows: sometimes ready in revenge to strike them again with his face. Till at length, fearing his wife were not fully asleep, he came lifting up the clothes, as gently as (I think) poor Pan did, when, in stead of joles' bed, he came into the rough embracings of Hercules: and laying himself down, as tenderly as a new Bride, rested a while with a very open ear, to mark each breath of his supposed wife. And sometimes he himself would yield a long fetched sigh, as though that had been a music to draw one another to sleep, till within a very little while, with the other parties well counterfeit sleep (who was as willing to be rid of him, as he was to be gone thence) assuring himself he left all safe there, in the same order stolen out again, and putting on his night gown, with much groping and scrambling, he gate himself out of the little house, and then did the Moonlight serve to guide his feet. Thus with a great deal of pain, did Basilius go to her whom he fled, and with much cunning left the person for whom he had employed all his cunning. But when Basilius was once gotten (as he thought) into a clear coast what joy he then made, how each thing seemed vile in his sight, in comparison of his fortune, how far already he deemed himself in the chief tower of his desires, it were tedious to tell: once his heart could not choose but yield this song, as a fairing of his contentment.  

GEt hence foul Grief, the canker of the mind:  
Farewell Complaint, the miser's only pleasure:  
Away vain Cares, by which few men do find  
Their sought-for treasure.   

Ye helpless Sighs, blow out your breath to nought,  
Tears, drown yourselves, for woe (your cause) is wasted,  
Thought, think to end, too long the fruit of thought  
My mind hath tasted.   

But thou, sure Hope, tickle my leaping heart.  
Comfort, step thou in place of wont sadness.  
Fore-felt Desire, begin to savour parts  
Of coming gladness.   

Let voice of Sighs into clear music run,  
Eyes, let your Tears with gazing now be mended,  
In stead of Thought, true pleasure be begun,  
And never ended.   
Thus imagining as then with himself, his joys so held him up, that he never touched ground. And, like a right old beaten soldier, that knew well enough the greatest Captains do never use long Orations, when it comes to the very point of execution, as soon as he was gotten into the Cave, and to the joyful (though silent) expectation of Gynaecia, come close to the bed, never recking his promise to look for nothing but conference, he leapt into that side reserved for a more welcome guest. And laying his lovingest hold upon Gynaecia: O Zelmane, said he, embrace in your favour this humble servant of yours: hold within me my heart, which pants to leave his master to come unto you. In what case poor Gynaecia was, when she knew the voice, and felt the body of her husband, fair Ladies, it is better to know by imagination then experience. For strait was her mind assaulted, partly with the being deprived of her unquenched desire, but principally with the doubt that Zelmane had betrayed her to her husband, besides the renewed sting of jealousy, what in the mean time might befall her daughter. But of the other side, her love, with a fixed persuasion she had, taught her to seek all reason of hopes. And therein thought best before discovering of herself, to mark the behaviour of her husband; who, both in deeds and words still using her, as taking her to be Zelmane, made Gynaecia hope that this might be Basilius own enterprise, which Zelmane had not stayed, lest she should discover the matter which might be performed at another time. Which hope accompanied with Basilius' manner of dealing, (he being at that time fuller of livelier fancies, than many years before he had been) besides the remembrance of her daughter's sickness, and late strange countenance betwixt her & Zelmane, all coming together into her mind, which was loath to condemn itself of an utter overthrow, made her frame herself, not truly with a sugared joy, but with a determinate patience to let her husband think he had found a very gentle and supple-minded Zelmane; which he good man making full reckoning of, did melt in as much gladness as she was oppressed with divers ungrateful burdens.  
But Pyrocles who had at this present no more to play the part of Zelmane, having so naturally measured the manner of his breathing, that Basilius made no doubt of his sound sleeping, and lain a pretty while with a quiet unquietness to perform his intended enterprise, as soon as by the debate betwixt Basilius' shins and the unregarding forms he perceived that he had fully left the Lodge: after him went he with stealing steps, having his sword under his arm (still doubting lest some mischance might turn Basilius back again) down to the gate of the Lodge. Which not content to lock fast, he barred and fortified with as many devices, as his wit and haste would suffer him, that so he might have full time both for making ready Philoclea, and conveying her to her horse, before any might come in to find them missing. For further ends of those ends, and what might ensue of this action, his love and courage well matched never looked after, holding for an assured ground, that whosoever in great things will think to prevent all objections, must lie still, and do nothing. This determination thus weighed, the first part thus performed, up to Philoclea's chamber door went Pyrocles, rapt from himself with the excessive fore-feeling of his (as he assured himself) near coming contentment. What ever pains he had taken, what dangers he had run into, and especially those saucy pages of love, doubts, griefs, languishing hopes, and threatening despairs, came all now to his mind, in one rank to beawtifye his expected blissfulness, and to serve for a most fit sauce, whose sourness might give a kind of life to the delightful cheer his imagination fed upon. All the great estate of his father, all his own glory, seemed unto him but a trifling pomp, whose good stands in other men's conceit, in comparison of the true comfort he found in the depth of his mind, and the knowledge of any misery that might ensue this joyous adventure, was recked of but as a slight purchase of possessing the top of happiness, for so far were his thoughts passed through all perils, that already he conceived himself safely arrived with his Lady at the stately palace of Pella, among the exceeding joys of his father, and infinite congratulationss of his friends, giving order for the royal entertaining of Philoclea, and for sumptuous shows and triumphs against their marriage. In the thought whereof as he found extremity of joy, so well found he that extremity is not without a certain joyful pain, by extending the heart beyond his wont limits, and by so forcible a holding all the senses to one object, that it confounds their mutual working, not without a charming kind of ravishing them, from the free use of their own function. Thus grieved only with too much gladness, being come to the door, which should be the entry to his happiness, he was met with the latter end of a song, which Philoclea like a solitary Nightingale, bewailing her guiltless punishment, and helpless misfortune, had newly delivered over, meaning none should be judge of her passion, but her own conscience. The song having been accorded to a sweetly played on Lute, contained these verses, which she had lately with some art curiously written, to enwrap her secret and resolute woes.  

Virtue ¹, beauty ², and speech ³, did strike ¹, wound ², charm ³,  
My heart ¹, eyes ², ears ³, with wonder ¹, love ², delight ³:  
First ¹, second ², last ³, did bind ¹, enforce ², and arm ³,  
His works ¹, shows ², suits ³, with wit ¹, grace ², and vow's ³ might.   

Thus honour ¹, liking ², trust ³, much ¹, far ², and deep ³,  
Held ¹, pierced ², possessed ³, my judgement ¹, sense ², and will ³,  
Till wrong ¹, contempt ², deceit ³, did grow ¹, steal ², creep ³,  
Bands ¹, favour ², faith ³, to break ¹, defile ², and kill 3.   

Then grief ¹, unkindness ², proof ³, took ¹, kindled ², taught ³,  
Well ¹ grounded, noble ², due ³, spite ¹, rage's ², disdain ³,  
But ¹ ah ², alas ³! (In vain) my mind ¹, sighed ², thought ³,  
Doth him ¹, his face ², his words ³, leave ¹, shun ², refrain ³,  
For no thing ¹, time ², nor place ³, can lose ¹, quench ², ease ³,  
Mine own ¹, embraced ², sought ³, knot ¹, fire ², disease 3.   
The force of love to those poor folk that feel it, is many ways very strange, but no way stranger, then that it doth so enchain the lovers judgement upon her that holds the rains of his mind, that what soever she doth is ever in his eyes best. And that best, being by the continual motion of our changing life, turned by her to any other thing, that thing again becometh best. So that nature in each kind suffering but one superlative, the lover only admits no positive. If she sit still, that is best, for so is the conspiracy of her several graces held best together to make one perfect figure of beauty. If she walk, no doubt that is best, for besides the making happy the more places by her steps, the very stirring adds a pleasing life to her native perfections. If she be silent, that without comparison is best, since by that means the untroubled eye, most freely may devour the sweetness of his object. But if she speak, he will take it upon his death that is best, the quintessence of each word, being distilled down into his affected soul. Example of this was well to be seen in the given over Pyrocles, who with panting breath, and sometime sighs, not such as sorrow restraining the inward parts doth make them glad to deliver, but such as the impatience of delay, with the unsurety of never so sure hope, is wont to breath out now being at the door, of the one side, hearing her voice, which he thought if the Philosophers said true of the heavenly seven sphered harmony, was by her not only represented, but far surmounted, and of the other having his eyes overfilled with her beauty, (for the King at his parting had left the chamber open, and she at that time lay, as the heat of that country did well suffer, upon the top of her bed, having her beauties eclipsed with nothing but with a fair smock, wrought all in flames of ash-coullour silk and gold, lying so upon her right side, that the left thigh down to the foot, yielded his delightful proportion to the full view which was seen by the help of a rich lamp, which thorough the curtains a little drawn cast forth a light upon her, as the moon doth when it shines into a thin wood) Pyrocles I say was stopped with the violence of so many darts, cast by Cupid altogether upon him, that quite forgetting himself, and thinking therein already he was in the best degree of felicity, he would have lost much of his time, and with too much love omitted the enterprise undertaken for his love, had not Philoclea's pitiful accusing of him forced him to bring his spirits again, to a new bias, for she laying her hand under her fair cheek, upon which there did privily tickle the sweet drops of her delightful though sorrowful tears, made these words wait upon her moanful song. And hath that cruel Pyrocles said she, deserved thus much of me, that I should for his sake lift up my voice in my best tunes, and to him continually, with pouring out my plaint, make a disdained oblation? Shall my soul still do this honour to his unmerciful tyranny, by my lamenting his loss, to show his worthiness and my weakness? He hears thee not simple Philoclea, he hears thee not; and if he did, some hearts grow the harder, the more they find their advantage. Alas what a miserable constitution of mind have I! I disdain my fortune, and yet reverence him that disdains me. I accuse his ungratefulness, and have his virtue in admiration. O ye deaf heavens, I would either his injury could blot out mine affection, or my affection could forget his injury. With that giving a pitiful but sweet shriche, she took again the lute, and began to sing this sonnet which might serve as an explaining to the other: 

THe love which is imprinted in my soul  
With beauty's seal, and virtue fair disguised,  
With inward cries puts up a bitter role  
Of huge complaints, that now it is despised.   

Thus thus the more I love, the wrong the more  
Monstrous appears, long truth received late,  
Wrong stirs remorsed grief, griefs deadly sore  
Unkindness breeds, unkindness fostreth hath.   

But ah the more I hate, the more I think  
Whom I do hate, the more I think on him,  
The more his matchless gifts do deeply sink  
Into my breast, and loves renewed swim.  
What medicine then, can such disease remove  
Where love draws hate, and hate engendereth love?    
But Pyrocles that had heard his name accused, & condemned by the mouth which of all the world, and more than all the world, he most loved: had then cause enough to call his mind to his home, and with the most haste he could (for true love fears the accident of an instant) to match the excusing of his fault, with declaration of his errand thither. And therefore blown up & down with as many contrary passions, as AEolus sent out winds upon the trojan relics, guided upon the sea by the valiant AEneas, he went into her chamber with such a pace as reverent fear doth teach, where kneeling down, and having prepared a long discourse for her, his eyes were so filled with her sight that as if they would have rob all their fellows of their services, both his heart fainted, and his tongue failed in such sort, that he could not bring forth one word, but referred her understanding to his eyes language. But she in extremity amazed to see him there, at so undue a season, & ashamed that her beautiful body made so naked a prospect, drawing in her delicate limbs into the weak guard of the bed, and presenting in her face to him such a kind of pitiful anger, as might show, this was only a fault, therefore because she had a former grudge unto him, turning away her face from him she thus said unto him: O Zelmane or Pyrocles, (for whether name I use it much skills not, by the one I was first deceived, & by the other now betrayed) what strange motion is the guide of thy cruel mind hither? Dost thou not think the day torments thou hast given me sufficient, but that thou dost envy me the nights quiet? Wilt thou give my sorrows no truce, but by making me see before mine eyes how much I have lost, offer me due cause of confirming my plaint? Or is thy heart so full of rancour, that thou dost desire to feed thine eyes with the wretched spectacle of thine overthrown enemy, and so to satisfy the full measure of thy undeserved rage, with the receiving into thy sight the unrelevable ruins of my desolate life? O Pyrocles, Pyrocles for thine own virtues sake, let miseries be no music unto thee, & be content to take to thyself some colour of excuse, that thou diddest not know to what extremity thy inconstancy, or rather falsehood hath brought me. Pyrocles to whom every syllable she pronounced, was a thunderboult to his heart, equally distraught betwixt amazement & sorrow, abashed to see such a stop of his desires, grieved with her pain, but tormented to find himself the author of it, with quaking lips, & pale cheer, alas divine Lady said he, your displeasure is so contrary to my desert, & your words so far beyond all expectations, that I have least ability now I have most need, to speak in the cause upon which my life dependeth. For my troth is so undoubtedly constant unto you, my heart is so assured a witness to itself, of his unspotted faith, that having no one thing in me, whereout any such sacrilege might arise, I have likewise nothing in so direct a thing to say for myself, but sincere & vehement protestations, for in truth, there may most words be spent, where there is some probability, to breed of both sides coniectural allegations. But so perfect a thing as my love is of you, as it suffers no question, so it seems to receive injury by addition of any words unto it. If my soul could have been polluted with treachery, it would likewise have provided for itself, due furniture of coullourable answers, but as it should upon the naked conscience of his untouched duty, so I must confess it is altogether unarmed against so unjust a violence as you lay upon me, alas! let not the pains I have taken to serve you, be now accounted injurious unto you, let not the dangerous cunning I have used to pleasure you be deemed a treason against you, since I have deceived them whom you fear for your sake, do not you destroy me for their sake what can I without you further do? Or to what more forwardness can any counsel bring our desired happiness? I have provided whatsoever is needful for our going, I have rid them both out of the lodge, so that there is none here to be hinderers or knowers of our departure, but only the almighty powers, whom I invoke as triers of mine innocency and witnesses of my well meaning. And if ever my thoughts did receive so much as a fainting in their affections: if they have not continually with more and more ardour, from time to time pursued the possession of your sweetest favour; if ever in that possession they received either spot, or falsehood: Then let their most horrible plagues fall upon me, let mine eyes be deprived of the light which did abase the heavenly beams that strake them, let my falsified tongue serve to no use but to be more mine own wretchedness, let my heart empoisoned with detestable treason, be the seat of infernal sorrow, let my soul with the endless anguish of his conscience become his own tormentor. O false mankind cried out the sweet Philoclea. How can an impostumed heart, but yield forth evil matter by his mouth? Are oaths there to be believed, where vows are broken? No no, who doth wound the eternal justice of the Gods, cares little for abusing their names: and who in doing wickedly doth not fear due recompensing plagues, doth little fear that invoking of plagues, will make them come ever a whit the sooner. But alas what aileth this new conversation, have you yet another sleight to play, or do you think to deceive me in Pyrocles form, as you have done in Zelmane's? Or rather now you have betrayed me in both, is some third sex left you, into which you can transform yourself to inveigle my simplicity? Enjoy, enjoy the conquest you have already won: and assure yourself you are come to the farthest point of your cunning. For my part unkind Pyrocles, my only defence shallbe belief of nothing, my comfort my faithful innocency, and the punishment I desire of you shallbe your own conscience. Philoclea's hard persevering in this unjust condemnation of him, did so overthrow all the might of Pyrocles mind (who saw that time would not serve to prove by deeds, and that the better words he used, the more they were suspected of deceitful cunning.) That void of all counsel, and deprived of all comfort, finding best deserts punished, and nearest hopes prevented, he did abandon the succour of himself, and suffered grief so to close his heart, that his breath failing him, with a deathful shutting off his eyes he fell down at her bedside, having had time to say no more, but oh whom dost thou kill Philoclea? She that little looked for such an extreme event of her doings, start out of her bed, like Venus rising from her mother the sea, not so much stricken down with amazement, and grief of her fault, as lifted up with the force of love and desire to help, she laid her fair body over his breast, and throwing no other water in his face, but the stream of her tears nor giving him other blows but the kissing of her well-formed mouth, her only cries were these lamentations: O unfortunate suspicion, said she, the very mean to lose that we most suspect to lose. O unkind kindness of mine, which returns an imagined wrong with an effectual injury. O fool to make quarrel my supplication or to use hate as the mediator of love, childish Philoclea, had thou thrown away the jewel wherein all thy pride consisted? Hast thou with too much hast overrun thyself? Then would she renew her kisses: O yet not finding the life return, redouble her plaints in this manner: O divine soul, said she, whose virtue can possess no less than the highest place in heaven, if for mine eternal plague, thou haste utterly left this most sweet mansion, before I follow thee with Thisbe's punishment for my rash unwariness, hear this protestation of mine: That as the wrong I have done thee proceeded of a most sincere, but unresistible affection: so led with this pitiful example it shall end in the mortal hate of myself, and (if it may be) I will make my soul a tomb of thy memory. At that word with anguish of mind and weakness of body increased one by the other, and both augmented by this fearful accident, she had fallen down in a sound: but that Pyrocles than first severing his eye lids, and quickly apprehending her danger, to him more than death, beyond all powers striving to recover the commandment of all his powers, stayed her from falling: and then, lifting the sweet burden of her body in his arms, laid her again in her bed. So that she, but then the Physician, was now become the patient: & he, to whom her weakness had been serviceable, was now enforced to do service to her weakness, which performed by him with that hearty care, which the most careful love on the best loved subject in greatest extremity could employ, prevailed so far, that ere long she was able (though in strength exceedingly dejected) to call home her wandering senses, to yield attention to that her beloved Pyrocles had to deliver. But he lying down on the bed by her, holding her hand in his, with so kind an accusing her of unkindness, as in accusing her he condemned himself, began from point to point to discover unto her all that had passed between his loathed lovers & him. How he had entertained, & by entertaining deceived, both Basilius & Gynoecia: & that with such a kind of deceit, as either might see the cause in the other but neither espy the effect in themselves. That all his favours to them had tended only to make them strangers to this his action: & all his strangeness to her to the final obtaining of her long promised, & now to be performed favour. Which devise seeing it had so well succeeded to the removing all other hindrances, that only her resolution remained for the taking their happy journey, he conjured her by all the love she had ever borne him, she would make no longer delay to partake with him whatsoever honours the noble kingdome of Macedon, & all other Euarchus dominions might yield him, especially since in this enterprise he had now waded so far, as he could not possibly retire himself back, without being overwhelmed with danger & dishonour. He needed not have used further arguments of persuasion: for that only conjuration had so forcibly bound all her spirits, that could her body have seconded her mind, or her mind have strengthened her body, without respect of any worldly thing, but only fear to be again unkind to Pyrocles, she had condescended to go with him. But raising herself a little in her bed, & finding her own unability in any sort to endure the air: My Pyrocles said she (with tearful eyes & a pitiful countenance, such as well witnessed she had no will to deny any thing she had power to perform) if you can convey me hence in such plight as you see me; I am most willing to make my extremest danger a testimony, that I esteem no danger in regard of your virtuous satisfaction. But if she fainted so fast, that she was not able to utter the rest of her conceived speech: which also turned Pyrocles thoughts from expecting further answer, to the necessary care of reviving her, in whose fainting himself was more them overthrown. And that having effected with all the sweet means his wits could devise, though his highest hopes were by this unexpected downfall sunk deeper them any degree of despair: yet lest the appearance of his inward grief might occasion her further discomfort, having racked his face to a more comfortable semblance, he sought some show of reason, to show she had no reason, either for him, or for herself so to be afflicted. Which in the sweet minded Philoclea, whose consideration was limited by his words, and whose conceit pierced no deeper than his outward countenance, wrought within a while such quietness of mind, and that quietness again such repose of body, that sleep by his harbingers weakness, weariness, and watchfulness, had quickly taken up his lodging in all her senses. Then indeed had Pyrocles leisure to sit in judgement on himself, and to hear his reason accuse his rashness, who, without forecast of doubt, without knowledge of his friend, without acquainting Philoclea with his purpose or being made acquainted with her present estate, had fallen headlong into that attempt, the success whereof he had long since set down to himself as the measure of all his other fortunes. But calling to mind how weakly they do that rather find fault with what cannot be amended, then seek to amend wherein they have been faulty: he soon turned him from remembering what might have been done to considering what was now to be done, and when that consideration failed what was now to be expected. Wherein having run over all the thoughts, his reason called to the strictest accounts could bring before him, at length he lighted on this: That as long as Gynoecia bewrayed not the matter (which he thought she would not do, aswell for her own honour and safety, as for the hope she might still have of him, which is loath to die in a lovers heart) all the rest might turn to a pretty merriment, and inflame his lover Basilius, again to cast about for the miss favour. And as naturally the heart stuffed up with woefulness is glad greedily to suck the thinnest air of comfort: so did he, at the first, embrace this conceit as offering great hope, if not assurance of well doing. Till looking more nearly into it, and not able to answer the doubts and difficulties he saw therein more and more arising the night being also far spent, his thoughts even weary of their own burdens, fell to a straying kind of uncertainty: and his mind standing only upon the nature of inward intelligences left his body to give a sleeping respite to his vital spirits, which he, according to the quality of Sorrow, received with greater greediness than ever in his life before. According to the nature of sorrow, I say, which is past cares remedy. For care stirring the brains, and making thin the spirits breaketh rest: but those griefs wherein one is determined there is no preventing, do breed a dull heaviness which easily clothes itself in sleep. So as laid down so near the beauty of the world Philoclea, that their necks were subject each to others chaste embracements, it seemed love had come thither to lay a plot in that picture of death how gladly, if death came, their souls would go together.  

The third Egloges.  
THyrsis not with many painted words nor falsified promises, had won the consent of his beloved Kala, but with a true & simple making her know he loved her not forcing himself beyond his reach to buy her affection, but giving her such pretty presents, as neither could weary him with the giving, nor shame her for the taking. Thus the first Strawberries he could find, were ever in a clean washed dish sent to Kala thus poesies of the spring flowers were wrapped up in a little green silk and dedicated to Kalas breasts, thus sometimes his sweetest Cream, sometimes the best Cakebread his mother made, were reserved for Kalas taste. Neither would he stick to kill a lamb when she would be content to come over the way unto him. But them lo, how the house was swept & rather no fire them any smoke left to trouble her. Then love songs were not dainty, when she would hear them, and as much mannerly silence when she would not: in going to Church great worship to Kala. So that all the parish said, never a maid they knew so well waited on: and when dancing was about the Maypole, no body taken out but she, and he after a leap or two to show her his own activity, would frame all the rest of his dancing, only to grace her. As for her father's sheep, he had no less care of them then his own: so that she might play her as she would, warranted with honest Thyrsis carefulness. But if he spied Kala favoured any one of the flock more than his fellows, then that was cherished: shearing him so (when shorn he must be) as might most become him: but while the will was on, wrapping within it some verses, wherein Thyrsis had a special gift, and making the innocent beast his unweting messenger. Thus constantly continuing, though he were none of the fairest, at length he wan Kalas heart, the honestest wench in all those quarters. And so with consent of both parents (without which nether Thyrsis would ask, nor Kala grant) their marring day was appointed, which because it fell out in this time, I think it shall not be impertinent, to remember a little our shepherds, while the other greater persons, are either sleeping or otherwise troubled. Thyrsis marriage time once known, there needed no inviting of the neighbours in that valley, for so well was Thyrsis beloved, that they were already to do him credit, neither yet came they like Harpies to devour him: but on bought a fat pig, the other a tender kid, the third a great goose: as for cheese, milk, & butter, were the gossip's presents. Thither came of strange shepherds only the melancholy Philisides, for the virtuous Coridon had long since left off all his joyful solemnities. And as for Strephon and Klaius, they had lost their mistress, which put them into such extreme sorrows as they could scarcely abide the light of the day, much less the eyes of men. But of the Arcadian born shepherds, thither came good old Geron, young Histor, though unwilling, and upright Dicus, merry Pass and jolly Nico. As for Damaetas they durst not presume (his pride was such) to invite him: and Dorus they found might not be spared. And there under a bower was made of bows (for Thyrsis house was not able to receive them) every one placed according to his age. The women (for such was the manner of the country) kept together to make good cheer among themselves, from which otherwise a certain painful modesty restrains them, and there might the sadder matrons give good counsel to Kala: who poor soul wept for fear of that she desired. But among the shepherds was all honest liberty, no fear of dangerous tell-tales, who hunt greater prays, nor indeed minds in them to give tell-tales any occasion; but one questioning with another of the manuring his ground, and governing his flock, the highest point they reached to was to talk of the holiness of marriage, to which purpose assoon as their sober dinner was ended, Dycus instead of thanks, sang this song with a clear voice and cheerful countenance.  

LEt mother earth now deck herself in flowers,  
To see her offspring seek a good increase,  
Where justest love doth vanquish Cupid's powers  
And ware of thoughts is swallowed up in peace  
Which never may decrease  
But like the turtells fair  
Live one in two, a well united pair,  
Which that no chance may stain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

O heaven awake show forth thy stately face,  
Let not these slumbering clouds thy beauties hid,  
But with thy cheerful presence help to grace  
The honest Bridegroom, and the bashful Bride,  
Whose loves may ever bide,  
Like to the Elm and Vine,  
With mutual embracements them to twine:  
In which delightful pain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

Ye Muse's all which chaste affects allow,  
And have to Thyrsis showed your secret skill,  
To this chaste love your sacred favours bow,  
And so to him and her your gifts distil,  
That they all vice may kill:  
And like to lilies pure  
May please all eyes, and spotless may endure.  
Where that all bliss may reign,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

Ye Nymphs which in the water's empire have,  
Since Thyrsis music oft doth yield you praise,  
Grant to the thing which we for Thyrsis crave.  
Let one time (but long first) close up their days,  
One grave their bodies seize:  
And like two rivers sweet,  
When they though divers do together meet:  
One stream both streams contain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

Pan, father Pan, the god of silly sheep,  
Whose care is cause that they in number grow,  
Have much more care of them that them do keep,  
Since from these good the others good doth flow,  
And make their issue show  
In number like the heard  
Of younglings, which thyself with love hast reared.  
Or like the drops of rain.  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

Virtue (if not a God) yet Gods chief part,  
Be thou the knot of this their open vow,  
That still he be her head, she be his heart,  
He lean to her, she unto him do bow:  
Each other still allow:  
Like Oak and Mistletoe.  
Her strength from him, his praise from her do grow.  
In which most lovely train,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

But thou foul Cupid sire to lawless lust,  
Be thou far hence with thy empoisoned dart,  
Which though of glittering gold, shall here take rust  
Where simple love, which chasteness doth impart,  
Auoydes thy hurtful art,  
Not needing charming skill,  
Such minds with sweet affections for to fill,  
Which being pure and plain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

All churlish words, shrewd answers, crabbed looks,  
All privatenes, self-seeking, inward spite,  
All waywardness, which nothing kindly brooks,  
All strife for toys, and claiming masters right:  
Be hence aye put to flight,  
All stirring husbands hate  
'Gainst neighbours good for womanish debate  
Be fled as things most vain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

All peacock pride, and fruits of peacocks pride  
Longing to be with loss of substance gay  
With retchlesness what may thy house betide,  
So that you may on higher slippers stay  
For ever hence away:  
Yet let not sluttery,  
The sink of filth, be counted housewifery:  
But keeping wholesome mean,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

But above all away vile jealousy,  
The evil of evils just cause to be unjust,  
(How can he love suspecting treachery?  
How can she love where love cannot win trust?)  
Go snake hid thee in dust,  
Ne dare once show thy face,  
Where open hearts do hold so constant place,  
That they thy sting restrain,  
O Hymen long their coupled joys maintain.   

The earth is decked with flowers, the heavens displayed,  
Muses grant gifts, Nymphs long and joined life,  
Pan store of babes, virtue their thoughts well stayed,  
Cupid's lust gone, and gone is bitter strife,  
Happy man, happy wife.  
No pride shall them oppress,  
Nor yet shall yield to loathsome sluttishness,  
And jealousy is slain:  
For Hymen will their coupled joys maintain.   
Truly Dicus, said Nico, although thou didst not grant me the price the last day, when undoubtedly I won it, yet must I needs say, thou for thy part hast song well and thriftelie. Pas strait desired all the company they would bear witness, that Nico had once in his life spoken wisely; for said he, I will tell it his father, who will be a glad man when he hears such news. Very true, said Nico, but indeed so would not thine in like case, for he would look thou shouldest live but one hour longer, that a discreet word wandered out of thy mouth. And I pray thee (said Pas) gentle Nico, tell me what mischance it was that brought thee to taste so fine a meat? Marry goodman blockhead said Nico, because he speaks against jealousy, the filthy traitor to true affection, and yet disguising itself in the raiment of love. Sentences, Sentences, cried Pas. Alas how ripe witted these young folks be now adays! But well counseled shall that husband be, when this man comes to exhort him not to be jealous. And so shall he, answered Nico, for I have seen a fresh example, though it be not very fit to be known. Come, come, said Pas, be not so squeamish, I know thou longest more to tell it, than we to hear it. But for all his words Nico would not bestow his voice till he was generally entreated of all the rest. And then with a merry marriage look, he sang this following discourse, for with a better grace he could sing then tell.  

A Neighbour mine not long ago there was,  
(But nameless he, for blameless he shall be)  
That married had a trick and bonny lass  
As in a summer day a man might see:  
But he himself a foul unhandsome groom,  
And far unfit to hold so good a room.   

Now whether moved with self unworthiness,  
Or with her beauty fit to make a pray,  
Fell jealousy did so his brain oppress,  
That if he absent were but half a day,  
He guessed the worst (you wots what is the worst)  
And in himself new doubting causes nursed.   

While thus he feared the silly innocent,  
Who yet was good, because she knew none ill,  
Unto his house a jolly shepherd went,  
To whom our prince did bear a great good will,  
Because in wrestling and in pastoral  
He far did pass the rest of Shepherds all.   

And therefore he a courtier was benamed,  
And as a courtier was with cheer received,  
(For they have tongues to make a poor man blamed.  
If he to them his duty misconceaved)  
And for this Courtier should well like his table,  
The goodman bade his wife be serviceable.   

And so she was, and all with good intent,  
But few days past while she good manner used,  
But that her husband thought her service bend  
To such an end as he might be abused.  
Yet like a coward fearing strangers pride,  
He made the simple wench his wrath abide.   

With chumpish looks, hard words, and secret nips,  
Grumbling at her when she his kindness sought,  
Ask her how she tasted Courtiers lips,  
He forced her think that which she never thought.  
In fine he made her guess, there was some sweet  
In that which he so feared that she should meet.   

When once this entered was, in woman's heart,  
And that it had inflamed a new desire,  
There rested then, to play a woman's part,  
Fuel to seek and not to quench the fire:  
But (for his jealous eye she well did find)  
She studied cunning how the same to blind.   

And thus she did. One day to him she came,  
And (though against his will) on him she leaned,  
And out 'gan cry, ah well away for shame,  
If you help not our wedlock will be stained,  
The goodman starting, asked what did her move?  
She sighed and said, the bad guest sought her love.   

He little looking that she should complain  
Of that, whereto he feared she was inclined,  
Bussing her oft, and in his heart full feign,  
He did demand what remedy to find;  
How they might get that guest, from them to wend,  
And yet the prince (that loved him) not offend.   

Husband, quoth she, go to him by and by,  
And tell him you do find I do him love,  
And therefore pray him that of courtesy  
He will absent himself, lest he should move  
A young girls heart, to that were shame for both,  
Whereto you know, his honest heart were loath.   

Thus shall you show that him you do not doubt,  
And as for me (sweet husband) I must bear.  
Glad was the man when he had heard her out,  
And did the same, although with much fear.  
For fear he did, lest he the young man might  
In choler put, with whom he would not fight.   

The Courtly shepherd much aghast at this,  
Not seeing erst such token in the wife,  
Though full of scorn, would not his duty miss,  
Knowing that evil becomes a household strife,  
Did go his way, but sojourned near thereby,  
That yet the ground hereof he might espy.   

The wife thus having settled husband's brain,  
Who would have sworn his spouse Diana was,  
Watched when she a further point might gain,  
Which little time did fitly bring to pass.  
For to the Court her man was called by name,  
Wither he needs must go for fear of blame.   

Three days before that he must sure departed,  
She written had (but in a hand disguised)  
A letter such which might from either part  
Seem to proceed, so well it was devised.  
She sealed it first, than she the sealing brake,  
And to her jealous husband did it take.   

With weeping eyes (her eyes she taught to weep)  
She told him that the Courtier had it sent:  
Alas, quoth she, thus women's shame doth creep.  
The goodman read on both sides the content,  
It title had, Unto my only love,  
Subscription was, Yours most, if you will prove.   

The pistol self, such kind of words it had,  
My sweetest joy, the comfort of my spirit,  
So may thy flocks increase thy dear heart glad,  
So may each thing, even as thou wishest light,  
As thou wilt deign to read and gently reed  
This mourning ink, in which my heart doth bleeds.   

Long have I loved, (alas thou worthy art)  
Long have I loved, (alas love craveth love)  
Long have I loved thyself, alas my heart  
Doth break, now tongue unto thy name doth move,  
And think not that thy answer answer is,  
But that it is my doom of bale or bliss.   

The jealous wretch must now to Court be gone:  
Ne can he fail, for prince hath for him sent:  
Now is the time we may be here alone,  
And give a long desire a sweet content.  
Thus shall you both reward a lover true,  
And cke revenge his wrong suspecting you.   

And this was all, and this the husband read  
With chafe enough, till she him pacified:  
Desiring, that no grief in him he bread  
Now that he had her words so truly tried:  
But that he would, to him the letter show  
That with his fault he might her goodness know.   

That straight was done with many a boisterous threat,  
That to the King, he would his sin declare,  
But now the Courtier 'gan to smell the feat,  
And with some words which showed little care,  
He stayed until the goodman was departed,  
Then gave he him the blow which never smarted.   

Thus may you see, the jealous wretch was made  
The Pander of the thing, he most did fear,  
Take heed therefore, how you ensue that trade,  
Lest the same marks of jealousy you bear.  
For sure, no jealousy can that prevent,  
Whereto two parties once be full content.   
Behold, said Pas, a whole dicker of wit: he hath picked out such a tale with intention to keep a husband from jealousy, which were enough to make a sanctified husband jealous, to see subtleties so much in the feminine gender. But, said he, I will strike Nico dead, with the wise words shall flow out of my gorge. And without further entreaty thus sang.  

WHo doth desire that chaste his wife should be,  
First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve:  
Then such be he, as she his worth may see,  
And one man still credit with her preserve.   

Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind,  
Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right  
Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind,  
Never hard hand, nor ever rains too light.   

