THE ANNALS OF LOVE, Containing Select HISTORIES OF THE Amours OF DIVERS PRINCE'S COURTS, Pleasantly Related.  
LONDON, Printed for John Starkey at the Mitre in Fleetstreet, near Temple-Bar, 1672.   

THE PREFACE.  
THE Age we live in, pretending to so much subtlety, and the liberty of writing Intrigues, being grown so common; to prevent public mistakes, I have thought good to premise this Advertisement; That these Annals of Love are really History, whose Fountains and Originals, I have on purpose inserted in the ensuing Table. They are no witty and facetious Inventions, exhibited under true Names (of which kind I have seen lately an ingenious Essay) but faithful touches taken out of History in general. There was formerly a Countess of Castille, who ran away from her Husband with a Pilgrim into France. There were Fraticelles, and they condemned for the same Crimes by Boniface VIII. and Clement V Let no man expect a Scheme of our present Hypocrisy in this Book; he that does, will be mistaken, and find nothing but a faithful Relation of the Iniquity of old times. I confess I have presumed to add some Ornaments to the simplicity of History: The Majesty of Historical matters will not allow a judicious Author to dilate upon Accidents of Love, he speaks of them but in transitu, and it must be no less than an eminent Battle, or the subversion of a State, contempt him to a digression. I have excused my Annals for this sort of austerity. When the History of Spain tells me a Sovereign Countess of Castille followed a poor Pilgrim into France, I cannot imagine things could run so high in a moment: they must see one another, they must meet, and discourse, before she could come to so strange a resolution. I have augmented the History therefore with several interviews, and amorous Dialogues of mine own: If they are not what they really spoke, they are at lest what they might. I have no Memoires to trust to, but my own Fancy; when I am better supplied, or assured my Gallants delivered themselves better than I have made them in my Annals, I will be content with all my heart, to have my Compliments expunged, and their own put in their places. But considering the Historians do all render them mute, why should not I make them speak as I think good myself.  
If in the Conferences and Passages I have invented, there happens any resemblance with the Intrigues of our Age, it is no fault either in the History or in me, that was writ long before I was born, and I protest I thought nothing of the present, when I spoke of what was passed. But there having been Lovers, and loving from the beginning of the World, it is hard to conceive but those who have been always susceptible of the same sentiments, will be liable to the same actions. A man is a man now, as he was six hundred years since. The Law of our Ancestors is ours, and we love, as they loved formerly: Is it to be admired then, if what happened in former Ages, bears a Conformity with ours? It is no more extraordinary to see a Lover in 1669. make Love as they did in 950. than it is to see a Child born this year with the same Members or Elements which composed the Children of Adam and the Patriarches. These are the common effects of Nature, not subject to the revolutions of time; and I cannot but wonder people should be so idle, as to Philosophise upon so natural a similitude. Besides this, I have endeavoured to comprehend a Moral sense in all things, though (apparently) never so irregular. If I bring in a Religious person speaking abominably, and contrary to the Sanctity of his Name and Profession, 'tis but to render that kind of Impiety the more horrible, and to illustrate the Excellence of Virtue: If I drive on the Immodesty of Women even to Impudence, 'tis but to represent that Vice in its more natural Colours. Indeed it is many times dangerous to give a feeble and imperfect description, in some cases a Woman may be overcome by a temptation, which (had she known all the consequences of the History) she would probably have mastered. And that I might interlace, and inlay my Examples with profitable Precepts, I observe this Maxim in all of them, to punish Vice, and reward Virtue. With this Caution it is lawful to bring the most detestable action upon the Stage. The Scenes of Congregations and Colleges are filled with Assasinations and Murders; Sacrilege and Martyrdom, we see frequently confounded; and yet there is no thoughts of putting them down. As the Crime is not exposed, but for the Triumph of Innocence, so no body hath so ill an opinion of his Neighbour, as to take that for an Exhortation to Vice, which is but an ingenious way to discourage it. I conjure the Readers of my Annals ●o have a care of that fault; they may meet Vice in ●his Book represented many times to the life; but let them take notice also, if they please, these Pictures were drawn but to render it more ugly. The Allegorical sense makes good the literal all along, and the liberty of the style, which perhaps runs high now and then in serious occasions, aught to be looked upon but as designs of diversion, otherwise they will injure the intention of the Author, who meant no more than their divertisement.  

An Account of some Historical Passages contained in the Annals of Love.  
Don Garcias Ferdinandee Count of Castille, and the Countess his Wife, History of Spain, in the Reign of Raymire sixteenth King of Oviedo, and fourth of Leon, Tom. 1. from the year 941. to 956.  
That which I have added to the truth of this History, is easily observed by the Reader.  
alfred called by that Name, History of Engl. in the Reign of Edgar, 975.  
There are so few additions or alterations in this Story, they are not worth the taking notice of.  
Otho III. Grandchild to Otho the Great, and Mary his Wife.  
Frisin. lib. 6. Sigon. lib. 7. and for further satisfaction the Abridgement of the general History of Jurcelin, in the year 984.  
There is more of invention in this Story, than in any of the rest, but if the Reader will take the pains to examine it, he will perhaps find the truth so well disguised, he will not go about to find faul● with the Author.  
The three Princesses of Castille, and their three French Lords, 〈◊〉 Hist. of Spain in the Reign of Alphonso VI third King of 〈◊〉 Castille, and 20. of Leon. Anno Dom. 1083. to 1127.  
If the Reader will please to examine that History, he will ●●d the Invention and the Truth not ill intermingled; the ●ounds are absolutely Historical, the Fabulous part (which 〈◊〉 the Ornamental) does not want its resemblances, all taken 〈◊〉 hints out of the History itself.  
Frideric or Frederic surnamed Barberossa, Sigeb. in his Chro. Frisin. in the History of Frederic, Sigon. l. 12. Abridg. of Jurcelin, An. 1154.  
The difference betwixt the Pope and the Emperor, is described formally in the Story. The Sedition of the Guelphs ●●d the Gibelins, and the Marriage of Henry iv with Con●●ance (who had been four years a Nun) is no less authentic. The Galantrie of the Cloister is taken out of private memoirs; and some are of opinion Constance was Niece to pilement III. and not to Alexander. But besides that, that ●●rcumstance is uncertain, and not positively to be decided: 〈◊〉 is of so little importance to our Annals, I think it not ●●orth the time to dispute it.  
The Amours of James King of Arragon, Hist. Hisp. Reg. Ferdinand. IX. Castil. Reg. An. Dom. 1228.  
This Story is taken almost word for word out of that chronicle. That that is added, is only a little piece of Gallantry to bring in the Articles of Marriage.  
The Fraticelles.  
This History is taken out of so many famous Authors, so many Memoires and Manuscripts, that it would take up a whole Table to recite our Authorities. Platus hath a whole Chapter upon them. Baronius is so particular in ●heir debaucheries, I dare not expose them to a modest ●eader. I confess Hortensia is the Daughter of mine own ●ancy, but there was a necessity of some person which might ●ive occasion for the declaration of their Doctrine. If it was not to this Hortensia, they spoke what is mentioned in my Annals, it was to some body else; for by consent of all Authors, that was their thoughts. If any of my Readers be scandalised with that liberty, I refer him to my Preface.  
The Extravagance of Dulcinus King of the Lombard's, and of Marguerite his Wife. Annal. Eccles. 1310. S. Anth. Arch. of Flor. lib 20. Abr. de Turcel. Reg. Hen. VII.  
This Extravagance is in History represented so horridly, I thought it my duty to give it a better shape. Dulcinus and Marguerite introduced a custom of promiscuous enjoyment in all sorts of people, without choice or distinction. I have moderated that, and turned it to the changing of Husbands and Wives, which though it be contrary likewise to the Laws of the Church; yet among Persons of Honour, I think it would be more excusable than the other. As to Nogaret, there was a man of that Train, at that time accompanied by Sara Colonna into Italy: and supposing there was such an Examen of Husbands discontented, and Wives not satisfied, it is not improbable but their Arguments and Impeachments might be of that nature.  
Don Pedro Rex Castil. XIV. Hist. Spain, Regn. ejusd. Anno 1344. ad 1360.  
This Story is well-near word for word, only the Amour of Nugnez is suppositious.  
If the fidelity of this Table be suspected, I only desire the Readers to suspend their Judgements, till they know the Author; when they know who it is, they will believe in good breeding he deserves some connivance; and perhaps some of them may confess there is more in his Annals, than they expected from him.    

THE ANNALS OF LOVE.  

THE FIRST PART.  
LOVE is agreeable in all forms, and hath its influence upon all persons. We have seen Queens in Love with the meanest of their Officers; it reigns in the dull and almost dead eye, as well as in the brisk and sparkling: nor is there any Condition of Mankind, from the Prince to the Pilgrim, but stoops to that yoke, and may become an Ornament of its Triumph. Of this the Countess of Castille is a most pregnant Example. She was descended from the Illustrious Family of the Vermandois, she was a great Beauty, and married to a Count, whose Estate since that time hath composed a considerable Kingdom. His Court was numerous, and the Castilian Gallantry, the most remarkable in all Spain. But it was not with the Charms of a Courtier, the Countess was to be won, her Virtue was impregnable as to Magnificence, or Spruceness; it must be a Hat with large brims, a Rochet set with shells, must work upon her. The Lustre of that Diadem to which her Husband Don Garcia Fernandez was born, made less impression upon her heart, than the counterfeit humility of a Pilgrim of S. James. This Hero travelling to Compostella through the Kingdom of Castille, and understanding the Countess was originally French, and particularly gracious to that Nation, he resolved to have his share of it as well as the rest of his Countrymen. He got himself presented by the Master of the Hospital at Burgos; where being received, and the excellence of his Mien piercing through the obscurity of his habit, the Countess found him immediately so complete, she retarded the accomplishment of his Vow for some weeks, she conjured him to repose himself for some time at her Court in Castille; and because his Equipage was not likely to render him considerable, she found out a pretence to furnish him more nobly herself. There was not a Family in France to which he said he was allied, but was akin likewise to the Countess: so covering the real indigence of her Pilgrim with the Mask of voluntary Penance, he was introduced into the Court under the Name of Hugo d'Anjou descended from the Counts of Given first Cousins to the Countess, and that out of an excess of Devotion he was marching in Pilgrimage to Compostella. He could not have had better Titles to recommend him in that Country; for Don Garcias loved his Wife very well, and the Castilians are a people naturally sensible of any act of Devotion. Thus far therefore our Hugo is happy, being lodged in the Counts own Palace, and reverenced by his whole Court for the profound humility which they supposed in him. His change of Habit could be no disadvantage to him; it is not to be imagined, but he was as graceful to the eyes of the Countess in the Fashion of a French Lord, as in the Weeds of a Pilgrim. She made him tell her the Adventures of his Voyage, and pressed it with as much importunity as was possible, she would not suffer him to omit the least Circumstance, and for as much as good Lodging is a rare Commodity among Pilgrims, and he had occasion sometimes to mention the unkindness of the Servants where he lay, the good Lady was so tenderhearted, and so sensible of his sufferings, she could not forbear blurting out ●nto tears.  

As sly Aeneas told his mournful tale  
To gentle Dido, and so played his part;  
Not only for belief he did prevail,  
But wriggled himself into the Lady's heart.   

So our Land-Pilgrim understood so right  
To explicate h troubles by the way,  
That not a stumble, or a start in th' night,  
But spoilt the Countess' Eyelids all that day.   

How great is Love! and arbitrary, all  
Follows the mighty dictate of his will,  
Interest, Honour, what we Generous call,  
Ambition, truckle to his Sceptre still.  
Religion (which I'd thought would ne'er submit)  
Stoops with the rest, and kisses Cupid's feet.   
Hugo d'Anjou the Pilgrim perceiving (by the compassion the Countess expressed in the beginning of his disasters) that she was favourably disposed towards him; resolved to give her better occasion than the bare relation of his Pilgrimage. He was perpetually attending, and indeed so much that his assiduity would have been suspicious in any body but a Cousin. He was always ready with some pleasant Story or other, when ever she commanded, he gathered constantly the best flowers for his Lady Cousin, and her Chamber; and then cutting off his discourses with sudden and most profound sighs (which were easily distinguishable from throbs of Devotion) he inspired so much Curiosity into the Countess, that nothing could serve her turn but the History of his Life, she pressed him very hard, she must have every Accident, and Hugo was so cunning to let her press as often as he thought was necessary, to make his compliance the more grateful, at length he did it in this manner.  

The History of the Pilgrim.  
I Will not tell you, Madam, that I am of a Family hath reckoned Kings of France among it Predecessors. The ridiculous Proverb, that Travellers may lie by authority, renders Strangers so suspectible of that vanity, that the best way to discover one's Quality, is to conceal it. Here the Countess interrupted him, and pretending to know him better than he knew himself, she ran out into so large a Genealogy of his Illustrious Ancestors, that she saved him the trouble of inventing one; she deduced him from Eudes, and Robert Earls of Anjou, Governors of the Kingdom of France under Charles III. surnamed the Simple, and quoted several historical Chronologies to prove it, which perhaps she had never seen in her life, so that the Nobility of his Extractions cost him nothing but two or three nods with his head by way of concurrence and confirmation.  
Since then, Madam, continued the Pilgrim, I find you so well versed in my Pedigree, I shall trouble you with nothing but the affairs of my heart.  
The Countess blushed at that word, and Hugo perceived it well enough, but like a cunning Sophister, took no notice, but went on with his Discourse.  
I was never aimable enough to be beloved; had I ever had that good fortune, I would have died before I would have betrayed it: but (having been always ill treated) I may confess (without indiscretion) I have had some little inclinations formerly to a Lady of our Court, of as great Beauty and Quality as most that were there. Her cruelty rather than any inconstancy in me, disengaged me in a short time; and since, but why? Madam, said he (as if he had recollected himself) shall I be so vain, as to discover my own weaknesses? Yes, yes, I will do it. You are an excellent person, and I have already had experience of your goodness.  
I had framed an Idea of Beauty to myself, which I worshipped at my soul, but could not meet with it in any person I could find: this pleasant Chimaera entertained me whole days, I was unquiet, made Verses, as I had been in Love, I described her with the best Eyes, the best Mouth, the best Hair, made her shape incomparable, her smile bewitching, and when I had done, gave up my soul wholly to the adoration of the Picture, though if my soul had been at stake, I knew not where to have found out the Original. This passion bordering much upon folly, I was not a little ashamed of myself, and the instances of my reason tormenting me with remorse, as often as the pleasantness of the folly inveigled my desires, I became so melancholy, I was hardly to be known. A particular Friend of mine, a man of great sagacity, was the first which perceived it, he asked me the cause, and our intimacy not permitting me to dissemble, I told him the truth. He had more patience for my Frenzy, than I expected he would have had, for though he was severe to himself, he had great kindness for his friends. He judged by the relation I had made of my follies, that Remonstrances, or Arguments would do but little good, and therefore concluded upon another way of giving me relief; He cast my Nativity, rectified his Figure most accurately, and according to the strictest Rules of that Art, and at last found, that if any thing restored me to my former tranquillity, it must be a Pilgrimage to Saint James. I was affrighted at the Proposition; people of my Age and Quality, do not relish those excesses of devotion: But the hopes wherewith my passion had been flattered, having transported it to the highest degree of irregularity, it was not possible for me to resist its violence any longer; I put my affairs in as good a posture as my impatience would give me leave, and colouring my Journey with a specious pretence, that it was a Vow my Father had taken before, that dying of a sudden, he had enjoined me to accomplish it for him, I began my Pilgrimage. This, Madam, is the true reason that hath transported me from Hugo d'Anjou, to a poor Pilgrim of S. James, and though I cannot say my submission to the direction of the Heavens, hath moved them to compassionate my folly, or attribute it to the effect of a Sympathy with which I dare not flatter myself; yet this I do certainly find, that my desires are tending to their accomplishments, that my mind is more at ease in Burgos than in any other place, and that the favours you are pleased to vouchsafe me, do afford more consolation to my disquiets than I could be capable of receiving from any one besides.  
The politic Pilgrim durst not explain himself any farther the first time, but reserved it to future Conversation to make himself more intelligible, the Character of his Chimerical Mistress, answered exactly to the qualifications of the Countess, and he lost no opportunity of inculcating the resemblance, to which the disposition of the Stars contributed very largely. The Countess was the Wife of a Sovereign Prince, and in appearance inclined naturally to Virtue; but when one is carried away with an opinion of the Celestial Influence, there is no room left for the Counsels either of Honour or Reason. No doubt but the good Lady was sorry at the heart for the fatality of her Stars, but she did not believe it was possible to evade them. She would have sworn her adventure was decreed from the Creation of the World, and how then could she withstand so firm a predestination? She yielded therefore without any farther reluctancy; the Pilgrim spoke his mind, and it was favourably received; and that I may not spin out more time in the insinuation of a thing so easily comprehended, Hugoes affection languished not above a month in the agonies of its discovery: having passed so painful an obstetrication, the Countess and he began to use more liberty in their converse. But is it possible, said she to him one day, that the accidents you have related to me of your life, should be true? But is it possible, replied the Pilgrim, you can doubt it after what you have seen? Am not I Hugo d'Anjou? Was not I going for Compostella, when I had the happiness to see you? Did I not adore you from the first moment I beheld you, and if I may believe your gracious glances, were not you sensible from the first, of the Love you had kindled in me? Believe me, Madam, this Sympathy is but an effect o● my Star, which could never have been excited by any body but you; And I believe the same Sympathy would not have been acted in you for any body bu● me; but we were born to love one another, th● Conjunction of the Stars have ordered it, and it i● not possible for us to resist our Destiny. To te●● you the plain truth, replied the Countess, with a ●igh, this Destiny you speak of hath taken but an odd kind of way to arrive at its ends, for it might well have excused making me the Wife of a Prince, seeing I was born to be the Mistress of a Pilgrim: at this rate they had several Discourses; their pretended Consanguinity furnishing them with an unsuspected liberty of entertaining themselves when they pleased, but this was not sufficient for our Pilgrim. He was in perpetual fear something or other should be discovered, which might be fatal either to his Love, or his life; and not being able to continue at Burgos much longer in that anxiety, he ventured to propose to the Countess to bear him company herself. The motion was somewhat sudden, but she was more surprised than offended when she heard it, and no wonder; for a Woman which once yields up her heart to disloyalty, makes no scruple of running forward upon whatever she is desired; the greatest difficulty was, to find a specious pretence. The first thing they pitched upon was a Pilgrimage, which had been so favourable already to Hugoes designs, they expected no less in the behalf of the Countess. But Don Garcias was inexorable, they despaired to prevail with him; he could not endure to be so long from his Wife, who pretended necessities and revelations, but to no purpose, he was deaf to all her inspirations, and had he not fallen into a desperate sit of sickness (as it had been in revenge of his obstinacy) he had never consented to the Countess' peregrination: But the danger he was in, giving her the pretence of a vow for his recovery, and the approbation of certain good Christians (of which that Climate is very fertile) having fortified her resolution; she promised solemnly in the presence of the great Officers of the Court to go on foot to Saint James, if it pleased God to restore her Husband to his health. He recovered, to the great satisfaction of our Lovers, and the Countess counterfeiting the fear of his relapse, if she did not accomplish her Vow with all possible speed, used her utmost endeavour, that she might accompany her Cousin in his religious Voyage. This extravagant zeal displeased Don Garcias exceedingly, he would have chosen a second distemper, rather than the departure of his Wife: But the Religious people in Burgos belaboured his resolution so hotly, they overcame it at last, and the pious Countess was permitted to march. In this manner she was turned Pilgrim, and upon her way to Compostella with her well beloved Cousin. The slenderness of her Equipage being an essential part of her Vow, she would let no body attend her but an old Governess, (very subject to compassion for the frailties of Nature) and a Footman, which by the consent of all Authors, served all Offices, and was sometimes the French Cook, and sometimes Gentleman Usher. Such extraordinary Pilgrims as these, aught to have no ordinary Conduct: they advanced by small Journeys; whatever was better than ordinary in their Inns, they would be sure to have it; if Music, and Songs were to be had, they would have their share: and now I speak of Songs, it puts me in mind of a few Verses in the nature of a satire made upon their Pilgrimage, which I hope the Reader will not take unkindly, if I insert in this place.  

We, we, are Pilgrims of Saint James.  
We burn like you, with wanton flames.  
Be sure, you send your Wives from home,  
For we plant Horns where e'er we come:  
And in our Travels take such measures,  
We preach up death, but practise pleasures.   

You that hate all ill words, but what you give  
And Prisoners in Palaces do live;  
Rub up your Piety, and a place endow  
Where we may mollify your Mates, and you.   

And the good man whose Charity's so great  
To furnish us a close and safe retreat;  
We'll pray the Gods reward him with long life,  
And do as much to's Daughter, and his Wife.   
The design of our Lovers being to follow the Road to Compostella no longer than needs must; the Countess' Magazines were provided for a much greater Journey: she had Money, and Jewels good store, and the Lackey being very well chosen, they fetched a short turn, and recovered by his industry whatever was convenient for their progress to Bayonne. They reposed there for some time, and her Honour not thinking it fit to retain the name of Isabel de Vermandois, by which she was called being Don Garcias Wife, she assumed the Title of Madam Valerie, with which she passed several Cities and Towns, till at length she arrived in Paris, a place more proper to conceal her Intrigues, than any other, and moreover it was the place where her Gallant was born. The Pedigree of this Pilgrim proved not so Illustrious as he had hinted at Burgos; he was scarce a Gentleman, and but meanly provided with Estate, but the merit of the man supplied his defects.  
In the mean time Don Garcias (who consented to the Pilgrimage of his Wife, with no little regret) began to be impatient for her return. He could not take a nap, but he looked upon it as ominous, the commonest Accidents passed for Prodigies with him; and though the Countess writ to him from all places, and dated her Letters from the Road to Compostella, yet he had a secret Devil tormented him violently, and nothing could satisfy him, but he must go after her himself. He departed from Burgos without any Train, only some certain necessary Officers, and two or three of his most intimate Courtiers, supposing he had not had above two or three days Journeys to his Countess, he ordered his affairs at home according to the proposed time of his absence, but he was mistaken in his scale, and might have gone twenty times to Compostella, and never heard of his Wife, had not the curiosity of some people shortened his Journey. The persons which attended him, growing weary of their Voyage, and (perhaps) suspecting the truth, resolved amongst themselves to try if they could discover the business, instead, of enquiring upon the Road to Galicia, they sent towards France, for Intelligence that way, and it was no hard matter to inform them: For the Countess was remarkable, and all the descriptions that were made of Madam Valery, answered exactly to the Countess of Castille. News of this Nature is so unpleasant to tell, the Courtiers with Don Garcias complemented one another for some time, who should have the honour to deliver ●●, every man being unwilling to be the Messenger of so unwelcome Intelligence. At length an ancient Officer of the Counts (more familiar with him something than the rest) undertook the design; he took ●is advantage one night, stayed in the Count's Cham●er when the rest were gone out, and having premised some unprofitable morsels of Morality, he desired Don Garcias to proceed no further in his Jourmey; for (said he) it is not in the Road to Compostella your Lady is to be sought: it is easy to be imagined, whether the Count was surprised at that word. He had often supposed that the convenience of this Pilgrimage might deliver the two Cousins from the scruple of Incest pretended; but he could not believe the Countess could carry it on farther than some few false oaths of conjugal fidelity. He questioned the old Domestic, and the more questions he asked, the more he was informed; and yet not being able to convince himself of so incredible a thing, he could not without great difficulty believe what he saw.  
He dispatched new Scouts upon the heels of the old; he gave order for pursuing the Pilgrims, not only where he judged they might possible be, but in such places likewise where he was assured they were not. These Hue and Cries confirmed him in what had been told him; he received attestations from all the Inns where the devout Lovers had reposed betwixt Burgos and Bayonne, and of the liberty they used. Don Garcias understood so many particularities of their Travels, that he doubted no● but he was a Cuckold. That Title disquieted him more than any thing else, it was an appellation he always reckoned amongst the most insupportable in the World. But he must be patiented in spite o● his teeth; he was not the only man had practised that virtue; for whilst he was making the best of a bad Market, and meditating revenge suitable to his injury, Cupid was taking care to provide him Companions, that the fellow-feeling of one another's calamities might be an alleviation to them all.  
The Star that was so fatal to the Husband this year, had not confined its influence to the Climate of Castille; the cold as well as hot Countries felt the force of that Constellation. Earl Ethelwold a Favourite to Edgar King of England, had gained so far upon the affections of his Majesty, that he governed both his Subjects and desires as absolutely as himself. This King acted nothing but by his Counsels, saw nothing but by his Eyes, and as if he had been to love nothing but with his heart, he entrusted him to go and view a young Lady called Alfreda, (Daughter and Heir to the Duke of Devonshire, one of the greatest Lords in that Kingdom) of whom he had heard so well, that if his Favourite sound her as she was represented, he resolved to make her his Wife. Besides her Beauty, her Fortune was so great, it was no Policy in the King, to commit the choice of her to Ethelwold. The Duke of Devonshire had been the cause of great troubles during the Reign of the precedent King; for which he was confined to his own Territory, and that was the reason Alfreda had never appeared in the Court ●f England. In this manner was this Favourite qualified with a Commission to furnish the King with a Wife, and the Throne of England with a Queen. This Conjuncture seemed very consonant with his designs, he flattered the King in his desires ●f marrying Alfreda; and though intending nothing less than that she should be his Queen; the ●eparted with absolute power, to conclude or break ●ff the Marriage as he judged convenient.  