As far from want, as far from vain expense,  
(The one doth force, the later doth entice)  
Allow good company, but keep from thence  
All filthy mouth's that glory in their vice.  
This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest  
To virtue, fortune, time & woman's breast.   
Well concluded said Nico, When he hath done all, he leaves the matter to his wives discretion. Now whensoever thou mariest, let her discretion deck thy head with Actaeon's ornament, Pas was so angry with his wish, being in deed towards marriage, that they might perchance have fallen to buffets, but that Dicus desired Philisides (who as a stranger sat among them, revolving in his mind all the tempests of evil fortunes he had passed) that he would do so much grace to the company, as to sing one of his country songs. Philisides knowing it no good manners to besquemish of his coming, having put himself in their company, without further study began to utter that, wherewith his thoughts were then (as always) most busied: and to show what a stranger he was to himself, spoke of himself as of a third person, in this sort.  
THe lad Philisides  
Lay by a rivers side,  
In flowery field a gladder eye to please:  
His pipe was at his foot  
His lambs were him besides,  
A widow turtle near on bared roots  
Sat wailing without boots.  
Each thing both sweet & sad  
Did draw his boiling brain  
To think, & think with pain  
Of Miras beams eclipsed by absence bad.  
And thus, with eyes made dim  
With tears, he said, or sorrow said for him.  
O earth, once answer give,  
So may thy stately grace  
By north, or south still rich adorned live:  
So Mira Long may be  
On thy then blessed face,  
Whose foot doth set a heaven on cursed thee,  
I ask, now answer me.  
If th' author of thy bliss  
Phoebus, that shepherd high  
Do turn from thee his eye,  
Doth not thyself, when he long absent is,  
Like Rogue, all ragged go,  
And pine away with daily wasting woe?  
Tell me you wanton brook,  
So may your sliding race  
Shun lothed-loving banks with cunning crook:  
So in you ever new  
Mira may look her face,  
And make you fair with shadow of her hue:  
So when to pay your due  
To mother sea you come,  
She chide you not for stay,  
Nor beat you for your play,  
Tell me if your diverted springs become  
Absented quite from you,  
Are you not dried? Can you yourselves renew?  
Tell me you flowers fair  
Cowslipp & Columbine,  
So may your Make this wholesome spring-time air  
With you embraced lie,  
And lately thence untwine:  
But with due drops engender children hy:  
So may you never die,  
But pulled by Miras hand  
Dress bosom hers or head,  
Or scatter on her bed,  
Tell me, if husband spring-time leave your land,  
When he from you is sent,  
Whither not you, languished with discontent?  
Tell me my silly pipe,  
So may thee still betid  
A cleanly cloth thy moistness for to wipe.  
So may the cherries red  
Of Miras lips divide  
Their sugared selves to kiss thy happy head:  
So may her ears be led,  
Her ears where Music lives,  
To hear, & not despise  
The liribliring cries,  
Tell, if that breath, which thee thy sounding gives,  
Be absent far from thee,  
Absent alone canst thou then piping be?  
Tell me my Lamb of gold,  
So mayst thou long abide  
The day well fed; the night in faithful fold:  
So grow thy wool of note,  
In time that richly died  
It may be part of Miras petticoat,  
Tell me, if wolves the throat  
Have caught of thy dear dam,  
Or she from thee be staid,  
Or thou from her be strayed,  
Canst thou, poor lamb, become another's lamb?  
Or rather till thou die  
Still for thy Dam with bea-waymenting cry?  
Tell me o Turtle true,  
So may no fortune breed  
To make thee nor thy better-loved rue:  
So may thy blessings swarm  
That Mira may thee feed  
With hand & mouth, with lap & breast keep warm,  
Tell me if greedy arm,  
Do fond take away  
With traitor lime the one,  
The other left alone,  
Tell me poor wretch, parted from wretched prey  
Disdain not you the green,  
Wailing till death eat you not to be seen?  
Earth, brook, flowrs, pipe, lamb, Dove  
Say all, & I with them,  
Absence is death, or worse, to them that love.  
So I unlucky lad  
Whom hills from her do hem,  
What fits me now but tears, & sigh sad?  
O fortune too too bad,  
I rather would my sheep  
Th'ad'st killed with a stroke,  
Burnt Caban lost my cloak,  
When want one hour those eyes which my joys keep.  
Oh! what doth wailing win?  
Speech without end were better not begin.  
My song clime thou the wind  
Which holland sweet now gently sendeth in,  
That on his wings the leavell thou mayst find  
To hit, but Kissing hit  
Her ear's the weights of wit.  
If thou know not for whom thy Master dies,  
These marks shall make thee wise:  
She is the heardesse fair that shines in dark  
And gives her kids no food, but willow's bark.  
This said, at length he ended,  
His oft sigh-broken ditty,  
Then raise, but raise on legs: which faintness bended,  
With skin in sorrow died,  
With face the plot of pity,  
With thoughts which thoughts their own tormentors tried,  
He raze, & straight espied  
His Ram, who to recover  
The Ewe another loved,  
With him proud battle proved.  
He envied such a death in sight of lover,  
And always westward eyeing  
More envied Phoebus for his western flying.  
The whole company would gladly have taken this occasion of requesting Philisides in plainer sort to discover unto them his estate. Which he willing to prevent (as knowing the relation thereof more fit for funerals then the time of a marriage) began to sing this song he had learned before he had ever subjecteth his thoughts to acknowledge no Master, but a Mistress.  

AS I my little flock on Ister bank  
(A little flock; but well my pipe the couth)  
Did piping lead, the Sun already sank  
Beyond our world, and ere I got my both  
Each thing with mantle black the night doth scothe;  
Saving the glow worm, which would courteous be  
Of that small light oft watching shepherds see.   

The welkin had full niggardly enclosed  
In coffer of dim clouds his silver groats,  
Icleped stars; each thing to rest disposed:  
The caves were full, the mountains void of goats:  
The birds eyes closed closed their chirping notes.  
As for the Nightingale woodmusiques' King,  
It August was, he deigned not then to sing.   

Amid my sheep, though I saw nought to fear  
Yet (for I nothing saw) I feared sore;  
Then found I which thing is a charge to bear  
As for my sheep I dradded much more  
Then ever for myself since I was boar.  
I sat me down: for see to go ne could,  
And sang unto my sheep lest stray they should.   

The song I sang old Lanquet bade me taught,  
Lanquet, the shepherd best swift Ister knew,  
For clerkly reed, and hating what is nought,  
For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true:  
With his sweet skill my skilless youth he drew,  
To have a feeling tast of him that sits  
Beyond the heaven, far more beyond your wits.  
He said, the Music best thilk powers pleased  
Was jump concord between our wit and will:  
Where highest notes to godliness are raised,  
And lowest sink not down to jot of ill:  
With old true tales: he wont mine ears to fill,  
How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive,  
Spoiling their flock, or while twixt them they strive.   

He liked me, but pitied lustful youth:  
His good strong staff my slippery years upbore:  
He still hoped well, because he loved truth;  
Till forced to part, with heart and eyes even sore,  
To worthy Coriden he gave me over,  
But thus in oaks true shade recounted he  
Which now in nights deep shade sheep heard of me.   

Such manner time there was (what time I n'ot)  
When all this Earth, this dam or mould of ours  
Was only woned with such as beasts begot:  
Unknown as then were they that builded towers:  
The cattle wild, or tame, in nature's bowers  
Might freely room, or rest, as seemed them:  
Man was not man their dwellings into him.   

The beasts had sure some beastly policy:  
For nothing can endure where order n'is.  
For once the Lion by the Lamb did lie;  
The fearful Hind the Leopard did kiss:  
Hurtless was tigers paw and Serpents hiss.  
This think I well, the beasts with courage clad  
Like Senators a harmless empire had.   

At which whether the others did repine,  
(For envy harbreth most in feeblest hearts)  
Or that they all to changing did incline,  
(As even in beasts their dams leave changing parts)  
The multitude to jove a suit empartes,  
With neighing, blaying, braying, and barking,  
Roaring, and howling for to have a King.   

A King, in language theirs they said they would:  
(For then their language was a perfect speech)  
The birds likewise with chirpes, and puing could  
Cackling, and chattering, that of jove beseech.  
Only the owl still warned them not to seech  
So hastily that which they would repent:  
But saw they would, and he to deserts went.   

jove wisely said (for wisdom wisely says)  
O beasts, take heed what you of me desire.  
Ruler's will think all things made them to please,  
And soon forget the swincke due to their hire,  
But since you will, part of my heavenly fire  
I will you lend; the rest yourselves must give,  
That it both seen and felt may with you live.   

Full glad they were and took the naked spirit,  
Which straight the Earthy clothed in his clay:  
The Lion, heart; the Ounce gave active might;  
The Horse, good shape; the Sparrow, lust to play;  
Nightingale, voice, enticing songs to say.  
Elephant gave a perfect memory:  
And Parot, ready tongue, that to apply.   

The Fox gave craft; the Dog gave flattery;  
Ass, patience; the Mole, a working thought;  
Eagle, high look; Wolf secret cruelty:  
Monkey, sweet breath; the Cow, her fair eyes brought;  
The Ermion, whitest skin, spotted with nought;  
The sheep, mild-seeming face; climbing, the Bear;  
The Stag did give the harm eschewing fear.   

The Hare, her sleights; the Cat, his melancholy;  
Ant, industry; and Connie, skill to build;  
Cranes, order; Storks, to be appearing holy;  
Camaeleon, ease to change; Duck, ease to yield;  
Crocodile, tears, which might be falsely spilled:  
Ape great thing gave, though he did mowing stand,  
The instrument of instruments, the hand.   

Each other beast likewise his present brings:  
And (but they dread their Prince they ought should want)  
They all consented were to give him wings:  
And aye more awe towards him for to plant,  
To their own work this privilege they grant,  
That from thenceforth to all eternity,  
No beast should freely speak, but only he.   

Thus Man was made; thus Man their Lord became:  
Who at the first, wanting, or hiding pride,  
He did to beasts best use his cunning frame;  
With water drink, herbs meat, and naked hide,  
And fellowlike let his dominion slide;  
Not in his sayings saying I, but we:  
As if he meant his lordship common be.   

But when his seat so rooted he had found,  
That they now skilled not, how from him to wend;  
Then 'gan in guiltless earth full many a wound,  
Iron to seek, which 'gainst itself should bend,  
To tear the bowels, that good corn should send.  
But yet the common Dam none did bemoan;  
Because (though hurt) they never heard her groan.   

Then 'gan the factions in the beasts to breed;  
Where helping weaker sort, the nobler beasts,  
(As Tigers, Leopards, Bears, and Lion's seed)  
Disdained with this, in deserts sought their rests;  
Where famine ravin taught their hungry chests,  
That craftily he forced them to do ill,  
Which being done he afterwards would kill.   

For murders done, which never erst was seen,  
By those great beasts, as for the weakers good,  
He chose themselves his guarders for to been,  
'Gainst those of might, of whom in fear they stood,  
As horse and dog, not great, but gentle blood:  
Blithe were the commons cattle of the field,  
though when they saw their foes of greatness killed.   

But they or spent, or made of slender might,  
Then quickly did the meaner cattle find,  
The great beams gone, the house on shoulders light:  
For by and by the horse fair bits did bind:  
The dog was in a collar taught his kind.  
As for the gentle birds like case might rue  
When falcon they, and goshawk saw in mewe.   

Worst fell to smallest birds, and meanest heard,  
Whom now his own, full like his own he used.  
Yet first but wool, or feathers off he teard:  
And when they were well used to be abused,  
For hungry teeth their flesh with teeth he bruised:  
At length for glutton taste he did them kill:  
At last for sport their silly lives did spill.   

But yet o man, rage's not beyond thy need:  
Deem it no glory to swell in tyranny.  
Thou art of blood; joy not to see things bleed:  
Thou fearest death; think they are loath to die.  
A plaint of guiltless hurt doth pierce the sky.  
And you poor beasts, in patience bide your hell,  
Or know your strengths, and then you shall do well.   

Thus did I sing, and pipe eight sullen hours  
To sheep, whom love, not knowledge, made to hear,  
Now fancies fits, now fortunes baleful stowers:  
But then I homewards called my lambkins dear:  
For to my dimmed eyes began t' appear  
The night grown old, her black head waxen grey,  
Sure shepherd's sign, that morn should soon fetch day.   
ACcording to the nature of diverse cares, diverse judgements straight followed: some praising his voice, others his words fit to frame a pastoral stile, others the strangeness of the tale, and scanning what he should mean by it. But old Geron (who had borne him a grudge ever since in one of their Eclogues he had taken him up over-bitterly) took hold of this occasion to make his revenge, and said, He never saw thing worse proportioned, then to bring in a tale of he knew not what beasts at such a sport-meeting, when rather some song of love, or matter for joyful melody was to be brought forth. But, said he, This is the right conceit of young men, who think, than they speak wiseliest, when they cannot understand themselves. But little did the melancholic shepherd regard either his dispraises, or the others praises, who had set the foundation of his honour there; where he was most despised. And therefore he returning again to the train of his desolate pensiveness, Geron invited Histor to answer him in Eclogue-wise; who indeed having been long in love with the fair Kala, and now by Lalus overgone; was grown into a detestation of marriage. But thus it was.  Geron. Histor. Geron. 
In faith, good Histor, long is your delay,  
From holy marriage sweet and surest mean:  
Our foolish lust in honest rules to stay.  
I pray thee do to Lalus sample lean:  
Thou seest, how frisk, and jolly now he is,  
That last day seemed, he could not chew a bean.  
Believe me man, there is no greater bliss,  
Then is the quiet joy of loving wife;  
Which who so wants, half of himself doth miss.  
Friend without change, playfellow without strife,  
Food without fullness, counsel without pride,  
Is this sweet doubling of our single life.  Histor. 
No doubt to whom so good chance did betid,  
As for to find a pasture strawed with gold,  
He were a fool, if there he did not bide.  
Who would not have a Phoenix if he could?  
The humming Wasp, if it had not a sting,  
Before all flies the Wasp accept I would.  
But this bad world, few golden fields doth bring,  
Phoenix but one, of Crows we millions have:  
The Wasp seems gay, but is a cumbrous thing.  
If many Kalaes' our Arcadia's gave,  
Lalus example I would soon ensue,  
And think, I did myself from sorrow save.  
But of such wives we find a slender crew;  
Shrewdness so stirs, pride so puffs up the heart,  
They seldom ponder what to them is due.  
With meager looks, as if they still did smart;  
Puiling, and whimpering, or else scolding flat,  
Make home more pain than following of the cart.  
Either dull silence, or eternal chat;  
Still contrary to what her husband says;  
If he do praise the dog, she likes the cat.  
Austere she is, when he would honest plays;  
And game some then, when he thinks on his sheep;  
She bids him go, and yet from journey stays.  
She war doth ever with his kinsfolk keep,  
And makes them frembed, who friends by nature are,  
Envying shallow toys with malice deep.  
And if forsooth there come some new found ware,  
The little coin his sweeting brows have got,  
Must go for that, if for her lowers he care:  
Or else; Nay faith, mine is the lucklest lot,  
That ever fell to honest woman yet:  
No wife but I hath such a man, God wots.  
Such is their speech, who be of sober wit;  
But who do let their tongues show well their rage,  
Lord, what by-words they speak, what spite they spit?  
The house is made a very loathsome cage,  
Wherein the bird doth never sing but cry;  
With such a will as nothing can assuage.  
dearly the servants do their wages buy,  
Reviled for each small fault, sometimes for none:  
They better live that in a gail do lie.  
Let other fouler spots away be blown;  
For I seek not their shame, but still me thinks,  
A better life it is to lie alone.  Geron. 
Who for each fickle fear from virtue shrinks,  
Shall in his life embrace no worthy thing:  
No mortal man the cup of surety drinks.  
The heavens do not good haps in handfuls bring,  
But let us pike our good from out much bad:  
That still our little world may know his king.  
But certainly so long we may be glad,  
While that we do what nature doth require,  
And for th'event we never ought be sad.  
Man oft is plag'de with air, is burnt with fire,  
In water drowned, in earth his burial is;  
And shall we not therefore their use desire?  
Nature above all things requireth this,  
That we our kind do labour to maintain;  
Which drawne-out line doth hold all human bliss.  
Thy father justly may of thee complain,  
If thou do not repay his deeds for thee,  
In granting unto him a grandsires gain.  
Thy commonwealth may rightly grieved be,  
Which must by this immortal be preserved,  
If thus thou murder thy posterity.  
His very being he hath not deserved,  
Who for a selfe-conceipt will that forbear,  
Whereby that being aye must be conserved.  
And God forbidden, women such cattle were,  
As you paint them: but well in you I find,  
No man doth speak aright, who speaks in fear.  
Who only sees the ill is worse than blind.  
These fifty winters married have I been;  
And yet find no such faults in womankind.  
I have a wife worthy to be a Queen,  
So well she can command, and yet obey;  
In ruling of a house so well she's seen.  
And yet in all this time betwixt us twain,  
We bear our double yoke with such consent,  
That never passed foul word, I dare well say.  
But these be your love-toys, which still are spent  
In lawless games, and love not as you should,  
But with much study learn late to repent.  
How well last day before our Prince you could  
Blind Cupid's works with wonder testify?  
Yet now the root of him abase you would.  
Go to, go to, and Cupid now apply  
To that where thou thy Cupid mayst avow,  
And thou shalt find, in women virtue lie.  
Sweet supple minds which soon to wisdom bow  
Where they by wisdoms rule directed are,  
And are not forced fond thraldom to allow.  
As we to get are framed, so they to spare:  
We made for pain, our pains they made to cherish:  
We care abroad, and they of home have care.  
O Histor, seek within thyself to flourish:  
Thy house by thee must live, or else be gone:  
And than who shall the name of Histor nourish?  
Riches of children pass a Prince's throne;  
Which touch the father's heart with secret joy,  
When without shame he saith, these be mine own.  
Marry therefore; for marriage will destroy  
Those passions which to youthful head do clime,  
Mothers and Nurses of all vain annoy.  
He spoke these words with such affection, as a curious eye might easily have perceived he liked Thyrsis fortune better than he loved his person. But then in deed did all arise, and went to the women, where spending all the day, and good part of the night in dancing, carolling, and wassaling. Lastly, they left Thyrsis, where he long desired to be left, and with many unfeigned thanks returned every man to his home. But some of them having to cross the way of the two Lodges, might see a Lady making doleful lamentations over a body which seemed dead unto them. But me thinks Damaetas cries unto me, if I come not the sooner to comfort him, he will leave off his golden work that hath already cost him so much labour and longing.   
The end of the third Book.   


THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.  
(:)  
THE almighty wisdom evermore delighting to show the world, that by unlikeliest means greatest matters may come to conclusion: that human reason may be the more humbled, and more willingly give place to divine providence: as at the first it brought in Damaetas to play a part in this royal pageant, so having continued him still an actor, now that all things were grown ripe for an end, made his folly the instrument of revealing that, which far greater cunning had sought to conceal. For so it fell out that Damaetas having spent the whole day in breaking up the cumbersome work of the pastor Dorus, and feeling in all his labour no pain so much, as that his hungry hopes received any stay, having with the price of much sweat and weariness gotten up the huge stone, which he thought should have such a golden lining, the good man in the great bed that stone had made, found nothing but these two verses, written upon a broad piece of velume: 
Who hath his hire, hath well his labour placed:  
Earth thou didst seek, and store of earth thou hast.   
What an inward discountenance it was to master Damaetas, to find his hope of wealth turned to poor verses, for which he never cared much, nothing can describe, but either the feeling in one's self the state of such a mind Damaetas had, or at least the bethinking what was Midas fancy, when after the great pride he conceived to be made judge between Gods, he was rewarded with the ornament of an Ass' ears. Yet the deep apprehension he had received of such riches, could not so suddenly lose the colour that had so throughly died his thick brain, but that he turned and tossed the poor bowels of the innocent earth, till the coming on of the night, and the tediousness of his fruitless labour made him content rather to exercise his discontentation at home then there. But forced he was (his horse being otherwise burdened with digging instruments) to return, as he came, most part of the way on foot: with such grudging lamentations as a nobler mind would (but more nobly) make for the loss of his mistress. For so far had he fed his foolish soul with the expectation of that which he reputed felicity, that he no less accounted himself miserable, then if he had fallen from such an estate his fancy had embraced. So then home again went Damaetas, punished in conceit, as in conceit he had erred, till he found himself there from a fancied loss fallen to essential misery. For entering into his house three hours within night, in steed of the lightsome countenance of Pamela, which gave such an inward decking to that lodge, as proudest palaces might have cause to envy it; and of the grateful conversation of Dorus, whose witty behaviour made that loneliness to seem full of good company: in steed of the loud scolding of Miso, and the busy rumbling up and down of Mopsa, which though they were so short, as quite contrary to the others praise-worthines, yet were they far before them in filling of a house: he found nothing but a solitary darkness; which as naturally it breeds a kind of irksome gastfulnes, so it was to him a most present terror, remembering the charge he had left behind, which he well knew imported no less than his life unto him. Therefore lighting a candle, there was no place a mouse could have dwelled in, but that he with quaking diligence sought into. But when he saw he could see nothing of that he most cared for, then became he the right pattern of a wretch dejected with fear: for crying and howling, knocking his head to the wall he began to make pitiful complaints where no body could hear him: and with too much dread he should not recover her, leave all consideration how to recover her. But at length looking like a she goat, when she casts her kid, for very sorrow he took in his own behalf, out of the lodge he went running as hard as he could; having now received the very form of hanging into his consideration. Thus running as a man would gladly have run from himself, it was his foolish fortune to espy, by the glimmering light of the moon did then yield him, one standing aloft among the bows of a fair ash. He that would have asked counsel at that time of a dog, cast up his face, as if his tooth had been drawing: and with much bending his sight perceived it was mistress Mopsa, fitly seated there for wit and dignity: There (I will not say with joy, for how could he taste of joy, whose imagination was fallen from a palace, to a gallows?) But yet with some refreshing of comfort, in hope he should learn better tidings: of her, he began to cry out: O Mopsa my beloved chicken, here am I thine own father Damaetas, never in such a towardness of hanging, if thou canst not help me. But never a word could his eloquence procure of Mopsa, who indeed was there attending for greater matters. This was yet a new burden to poor Damaetas, who thought all the world was conspired against him: and therefore with a silly choler he began another tune. Thou vile Mopsa, said he, now the vengeance of my fatherly curse light overthwart thee, if thou do not straight answer me. But neither blessing nor cursing could prevail Mopsa, who was now great with child, with the expectation of her may-game hopes, and did long to be delivered with the third time being named. Which by and by followed. For Damaetas rubbing his elbow, stamping and whining, seeing neither of these take place, began to throw stones at her, and withal to conjure her by the name of hellish Mopsa. But when he had named her the third time, no chime can more suddenly follow the striking of a Clock, than she, verily thinking it was the God, that used her father's voice, throwing our arms abroad, and not considering she was muffled upon so high a tree, came fluttering down, like a hooded hawk; like enough to have broken her neck, but that the tree full of bows tossed her from one bow to another, and lastly well bruised brought her to receive an unfrindly salutation of the earth. Damaetas, as soon as she was down, came running to her: and finding her so close wrapped, pulled of the scarlet cloak: in good time for her, for with the soreness of the fall, if she had not had breath given her, she had delivered a foolish soul to Pluto. But then Damaetas began a fresh to desire his daughter not to forget the pains he had taken for her in her childhood (which he was sure she could not remember) and to tell him where Pamela was. O good Apollo, said Mopsa, if ever thou diddest bear love to Phaethons' mother, let me have a King to my husband Alas, what speakest thou of Phaethon? Said Damaetas: If by thy circumspect means I find not out Pamela, thy father will be hanged to morrow. It is no matter though he be hanged, answered Mopsa: do but thou make Dorus a King, and let him be my husband, good Apollo: for my courage doth much prick me toward him. Ah Mopsa, cried out Damaetas, where is thy wit? Dost thou not know thy father? How hast thou forgotten thyself? I do not ask wit of thee mine own God, said she: but I see thou wouldst have me remember my father, and indeed forget myself. No, no, a good husband, thou shalt have thy fill of husbands said Damaetas, and do but answer me my question. O I thank thee said Mopsa, withal my heart heartily: but let them be all Kings. Damaetas seeing no other way prevail fell down on his knees, Mopsa Mopsa, said he, do not thus cruelly torment me: I am already wretched enough, alas either help me or tell me thou canst not. She that would not be behind Apollo in courtesy, kneeled down on tother side, I will never leave tormenting thee said Mopsa, until thou hast satisfied my longing, but I will proclaim thee a promise breaker, that even jupiter shall hear it. Now by the fostering thou hast received in this place save my life said Damaetas, now by the fair Ash answered Mopsa, where thou diddest receive so great a good turn, grant post haste to my burning fancy. O where is Pamela said Damaetas? O a lusty husband, said Mopsa; Damaetas that now verily assured himself, his daughter was mad, began utterly to despair of his life, and therefore amazedly catching her in his arms, to see whether he could bring her to herself, he might feel the weight of of a great cudgel light upon his shoulders, and for the first greeting he knew his wife Misos voice, by the calling him ribald villain, & ask him whether she could not serve his turn as well as Charita? For Miso having according to Dorus counsel, gone to Mantinaea, and there harboured herself in an old acquaintance house of hers, as soon as ten of the clock was stricken (where she had remained closely all that while, I think with such an amiable cheer, as when jealous juno sat crosslegged, to hinder the childbirth of her husband's love) with open mouth she went to the Magistrate appointed over such matters, and there with the most scolding invective, her rage rather than eloquence could bring forth, she required his aid to take Damaetas, who had left his duty to the King and his daughter, to commit adultery in the house of Charitas uncle, in the Ondemian street. But neither was the name of Charita remembered, nor any such street known. Yet such was the general mislike all men had of Damaetas unworthy advancement, that every man was glad to make himself a minister of that, which might redound to his shame, and therefore with Panike cries and laughters, there was no suspected place in all the city but was searched for under the title of Damaetas; Miso ever foremost encowraging them withal the shameful blasing of his demeanor, increasing the sport of hunting her husband, with her diligent barking, till at length having already done both him and herself, as much infamous shame, as such a tongue in such an action might perform, in the end not being, able to find a thing that was not, to her mare again she went having neither suspicion nor rage any thing mitigated. But (leaving behind her a sufficient comedy of her tragical fancies) away homeward she came, imputing the not finding her husband, to any chance, rather than to his innocency. For her heart being apt to receive and nourish a bitter thought it had so swallowed up a determinate condemnation, that in the very anatomy of her spirits one should have found nothing but devilish disdain, and hateful jealousy. In this sort grunting out her mischievous spite, she came by the tree, even as Damaetas was making that ill understood intercession, to his foolish Mopsa. As soon as she hard her husband's voice, she verily thought she had her play: and therefore stealing from her mare as softly as she could, she came creeping and halting behind him, even as he thinking his daughters little wits had quite left her great noll; began to take her in his arms; thinking perchance her feeling sense might call her mind parts unto her. But Miso who saw nothing but thorough the coulloure of revengeful anger, established upon the foreiudgement of his trespass, undoubtedly resolving that Mopsa was Charita, Dorus had told her of, mumping out her hoarse chafe, she gave him the wooden salutation you heard of. Damaetas that was not so sensible in any thing as in blows, turned up his blubbered face like a great lout new whipped: Alas thou woman, said he, what hath thy poor husband deserved to have his own ill luck loaden with thy displeasure? Pamela is lost, Pamela is lost. Miso still holding on the course of her former fancy, what tellest thou me naughty varlet of Pamela, dost thou think that doth answer me, for abusing the laws of marriage? Have I brought thee children, have I been a true wife unto thee, to be despised in mine old age? And ever among she would sauce her speeches with such Bastonadoes, that poor Damaetas began now to think, that either a general madding was fallen, or else that all this was but a vision. But as for visions the smart of the cudgel put out of his fancy: and therefore again turning to his wife, not knowing in the world what she meant, Miso said he, hereafter thou mayest examine me, do but now tell me what is become of Pamela. I will first examine this drab said she, and withal let fall her stafe as hard as she could upon Mopsa, still taking her for Charita. But Mopsa that was already angry, thinking that she had hindered her from Apollo, leapt up and caught her by the throat, like to have strangled her, but that Damaetas from a condemned man was feign to become a judge and part this fray, such a picture of a rude discord, where each was out with the other two. And then getting the opportunity of their falling out, to hold himself in surety, who was indeed, the veriest coward of the three, he renewed his earnest demand of them. But it was a sport to see, how the former conceits Dorus had printed in their imaginations, kept still such dominion in them, that Miso though now she found and felt it was her daughter Mopsa, yet did Charita continually pass through her thoughts which she uttered with such crabbed questions to Damaetas, that he not possibly conceiving any part of her doubt, remained astonished, and the astonishment increased her doubt. And as for Mopsa, as first she did assuredly take him to be Apollo and thought her mother's coming did mar the bargain: So now much talking to and fro, had delivered so much light, into the misty mould of her capacity, as to know him to be her father: Yet remained there such footsteps of the foretaken opinion, that she thought verily her father and mother were hasted thither to get the first wish. And therefore to whatsoever they asked of her, she would never answer, but embracing the tree, as if she feared it had been running away, nay says she I will have the first wish for I was here first; which they understood no more, than Damaetas did what Miso meant by Charita: till at length with much urging them, being indeed better able to persuade both, then to meet hand to hand with either, he prevailed so much with them, as to bring them into the lodge to see what loss their negligence had suffered. Then indeed the near neighbourhood they bore to themselves, made them leave other toys, and look into what dangerous plight they were all fallen, assoon as the King should know his daughter's escape. And as for the women they began a fresh to enter into their brawling, whether were in the fault. But Damaetas who did fear that among his other evils, the thunderbolt of that storm would fall upon his shoulders, slippeth away from them, but with so maugre a cheer as might much sooner engender laughter then pity. O true Arcadia would he say (tearing his hair and beard, & sometime for too much woe, making unwieldy somerfaults) how darest thou bear upon thee such a felonious traitor as I am? And you false hearted trees, why would you make no noise, to make her ungracious departure known? Ah Pamela Pamela, how often when I brought thee in fine posies of all coloured flowers wouldst thou clap me on the cheek, and say thou wouldst be on day even with me? Was this thy meaning to bring me to an even pair of gallows? Ah ill taught Dorus that camest hither to learn good manners of me? Did I ever teach thee to make thy master sweat out his heart for nothing, & in the mean time to run away thy mistress? O my dun cow, I did think sun evil was towards me, ever since the last day thou didst run away from me, & held up thy tail so pitifully: did not I see an eagle kil a Cuckoo, which was plain fore token unto me Pamela should be my destruction? O wife Miso (if I durst say it to thy face) why didst thou suspect thy husband, that loveth a piece of cheese better than a woman? And thou little Mopsa that shalt inherit the shame of thy father's death, was it time for thee to climb trees, which should so shortly be my best burial? o that I could live without death, or die before I were aware. O heart why hast thou no hands at commandment to dispatch thee? O hands why want you a heart to kill this villainy? In this sort did he inveigh against every thing, sometimes thinking to have away, while it was yet night: but he that had included all the world within his sheepcote, thought that worse them any death sometime for dread of hanging he meant to hang himself: finding as in deed it is, that fear is far more painful to cowardice, than death to a true courage. But his fingers were nothing nimble in that action; & any thing was let enough thereto, he being a true lover of himself without any rival. But lastly guided by a far greater constellation than his own, he remembered to search the other lodge where it might be Pamela that night had retired herself. So thither with trembling hams he carried himself, but employing his double key which the King for special credit had unworthylie bestowed upon him, he found all the gates so barred, that his key could not prevail, saving only one trapped door which went down into a vault by the seller which as it was unknown of Pyrocles so had he left it unregarded. But Damaetas that ever know the buttery better than any other place, got in that way and pasing softly to Philoclea's chamber, where he thought most likely to find Pamela, the door being left open he entered in, and by the light of the lamp, he might discern on in bed with her: which he although he took to be Pamela, yet thinking no surety enough in a matter touching his neck, he went heard to the bedside of these unfortunate lovers, who at that time being not much before the break of day (whether it were they were so divinely surprised, to bring this whole matter to be destinied conclusion, or that the unresistible force of their sorrows, had overthrown the wakeful use of their senses) were as then possessed, with a mutual sleep) yet not forgetting with viny embracements, to give any eye a perfect model of affection. But Damaetas looking with the lamp in his hand but neither with such a face nor mind) upon these excellent creatures, as Psyche did upon her unknown lover, and giving every way freedom to his fearful eyes, did not only perceive it was Zelmane and therefore much different from the Lady he sought: but that this same Zelmane did more differ from the Zelmane he and others had ever taken her for, wherein the change of her apparel chiefly confirmed his opinion satisfied with that, and not thinking it good to awake the sleeping Lion, he went down again, taking with him Pyrocles sword, (wherewith upon his sleight undersute Pyrocles came only appareled thither) being sure to leave no weapon in the chamber, and so making the door as fast as he could on the outside, hoping with the revealing of this, (as he thought greater fault) to make his own the less, or at least that this injury would so fill the kings head, that he should not have leisure to chastise his negligence (like a fool not considering that the more rage breeds the crueler punishment) he went first into the King's chamber, and not finding him there, he ran down crying with open mouth, the King was betrayed, and that Zelmane did abuse his daughter. The noise he made being a man of no few words joined to the yelping sound of Miso, and his unpleasant enheritrix brought together some number of the shepherds, to whom he without any regard of reserving it for the kings knowledge spattered out the bottom of his stomach, swearing by him he never knew that Zelmane whom they had taken all that while to be a woman, was as arrant a man as himself was, whereof he had seen sufficient signs and tokens; and that he was as close as a butterfly with the Lady Philoclea, the poor men jealous of their Prince's honour, were ready with weapons to have entered the lodge; standing yet in some pause, whether it were not best, first to hear some news from the King himself, when by the sudden coming of other shepherds which with astonished looks ran from one cry to the other their griefs were surcharged, with the evil tidings of the King's death. Turning therefore all their minds and eyes that way, they ran to the Cave where they said he lay dead, the Sun beginning now to send some promise of coming light, making haste I think to be spectator of the following tragedies. For Basilius having passed over the night more happy in contemplation then action, having had his spirits sublimed with the sweet imagination of embracing the most desired Zelmane, doubting lest me caves darkness might deceive him in the days approach, thought it now season to return to his wedlock bed, remembering the promise he had made Zelmane, to observe due orders towards Gynoecia. Therefore departing but not departing without bequeathing by a will of words, sealed with many kisses, a full gift of all his love and life to his misconceaved bedfellow, he went to the mouth of the Cave, there to apparel himself, in which doing the motion of his joy could not be bridled from uttering such like words. Blessed be thou O night said he, that hast with thy sweet wings shrouded me in the vale of bliss it is thou that art the got child of time, the day hath been but an usurper upon thy delightful inheritance, thou invitest all living things to comfortable rest, thou art the stop of strife and the necessary truce of aproching battles. And therewith he sang these verses, to confirm his former praises: 

O Night the ease of care the pledge of pleasure,  
Desires best mean, harnessed of hearts affected,  
The seat of peace, the throne which is erected  
Of human life to be the quiet measure,   

Be victor still of Phoebus' golden treasure:  
Who hath our sight with too much sight infected,  
Whose light is cause we have our lives neglected  
Turning all nature's course to self displeasure.   