MAXIM I.  
He that with too much power employs his Friend  
In Love Intrigues, runs greater hazard far  
(Example tells) than he's perhaps ware.  
Unbounded power, (whate'er it may pretend)  
But seldom answers the expected end.  
For if by chance unfaithful one does prove,  
(And who will strive against his own desire)  
His very trust provokes him to aspire.  
He that can once for's friend with freedom move,  
Takes greater freedom, and fr ' himself makes Love   
●thelwold being arrived in Devon-shire, and the pri●ate Article of his Commission, being the examination of her Beauty, he resoved to see her before he ●●ade any Proposals. He pretended he had taken ●●at Journey to set the Duke right once more with ●●e Crown of England, and this good office deser●ing all the Civility could be showed him, the Daughter was called down, to bear a part in the acknowledgements. Never did old Story speak of any Lady with so much advantage as the English Chronicle does of Alfreda: the description made of her therein, relishes more of Romance than veritable Narration; and yet the effects her Beauty produced were so strange, and so great, they seem to justify the Elegy they gave her. The Count was dazzled at the very first glance, and this surprise was presently converted into a violent passion, and that into a resolution never to put her into the arms of his Master. He proceeded presently to a Treaty, but it was for himself, thereby teaching Posterity, that in matters of Love they should never give their Agents so absolute a power, as may tempt them to abuse it. There being no person in the Court of England so great as Ethelwold, the Duke of Devon-shire took the Proposition as a very great Honour, and granted it without any demur, so that all things being concluded, and nothing wanting to consummate all but the Nuptial Benediction, Ethelwold gave the Duke to understand, that in duty he was obliged to let his Majesty know of it before; under which pretence he took his leave of the Duke for some time, and returned presently to Court, where he gave Edgar a description of Alfreda quite contrary to what he had already conceived. True it is, Sir, said the Count to the King; Alfreda has all things about her requisite to the making a Lady handsome, and yet with all those ingredients, she is far from it herself. She has an ill Mien, which discredits her shape, she has a red Lip, but without any sweetness; her Eyes are large, grey, and well set, but she has a way of opening them, which renders them abominable; her looks are so childish, and silly, they take much from the excellence of her Complexion; in short, Sir, the features and proportions of this Lady are not made for one another, they are so huddled together, their confusion spoils their retail, and never was there person before the Duke of Devonshires Daughter that had so much hard favourdness, and so much Beauty together. To this extravagant Character Ethelwold added certain pretended reasons of his own; as that since the Duke of Devon-shire had been banished the Court, he had contracted great debts, and engaged a considerable part of his Country to the Earls and Dukes that were his Neighbours; that he was odious to the English; that his Journey into Devon-shire having given some Alarm, and suspicion, the people began already to declaim against the Match, and in this manner employing all parts to divert his Majesty from those inconvenient desires; he wrought upon him so, that he gave over his design. But this single effect of his Counsels could not content him, he knew Edgar was of an amorous Complexion, and he must find out something or other to entertain him. Ethelwold sent up and down, inquired himself, and it was not long before he was provided; England is not barren of Beauties, and it was a Mistress for his Majesty he wanted. He pitched therefore upon a young Lady called Wilfrede, who had withdrawn herself into a Monastery to avoid the insolences of her Guardian. She was young, unfortunate, and next the Duke's Daughter the handsomest Woman in that Kingdom. The Count presented her to the King to obtain his protection against her Guardian, who would needs marry her to a person she could not possibly love; and seconding his Harangue with all the commendations he could give her, he represented the good qualities of Wilfrede with such efficary, that before she left the King, she received sensible marks of his inclination. Ethelwold liked his success very well, he used her with all kindness and compassion, undertook to be her Mediator in that affair, and in a short time managed things so, that he had brought her to his Lure, and got an absolute command of her. Finding the King engaged with this Lady, he took occasion to renew his Counsels against the Duke of Devon-shire, he pretended advice of intelligence betwixt him and the Duke of Normandy; and pressing his Majesty to put a stop to the ambition of this man, by marrying his Daughter to one of his Subjects, it fell naturally into the King's head to bestow her upon him. It is easy to believe he consented without any great trouble, and yet he called it a Sacrifice, pretending that Alfreda was herself so unacceptable to him, that no consideration but the Peace of the Nation could have prevailed with him to marry her. But to serve his Master, and advantage the Nation, what was it he would not readily endure? At length having used all the Grimaces and Artifice he could think of, Ethelwold is dispatched into Devon-shire to marry the Duke's Daughter, for the tranquillity of the Kingdom. Never was any man so happy as this Lover, he admired Alfreda, even to adoration; he esteemed her a thousand times more handsome since she was his Wife than before, and though it was obedience only which obliged Alfreda to marry him, having never loved any thing but him. The bare act of Marriage wrought as effectually upon the heart of this young Lady, as long Love did upon other people. The presence of her Husband was quickly dear to her, she apprehended his absence; and perceiving him laying his design of returning whither his ambition called him: Ah, Sat, said she to him one day, this is that I have been always afraid of; the Loves of a Servant, and a Husband are exceedingly different, I remember a roguish Song my Governess taught me when I was a Child, which I fear contains a fatal prediction of my destiny: having said so, with an innocent smile that almost ravished her Husband, she began to repeat them.  

SONG.  
Whilst Love's suspended, and in fear  
Of a Repulse, nothing's too dear  
Or good, to hang at Lady's ear.   

But if the Damsel once complies,  
And pities Rheum in Servants Eyes,  
Farewell all future Sacrifice.   

Six days possession at the most,  
Makes a man curse his former cost,  
And reckon time, and Presents lost.   
No, no, dear Alfreda, replied the amorous Ethelwold, catching her fast in his arms, nothing shall ever extinguish the passion I have for you. I am too much enamoured, and you are too handsome not to be always the Mistress of your Husband. Why, this leaving me then, my Lord? replied the melancholy Alfreda, could you leave me so soon, if you loved me as you say? Nay, my Dear, replied the Count, my Journey is of necessity, I must needs go where my duty requires me, would you have me renounce the favour of my Prince, the advantages it beings me, and the care of the State, which his most gracious Majesty hath committed (almost entirely) to my Conduct? What necessity of this State, replied Alfreda, or those Chimerical advantates? Is not the Duke my Father rich, and great enough to erect you a Fortune? And can you think that when I cannot enjoy you, the thought of your travelling for the good of the Nation, will give me any ease? Ah, my Lord, let us consider our own private felicity, and leave the general to others; the satisfaction, and pleasantness of the whole World, will not wipe off one of the tears your departure will being upon my cheeks: and to tell you may final resolution in a word, either you must be kind, and stay here with me, or so merciful as to let me bear you Company, otherwise God knows what danger there will be of our meeting no more. These two Propositions were equally fatal to the Count, he used all his Art to reduce her to reason. He loved Alfreda very well, and his Fortune no less; he was conscious of the cheat he had put upon the King, and he had no mind his Wife should come to Court to convince him. He excused himself therefore by the illness of the weather, he promised to return again very speedily: But the new Bride would not be paid in that Coin; she charged him sometimes with inconstancy, sometimes with contempt, and not allowing him any intermission, she forced him at last to confess the whole truth. What confidence is to be placed by a Husband in a young person whose heart has been acquainted with Love but a few days, and that in a Conjugal way? Ethelwold expected that narration should have stopped her desires of accompanying him to London, and have cleared that doubt, that he loved her not as he should do. But alas! he was not acquainted with the humour of the greatest part of that Sex; Ambition is natural to them, and the honour of being a Queen will startle the most Philosophical Lady of them all. The Countess easily comprehending by this Discourse, that Ethelwold had not only cheated her of a Crown, but deprived her of all opportunity of going to Court whilst Edgar was living. She found herself possessed with so great an abhorrence of her Husband's disingenuity, that she began to hate him more than she had loved him before. And in truth after this discovery▪ ●●●re was no need he should fear her following ●●●n against his will: She could have seen him departed for the Valley of Jehosaphat, and not spoke one word in order to his stay. She looked very ●●dly upon the Walls of the Town, as her perpetual Prison, and the only part of the World she 〈…〉 like to see. She was still talking with her Father, or the new Servants her Husband had left with 〈◊〉 about the Beauty of the City of London, the Magnificence of the Court, etc. and revolving that she was banished for all her life time, at least for 〈◊〉 Youth, from a place where she might have reigned as Queen, but for the Treachery of Ethelwold, sHe gave herself over to Melancholy, so that nothing could comfort her. The Duke imagining this sadness had proceeded from the absence of her Husband, assured her constantly of his speedy return. He shown her the Letters he had received to that purpose, and used all means possible to divert her: But it was not the sight of her Consort she longed for, she feared it as much now as she had desired it before. Whilst her thoughts were in this agitation, a Painter arrived at that City, who went from Court to Court to make a collection of the Pictures of all the fine Ladies in Europe, to hang up in the Gallery of his Master the Duke of Modena. This Picture-drawer had heard much of the Beauty of Alfreda from a Frenchman of his acquaintance in Rome, who had been some time in England: Upon the report of this Frenchman, he concluded he could carry nothing more grateful to his Master than the Picture of this Lady. He came therefore to Davon, and having withal due formality, begged leave of the old Duke that his Daughter might sit, he obtained it without any scruple. The Old man loved his Daughter very tenderly, and not knowing his Son in Laws Intrigue, he thought the giving her Picture but an indifferent thing: But the Countess looked upon it in another nature; she contributed all her power to make it more amiable, and perceiving she had hit her design, and her Picture very well done, she told the Painter, if he would acovit himself well of his Commission, he must go to the Court of Edgar, where the greatest Beauties were; but the Painter intended that before. The English Women in all Ages have been allowed the handsomest in the World, and though the Italian and got the choice of all in the Picture of the new Countess, yet he must needs have Wilfredes too, for the reputation she had of being the King's Mistress. As soon therefore as he had dispatched in Devon-shire, he repaired to London; but alfred having dispatched some of her Creatures before, she caused a report to be spread abroad underhand of an Italian Painter, who was coming thither with most admirable Rarities. She had been told that Edgar was very curious in Pictures. She hoped by this means he might come to have a sight of hers, and be taken out of the error the Count had drawn him into, without her contribution: Nor was she mistaken in her forecast. The King would needs see his Pictures as soon as he heard he was arrived: And though the Duke of Modena had directed him to show them to very few persons, the liberality of the King removed that difficulty. When a thing is desired in that way by a King, he is seldom denied. The Italian promised Edgar he should see the best he had, and the King chose Wilfreds' Chamber to see them in, as being desirous to have her share in the divertisement. The Painter beseeched that he would bring as few with him as he could, and to comply with his design, Ethelwold was the only Person had the Privilege to attend him. The first Picture the Painter took up was Eleonor, Daughter to the Earl of Guyenne, married afterwards to Lewis (surnamed le Jeune) King of France. History has represented this Lady so beautiful, it will be needless in me to describe her: She it was that charmed the brave Saladin General of an Army of Sarrasens; and having let him know that she could not believe his protestations of Love, unless delivered in her own language, she forced the great Captain to betake himself to his Book, and to study the French Tongue, which he attained in some sociable proportion in a fortnight. After her came the Picture of Elvira, Mistress to Ramire the Conqueror, who first erected the County of Arragon into a Kingdom. Ethelwold who knew the story very well, and had a mind to be entertaining of Wilfred, giving them the relation, he told the King. This Elvira is a famous Example, that Honour and Love are not incompatible in the heart of great Persons. Never was Prince more renowned than Ramire; they reckoned his Victories by the number of his days, and yet he thought Love so necessary to his Courage, that he used to have his Mistress in some weak place when he went to engage, that his desire to preserve her out of his Enemy's hands, might oblige him to extraordinary Actions in the Battle. This kind of History pleased Wilfred exceedingly, she made her acknowledgements to the Count by her simpering, and nodding her head; and promising to herself that he would tell her as much of every one she should see, she addressed herself to him to know who that Adelaid was which the Painter was then showing. She was formerly, Madam, replied the Favourite, Queen of the Lombard's, and died lately Wife to Otho the Great, who is at this day Emperor of the West. The Amazonian Habit in which the Painter has drawn her, corresponds exceedingly with the actions of her life; for she defended a Town in Lombardy in the absence of her first Husband, as well as the best Captain he had: in the War Otho the Emperor had lately with the Sclavonians and Dalmatians, she did him as much service as the best of his Generals. These Actions of Valour, replied Edgar, interrupting him a little, are rare in persons of that Sex, and I cannot but commend the Judgement of the Painter in the Election of his Pictures.  
In this manner the King of England and his Favourite were discoursing of the Italians Pictures, and the Count perceiving his Majesty much delighted with his stories, there was not a Character of Beauty, a Punctilio of Art, nor the least particular Adventure, but gave him opportunity of some pleasant Narration; when of a sudden the Painter changed the Scene of their mirth by producing the Picture of Alfreda, and struck the poor Count, as it had been a clap of Thunder. The Countess had given him no notice that her Picture had been drawn, and so he was utterly unprepared against so unexpected an Accident: He looked pale, he trembled, and the King perceiving his distraction, and attributing it to his surprise (in which he shared with him himself) Is it possible, says he to the Painter, that this Picture should be after the life? Yes, Sir, said the Count, interrupting the Painter, and it is the Picture of my Wife: but so flattered, and improved, that if the other Ladies you have seen, be used at the same rate, I dare assure your Majesty, there is no one Original to be known by its Copy. The Painter knew well enough it was no hard matter for him (in her case) to justify the fidelity of his Art. Alfreda was much handsomer than her Picture; and she was not above three or four days Journey from London: But observing the Count her Husband decrying her Beauty with more than ordinary vehemence, he supposed very prudently he had some private reasons for what he did; and being unwilling to contradict a Person of his Authority, he replied very coolly, I have not seen, Sir, all the persons whose Pictures I have with me, some of them are Copies, as Adelaid and Elvira, who are both of them dead, others were taken by some of my Companions, who have assisted me in satisfying the impatience of my Master: But for those I have done myself, I dare assure his Majesty, I have added nothing to the life. This prudent and judicious answer one would have thought might have eased the Count of his trouble; but the King was so surprised with the contemplation of Alfreda's Picture, that he took no notice of what had been said. What, says he in great transportation, is it possible but the features of this face must make the handsomest Woman in the World? Tell me, Ethelwold, and tell me ingenuously, has your Wife these Eyes, this Mouth, this Nose, and, in short, this Tour or mould of her Face. Yes, Sir, replied Ethelwold, (much distracted with those kind of questions) she has all of them, and if your Majesty be pleased to recollect, you may remember, that in the description I have of her, I told you that never an ugly Woman was so well provided to be handsome, and that all the features in her Face were excellent; but they are not so well laid and connected in her Face, as in the Picture: The Majestic and vigorous Air you behold, is but the fancy and strong imagination of the Painter, and not at all visible in the life. I will see this Prodigy, replied the King with some eagerness: For if Alfreda has all these lineaments as his Pencil has represented, and be ill-favoured notwithstanding, she is in my judgement the greatest Miracle in the World. This Proposition of Edgar's made both Ethelwold and Wilfred tremble, and though Ethelwold did his utmost to constrain himself, and answered the King (as if he had been nothing concerned) that his Wife would be much honoured with such a Visit, yet nothing is more certain than that he turned every stone that might divert his resolution. He admonished Wilfred to contribute what she could, he counterfeited Letters that Devon was visited with the Plague, and when he had done, opened them in the presence of the King; he bribed all the Physicians to oppose themselves against his Journey, but all to no purpose. The Picture of Alfreda had inspired so fierce a Curiosity in the breast of the King, that no danger, nor dissiculty could withstand it; he appointed a Hunting-match at a Countryhouse he had about a days journey from Devon, and resolved to see the Countess the next day: All the Count could obtain was the liberty to go two or three hours before, to give the Duke notice of his coming. There is no difficurty to conceive how his thing. It's were employed all the while he was upon the Koad. His Ambition, and his Love divided them equally. When he considered the crime he had committed against his Majesty, in betraying his confidence, and the inevitable danger he was in of being discovered; he believed he could do no less, than to deliver up his Wife with his own hands to the King, and to try how far that would work for his pardon. On the other side when he remembered her endued with all the Beauties which were capable to adorn her, he resolved to die a thousand deaths, rather than to see her in the possession of another; and this last resolution being fortified with the sight of her, he used all his Rhetoric to persuade her to counterfeit herself ill, and conceal herself from the King. But good God to whom was it he addressed himself? Alfreda would have purchased that sight he prohibited, with the loss of her life. She told him that the humour of concealing herself from the King's curiosity, would but aggravate and augment it; that be being King, and she his Subject, he would see her some time or other, is he had made it his resolution; that the best way was to appear cheerfully, seeing there was no possibility to avoid it. These Arguments made the poor Count almost desperate, but considering there was reason in what she said, and that the King, if he saw her not that day, would be sure of her another, seeing she consented herself, he cried, Well then, see him if you please, see the most curious Monarch in the World, he is our Master, he will see you, and I know very well you are pleased with his resolution: but let me desire one thing of you, dear Alfreda, not to make the best of your Beauty, nor exhibit to his Eyes all the Charms with which it is in your power to attaque him: let me beg of you at least to be ill dressed, negligent, to speak little, and what you do, as far as you can from the purpose. Alfreda made the same use of his Doctrine, as a witty Woman would do; she knew (by his directions how to displease the King) what course she was to steer, to give him satisfaction.  

MAXIM II.  
No, you're deceived when you suppose  
Your Wife's mill part with Whisk, or ,  
Or paint, to purchase your repose.   

If their obedience you design,  
Bid them be proud, unconstant, fine,  
Their dutiful, my life for thine.   

But, but confine them (though to th' Court)  
The Law of Nature will exsert,  
And God knows what becomes o'th' Fort.   
Whatever he enjoined her, Alfreda did clear contrary, never was she so handsome, nor never so well dressed. The King went away strangely enamoured, he admired, and loved her already at his very soul, her Wit, her Air, and every thing took him; insomuch that not being able to conceal his resentment of the Count's infidelity, he had certainly clapped him in Prison, had not the apprehension of displeasing his Wife restrained him. It is not to be asked, whether Alfreda came to Court after this Visit. Edgar found her too handsome, to suffer her to languish in the solitudes of the Country. He conferred great Offices and Preferments upon the Duke, to bring him nearer with his Daughter: The Duke came, and his fair Daughter along with him. Ethelwold forbidden his Wife coming near London, but to no purpose, she had too great a Protector to apprehend any revenge he could design; his best play was patience: But such kind or usage being troublesome to such Husbands as have more the ordinary affection of their Wives; the poor Count took his misfortunes so deeply, it would have been charity to have knocked him on the head. In a short time he died of Melancholy, and the love of Edgar, being no longer restrained by the presence of Ethelwold, it ran up to so high a degree, that no less than the Throne of Great Britain was able to circumscribe it: and indeed it was not long before Alfreda was advanced to it, in spite of all arifices to the contrary: the fury her Ambition exercised in so eminent a place, makes the most Tragic part of the History of England. Wilfred was poisoned, the Children she had by the King had their throats cut, and Edward sent out of this World, to be one of the greatest Ornaments in the next: But these are accidents more proper for Tragical, than amorous Annals. I desire of the Reader I may not straggle too far from my design, I fear Don Garcias takes it ill I have left him so long pining in his regrets for the loss of his Lady, without inserting the effects his just indignation did produce.  
This good Count, whose confidence had been so ill requited, and who was notable to make use of the remedies of a discreet Husband (who conceals with all possible care his domestic disorders) perceiving his disgrace public all over Castille, and that it was ridiculous in him to suspect only he was laughed at, he resolved to repair himself of the injury had been done him, in such a way as should extinguish the reproach. He made his Uncle Alphonso de Castille Governor in his absence, and parting from Burgos without any Equipage but a single Gentleman, he traced Madam Valery to the City of Paris. It was no easy matter to discover in that place a Woman who lived obscurely, and whose Mother-tongue was the Language of that Country. And Don Garcias undertaking that difficulty, concluded it necessary to get some assistance extraordinary for the accomplishment of his design: he made a solemn Vow, that if he was so happy to be revenged of his old Consort, he would take another from her debaucheries, and place her upon the Throne of Castille. Let not the Reader be surprised at this kind of Vow, it is not so fabulous as he may imagine; for it was not only made, and executed by Don Garcias, but it has passed to his Posterity, is the common devotion of the Castilians, and they believe they gain Battles sometimes, by such good intentions; nay every in our days we have seen the greatest Lords in Spain practise that custom, as one of the most pious engagements in that Country. The Count of Castille desirous to put himself into a condition of fulfilling his resolution, and judging moreover he was most likely to find his Wife in the Company of lose and licentious Women, he insinuated with one of that sort, the most subtle, and famous in Paris, he shown her money enough to convince her he was worthy of her fidelity, and desiring her to convey him amongst the Ladies of her Acquaintance; she agve him a Munster of about twenty Harlots, all very handsome, and fine, and under the protection of a rich Officer of the Treasury, which delivered the Stranger from a considerable expense. Among these chaste Damoiselles, Don Garcias had an opinion he might find his Wife: the error she had committed with the Pilgrim, promised him no less, but he was mistaken, for the good Woman was more faithful to Hugo, than she had been to him: he could not find her in that Inventory, nor in several others of the same nature which he examined afterwards. To render his fortune more favourable, he thought his best way would be to hasten the accomplishment of his Vow, and casting his Eyes upon a brown young Lass called Radegond, with whom the action as he thought would be more pious and charitable than any other; he intimated to his old Friend that that was the person he desired to marry. His liberality had prepared the good Bawd for his service; he had scarce spoke the word, but the Victim was brought to the soot of the Altar: The Girl was witty, never Wench better killed in the Mysteries of Love, nor understood the Art of Cullying better: one had need to have had good Judgement in Magic, to have won her to a compliance, and yet she had a natural tendency to be prodigal of her favours; that Don Garcias had he had any designs upon her that way, must have used violence to obtain them. But he had no such intention, his thoughts were only to reclaim her, and having given her a description of Vice, (which was more tedious to her than the vice itself) he promised her the Crown of Gastile, as the price of her Conversion. The first part of his Sermon astonished her, she understood not that kind of Divinity, but the conclusion fetched her again. The most dissolute Dame of them all would promise Penitence for a less reward than a Sovereignty; and our Radegond forgot not to make use of her Wit at that time: She cast herself at Don Garcias feet, gave his Highness many thanks for his gracious offer, and swearing (with an ingenuity she had often counterfeited before) she had never used any such Complacency but out of pure necessity: She promised the Count so sincere a Conversion, that the Ages to come should speak of her Piety: after what had happened, Don Garcias ought to have been wiser; but he was of the temper of the Cat metamorphosed into a Woman, and returned to his own Nature. The good Count looked upon Radegond, as a second Egyptian Mary, and giving her an account of his Vow, and the cause of it, he conjured her by the interest she had in its accomplishment, to assist him in the discovery of his Wife. And indeed he could not have addressed himself better. Radegond was own Sister to Hugo, she served the Countess by the name of Madam Valery, in the quality of a Waiting-woman; and the Gentleman's means growing small, and Valery's beginning to lessen, the young Gentlewoman, his Sister was forced to make use of her own parts for the subsistence of the Family. It could be no great difficulty therefore for her to promise Don Garcias the accomplishment of his desires; but having heard, and remembered an unlucky story of the Seamen, who make great vows in a storm, and forget them when they are out of it: She was afraid the Count of Castille should make but little conscience of breaking with her, when she had no farther obligation upon him than his word. She contented herself to flatter his hopes for the present, and then betaking herself to a great Lord of the Court, who had had the first fruits of her favour, & for that reason protected her upon all occasions; she told him her adventure, and the probability she was in to be Countess of Castille. Her Protector could not believe (at first) one word that she said, and looked upon all as Chimerical; but Radegond promising to bring him to the speech of Garcias, and giving him the same Arguments to preswade him it was true, as she had exacted from the Count for the strengthening of their own faith, he believed her by degrees. His advice was to make the discovery of the Countess as difficult as she could, he gave her lessons of Hypocrisy to impose upon the Count, andc pretending himself her Uncle, he made Don Garcias a Visit, to draw him to a promise under his hand of marrying his Niece, if she brought him to Madam Valery. The Count consented to the conditions without any resistance, as well because it was his real intention at that time, as because he supposed this Uncle not in a posture to constrain him, if he repent it afterwards. The Uncle disguised himself in an ordinary Habit, was followed by none of his Servants, and judging his true Name might fright him from promising, he took another more suitable to the Quality he professed, which Don Garcias regarded no more, than if he had been no body at all. Radegond finding herself so well supported, she kept touch with the Count, and that without much trouble; for she had no more to do, but to deliver him the Key of Madam Valery's Lodgings. The Husband being very angry, got himself conducted by several Footmen which he hired: And Paris being a Town, where they who have money may do any thing, and the Count having found his Pilgrim and his Wife close in one Bed, he needed but one stroke to rid himself of both. When he had satisfied his vengeance in this manner, I am of opinion he would willingly have had no further business in Paris, than to provide for his return. He began to talk of compounding with Radegond, he offered her a sum of money to dispense, and 'tis generally believed his conscience would have been much at rest, could he have prevented the accomplishment of his Vow. But the pretended Uncle would not admit of any such terms. The thoughts he had of seeing one of his Mistresses in the Throne of Castille, flattered his vanity exceedingly; he discovered himself who he was, and the Count de Castille, being in no condition in Paris to contend with the interest of one of the chief men in France; he thought if sufficient that he had been the discourse of all Spain by his first Marriage, without making himself so at Paris by his second. He married Radegond as he had promised, and the Marriage being ratified, and all the Grandees in Castille assembled, Radegond was pronounced Sovereign of Castille under the the same Name her Brother had carried in that Country before. Some may say perhaps that Don Garcias might have as well have accomplished his Vow in the person of his old Wife Isabel de Vermandois, as in the person of Radegond. The Subjects were equally disposed, Harlots they were both, and the repentance of the first might as well have been expected, as the conversion of the latter. But this second alliance satisfied his revenge more than Madam Valeries' remorse, besides the debauchery of the Countess was known in Castille, whereas Radegond might pass there for a Saint. He presented her to the Castilians for a great Example of Virtue, for a person who abhorring the wickedness of her Brother's life, had chose rather to deliver him up to Don Garcias indignation, than to see the honour of her Family depraved by so ungodly an action: it is strange how the natures of things change, according to their different faces. We know none of these intrigues, but by the imprudent discovery of some persons concerned: and those persons appear to us the shame of their Sex many times by the incontinence they are charged with, who perhaps are much more discreet than they which accuse them.  
Love is a nimble Deity, and marches a great way in a little time. From the Territory of Castille he has brought us into England in the time we can read half a sheet of Paper; from London he has reconveyed us to Burgos, and from Burgos to Paris, with the same expedition, and now he is carrying us out of the middle of France, into the Court of the Emperor of the West, without desiring more time for the Journey, than is requisite for the writing a few lines. In the preceding stories he has pleased himself in triumphing over Marriage, in this he sides with it, and leaves the succeeding pair an everlasting instance of Constancy and Virtue.  