These stately stars in their now shining faces,  
With sinless sleep, and silence wisdoms mother,  
Witness his wrong which by thy help is eased:   

Thou art therefore of these our desert places  
The sure refuge, by thee and by no other  
My soul is bliss, sense joyed, and fortune raised.    
And yet farther would his joys needs break forth. O Basilius, said he, the rest of thy time, hath been but a dream unto thee: it is now only thou beginnest to live, now only thou hast entered into the way of blissfulness. Should fancy of marriage keep me from this paradise? Or opinion of I know not what promise bind me from paying the right duties to nature and affection? O who would have thought there could have been such difference betwixt women? Be jealous no more O Gynoecia, but yield to the pre-eminence of more excellent gifts, support thyself with such marble pillars as she doth, deck thy breast with those alabaster bowls that Zelmane doth: then accompanied with such a tittle, perhaps thou mayst recover the possession of my otherwise inclined love. But alas Gynoecia thou canst not show such evidence; therefore thy plea is vain. Gynoecia heard all this he said who had cast about her Zelmane's garment, wherein she came thither, and had followed Basilius to the caves entry; full of inward vexation, betwixt the deadly accusation of her own guiltiness, and the spiteful doubt she had Zelmane had abused her. But because of the one side (finding the King did think her to be Zelmane she had liberty to imagine it might rather be the Kings own unbridled enterprise, which had barred Zelmane, than Zelmane's cunning deceiving of her, and that of the other if she should heddilie seek a violent revenge her own honour might be as much interessed, as Zelmane endangered: she fell to this determination. First with fine handling of the King to settle in him a perfect good opinion of her, and then as she should learn, how things had passed, to take into herself new devised counsel, but this being her first action, having given unlooked for attendance to the King, she heard with what partiality he did prefer her to herself, she saw in him how much fancy doth not only darken reason but beguile sense she found opinion Mistress of the lovers judgement, which serving as a good lesson to her good conceit, she went out to Basilius, setting herself in a grave behaviour and stately silence before him: until he, (who at the first thinking her by so much shadow as he could see to be Zelmane, was beginning his loving ceremonies) did now being helped by the peeping light, wherewith the morning did overcome the night's darkness, know her face and his error, which acknowledging in himself with starting back from her, she thus with a modest bitterness spoke unto him: Alas my Lord, well did your words decipher your mind, and well be those words confirmed with this gesture. Very loathsome must that woman be, from whom a man hath cause to go back; and little better liked is that wife, before whom the husband prefers them he never knew. Alas, hath my faithful observing my part of duty made you think yourself ever a whit the more exempted? Hath that which should claim gratefulness, been a cause of contempt? Is the being the mother of Pamela, become an odious name unto you? If my life hitherto led have not avoided suspicion? If my violated truth to you be deserving of any punishment, I refuse not to be chastised with the most cruel torment of your displeasure, I refuse not misery, purchased by mine own merit. Hard I must needs say, (although till now I never thought I should have had cause to say) is the destiny of womankind, the trial of whose virtue must stand upon the loving of them, that employ all their industry not to be beloved. If Zelmane's young years had not had so much gravity hidden under a youthful face, as your grey hears have been but the visar of unfitting youthfulness, your vicious mind had brought some fruits of repentance, and Gynaecia might then have been with much more right so basely despised.  
Basilius that was more ashamed to see himself so overtaken, than Vulcan was, when with much cunning he proved himself a Cuckold, began to make certain extravagant excuses: but the matter in itself hardly brooking any purgation, with the suddainnes of the time, which barred any good conjoined invention, made him sometimes allege one thing, to which by and by he would bring in a contrary, one time with flat denial, another time with mitigating the fault, now brave, then humble, use such a stammering defensive, that Gynaecia, the violence of whose sore in deed ran another way, was content thus to fasten up the last stitch of her anger. Well, well my Lord, said she, it shall well become you so to govern yourself, as you may be fit rather to direct me, then to be judged of me; and rather to be a wise master of me, than an unskilful pleader before me. Remember the wrong you have done is not only to me, but to your children, whom you had of me: to your country, when they shall find they are commanded by him, that can not command his own undecent appetites: lastly to yourself, since with these pains you do but build up a house of shame to dwell in: if from those movable goods of nature (wherewith, in my first youth my royal parents bestowed me upon you) bearing you children, and increase of years have withdrawn me, consider I pray you, that as you are cause of the one, so in the other, time hath not left to work his never-failing effects in you. Truly, truly Sir, very untimely are these fires in you: it is time for us both to let reason enjoy his due sovereignty. Let us not plant anew those weeds, which by nature's course are content to fade.  
Basilius that would rather than his life the matter had been ended, the best rhetoric he had, was flat demanding pardon of her, swearing it was the very force of Apollo's destiny which had carried him thus from his own bias; but that now like as far travelers were taught to love their own country, he had such a lesson without book, of affection unto her, as he would repay the debt of this error with the interest of a great deal more true honour then ever before he had done her: neither am I to give pardon to you my Lord, said she, nor you to bear honour to me. I have taken this boldness for the unfeigned love I own unto you, to deliver my sorrow unto you; much more for the care I have of your well doing, then for any other self fancy. For well I know that by your good estate my life is maintained, neither, if I would, can I separate myself from your fortune. For my part therefore I claim nothing but that which may be safest for yourself; my life, will, honour, and what soever else, shall be but a shadow of that body. How much Basilius own shame had found him culpable, and had already even in soul read his own condemnation, so much did this unexpected mildness of Gynaecia captive his heart unto her, which otherwise perchance would have grown to a desperate carelessness. Therefore embracing her, and confessing that her virtue shined in his vice, he did even with a true resolved mind vow unto her, that as long as he unworthy of her did live, she should be the furthest and only limit of his affection. He thanked the destinies, that had wrought her honour out of his shame, and that had made his own striving to go amiss, to be the best mean ever after to hold him in the right path. Thus reconciled to Basilius great contentation, who began something to mark himself in his own do, his hard hap guided his eye to the cup of gold, wherein Gynaecia had put the lickourment for Zelmane, and having failed of that guest, was now carrying it home again. But he whom perchance sorrow, perchance some long disaccustomed pains, had made extremely thirsty, took it out of her hands, although she directly told him, both of whom she had it, what the effect of it was, and the little proof she had seen thereof; hiding nothing from him, but that she meant to minister it to another patient. But the Duke whose belly had no ears, and much drought kept from the desiring a taster, finding it not unpleasant to his palate, drank it almost off, leaving very little to cover the cups bottom. But within a while that from his stomach the drink had delivered to his principal veins his noisome vapours, first with a painful stretching, and forced yawning, then with a dark yellowness dying his skin, and a cold deadly sweat principally about his temples, his body by natural course longing to deliver his heavy burden to his earthly dam, wanting force in his knees, which utterly abandoned him, with heavy fall gave some proof whether the operation of that unknown potion tended. For with pang-like groans, and ghastly turning of his eyes, immediately all his limbs stiffened, and his eyes fixed, he having had time to declare his case only in these words. O Gynaecia I die. Have care: of what or how much further he would have spoken, no man can tell. For Gynaecia having well perceived the changing of his colour, and those other evil signs, yet had not looked for such a sudden overthrow, but rather had bethought herself what was best for him, when she suddenly saw the matter come to that period, coming to him, and neither with any cries getting a word of him, nor with any other possible means, able to bring any living action from him, the height of all ugly sorrows did so horrible appear before her amazed mind, that at the first, it did not only distract all power of speech from her, but almost wit to consider, remaining as it were quick buried in a grave of miseries. Her painful memory had straight filled her with the true shapes of all the forepast mischiefs, her reason began to cry out against the filthy rebellion of sinful sense, and to tear itself with anguish, for having made so weak resistance, her conscience a terrible witness of the inward wickedness, still nourishing this debateful fire; her complaint now not having an end to be directed unto something to disburden sorrow, but a necessary downfall of inward wretchedness. She saw the rigour of the laws was like to lay a shameful death upon her, which being for that action undeserved, made it the more insupportable, and yet in depth of her soul most deserved, made it more miserable. At length letting her tongue go as her dolorous thoughts guided it, she thus with lamentable demeanour spoke.  
O bottomless pit of sorrow, in which I cannot contain myself, having the fyrebrands of all furies within me, still falling, and yet by the infiniteness of it never fallen. Neither can I rid myself, being fettered with the everlasting consideration of it. For whether should I recommend the protection of my dishonoured fall? to the earth? it hath no life, and waits to be increased by the relics of my shamed carcase: to men? who are always cruel in their neighbours faults, and make others overthrow become the badge of their ill masked virtue? to the heavens? o unspeakable torment of conscience, which dare not look unto them. No sin can enter there, oh there is no receipt for polluted minds. Whether then wilt thou lead this captive of thine, o snaky despair? Alas, alas, was this the free-holding power that accursed poison hath granted unto me, that to be held the surer it should deprive life? was this the folding in mine arms promised, that I should fold nothing but a dead body? O mother of mine, what a deathful suck have you given me? O Philoclea, Philoclea, well hath my mother revenged upon me my unmotherly hating of thee. O Zelmane, to whom yet (lest any misery should fail me) remain some sparks of my detestable love, if thou hast (as now alas! now my mind assures me thou hast) deceived me, there is a fair stage prepared for thee, to see the tragical end of thy hated loves. With that word there flowed out two rivers of tears out of her fair eyes, which before were dry, the remembrance of her other mischiefs being dried up in furious fire of self detestation, love only according to the temper of it melting itself into those briny tokens of passion. Then turning her eyes again upon the body, she remembered a dream she had had some nights before, wherein thinking herself called by Zelmane, passing a troublesome passage, she found a dead body which told her there should be her only rest. This no sooner caught hold of her remembrance, then that she determining with herself, it was a direct vision of her foreappoynted end, took a certain resolution to embrace death, assoon as it should be offered unto her, and no way to seek the prolonging of her annoyed life. And therefore kissing the cold face of Basilius; And even so will I rest said she, and join this faulty soul of mine to thee, if so much the angry gods will grant me.  
As she was in this plight, the Sun now climbing over our Horizon, the first Shepherds came by, who seeing the King in that case, and hearing the noise Damaetas made of the Lady Philoclea, ran with the doleful tidings of Basilius death unto him, who presently with all his company came to the caves entry where the King's body lay. Damaetas for his part more glad for the hope he had of his private escape, then sorry for the public loss his Country received for a Prince not to be misliked. But in Gynaecia nature prevailed above judgement; and the shame she conceived to be taken in that order, overcame for that instant the former resolution, so that assoon as she saw the foremost of the pastoral troop, the wretched Princess ran to have hid her face in the next woods, but with such a mind, that she knew not almost herself what she could wish to be the ground of her safety. Damaetas that saw her run away in Zelmane's upper raiment, and judging her to be so, thought certainly all the spirits in hell were come to play a Tragedy in these woods, such strange change he saw every way. The King dead at the caves mouth; the Queen as he thought absent; Pamela fled away with Dorus; his wife and Mopsa in divers franzies. But of all other things Zelmane conquered his capacity, suddenly from a woman grown to a man; and from a locked chamber gotten before him into the fields, which he gave the rest quickly to understand; for in steed of doing any thing as the exigent required, he began to make circles, and all those fantastical defences that he had ever heard were fortifications against Devils. But the other Shepherds who had both better wits, and more faith, forthwith divided themselves, some of them running after Gynoecia, and esteeming her running away, a great condemnation of her own guiltiness; others going to their Prince, to see what service was left for them either in recovery of his life, or honouring his death. They that went after the Queen, had soon overtaken her, in whom now the first fears were stayed, and the resolution to die had repossessed his place in her mind. But when they saw it was the Queen, to whom besides the obedient duty they owed to her state, they had always carried a singular love, for her courteous liberalities, and other wise and virtuous parts, which had filled all that people with affection and admiration. They were all suddenly stopped, beginning to ask pardon for their following her in that sort, and desiring her to be their good Lady, as she had ever been. But the Queen who now thirsted to be rid of herself, whom she hated above all things with such an assured countenance as they have, who already have dispensed with shame, and digested the sorrows of death, she thus said unto them. Continue, continue, my friends: your doing is better than your excusing, the one argues assured faith, the other want of assurance. If you loved your Prince, when he was able and willing to do you much good, which you could not then requite to him; do you now publish your gratefulness, when it shall be seen to the world, there are no hopes left to lead you unto it. Remember, remember you have lost Basilius a Prince to defend you, a Father to care for you, a companion in your joys, a friend in your wants. And if you loved him, show you hate the author of his loss. It is I, faithful Arcadians, that have spoiled the Country of their protector. I, none but I, was the minister of his unnatural end. carry therefore my blood in your hands, to testify your own innocency, neither spare for my titles sake, but consider it was he that so entitled me. And if you think of any benefits by my means, think with it that I was but the instrument and he the spring. What stay ye Shepherds whose great Shepherd is gone? you need not fear a woman, reverence your Lord's murderer, nor have pity of her, who hath not pity of herself. With this she presented her fair neck; some by name, others by signs, desired them to do justice to the world, duty to their good king, honour to themselves, and favour to her. The poor men looked one upon the other, unused to be arbiters in Princes matters, and being now fallen into a great perplexity, betwixt a Prince dead and a Princess alive. But once for them she might have gone whether she would, thinking it a sacrilege to touch her person, when she finding she finding she was not a sufficient orator to persuade her own death by their hands, well, said she, it is but so much more time of misery, for my part I will not give my life so much pleasure from hence forward as to yield to his desire of his own choice of death; since all the rest is taken away, yet let me excel in misery. Lead me therefore whether you will; only happy, because I can not be more wretched. But neither so much would the honest Shepherds do, but rather with many tears bemoaned this increase of their former loss, till she was feign to lead them, with a very strange spectacle, either that a Princess should be in the hands of Shepherds, or a prisoner should direct her gardiens: lastly, before either witness or accuser, a Lady condemn herself to death. But in such moanful march they went towards the other Shepherds, who in the mean time had left nothing unassaied to revive the King, but all was bootless; and their sorrows increased the more they had suffered any hopes vainly to arise. Among other trials they made to know at least the cause of his end, having espied the unhappy cup, they gave the little liquor that was left to a dog of Damaetas, in which within a short time it wrought the like effect; although Damaetas did so much to recover him, that for very love of his life he dashed out his brains. But now all together and having Gynaecia among them, who to make herself the more odious, did continually record to their minds the excess of their loss, they yielded themselves over to all those forms of lamentation that doleful images do imprint in the honest but over tender hearts; especially when they think the rebound of the evil falls to their own smart. Therefore after the ancient greek manner, some of them remembering the nobility of his birth, continued by being like his Ancestors: others his shape, which though not excellent, yet favour and pity drew all things now to the highest point; others his peaceable government, the thing which most pleaseth men resolved to live of their own; others his liberality, which though it cannot light upon all men, yet men naturally hoping it may be, they make it a most amiable virtue. Some calling in question the greatness of his power, which increased the compassion to see the present change, (having a doleful memory how he had tempered it with such familiar courtesy among them, that they did more feel the fruits, then see the pomps of his greatness) all with one consent giving him the sacred titles of good, just, merciful, the father of the people, the life of his Country, they ran about his body, tearing their beards and garments; some sending their cries to heaven, other inventing particular howling music; many vowing to kill themselves at the day of his funerals, generally giving a true testimony, that men are loving creatures when injuries put them not from their natural course: and how easily a thing it is for a Prince by succession, deeply to sink into the souls of his subjects, a more lively monument than Mausolus' Tomb. But as with such hearty lamentation, they dispersed among those woods their resounding shrieks, the Sun the perfectest mark of time, having now gotten up two hours journey in his daily changing Circle, their voice helped with the only answering Echo, came to the ears of the faithful and worthy Gentleman Philanax: who at that time was coming to visit the King, accompanied with divers of the worthy Arcadian Lords, who with him had visited the places adjoining for the more assurance of Basilius solitariness, a thing after the late mutiny he had usually done, and since the Princesses return more diligently continued, which having now likewise performed, thinking it as well his duty to see the King as of good purpose, being so near, to receive his further direction: accompanied as above said he was this morning coming unto him, when these unpleasant voices gave his mind an uncertain presage of his near approaching sorrow. For by and by he saw the body of his dearly esteemed Prince, and heard Gynoecia's lamenting: not such as the turtle-like love is wont to make for the ever oversoone loss of her only loved make, but with curfing of her life, detesting her own wickedness, seeming only therefore not to desire death, because she would not show a love of any thing. The Shepherds, especially Damaetas, knowing him to be the second person in Authority, gave forthwith relation unto him, what they knew and had proved of this dolorous spectacle, besides the other accidents of his children. But he principally touched with his masters loss, lighting from his horse with a heavy cheer, came and kneeled down by him, where finding he could do no more than the Shepherds had for his recovery, the constancy of his mind, surprised before he might call together his best rules, could not refrain such like words. Ah dear master, said he, what change it hath pleased the Almighty justice to work in this place? How soon (not to your loss, who having lived long to nature, and to time longer by your well deserved glory, but longest of all in the eternal mansion you now possess) But how soon I say to our ruin, have you left the frail bark of your estate? O that the words in most faithful duty delivered unto you, when you first entered this solitary course, might have wrought as much persuasion in you, as they sprang from truth in me perchance your servant, Philanax should not now have cause in your loss, to bewail his own overthrow. And therewith taking himself; and in deed evil fitteth it me, said he, to let go my heart to womanish complaints, since my Prince being undoubtedly well, it rather shows love of myself, which makes me bewail mine own loss. No, the true love must be proved in the honour of your memory, and that must be showed with seeking just revenge upon your unjust and unnatural enemies; and far more honourable it will be for your Tomb, to have the blood of your murderers sprinkled upon it, than the tears of your friends. And if your soul look down upon this miserable earth, I doubt not it had much rather your death were accompanied with well deserved punishment of the causers of it, then with the heaping on it more sorrows with the end of them, to whom you vouchsafed your affection, let them lament that have woven the web of lamentation; let their own deaths make them cry out for your death that were the authors of it. Therewith carrying manful sorrow and vindicative resolution in his face, he risen up, so looking on the poor guiltless princess transported with an unjust justice, that his eyes were sufficient heralds for him, to denounce a mortal hatred. She, (whom furies of love, firebrands of her conscience, shame of the world, with the miserable loss of her husband, towards whom now the disdain of herself bred more love; with the remembrance of her vision, wherewith she resolved assuredly the Gods had appointed that shameful end to be her resting place, had set her mind to no other way but to death) used such like speeches to Philanax, as she had before to the Shepherds; willing him not to look upon her as a woman, but a monster; not as a princess, but a traitor to his prince; not as Basilius' wife, but as Basilius' murderer. She told him how the world required at his hands, the just demonstration of his friendship, if he now forgot his Prince, he should show he had never loved but his fortune: like those vermin that suck of the living blood, and leave the body assoon as it is dead, poor Princess needelesly seeking to kindle him, who did most deadly detest her, which he uttered in this bitter answer. Madam said he, you do well to hate yourself, for you cannot hate a worse creature; and though we feel enough your hellish disposition, yet we need not doubt you are of counsel to yourself of much worse than we know. But now fear not, you shall not long be cumbered with being guided by so evil a soul, therefore prepare yourself that if it be possible you may deliver up your spirit so much purer, as you more wash your wickedness with repentance. Then having presently given order for the bringing from Mantinaea, a great number of tents, for the receipt of the principal Arcadians: the manner of that country being, that where the Prince died, there should be orders taken for the country's government, and in the place any murder was committed, the judgement should be given there, before the body was buried, both concurring is this matter, and already great part of the Nobility being arrived, he delivered the Princes to a gentleman of great trust, and as for Damaetas taking from him the keys of both the lodges, calling him the moth of his Prince's estate, and only spot of his judgement, he caused him with his wife and daughter, to be fettered up in as many chains and clogs, as they could bear, and every third hour to be cruelly whipped, till the determinate judgement should be given of all these matters. That done having sent already at his coming, to all the quarters of the country to seek Pamela, although with small hope of overtaking them, he himself went well accompanied to the lodge where the two unfortunate lovers were attending a cruel conclusion, of their long painful, and late most painful affection, Damaetas clownish eyes, having been the only discoverers of Pyrocles stratagem, had no sooner taken a full view of them (which in some sights would rather have bred any thing, than an accusing mind) and locked the door upon these two young folks, now made prisoners for love, as before they had been prisoners to love; But that immediately upon his going down, (whether with noise Damaetas made, or with the creeping in of the light, or rather that as extreme grief had procured his sleep, so extreme care had measured his sleep, giving his senses a very early salüe to come to themselves) Pyrocles awaked; And being up the first evil handsel he had of the ill case wherein he was, was the seeing himself deprived of his sword, from which he had never separated himself in any occasion, and even that night first by the kings bed, and then there had laid it, as he thought safe: putting great part of the trust of his well doing in his own courage so armed. For indeed the confidence in ones self is the chief nurse of magnanimity, which confidence notwithstanding doth not leave the care of necessary furnitures, for it: and therefore of all the Grecians Homer doth ever make Achilles the best armed. But that, as I say, was the first ill token: but by and by he perceived he was a prisoner before any arrest, for the door which he had left open was made so fast of the outside, that for all the force he could employ unto it he could not undo Damaetas doing, then went he to the windows, to see if that way, there were any escape for him and his dear Lady, but as vain he found all his employment there not having might to break out but only one bar, wherein notwithstanding he strained his sinews to the uttermost. And that he rather took out to use for other service, then for any possibility he had to escape, for even then it was, that Damaetas having gathered together the first coming shepherds, did blabber out what he had found in the Lady Philoclea's chamber, Pyrocles markingly hearkened to all that Damaetas said, whose voice and mind, acquaintance had taught him sufficiently to know. But when he assuredly perceived that his being with the Lady Philoclea was fully discovered; & by the folly or malice, or rather malicious folly of Damaetas her honour therein touched in the highest degree; remembering withal the cruelty of the Arcadian laws which without exception did condemn all to death, who were found (as Damaetas reported of them) in act of marriage without solemnity of marriage; assuring himself besides the law, the King & the Queen, would use so much more hate against their daughter, as they had found themselves sotted by him, in the pursuit of their love; last seeing they were not only in the way of death, but fitly encaged for death, looking with a hearty grief upon the honour of love, the fellows Philoclea, (whose innocent soul now enjoying his own goodness did little know the danger of his ever fair then sleeping harbour) his excellent wit strengthened with virtue but guided by love, had soon described to himself a perfect vision of their present condition, wherein having presently cast a resolute reckoning of his own part of the misery, not only the chief but sole burden of his anguish consisted in the unworthy case, which was like to fall upon the best deserving Philoclea. He saw the misfortune not the mismeaning of his work, was like to bring that creature to end, in whom the world as he thought did begin to receive honour he saw the weak judgement of man, would condemn that as death deserving voice in her, which had in troth never broken the bonds of a true living virtue, & how often his eye turned to his attractive adamant: so often did an unspeakable horror strike his noble heart: to consider so unripe years, so faultless a beauty, the mansion of so pure goodness, should have her youth so untimely cut off, her natural perfections unnaturally consumed, her virtue rewarded with shame, sometimes he would accuse himself of negligence, that had not more curiously looked to all the house entries, & yet could he not imagine the way Damaetas was gotten in, & to call back what might have been to a man of wisdom & courage, carries but a vain shadow of discourse sometimes he could not chose but with a dissolution of his inward might lamentably consider with what face he might look upon his (till then) joy Philoclea, when the next light waking should deliver unto her, should perchance be the last of her hurtless life. And that the first time she should bend her excellent eyes upon him, she should see the accursed author of her dreadful end, & even this consideration more than any other, did so set itself in his well disposed mind, that dispersing his thoughts to all the ways that might be of her safety, finding a very small discourse in so narrow limits of time and place, at length in many difficulties he saw none bear any likelihood for her life, but his death. For them he thought it would fall out that when they found his body dead, having no accuser but Damaetas as by his speech he found there was not, it might justly appear that either Philoclea in defending her honour, or else he himself in despair of achieving, had left his carcase proof of his intent but witness of her clearness, having a small while stayed upon the greatness of his resolution and looked to the furthest of it, be it so said the valiant Pyrocles: never life for better cause, nor to better end was bestowed, for if death be to follow this doing, which no death of mine could make me leave undone, who is to die so justly as myself? And if I must die, who can be so fit executioners as mine own hands? Which as they were accessaries to the doing, so in killing me they shall suffer their own punishment. But than arose there a new impediment, for Damaetas having carried away any thing, which he thought might hurt as tender a man as himself, he could find no fit instrument which might give him a final dispatch, at length making the more haste, least his Lady should awake, taking the Iron bar, (which being sharper something at the one end, than the other, he hoped joined to his willing strength, might break of the former thread of mortality, truly said he, fortune thou hast well persevered mine enemy, that wilt grant me no fortune, to be unfortunate, nor let me have an easy passage now I am to troubls thee no more. But said he O bar blessed in that thou hast done service to the chamber of the paragon of life, since thou couldst not help me to make a perfitter escape, yet serve my turn I pray thee, that I may escape from myself, there withal yet once looking to fetch the last repast of his eyes and new again transported with the pitiful case he left her in, kneeling down he thus prayed. O great maker and great ruler of this world, said he, to thee do I sacrifice this blood of mine, and suffer Lord the errors of my youth, to pass away therein, and let not the soul by thee made, and ever bending unto thee, be now rejected of thee, neither be offended that I do abandon this body, to the government of which thou hadst placed me, without thy leave, since how can I know but that thy unsearchable mind is, I should so do, since thou hast taken from me all means longer to abide in it? And since the difference stands but in a short time of dying, thou that hast framed my soul inclined to do good, how can I in this small space of mine, benefit so much all the human kind, as in preserving thy perfitest workmanship, their chiefest honour? O justice itself, howsoever thou determinest of me, let this excellent innocency not be oppressed! Let my life pay her loss, O Lord give me some sign that I may die with this comfort. (And pausing a little as if he had hoped for some token) and when soever to the eternal darkness of the earth she doth follow me, let our spirits possess one place, and let them be more happy in that uniting. With that word striking the bar upon his heart side, withal the force he had, and falling withal upon to give it the thorower passage, the bar in troth was to blunt to do th'effect, although it pierced his skin and bruised his ribs very sore, so that his breath was almost past him. But the noise of his fall, drove away sleep from the quiet senses of the dear Philoclea, whose sweet soul had an early salutation of a deadly spectacle unto her, with so much more astonishment, as the falling a sleep but a little before she had retired herself from the uttermost point of woefulness, and saw now again before her eyes the most cruel enterprise that human nature can undertake without discerning any cause thereof. But the lively print of her affection had soon taught her not to stay long upon diliberation, in so urgent a necessity, therefore getting with speed her weak though well accorded limbs out of her sweetened bed, as when juells are hastily pulled out of some rich coffer, she spared not the nakedness of her tender feet, but I think borne as fast with desire as fear carried Daphne, she came running to Pyrocles, and finding his spirits something troubled with the fall; she put by the bar that lay close to him, and straining him in her most beloved embracement, my comfort, my joy, my life said she, what haste have you to kill your Philoclea with the most cruel torment that ever Lady suffered? Do you not yet persuade yourself that any hurt of yours is a death unto me? And that your death should be my hell? Alas, if any sudden mislike of me (for other cause I see none) have caused you to loathe yourself, if any fault or defect of mine hath bred this terriblest rage in you, rather let me suffer the bitterness of it, for so shall the deserver be punished, mankind preserved from such a ruin, & I for my part shall have that comfort, that I die by the noblest hand that ever drew sword. Pyrocles grieved with his fortune that he had not in one instant cut of all such deliberation, thinking his life only reserved to be bound to be the unhappy news teller: Alas said he, my only Star, why do you this wrong to God, yourself and me, to speak of faults in you, no, no, most faultless, most perfect Lady, it is your excellency that makes me hasten my desired end, it is the right I own to the general nature, that (though against private nature) makes me seek the preservation of all that she hath done in this age, let me, let me die. There is no way to save your life most worthy to be conserved, then that my death be your clearing, then did he with far more pain and backward loathness, than the so near killing himself was (but yet driven with necessity to make her yield, to that he thought was her safety) make her a short but pithy discourse, what he had heard by Damaetas speeches, confirming the rest with a plain demonstration of their imprisonment. And then sought he new means of stopping his breath, but that by Philoclea's labour, above her force, he was stayed to hear her. In whom a man might perceive, what small difference in the working there is, betwixt a simple voidnes of evil, & a judicial habit of virtue. For she, not with an unshaked magnanimity, wherewith Pyrocles weighed & despised death, but with an innocent guiltlessnes, not knowing why she should fear to deliver her unstained soul to God, helped with the true loving of Pyrocles, which made her think no life without him, did almost bring her mind to as quiet attending all accidents, as the unmastred vertu of Pyrocles. Yet having with a pretty paleness (which did leave milken lines, upon her rosy cheeks) paid a little duty to human fear, taking the Prince by the hand, and kissing the wound he had given himself; O the only life of my life, and (if it fall out so) the comfort of my death, said she, far far from you, be the doing me such wrong, as to think I will receive my life as a purchase of your death, but well may you make my death so much more miserable, as it shall any thing be delayed after my only felicity. Do you think I can account of the moment of death, like the unspeakable afflictions my soul should suffer, so oft as I call Pyrocles to my mind, which should be as oft as I breathed? Should these eyes guide my steps, that had seen your murder? should these hands feed me that had not hindered such a mischief? Should this heart remain within me, at every pant to count the continual clock of my miseries? O no, if die we must, let us thank death, he hath not divided so true an union! And truly my Pyrocles, I have heard my father, and other wise men say that the kill one's self is but a false coulloure, of true courage; proceeding rather of fear of a further evil, either of torment or shame. For if it were a not respecting the harm, that would likewise make him not respect what might be done unto him: and hope, being of all other, the most contrary thing to fear: this being an utter banishment of hope, it seems to receive his ground in fear. Whatsoever (would they say) comes out of despair, cannot bear the title of valour, which should be lifted up to such a height, that holding all things under itself, it should be able to maintain his greatness even in the midst of miseries. Lastly they would say, God had appointed us Captains of these our boddylie forts, which without treason to that Majesty, were never to be delivered over till they were redemaunded. Pyrocles, who had that for a law unto him, not to leave Philoclea in any thing unsatisfied, although he still remained in his former purpose, and knew that time would grow short for it, yet hearing no noise (the shepherds being as then run to Basilius) with settled and humbled countenance, as a man that should have spoken of a thing that did not concern himself, bearing even in his eyes sufficient shows, that it was nothing but Philoclea's danger, which did any thing burden his heart, far stronger than fortune, having with vehement embracings of her, got yet some fruit of his delayed end, he thus answered the wise innocency of Philoclea. Lady most worthy not only of life, but to be the very life of all things the more notable demonstrations you make of the love, so far beyond my desert, with which it pleaseth you to overcome fortune, in making me happy; the more am I even in course of humanity (to leave that loves force, which I neither can nor will leave) bound, to seek requitals witness, that I am not ungrateful, to do which the infiniteness of your goodness being such as it cannot reach unto it, yet doing all I can and paying my life, which is all I have, though it be far (without measure) short of your desert, yet shall I not die in debt, to mine own duty. And truly the more excellent arguments you made, to keep me from this passage, imagined far more terrible than it is; the more plainly it makes me see what reason I have, to prevent the loss not only of Arcadia, but all the face of the earth should receive, if such a tree (which even in his first spring, doth not only bear most beautiful blossoms, but most rare fruits) should be so untimely cut off. Therefore, o most truly beloved Lady, to whom I desire for both our goods, that these may be my last words, give me your consent even out of that wisdom which must needs see, that (besides your unmatched betterness, which perchance you will not see) it is fit one diethens thē both. And since you have sufficiently showed you love me, let me claim by that love, you will be content rather to let me die contentedly, then wretchedly: rather with a clear and joyful conscience, then with desperate condemnation in myself, that I accursed villain, should be the mean of banishing from the sight of men the true example of virtue. And because there is nothing left me to be imagined, which I so much desire, as that the memory of Pyrocles, may ever have an allowed place in your wise judgement, I am content to draw so much breath longer, as by answering the sweet objections you alleged, may bequath (as I think) aright conceit unto you, that this my doing is out of judgement, and not sprung of passion. Your father you say, was wont to say, that this like action doth more proceed of fear, of further evil or shame, then of a true courage, Truly first, they put a very guessing case, speaking of them who can ever after come to tell, with what mind they did it. And as for my part, I call the immortal truth to witness, that no fear of torment can appall me: who know it is but diverse manners of appareling death: and have long learned, to set bodily pain but in the second form of my being. And as for shame, how can I be ashamed of that, for which my well meaning conscience will answer for me to God, and your unresistible beauty to the world? But to take that argument in his own force, and grant it done for avoiding of further pain or dishonour, (for as for the name of fear, it is but an odious title of a passion, given to that which true judgement performeth) grant, I say, it is, to shun a worse case, & truly I do not see, but that true fortitude, looking into all human things with a persisting resolution, carried away neither with wonder of pleasing things, nor astonishment of the unpleasant, doth not yet deprive itself, of the discerning the difference of evil, but rather is the only virtue, which with an assured tranquillity shuns the greater by the valiant entering into the less. Thus for his country's safety he will spend his life, for the saving of a limb, he will not niggardly spare his goods; for the saving of all his body, he will not spare the cutting of a limb, where indeed the weak hearted man will rather die, then see the face of a surgeon: who mightwith as good reason say, that the constant man abides the painful surgery, for fear of a further evil: but he is content to wait for death itself, but neither is true; for neither hath the one any fear, but a well choosing judgement; nor the other hath any contentment, but only fear; and not having a heart actively to perform a matter of pain, is forced passively to abide a greater damage. For to do, requires a whole heart; to suffer falleth easeliest in the broken minds. And if in bodily torment thus, much more in shame; wherein since vallure is a virtue, and virtue is ever limited, we must not run so infinitely, as to think the valiant man is willingly to suffer any thing, since the very suffering of some things is a certain proof of want of courage. And if any thing unwillingly among the chiefest may shame go: for if honour be to be held dear, his contrary is to be abhorred, and that not for fear, but of a true election. For which is the less inconvenient, either the loss of some years more or less (for once we know our lives be not immortal) or the submitting ourselves to each unworthy misery, which the foolish world may lay upon us? As for their reason, that fear is contrary to hope, neither do I defend fear, nor much yield to the authority of hope; to either of which great inclining shows but a feeble reason, which must be guided by his servants; and who builds not upon hope, shall fear no earthquake of despair. Their last alleging of the heavenly powers, as it bears the greatest name, so it is the only thing, that at all bred any combat in my mind. And yet I do not see, but that if God hath made us masters of any thing, it is of our own lives; out of which without doing wrong to any body, we are to issue at our own pleasure. And the same Argument would as much prevail to say we should for no necessity lay away from us, any of our joints, since they being made of him, without his warrant we should not departed from them; or if that may be, for a greater cause we may pass to a greater degree. And if we be Lieutenants of God, in this little Castle, do you not think we must take warning of him to give over our charge when he leaves us unprovided, of good means to tarry in it? No certainly do I not answered the sorrowful Philoclea, since it is not for us to appoint that mighty Majesty, what time he will help us: the uttermost instant is scope enough for him, to revoke every thing to one's own desire. And therefore to prejudicate his determination, is but a doubt of goodness in him, who is nothing but goodness. But when in deed he doth either by sickness, or outward force lay death upon us, then are we to take knowledge, that such is his pleasure, and to know that all is well that he doth. That we should be masters of ourselves, we can show at all no title, nor claim; since neither we made ourselves, nor bought ourselves, we can stand upon no other right but his gift, which he must limit as it pleaseth him. Neither is there any proportion, betwixt the loss of any other limb and that, since the one bends to the preserving all, the other to the destruction of all; the one takes not away the mind from the actions for which it is placed in the world, the other cuts off all possibility of his working. And truly my most dear Pyrocles, I must needs protest unto you, that I can not think your defence even in rules of virtue sufficient. Sufficient and excellent it were, if the question were of two outward things, wherein a man might by nature's freedom determine, whether he would prefer shame to pain; present smaller torment, to greater following, or no. But to this (besides the comparison of the matters vallewes) there is added of the one part a direct evil doing, which maketh the balance of that side too much unequal. Since a virtuous man without any respect, whether the grief be less or more, is never to do that which he can not assure himself is allowable before the everliving rightfulness. But rather is to think honours or shames, which stand in other men's true or false judgements, pains or not pains, which yet never approach our souls, to be nothing in regard of an unspotted conscience. And these reasons do I remember, I have heard good men bring in, that since it hath not his ground in an assured virtue, it proceeds rather of some other disguised passion. Pyrocles was not so much persuaded as delighted, by her well conceived and sweetly pronounced speeches; but when she had closed her pitiful discourse, and as it were sealed up her delightful lips, with the moistness of her tears, which followed still one another like a precious rope of pearl, now thinking it high time. Be it as you say (said he most virtuous beauty) in all the rest, but never can God himself persuade me, that Pyrocles life is not well lost, for to preserve the most admirable Philoclea. Let that be if it be possible written on my Tomb, and I will not envy Codrus honour. With that he would again have used the bar, meaning if that failed, to leave his brains upon the wall. When Philoclea now brought to that she most feared, kneeled down unto him, and embracing so his legs, that without hurting her, (which for nothing he would have done) he could not rid himself from her, she did with all the conjuring words, which the authority of love may lay, beseech him, he would not now so cruelly abandon her, he would not leave her comfortless in that misery, to which he had brought her. That then in deed she would even in her soul accuse him, to have most foully betrayed her; that then she should have cause, to curse the time that ever the name of Pyrocles came to her ears, which otherwise no death could make her do. Will you leave me, said she, not only dishonoured as supposed unchaste with you, but as a murderer of you? Will you give mine eyes such a picture of hell, before my near approaching death, as to see the murdered body of him, I love more than all the lives that nature can give? With that she swore by the highest cause of all devotions, that if he did persever in that cruel resolution, she would (though untruly not only confess to her father, that with her consent this act had been committed, but if that would not serve (after she had pulled out her own eyes, made accursed by such a sight) she would give herself so terrible a death, as she might think the pain of it would countervail the never dying pain of her mind. Now therefore kill yourself, to crown this virtuous action with infamy: kill yourself to make me (whom you say you love) as long as I after live, change my loving admiration of you, to a detestable abhorring your name. And so indeed you shall have the end you shoot at, for in steed of one death, you shall give me a thousand, and yet in the mean time, deprive me of the help God may send me. Pyrocles even overwayed with her so wisely uttered affection, finding her determination so fixed, that his end should but deprive them both of a present contentment, and not avoid a coming evil (as a man that ran not unto it, by a sudden qualm of passion, but by a true use of reason, preferring her life to his own) now that wisdom did manifest unto him, that way would not prevail, he retired himself, with as much tranquility from it, as before he had gone unto it. Like a man, that had set the keeping or leaving of the body, as a thing without himself, and so had thereof a freed and untroubled consideration. Therefore throwing away the bar from him, and taking her up from the place, where he thought the consummating of all beauties, very unworthily lay, suffering all his senses to devour up their chiefest food, which he assured himself they should shortly after for ever be deprived of: well, said he, most dear Lady, whose contentment I prefer before mine own, and judgement esteem more than mine own, I yield unto your pleasure. The gods send you have not won your own loss. For my part they are my witnesses, that I think I do more at your commandment, in delaying my death, than another would in bestowing his life. But now, said he, as thus far I have yielded unto you, so grant me in recompense thus much again, that I may find your love in granting, as you have sound your authority in obtaining. My humble suit is, you will say I came in by force into your Chamber, for so am I resolved now to affirm, and that will be the best for us both; but in no case name my name, that whtsoever come of me my house be not dishonoured. Philoclea fearing lest refusal would turn him back again, to his violent refuge, gave him a certain countenance, that might show she did yield to his request, the latter part whereof indeed she meant for his sake to perform. Neither could they spend more words together, for Philanax, with twenty of the noblest personages of Arcadia after him, were come into the Lodge, Philanax making the rest stay below, for the reverence he bore to womanhood, as stillie as he could came to the door, and opening it, drew the eyes of these two doleful lovers upon him. Philoclea cloasing again for modesty sake, within her bed the richesse of her beauties, but Pyrocles took hold of his bar, minding at least to die, before the excellent Philoclea should receive any outrage. But Philanax rested awhile upon himself, stricken with admiration at the goodly shape of Pyrocles, whom before he had never seen, and withal remembering besides others the notable act he had done (when with his courage and eloquence, he had saved Basilius, perchance the whole state from utter ruin) he felt a kind of relenting mind towards him. But when that same thought, came weighted on, with the remembrance of his masters death, which he by all probabilities thought he had been of Council unto with the Queen, compassion turned to hateful passion, and left in Philanax a strange medley, betwixt pity and revenge, betwixt liking and abhorring. O Lord, said he to himself, what wonders doth nature in our time, to set wickedness so beawtifully garnished? and that which is strangest, out of one spring to make wonderful effects both of virtue and vice to issue? Pyrocles seeing him in such a muse, neither knowing the man, nor the cause of his coming, but assuring himself, it was for no good, yet thought best to begin with him in this sort. Gentleman said he, what is the cause of your coming to my Lady Philoclea's chamber? is it to defend her from such violence, as I might go about to offer unto her? if it be so, truly your coming is vain, for her own virtue hath been a sufficient resistance, there needs no strength to be added to so inviolate chastity, the excellency of her mind, makes her body impregnable. Which for mine own part I had soon yielded to confess, with going out of this place (where I found but little comfort being so disdainfully received) had I not been, I know not by whom presently upon my coming hither, so locked into this chamber, that I could never escape hence: where I was fettered in the most guilty shame, that ever man was, seeing what a paradise of unspotted goodness, my filthy thoughts sought to defile. If for that therefore you come, already I assure you, your arrant is performed; but if it be to bring me to any punishment whatsoever, for having undertaken so unexcusable presumption. Truly I bear such an accuser about me of mine own conscience, that I willingly submit myself unto it. Only this much let me demand of you, that you will be a witness unto the King what you hear me say, & oppose yourself, that neither his sudden fury, nor