MAXIM III.  
Some Husbands still there are, whose Love is more  
After their Marriage than it was before,  
Their Wives are welcome, and themselves they please  
As much in them, as when th' were Mistresses.  
But when the good man's nought, and every room  
Smokes with his curses, when his Wife comes home.  
The story's sad, and surelyed may be said  
Love lies entombed in that Marriagebed.   
Examples of this kind, I must confess are rare, yet we are not without some, and the Duke and Duchess of Modena fall very luckily into my memory for an instance. This Duke had for a long time been in Love with the Princess of Bavaria, Daughter to Duke Henry, and Cousin German to Otho the Third, at that time Emperor of the West. His passion for her had engaged him to follow Otho in all his Wars against the Sarrazins in Poville, and against Lothaire (the French King) in Austrasia. Love is a kind of Proteus, and assumes all shapes upon occasion, if it meets with a base mind, it becomes the Author of all sorts of baseness; but when it is so happy as to meet with a noble, and sublime inclination, it excites to the greatest actions, and nothing prompts more to virtue, or makes a man more illustrious. This was the Character it had taken in the heart of the young Duke of Modena. The Princess of Bavaria being the price he had proposed to himself of all his Achievements, he had done Miracles to deserve her. For her sake it was he had fought many Battles, and defended many Towns. The Idea he had of her beauty accompanied him in his greatest perils, and (considering his Conquests, as so many steps which advanced him towards the possession of the Princess, and alliance with the Emperor) one may say, that Otho ought more of his Victories to the passion of the Duke of Modena, than to the Armies of his Subjects, or the Conduct of his Generals. So glorious an affection could not but be crowned with glory. The Duke of Modena obtained the Princess of Bavaria, as an acknowledgement from the Emperor. The Imperial Residence being at that time at Aixla Chapelle, the Marriage was celebrated there, and the new Duchess being well worthy of whatsoever the Duke had done for her; and the Duke on the other side as worthy of what Love the young Duchess was capable of, never was Bride and Bridegroom more happy, than the Duke of Modena, and his Princess, they expressed the same cares and complacences, as are used by the most violent Lovers: they delighted to be near one another, and were never separated but in public; their Eyes, their actions, their every thing discovered the kindness of their Hearts; and in a word they loved at that rate, they set all persons a gog who observed them. The Empress Mary, Wife to Otho, (who merited as much from him, as the Duchess did from the Duke) not meeting so much kindness from her Husband, began to envy her felicity. She cast that Matriage in Otho's dish upon all occasions, as an Example he ought to follow, and the reproaches of the good Women, being the worst way they can take to warm the blood of their Husbands, the Empress did but little good upon hers: She plagued him so continually with that pattern, that she began to be insupportable: In short they looked upon one another as Judgements sent down on purpose to torment them; and this secret abhorrency betwixt Man and Wife, being usually a presage of new passion for Strangers, the Emperor and Empress might on a sudden have perceived, that unlawful Love builds always upon the ruins of Conjugal. The Empress could not see the Duke with his own Wife, without distrubance; she invented every day some new pretence or other to divide them, (not considering that little interruptions in things indifferent, render our Loves more ardent in matters of concernment) she by that means insensibly increased, what she desired so earnestly to destroy. On the other side the Emperor finding the Duchess always alone, because the Empress could not live without the Duke, that opportunity completed that flame, which her Charms had scarce kindled before: her first Confidence was, acquainting her with the impertinence of the Empress; how troublesome, how unappeasable she was, and from thence passing in course to a solemn wish, that she was but half so well disposed as the Duchess; his desire struck so plausibly upon his fancy, he could not afterwards get her off on his thoughts. Had he believed, that this extempore wish would have one day grown up to a passion, and the Empress suspected, that the twittering she had for the Duke, would have made her forget all her obligations to herself; there is no doubt but either of them would have made greater resistance. The Emperor was just, honourable, and grateful, and well understood his engagements to the Duke, and the Empress was not without her natural inclinations to virtue; but Love surprised both their Hearts before they were ware, and they discovered it not, till he was too strong to be repelled, for when that passion has once got possession, all the struggle, and all the contentions in the World do but fortify and augment it.  

MAXIM IU.  
At Love's first sight, the surest way,  
iIs to give ground, and shun the frey.  
For if he once but fix his foot,  
No Oak comes harder from the root.   
The Love of Otho for the Duchess, and the Love of Mary for the Duke beginning much about a time, it happened they broke out, and were discovered near the same day.  
There was about that time a famous Painter at the Emperor's Court, who had found out a new way of painting, very rare and ingenious in itself. He used neither cloth nor colours, prepared after the old way, his work was not infected with the odour of oil, which discourages so many from sitting for their Pictures, his Colours were mingled with Water and Gum Arabic, his Canvas, a sort of Vellum, and without any more Tools, than two or three Christal-shells, and a few Pencils he made strokes which were almost invisible, and his Pictures were so like, they wanted nothing but speaking, to be the same. True it is, he was something long, and for that reason as well as the delicacy of his painting, he drew all in little; yet he would express the same things in a piece of Parchment of a foot square, as well as another Painter would do in a cloth as big as the life. The Duchess being a great Lover of Arts, would needs see this man, and make experiment herself, whether he was as ingenious, as his reputation published: She made him draw her Picture, but her own alone, being nothing so grateful to her, as when joined with her Dukes; she told the Painter he must contrive some way or other of putting him into the same Vellum. He represented her therefore as the Painter's Muse, setting upon a Bundle of Pencils, with her Marble and Pestle by her side, painting a little Picture with her own hand like a Meddail, wherein she had drawn the Duke of Modena's head. The Portraiture was born up by a Cupid with a Garland of flowers about his head; two or three more Cupids as it were fluttering about with their wings, pointed to her beauty, and made the Spectators take notice of each feature in spite of their teeth, and besides the Excellence of the Work, which was sufficiently conspicuous in either of the Pictures, they had so happy a resemblance to the life, that they were scarce to be matched in all Europe. This Picture was carried home to the Duchess at a time the Duke fortuned to be abroad. She set it by in his Closet till he came in, intending to show it him as soon as he returned, & some business having called him into another Room, the Emperor chanced to enter just as she was gone forth: he thought to take advantage of her absence, and to write some piece of gallantry, some merry Conceit or other that she might find when she came again; and having opened the Closet-door with that design, the first thing he cast his eyes upon, was her Picture, he found it the piece, and the best design of any he had seen, and Love having a custom of turning all things to his advantage, he put it into Otho's head to take hold of that opportunity for the declaration of his Love. He had seen Pictures in Water-colours before, and knew they were to be defaced, to that end he wet the corner of his Handkerchief with Orange-flower water (which he found by accident upon the Table) rubbed the Picture of the Duke of Modena quite out, and in the place left these Verses, which he writ with his own hand.  

Madam, this Picture you so highly prize,  
Is a Companion too slight and poor  
For you, a proper Object for your Eyes  
Can be no less than your own Emperor.   
As soon as he had writ these Verses, he went out, and left word with the Duchess' Women, that he had left something in her Closet, that was not to be seen by any but herself, and therefore he charged them to let no body go into it till she returned. They observed his Commands, and the Duchess being come back, they told her what word the Emperor had left. She went immediately into her Cabinet to see what it was, and finding her Picture dissigured, she was so much concerned, she could not get it out of her mind: She believed it might be some accident at first, but taking it up to look closer upon it, she was much surprised when she found the Emperor's Verses. Just as she was in her astonishment, the Duke coming suddenly into her Closet, Ha', my dear Lord, said she, I thought to have presented you with the best Picture I ever saw, but whilst I was but stepped into the next room, some body has spoiled it: and I am afraid the injury to the Picture is the least of the mischiefs it gives us just occasion to fear. And having, said so, she told him how it had been designed, how she had left it in her Closet when she went out, and in what condition she found it when she came in. The Duke, knowing the Emperor's hand very well, cried out, What, by consent! both in one day! this is too much. After which words, he stood still for some time, overcharged with reflections which thronged upon his Spirits, and perhaps troubled he had said so much. A Person of Honour cannot but blush to have confessed any overture of Love from a fair Lady, let it be in what manner it will: Insomuch that the Duke being conscious of the same practice from the Empress, had no sooner let these words slip, but he wished they had been unspoken again; but it was then too late to repent. The Duchess being quick, and apprehensive, what both? and what consent do you mean, Sir? said she: have you been solicited by the Empress, as I have been by the Emperor? The Duke would fain have dissembled it, and endeavoured to give his words another explication, but perceiving the Duchess could not be put off so, and that by her silence, she conceived an invincible suspicion in her soul, which he would willingly have illuded; he confessed the truth, and told her that the Empress had indeed signified an affection for him. I had, said he, some apprehensions of it before, but a man of Honour ought not to believe his own sentiments in such an affair, I observed she had great inclinations to my Company, and Discourse, and more than I thought could proceed from a simple Civility. She looked upon me (as I fancied) like one that was in Love, and she commended me above the rate of common respect; but I had rather give esteem more than belongs to it, then to grant that to Love which I knew was its due. In this consideration I waited many times upon the Empress upon the least of her Commands, and many times I prevented them, and attended her without; for I had a suspicion, that by denying her passion indifferent compliance, I might provoke it to demands more particular, and considerable: Upon this score it was I went to her Court this afternoon, as I had done many times before. I found her alone with her Daughters, all of them employed in stringing of Pearl. By misfortune a rich Picture-case of a very great value, fell out of the lap of one of the young Ladies, as she was rising to salute me, I ran presently to take it up, and having presented it to her who let it fall, I was making some Compliment for the disorder I put them to: But the Empress coming up to me, and whispering me in the ear, said, Keep the Box, my Lord, your power is too great over the Original, not to have the Copy at your absolute Command. I opened the Case, and I found (what I expected) the Picture of the Empress. I pretended to understand her discourse no otherwise than as a trial of my respect; and presenting the Box with great reverence, No, no, Madam, said I, do not suspect me of Sacrilege, I am so Religious an observer of my duty, that the very Copy of this Original is too sacred a thing for me. Be not so modest, replied the Empress, and made signs to me follow her to the Window. Sometimes it is more criminal to refuse favours that are offered, than to force them where they are refused; and then her passion having vanquished all opposition, the inconsiderate Princess told things so plain (and her Eyes insinuated the rest) that I could have wished I had lost the exercise of my senses, that I might not have been privy to a thing so derogatory to the Imperial Family. The Duchess of Modena heard her Husband's relation, with a concernment that was visible in her face, and looking upon him with tears in her Eyes, Ah, my Lord, said she when he had done, I see the Heavens do envy my Felicity, I should have been to happy for a mortal Creature, could I have loved you, and been beloved by you without interruption; but I was not born to so much good Fortune, and the Empress has reason to disturb it. In what is it that the disturbs it, replied the Duke, something hastily? have I complied with her affection? have I concealed it from you? or do you find I love her better than you? No, Sir, replied the Duchess, and I give you thanks that you have not, but I fear what the Empresses Charms were not able to compass, the ingratitude of the Emperor may possibly procure; you looked upon that Princess as the Wife of your Master, and thought it your duty to the goodness of Otho, to make a generous opposition to the infidelity of his Consort. But alas, now the case is altered, and the same Otho become the greatest of your Enemies, what is there left to secure your affection from a young Princess, which loves you so entirely, and is the first person of her Sex in the World? Your Charms, Madam, replied the Duke, interrupting her, are so powerful, and so rigorously adored by me, that they will infallibly secure my faith for yourself: Rest you contented in that, and do not imagine that my desire to be revenged of the Emperor, obliges me to give him a pretence to take his vengeance on me. The Empress would be too dear a purchase, if I should gain her by the loss of you; and you would have reason to rejoice at your losses, if I myself should show you the way to repair them. This excellent Pair satisfied one another so amply against all the suspicions that conjuncture represented; That Cupid knowing well he should not have such opportunities every day, to make his puissance known upon Lovers of their Character, resolved to make this Example as famous as it was rare. The Duke resisted the kindness of the Empress with so constant a firmness, it looked almost like contempt; and the Duchess received all the attapues of the Emperor, with the same resolution; but 'tis dangerous sometimes to push things too far. The Emperor made a Treat (one day in a Garden of his not far from the Town) upon the Bank of a River which runs by, it was not long the Trees in it had been planted, and so gove not much shade; but that defect was supplied by certain Arbours, or Cabanes covered over with a sort of Leaves, which put forth sooner than ordinary. Part of the Cabanes were made into the form of a Labyrinth, some were double, some single, and all of several fashious. Into one of these Cabanes Otho had conducted the Duchess of Modena, and the Empress pretending herself weary, was retired with the Duke (who had the honour to lead her) into another. It is to be supposed, that neither the one Lover, nor the other would lose that convenience of complaining of their Destiny. The Emperor begged, and sighed, and perhaps wept: The Empress (the more impetuous of the two) when fair words would not do, began to threaten revenge. The coldness wherewith the Duke entertained the Empress, was more intolerable, than that with which the Duchess received to Empress. It is an Honour to a young Prince to be a Gallant, and an amorous Atchieument, gains as much reputation sometimes, as the bloodiest Victory. But with the Women it is not so, a Lady cannot advance one step, but she charges herself with the whole Intrigue; and a repulse which would be nothing in a Lady to her Servant, becomes an unpardonable indignity in a Servant to his Mistress. The high-spirited Empress, seeing herself rejected by a person she had obliged by so many favours, conceived so great a displeasure, that she could not conceal it. She threatened him with all the mischiefs an enraged Empress could bring upon him, and departing with a gesture importing fury and indignation, she left him to take his choice, whether he would prevent her revenge, or feel the effects of it. On the other side the Emperor perceiving his passion as tedious to the Duchess, instead of having gained any advantage, he left her, and that as ill satisfied as the Empress with the Duke. They both of them walked some time up and down to dispel the trouble their disappointments had brought them; both of them perceived the Duke and Duchess come forth of the Arbours where they had left them, and enter together into another, where they suspected, they retired to give an account to one another what had past. This Arbour was one of those that were double, one might slip by betwixt the Pillars without being seen of those who were either within, or without. An unluckily concurrence of Curiosity excited these two Lovers to hid themselves behind the Curtain, and though Otho knew nothing of the Empresses Intrigues, and the Empress had but a slight suspicion of Otho's, their passions carried them (as it were by consent) to two several places, from whence (without perceiving one another, or being perceived by any one else) they might hear all that was spoken. The discourse was very terrible for all four. The Dake and the Duthchess understanding the danger in which the pertinacity of their Persecutors (as they called them) had placed them, expressed their apprehensions in such terms as confounded the two Eavesdroppers with jealousy; but when from simple Narratives they proceeded to imprecations, what satire, what Invective was it, which the Duke bestowed not on the Empress? He called her by the worst names he could invent, the Duchess making up the Consort by the same Eulogies upon the Emperor: They spoke with full liberty, for being ignorant of the fashion in which that Arbour was made, they believed they were to fear no body they did not see; besides the Emperor and Empress being gone in a huff, they did not expect that either of them should return. In the mean time the two persons of whom they discoursed so liberally, heard every word, and I leave it to the Reader to judge how much they were surprised to understand such tidings of their affairs. The Emperor had no kindness for the Empress, and the Empress had too much for the Duke of Modena, to care much for him: But Honour and Jealousy in their hearts performed the functions of Love. Otho could not hear the ill designs of Mary without passion, and resentment: and Mary was as impatient that the Duchess should triumph over all the hearts she had interest in. She thrust herself furiously out of the place she was hidden, and perhaps in the first motion of her transport, might have run into some actions less suitable to her Sex than her despair; But the Emperor coming out upon the same design at the same time, they met, and were so surprised at the sight of one another, they had no power either to move or to speak. The Duke and the Duchess came out also in the nick, and perceiving them in a place where they believed they had heard all they had said, the sour Lovers represented such a Scene of silence, as is more easy to imagine than express. The Emperor cast about his furious eyes sometimes upon the Empress, sometimes upon the Duke, and sometimes upon the Duchess. The Empress (divided betwixt choler and shame) changed her colour according to the variety of her thoughts: and the two innocent Causes of all this distraction (apprehending nothing for themselves, but each for the other) by the motion of their eyes seemed to say, they were ready to become Victims to their Destiny, rather than to fail in the least just duty of their Loves. Persons of their Character and Quality do seldom evaporate into unprofitable words; and in these kind of occurrences, silence is more serviceable than Rhetoric. The Emperor withdrew without any other intimation of resentment than by his looks; and the Empress following, in great fury and confusion, all the Court did the same. The Feast was interrupted in this manner, and very few knew the reason: Every one guest as his own fancy suggested, but scarce three of the whole Company could hit of the right. Whether the rage was greater in the Emperor or Empress, is not easily decided: Some are of opinion that their Love commencing at the same time, expressed at the same time, and now discovered by the same accident to one another, their Revenge kept the same consort: But whether it was Otho who had a desire to rid himself of a person who triumphed over him, in the heart of his Empress, or Mary (who had a mind to be revenged for the contempt of her kindness, and so prevent the reproaches of the Emperor, by taking away the object) so it was, the Duke was found murdered the night after the Feast. The Instruments of the Murder set upon him like Thiefs, and demanded his Purse; but they quickly made it evident it was his life, not his money, they sought for; for having given him three mortal wounds, they left him expiring upon the ground, without taking his purse which they demanded, or his Jewels which he had in plenty about him. It is not necessary to insert how the fair Widow resented so foul an action. I should have expressed the affection she had for her Husband but weakly, if the Reader could not imagine the extreme sorrow she conceived for his death. She doubted not but it was contrived by the Emperor, or the Empress, and lest she should mistake in the object of her Revenge, she resolved to sacrifice them both. I shall not mention the means she used to accomplish it, such Tragical Catastrophes do not accommodate with Annals of Love; and I shall refer the Reader to the Chronological History, to inform himself how the Duchess having revenged herself upon the Empress, by the resentment of the Emperor, made use of the Empresses Creatures to sacrifice the Emperor to her Ghost. But some will say, why this insatiable fury? why doth it not stop in the middle of its Career? The Empress' death was but just, and it was no more than the Duchess was obliged to; she accused her of the Murder of her Husband, and if she was not the only Instrument of his death, she was the moving Cause; for had she not loved the Duke Otho had not been bound in honour to have made him away. The Emperor ought not to be comprehended in the Revenge, he might be innocent for aught she knew; and if he were guilty, he might have married her, and ransomed his life. I must confess this objection is not altogether impertinent.  
But in affairs of Love, all men pursue  
Their proper fancies, and the man whose Fate  
Directs him to a means legitimate,  
Is just, and happy, though his way be new.  
For when the heart's endued with Grace, and fear  
Of Heaven, what e'er it does, what e'er it will,  
Is but a Sacrifice to Honour still;  
Yet sometimes (when no sense of that appears)  
Vice eggs them on as furiously to kill,  
As all thy Virtue in the World were there.  
The Duchess of Modena was necessitated by her Stars, and her Revenge justified by her Conjugal Love; and perhaps she would have done as much for her Servant, had she had one; for minds as tender and as constant as hers, are capable of great Enterprises; but marching under the Standard of Duty, that which at another time had been furious and criminal, was at this, an Example of Virtue. But let us leave her in the enjoyment of a passion whose violence was a virtue, and proceed to an Accident of no such Constancy and Resolution.    