any other occasion may offer any hurt to this Lady; in whom you see nature hath accomplished so much, that I am feign to lay mine own faultiness, as a foil of her purest excellency. I can say no more, but look upon her beauty, remember her blood, consider her years, and judge rightly of her virtues, and I doubt not a gentleman's mind, will then be a sufficient instructor unto you, in this I may term it miserable chance, happened unto her by my unbridled audacity. Philanax was content to hear him out, not for any favour he owed him, but to see whether he would reveal any thing of the original cause, and purpose of the king's death. But finding it so far from that, that he named Basilius unto him, as supposing him alive, thinking it rather cunning than ignorance: Young man, said he, whom I have cause to hate before I have mean to know, you use but a point of skill, by confessing the manifest smaller fault, to be believed hereafter in the denial of the greater. But for that matter, all passeth to one end, and hereafter we shall have leisure by torments to seek the truth, if the love of truth itself will not bring you unto it. As for my Lady Philoclea, if it so fall out as you say, it shall be the more fit for her years, & comely for the great house she is come of, that an ill governed beauty hath not canceled the rules of virtue. But howsoever it be, it is not for you to teach an Arcadian, what reverent duty we own to any of that progeny. But, said he, come you with me without resistance, for the one cannot avail, and the other may procure pity. Pity? said Pyrocles with a bitter smiling, disdained, with so currish an answer: no, no, Arcadian, I can quickly have pity of myself, and I would think my life most miserable, which should be a gift of thine. Only I demand this innocent Lady's security, which until thou hast confirmed unto me by an oath, assure thyself, the first that lays hands upon her, shall leave his life for a testimony of his sacrilege. Philanax with an inward storm, thinking it most manifest they were both, he at least, of counsel with the king's death: well, said he, you speak much to me of the king: I do here swear unto you, by the love I have ever borne him, she shall have no worse, howsoever it fall out, than her own parents. And upon that word of yours I yield, said the poor Pyrocles, deceived by him that meant not to deceive him. Then did Philanax deliver him into the hands of a noble man in the company, every one desirous to have him in his charge, so much did his goodly presence (wherein true valour shined) breed a delightful admiration in all the beholders. Philanax himself stayed with Philoclea, to see whether of her he might learn some disclosing of this former conclusion. But she sweet Lady whom first a kindly shamefastness had separated from Pyrocles, (having been left in a more open view then her modesty would well bear) then the attending her father's coming, and studying how to behave herself towards him for both their safeties, had called her spirits all within her: now that upon a sudden Pyrocles was delivered out of the chamber from her, at the first she was so surprised with the extreme stroke of the woeful sight, that, like those that in their dreams are taken with some ugly vision, they would fain cry for help, but have no force, so remained she awhile quite deprived not only of speech, but almost of any other lively action. But when indeed Pyrocles was quite drawn from her eyes, & that her vital strength begun to return unto her, now not knowing what they did to Pyrocles, but (according to the nature of love) fearing the worst, wring her hands, and letting abundance of tears be the first part of her eloquence, bending her Amber-crowned head over her bed side to the hardhearted Philanax: O Philanax, Philanax, said she, I know how much authority you have with my father: there is no man whose wisdom he so much esteems, nor whose faith so much he reposeth upon. Remember how oft you have promised your service unto me, how oft you have given me occasion to believe that there was no Lady in whose favour you more desired to remain: and, if the remembrance be not unpleasant to your mind, or the rehearsal unfitting for my fortune, remember there was a time when I could deserve it. Now my chance is turned, let not your truth turn. I present myself unto you, the most humble and miserable suppliant living, neither shall my desire be great: I seek for no more life than I shall be found worthy of. If my blood may wash away the dishonour of Arcadia, spare it not, although through me it hath in deed never been dishonoured. My only suit is you will be a mean for me, that while I am suffered to enjoy this life, I may not be separated from him, to whom the Gods have joined me, and that you determine nothing of him more cruelly than you do of me. If you rightly judge of what hath past, wherein the Gods (that should have been of our marriage) are witnesses of our innocencies: then procure, we may live together. But if my father will not so conceive of us, as the fault (if any were) was united, so let the punishment be united also. There was no man that ever loved either his Prince, or any thing pertaining to him with a truer zeal than Philanax did. This made him even to the depth of his heart receive a most vehement grief, to see his master made as it were more miserable after death. And for himself, calling to mind in what sort his life had been preserved by Philoclea, what time taken by Amphialus he was like to suffer a cruel death, there was nothing could have kept him from falling to all tender pity, but the perfect persuasion he had, that all this was joined to the pack of his masters death, which the misconceived speech of marriage made him the more believe. Therefore first muttering to himself such like words: The violence the gentleman spoke of, is now turned to marriage: he alleged Mars, but she speaks of Venus. O unfortunate master. This hath been that fair devil Gynaecia: sent away one of her daughters, prostituted the other, empoisoned thee, to overthrow the diadem of Arcadia. But at length thus unto herself he said: If your father, Madam, were now to speak unto, truly there should no body be found a more ready advocate for you, than myself. For I would suffer this fault, though very great to be blotted out of my mind, by your former led life, your benefit towards myself, and being daughter to such a father. But since among yourselves you have taken him away, in whom was the only power to have mercy, you must now be clothed in your own working: and look for none other, then that which dead pitiless laws may allot unto you. For my part, I loved you for your virtue, but now where is that? I loved you in respect of a private benefit, what is that in comparison of the public loss? I loved you for your father, unhappy folks you have rob the world of him. These words of her father were so little understood by the only well understanding Philoclea, that she desired him to tell her, what he meant to speak in such dark sort unto her of her lord and father, whose displeasure was more dreadful unto her, than her punishment: that she was free in her own conscience, she had never deserved evil of him, no not in this last fact: wherein if it pleased him to proceed with patience, he should find her choice had not been unfortunate. He that saw her words written in the plain table of her fair face, thought it impossible there should therein be contained deceit: and therefore so much the more abashed: Why, said he, Madam, would you have me think, you are not of conspiracy with the Princess Pamela's flight, and your father's death? with that word the sweet Lady gave a pitiful cry, having straight in her face & breast abundance of witnesses, that her heart was far from any such abominable consent. Ah of all sides utterly ruined Philoclea, said she, now in deed I may well suffer all conceit of hope to die in me. Dear father where was I, that might not do you my last service before soon after miserably following you? Philanax perceived the demonstration so lively & true in her, that he easily acquitted her in his heart of that fact, and the more was moved to join with her in most hearty lamentation. But remembering him, that the burden of the state, and punishment of his master's murderers, lay all upon him: Well, said he, Madam, I can do nothing, without all the states of Arcadia: what they will determine of you, I know not, for my part your speeches would much prevail with me, but that I find not how to excuse, your giving over your body to him, that for the last proof of his treason, lent his garments to disguise your miserable mother, in the most vile fact she hath committed. Hard sure it will be to separate your causes, with whom you have so nearly joined yourself. Neither do I desire it, said the sweetly weeping Philoclea: whatsoever you determine of him, do that likewise to me; for I know, from the fountain of virtue nothing but virtue could ever proceed; only as you find him faultless, let him find you favourable, and build not my dishonour upon surmises. Philanax feeling his heart more & more mollifying unto her, renewed the image of his dead master in his fancy, and using that for the spurs of his revengeful choler, went suddenly, without any more speech, from the desolate Lady, to whom now fortune seemed to threaten unripe death, and undeserved shame among her least evils. But Philanax leaving good guard upon the Lodge, went himself to see the order of his other prisoners, whom even then as he issued, he found increased by this unhoped means.  
The noble Pamela having delivered over the burden of her fearful cares to the natural ease of a well refreshing sleep, reposed both mind & body upon the trusted support of her princely shepherd, when with the brayeng cries of a rascal company she was rob of her quiet, so that at one instant she opened her eyes, & the enraged Musidorus risen from her, enraged betwixt the doubt he had what these men would go about, & the spite he conceived against their ill-pleasing presence. But the clowns, having with their hideous noise brought them both to their feet, had soon knowledge what guests they had found, for in deed these were the skummy remnant of those rebels, whose naughty minds could not trust so much to the goodness of their Prince, as to lay their hangworthy necks upon the constancy of his promised pardon. Therefore when the rest (who as sheep had but followed their fellows) so sheepishly had submitted themselves, these only committed their safety to the thickest part of those desert woods, who as they were in the constitution of their minds little better than beasts, so were they apt to degenerate to a beastly kind of life, having now framed their gluttonish stomachs to have for food the wild benefits of nature, the uttermost end they had, being but to draw out (as much as they could) the line of a tedious life. In this sort vagabonding in those untrodden places, they were guided by the everlasting justice, using themselves to be punishers of their faults, and making their own actions the beginning of their chastisements, (unhappily both for him and themselves) to light on Musidorus. Whom as soon as they saw turned towards them, they full well remembered it was he, that accompanied with Basilius, had come to the succour of Zelmane: and had left among some of them bloody tokens of his valour. As for Pamela, they had many times seen her. Thus first stirred up with a rustical revenge against him, and then desire of spoil, to help their miserable wants, but chief thinking it was the way to confirm their own pardon, to bring the Princess back unto her father (whom they were sure he would never have sent so far so slightly accompanied) without any other denouncing of war, set altogether upon the worthy Musidorus. Who being before hand as much inflamed against them, gave them so brave a welcome, that the smart of some made the rest stand further off, crying and prating against him, but like bad curs, rather barking then cloasing; he in the mean time placing his trembling Lady to one of the Pine trees, and so setting himself before her, as might show the cause of his courage grew in himself, but the effect was only employed in her defence. The villains that now had a second proof, how ill words they had for such a sword, turned all the course of their violence into throwing darts and stones, in deed the only way to overmaster the valour of Musidorus. Who finding them some already touch, some fall so near his chiefest life Pamela, that in the end some one or other might hap to do an unsuccourable mischief, setting all his hope in despair, ran out from his Lady among them. Who straight like so many swine, when a hardy mastiff sets upon them, dispersed themselves. But the first he overtook, as he ran away, carrying his head as far before him, as those manner of run are wont to do, with one blow strake it so clean off, that it falling betwixt the hands, and the body falling upon it, it made a show as though the fellow had had great haste to gather up his head again. Another the speed he made to run for the best game, bore him full butt against a tree, so that tumbling back with a bruised face, and a dreadful expectation, Musidorus was straight upon him: and parting with his sword one of his legs from him, left him to make a roaring lamentation that his morter-treading was marred for ever. A third finding his feet too slow, aswell as his hands too weak, suddenly turned back, beginning to open his lips for mercy. But before he had well entered a rudely compiled oration, Musidorus blade was come between his jaws into his throat, and so the poor man rested there for ever with a very evil mouthful of an answer. Musidorus in this furious chafe would have followed some other of these hateful wretches, but that he heard his Lady cry for help, whom three of this villainous crew, had (whiles Musidorus followed their fellows) compassing about some trees, suddenly come upon and surprised, threatening to kill her if she cried, and meaning to convey her out of sight, while the Prince was making his blood-thirsty chase. But she that was resolved, no worse thing could fall unto her, than the being deprived of him, on whom she had established all her comfort, with a pitiful cry fetched his eyes unto her: who then thinking so many weapons thrust into his eyes, as with his eyes he saw bend against her, made all hearty speed to her succour. But one of them wiser than his companions, set his dagger to her Alabaster throat, swearing if he threw not away his sword, he would presently kill her. There was never poor scholar, that having in stead of his book some playing toy about him, did more suddenly cast it from him, at the child-feared presence of a cruel Schoolmaster. Then the valiant Musidorus, discharged himself of his only defence, when he saw it stood upon the instant point of his Lady's life. And holding up his noble hands to so unworthy audience, O Arcadians, it is I that have done, you the wrong, she is your Princess (said he) she never had will to hurt you, and you see she hath no power. Use your choler upon me that have better deserved it, do not yourselves the wrong to do her any hurt, which in no time nor place will ever be forgiven you. They that yet trusted not to his courtesy, bade him stand further off from his sword, which he obediently did. So far was love above all other thoughts in him. Then did they call together the rest of their fellows, who though they were few, yet according to their number possessed many places. And then began these savage Senators to make a consultation, what they should do: some wishing to spoil them of their jewels and let them go on their journey, (for that if they carried them back they were sure they should have least part of their prey) others preferring their old homes to any thing, desired to bring them to Basilius as pledges of their surety: and there wanted not which cried the safest way was to kill them both; to such an unworthy thraldom were these great and excellent personages brought. But the most part resisted to the kill of the Princess, foreseeing their lives would never be safe after such a fact committed: and began to wish rather the spoil then death of Musidorus: when the villain that had his leg cut off, came scrawling towards them, and being helped to them by one of the company, began with a groaning voice, and a disfigured face, to demand the revenge of his blood: which since he had spent with them in their defence, it were no reason he should be suffered by them to die discontented. The only contentment he required was that by their help with his own hands he might put his murderer to some cruel death, he would feign have cried more against Musidorus, but that the much loss of blood helped on with this vehemency, choked up the spirits of his life, leaving him to make betwixt his body and soul an ill favoured partition. But they seeing their fellow in that sort die before their faces, did swell in new mortal rages: All resolved to kill him, but now only considering what manner of terrible death they should invent for him. Thus was a while the agreement of his slaying, broken by the disagreement of the manner of it; & extremity of cruelty grew for a time, to be the stop of cruelty. At length they were resolved, every one to have a piece of him and to become all aswell hangmen as judges: when Pamela tearing her hear, and falling down among them, sometimes with all the sort of humble prayers, mixed with promises of great good turns, (which they knew her state was able to perform) sometimes threatening them, that if they killed him and not her, she would not only revenge it upon them, but upon all their wives and children; bidding them consider that though they might think she was come away in her father's displeasure, yet they might be sure he would ever show himself a father, that the Gods would never if she lived, put her in so base estate, but that she should have ability to plague such as they were returning a fresh to prayers and promises, and mixing the same again with threatenings, brought them (who were now grown colder in their fellows cause, who was past aggravating the matter, with his cries) to determine with themselves there was no way, but either to kill them both or save them both. As for the kill, already they having answered themselves that that was a way to make them citizens of the woods for ever; they did in fine conclude they would return them back again to the King which they did not doubt, would be cause of a great reward, besides their safety from their fore-deserued punishment. Thus having either by fortune, or the force of those two lovers inward working virtue, settled their cruel hearts to this gentler course they took the two horses, and having set upon them their princely prisoners, they returned towards the lodge. The villains having decked all their heads with laurel branches, as thinking they had done a notable act, singing and shouting, ran by them in hope to have brought them the same day again to the King. But the time was so far spent, that they were forced to take up that night's lodging in the midst of the woods. Where while the clowns continued their watch about them, now that the night, according to his dark nature, did add a kind of desolation to the pensive hearts of these two afflicted lovers, Musidorus taking the tender hand of Pamela, & bedewing it with his tears in this sort gave an issue to the swelling of his heart's grief. Most excellent Lady said he; in what case think you am I with myself, how unmerciful judgements do I lay upon my soul, now that I know not what God, hath so reverssed my well meaning enterprise, as in steed of doing you that honour which I hoped (and not without reason hoped) Thessalia should have yielded unto you, am now like to become a wretched instrument of your discomfort? Alas how contrary an end have all the inclinations of my mind taken! my faith falls out a treason unto you, and the true honour I bear you, is the field wherein your dishonour is like to be sown! But I invoke that universal and only wisdom, (which examining the depth of hearts, hath not his judgement fixed upon the event) to bear testimony with me that my desire though in extremest vehemency, yet did not so overcharge my remembrance, but that as far as man's wit might be extended, I sought to prevent althings that might fall to your hurt. But now that all the evil fortunes of evil fortune have crossed my best framed intent, I am most miserable in that, that I cannot only not give you help, but which is worst of all; am barred from giving you counsel. For how should I open my mouth to counsel you in that, wherein by my council you are most undeservedly fallen? The fair and wise Pamela, although full of cares of the unhappy turning of this matter, yet seeing the grief of Musidorus only stirred for her, did so tread down all other motions with the true force of virtue, that she thus answered him, having first kissed him, which before she had never done either love so commanding her, which doubted how long they should enjoy one another; or of a lively spark of nobleness, to descend in most favour to one, when he is lowest in affliction. My dear and ever dear Musidorus said she, a greater wrong, do you to yourself, that will torment you thus with grief, for the fault of fortune. Since a man is bound no further to himself, then to do wisely; chance is only to trouble them, that stand upon chance. But greater is the wrong (at least if any thing that comes from you, may bear the name of wrong) you do unto me, to think me either so childish, as not to perceive your faithful faultlessnes; or perceiving it, so basely disposed, as to let my heart be overthrown, standing upon itself in so unspotted a pureness. Hold for certain most worthy Musidorus, it is yourself I love, which can no more be diminished by these showers of evil hap, than flowers are marred with the timely reins of April. For how can I want comfort that have the true and living comfort of my unblemished virtue? And how can I want honour as long as Musidorus in whom indeed honour is, doth honour me? Nothing bred from myself can discomfort me: & fools opinions I will not reckon as dishonour. Musidorus looking up to the stars, O mind of minds said he, the living power of all things which dost with all these eyes behold our ever varying actions, accept into thy favourable ears this prayer of mine. If I may any longer hold out this dwelling on the earth, which is called a life, grant me ability to deserve at this Lady's hands the grace she hath showed unto me; grant me wisdom to know her wisdom, and goodness so to increase my love of her goodness, that all mine own chosen desires, be to myself but second to her determinations. What soever I be, let it be to her service, let me herein be satisfied, that for such infinite favours of virtue, I have some way wrought her satisfaction. But if my last time approacheth, and that I am no longer to be amongst mortal creatures, make yet my death serve her to some purpose, that hereafter she may not have cause to repent herself that she bestowed so excellent a mind upon Musidorus, Pamela, could not choose, but accord the conceit of their fortune to these passionate prayers, in so much that her constant eyes yielded some tears, which wiping from her fair face with Musidorus hand, speaking softly unto him as if she had feared more any body should be witness of her weakness, then of any thing else she had said, you see said she my Prince and only Lord, what you work in me by your much grieving for me. I pray you think I have no joy but in you, and if you fill that with sorrow what do you leave for me? What is prepared for us we know not; but that with sorrow we cannot prevent it, we know. Now let us turn from these things, and think you how you will have me behave myself towards you in this matter. Musidorus finding the authority of her speech confirmed with direct necessity, the first care came to his mind was of his dear friend and cousin Pyrocles: with whom long before he had concluded what names they should bear, if upon any occasion they were forced to give themselves out for great men, and yet not make themselves fully known. Now fearing lest if the Princes should name him for Musidorus, the fame of their two being together, would discover Pyrocles; holding her hand betwixt his hands a good while together: I did not think most excellent Princess said he, to have made any further request unto you, for having been already to you so unfortunate a suitor, I know not what modesty can bear any further demand. But the estate of on young man whom (next to you, far above myself) I love more than all the world, one worthy of all well being for the notable constitution of the mind, and most unworthy to receive hurt by me, whom he doth in all faith and constancy love, the pity of him only goes beyond all resolution to the contrary. Then did he to the Princess great admiration tell her the whole story as far as he knew of it, and that when they made the grievous disjunction of their long company, they had concluded, Musidorus should entitle himself Paladius, Prince of Iberia, and Pyrocles should be Daiphantus of Lycia.  
Now said Musidorus he keeping a woman's habit is to use no other name than Zelmane, but I that find it best, of the on side for your honour, you went away with a Prince and not with a shepherd: of the other side accounting my death less evil, than the betraying of that sweet friend of mine, will take this mean betwixt both, and using the name of Paladius if the respect of a Prince will stop your father's fury, that will serve aswell as Musidorus until Pyrocles fortune being some way established, I may freely give good proof that the noble country of Thessalia is mine: and if that will not mitigate your father's opinion to me wards (nature I hope working in your excellencies will make him deal well by you) for my part the image of death is nothing fearful unto me: and this good I shall have reaped by it, that I shall leave my most esteemed friend in no danger to be disclosed by me. And besides (since I must confess, I am not without a remorse of his case) my virtuous mother shall not know her sons violent death hid under the fame will go of Paladius. But as long as her years now of good number be counted among the living, she may joy herself with some possibility of my return. Pamela promising him upon no occasion ever to name him, fell into extremity of weeping, as if her eyes had been content to spend all their seeing moistness, now that there was speech of the loss of that, which they held as their chiefest light. So that Musidorus was forced to repair her good counsels, with sweet consolations, which continued betwixt them until it was about midnight, that sleep having stolen into their heavy senses and now absolutely commanding in their vital powers, left them delicately wound on in another's arms quietly to wait for the coming of the morning. Which as soon as she appeared to play her part, laden (as you have heard) with so many well occasioned lamentations. Their lobbish guard (who all night had kept themselves awake, with prating how valiant deeds they had done when they ran away: and how fair a death their fellow had died, who at his last gasp sued to be a hangman) awaked them, and set them upon their horses, to whom the very shining force of excellent virtue, though in a very harrish subject, had wrought a kind of reverence in them; Musidorus as he rid among them, (of whom they had no other hold but of Pamela) thinking it want of a well squared judgement, to leave any mean unassayed of saving their lives, to this purpose spoke to his unseemly guardians, using a plain kind of phrase to make his speech the more credible. My masters said he, there is no man that is wise but hath in what soever he doth some purpose whereto he directs his doings, which so long he follows, till he see that either that purpose is not worth the pains, or that another doing carries with it a better purpose. That you are wise in what you take in hand I have to my cost learned: that makes me desire you to tell me, what is your end in carrying the Princess and me back to her father. Pardon, said one, reward cried another, well said he take both; although I know you are so wise to remember, that hardly they both will go together, being of so contrary a making, for the ground of pardon is an evil, neither any man pardons but remembers an evil done, the cause of reward is the opinion of some good act, and who so rewardeth that, holds the chief place of his fancy. Now one man of one company, to have the same consideration both of good and evil, but that the conceit of pardoning, if it be pardoned, will take away the mind of rewarding, is very hard, if not impossible. For either even in justice will he punish the fault as well as reward the desert, or else in mercy balance the one by the other: so that the not chastising shallbe a sufficient satisfying. Thus than you may see that in your own purpose, rests great uncertainty. But I will grant that by this your deed you shall obtain your double purpose. Yet consider I pray you whether by another mean, that may not better be obtained, & then I doubt not your wisdoms will teach you to take hold of the better. I am sure you know, any body were better have no need of a pardon then enjoy a pardon; for as it carries with it the surety of a preserved life, so bears it a continual note of a deserved death. This therefore (besides the danger you may run into, my Lady Pamela being the undoubted enheritrixe of this state, if she shall hereafter seek to revenge your wrong done her) shall be continually cast in your teeth, as men dead by the law; the honester sort will disdain your company & your children shallbe the more basely reputed of, & you yourselves in every slight fault hereafter, as men once condemned, aptest to be overthrown. Now if you will, (I doubt not you will, for you are wise) turn your course, and guard my Lady Pamela thither ward, whether she was going: first you need not doubt to adventure your fortunes where she goes, and there shall you be assured in a country as good and rich as this, of the same manners and language, to be so far from the conceit of a pardon, as we both shall be forced to acknowledge, we have received by your means what soever we hold dear in this life. And so for reward judge you whether it be not more likely, you shall there receive it where you have done no evil, but singular and undeserved goodness; or here where this service of yours shallbe diminished by your duty, and blemished by your former fault. Yes I protest and swear unto you, by the fair eyes of that Lady, there shall no Gentlemen in all that country be preferred. You shall have riches, ease, pleasure, and that which is best to such worthy minds, you shall not be forced to cry mercy for a good fact. You only of all the Arcadians, shall have the praise in continuing in your late valiant attempt, and not basely be brought under a halter for seeking the liberty of Arcadia. These words in their minds, who did nothing for any love of goodness, but only as their senses presented greater shows of profit, began to make them waver, and some to clap their hands and scratch their heads, and swear it was the best way. Others that would seem wiser than the rest to capitulate what tenements they should have, what subsidies they should pay, others to talk of their wives, in doubt whether it were best to send for them, or to take new where they went, most, (like fools) not reddely thinking what was next to be done, but imagining what cheer they would make when they came there, one or two of the least discourses beginning to turn their faces towards the woods which they had left. But being now come within the plain near to the lodges, unhappily they espied a troop of horsemen. But then their false hearts had quickly for the present fear, forsaken their last hopes, and therefore keeping on the way toward the lodge, with songs of cries and joy, the horsemen who were some of them. Philanax had sent out to the search of Pamela came gallowping unto them; marvelling who they were that in such a general mourning, durst sing joyful tunes, and in so public a ruin were the laurel tokens of victory. And that which seemed strangest, they might see two among them unarmed like prisoners, but riding like captains. But when they came nearer, they perceived the one was a Lady, and the Lady Pamela. Then glad they had by hap found that which they so little hoped to meet withal, taking these clowns (who first resisted them, for the desire they had to be the deliverers of the two excellent prisoners, learning that they were of those rebels, which had made the dangerous uproar, aswell under colour to punish that, as this their last withstanding them, but indeed their principal cause being, because they themselves would have the only praise of their own quest, they suffered not one of them to live. Marry three of the stubbernest of them they left their bodies hanging upon the trees, because their doing might carry the likelier form of judgement. Such an unlooked for end did the life of justice work, for the naughty minded wretches, by subjects to be executed, that would have executed Princes: and to suffer that without law, which by law they had deserved. And thus these young folks twice prisoners, before any due arrest, delivered of their iayloures but not of their jail, had rather change then respite of misery, these soldiers that took them with very few words of entertainment, hasting to carry them to their Lord Philanax: to whom they came, even as he going out of the Lady Philoclea's chamber, had overtaken Pyrocles, whom before he had delivered to the custody of a noble man of that country. When Pyrocles led towards his prison saw his friend Musidorus, with the noble Lady Pamela in that in expected sort returned, his grief, (if any grief were in a mind which had placed every thing according to his natural worth) was very much augmented, for besides some small hope he had, if Musidorus had once been clear of Arcadia, by his dealing and authority to have brought his only gladsome desires to a good issue: The hard estate of his friend did no less nay rather more vex him, than his own. For so indeed it is ever found, where valour and friendship are perfectly coupled in one heart, the reason being, that the resolute man, having once digested in his judgement the worst extremity of his own case, and having either quiet expelled, or at least repelled, all passion, which ordinarily follows an overthrown fortune, not knowing his friends mind so well as his own, nor with what patience he brooks his case, (which is as it were the material cause of making a man happy or unhappy) doubts whether his friend accounts not himself more miserable, and so indeed be more lamentable. But assoon as Musidorus was brought by the soldiers near unto Philanax, Pyrocles not knowing whether ever after he should be suffered to see his friend, and determining there could be no advantage by dissembling a not knowing of him leapt suddenly from their hands that held him, and passing with a strength strengthened with a true affection, thorough them that encompassed Musidorus, he embraced him as fast as he could in his arms. And kissing his cheeks, O my Palladius said he, let not our virtue now abandon us; let us prove our minds are no slaves to fortune, but in adversity can triumph over adversity. Dear Daiphantus answered Musidorus (seeing by his apparel his being a man was revealed) I thank you for this best care of my best part. But fear not, I have kept too long company with you to want now a thorough determination of these things, I well know there is nothing evil but within us, the rest is either natural or accidental. Philanax finding them of so near acquaintance, be gan presently to examine them a part: but such resolution he met within them, that by no such means he could learn further, than it pleased them to deliver. So that he thought best to put them both in one place, with espial of there words and behaviour, that way to sift out the more of these fore passed mischiefs. And for that purpose gave them both unto the nobleman, who before had the custody of Pyrocles, by name Simpathus, leaving a trusty servant of his own to give diligent watch to what might pass betwixt them. No man that hath ever passed thorough the school of affection, needs doubt what a tormenting grief it was to the noble Pamela, to have the company of him taken from her, to whose virtuous company she had bound her life. But weighing with herself, it was fit for her honour, till her doing were clearly manifested, that they should remain separate: kept down the rising tokens of grief; showing passion in nothing but her eyes, which accompanied Musidorus even unto the tent, whether he and Pyrocles were led. Then with a countenance more princely than she was wont, according to the wont of highest hearts (like the Palm tree striving most upward, when he is most burdened) she commanded Philanax to bring her to her father and mother, that she might render them account of her do. Philanax showing a sullen kind of reverence unto her, as a man that honoured her as his, Masters heir, but much misliked her for her, in his conceit, dishonourable proceed, told her what was past, rather to answer her, then that he thought she was ignorant of it. But her good spirit did presently suffer a true compassionate affliction of those hard adventures: which crossing her arms, looking a great while on the ground, with those eyes which let fall many tears, she well declared. But in the end remembering how necessary it was for her, not to lose herself in such an extremity, she strengthened her well created heart, and stoutly demanded Philanax, what authority then they had to lay hands of her person, who being the undoubted heir, was then the lawful Princess of that Kingdom. Philanax answered, her Grace knew the ancient laws of Arcadia bare, she was to have no sway of government till she came to one and twenty years of age, or were married. And married I am replied the wise Princess, therefore I demand your dew allegiance. The gods forbidden said Philanax, Arcadia should be a dowry of such marriages. Besides he told her, all the States of her Country were evil satisfied, touching her Father's death; which likewise according to the Statutes of Arcadia, was even that day to be judged of, before the body were removed, to receive his princely funerals. After that past, she should have such obedience, as by the Laws was due unto her, desiring God she would show herself better in public government, than she had done in private. She would have spoken to the Gentlemen and people gathered about her: but Philanax fearing least thereby some commotion might arise, or at least a hindrance of executing his masters murderers, which he longed after more than any thing, hasted her up to the Lodge, where her Sister was, and there with a chosen company of Soldiers to guard the place, left her with Philoclea, Pamela protesting they laid violent hands of her, and that they entered into rebellious attempts against her. But high time it was for Philanax so to do, for already was all the whole multitude fallen into confused and dangerous divisions.  
There was a notable example, how great dissipations, Monarchal government are subject unto. For now their Prince and guide had left them, they had not experience to rule, and had not whom to obey. Public matters had ever been privately governed, so that they had no lively taste what was good for themselves. But every thing was either vehemently desireful, or extremely terrible. Neighbour's invasions, civil dissension, cruelty of the coming Prince, and whatsoever in common sense carries a dreadful show, was in all men's heads, but in few how to prevent: hearkening on every rumour, suspecting every thing, condemning them whom before they had honoured, making strange and impossible tales of the King's death, while they thought themselves in danger, wishing nothing but safety, assoon as persuasion of safety took them, desiring further benefits, as amendment of forepast faults, (which faults notwithstanding none could tell either the grounds or effects of) all agreeing in the universal names of liking or misliking, but of what in especial points, infinitely disagreeing. Altogether like a falling steeple, the parts whereof, as windows, stones, and pinnacles, were well, but the whole mass ruinous. And this was the general case of all, wherein notwithstanding was an extreme medley of diversified thoughts; the great men looking to make themselves strong by factions, the gentlemen some bending to them, some standing upon themselves, some desirous to overthrow those few which they thought were over them, the soldiers desirous of trouble, as the nurse of spoil, and not much unlike to them, though in another way, were all the needy sort, the rich fearful, the wise careful. This composition of conceits, brought forth a dangerous tumult, which yet would have been more dangerous, but that it had so many parts, that no body well knew against whom chiefly to oppose themselves. For some there were that cried to have the state altered, and governed no more by a Prince; marry in the alteration, many would have the Lacedaemonian government of few chosen Senators; others the Athenian, where the people's voice held the chief authority. But these were rather the discoursing sort of men, than the active, being a matter more in imagination then practise. But they that went nearest to the present case, (as in a country that knew no government, without a Prince) were they that strove, whom they should make. Whereof a great number there were, that would have the Princess Pamela presently to enjoy it: some disdaining that she had as it were abandoned her own Country, inclining more to Philoclea; and there wanted not of them, which wished Gynaecia were delivered, and made Regent till Pamela were worthily married. But great multitudes there were, which having been acquainted with the just government of Philanax, meant to establish him as Lieutenant of the state: and these were the most popular sort, who judged by the commodities they felt. But the principal men in honour and might, who had long before envy his greatness with Basilius, did much more spurn against any such preferment of him. For yet before their envy had some kind of breathing out his rancour, by laying his greatness as a fault to the Prince's judgement, who showed in Damaetas he might easily be deceived in men's value. But now if the Prince's choice, by so many mouths should be confirmed, what could they object to so rightly esteemed an excellency? They therefore were disposed, sooner to yield to any thing, then to his raising: and were content (for to cross Philanax) to stop those actions, which otherwise they could not but think good. Philanax himself, as much hindered by those, that did immoderately honour him, (which brought both more envy, and suspicion upon him) as by them that did manifestly resist him, (but standing only upon a constant desire of justice, and a clear conscience) went forward stoutly in the action of his masters revenge, which he thought himself particularly bound to. For the rest, as the ordering of the government, he accounted himself but as one, wherein notwithstanding he would employ all his loyal endeavour.  
But among the Noble men, he that most openly set himself against him, was named Timantus, a man of middle age, but of extreme ambition, as one that had placed his uttermost good in greatness, thinking small difference by what means he came by it. Of commendable wit, if he had not made it a servant to unbridled desires. Cunning to creep into men's favours, which he prized only as they were serviceable unto him. He had been brought up in some soldiery, which he knew how to set out, with more than deserved ostentation. Servile (though envious) to his betters: and no less tirannycallie minded to them he had advantage of. Counted revengeful, but in deed measuring both revenge and reward, as the party might either help or hurt him. Rather shameless then bold, and yet more bold in practices, then in personal adventures. In sum, a man that could be as evil as he listed, and listed as much, as any advancement might thereby be gotten. As for virtue, he counted it but a school name. He even at the first assembling together, finding the great stroke Philanax carried among the people, thought it his readiest way of ambition, to join with him: which though his pride did hardly brook, yet the other vice carrying with it a more apparent object, prevailed over the weaker, so that with those liberal protestations of friendship, which men that care not for their word are wont to bestow, he offered unto him the choice in marriage, of either the sisters, so he would likewise help him to the other, and make such a partition of the Arcadian estate. Wishing him, that since he loved his master, because he was his master, which showed the love began in himself, he should rather now occasion was presented, seek his own good substantially, then affect the smoke of a glory, by showing an untimely fidelity to him, that could not reward it; and have all the fruit he should get in men's opinions, which would be as divers, as many; few agreeing to yield him due praise of his true heart. But Philanax, who had limited his thoughts in that he esteemed good, (to which he was neither carried by the vain tickling of uncertain fame, nor from which he would be transported by enjoying any thing, whereto the ignorant world gives the excellent name of goods) with great mislike of his offer, he made him so peremtorye an answer, not without threatening, if he found him foster any such fancy, that Timantus went with an inward spite from him, whom before he had never loved; and measuring all men's marches by his own pace, rather thought it some further fetch of Philanax, (as that he would have all to himself alone) then was any way taken with the lovely beauty of his virtue; whose image he had so quite defaced in his own soul, that he had left himself no eyes to behold it, but stayed waiting fit opportunity, to execute his desires both for himself, and against Philanax, which by the bringing back of Pamela, the people being divided into many motions, (which both with murmuring noises, and putting themselves in several troops, they well showed) he thought apt time was laid before him, the waters being, as the proverb saith, troubled, and so the better for his fishing. Therefore going amongst the chiefest Lords, whom he knew principally to repine at Philanax, and making a kind of convocation of them, he inveighed against his proceed, drawing every thing to the most malicious interpretation, that malice itself could instruct him to do. He said, it was season for them to look to such a weed, that else would overgrow them all. It was not now time to consult of the dead, but of the living: since such a sly wolf was entered among them, that could make justice the cloak of tyranny, and love of his late master the destruction of his now being children. Do you not see, said he, how far his corruption hath stretched, that he hath such a number of rascals voices, to declare him Lieutenant, ready to make him Prince, but that he instructs them, matters are not yet ripe for it? As for us, because we are too rich to be bought, he thinks us the fit to be killed. Hath Arcadia bred no man but Philanax? is she become a stepmother to all the rest, and hath given all her blessings to Philanax? Or if there be men amongst us, let us show we disdain to be servants to a servant. Let us make him know, we are far worthier not to be slaves, than he to be a master. Think you he hath made such haste in these matters, to give them over to another man's hand? Think you, he durst become the gaylor of his Princess, but either meaning to be her master, or her murderer? and all this for the dear good will forsooth he bears to the king's memory, whose authority as he abused in his life, so he would now persever to abuse his name, after his death. O notable affection, for the love of the father to kill the wife, and disenherit the children! O single minded modesty to aspire to no less than to the princely Diadem! No, no, he hath vired all this while, but to come the sooner to his affected end. But let us remember what we be, in quality his equals, in number far before him, let us deliver the Queen, and our natural Princesses, and leave them no longer under his authority; whose proceed would rather show, that he himself, had been the murderer of the King, than a fit Gardien of his posterity. These words pierced much into the minds, already inclined that way. Insomuch that most part of the nobility, confirmed Timantus speech, and were ready to execute it: when Philanax came among them, and with a constant but reverent behaviour, desired them they would not exercise private grudges, in so common a necessity. He acknowledged himself a man, and a faulty man, to the cleared or satisfying of which, he would at all times submit himself, since his end was to bring all things to an upright judgement, it should evil fit him to fly the judgement. But said he, my Lords, let not Timantus railing speech (who whatsoever he finds evil in his own soul, can with ease lay it upon another) make me lose your good favour. Consider that all well doing, stands so in the middle betwixt his two contrary evils, that it is a ready matter to cast a slanderous shade upon the most approved virtues. Who hath an evil tongue, can call severity, cruelty, and faithful diligence, diligent ambition. But my end is not to excuse myself, nor to accuse him: for both those, hereafter will be time enough. There is neither of us, whose purging or punishing may so much import to Arcadia. Now I request you, for your own honour's sake, and require you by the duty you own to this estate, that you do presently (according to the laws) take in hand, the chastisement of our masters murderers, and laying order for the government: by whom soever it be done, so it be done, and justly done, I am satisfied. My labour hath been to frame things so, as you might determine: now it is in you to determine. For my part, I call the heavens to witness, the care of my heart stands to repay that, wherein both I, and most of you were tied to that Prince; with whom, all my love of worldly action is dead.  
As Philanax was speaking his last words, there came one running to him, with open mouth, and fearful eyes, telling him, that there were a great number of the people, which were bend to take the young men out of Sympathus hands, and as it should seem by their acclamations, were like enough to proclaim them Princes. Nay, said Philanax (speaking aloud, and looking with a just anger upon the other noble men) it is now season to hear Timantus idle slanders, while strangers become our Lords, and Basilius murderers sit in his throne. But who soever is a true Arcadian, let him follow me. With that he went toward the place he heard of, followed by those that had ever loved him, and some of the noble men. Some other remaining with Timantus, who in the mean time was conspiring by strong hand to deliver Gynaecia, of whom the weakest guard was had. But Philanax where he went, found them all in an uproar, which thus was fallen out. The greatest multitude of people, that were come to the death of Basilius, were the Mantineans, as being the nearest City to the lodges. Among these, the chief man both in authority and love was Kalander, he that not long before had been host to the two Princes, whom though he knew not so much as by name, yet besides the obligation he stood bound to them in, for preserving the lives of his son or nephew, their noble behaviour had bred such love in his heart towards them, as both with tears he parted from them, when they left him (under promise to return) and did keep their jewels and apparel as the relics of two demi gods. Among others, he had entered the prison, and seen them, which forthwith so invested his soul, both with sorrow and desire to help them (whom he tendered as his children) that calling his neighbours the Mantineans unto him, he told them, all the praises of those two young men, swearing he thought the gods had provided for them better, than they themselves could have imagined. He willed them to consider, that when all was done, Basilius' children must enjoy the state; who since they had chosen, and chosen so as all the world could not mend their choice, why should they resist Gods doing, and their Princess' pleasure? This was the only way to purchase quietness without blood, where otherwise they should at one instant, crown Pamela with a Crown of gold, and a dishonoured title. Which whether ever she would forget, he thought it fit for them to way: such said he, heroical greatness shines in their eyes, such an extraordinary majesty in all their actions, as surely either fortune by parentage, or nature in creation, hath made them Princes. And yet a state already we have, we need but a man, who since he is presented unto you by the heavenly providence, embraced by your undoubted Princess, worthy for their youth of compassion, for their beauty of admiration, for their excellent virtue to be monarch of the world, shall we not be content with our own bliss? Shall we put out our eyes, because another man cannot see? or rather like some men, when too much good happens unto them, they think themselves in a dream, and have not spirits to taste their own goods? No not my friends, believe me, I am so unpartial, that I know not their names, but so overcome with their virtue, that I shall then think, the destinies have ordained a perpetual flourishing to Arcadia, when they shall allot such a governor unto it. This spoken by a man grave in years, great in authority, near allied to the Prince, and known honest, prevailed so with all the Mantineans, that with one voice they ran to deliver the two Princes. But Philanax came in time to withstand them, both sides yet standing in arms, and rather wanting a beginning, than minds to enter into a bloody conflict. Which Philanax foreseeing, thought best to remove the prisoners secretly, and if need were, rather without form of justice to kill them, then against justice (as he thought) to have them usurp the state. But there again arose a new trouble. For Sympathus (the noble man that kept them) was so stricken in compassion, with their excellent presence, that as he would not falsify his promise to Philanax, to give them liberty, so yet would he not yield them to himself, fearing he would do them violence. Thus tumult upon tumult arising, the Sun I think weary to see their discords, had already gone down to his Western lodging. But yet to know what the poor Shepherds did, who were the first descryers of these matters, will not to some ears perchance be a tedious digression.  
Hear ends the fourth book or act.   