THE ANNALS OF LOVE  
THE SECOND PART.  
THE Chronology of History not according exactly with the Chronology of Love, there are some years in which no amorous Intrigues are to be found, and there are others in which all the considerable Accidents are Love. My Annals containing only matters of Courtship, I cannot be strict in the observation of Times; but shall presume (upon occasion) to put the passages of the same Age, into the Amours of the same year, and so skip from one Age to another in my Description of Years. I shall begin therefore this third Annal, by the Reign of a Prince who lived about a hundred years after the Emperor I mentioned before. Castille being a Country too flourishing to continue long under the denomination of a County. Don Garcias Fernandez (of whom we spoke in the beginning of our Annals) was the last of its Counts. It took the Title of a Kingdom under Sanchyle Grand, next Successor to Garcias Fernandez: and having passed in that way, to the time of Sanchy III. it devolved by his death to his Brother Alphonso King of Leon, who was from that time called King of Castille. At the beginning of his Reign this Prince was perplexed with several Wars; the Moors and the Sarracens infested him so, that he was forced to implore the aid of the King of Fance against those Enemies of Christianity. Many Knights and Reformades repaired to him from all parts. But the French, as the more Martial, were most kindly received. Raymond the Son of William Duke of Burgundy, Raymond Earl of Toulouse, and Henry Lorraine Son to William Earl of Boulogne, Brother to Godfrey of Boulogne, performed such eminent Exploits, that Alphonso believed he could do nothing more for the advantage and security of his Crown, than to continue those three Captains in the Command of his Armies. He had three Daughters, two of them natural, and the other legitimate. The eldest called Vrraca, he married to Raymond of Burgundy, and gave him in Dowry the Principality of Galicia; Theresia (the eldest of the two naturals) married Henry of Lorraine, and had for her share the Conquests in Portugal: and the youngest, Elvira (much handsomer, and better beloved by her Father than either of the other) was married to Raymond of Tholouse with secret engagement from Alphonso to assure to him the Kingdoms of Castille and Leon, after his death. And thus I have given you the Commencement of this year, not so eminent for Love, as it promised in appearance. These six persons had almost no sooner seen one another, but they were married, and no soover married, but they differed, so that this place would be more proper for an Historical Abridgement. than the Introduction of an amorous Intrigue.  
But bold! determine not, Love's ways are strange,  
He had his private and peculiar Laws.  
Nothing is so remote, but he can change,  
And bend it to the Model of his Cause.  
He makes the Lady fair, the Statesmen great,  
Though one be old, the other near so mean,  
And when he please, can both of them defeat,  
And throw them down to their old state again.  
When he's disposed to sport himself, the man  
'S unhappy, let him be as happy as he can.  
Elvira was so obsequious to her Father, and he so transcendently kind to her, that Vrraca (being his only legitimate Child, and by consequence had best right to that preference) began much to resent it. She had private advertisement every day, that Alphonso designed the Kingdoms of Leon and Castille for his Daughter Elvira: and judging it necessary, that either the Prince her Husband, or her self should be constantly about his Majesty, to have the better eye upon his actions, they consulted together to resolve which of the two was most proper for the Journey, and it fell to Prince Raymond. Never did French man of his Age, and Spirit, and married for interest (as he was) refuse any opportunity of travelling. Vrraca in the mean time continued in Galicia, to govern that new Territory in the absence of her Husband; and the Prince set forth for the Court of Castille. The pretence of his Journey, being a concern for the King's health, it is easy to imagine he was not unwelcome at his Arrival. There was no noise but of Entertainments, and Balls. Raymond's business there was not to complain, he came thither to descry, and make advantage of his observation. The young Elvira was much pleased with Divertisements, and indeed at her age, who is it that hates them? She was extremely delighted with those her Brother-on-law gave her, and she wanted neither Civility to invite, nor kindness to press him to stay at that Court as long as he could: And to speak the truth, she had no hard task to persuade him to stay. This Countess was one of the greatest Beauties in the World; Raymond had always thought her much handsomer than his Wife: And though Elvira had scarce seen the Prince before he was married, yet she also esteemed him more complete, than the person she married. But Persons of their Rank, are the least guided by their own inclinations. The advantages Raymond purposed by his Marriage with Vrraca, made him prefer her to Elvira; and Alphonso's Election happened upon the Count de Tholouse, for his youngest. Marriages in this nature do seldom suffer the Husbands, to consider the virtue of their Wives. Hence it was the Prince of Galicia found his Sister-in-law as charming under the Title Countess of Tholouse, as he had judged her when she was but Elvira of Castille. Behold them therefore in perfect intelligence, the Countess took singular satisfaction in the Company of the Prince, and the Prince was as much pleased with the Commands of te Countess. Her Husband the Count of Tholouse, being of the same Nation with the Prince, and not ill acquainted in matters of Love, was the first that observed the inclinations of the Prince of Galicia. He took the Countess aside one day, and after a long enumeration of the subtleties and falseness of Mankind, he concluded his Harangue with a serious admonishment to guard herself from the inveiglements of the Prince of Galicia: of the Prince of Galicia? cried Elvira, in no little surprise; alas, my Lord, he hath married my Sister. And because he hath married your Sister, replied the Count, is he the less capable of being your Gallant? Believe me, Madam, these kind of relations are no impediment at all, on the contrary, the greatness of the sin gives it many times a Ragoust, and I myself have known several make Love to their Kindred, who would not have regarded them, had there been no Alliance. The young Elvira had been brought up so modestly, she could not hear the word Incest without trembling, she would have sworn there had been no such thing committed in the World, since the days of Lot, and his Daughters: and doubtless had the Prince of Galicia spoke half that which her Husband had done, she would not at that time have endured him. But mark the indiscretion of some Husbands, they are many times the Authors of all the mischief which befalls them: and some Women are so ignorant in those kind of affairs, they would never have known what that Love had meant, had not the reproaches, and impertinent admonitions of their Husbands instructed them. The Countess fixing her eyes upon the Count, with an astonishment that demonstrated her innocence: Ha', my Lord, said she, tell me I beseech you, in what is it you observe the Prince of Galicia hath such kindness for me? I am not insensible of his desire to oblige me, but I persuade myself 'tis in consideration of Vrraca, and I see so little probability that a man should be enamoured of his Wife's Sister, that Raymond de Burgogne might tell me so a hundred times, and I desire to be excused. He need not tell you once, unless you please yourself, Madam, replied the Count, what I have done is but to advise you to prevent that declaration, have a care how you are with him alone, interrupt him in any discourse you think tending that way, and suffer him not to endanger so virtuous an innocence. He loves you, Madam, and it is I do assure it: do you not discern his diligence, how his eye is always upon you, how he crowds and steals himself close to you in all Assemblies, and how he sighs when he is forced to forsake you? He was so inconsiderate the other day before me, that in describing what Beauty it was he liked best, he had no more wit than to delineate you. The Countess had taken no notice of that circumstance, she was too much a Novice in Love-affairs to apprehend any such thing, but her curiosity kindling at her Husband's discourse: Why, my Lord, said she, do you call that Love? what hurt is there in that innocent way of diverting the Company? For my part I have always looked upon Love as a dangerous business; but if all its effects are blemeless, as that with which you are so highly alarmed, it is not so terrible as I did imagine. You do well, Madam, replied the Count in some passion, to be no more affected with my admonition, but let me desire you once more not to depend upon your own Judgement in matters of that importance; the beginnings of Love as always inconsiderable, but the consequence of those trifles, are commonly unfortunate: and then entering upon a long recitation of amorous Adventures, which no man but her Husband durst have undertaken to have told her, he closed up all with some Original Examples, and gave her more knowledge by that single Dialogue, than she had gained of herself in ten years' experience.  

MAXIM V.  
Husbands, let me advise you, never tell  
Your Wives, whate'er misfortunes you foresee.  
They are too apt, and can transgress too well  
Themselves, though you ne'er help their memory.   

Better be silent far, whate'er they do,  
Than to be Table-talk, and Cuckold too.   
The amorous Prince of Galicia not knowing how officious the Count of Tholouse had been, to give the Countess a sense of his affection, attended with impatience all opportunity to let her understand what she was already informed of. He found Elvira alone many times; by her deportment she seemed not to be cruel, nor did he want either Courage or Wit; but her little experience in those affairs was the thing he principally dreaded; he feared his confidence was not great enough to pronounce the name of Love, much less to commit Incest; and therefore not daring to venture a secret of that nature to so young and squeamish a person, he consumed himself in unprofitable desires, when on a sudden his Destiny befriended him with an opportunity to accomplish them: and indeed Cupid seldom abandons his Votaries in their extremities; when a man hath nothing to do but to speak, the greatest part of his Adventure is done to his hand. There was about this time an ginger arrived at Burgos, or at least a man pretending to be so, and several Miracles were reported of him. These sort of people in former Ages, being more rare, were more venerable than in ours: formerly the opinion was, nothing of futurity could be predicted but by Magic: But now a days every one pretends to it. Our ginger having set up his Bills, and made a large Paneyrick in Commendation of his Art, the noise he made in the Town, by the means of his Officers, came to the ears of Alphonso: Alphonso must needs see him, and amongst other admirable things which he presaged, and would answer for them upon his head, he show himin a Book the Names of all the Mistresses he had formerly had, and the principal Occurrences in his Amours. He needed no more in the Judgement of the good King to entitle him a Magician: Whereupon he forbidden his Daughter, and all the rest of his Court to have any communication with this man, being assured what he had shown him was more than natural, and looking upon his Book as a piece of Lucifer's Library, he believed it composed by the Devil. The Prince of Galicia who did not fancy the Devils so sociable, apprehended not that horror for the ginger, as the King would have persuaded him to. He sent for him to his Apartment, and having threatened to cut his throat, if he told him not the truth; he promised him a considerable reward, if he would be ingenuous and discover. The Conjuror being frighted with his threats on one side, and encouraged with his rewards on the other, confessed freely to the Prince that he neither understood Signs, nor Planets, that he questioned, whether any man alive was so skilful as to deduce any certain Presages from them, and that as to his Book, he owed all the reputation of that to a certain Water he made, which covered what he writ when he had a mind to it, and being exposed to the rays of the Sun, went away again itself, and left the Character entire. By the help of this Secret, my Lord, said the ginger, I writ down in my Book whatever I know of any persons Intrigues. When I have done that, I wash over what I have writ, with the aforesaid Composition, and then laying it in the Sun, I make it appear according as it is necessary for my Fortune or Reputation: But, said the Prince, than you but seldom hit right, for it is impossible you should know all the Intrigues in the World. My Lord, replied the ginger, I put so great a price upon the Predictions of my Book, that the Common-people are not able to go so high: it is only Sovereign Princes, and Persons of eminent Quality can reach the recompense I require; and for those of that Character, their most secret Intrigues are known, and so it is they come to think my knowledge infallible. The Prince of Galicia was very much satisfied with the integrity of the ginger, and inferring from his fidelity in this, he might be trusted in greater matters, he resolved to make use of him for the discovery of his passion to the Countess of Tholouse. He gave him so magnificent a Present, that he might promise himself the utmost of his assistance, and passing from thence to the Countess' Apartment, he was so fortunate as to find her alone. He began his converse by the praise of the ginger, protested he had told him such things as he could not have learned but by Miracle, and having understood by Elvira that she had not seen that Prodigy as yet, he offered to attend her to him when she pleased to command. Alas, Sir, replied the innocent Elvira, I would willingly accept your offer, but the King is so persuaded of the man's communication with the Devil, that he hath enjoined me to the contrary. How enjoined you, Madam, replied the Prince, is it for a Person of your Quality to have any thing forbidden you? were you a Child, or had not the wit or discretion which is requisite at your age, the King might use his Authority; but for you, Madam, one of the most ingenious, and prudent persons alive, to be interdicted so indifferent a Curiosity, believe me, Madam, you will deserve that usage, if you endure it without regret; and were it not but to instruct his Majesty in what manner you are to be treated, I would persuade you to see this ginger, and I do not doubt but to justify your disobedience. This discourse jumped exceedingly with the vanity of Elvira, she had desired a long time to be rid of Alphonso's Tuition, and have the management of her own Affairs, but she had a habit of awe upon her, that hindered her from shaking off the yoke: For some time she resisted the Prince's Proposition. He saw well enough she had a desire to be with him, but she durst not follow her own inclinations. Sometimes she said she had no faith for such kind of things; sometimes that she had nothing upon her heart, about which she needed to consult an ginger; and as the last Argument of all, she told him she did not know how far it might dissatisfy her Husband. He was a passionate man, and she durst not enterprise a thing of that importance, without his permission. Upon this Article Raymond de Burgogne began to show his Rhetoric. He told Elvira that for her Husband to take cognizance of such particular actions, was Tyranny: that Persons of her Virtue and Quality, were to be left to their own Conduct, and proposing to her the Example of Vrraca, whom he had left absolute Mistress both of her own actions, and all his Estate, he brought her at length to a resolution of seeing the ginger: they agreed upon the next day. The King and the Count being to give Audience to certain Deputies from Tholouse, and that Ceremony being to take them up all that afternoon, the Countess had full liberty to see the ginger without danger of surprise. The bargain being made in this manner, the Prince returned to his Chamber, sent immediately for his ginger (which we shall call Abdemelec) and having received him with a long story, and a thousand pretences of kindness to him, he told him he had a design to put a Trick upon the Countess of Tholouse, and he would entreat his assistance. The ginger offered his service freely; he had had too great experience of his liberality, to neglect any occasion of receiving the fruits of it; he wished with all his heart he was as necessary in all the Prince's Affairs, and never desired so much knowledge in his profession, as at that time. Raymond perceiving him so well disposed, persuaded him that he would pretend Love to his Sister-in-law, and guilded over his intention with whatever he thought might make it appear innocent. He told him it was by agreement betwixt the Countess and he, and that it was to be done upon a Wager. Abdemelec understood very well what he had to suspect; he had Judgement and Experience, and had seldom observed a Person of any Parts enter upon a design, without some end or other. He promised the Prince therefore to discharge himself faithfully of his Trust, he put one of his blank Books into his hands, which the ignorant look upon as a Devil. The Prince writ in it what he desired the Countess should find there, and the ginger engaging to remember the rest, he left Raymond in great impatience of receiving the fruits of his contrivance. The History doth not mention how he slept the night before this declaration was to be, but I dare affirm (& not apprehend to be thought rash) it was not without interruption. The long wished for hour being come, Raymond fetched Abdemelec to his Lodgings, and carried him from thence to the Countess' Apartment, they shut themselves all three up in her Closet, and the ginger being Master of his Trade, began to ask Elvira about her Nativity; he examined her Physiognomy, inquired after the principal accidents of her life, and judging he had done enough to give her an advantageous impression of his skill, he began to produce the Book the Prince of Galicia had told her of. Elvira trembled as soon as she saw it, she had endured the sight, and examination of the Conjuror, with very good courage; but when he mentioned the Book of which she had heard so many Miracles, and which Alphonso had assured her was no less than the body of Magic in little, her resolution began to forsake her. The Prince confirmed her as much as he could, he shown her the leaves of the Book, in which there was no writing to be seen. The Countess having turned them over, the ginger took it out of her hand, and going aside to the Window, under pretence of looking out, he laid his Book in the Sun, and having stayed there some little time, till he judged the heat had exhaled the Water which covered the Writing, he brought the Book opened to the Countess, with the right end upwards, that she might read with more ease what was about to be discovered. But the poor Lady, affrighted to see Characters there where but a moment before she was confident there was nothing, she gave a great shriek, and instead of reading it, threw the Book down, and ran as fast as she could to the door, to save herself from the Devil. The Prince of Galicia catcht her by the Gown, and protesting there was nothing but what was natural in all that she faugh, he brought her back (almost by force) to a Table where the Book was laid. It was pleasant to see the terror the poor Countess was in: her Curiosity scarce made her step one foot towards the Table, but her fear fetched her as far back again towards the door. She put such innocent questions to the Prince, and the ginger, they had no small trouble upon them to keep from blurting in her face. But, good Brother, said she to Raymond, what if the reading in this Book should put me into the power of the Devil, and he should fetch me away as soon as I had done. Ha', Madam, replied the Prince, he will not fetch you, my life for yours, approach, upon my word: Ha', Sir, replied the Countess, your words will do me no good amongst the evil Spirits, you may give me an hundred before one of them will pass there. But, Madam, replied the Prince in some impatience, hath the Devil carried me away? and yet I have seen, and consulted this Book several times; do you think he can carry away people as he pleases? Alas, he hath not power to carry away those who give themselves to him, much less those who do not. Come, Madam, I beseech you, and then thrusting her to the Table, in a great fear she read these Verses.  
Would you be happy, 'bove all earthly things?  
A Prince adores you, ease his sufferings.  
If Hymen's Law dissuades, and tells you, no.  
'Tis sin to love besides your Husband, know  
'Tis none to love him that loves none but you.  
And at the bottom of these Verses there was written in Capital Letters,  