The fourth Eglogues.  
THE Shepherds finding no place for them in these garboils, to which their quiet hearts (whose highest ambition was in keeping themselves up in goodness) had at all no aptness, retired themselves from among the clamorous multitude: and as sorrow desires company, went up together to the Western side of a hill, whose prospect extended it so far, as they might well discern many of Arcadia's beawtyes. And there looking upon the Suns as then declining race, the poor men sat pensive of their present miseries, as if they found a weariness of their woeful words: till at last good old Geron (who as he had longest tasted the benefits of Basilius government, so seemed to have a special feeling of the present loss) wiping his eyes and long white beard bedeawed with great drops of tears, began in this sort to complain. Alas poor sheep, said he, which hitherto have enjoyed your fruitful pasture, in such quietness, as your wool amongst other things hath made this Country famous, your best days are now past: now you must become the victual of an army, and perchance an army of foreign enemies: you are now not only to fear home Wolves, but alien Lions; now, I say now, that our right Basilius is deceased. Alas sweet pastures! Shall soldiers that know not how to use you, possess you? Shall they that can not speak Arcadian language be Lords over your Shepherds? For alas with good cause may we look for any evil, since Basilius our only strength is taken from us. To that all the other Shepherds present uttered pitiful voices, especially the very borne Arcadians. For as for the other, though humanity moved them to pity human cases, especially in a Prince, under whom they had found a refuge of their miseries, and justice equally administered: yet could they not so naturally feel the lively touch of sorrow. Nevertheless, of that number one Agelastus, notably noted among them, aswell for his skill in Poetry, as for an austerely maintained sorrowfulness, wherewith he seemed to despise the works of nature, framing an universal complaint in that universal mischief, uttered it in this sestine.  

SInce wailing is a bud of causeful sorrow,  
Since sorrow is the follower of evil fortune,  
Since no evil fortune equals public damage:  
Now Princes loss hath made our damage public,  
Sorrow, pay we to thee the rights of Nature,  
And inward grief seal up with outward wailing.   

Why should we spare our voice from endless wailing,  
Who justly make our hearts the seat of sorrow?  
In such a case where it appears that nature  
Doth add her force unto the sting of fortune:  
Choosing alas! this our theatre public,  
Where they would leave trophies of cruel damage,   

Then since such powers conspired unto our damage  
(Which may be known, but never helped with wailing  
Yet let us leave a monument in public  
Of willing tears, torn hairs, & cries of sorrow.  
For lost, lost is by blow of cruel fortune  
Arcadia's gem the noblest child of nature,   

O nature doting old, o blinded nature,  
How hast thou torn thyself! sought thine own damage!  
In granting such a scope to filthy fortune,  
By thy imps loss to fill the world with wai'ling  
Cast thy stepmother eyes upon our sorrow,  
Public our loss: so, see, thy shame is public.   

O that we had, to make our woes more public,  
Seas in our eyes, & brazen tongues by nature,  
A yelling voice, & hearts composed of sorrow,  
Breath made of flames, wits knowing nought but damage,  
Our sports murdering ourselves, our music's wailing,  
Our studies fixed upon the falls of fortune.   

No, no, our mischief grows in this vile fortune,  
That private pains can not breathe out in public  
The furious inward griefs with hellish wailing:  
But forced are to burden feeble nature  
With secret sense of our eternal damage,  
And sorrow feed, feeding our souls with sorrow.   

Since sorrow than concludeth all our fortune  
With all our deaths show we this damage public.  
His nature fears to die who lives still wailing.   
It seemed that this complaint of Agelastus had awaked the spirits of the Arcadians, astonished before with exceedingne of sorrow. For he had scarcely ended, when diverse of them offered to follow his example, in be wailing the general loss of that country which had been aswell a nurse to strangers, as a mother to Arcadians. Among the rest one accounted good in that kind, and made the better by the true feeling of sorrow, roared out a song of lamentation, which (as well as might be) was gathered up in this form: 

SInce that to death is gone the shepherd high,  
Who most the silly shepherds pipe did prise,  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

And you o trees (if any life there lies  
In trees) now through your porous barks receive  
The strange resound of these my causeful cries:  
And let my breath upon your branches cleave,   

My breath distinguished into words of woe,  
That so I may signs of my sorrow leave.  
But if among yourselves some one tree grow,  
That aptest is to figure misery,  
Let it embassage bear your grieves to show.  
The weeping Myrrh I think will not deny  
Her help to this, this justest cause of plaint.  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

And thou poor Earth, whom fortune doth attaint  
In Nature's name to suffer such a harm,  
As for to lose thy gem, and such a Saint,  
Upon thy face let coaly ravens swarm:  
Let all the Sea thy tears accounted be:  
Thy bowels with all kill metals arm.  
Let gold now rust, let Diamonds waste in thee:  
Let pearls be wan with woe their dam doth bear:  
Thyself henceforth the light do never see.  
And you, o flowers, which sometimes Princes were,  
Till these strange altrings you did hap to try,  
Of Prince's loss yourselves for tokens rear,  
Lily in mourning black thy whiteness die:  
O Hyacinthe let Ai be on thee still.  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

O Echo, all these woods with roaring fill,  
And do not only mark the accents last,  
But all, for all reach out my wailful will:  
One Echo to another Echo cast  
Sound of my griefs, and let it never end,  
Till that it hath all woods and waters past.  
Nay to the heavens your just complaining send,  
And stay the stars inconstant constant race,  
Till that they do unto our dolours bend:  
And ask the reason of that special grace,  
That they, which have no lives, should live so long,  
And virtuous souls so soon should lose their place?  
Ask, if in great men good men do so throng,  
That he for want of elbow room must die?  
Or if that they be scant, if this be wrong?  
Did Wisdom this our wretched time espy  
In one true chest to rob all virtues treasure?  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

And if that any counsel you to measure  
Your doleful tunes, to them still plaining say,  
To well felt grief, plaint is the only pleasure.  
O light of Sun, which is entitled day,  
O well thou dost that thou no longer bidest;  
For mourning light her blackeweedes may display.  
O Phoebus with good cause thy face thou hidest,  
Rather than have thy all-beholding eye  
fold with this sight, while thou thy chariot guidest,  
And well (me thinks) becomes this vaultie sky  
And stately tomb to cover him deceased.  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

O Philomela with thy breast oppressed  
By shame and grief, help, help me to lament  
Such cursed harms as cannot be redressed.  
Or if thy mourning notes be fully spent,  
Then give a quiet ear unto my plaining:  
For I to teach the world complaint am bend.  
You dimmy clouds, which well employ your staining  
This cheerful air with your obscured cheer,  
Witness your woeful tears with daily raining.  
And if, o Sin, thou ever didst appear,  
In shape, which by man's eye might be perceived;  
Virtue is dead, now set the triumph here.  
Now set thy triumph in this world, bereaved  
Of what was good, where now no good doth lie;  
And by the pomp our loss will be conceived.  
O notes of mine yourselves together tie:  
With too much grief me thinks you are dissolved.  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply,   

Time ever old, and young is still revolved  
Within itself, and never tasteth end:  
But mankind is for aye to nought resolved.  
The filthy snake her aged coat can mend,  
And getting youth again, in youth doth flourish:  
But unto Man, age ever death doth send.  
The very trees with grafting we can cherish,  
So that we can long time produce their time:  
But Man which helpeth them, helpless must perish.  
Thus, thus the minds, which over all do climb,  
When they by years experience get best graces,  
Must finish then by death's detested crime.  
We last short while, and build long lasting places:  
Ah let us all against foul Nature cry:  
We Nature's works do help, she us defaces.  
For how can Nature unto this reply?  
That she her child, I say, her best child killeth?  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

Alas, me thinks, my weakened voice but spilleth,  
The vehement course of this just lamentation:  
methinks, my sound no place with sorrow filleth.  
I know not I, but once in detestation  
I have myself, and all what life containeth,  
Since Death on virtues fort hath made invasion.  
One word of woe another after traineth:  
Ne do I care how rude be my invention,  
So it be seen what sorrow in me reigneth.  
O Elements, by whose (men say) contention,  
Our bodies be in living power maintained,  
Was this man's death the fruit of your dissension?  
O Physics power, which (some say) hath restrained  
Approach of death, alas thou helpest meagerly,  
When once one is for Atropos distrained.  
Great be Physicians brags, but aid is beggarly,  
When rooted moisture fails, or groweth dry,  
They leave off all, and say, death comes too eager.  
They are but words therefore that men do buy  
Of any, since God AEsculapius ceased.  
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.   

justice, justice is now (alas) oppressed:  
Bountifulness hath made his last conclusion:  
Goodness for best attire in dust is dressed.  
shepherds bewail your uttermost confusion;  
And see by this picture to you presented,  
Death is our home, life is but a delusion.  
For see alas, who is from you absented?  
Absented? nay I say for ever banished  
From such as were to die for him contented?  
Out of our sight in turn of hand is vanished  
Shepherd of shepherds, whose well settled order  
Private with wealth, public with quiet garnished.  
While he did live, far, far was all disorder;  
Example more prevailing than direction,  
Far was homestrife, and far was foe from border.  
His life a law, his look a full correction:  
As in his health we healthful were preserved,  
So in his sickness grew our sure infection.  
His death our death. But ah; my Muse hath swerved,  
From such deep plaint as should such woes descry,  
Which he of us for ever hath deserved.  
The stile of heavy heart can never fly  
So high, as should make such a pain notorious:  
Cease Muse therefore: thy dart o Death apply;  
And farewell Prince, whom goodness hath made glorious.    
Many were ready to have followed this course, but the day was so wasted, that only this rhyming Sestine delivered by one of great account among them, could obtain favour to be heard.  

FArewell o Sun, Arcadia's clearest light:  
Farewell o pearl, the poor man plenteous treasure:  
Farewell o golden staff, the weak man's might:  
Farewell o joy, the ioyfulls only pleasure.  
Wisdom farewell, the skilless man's direction:  
Farewell with thee, farewell all our affection.   

For what place now is left for our affection,  
Now that of purest lamp is quenched the light,  
Which to our darkened minds was best direction?  
Now that the mine is lost of all our treasure?  
Now death hath swallowed up our worldly pleasure,  
We Orphans made, void of all public might?   

Orphans in deed, deprived of father's might:  
For he our father was in all affection,  
In our well-doing placing all his pleasure,  
Still studying how to us to be a light.  
As well he was in peace a safest treasure:  
In war his wit & word was our direction.   

Whence, whence alas, shall we seek our direction!  
When that we fear our hateful neighbours might,  
Who long have gaped to get Arcadians treasure.  
Shall we now find a guide of such affection,  
Who for our sakes will think all travail light,  
And make his pain to keep us safe his pleasure?   

No, no, for ever gone is all our pleasure;  
For ever wandering from all good direction;  
For ever blinded of our clearest light;  
For ever lamed of our sured might;  
For ever banished from well placed affection;  
For ever robbed of all our royal treasure.   

Let tears for him therefore be all our treasure,  
And in our wailful naming him our pleasure:  
Let hating of ourselves be our affection,  
And unto death bend still our thoughts direction.  
Let us against ourselves employ our might,  
And putting out our eyes seek we our light.   

Farewell our light, farewell our spoilt treasure:  
Farewell our might, farewell our daunted pleasure:  
Farewell direction, farewell all affection.   
The night began to cast her dark Canopy over them, and they even weary with their woes bended homewards: hoping by sleep forgetting themselves, to ease their present dolours. When they were met with a troop of twenty horse, the chief of which ask them for the King, and understanding the hard news, thereupon stayed among them expecting the return of a messenger whom with speed he dispatched to Philanax.   
The end of the fourth Book.   

THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKES ARCADIA.  
(:)  
THE dangerous division of men's minds, the ruinous renting of all estates, had now brought Arcadia to feel the pangs of uttermost peril (such convulsions never coming, but that the life of that government draws near his necessary period) when to the honest and wise Philanax, equally distracted betwixt desire of his masters revenge and care of the states establishment, there came (unlooked for) a Macedonian Gentleman, who in short, but pithy manner delivered unto him, that the renowned Euarchus, King of Macedon, purposing to have visited his old friend and confederate the King Basilius, was now come within half a mile of the Lodges, where having understood be certain Shepherds, the sudden death of their Prince, had sent unto him, (of whose authority and faith he had good knowledge) desiring him to advertise him, in what security he might rest there for that night, where willingly he would (if safely he might) help to celebrate the funerals of his ancient companion and ally, adding he need not doubt, since he had brought but twenty in his company, he would be so unwise as to enter into any forcible attempt with so small force. Philanax having entertained the Gentleman, aswell as in the midst of so many tumults he could, pausing awhile with himself, considering how it should not only be unjust, and against the law of Nations, not well to receive a Prince whom good will had brought among them, but (in respect of the greatness of his might) very dangerous to give him any cause of due offence; remembering withal the excellent trials of his equity, which made him more famous than his victories, he thought he might be the fittest instrument to redress the ruins they were in, since his goodness put him without suspicion, and his greatness beyond envy. Yet weighing with himself how hard many heads were to be bridled, and that in this monstrous confusion such mischief might be attempted, of which late repentance should after be but a simple remedy: he judged best first to know how the people's minds would sway to this determination. Therefore desiring the Gentleman to return to the King his master, and to beseech him (though with his pains) to stay for an hour or two, where he was, till he had set things in better order to receive him: he himself went first to the Noble men, then to Kalander and the principal Mantineans, who were most opposite unto him; desiring them, that as the night had most blessedly stayed them from entering into civil blood, so they would be content in the night to assemble the people together, to hear some news, which he was to deliver unto them. There is nothing more desirous of novelties, than a man that fears his present fortune. Therefore they, whom mutual diffidence made doubtful of their utter destruction, were quickly persuaded to hear of any new matter, which might alter at least, if not help the nature of their fear. Namely the chiefest men, who as they had most to lose, so were most jealous of their own case, and were already grown as weary to be followers of Timantus ambition, as before they were enuyers of Philanax worthiness. As for Kalander and Sympathus, as in the one a virtuous friendship had made him seek to advance, in the other a natural commiseration had made him willing to protect the excellent (though unfortunate) prisoners, so were they not against this convocation. For having nothing but just desires in them, they did not mistrust the iustifyeng of them. Only Timantus laboured to have withdrawn them from this assembly, saying, it was time to stop their ears from the ambitious charms of Philanax. Let them first deliver Gynaecia, and her daughters, which were fit persons to hear, and then they might begin to speak. That this was but Philanax coming, to link broil upon broil, because he might avoid the answering of his trespasses, which as he had long intended, so had he prepared coullored speeches to disguise them. But as his words expressed rather a violence of rancour, than any just ground of accusation, so pierced they no further, then to some partial ears, the multitude yielding good attention to what Philanax would propose unto them: Who, like a man whose best building was a well-framed conscience, neither with plausible words, nor fawning countenance, but even with the grave behaviour of a wise father, whom nothing but love makes to chide, thus said unto them. I have, said he, a great matter to deliver unto you, and thereout am I to make a greater demand of you: But truly such hath this late proceeding been of yours, that I know not what is not to be demanded of you. Me thinks I may have reason to require of you, as men are wont among Pirates, that the life of him that never hurt you, may be safe. Me thinks I am not without appearance of cause, as if you were Cyclopes or Cannibals, to desire that our Prince's body, which hath thirty years maintained us in a flourishing peace, be not torn in pieces, or devoured among you, but may be suffered to yield itself, which never was defiled with any of your bloods, to the natural rest of the earth. Me thinks, not as to Arcadians, renowned for your faith to Prince, and love of Country, but as to sworn enemies of this sweet soil, I am to desire you, that at least, if you will have strangers to your Princes, yet you will not deliver the signory of this goodly Kingdom to your noble King's murderers. Lastly, I have reason, as if I had to speak to mad men, to desire you to be good to yourselves: For before God, what either barbarous violence, or unnatural folly, hath not this day had his seat in your minds, and left his footsteps in your actions? But in troth I love you too well, to stand long displayeng your faults: I would you yourselves did forget them, so you did not fall again into them. For my part, I had much rather be an orator of your praises. But now (if you will suffer attentive judgement, and not forejudging passion, to be the waigher of my words) I will deliver unto you what a blessed mean the Gods have sent unto you, if you list to embrace it. I think there is none among you so young, either in years, or understanding, but hath heard the true fame of that just Prince Euarchus King of Macedon. A Prince with whom our late master did ever hold most perfect alliance. He, even he, is this day come, having but twenty horse with him, within two miles of this place, hoping to have found the virtuous Basilius alive, but now willing to do honour to his death. Surely, surely the heavenly powers have in so full a time bestowed him on us, to unite our divisions. For my part therefore I wish, that since among ourselves we can not agree in so manifold partialities, we do put the ordering of all these things into his hands, aswell touching the obsequies of the King, the punishment of his death, as the marriage and crowning of our Princess. He is both by experience and wisdom taught how to direct: his greatness such, as no man can disdain to obey him: his equity such, as no man need to fear him. Lastly, as he hath all these qualities to help, so hath he (though he would) no force to hurt. If therefore you so think good, since our laws bear that our Prince's murder be chastised before his murdered body be buried, we may invite him to sit to morrow in the judgement seat; which done, you may after proceed to the burial. When Philanax first named Euarchus landing, there was a muttering murmur among the people, as though in that evil ordered weakness of theirs he had come to conquer their country. But when they understood he had so small a retinue, whispering one with another, and looking who should begin to confirm Philanax proposition, at length Sympathus was the first that allowed it, than the rest of the Noblemen, neither did Kalander strive, hoping so excellent a Prince could not but deal graciously with two such young men, whose authority joined to Philanax, all the popular sort followed. Timantus still blinded with his own ambitious haste (not remembering factions are no longer to be trusted, than the factious may be persuaded it is for their own good) would needs strive against the stream, exclaiming against Philanax, that now he showed who it was, that would betray his country to strangers. But well he found, that who is too busy in the foundation of an house, may pull the building about his ears. For the people already tired with their own divisions, (of which his clampring had been a principal nurse) and beginning now to espy a haven of rest, hated any thing that should hinder them from it: asked one another whether this were not he, whose evil tongue no man could escape? whether it were not Timantus that made the first mutinous oration, to strengthen the troubles? whether Timantus, without their consent, had not gone about to deliver Gynaecia? And thus inflaming one another against him, they threw him out of the assembly, and after pursued him with stones and staves, so that with loss of one of his eyes, sore wounded & beaten, he was feign to fly to Philanax feet, for secure of his life: giving a true lesson, that vice itself is forced to seek the sanctuary of virtue. For Philanax who hated his evil, but not his person, and knew that a just punishment might by the manner be unjustly done; remembering withal, that although herein the people's rage might have hit rightly, yet if it were nourished in this, no man knew to what extremities it might extend itself: with earnest dealing, and employeng the uttermost of his authority, he did protect the trembling Timantus. And then having taken a general oath, that they should in the nonage of the Princess, or till these things were settled, yield full obedience to Euarchus, so far as were not prejudicial to the laws, customs, and liberties of Arcadia: and having taken a particular bond of Sympathus (under whom he had a servant of his own) that the prisoners should be kept close, without conference with any man: he himself honourably accompanied, with a great number of torches went to the king Euarchus, whose coming in this sort into Arcadia had thus fallen out.  
The woeful Prince Plangus receiving of Basilius no other succours but only certain to conduct him to Euarchus, made all possible speed towards Byzantium, where he understood the King, having concluded all his wars with the winning of that town, had now for some good space made his abode. But being far gone on his way, he received certain intelligence, that Euarchus was not only some days before returned into Macedon, but since was gone with some haste to visit that coast of his country that lay towards Italy. The occasion given by the Latins, who having already gotten into their hands, partly by conquest, and partly by confederacy, the greatest part of Italy, and long gaped to devour Greece also (observing the present opportunity of Euarchus absence, and Basilius solitariness, which two Princes they knew to be in effect the whole strength of Greece) were even ready to lay an unjust gripe upon it, which after they might beautify with the noble name of conquest. Which purpose though they made not known by any solemn denouncing of war, but contrariwise gave many tokens of continuing still their former amity: yet the stayeng of his subjects ships, trafficking as Merchants into those parts, together with the daily preparation of shipping, and other warlike provisions in Ports, most convenient for the transporting of soldiers, occasioned Euarchus (not unacquainted with such practises) first to suspect, then to discern, lastly, to seek to prevent the intended mischief. Yet thinking war never to be accepted, until it be offered by the hand of necessity, he determined so long openly to hold them his friends, as open hostility bewrayed them not his enemies; not ceasing in the mean time by letters & messages to move the States of Greece by uniting their strength, to make timely provision against this peril: by many reasons making them see, that, though in respect of place some of them might seem further removed from the first violence of the storm, yet being embarked in the same ship, the final wrack must needs be common to them all. And knowing the mighty force of example, with the weak effect of fair discourses not waited on with agreeable actions, what he persuaded them, himself performed, leaving in his own realm nothing either undone or unprovided, which might be thought necessary for withstanding an invasion. His first care was to put his people in a readiness for war, and by his experienced soldiers to train the unskilful to martial exercises. For the better effecting whereof, as also for meeting with other inconveniences in such doubtful times incident to the most settled states, making of the divers regions of his whole kingdom so many divisions as he thought convenient, he appointed the charge of them to the greatest, and of greatest trust he had about him: arming them with sufficient authority to levy forces within their several governments, both for resisting the invading enemy, and punishing the disordered subject. Having thus prepared the body, and assured the heart of his country against any mischief that might attaint it, he then took into his careful consideration the external parts, giving order both for the repairing and increasing his navy, and for the fortifying of such places, especially on the sea coast, as either commodity of landing, weakness of the country, or any other respect of advantage was likeliest to draw the enemy unto. But being none of them who think all things done, for which they have once given direction, he followed every where his commandment with his presence: which witness of every man's slackness or diligence, chastizing the one, & encouraging the other, suffered not the fruit of any profitable counsel for want of timely taking to be lost. And thus making one place succeed another in the progress of wisdom & virtue, he was now come to Aulon a principal port of his realm, when the poor Plangus extremely wearied with his long journey (desire of succouring Erona no more relieving, then fear of not succouring her in time aggravating his travail) by a lamentable narration of his children's death, called home his cares from encountering foreign enemies, to suppress the insurrection of inward passions. The matter so heinous, the manner so villainous, the loss of such persons, in so unripe years, in a time so dangerous to the whole state of Greece, how vehemently it moved to grief & compassion others, only not blind to the light of virtue, nor deaf to the voice of their country, might perchance by a more cunning workman in lively colours be delivered. But the face of Euarchus sorrow, to the one in nature, to both in affection, a father, and judging the world so much the more unworthily deprived of those excellencies, as himself was better judge of so excellent worthiness, can not otherwise be shadowed out by the skilfullest pencel, them by covering it over with the vail of silence. And in deed that way himself took, with so patient a quietness receiving this pitiful relation, that all words of weakness suppressed, magnanimity seemed to triumph over misery. Only receiving of Plangus perfect instruction of all things concerning Plexirtus & Artaxia, with promise not only to aid him in delivering Erona, but also with vehement protestation, never to return into Macedon, till he had pursued the murderers to death: he dispatched with speed a ship for Byzantium, commanding the governor to provide all necessaries for the war against his own coming, which he purposed should be very shortly. In this ship Plangus would needs go, impatient of stay, for that in many days before he had understood nothing of his Lady's estate. Soon after whose departure, news was brought to Euarchus, that all the ships detained in Italy were returned. For the Latins finding by Euarchus proceedings their intent to be frustrate (as before by his sudden return they doubted it was discovered) deeming it no wisdom to show the will, not having the ability to hurt, had not only in free & friendly manner dismissed them, but for the time wholly omitted their enterprise, attending the opportunity of fit occasion. By means whereof Euarchus, rid from the cumber of that war (likely otherwise to have stayed him longer) with so great a fleet as haste would suffer him to assemble, forthwith embarked for Byzantium. And now followed with fresh winds he had in short time run a long course, when on a night encountered with an extreme tempest, his ships were so scattered, that scarcely any two were left together. As for the Kings own ship, deprived of all company, sore bruised, and weather-beatē, able no longer to brook the seas churlish entertainment, a little before day it recovered the shore. The first light made them see it was the unhappy coast of Laconia: for no other country could have shown the like evidence of unnatural war. Which having long endured between the nobility and the Helotes, and once compounded by Pyrocles, under the name of Daiphantus, immediately upon his departure had broken out more violently than ever before. For the King taking the opportunity of their captains absence, refused to perform the conditions of peace, as extorted from him by rebellious violence. Whereupon they were again deeply entered into war, with so notable an hatred towards the very name of a King, that Euarchus (though a stranger unto them) thought it not safe there to leave his person, where neither his own force could be a defence, nor the sacred name of Majesty, a protection. Therefore calling to him an Arcadian (one that coming with Plangus had remained with Euarchus, desirous to see the wars) he demanded of him for the next place of surety, where he might make his stay, until he might hear somewhat of his fleet, or cause his ship to be repaired. The gentleman glad to have this occasion of doing service to Euarchus, and honour to Basilius (to whom he knew he should bring a most welcome guest) told him, that if it pleased him to commit himself to Arcadia, (a part whereof lay open to their view) he would undertake ere the next night were far spent to guide him safely to his master Basilius. The present necessity much prevailed with Euarchus, yet more a certain virtuous desire to try, whether by his authority he might withdraw Basilius from burying himself alive, and to employ the rest of his old years in doing good, the only happy action of man's life. For besides the universal case of Greece deprived by this means of a principal pillar, he weighed and pitied the pitiful state of the Arcadian people, who were in worse case than if death had taken away their Prince. For so yet their necessity would have placed some one to the helm: now, a Prince being, and not doing like a Prince, keeping and not exercising the place, they were in so much more evil case, as they could not provide for their evil. These rightly wise & virtuous considerations especially moved Euarchus to take his journey towards the desert, where arriving within night, and understanding to his great grief the news of the Prince's death, he waited for his safe conduct from Philanax: in the mean time taking his rest under a tree, with no more affected pomps, then as a man that knew, how soever he was exalted, the beginning and end of his body was earth. But Philanax as soon as he was in sight of him, lighting from his horse, presented himself unto him in all those humble behaviours, which not only the great reverence of the party but the conceit of ones own misery, is wont to frame. Euarchus raze up unto him with so gracious a countenance, as the goodness of his mind had long exercised him unto: careful so much more to descend in all courtesies, as he saw him bear a low representation of his afflicted state. But to Philanax, assoon as by near looking on him, he might perfectly behold him, the gravity of his countenance, and years, not much unlike to his late deceased, but ever beloved master brought his form so lively unto his memory, and revived so all the thoughts of his wont joys within him, that in steed of speaking to Euarchus, he stood a while like a man gone a far journey from himself, calling as it were with his mind an account of his losses: imagining that this pain needed not, if nature had not been violently stopped of her own course: and casting more loving than wise conceits, what a world this would have been, if this sudden accident had not interrupted it. And so far strayed he, into this raving melancholy, that his eyes nimbler than his tongue let fall a flood of tears, his voice being stopped with extremity of sobbing, so much had his friendship carried him to Basilius, that he thought no age was timely for his death. But at length taking the occasion of his own weeping, he thus did speak to Euarchus. Let not my tears most worthily renowned Prince make my presence unpleasant, or my speech unmarked of you. For the justness of the cause, takes away the blame of any weakness in me; and the affinity that the same beareth to your greatness, seems even lawfully to claim pity in you: A Prince of a Prince's fall, a lover of justice, of a most unjust violence. And give me leave excellent Euarchus to say, I am but the representer of all the late flourishing Arcadia, which now with mine eyes doth weep, with my tongue doth complain, with my knees doth lay itself at your feet, which never have been unready to carry you, to the virtuous protecting of innocents'. Imagine, vouchsafe to imagine most wise and good King, that here is before your eyes, the pitiful spectacle of a most dolorously ending tragedy: wherein I do but play the part, of all the new miserable province, which being spoiled of their guide, doth lie like a ship without a Pilot, tumbling up and down in the uncertain waves, till it either run itself upon the rocks of selfe-division, or be overthrown by the stormy wind of foreign force. Arcadia finding herself in these desolate terms, doth speak, and I speak for her, to thee not vainly puissant Prince, that since now she is not only rob of the natural support of her Lord, but so suddenly rob, that she hath not breathing time to stand for her safety: so unfortunately, that it doth appall their minds, though they had leisure: and so mischievously, that it doth exceed both the suddenness and infortunatenes of it: thou wilt lend thine arm unto her, and as a man, take compassion of mankind, as a virtuous man chastise most abominable vice, and as a Prince protect a people, which all have with one voice called for thy goodness: thinking that as thou art only able, so thou art fully able, to redress their imminent ruins. They do therefore with as much confidence as necessity, fly unto you for succour, they lay themselves open to you: to you, I mean yourself, such as you have ever been: that is to say one, that hath always had his determinations bounded with equity. They only reserve the right to Basilius' blood; the manner to the ancient prescribing of their laws. For the rest without exception, they yield over unto you, as to the elected protector of this kingdom, which name and office they beseech you till you have laid a sufficient foundation of tranquility, to take upon you the particularity both of their statutes and demands, you shall presently after understand. Now only I am to say unto you, that this country falls to be a fair field, to prove whether the goodly tree of your virtue, will live in all soils. Hear I say will be seen, whether either fear can make you short, or the likorousnes of dominion make you beyond justice. And I can for conclusion say no more but this, you must think upon my words and your answer, depend not only the quiet, but the lives of so many thousands, which for their ancient confederacy in this extreme necessity, desire neither the expense of your treasure, nor hazard of your subjects, but only the benefit of your wisdom, whose both glory and increase stands in the exercising of it. The sum of this request was utterly unlooked for of Euarchus, which made him the more diligent in marking his speech, and after his speech take the greater pause for a perfect resolution. For as of the one side, he thought nature required nothing more of him then that he should be a help, to them of like creation, and had his heart no whit commanded with fear, thinking his life well passed, having satisfied the tyranny of time which the course of many years, the expectation of the world with more than expected honour, lastly the tribute due to his own mind with the daily offering of most virtuous actions: so of the other he weighed the just reproach that followed those, who easily enter into other folks business, with the opinion might be conceived, love of signory rather than of justice, had made him embark himself thus, into a matter nothing pertaining to him, especially in a time when earnest occasion of his own business so greatly required his presence: But in the end wisdom being an assential and not an opinionate thing, made him rather to bend to what was in itself good, than what by evil minds might be judged not good. And therein did see, that though that people did not belong unto him, yet doing good which is not enclosed within any terms of people did belong unto him, and if necessity forced him for some time to abide in Arcadia, the necessity of Arcadia might justly demand some fruit of abiding. To this secret assurance of his own worthiness (which although it be never so well clothed in modesty, yet always lives in the worthiest minds) did much push him forward saying unto himself, the treasure of those inward gifts he had, were bestowed by the heavens upon him, to be beneficial and not idle. On which determination resting and yet willing before he waded any further, to examine well the depth of the others proffer, he thus with that well appeased gesture, unpassionate nature bestoweth upon mankind, made answer to Philanax most urgent petition. Although long experience hath made me know, all men (& so Princes which be but men) to be subject to infinite casualties, the very constitution of our lives remaining in continual change: yet the affairs of this country, or at least my meeting so iumply with them, makes me a bashed with the strangeness of it. With much pain I am come hither to see my long approved friend and now I find if I will see him, I must see him dead: after, for mine own security, I seek to be waranted mine own life: And their suddenly am I appointed to be a judge of other men's lives, though a friend to him, yet am I a stranger to the country, and now of a stranger you would suddenly make a director. I might object to your desire my weakness, which age perhaps hath wrought in mind and body: and justly I may pretend the necessity of mine own affairs, which as I am by all true rules most nearly tied so can they not long bear the delay of my absence. But though I would and could dispense with these difficulties, what assurance can I have of the people's will? Which having so many circles of imaginations can hardly be enclosed in one point. Who knows a people, that knows not sudden opinion makes them hope, which hope if it be not answered, they fall in hate? Choosing and refusing, erecting, and overthrowing, according as the presentness of any fancy carries them. Even this their hasty drawing to me, makes me think they willbe as hastiely withdrawn form me, for it is but one ground of inconstancy, soon to take or soon to leave. It may be they have hard of Euarchus more them cause: their own eyes willbe perhaps more curious judges, out of hearsay they may have builded many conceits, which I can not perchance will not perform, then will undeserved repentance be a greater shame and injury unto me, than their undeserved proffer, is honour. And to conclude I must be fully informed, how the patient is minded, before I can promise to undertake the cure. Philanax was not of the modern minds, who make suitors magistrates: but did ever think the unwilling worthy man, was fit than the undeserving desirer. Therefore the more Euarchus drew back, the more he found in him that the cunningest pilot, doth most dread the rocks, the more earnestly he pursued his public request unto him. He desired him not to make any weak excuses of his weakness, since so many examples had well proved his mind, was strong to overpass the greatest troubles, and his body strong enough to obey his mind; and that so long as they were joined together, he knew Euarchus would think it no wearisome exercise, to make them vessels of virtuous actions. The duty to his country, he acknowledged, which as he had so settled, as it was not to fear any sudden alteration, so since it did want him, as well it might endure a fruitful as an idle absence. As for the doubt he conceived of the people's constancy in this their election, he said it was such a doubt as all human actions are subject unto: yet as much as in politic matters, which receive not geometrical certainties, a man may assure himself there was evident likelihood to be conceived, of the continuance, both in their unanimity, and his worthiness: whereof the on was apt to be held, & the other to hold, joined to the present necessity, the firmest band of mortal minds. In sum he alleged, so many reasons to Euarchus his mind, (already inclined to enter into any virtuous action) that he yielded to take upon himself the judgement of the present cause, so as he might find in deed that such was the people's desire out of judgement and not faction. Therefore mounting on their horses they hasted to the lodges, where they found though late in the night, the people wakefully watching, for the issue of Philanax embassage. No man thinking the matter would be well done, without he had his voice in it, and each deeming his own eyes the best gardiens of his throat in that unaccustomed tumult. But when they saw Philanax return, having on his right hand the King Euarchus on whom they had now placed the greatest burden of their fears, with joyful shouts and applawding acclamations, they made him and the world quickly know that one man's sufficiency is more available than ten thousands multitude. So evil balanced be the extremities of popular minds: and so much natural imperiousness there rests in a well form spirit. For as if Euarchus had been borne of the princely blood of Arcadia, or that long and well acquainted proof had engrafted him in their country, so flocked they about this stranger, most of them already, from dejected fears, rising to ambitious considerations, who should catch the first hold of his favour. And then from those crying welcomes to babbling one with the other, some praising Philanax for his succeeding pain, others liking Euarchus aspect, & as they judged his age by his face, so judging his wisdom by his age, Euarchus passed thorough them like a man that did neither disdain a people nor yet was any thing tickled with their flatteries. But always holding his own, a man might read a constant determination in his eyes. And in that sort dismounting among them, he forthwith demanded the convocation to be made, which accordingly was done, with as much order and silence: as it might appear. Neptune had not more force to appease the rebellious wind, than the admiration of an extraordinary virtue hath, to temper a disordered multitude. He being raised up upon a place more high than the rest, where he might be best understood, in this sort spoke unto them. I understand said he, faithful Arcadians, by my L. Philanax, that you have with one consent, chosen me to be the judge of the late evils happened: orderer of the present disorders: and finally protector of this country, till therein it be seen what the customs of Arcadia require. He could say no further, being stopped with a general cry, that so it was; giving him all the honourable titles, and happy wishes, they could imagine. He beckoned unto them for silence, and then thus again proceeded, well-saide he, how good choice you have made, the attending must be in you, the proof in me. But because it many times falls out, we are much deceived in others, we being the first to deceive ourselves, I am to require you, not to have an overshooting expectation of me: the most cruel adversary of all honourable do. Nor promise yourselves wonders, out of a sudden liking: but remember I am a man, that is to say a creature, whose reason is often darkened with error. secondly, that you will lay your hearts void of foretaken opinions: else whatsoever I do or say, will be measured by a wrong rule, like them that the have yellow jaundice, every thing seeming yellow unto them. Thirdly, whatsoever debates have risen among you, may be utterly extinguished, knowing that even among the best men are diversities of opinions, which are no more in true reason to breed hatred, than one that loves black, should be angry with him that is clothed in white, for thoughts & conceits are the very apparel of the mind. Lastly, that you do not easily judge of your judge, but since you will have me to command, think it is your part to obey. And in reward of this, I will promise and protest unto you, that to the uttermost of my skill; but in the general laws of nature, especially of Greece, and particular of Arcadia (wherein I must confess I am not unacquainted) I will not only see the passed evils duly punished, and your weal here after established; but for your defence in it, if need shall requeir, I will employ the forces and treasures of mine own country. In the mean time, this shallbe the first order I will take, that no man under pain of grievous punishment, name me by any other name but protector of Arcadia. For I will not leave any possible colour, to any of my natural successors, to make claim to this, which by free election you have bestowed upon me. And so I vow unto you, to depose myself of it assoon as the judgement is passed, the King buried, and his lawful successor appointed. For the first whereof (I mean the trying; which be guilty of the King's death, and these other heinous trespasses, because your customs require such haste I will no longer delay it, then till to morrow as soon as the Sun shall give us fit opportunity. You may therefore retire yourselves to your rest, that you may be reddier to be present, at these so great important matters. Which many allowing tokens, was Euarchus speech heard, who now by Philanax (that took the principal care, of doing all due services unto him) was offered a lodging made ready for him, (the rest of the people aswell as the small commodity of that place, would suffer yielding their weighed heads to sleep) when lo the night thoroughly spent, in these mixed matters, was for that time banished the face of the earth, and Euarchus, seeing the day begin to discloase his comfortable beauties, desiring nothing more, then to join speed with justice, willed Philanax, presently to make the judgement place be put in order: and assoon as the people (who yet were not fully dispersed) might be brought together, to bring forth the prisoners and the King's body. Which the manner was, should in such cases be held in sight, though covered with black velvet, until they that were accused to be the murderers were quitted or condemned, whether the reason of the law were to show the more grateful love to their Prince, or by that spectacle, the more to remember the judge of his duty. Philanax who now thought in himself, he approached by the just revenge he so much desired, went withal care and diligence to perform his charge. But first it shallbe well to know, how the poor and princely prisoners, passed this tedious night. There was never tyrant exercised his rage with more grievous torments, upon any he most hated; then afflicted Gynoecia did crusifie her own soul, after the guiltiness of her heart, was surcharged with the sodainenes of her husband's death, for although that effect came not from her mind yet her mind being evil, & the effect evil, she thought the justice of God, had for the beginning of her pains coupled them together. This incessantly boiled in her breast, but most of all, when Philanax having closely imprisoned her, she was left more freely to suffer, the fierbrands of her own thoughts, especially when it grew dark, and had nothing left by her, but a little lamp, whose small light to a perplexed mind, might rather yield fearful shadows, than any assured sight. Then began the heaps of her miseries, to way down the platform of her judgement, than began despair to lay his ugly claws upon her, she began then, to fear the heavenly powers (she was wont to reverence) not like a child, but like an enemy, neither kept she herself, from blasphemous repining against her creation. O Gods would she cry out, why did you make me to destruction? If you love goodness, why did you not give me a good mind? Or if I cannot have it without your gift, why do you plague me? Is it in me to resist the mightiness of your power? Then would she imagine she saw strange sights, and that she heard the cries of hellish ghosts, than would she skritch out for succour, but no man coming unto her she would feign have killed her helfe, but knew not how. At sometimes again, the very heaviness of her imaginations, would close up her senses to a little sleep: but then did her dreams become her tormentors. One time it would seem unto her, Philanax was haling her by the hear of the head, and having put out her eyes, was ready to throw her into a burning furnace. Another time she would think she saw her husband making the complaint of his death to Pluto, and the magistrates of that infernal region, contending in great debate, to what eternal punishment they should allot her. But long her dreaming would not hold, but that it would fall upon Zelmane: to whom she would think she was crying for mercy, and that she did pass away by her in silence without any show of pitying her mischief. Then waking out of a broken sleep, and yet wishing she might ever have slept, new forms but of the same miseries, would seize her mind, she feared death, and yet desired death, she had passed the uttermost of shame, and yet shame was one of her cruelest assaulters, she hated Pyrocles as the original of her mortal overthrow: and yet the love she had conceived to him, had still a high authority of her passions. O Zelmane, would she say (not knowing how near he himself was to as great a danger) now shalt thou glut thy eyes, with the dishonoured death of thy enemy! Enemy alas enemy, since so thou haste well showed, thou wilt have me account thee, couldst thou not aswell have given me a determinate denial, as to disguise thy first diguising, with a double dissembling? Perchance if I had been utterly hopeless, the virtue was once in me, might have called together his forces, and not have been led captive to this monstrous thraldom of punished wickedness. Then would her own knowing of good inflame a new the rage of despair: which becoming an unresisted Lord in her breast, she had no other comfort but in death, which yet she had in horror, when she thought of. But the wearisome detesting of herself, made her long for the days approach, at which time she determined to continue her former course in acknowledging any thing, which might hasten her end: Wherein although she did not hope for the end of her torments, feeling already the beginning of hell agonies; yet according to the nature of pain, the present being most intolerable, she desired to change that, and put to adventure the ensuing. And thus rested the restless Gynoecia, no less sorrowful, though less rageful were the minds of the Princess Pamela, and the Lady Philoclea, whose only advantages were, that they had not consented to so much evil, and so were at greater peace with themselves: and that they were not left alone, but might mutually bear part of each others woes. For when Philanax not regarding Pamela's princely protestations, had by force left her under guard with her sister, and that the two sisters were matched, aswell in the disgraces of fortune, as they had been in the best beauties of nature: those things that till then, bashfulness and mistrust had made them hold reserved, one from the other, now fear the underminer of all determinations, and necessity the victorious rebel of all laws, forced them interchangeably to lay open. There passions then so swelling in them, as they would have made Auditors of stones, rather than have swallowed up in silence, the choking adventures were fallen unto them. Truly the hardest hearts, which have at any time thought woman's tears to be a matter of sleight compassion (imagining that fair weather, will quickly after follow) would now have been mollified: and been compelled to confess, that the fairer a diamond is, the more pity it is it should receive a bleamish. Although no doubt their faces, did rather beautify sorrow, than sorrow could darken that, which even in darkness did shine. But after they had so long, as their other afflictions would suffer them, with doleful ceremonies bemoaned their father's death: they sat down together appareled as their misadventures had found them. Pamela in her journeying weeds now converted to another use: Philoclea only in her night gown, which she thought should be the raiment of her funerals. But when the excellent creatures, had after much panting (with their inward travel) gotten so much breathing power, as to make a pitiful discourse one to the other, what had befallne them; and that by the plain comparing the case they were in, they thoroughly found, that their grieves, were not more like in regard of themselves, then like in respect of the subject (the two Princes (as Pamela had learned of Musidorus) being so minded, as they would ever make both their fortunes one) it did more unite, and so strengthen their lamentation: seeing the one could not be miserable, but that it must necessarily make the other miserable also. That, therefore was the first matter their sweet mouths delivered, the declaring the passionate beginning, troublesome proceeding, and dangerous ending, their never ending loves had passed. And when at any time they entered into the praises of the young Princes, to long it would have exercised their tongues, but that their memory forthwith warned them, the more praise worthy they were the more at that time they were worthy of lamentation. Then again to crying and wring of hands; and then a new, as unquiet grief sought each corner, to new discourses, from discourses to wishes, from wishes to prayers. Especially the tender Philoclea, who as she was in years younger, and had never lifted up her mind to any opinion of sovereignty, so was she the apt to yield to her misfortune; having no stronger debates in her mind, than a man may say a most witty childhood is wont to nourish: as to imagine with herself, why Philanax and the other noble men, should deal so cruelly by her, that had never deserved evil of any of them? And how they could find in their hearts, to imprison such a parsonage, as she did figure Pyrocles, whom she thought all the world was bound to love, as well as she did? But Pamela, although endued with a virtuous mildness, yet the knowledge of herself, and what was due unto her, made her heart full of a stronger disdain, against her adversity.  
So that she joined the vexation for her friend, with the spite to see herself as she thought rebelliously detained, and mixed desirous thoughts to help, with revengeful thoughts if she could not help. And as in pangs of death, the stronger heart feels the greater torment, because it doth the more resist to his oppressor; so her mind, the nobler it was set, and had already embraced the higher thoughts, so much more it did repine; and the more it repined, the more helpless wounds it gave unto itself. But when great part of the night was passed over the doleful music of these sweet Lady's complaints, and that leisure though with some strife, had brought Pamela to know, that an Eagle when she is in a Cage, must not think to do like an Eagle, remembering with themselves, that it was likely the next day, the Lords would proceed against those they had imprisoned. They employed the rest of the night, in writing unto them, with such earnestness as the matter required, but in such styles as the state of their thoughts was apt to fashion. In the mean time, Pyrocles and Musidorus, were recommended to so strong a guard, as they might well see it was meant, they should pay no less prize than their lives, for the getting out of that place, which they like men in deed, (fortifying courage with the true Rampire of patience) did so endure, as they did rather appear governors of necessity, than servants to fortune. The whole sum of their thoughts resting upon the safety of their Ladies, and their care one for the other: Wherein (if at all) their hearts did seem to receive some softness. For sometimes Musidorus would feel such a motion to his friend, and his unworthy case, that he would fall into such kind speeches. My Pyrocles would he say, how unhappy may I think Thessalia, that hath been as it were, the middle way to this evil estate of yours? For if you had not been there brought up, the Sea should not have had this power, thus to sever you from your dear father. I have therefore, (if complaints do at any time become a man's heart) most cause to complain, since my Country, which received the honour of Pyrocles education, should be a step to his overthrow, if human chances can be counted an overthrow to him, that stands upon virtue. Oh excellent Musidorus answered Pyrocles, how do you teach me rather, to fall out with myself, and my fortune, since by you I have received all good, you only by me this affliction? to you and your virtuous mother, I in my tenderest years, and father's greatest troubles, was sent for succour. There did I learn the sweet mysteries of Philosophy; there had I your lively example, to confirm that which I learned; there lastly had I your friendship, which no unhappiness can ever make me say, but that hath made me happy. Now see how my destiny (the gods know) not my will, hath rewarded you: my father sends for you away out of your land, whence but for me you had not come: what after followed, you know. It was my love not yours, which first stayed you here; and therefore if the heavens ever held a just proportion, it were I and not you, that should feel the smart. O blame not the heavens, sweet Pyrocles said Musidorus, as their course never altars, so is there nothing done by the unreacheable ruler of them, but hath an everlasting reason for it. And to say the truth of these things, we should deal ungratefully with nature, if we should be forgetful receivers of her gifts, and so diligent Auditors of the chances we like not. We have lived, and have lived to be good to ourselves, and others: our souls which are put into the stirring earth of our bodies, have achieved the causes of their hither coming: They have known, & honoured with knowledge, the cause of their creation, and to many men (for in this time, place, and fortune, it is lawful for us to speak gloriously) it hath been behoveful, that we should live. Since than eternity is not to be had in this conjunction, what is to be lost by the separation, but time? which since it hath his end, when that is once come, all what is passed is nothing: and by the protracting nothing gotten, but labour and care. Do not me therefore that wrong, (who something in years, but much in all other deserts, am fit to die than you) as to say you have brought me to any evil: since the love of you, doth overbalance all bodily mischiefs, and those mischiefs be but mischiefs to the basermindes, too much delighted with the kennel of this life. Neither will I any more yield to my passion of lamenting you, which howsoever it might agree to my exceeding friendship, surely it would nothing to your exceeding virtue. Add this to your noble speech my dear Cousin said Pirocles, that if we complain of this our fortune, or seem to ourselves faulty, in having one hurt the other, we show a repentance of the love we bear to these matchless creatures, or at least a doubt, it should be overdeerely bought, which for my part (and so dare I answer for you) I call all the gods to witness, I am so far from, that no shame, no torment, no death, would make me forego the least part, of the inward honour, essential pleasure, and living life, I have enjoyed in the presence of the faultless Philoclea. Take the pre-eminence in all things, but in true loving, answered Musidorus, for the confession of that no death shall get of me. Of that answered Pirocles soberly smiling, I perceive we shall have a debate in the other world, if at least there remain any thing of remembrance in that place. I do not think the contrary said Musidorus, although you know, it is greatly held, that with the death of body and senses (which are not only the beginning, but dwelling and nourishing of passions, thoughts and imaginations) they failing, memory likewise fails, which riseth only out of them: and then is there left nothing, but the intellectual part or intelligence, which void of all moral virtues, which stand in the mean of perturbations, doth only live in the contemplative virtue, and power of the omnipotent good, the soul of souls, and universal life of this great work, and therefore is utterly void, from the possibility of drawing to itself, these sensible considerations. Certainly answered Pirocles, I easily yield, that we shall not know one another, and much less these passed things, with a sensible or passionate knowledge. For the cause being taken away, the effect follows. Neither do I think, we shall have such a memory, as now we have, which is but a relic of the senses, or rather a print the senses have left of things passed, in our thoughts, but it shall be a vital power of that very intelligence; which as while it was here, it held the chief seat of our life, and was as it were the last resort, to which of all our knowledges, the highest appeal came, and so by that means was never ignorant of our actions, though many times rebelliously resisted, always with this prison darkened: so, much more being free of that prison, and returning to the life of all things, where all infinite knowledge is, it cannot but be a right intelligence, which is both his name and being, of things both present and passed, though void of imagining to itself any thing, but even grown like to his Creator, hath all things, with a spiritual knowledge before it. The difference of which is as hard for us to conceive, as it had for us, when we were in our mother's wombs, to comprehend (if any body would have told us) what kind of light we now in this life see. What kind of knowledge we now have, yet now we do not only feel our present being, but we conceive what we were before we were borne, though remembrance make us not do it, but knowledge, and though we are utterly without any remorse of any misery, we might then suffer. Even such and much more odds, shall there be at that second delivery of ours; when void of sensible memory, or memorative passion, we shall not see the colours, but lives of all things that have been or can be: and shall as I hope know our friendship, though exempt from the earthly cares of friendship, having both united it, and ourselves, in that high and heavenly love of the unquenchable light. As he had ended his speech, Musidorus looking with a heavenly joy upon him, sang this song unto him, he had made before love turned his muse to another subject.  

SInce nature's works be good, and death doth serve  
As nature's work: why should we fear to die?  
Since fear is vain, but when it may preserve,  
Why should we fear, that which we cannot fly?   

Fear is more pain, then is the pain it fears,  
Disarming human minds, of native might:  
While each conceit, an ugly figure bears,  
Which were not evil, well viewed in reasons light.   

Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be,  
And scarce discern the dawn of coming day,  
Let them be clearde, and now begin to see,  
Our life is but a step, in dusty way.  
Then let us hold, the bliss of peaceful mind,  
Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find.   
Thus did they like quiet Swans, sing their own obsequies, and virtuously enable their minds against all extremities, which they did think would fall upon them, especially resolving, that the first care they would have, should be by taking the fault upon themselves, to clear the two Ladies, of whose case (as of nothing else that had happened) they had not any knowledge. Although their friendly host, the honest Gentleman Kalander, seeking all means how to help them, had endeavoured to speak with them, and to make them know who should be their judge. But the curious servant of Philanax forbade him the entry, upon pain of death. For so it was agreed upon, that no man should have any conference with them, for fear of new tumults. Insomuch that Kalander was constrained to retire himself, having yet obtained thus much, that he would deliver unto the two Princes, their apparel and jewels, which being left with him at Mantinaea, (wisely considering that their disguised weeds, which were all as then they had, would make them more odious in the sight of the judges) he had that night sent for, and now brought unto them. They accepted their own, with great thankfulness, knowing from whence it came, and attired themselves in it against the next day, which being in deed rich and princely, they accordingly determined to maintain the names of Palladius and Daiphantus, as before it is mentioned. Then gave they themselves to consider, in what sort they might defend their causes, for they thought it no less vain to wish death, then cowardly to fear it, till something before morning, a small slumber taking them, they were by and by after called up to come to the answer, of no less than their lives imported. But in this sort was the judgement ordered. As soon as the morning had taken a full possession of the Element, Euarchus called unto him Philanax, and willed him to draw out into the midst of the green (before the chief lodge) the throne of judgement seat, in which Basilius was wont to sit, and according to their customs, was ever carried with the Prince. For Euarchus did wisely consider, the people to be naturally taken with exterior shows, far more than with inward consideration, of the material points. And therefore in this new entry into so entangled a matter, he would leave nothing which might be either an armour or ornament unto him, and in these pompous ceremonies he well knew a secret of government much to consist. That was performed by the diligent Philanax, and therein Euarchus did set himself all clothed in black, with the principal men, who could in that sodainenes provide themselves of such mourning raiments. The whole people commanded to keep an orderly silence of each side, which was duly observed of them, partly for the desire they had to see a good conclusion of these matters, and partly stricken with admiration, aswell at the grave and princely presence of Euarchus, as at the greatness of the cause, which was then to come in question. As for Philanax, Euarchus would have done him the honour to sit by him, but he excused himself, desiring to be the accuser of the prisoners in his masters behalf; and therefore since he made himself a party, it was not convenient for him to sit in the judicial place. Then was it awhile deliberated, whether the two young Ladies, should be brought forth in open presence, but that was stopped by Philanax, whose love and faith, did descend from his master to his children, and only desired, the smart should light upon the others, whom he thought guilty of his death and dishonour, alleging for this, that neither wisdom would, they should be brought in presence of the people, which might hereupon grow to new uproars: nor justice required, they should be drawn to any shame, till some body accused them. And as for Pamela, he protested the laws of Arcadia would not allow any judgement of her, although she herself, were to determine nothing, till age or marriage enabled her. Then the King's body being laid upon a Table, just before Euarchus, and all covered over with black, the prisoners, namely the Queen, and two young Princes, were sent for to appear in the Protectors name: which name was the cause, they came not to knowledge, how near a kinsman was to judge of them, but thought him to be some Noble man, chosen by the Country, in this extremity. So extraordinary course, had the order of the heavens produced at this time, that both nephew and son, were not only prisoners, but unknown, to their uncle and father, who of many years had not seen them. And Pyrocles was to plead for his life before that throne, in which throne lately before he had saved the King's life. But first was Gynoecia led forth, in the same weeds that the day and night before she had worn, saving that in stead of Zelmane's garment in which she was found, she had cast on a long cloak, which reached to the ground of russed course cloth, with a poor felt hat, which almost covered all her face, most part of her goodly hear (on which her hands had laid many a spiteful hold) so lying upon her shoulders, as a man might well see, had no artificial carelessness. Her eyes down on the ground, of purpose not to look on Pyrocles face, which she did not so much shun, for the unkindness she conceived of her own overthrow, as for the fear, those motions in this short time of her life, should be revived, which she had with the passage of infinite sorrows mortified. Great was the compassion the people felt, to see their Princess state, and beauty, so deformed by fortune and her own desert, whom they had ever found a Lady most worthy of all honour. But by and by the sight of the other two prisoners, drew most of the eyes to that spectacle. Pyrocles came out led by Sympathus, clothed after the Greek manner, in a long coat of white velvet, reaching to the small of his leg, with great buttons of Diamonds all along upon it: His neck without any collar, not so much as hidden with a ruff, did pass the whiteness of his garments, which was not much in fashion unlike to the crimson raiment, our Knights of the order first put on. On his feet he had nothing but slippers, which after the ancient manner, were tied up with certain laces, which were fastened under his knee, having wrapped about (with many pretty knots) his naked legs. His fair auberne hear (which he ware in great length, and gave at that time a delightful show, with being stirred up and down with the breath of a gentle wind) had nothing upon it, but a white Ribbin, in those days used for a Diadem. Which rolled once or twice about the uppermost part of his forehead, fell down upon his back, closed up at each end with the richest pearl were to be seen in the world. After him followed an other Noble man, guiding the noble Musidorus. Who had upon him, a long cloak, after the fashion of that, which we call the Apostles mantle, made of purple Satin; not that purple which we now have, and is but a counterfeit of the Getulian purple (which yet was far the meaner in price and estimation) but of the right Tyrian purple, which was nearest to a colour betwixt our murrey and scarlet. On his head, which was black and curled, he ware a Persian Tiara, all set down with rows of so rich Rubies, as they were enough to speak for him, that they had to judge of no mean parsonage.  
In this sort with erected countenances, did these unfortunate Princes suffer themselves to be led, showing aright by the comparison of them and Ginecia, how to divers persons, compassion is diversly to be stirred. For as to Ginecia, a Lady known of great estate, and greatly esteemed, the more miserable representation was made of her sudden ruin, the more men's hearts were forced to bewail such an evident witness of weak humanity: so to these men, not regarded because unknown, but rather (besides the detestation of their fact) hated as strangers, the more they should have fallen down in an abject semblance, the more in steed of compassion they should have gotten contempt: but therefore, were to use (as I may term it) the more violence of magnanimity, and so to conquer the expectation of the lookers, with an extraordinary virtue. And such effect in deed it wrought in the whole assembly, their eyes yet standing as it were in balance, to whether of them they should most direct their sight. Musidorus was in stature so much higher than Pyrocles, as commonly is gotten by one years growth. His face now beginning to have some tokens of a beard, was composed to a kind of manlike beauty. His colour was of a well pleasing brownenes, & the features of it such, as they carried both delight and majesty: his countenance severe, and promising a mind much given to thinking. Pyrocles of a pure complexion, and of such a cheerful favour, as might seem either a woman's face on a boy, or an excellent boy's face in a woman. His look gentle and bashful, which bred the more admiration, having showed such notable proofs of courage. Lastly, though both had both, if there were any odds, Musidorus was the more goodly, and Pyrocles the more lovely. But assoon as Musidorus saw himself so far forth led among the people, that he knew to a great number of them his voice should be heard, misdoubting their intention to the Princess Pamela, (of which he was more careful then of his own life,) even as he went (though his leader sought to interrupt him) he thus with a loud voice spoke unto them. And is it possible o Arcadians, said he, that you can forget the natural duty you own to your Princess Pamela? hath this soil been so little beholding to her noble Ancestors? hath so long a time rooted no surer love in your hearts to that line? Where is that faith to your Prince's blood, which hath not only preserved you from all dangers heretofore, but hath spread your fame to all the nations in the world? Where is the justice, the Arcadians were wont to flourish in, whose nature is to render to every one his own? Will you now keep the right from your Prince, who is the only giver of judgement, the key of justice, and life of your laws? Do you hope in a few years, to set up such another race, which nothing but length of time can establish? Will you reward Basilius' children with ungratefulness, the very poison of manhood? Will you betray your long settled reputation, with the fowl name of traitors? Is this your mourning for your King's death, to increase his loss with his daughter's misery? Imagine your Prince do look out of the heavens unto you, what do you think he could wish more at your hands then that you do well by his children? And what more honour I pray you can you do to his obsequies, then to satisfy his soul with a loving memory, as you do his body with an unfelt solemnity? What have you done with the Princess Pamela? Pamela the just enheretrix of this Country, Pamela whom this earth may be happy, that it shall be hereafter said she was borne in Arcadia. Pamela in herself your ornament, in her education your foster child, and every way your only Princess, what account can you render to yourselves of her? Truly I do not think that you all know what is become of her: so soon may a Diamond be lost? so soon may the fairest light in the world be put out. But look, look unto it, O Arcadians, be not so wilfully rob of your greatest treasure, make not yourselves ministers to private ambitions, who do but use yourselves to put on your own yokes. Whatsoever you determine of us (who I must confess are but strangers) yet let not Basilius daughters be strangers unto you. Lastly, howsoever you bar her from her public sovereignty, (which if you do, little may we hope of equity where rebellion reigns) yet deny not that child's right unto her, that she may come and do the last duties to her father's body. Deny not that happiness (if in such a case there be any happiness) to your late King, that his body may have his last touch of his dearest child. With such like broken manner of questions and speeches, was Musidorus desirous as much as in passing by them he could, to move the people to tender Pamela's fortune. But at length by that they came to the judgement place, both Sympathus and his guider had greatly satisfied him, with the assurance they gave him, this assembly of people had neither meaning nor power, to do any hurt to the Princess, whom they all acknowledged as their sovereign Lady. But that the custom of Arcadia was such, till she had more years, the state of the country to be guided by a Protector, under whom, he and his fellow were to receive their judgement. That eased Musidorus heart of his most vehement care, when he found his beloved Lady to be out of danger. But Pyrocles assoon as the Queen of the one side, he and Musidorus of the other, were stayed before the face of their judge, (having only for their bar the Table on which the King's body lay) being nothing less vexed with the doubt of Philoclea, than Musidorus was for Pamela, in this sort with a lowly behaviour, and only then like a suppliant, he spoke to the Protector. Pardon me most honoured judge, said he, that uncommaunded I begin my speech unto you, since both to you and me, these words of mine shall be most necessary. To you having the sacred exercise of justice in your hand, nothing appertains more properly than truth nakedly & freely set down. To me, being environed round about with many dangerous calamities, what can be more convenient, then at least, to be at peace with myself, in having discharged my conscience, in a most behoveful verity. Understand therefore, and truly understand, that the Lady Philoclea (to whose unstained virtue it hath been my unspeakable misery, that my name should become a blot) if she be accused, is most unjustly accused of any dishonourable fact, which by my means she may be thought to have yielded unto. Whatsoever hath been done, hath been my only attempt, which notwithstanding was never intended against her chastity. But whatsoever hath been informed, was my fault. And I attest the heavens, to blaspheme which I am not now in fit tune, that so much as my coming into her chamber, was wholly unwitting unto her. This your wisdom may withal consider, if I would lie, I would lie for mine own behoof, I am not so old, as to be weary of myself; But the very sting of my inward knowledge joined with the consideration I must needs have, what an infinite loss it should be to all those whose love goodness in good folks, if so pure a child of virtue should wrongfully be destroyed, compels me to use my tongue against myself, and receive the burden of what evil was, upon my own doing. Look therefore with pitiful eyes upon so fair beams, and that misfortune which by me hath fallen upon her, help to repair it with your public judgement, since whosoever deals cruelly with such a creature, shows himself a hater of mankind, and an enuier of the world's bliss. And this petition I make, even in the name of justice, that before you proceed further against us, I may know how you conceive of her noble, though unfortunate action, and what judgement you will make of it. He had not spoken his last word, when all the whole people both of great and low estate, confirmed with an united murmur Pyrocles demand, longing (for the love generally was borne Philoclea) to know what they might hope of her. Euarchus though neither regarding a prisoners passionate prayer, nor bearing overplausible ears to a many headed motion, yet well enough content, to win their liking with things in themselves indifferent, he was content: first, to seek as much as might be of Philoclea's behaviour, in this matter: which being cleared by Pyrocles, & but weakly gaynesayd by Philanax (who had framed both his own & Damaetas evidence most for her favour and in truth could have gone no further than conjecture,) yet finding by his wisdom, that she was not altogether faultless, he pronounced, she should all her life long, be kept prisoner among certain women of religion like the vestal nuns, so to repay their touched honour of her house, with well observing a stryctt profession of chastity. Although this were a great prejudicating of Pyrocles case, yet was he exceedingly joyous of it, being assured of his Lady's life; and in the depth of his mind not sorry, that what end soever he had, none should obtain the after enjoying that jewel, whereon he had set his lives happiness. After it was by public sentence delivered, what should be done with the sweet Philoclea, (the laws of Arcadia bearing, that what was appointed by the magistrates in the nonage of the Prince, could not afterwards be repealed) Euarchus still using to himself no other name but protector of Arcadia, commanded those that had to say against the Queen Gynoecia to proceed, because both her estate required she should be first heard, and also for that she was taken to be the principal, in the greatest matter they were to judge of. Philanax incontinently stepped forth, and showing in his greedy eyes, that he did thirst for her blood, began a well thought on discourse of her (in his judgement) execrable wickedness. But Gynoecia standing up before the judge, casting abroad her arms, with her eyes hidden under the breadth of her unseemly hatt, laying open in all her gestures the despairful affliction, to which all the might of her reason was converted, with such like words stopped Philanax, as he was entering into his invective oration. Stay stay Philanax said she, do not defile thy honest mouth, with those dishonourable speeches thou art about to utter, against a woman, now most wretched, lately thy mistress. Let either the remembrance how great she was, move thy heart to some reverence; or the seeing how low she is, stir in thee some pity. It may be truth doth make thee deal untruly; and love of justice frames unjustice in thee, do not therefore (neither shalt thou need tread upon my desolate ruins. Thou shalt have that thou seekest; and yet shalt not be oppressor of her, who cannot choose but love thee, for thy singular faith to thy master. I do not speak this to procure mercy, or to prolong my life, no no I say unto you I will not live, but I am only loath, my death should be engreeved with any wrong thou shouldest do unto me. I have been to painful a judge over myself, to desire pardon in others judgement. I have been to cruel an executioner of mine own soul, to desire that execution of justice should be stayed for me. Alas they that know, how sorrow can  rend the spirits, they that know what fiery hells are contiened in a self condemning mind, need not fear that fear can keep such a one, from desiring to be separated from that, which nothing but death can separate. I therefore say to thee (O just judge) that I and only I, was the worker of Basilius death. They were these hands that gave unto him that poisonous potion, that hath brought death to him, and loss to Arcadia, it was I and none but I, that hastened his aged years, to an unnatural end, and that have made all his people orphans, of their royal father. I am the subject that have killed my Prince, I am the wife that have murdered my husband, I am a degenerate woman, an undoer of this country, a shame of my children. What wouldst thou have said more Oh Philanax? and all this I grant, there resteth then nothing else to say, but that I desire you, you will appoint quickly some to rid me of my life, rather than these hands, which els are destenied unto it, and that indeed it may be done with such speed as I may not long die in this life, which I have in so great horror: with that she crossed her arms, and sat down upon the ground, attending the judges answer. But a great while it was, before any boddye could be heard speak, the whole people concurring in a lamentable cry, so much had Gynoecia's words and behaviour stirred their hearts to a doleful compassion, neither in troth could most of them in their judgements tell, whether they should be more sorry for her fault or her misery: for the loss of her estate, or loss of her virtue. But most were most moved, with that which was under there eyes: the sense most subject to pity. But at length the reverent awe they stood in of Euarchus, brought them to a silent waiting his determination, who having well considered the abomination of the fact, attending more the manifest proof of so horrible a trespass; confessed by herself, and proved by others; then any thing relenting to those tragical phrases of hers (apt to stir a vulgar pity, than his mind, which hated evil, in what culloures so ever he found it) having considered a while with the principal men of the country, and demanded there allowance, he definitively gave this sentence. That where as both in private and public respects, this woman had most heinously offended, (in private, because marriage being the most holy conjunction that falls to mankind, out of which all families and so consequently all societies do proceed, which not only by community goods, but community children, is to knit the minds in a most perfect union, which who so breaks dissolves all humanity, no man living free from the danger of so near a neighbour, she had not only broken it, but broken it with death, and the most pretended death that might be: In public respect, the Prince's persons; being in all monarchal governments the very knot of the people's welfare, and light of all their doings to which they are not only in conscience, but in necessity bound to be loyal, she had traitorously empoisoned him, neither regarding her countries profit, her own duty, nor the rigour of the laws.) That therefore, as well for the due satisfaction to eternal justice, and accomplishment of the Arcadian statutes, as for the everlasting example to all wives and subjects, she should presently be conveyed to close prison, and there be kept with such food as might serve to sustain her alive, until the day of her husband's burial, at which time, she should be buried quick, in the same tomb with hime. That so his murder might be a murder to herself, and she forced to keep company with the body from which she had made so detestable a severance; And lastly death might redress their disjoined conjunction of marriage. His judgement was received of the whole assembly, as not with disliking, so with great astonishment, the greatness of the matter and person as it were overpressing the might of their conceits. But when they did set it to the beam, with the monstrousness of her ouglye misdeed, they could not but yield in their hearts, there was no overbalancing. As for Gynoecia, who had already settled her thoughts, not only to look but long for this event, having in this time of her vexation, found a sweetness in the rest she hoped by death, (with a countenance witnessing she had before hand so passed thorough all the degrees of sorrow, that she had no new look to figure forth any more) raze up and offered forth her faite hands to be bound or led as they would, being indeed troubled with no part of this judgement, but that her death was as she thought long delayed. They that were appointed for it conveyed her to the place she was in before, where the guard was relieved, and the number increased to keep her more sure for the time of her execution: None of them all that led her, though most of them were such, whose hearts had been long hardened with the often exercising such offices, being able to bar tears from their eyes, and others manifest tokens of compassionate sorrow. So goodly a virtue is a resolute constancy, that even in evil deservers, it seems that party might have been notably well deserving. Thus the excellent Lady Gynoecia, having passed five and thirty years of her age, even to admiration of her beautiful mind and body, and having not in her own knowledge, ever spotted her soul with any wilful vice, but her imoderate love of Zelmane, was brought, first by the violence of that ill answered passion, and then by the despairing conceit, she took of the judgement of God in her husbands death and her own fortune, purposely to overthrow herself, and confirm by a wrong confession, that abominable shame, which with her wisdom, joined to the truth, perhaps she might have refelled. Then did Euarchus ask Philanax, whether it were he that would charge the two young prisoners, or that some other should do it, and he sit according to his estate, as an assistant in the judgement. Philanax told him as before he had done, that he thought no man could lay manifest the naughtiness of those two young men, with so much either truth or zeal as himself, and therefore he desired he might do this last service to his faithfully beloved master, as to prosecute the traitorous causers of his death and dishonour; which being done, for his part he meant to give up all dealing in public affairs, since that man was gone who had made him love them. Philanax thus being ready to speak, the two Princes were commanded to tell their names who answered according to their agreements, that they were Daiphantus of Lycia, and Palladius Prince of Iberia. Which when they had said, they demanded to know by what authority, they could judge of them, since they were not only foreigners and so not borne under their laws, but absolute Princes and therefore not to be touched by laws. But answer was presently made them, that Arcadia laws, were to have their force upon any were found in Arcadia: since strangers have scope to know the customs of a country, before they put themselves in it: and when they once are entered, they must know, that what by many was made, must not for one be broken. And so much less for a stranger, as he is to look for no privilege in that place, to which in time of need, his service is not to be expected. As for their being Princes, whether they were so or no, the belief stood in their own words, which they had so diversly falsified, as they did not deserve belief. But what soever they were, Arcadia, was to acknowledge them but as private men, since they were neither by magistracy nor alliance to the princely blood, to claim any thing in that region. Therefore if they had offended, (which now by the plaintiff and there defence was to be judged) against the laws of nations; by the laws of nations they were to be chastised: if against the peculiar ordinances of the province those peculiar ordinances were to lay hold of them. The Princes stood a while upon that demanding leisure to give perfect knowledge of their greatness; but when they were answered, that in a case of a Prince's death, the law of that country had ever been, that immediate trial should be had: they were forced to yield, resolved that in those names, they would as much as they could, cover the shame of their royal parentage, and keep as long as might be (if evil were determined against them) the evil news from their careful kinsfolk, wherein the chief man they considered was Euarchus: whom the strange and secret working of justice, had brought to be the judge over them, in such a shadow, or rather pit of darkness, the wormish mankind lives, that neither they know how to foresee, nor what to fear: and are but like tenisballs, tossed by the racket of the higher powers. Thus both sides ready, it was determined, because their cases were separated. First Philanax should be hard against Pyrocles, whom they termed Daiphantus, and that heard, the others cause should follow, and so receive together such judgement, as they should be found to have deserved. But Philanax that was even short breathed at the first, with the extreme vehemency he had to speak against them, stroking once or twice his forehead, and wiping his eyes, (which either wept, or he would at that time have them seem to weep,) looking first upon Pyrocles, as if he had proclaimed all hatefullnes against him, humbly turning to Euarchus, (who with quiet gravity, showed great attention) he thus began his oration. That which all men, who take upon them to accuse an other, are wont to desire (most worthy protector) to have many proofs of my faults in them they seek to have condemned: that is to me in this present action, my greatest cumber, and annoyance. For the number is so great, and the quality so monstrous, of the enormities this wretched young man hath committed, that neither I in myself, can tell where to begin (my thoughts being confused with the horrible multitude of them) neither do I think your virtuous ears will be able to endure the report: But will rather imagine, you hear some tragedy invented of the extremity of wickedness, than a just resitall of a wickedness indeed committed, for such is the disposition of the most sincere judgements, that as they can believe mean faults, and such as man's nature may slide into, so when they pass to a certain degree, nay when they pass all degrees of unspeakable naughtiness, then find they in themselves a hardness to give credit, that human creatures, can so from all humanity be transformed. But in myself, the strength of my faith to my dead master will help the weakness of my memory; in you, your excellent love of justice will force you to vouchsafe attention: And as for the matter, it is so manifest, so pitiful evidences lie before your eyes of it, that I shall need to be but a brief recounter, and no rhetorical enlarger of this most harmful mischief. I will therefore, in as few words as so huge a trespass can be contained, deliver unto you the sum of this miserable fact: leaving out a great number of particular tokens, of his naughtiness, and only touching the essential points, of this doleful case. This man, whom to begin withal I know not how to name, since being come into this country, unaccompanied like a lost pilgrim, from a man grew a woman, from a woman a ravisher of women, thence a prisoner, and now a Prince. But this Zelmane, this Daiphantus, this what you will, (for any shape or title he can take upon him, that hath not restraint of shame) having understood the solitatie life my late master lived, and considering how open he had laid himself to any traitorous attempt, for the first mask of his falsehood, disguised himself like a woman: which being the more simple and hurtelesse sex, might easier hid his subtle harmefullnes. And presenting himself to my master, the most courteous Prince that lived, was received of him with so great graciousness, as might have bound not only any grateful mind, but might have mollified any enemies rancour. But this venomous serpent, admitted thus into his bosom, as contagion will easily find a fit body for it, so had he quickly fallen into so near acquaintance with this naughty woman, whom even now you have most justly condemned, that this was her right hand, she saw with no eyes but his, nor seemed to have any life but in him, so glad she was to find one more cunning than herself, in covering wickedness with a modest vail. What is to be thought passed betwixt two such virtuous creatures, whereof the one hath confessed murder, and the other rape, I leave to your wise consideration. For my heart hastens to the miserable point of Basilius murder, for the executing of which with more facility, this young nymph of Diana's bringing up, feigned certain rites she had to perform, so furious an impiety had carried him, from all remembrance of goodness, that he did not only not fear the Gods, as the beholders and punishers of so ungodly a villainy, but did blasphemously use their sacred holly name, as a minister unto it. And forsooth a Cave hereby was chosen, for the temple of his devotions, a Cave of such darkness, as did prognosticate he meant to please the infernal powers, for there this accursed caitiff, upon the altar of falsehood, sacrificed the life of the virtuous Basilius. By what means he trained him thither, alas I know not, for if I might have known it, either my life had accompanied my master, or this fellows death had preserved him. But this may suffice, that in the mouth of this Cave, where this traitor had his lodging and chapel, when already master shepherd his companion, had conveyed away the undoubted enheritrix of this country, was Gynoecia found by the dead corpse of her husband, newly empoisoned, appareled in the garments of the young Lady, and ready no question to have fled to some place, according to their consort, but that she was by certain honest-shepeheards arrested: while in the mean time, because their should be left no revenger of this bloody mischief, This noble Amazon, was violently gotten into the chamber of the Lady Philoclea, whereby the mingling as much as in him lay) of her shame, with his misdeed, he might enforce her to be the accessary to her father's death, and under the countenance of her and her sister (against whom they knew we would not rebel) seize as it were with one gripe into their treacherous hands, the regiment of the mighty province. But the almighty eye prevented him of the end of his mischief, by using a villain Damaetas hand, to enclose him in there, where with as much fortification as in a house could be made, he thought himself in most security. Thus see you most just judge, a short and simple story of the infamous misery, fallen upon this country. In deed infamous, since by an effeminate man, we should suffer a greater overthrow, than our mightiest enemies have been ever able to lay upon us. And that all this, which I have said is most manifest, aswell of the murdering of Basilius, as the ravishing of Philoclea, (for those two parts I establish of my accusation) who is of so incredulous a mind, or rather who will so stop his eyes from seeing a thing clearer than the light, as not to hold for assured so palpable a matter. For to begin with his most cruel misdeed, is it to be imagined, that Gynoecia (a woman though wicked, yet witty) would have attempted and achieved an enterprise, no less hazardous than horrible, without having some councillor in the beginning, and some comforter in the performing? Had she, who showed her thoughts, were so overruled with some strange desire, as in despite of God, nature and womanhood, to execute that in deeds, which in words we cannot hear without trembling, had she I say no practice to lead her unto it? Or had she a practice without conspiracy? Or could she conspire without some boddye to conspire with? And if one were; who so likely as this, to whom she communicated I am sure her mind, the world thinks her boddye? Neither let her words taking the whole fault upon herself, be herein any thing available. For to those persons who have vomited out of their souls all remnants of goodness, there rests a certain pride in evil, and having else no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be constant in iniquity, and that God knows must be held out to the last gasp, without revealing their accomplices. As thinking great courage is declared, in being neither afeard of the heavens nor ashamed of the world. But let Gynoecia's action die with herself, what can all the earth answer for his coming hither? Why alone, if he be a Prince? How so richly jewelled if he be not a prince? Why then a woman if now a man? Why now Daiphantus, if then Zelmane? Was all this play for nothing, or if it had an end, what end but the end of my dear master? Shall we doubt so many secret conferences with Gynoecia, such feigned favour to the over soon beguiled Basilius, a Cave made a lodging, and the same lodging made a temple of his religion, lastly such changes and traverses, as a quiet Poet could scarce fill a poem withal, were directed to any less scope, then to this monstrous murder? O snaky ambition, which can wind thyself in so many figures, to slide thither thou desirest to come! O corrupted reason of mankind, that can yield to deform thyself with so filthy desires! And O hopeless be those minds, whom so unnatural desires do not, with their own ugliness sufficiently terrify! But yet even of favour let us grant him thus much more, as to fancy that in these foretold things, fortune might be a great Actor, perchance to an evil end yet to a less evil end all these entangled devices were intended. But I beseech your Ladyship, my Lady Daiphantus tell me, what excuse can you find for the changing your lodging, with the Queen that very instant she was to finish her execrable practice? How can you cloak the lending of your cloak unto her, was all that by chance too? Had the stars sent such an influence unto you, as you should be just weary of your lodging, and garments, when our Prince was destenied to the slaughter? What say you to this, O shameful and shameless creature? Fit indeed to be the dishonour of both sexes. But alas, I spend too many words in so manifest and so miserable a matter. They must be four wild horses (which according to our laws are the executioners of men which murdre our Prince) which must decide this question with you. Yet see so far had my zeal to my beloved Prince transported me, that I had almost forgotten my second part, and his second abomination, I mean his violence offered to the Lady Philoclea: wherewith as if it had well become his womanhood, he came braving to the judgement seat, indeed our laws appoint not so cruel a death (although death too) for this fact as for the other. But whosoever well ways it, shall find it sprung out of the same fountain of mischievous naughtiness, the kill of the father, dishonouring the mother, and ravishing the child. Alas could not so many benefits received of my Prince, the justice of nature, the right of hospitality, be a bridle to thy lust, if not to thy cruelty? Or if thou haddest (as surely thou haste) a heart recompensing goodness with hatred, could not his death, which is the last of revenges, satisfy thy malice, but thou must heap upon it the shame of his daughter? Were thy eyes so stony, thy breast so tygreshe, as the sweet and beautiful shows of Philoclea's virtue, did not astonish thee? O woeful Arcadia, to whom the name of this mankind courtesan, shall ever be remembered as a procurer of thy greatest loss! But too far I find my passion, yet honest passion hath guided me; the case is every way too too much unanswearable. It resteth in you O excellent protector to pronounce judgement, which if their Bee hope, that such a young man may prove profitable to the world, who in the first exercise of his own determination, far passed the arrantest strumpet in luxuriousness, the cunningest forger in falsehood, a player in disguising, a Tiger in cruelty, a Dragon in ingratefulnes; let him be preserved like a jewel, to do greater mischief. If his youth be not more defiled with treachery, than the eldest man's age, let I say his youth, be some cause of compassion. If he have not every way sought the overthrow of human society, if he have done any thing like a Prince, let his naming himself a Prince, breed a reverence of his base wickedness. If he have not broken all laws of hospitality, and broken them in the most detestable degree that can be, let his being a guest, be a sacred protection of his more than savage do: or if his whorish beauty, have not been as the high way of his wickedness, let the picture drawn upon so poisonous a wood, be reserved to show how greatly colours can please us. But if it is as it is, what should I say more, a very spirit of hellish naughtiness, if his act be to be punished, and his defiled person not to be pitied, then restore unto us our Prince, by duly punishing his murderers, for than we shall think him and his name to live, when we shall see his killers to die. Restore to the excellent Philoclea her honour, by taking out of the world her dishonour, and think that at this day, in this matter are the eyes of the world upon you, whether any thing can sway your mind from a true administration of justice. Alas though I have much more to say, I can say no more, for my tears and sighs interrupt my speech, and force me to give myself over to my private sorrow. Thus when Philanax had uttered the uttermost of his malice, he made sorrow the cause of his conclusion. But while Philanax was in the course of his speech, and did with such bitter reproaches defame the princely Pyrocles, it was well to be seen, his heart was unused to bear such injuries, and his thoughts such, as could arm themselves better against any thing than shame. For sometimes blushing, his blood with divers motions coming and going, sometimes cloasing his eyes, and laying his hand over them, sometime giving such a look to Philanax, as might show he assured himself, he durst not so have spoken if they had been in indifferent place: with some impatiency he bore the length of his Oration: which being ended, with as much modest humbleness to the judge, as despiteful scorn to the accuser, with words to this purpose, he defended his honour.  
My accusors tale, may well bear witness with me, most rightful judge, in how hard a case, and environed with how many troubles, I may esteem myself. For if he, who shows his tongue, is not unacquainted with railing, was in an agony in the beginning of his speech, with the multitude of matters he had to lay unto me, wherein notwithstanding the most evil could fall unto him, was, that he should not do so much evil as he would; how cumbered do you think may I acknowledge myself, who in things no less importing then my life, must be mine own advocate, without leisure to answer, or foreknowledge what should be objected? in things I say promoted with so cunning a confusion, as having mingled truths with falsehoodes, surmises with certainties, causes of no moment with matters capital, scolding with complaining, I can absolute neither grant nor deny, neither can I tell, whether I come hither to be judged, or before judgement to be punished, being compelled to bear such unworthy words, far more grievous than any death unto me. But since the form of this government, allows such tongue liberty unto him, I will pick aswell as I can out of his invective those few points, which may seem of some purpose in the touching of me, hoping that by your easy hearing of me, you will show, that though you hate evil, yet you wish men may prove themselves not evil; so in that he hath said, you will not way so much what he hath said, as what he hath proved, remembering, that truth is simple and naked, and that if he had guided himself under that banner, he needed not out of the way have sought so wild and false disgrace of me, enough to make the untruest accusation believed. I will therefore, using truth as my best eloquence, repeat unto you as much as I know in this matter, and then by the only clearness of the discourse, your wisdom I know will find, the difference betwixt cavilling supposition, and direct declaration. This Prince Palladius and I, being inflamed with love, (a passion far more easily reprehended, then refrained) to the two peerless daughters of Basilius, and understanding, how he had secluded himself from the world, that like Princes, there was no access unto him, we disguised ourselves, in such forms, as might soon bring us to the revealing of our affections. The Prince Palladius, had such event of his do, that with Pamela's consent he was to convey her out of the thraldom she lived in, to receive the subjection of a greater people than her own, until her father's consent might be obtained. My fortune was more hard, for I bore no more love to the chaste Philoclea, than Basilius deceived in my sex, showed to me, insomuch that by his importunacy, I could have no time to obtain the like favour of the pure Philoclea: till this policy I found, taking, under colour of some devotions, my lodging, to draw Basilius thither, with hope to enjoy me, which likewise I revealed to the Queen, that she might keep my place, and so make her husband see his error. While I in the mean time, being delivered of them both, and having locked so the doors, as I hoped if the immaculate Philoclea would condescend to go with me, there should be none to hinder our going. I was made prisoner there, I know not by what means when being repelled by her divine virtue, I would feignest have escaped. Hear have you the thread to guide you in the Labyrinth, this man of his tongue, had made so monstrous. Hear see you the true discourse, which he mountbanke fashion, doth make so wide a mouth over. Hear may you conceive the reason, why the Queen had my garment, because in her going to the cave, in the Moonshine night, she might be taken for me, which he useth as the knot of all his wise assertions: so that as this double minded fellows accusation was double, double likewise my answer must perforce be, to the murder of Basilius, and violence offered to the inviolate Philoclea. For the first, O heavenly gods, who would have thought any mouth could have been found so mercenary, as to have opened so slight proofs of so horrible matters? his first Argument is a question who would imagine that Ginecia would accomplish such an Act, without some accessaries? and if any, who but I? truly I, and so far from imagining any thing, that till I saw these mourning tokens, and heard Ginecias' confession, I never imagined the King was dead. And for my part so vehemently, and more like the manner of passionate, then guilty folks, I see, the Queen persecute herself, that I think condemnation may go too hastily over her, considering the vnlikelyhood, if not impossibility, her wisdom, and virtue so long nourished, should in one moment throw down itself, to the uttermost end of wickedness. But whatsoever she hath done (which as I say, I never believed) yet how unjustly should that aggravate my fault. She found abroad I within doors (for as for the wearing my garment I have told you the cause) she seeking as you say to escape, I locking myself in a house: without perchance the conspiracy of one poor stranger, might greatly enable her attempt, or the fortification of the Lodge (as the trim man alleged) might make me hope to resist all Arcadia. And see how treacherously he seeks to draw from me, my chiefest cleared, by preventing the credit of her words, wherewith she had wholly taken the fault upon herself. A honest and unpartial examiner, her words may condemn her, but may not absolve me. Thus void of all probable allegation, the craven crows upon my affliction, not leaving out any evil, that ever he hath felt in his own soul, to charge my youth withal. But who can look for a sweeter breath out of such a stomach? or for honey from so filthy a Spider? What should I say more? if, in so inhuman a matter, which he himself confesseth, sincerest judgements are loathest to believe, and in the severest laws proofs clearer than the Sun are required, his reasons are only the scum of a base malice, my answers most manifest, shining in their own truth, there remain any doubt of it, because it stands betwixt his affirming and my denial, I offer, nay I desire, and humbly desire I may be granted the trial by combat, wherein let him be armed and me in my shirt, I doubt not justice will be my shield, and his heart will show itself as faint as it is false.  
Now come I to the second part of my offence, towards the young Lady, which howsoever you term it, so far forth as I have told you, I confess, and for her sake heartily lament. But if herein I offered force to her, love offered more force to me. Let her beauty be compared to my years, and such effects will be found no miracles. But since it is thus as it is, and that justice teacheth us not to love punishment, but to fly to it for necessity: the salve of her honour (I mean as the world will take it, for else in truth it is most untouched) must be my marriage, and not my death, since the one stops all mouths, the other becomes a doubtful fable. This matter requires no more words, and your experience I hope in these cases shall need no more, for myself me thinks I have showed already, too much love of my life to bestow so many. But certainly, it hath been love of truth, which could not bear so unworthy falsehood, and love of justice, that would brook no wrong to myself nor other, and makes me now, even in that respect to desire you, to be moved rather with pity at a just cause of tears, then with the bloody tears this Crocodile spends, who weeps to procure death, and not to lament death. It will be no honour to Basilius' tomb, to have guiltless blood sprinkled upon it, and much more may a judge overway himself in cruelty, then in clemency. It is hard, but it is excellent, where it is found, a right knowledge, when correction is necessary, when grace doth more avail. For my own respect, if I thought in wisdom I had deserved death, I would not desire life: for I know nature will condemn me to die, though you do not; and longer I would not wish to draw this breath, than I may keep myself unspotted of any horrible crime; only I cannot nor ever will deny, the love of Philoclea, whose violence wrought violent effects in me: with that he finished his speech, casting up his eyes to the judge, and crossing his hands, which he held in their length before him, declaring a resolute patience in whatsoever should be done with him. Philanax like a watchful adversary curiously marked all that he said, saving that in the beginning he was interrupted by two Letters were brought him from the Princess Pamela, and the Lady Philoclea: who having all that night considered and bewailed their estate, careful for their mother likewise, of whom they could never think so much evil, but considering with themselves that she assuredly should have so due trial by the laws, as either she should not need their help, or should be passed their help, They looked to that which neerelyest touched them, and each wrote in this sort for him in whom their lives joy consisted.  
The humble hearted Philoclea wrote much after this manner.  
MY Lords, what you will determine of me, is to me uncertain, but what I have determined of myself I am most certain, which is no longer to enjoy my life, than I may enjoy him for my husband, whom the heavens for my highest glory, have bestowed upon me. Those that judge him, let them execute me. Let my throat satisfy their hunger of murder. For alas what hath he done, that had not his original in me? Look upon him I beseech you with indifferency, and see whether in those eyes all virtue shines not. See whether that face could hid a murder. Take leisure to know him, and then yourselves will say, it hath been too great an inhumanity, to suspect such excellency. Are the gods think you deceived in their workmanship? Artificers will not use marble but to noble uses. Should those powers be so overshot, as to frame so precious an Image of their own, but to honourable purposes? O speak with him, o hear him, o know him, and become not the putters out of the world's light. Hope you to joy my father's soul with hurting him he loved above all the world? Shall a wrong suspicion make you forget the certain knowledge of those benefits, this house hath received by him? Alas alas, let not Arcadia for his loss, be accursed of the whole earth and of all posterity. He is a great Prince, I speak unto you that which I know, for I have seen most evident testimonies. Why should you hinder my advancement? who if I have passed my childhood hurtless to any of you, if I have refused no body to do what good I could, if I have often mitigated my father's anger, ever sought to maintain his favour towards you, nay if I have held you all as fathers and brothers unto me, rob me not of more than my life comes unto. Tear not that which is inseparably joined to my soul; but if he rest misliked of you, (which o God, how can it be) yet give him to me, let me have him, you know I pretend no right to your state. Therefore is it but a private petition I make unto you. Or if you be hard hartedly bend, to appoint otherwise (which oh sooner let me die, then know) then to end as I began, let me by you be ordered to the same end: without for more cruelty you mean to force Philoclea to use her own hands to kill one of your King's children.  
Pamela's Letter (which she meant to send to the general assembly of the Arcadian Nobility,) (for so closely they were kept, as they were utterly ignorant of the new taken orders) was thus framed.  
IN such a state my Lords you have placed me, as I can neither write nor be silent; for how can I be silent, since you have left me nothing but my solitary words to testify my misery? and how should I write (for as for speech I have none but my jailor, that can hear me) who neither can resolve what to write, nor to whom to write? What to write is as hard for me to say, as what I may not write, so little hope have I of any success, and so much hath no injury been left undone to mewards. To whom to write, where may I learn, since yet I wots not how to entitle you? Shall I call you my Sovereigns? set down your laws that I may do you homage. Shall I fall lower, and name you my fellows? show me I beseech you the Lord and master over us. But shall Basilius' heir, name herself your Princess? Alas I am your prisoner. But whatsoever I be, or whatsoever you be, o all you beholders of these doleful lines, this do I signify unto you, and signify it with a heart, that shall ever remain in that opinion. The good or evil you do to the excellent Prince was taken with me, and after by force from me, I will ever impute it as either way done to mine own person. He is a Prince and worthy to be my husband, and so is he my husband by me worthily chosen. Believe it, believe it, either you shall be traitors for murdering of me, or if you let me live, the murderers of him shall smart as traitors. For what do you think I can think? Am I so childish, as not to see, wherein you touch him you condemn me? Can his shame be without my reproach? no nor shall be, since nothing he hath done, that I will not avow. Is this the comfort you bring me in my father's death, to make me fuller of shame then sorrow? would you do this, if it were not with full intention to prevent my power, with slaughter? And so do I pray you, it is high time for me, to be weary of my life too long led, since you are weighed of me, before you have me? I say again, I say it infinitely unto you, I will not live without him, if it be not to revenge him: either do justly in saving both, or wisely in killing both. If I be your Princess, I command his preservation; if but a private person, then are we both to suffer. I take all truth to witness he hath done no fault but in going with me. Therefore to conclude, in judging him you judge me, neither conceive with yourselves, the matter you treat, is the life of a stranger, though even in that name he deserved pity, nor of a shepherd, to which estate love of me made such a Prince descend, but determined most assuredly, the life that is in question is of Pamela, Basilius daughter.  
Many blots, had the tears of the sweet Ladies made in their letters, which many times they had altered, many times torn, and written anew, ever thinking some thing either wanted, or were too much, or would offend, or which was worst, would breed denial: but at last, the day warned them to dispatch, which they accordingly did, and calling one of their guard (for no body else was suffered to come near them) with great entreaty, they requested him, that he would present them, to the principal Noblemen and Gentlemen together. For they had more confidence in the numbers favour, then in any one, upon whom they would not lay the lives they held so precious. But the fellow trusty to Philanax, who had placed him there, delivered them both to him, (what time Pyrocles began to speak) which he suddenly opened, and seeing to what they tended, by the first words, was so far from publishing them (whereby he feared in Euarchus just mind, either the Princesses might be endangered, or the prisoners preserved, of which choice he knew not which to think the worst) that he would not himself reed them over, doubting his own heart might be mollified, so bend upon revenge. Therefore utterly suppressing them, he lent a spiteful ear to Pirocles, and assoon as he had ended, with a very willing heart desired Euarchus he might accept the combat: although it would have framed but evil with him, Pyrocles having never found any match near him, besides Musidorus. But Euarchus made answer, since bodily strength is but a servant to the mind, it were very barbarous and preposterous, that force should be made judge over reason. Then would he also have replied in words unto him, but Euarchus who knew what they could say, was already said, taking their arguments into his mind, cammaunded him to proceed against the other prisoner, and that then he would sentence them both together. Philanax nothing the milder for Pyrocles purging himself, but rather (according to the nature of arguing, especially when it is bitter) so much the more vehement entered thus into his speech against Musidorus, being so overgone with rage that he forgot in this oration his precise method of oratory. Behold most noble protector, to what a state Arcadia is come, since such manner of men, may challenge in combat the faithfullest of the nobility, and having merited the shamefullest of all deaths, dare name in marriage the Princesses of this country. Certainly my masters, I must say, you were much out of taste, if you had not rather enjoy such Ladies, then be hanged. But the one you have as much deserved, as you have dishonoured the other. But now my speech must be directed to you good master Dorus, who with Pallas help perdie, are lately grown Palladius. Too much this sacred seat of justice, grants unto such a fugitive bondslave who in steed of these examinations, should be made confess, with a whip, that which a halter should punish. Are not you he Sir, whose sheephooj was prepared to be our Sceptre? In whom lay the knot of all this tradgedy? or else perchance, they that should gain little by it were dealers in the murder, you only that had provided the fruits for yourself, knew nothing of it, knew nothing: hath thy companion here infected thee with such impudence as even in the face of the world to deny that which all the world perceiveth? The other pleads ignorance, and you I doubt not will allege absence. But he was ignorant, when he was hard by, and you had framed your absence, just again the time the act should be committed, so fit a lieutenant he knew he had left of his wickedness, that for himself his safest mean, was to convey away the Lady of us all, who once out of the country, he knew we would come with olive branches of intercession unto her, and fall at his feet to beseech him to leave keeping of sheep, and vouchsafe the tyrannizing over us, for to think they are Princes, as they say (although in our laws it behooves them nothing) I see at all no reason. These jewels certainly with their disguisinge sleights, they have pilfered in their vagabonding race. And think you such Princes should be so long without some followers after them? Truly if they be Princes, it manifestly shows their virtues such, as all their subjects are glad to be rid of them. But be they as they are, for we are to consider the matter, and not the men. Basilius' murder hath been the cause of their coming, Basilius' murder, they have most treacherously brought to pass; yet that I doubt not, you will deny as well as your fellow. But how will you deny the stealing away the Princess of this Province, which is no less than treason? So notably hath the justice of the gods provided, for the punishing of these malefactors, as if it were possible, men would not believe the certain evidences of their principal mischief, yet have they discovered them selves sufficiently for their most just overthrow. I say therefore (to omit my chief matter of the King's death) This wolvish shepherd, this counterfeit Prince, hath traitorously contrary to his allegiance (having made himself a servant and subject) attempted the depriving this country of our natural Princess: and therefore by all right must receive the punishment of traitors. This matter is so assured as he himself will not deny it, being taken and brought back in the fact. This matter is so odious in nature, so shameful to the world, so contrary to all laws, so hurtful to us, so false in him, as if I should stand further in declaring or defacing it, I should either show great doubts in your wisdom, or in your justice. Therefore I will transfer my care upon you, and attend to my learning and comfort, the eternal example you will leave to all mankind of disguisers, falsefiers, adulterers, ravishers, murderers, and traitors. Musidorus while Philanax was speaking against his cousin and him, had looked round about him, to see whether by any means he might come to have caught him in his arms, and have killed him; so much had his disgrace words filled his breast with rage. But perceiving himself so guarded as he should rather show a passionate act, then perform his revenge, his hand trembling with desire to strike, and all the veins in his face swelling; casting his eyes over the judgement seat. O Gods said he, and have you spared my life to bear these injuries of such a drivel? Is this the justice of this place, to have such men as we are, submitted not only to apparent falsehood, but most shameful reviling? But mark I pray you the ungratefulness of the wretch, how utterly he hath forgotten, the benefits both he and all this country hath received of us. For if ever men may remember their own noble deeds, it is then when their just defence, and other unjust unkindness doth require it. I omit our services done to Basilius in the late war with Amphialus importing no less than his daughter's lives, and his state's preservation: were not we the men that killed the wild beasts which otherwise had killed the Princesses, if we had not succoured them? Consider if it please you, where had been Daiphantus rape, or my treason, if the sweet beauties of the earth, had then been devoured? Either think them now dead, or remember they live by us. And yet full often this tell-tale can acknowledge the loss they should have by their taking away, while maliciously he over passeth who were their preservers, neither let this be spoken of me, as if I meant to balance this evil with that good, for I must confess, that saving of such creatures was rewarded in the act itself: but only to manifest the partial jangling of this vile pickthank. But if we be the traitors, where was your fidelity, O only tonge-valliant Gentleman, when not only the young Princess, but the King himself was defended from uttermost peril, partly by me but principally by this excellent young man's both wisdom and valour? Were we that made ourselves against hundreds of armed men, openly the shields of his life, like secretly to be his empoisoners? Did we then show his life to be dearer to us then our own, because we might after rob him of his life, to die shamefully? Truly truly master orator, whosoever hath hired you to be so busy in their matters, who keep honester servants than yourself, he should have bid you in so many railings, bring some excuse for yourself, why in the greatest need of your Prince, to whom you pretend a miraculous good will, you were not then as forward to do like a man yourself, or at least to accuse them that were slack in that service, but commonly the use their feet for there defence whose tongue is their weapon. certainly a very simple subtlety it had been in us, to repose our lives in the daughters, when we had killed the father. But as this Gentleman thinks to win the reputation of a copious talker by leaving nothing unsaide which a filthy mind can imagine, so think I (or else all words are vain) that to wise men's judgement, our clearness in the King's death is sufficiently notorious. But at length when the merchant hath set out his guilded baggage, lastly he comes to some stuff of importance, and saith I conveyed away the Princess of this country. And is she indeed your Princess? I pray you then whom should I wait of else, but her that was my mistress by my professed vow, & Princess over me while I lived in this soil? Ask her why she went; ask not me why I served her. Since accounting me as a Prince, you have not to do with me, taking me as her servant, then take withal that I must obey her. But you will say I persuaded her to fly away, certainly I will for no death deny it, knowing to what honour I should bring her from the thraldom by such fellows council as you, she was kept in. Shall persuasion to a Prince grow treason to a Prince? It might be error in me but falsehood it could not be, since I made myself partaker of whatsoever I wished her unto, who will ever counsel his King, if his counsel be judged by the event, and if it be not found wise, shall therefore be thought wicked? But if I be a traitor, I hope you will grant me a correlative, to whom I shall be the traitor. For the Princess against whom the treasons are considered, I am sure will avow my faithfulness, without you will say that I am a traitor to her, because I left the country: and a traitor to the country, because I went with her. Hear do I leave out my just excuses of loves force, which as thy narrow heart hath never had noble room enough in it to receive, so yet to those manlike courages, that by experience know how subject the virtuous minds are to love a most virtuous creature, (witnessed to be such by the most excellent gifts of nature) will deem it a venial trespass, to seek the satisfaction of honourable desires. Honourable even in the curiousest points of honour, whereout there can no disgrace nor disparagement come unto her. Therefore O judge, who I hope dost know what it is to be a judge, that your end is to preserve, and not to destroy mankind, that laws are not made like limetwigges, or nets, to catch every thing that toucheth them, but rather like sea marks to avoid the shipwreck of ignorant passengers, since that our doing in the extremest interpretation is but a human error, and that of it you may make a profitable event (we being of such estate, as their parents would not have misliked the affinity) you will not I trust at the persuasion of this brabbler, burn your house to make it clean, but like a wise father, turn even the fault of your children to any good that may come of it: since that is the fruit of wisdom, and end of all judgements. While this matter was thus handling, a silent and as it were astonished attention, possessed all the people. A kindly compssion moved the noble Gentleman Simpathus, but as for Kalander, every thing was spoken either by or for his own dear guests, moved an affect in him: sometimes tears, sometimes hopeful looks, sometimes whispering persuasions in their ears, that stood by him, to seek the saving the two young Princes. But the general multitude waited the judgement of Euarchus, who showed in his face no motions, either at the ones or other speech, letting pass the flowers of rhetoric, and only marking whether their reasons tended, having made the question to be asked of Gynoecia, who continued to take the whole fault upon herself, and having caused Damaetas, with Miso and Mopsa (who by Philanax order had been held in most cruel prison) to make a full declaration, how much they knew of these passed matters, and then gathering as assured satisfaction to his own mind as in that case he could; not needing to take leisure for that, whereof a long practice had bred a well grounded habit in him, with a voice of gesture directed to the universal assembly, in this form pronounced sentence. This weighty matter, whereof presently we are to determine, doth at the first consideration yield two important doubts. The first whether these men be to be judged. The second how they are to be judged. The first doubt ariseth because they give themselves out for Princes absolute, a sacred name, and to which any violence seems to be an impiety. For how can any laws, which are the bonds of all human society be observed if the law givers, and law rulers, be not held in an untouched admiration? But hereto although already they have been sufficiently answered, yet thus much again I will repeat unto you. That what soever they be or be not, here they be no Princes, since betwixt Prince and subject there is as necessary a relation, as between father and son, and as there is no man a father, but to his child, so is not a Prince, a Prince but to his own subjects. Therefore is not this place to acknowledge in them any principality, without it should at the same time, by a secret consent confess subjection. Yet hereto may be objected, that the universal civility, the law of nations (all mankind being as it were coinhabitors or worlde-citizens together) hath ever required public persons, should be of all parties especially regarded since not only in peace, but in war, not only Princes, but heralds and trumpets, are with great reason exempted from injuries. This point is true, but yet so true, as they that will receive the benefit of a custom, must not be the first to break it. For than can they not complain, if they be not helped by that which they themselves hurt. If a Prince do acts of hostility, without denouncing war, if he break his oath of amity, or innumerable such other things contrary to the law of arms, he must take heed how he fall into their hands whom he so wrongeth, for than is courtesy the best custom he can claim, much more these men, who have not only left to do like Princes, but to be like Princes, not only entered into Arcadia, and so into the Arcadian orders, but into domestical services, and so by making themselves private, deprived themselves of respect due to their public calling. For no proportion it were of justice, that a man might make himself no Prince when he would do evil, and might a new create himself a Prince, when he would not suffer evil. Thus therefore by all laws of nature and nations, and especially by their own putting themselves out of the sanctuary of them, these young men can not in justice avoid the judgement: but like private men, must have their doings either cleared, excused, or condemned. There resteth then the second point, how to judge well. And that must undoubtedly be done, not by a free discourse of reason, and skill of philosophy: but must be tied to the laws of Greece, and municipal statutes of this kingdom. For although out of them, these came, and to them must indeed refer their offspring, yet because philosophical discourses, stand in the general consideration of things, they leave to every man a scope of his own interpretation. Where the laws applying themselves to the necessary use, fold us within assured bounds, which once broken man's nature infinitely rangeth. judged therefore they must be, & by your laws judged. Now the action offereth itself to dew balance, betwixt the accusers twofold accusation, and their answer accordingly applied. The questions being the one of a fact simply, the other of the quality of a fact. To the first they use direct denial, to the second qualification and excuse. They deny the murder of the king; & mighty against presumptions bring forth some probable answers, which they do principally fortify with the Queen's acknowledging herself only culpable. Certainly as in equality of conjectures, we are not to take hold of the worse, but rather to be glad we may find any hope that mankind is not grown monstrous, (being undoubtedly less evil a guilty man should escape, than a guiltless perish) so if in the rest they be spotless, then is no farther to be remembered. But if they have aggravated these suspicions, with new evils than are those suspicions so far to show themselves, as to cause the other points to be thoroughly examined, and with less favour weighed since this no man can deny they have been accidental, if not principal causes of the kings death. Now than we are to determine of the other matters, which are laid to them, wherein they do not deny the fact, but deny or at least diminish the fault, but first I may remember (though it were not first alleged by them) the services they had before done, truly honourable and worthy of great reward, but not worthy to countervail with a following wickedness. Reward is proper to well doing, punishment to evil doing, which must be confounded, no more then good and evil are to be mingled. Therefore hath been determined in all wisdoms, that no man because he hath done well before, should have his present evils spared, but rather so much the more punished, as having showed he knew how to be good, would against his knowledge be nought. The fact than is nakedly without passion, or partiality to be viewed: wherein without all question they are equally culpable. For though he that terms himself Daiphantus were sooner disappointed of his purpose of conveying away the Lady Philoclea, than he that persuaded the Princess Pamela to fly her country, and accompanied her in it: yet seeing in causes of this nature, the will by the rules of justice standeth for the deed, they are both alike to be found guilty, and guilty of heinous ravishment. For though they ravished them not from themselves, yet they ravished them from him that owed them, which was their father. An act punished by all the Grecian laws, by the loss of the head, as a most execrable theft. For if they must die, who steal from us our goods, how much more they, who steal from us that, for which we gather our goods, and if our laws have it so in the private persons, much more forcible are they to be in Prince's children, where one steals as it were the whole state, and well being of that people, being tied by the secret of a long use, to be governed by none but the next of that blood. Neither let any man marvel, our ancestors have been so severe in these cases, since the example of the Phenician Europa but especially of the Grecian Helen, hath taught them, what destroying fires have grown of such sparkles. And although Helen was a wife, and this but a child, that booteth not since the principal cause of marrying wives is, that we may have children of our own. But now let us see how these young men (truly for their persons worthy of pity, if they have rightly pitied themselves) do go about to mitigate the vehemency of their errors. Some of their excuses are common to both, some peculiar only to him that was the shepherd. Both remember the force of love, and as it were the mending up of the matter by their marriage, if that unbridled desire which is entitled love, might purge such a sickness as this, surely we should have, many loving excuses of hateful mischief. Nay rather no mischief should be committed, that should not be veiled under the name of love. For as well he that steals, might allege the love of money, he that murders the love of revenge, he that rebels the love of greatness, as the adulterer the love of a woman. Since they do in all speeches affirm they love that, which an ill governed passion maketh them to follow. But love may have no such privilege. That sweet and heavenly uniting of the minds, which properly is called love, hath no other knot but virtue, and therefore if it be a right love, it can never slide into any action that is not virtuous. The other and indeed more effectual reason is that they may be married unto them and so honourably redress the dishonour of them, whom this matter seemeth most to touch. Surely if the question were, what were convenient for the parties, and not what is just in the never changing justice, there might much be said in it. But herein we must consider, that the laws look how to prevent by due examples, that such things be not done: and not how to salve such things, when they are done. For if the governors of justice, shall take such a scope, as to measure the foot of the law, by a show of conveniency, and measure that conveniency not by the public society, but by that which is fittest for them which offend: young men, strong men, and rich men, shall ever find private conveniences, how to palliate such committed disorders, as to the public shall not only be inconvenient but pestilent. The marriage perchance might be fit for them, but very unfit were it to the state, to allow a pattern of such procurations of marriage. And thus much do they both allege. Further goes he that went with the Princess Pamela, & requireth the benefit of a councillor, who hath place of free persuasion; and the reasonable excuse of a servant, that did but wait of his mistress. Without all question, as councillors have great cause to take heed how they advise any thing, directly opposite to the form of that present government, especially when they do it singly without public allowance, so yet is the case much more apparent: since neither she was an effectual Princess, her father being then alive, & though he had been dead, she not come to the years of authority, nor he her servant, in such manner to obey her, but by his own preferment first belonging to Dametas, and then to the King, and therefore if not by Arcadia laws, yet by household orders, bound to have done nothing without his agreement. Thus therefore since the deeds accomplished by these two, are both abominable and inexcusable. I do in the behalf of justice, & by the force of Arcadia laws pronounce, that Daiphantus shallbe thrown out of a high tower to receive his death by his fall. Palladius shall be beheaded the time before the sun set: the place in Mantinaea: the executioner Dametas: which office he shall execute all the days of his life, for his beastly forgetting the careful duty he owed to his charge. This said he turned himself to Philanax, and two of the other noble men, commanding them to see the judgement presently performed. Philanax more greedy than any hunter of his pray, went strait to lay hold of the excellent prisoners, who casting a farewell look one upon the other, represented in their faces as much unappalled constancy, as the most excellent courage can deliver, in outward graces. Yet if at all there were any show of change in them, it was that Pyrocles was something nearer to bashfulness, and Musidorus to anger; both over ruled by reason and resolution. But as with great number of armed men, Philanax was descending unto them, and that Musidorus was beginning to say something in Pyrocles behalf. Behold Kalander, that with arms cast abroad, and open mouth came crying to Euarchus, holding a stranger in his hand that cried much more than he, desiring they might be heard speak before the prisoners were removed. Even the noble Gentleman Simpathus aided them in it, and taking such as he could command, stopped Philanax betwixt entreaty and force, from carrying away the Princes, until it were heard what new matters these men did bring. So again mounting to the Tribunal, they harkened to the strangers vehement speech, or rather appassionate exclaiming. It was in deed Kalodulus, the faithful servant of Musidorus, to whom his master, when in despite of his best grounded determinations he first became a slave to affection, had sent the shepherd Menalcas to be arrested: by the help of whose raiment in the mean time he advanced himself to that estate, which he accounted most high, because it might be serviceable to that fancy, which he had placed most high in his mind. For Menalcas having faithfully performed his errand, was as faithfully imprisoned by Kalodulus. But as Kalodulus performed the first part of his duty in doing the commandment of his Prince: so was he with abundance of sincere loyalty extremely perplexed, when he understood of Menalcas the strange disguising of his beloved Master. For as the acts he and his cozen Pyrocles had done in Asia, had filled all the ears of the Thessalians and Macedonians with no less joy than admiration: so was the fear of their loss no less grievous unto them, when by the noise of report they understood of their lonely committing themselves to the Sea, the issue of which they had no way learned. But now that by Menalcas he perceived where he was, guessing the like of Pyrocles, comparing the unusednes of this act with the unripeness of their age, seeing in general conjecture they could do it for nothing, that might not fall out dangerous: he was somewhile troubled with himself, what to do, betwixt doubt of their hurt, and doubt of their displeasure. Often he was minded (as his safest and honestest way) to reveal it to the king Euarchus: that both his authority might prevent any damage to them, and under his wings he himself might remain safe. But considering a journey to Byzantium (where as yet he supposed Euarchus lay) would require more time, than he was willing to remain doubtful of his Prince's estate, he resolved at length to write the matter to Euarchus, and himself the while to go into Arcadia: uncertain what to do when he came thither, but determined to do his best service to his dear Master, if by any good fortune he might find him. And so it happened that being even this day come to Mantinaea, and as warily and attentively as he could giving ear to all reports, in hope to hear some thing of them he sought, he strait received a strange rumour of these things: but so uncertainly as popular reports carry so rare accidents. But this by all men he was willed, to seek out Kalander a great Gentleman of that Country, who would soon satisfy him of all these occurrents. Thus instructed he came even about the midst of Euarchus judgement to the desert. Where seeing great multitudes, and hearing unknown names of Palladius, and Daiphantus, and not able to press to the place where Euarchus sat, he inquired for Kalander, and was soon brought unto him: partly because he was generally known unto all men, and partly because he had withdrawn himself from the press, when he perceived by Euarchus words whether they tended, being not able to endure his guests condemnation. He inquired forthwith of Kalander the cause of the assembly: and whither the fame were true of Euarchus presence: who with many tears, made a doleful recital unto him, both of the Amazon and shepherd, setting forth their natural graces, and lamenting their pitiful undoing. But his description made Kalodulus immediately know the shepherd was his Duke, and so judging the other to be Pyrocles, and speedily communicating it to Kalander, who he saw did favour their case, they broke the press with astonishing every man with their cries. And being come to Euarchus, Kalodulus fell at his feet telling him those he had judged were his own Sun and Nephew; the one the comfort of Macedon, the other the only stay of Thessalia. With many such like words, but as from a man that assured himself in that matter he should need small speech. While Kalander made it known to all men, what the prisoners were to whom he cried they should salute their father, and joy in the good hap the gods had sent them; who were no less glad, than all the people amazed at the strange event of these matters. Even Philanax own revengeful heart was mollified, when he saw from diverse parts of the world so near kinsmen should meet in such a necessity. And with all the fame of Pyrocles and Musidorus, greatly drew him to a compassionate conceit, and had already unclothed his face of all show of malice. But Euarchus staid a good while upon himself, like a valiant man that should receive a notable encounter, being vehemently stricken with the fatherly love of so excellent children, and studying with his best reason, what his office required. At length with such a kind of gravity, as was near to sorrow, he thus uttered his mind. I take witness of the immortal gods (said he) O Arcadians, that what this day I have said, hath been out of my assured persuasion, what justice itself and your just laws require. Though strangers then to me, I had no desire to hurt them, but leaving a side all considerations of the persons, I weighed the matter which you committed into my hands, with most unpartial and farthest reach of reason. And thereout have condemned them to lose their lives, contaminated with so many foul breaches of hospitality, civility and virtue. Now contrary to all expectations, I find them to be my only son and Nephew, such upon whom you see, what gifts nature hath bestowed. Such who have so to the wonder of the world heretofore behaved themselves, as might give just cause to the greatest hopes, that in an excellent youth may be conceived. Lastly in few words such, in whom I placed all my mortal joys, and thought myself now near my grave, to recover a new life. But alas shall justice halt? Or shall she wink in ones cause which had Lynxes eyes in another's? Or rather shall all private respects give place to that holy name? Be it so, be it so, let my grey hears be laid in the dust with sorrow, let the small remnant of my life, be to mean inward and outward desolation, and to the world a gazing stock of wretched misery: But never never, let sacred rightfulness fall. It is immortal and immortally aught to be preserved. If rightly I have judged, then rightly I have judged mine own children. Unless the name of a child, should have force to change the never changing justice. No no Pyrocles & Musidorus I prefer you much before my life, but I prefer justice as far before you, while you did like yourselves, my body should willingly have been your shield, but I cannot keep you from the effects of your own doing. Nay I cannot in this case acknowledge you for mine. For never had I shepherd to my nephew, nor ever had woman to my son, your vices have degraded you from being princes, & have disanulde your birthright.  
Therefore if there be any thing left in you, of Princely virtue, show it in constant suffering, that your unprincely dealing hath purchased unto you. For my part I must tell you, you have forced a father to rob himself of his children. Do you therefore, O Philanax, and you my other Lords of this country, see the judgement be rightly performed in time, place and manner, as before appointed. With that though he would have refrained them; a man might perceive the tears drop down his long white beard. Which moved not only Kalodulus and Kerxenus to roaring lamentations, but all the assembly dolefully to record that pitiful spectacle. Philanax himself could not abstain from great shows of pitying sorrow, and manifest withdrawing from performing the kings commandment. But Musidorus having the hope of his safety, and recovering of the princess Pamela: which made him most desirous to live, so suddenly dashed: but especially moved for his dear Pyrocles, for whom he was ever resolved his last should be, and stirred up with rage of unkindness, he thus spoke. Enjoy thy bloody conquest tyrannical Euarchus, said he; for neither is convenient the title of a king, to a murderer, nor the remembrance of kindred, to a destroyer of his kindred. Go home and glory that it hath been in thy power, shamefully to kill Musidorus. Let thy flattering Orators dedicate Crowns of Laurel unto thee, that the first of thy race, thou hast overthrown a Prince of Thessalia. But for me I hope the Thessalians are not so degenerate from their ancestors, but that they will revenge my injury; and their loss upon thee. I hope my death is no more unjust to me; them it shallbe bitter to thee, howsoever it be, my death shall triumph over thy cruelty, neither as now would I live to make my life beholding unto thee. But if thy cruelty hath not so blinded thine eyes, that thou canst not see thine own heart, if thy heart be not so devilish, as thou hast no power but to torment thyself: then look upon this young Pyrocles, with a manlike eye; if not with a pitiful: Give not occasion to the whole earth to say, see how the gods have made the Tyrant tear his own bowels! Examine the eyes and voices of all this people, and what all men see, be not blind in thine own case. Look I say look upon him, in whom the most curious searcher is able to find no fault: but that he is thy son. Believe it, thy own subjects will detest thee, for robbing them of such a Prince, in whom they have right as well as thyself. Some more words to that purpose he would have spoken, but Pyrocles who often had called to him, did now fully interrupt him, desiring him not to do him the wrong to give his father ill words before him, willing him to consider it was their own fault, and not his unjustice, and withal to remember their resolution of well suffering all accidents, which this impatiency did seem to vary from: and then kneeling down with all humbleness, he took the speech in this order to Euarchus. If my daily prayers to the Almighty Gods, had so far prevailed, as to have granted me the end whereto I have directed my actions; I should rather have been now a comfort to your mind, than an example of your justice, rather a preserver of your memory by my life, than a monument of your judgement by my death. But since it hath pleased their unsearchable wisdoms, to overthrow all the desires I had to serve you, and make me become a shame unto you; since the last obedience I can show you, is to die: vouchsafe yet O father (if my fault have not made me altogether unworthy, so to term you) vouchsafe I say to let the few & last words your son shall even speak, not be tedious unto you. And if the remembrance of my virtuous mother, who once was dear unto you, may bear any sway with you, if the name of Pyrocles have at any time been pleasant, let one request of mine which shall not be for mine own life, be graciously accepted of you. What you own to justice is performed in my death. A father to have executed his only son, will leave a sufficient example for a greater crime than this. My blood will satisfy the highest point of equity, my blood will satisfy the hardest hearted in this country. O save the life of this Prince, that is the only all I will with my last breath demand of you. With what face will you look upon your sister, when in reward of nourishing me in your greatest need, you take away and in such sort take away that which is more dear to her then all the world, and is the only comfort, wherewith she nourisheth her old age? O give not such an occasion to the noble. Thessalians, for ever to curse the match that their Prince did make with the Macedon blood. By my loss there follows no public loss, for you are to hold the seat, and to provide yourself perchance of a worthier successor. But how can you oral the earth recompense that damage, that poor Thessalia shall sustain? who sending out (whom otherwise they would no more have spared then their own eyes) their Prince to you, and you requesting to have him, by you he should thus dishonourably be extinguished. Set before you, I beseech you, the face of that miserable people, when no sooner shall the news come that you have met your Nephew, but withal they shall hear that you have beheaded him. How many tears they shall spend, how many complaints they shall make, so many just execrations will light upon you. And take heed O father (for since my death answers my fault, while I live I will call upon that dear name) Lest seeking too precise a course of justice, you be not thought most unjust: in weakening your neighbours mighty estate, by taking away their only pillar. In me, in me this matter began, in me let it receive his ending. Assure yourself no man will doubt your severe observing the laws, when it shall be known Euarchus hath killed Pyrocles. But the time of my ever farewell approacheth, if you do think my death sufficient for my fault, and do not desire to make my death more miserable than death. Let these dying words of him, that was once your son, pierce your ears. Let Musidorus live, and Pirocles shall live in him, and you shall not want a child. A child cried out Musidorus, to him, that kills Pyrocles? with that again he fell to entreat for Pyrocles, and Pyrocles as fast for Musidorus, each employing his wit how to show himself most worthy to die, to such an admiration of all the beholders, that most of them examining the matter by their own passions, thought Euarchus (as often extraordinary excellencies, not being rightly conceived, do rather offend then please) an obstinate hearted man, and such a one, who being pitiless, his dominion must needs be insupportable. But Euarchus that felt his own misery more than they, and yet loved goodness more than himself, with such a sad assured behaviour as Cato killed himself withal, when he had heard the uttermost of that their speech tended unto: he commanded again they should be carried away, rising up from the seat (which he would much rather have wished, should have been his grave) and looking who would take the charge, whereto every one was exceeding backward. But as this pitiful matter was entering into, those that were next the Duke's body, might hear from under the velvet, wherewith he was covered, a great voice of groaning. Whereat every man astonished, (and their spirits appalled with these former miseries, apt to take any strange conceit) when they might perfectly perceive the body stir, Then some began to fear spirits, some to look for a miracle, most to imagine they knew not what. But Philanax and Kerxenus, whose eyes, honest love (though to diverse parties) held most attentive, leapt to the table, and putting of the velvet cover, might plainly discern, with as much wonder as gladness, that the Duke lived. For so it was, that the drink he had received, was neither as Gynoecia first imagined, a love potion, nor as it was after thought, a deadly poison, but a drink made, by notable Art, and as it was thought not without natural magic to procure for thirty hours, such a deadly sleep, as should oppress all show of life. The cause of the making of this drink had first been, that a Princess of Cyprus, grandmother to Gynoecia, being notably learned, (and yet not able with all her learning, to answer the objections of Cupid) did furiously love a young noble man of her father's Court. Who fearing the kings rage, and not once daring either to attempt or accept so high a place, she made that sleeping drink, and found means by a trusty servant of hers, (who of purpose invited him to his chamber) to procure him, that suspected no such thing, to receive it. Which done, he no way able to resist, was secretly carried by him into a pleasant chamber, in the midst of a garden, she had of purpose provided for this enterprise: where that space of time, pleasing herself with seeing and cherishing of him, when the time came of the drinks end of working, and he more astonished than if he had fallen from the clouds, she bade him choose either then to marry her, and to promise to fly away with her in a bark she had made ready, or else she would presently cry out, and show in what place he was, with oath he was come thither to ravish her. The noble man in these straights, her beauty prevailed, he married her, and escaped the Realm with her. And after many strange adventures, were reconciled to the king her father, after whose death they reigned. But she gratefully remembering the service, that drink had done her, preserved in a bottle (made by singular Art long to keep it without perishing) great quantity of it, with the foretold inscription, which wrong interpreted by her daughter in law the Queen of Cyprus, was given by her to Gynoecia at the time of her marriage, and the drink finding an old body of Basilius, had kept him some hours longer in the trance, than it would have done a younger. But a good while it was, before good Basilius could come again to himself: in which time Euarchus more glad than of the whole worlds Monarchy, to be rid of his miserable magistracy, which even in justice he was now to surrender to the lawful Prince of that country; came from the Throne unto him, and there with much ado made him understand, how these intricate matters had fallen out. Many garboils passed through his fancy before he could be persuaded, Cleofila was other than a woman. At length remembering the Oracle, which now indeed was accomplished (not as before he had imagined) considering all had fallen out by the highest providence, and withal weighing in all these matters his own fault had been the greatest. The first thing he did, was with all honourable pomp, to send for Gynoecia: who poor Lady thought she was leading forth to her living burial: and (when she came) to recount before all the people, the excellent virtue was in her, which she had not only maintained all her life most unspotted: but now was contented so miserably to die, to follow her husband. He told them how she had warned him to take heed of that drink, and so withal the exaltinges of her that might be, he publicly desired her pardon, for those errors he had committed. And so kissing her, left her to receive the most honourable fame of any Princess throughout the world, all men thinking (saving only Pyrocles and Philoclea who never bewrayed her) that she was the perfect mirror of all wifely love. Which though in that point undeserved, she did in the remnant of her life daily purchase, with observing all duty & faith to the example & glory of Greece. So uncertain are mortal judgements, the same person most infamous, and most famous, and neither justly. Then with Princely entertainment to Euarchus, and many kind words to Pyrocles, whom still he dearly loved though in a more virtuous kind, the marriage was concluded, to the inestimable joy of Euarchus, (towards whom now Musidorus acknowledged his fault) betwixt these peerless Princes and Princesses. Philanax for his singular faith ever held dear of Basilius while he lived, and no less of Musidorus, who was to inherit that Dukedom, and therein confirmed to him and his, the second place of that Province, with great increase of his living to maintain it: which like proportion he used to Kaledulus in Thessalia: Highly honouring Kalander while he lived: and after his death continuing in the same measure to love and advannce this son Clitophon. But as for Sympathus, Pyrocles, (to whom his father in his own time gave the whole kingdom of Thrace) held him always about him, giving him in pure gift, the great City of Abdera: But the solemnities of these marriages, with the Arcadian pastorals, full of many comical adventures, happening to those rural lovers; the strange stories of Artaxia and Plexirtus, Erona and Plangus; Helen and Amphialus, with the wonderful chances that befell them: The shepheardish loves of Menalcas with Kalodulus daughter; the poor hopes of the poor Philisides in the pursuit of his affections; the strange continuance of Klaius and Strephon's desire; Lastly the son of Pyrocles named Pyrophilus, and Melidora, the fair daughter of Pamela by Musidorus, who even at their birth entered into admirable fortunes; may awake some other spirit to exercise his pen in that, wherewith mine is already dulled.  
FINIS.   

LONDON. Printed for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paul's Church yard, near unto the great north door of Paul's. Anno Domini. 1593.