THIS PRINCE IS RAYMOND DE BOURGOGNE.  
Alas, cried the Countess, after she had seen the Name of Raymond, if this be all your ginger can tell me, I might have saved myself the labour of seeing him, for without consulting the Stars, the Count of Tholouse told me long since what hath happened to day. The Count of Tholouse, Madam? replied the Prince of Galicia in some heat, Why hath he troubled himself to take notice of the passion I have for you? Yes he hath taken notice of it, and hath caused me to take notice of it, and which is yet more, he hath persuaded me to accept it. Certainly, replied the Prince of Galicia, I did not believe I had been so much obliged to the Count of Tholouse, and just as he mentioned that word, the Count came into the Closet. He had learned by his Spies, that the Prince of Galicia was with her, and carried the ginger with him; and being of a distrustful nature, and suspicious of such kind of people as Abdemelec, he had pretended to be taken ill at his Audience, and came thither on purpose to prevent a mischief he so plainly foresaw. His Arrival was so unexpected, and his Entrance so sudden, the ginger had no time to take his Book off the Table. The Count snatched it up immediately, and casting his eye upon what he had apprehended he should find, he let the Prince of Galicia know he was not of an humour to endure such kind of affairs. Raymond would have turned all into Raillery, whilst the Count was reading, he had had some time to recollect himself, he endeavoured to persuade him, that this declaration of his Love was but an innocent design to punish Elvira for her Curiosity. But the Count (having signified by the shaking of his head, and other gesticulations, he was not to be deluded so easily) he desired the Prince very gravely, that he would use no such Stratagems for the future; and doubtless he had paid the ginger for his pains, had he not foreseen the storm, and prevented it by a timely recess. The ginger was no Fool, he discerned by the Prince's looks when the Count came in, that this Intrigue was not by consent, as he had endeavoured to persuade him. He knew that there was nothing more ordinary than for little persons to suffer in the quarrels of great; so that slipping away out of the Cabinet while the Count was reading the Inscription, he was not to be found afterwards when he was wanting; and indeed I am of opinion he would have sought all over the Town, to little purpose; for after such an accident, he thought it would be too hot: and if in such a case any man should ask my advice, I should never consult the Stars to persuade him to abscond. From this passage of the ginger, the Count de Tholouse became so jealous of his Wife, that he left her not one moments repose. He gave her Lectures every day, he forbidden her the most innocent Recreations: she could not go one step without Spies. And now let any one that knows the World judge of the efficacy of these precautions, and say whether they be like to support and reinforce a staggering Virtue. An unjust Command is the fountain of disobedience, and Women never desire any thing so impetuously, as what is expressly forbidden. But it was the Count of Tholouse his Destiny, to advance the affairs of the Prince of Galicia, which all the Charms and Oratory of Raymond would have attempted in vain. Her desire of punishing the Count for his Jealousy, put it into her mind to give him occasion; so that this imprudent Husband completed the felicity of his Wife's Gallant, as he had began it: and as the highest effect of the Princes good Fortune. The Count of Tholouse was never so well pleased with his imaginary preventions, as at the time when his Wife and Raymond had illuded them.  
It seasons much a Victory, to owe  
It to the Caution of a watchful Foe:  
Of all the artifices and tricks we meet  
In Love, 'tis circumvention is most sweet.  
To cheat Report, is common; but to be  
Too wise and vigilant for Jealousy,  
Is Love's peculiar Compliment to she.  
The Amours of our two Lovers continued secret for some time, to the marvellous content of both Parties. Raymond came many times to a Closet-Window, which was no higher than a Buttress, and looked into a private Walk that was much unfrequented. This Window had an Iron Lettuce before it, but the Countess was so cunning, she got a Grate made with Joints, to be taken down upon occasion; and this was so artificially done, it was not to be perceived. This part of the Palace was so strong of itself, it was not thought necessary to guard it. Elvira went to this Closet every night, attended only by one person which lighted her, and was well paid for his pains. It was known her custom was to read, when she was there, so that her Women were not affrighted, if she stayed sometimes an hour longer than ordinary. As soon as the door was shut, she took down the Grate, and receiving the Prince (who leapt plum into the Window without the help of a Ladder) they passed the time very happily without any discovery. Besides this, they had found another Expedient. There was a Covent of Nuns at Burgos, to which the Countess made her Visits very frequently. She carried few of her Friends or Servants with her, pretending unwilling to incommode the young Damoisells in their Retirement. The Prince of Galicia had corrupted the Porter so far, as to suffer him to enter the Monastery in the habit of a Gardener; he met the Countess still in the most obscure part of the Garden, and it was at these Enterviews they agreed where and when they were to meet next. This convenience of private meetings excused the Prince from all formal Visitations; he sees the Countess in public but very seldom, and the Count of Tholouse judging of their Amours by the frequency of his Visits, was grown to that pass he could sleep pretty well. But nothing is so close, but time will discover; let one manage his affairs with never so much prudence, something or other falls out still to detect it. Upon a night as the Count was passing from the King of Castile's Lodgings, the door of one of the Terraces of Communication, being shut, he passed by the private way the Closet-Window opened in to; no body but the Count of Tholouse himself, durst have taken that liberty, for that being the usual Walk for the Countess, and her Maids, it was kept as sacred from all other persons: as he was going by, the Count perceived a light at the Window, he went softly to it, and commanded his Servants to keep back. By disaster the Countess opened the Grill at the same instant to let out the Prince, and observing the Flambeau which attended her Husband, she not only clapped the Grill to again, but put out her Candle in such haste, that the great light which was there, and the sudden putting it out, gave him occasion to suspect: he ran up directly into his Wife's Apartment to see what was the matter: But he found no Prince, for he had had time to save himself, but with so much precipitation, he left his Gloves behind him. The Count knew at first sight who was their Master. He fell into great agonies and imprecations; he caused her Lodgings to be searched, and threatened fire and faggots to every one that came near to, and calling for his Flambeau to examine the Lattice; he looked about it so narrowly, that at length he found which way it was to be opened. Had he found his Countess in that fury, he had doubtless been transported to some violence against her, but she had the discretion to run immediately to the King's Chamber; and the fright she was in had produced so much compassion in the good man, that when the Count followed her with complaints against the ill conduct of his Daughter, the old King received him with no other Ceremony than threats and reproach. Not liking that kind of Entertainment, he retired secretly from Burgos, and left his Wife to her Destiny. His first thoughts were to have gone into France to have raised Forces there, and to have demanded reparation with his Sword in his hand; but remembering himself that he had heard Vrraca was an imperious and high-spirited Princess, he conceived she might probably be made so sensible of her Husband's infidelity, that she might contribute considerably to his Revenge. He took his way therefore towards Compostella, and indeed to do the Prince of Galicia a mischief, it was the best course he could steer. The Princess was of a very sensible complexion, the long absence of the Prince began already to disturb her. The Count of Tholouse was a very handsome Person, and a Frenchman by birth (which is a Nation so acceptable in Foreign parts, that the very name of a Frenchman is enough to startle the severest of the Ladies, and mollify the most unmalleable obduracy amongst them. Vrraca no sooner saw her Brother-in-law, the Count, but she felt the force of the French Constellation: she promised him whatever he asked; she gave him absolute Command over the Town of Compostella: but these were but Compliments and Formalities as yet. Vrraca was not so beautiful as Elvira, but Elvira was the Count of Tholice Wife, and convict of infidelity. In this posture were our two Brothers-in-law preparing for reprisal. Raymond de Burgogne lent nothing to the Count of Tholouse in Castille, but the Count repaid very punctually in Galicias and (some say) with interest: for the Intrigue betwixt Raymond and Elvira being private; nothing was known of it, but what her Husband had been pleased to divulge; but that betwixt Vrraca and the Count was so public at first dash, there was not any friend the Prince had in Galicia, which had not given him advertisement. This is an offence in which a man generally considers himself more than any body else: Whether the Wife be beloved, or whether she be not, her inconstancy is always abominable to her Husband. Raymond repairs with all diligence to Galicia: He was of opinion he need but show himself to dissipate that storm; but he was mistaken, and kept out at the Gates of Compostella, the new Governor sending him word in a Military way, he had found in the Astrologers Book, that he ought to be Vrraca's Gallant, as Raymond had been Gallant to Elvira. It is easy to imagine this Compliment appeared something strange to the Prince of Galicia: He was conscious of having been the Example: but he had kept within the bounds of outward Civility. There was none but the Count knew any thing of his Amours, and he had done his utmost to conceal it from him: but to see the Gallant of his Wife refuse him entrance publicly into his own house, was a thing he had never seen practised before. Raymond being highly incensed at the outrage, forgot nothing that might revenge it. He dispatched a Messenger to Castille, to demand of King Alphonso possession of the Principality he had promised him upon Marriage. He sent into France for Supplies from his Father the Duke of Bourgondy, and all the rest of the Allies. The Count of Tholouse seeing him take that way, followed his Example; he complained to the King of Castille of the injury he had received by his Daughter. He writ to Lewis le Gros, King of France, to desire his Protection. In this manner all Castille was in an Uproar; The Province of Galicia, like to become the Seat of a bloody War, and all, for the impertinence of Love: Love is so seditious; it works itself into all Plots, and all Parties. No man can tell its power, till he hath tried it, and no man that hath tried, is fit to describe it. Henry de Lorraine the Husband of Theresia of Castille, and Prince of the Conquests in Portugal, being of a Family to which life and Generosity were connatural, with great sorrow understood the distraction of the Royal House of Castille. Any body but he would have made his advantage of them: the displeasure of the Father against two of his Daughters must needs be of great importance to the third: But the Princes of his Race, are not capable of so mean a thing as private interest. He departed from Lisbon immediately, went directly to his Father-in-law the King of Castille, and undertook to mediate betwixt his two Brothers-in-law. But for as much as new Acquisitions are more tottering and uncertain than what are anciently established. Henry apprehending his absence might give opportunity to new Commotions, he kept his Journey very close, and leaving Fernandez Paw, a Portugal, to assist his Wife in the Government of that Kingdom, he departed so suddenly for Castille, that Theresia had scarce time to write two lines to her Father. But for the making the occurrences at Castille (at the Arrival of Prince Henry) perspicuous, it will not be amiss if we insert what passed in Portugal before he set out. This Fernandez Paw (whom he had left chief Counsellor to the Princess in his absence) had long since possessed himself of that Character in her heart. Henry was a young Prince more enamoured of the Quality, than the Person of Theresia. This Paw admired her for both; and it is a great satisfaction to a Woman to have her Dominion founded upon her own Excellence. Paw therefore had got an intimacy with the Princess upon that score; and having managed it very discreetly, Prince Henry had gotten no notice of it. Paw served his Prince so well in his Foreign Affairs, he was not the least suspected at home. Theresia carried herself with as much modesty as could be expected; but by misfortune, the day before Henry was to departed, there had been some Letters passed betwixt Theresia and Paw: the Princess was subject to some Christian reflections, which had put her Gallant into some confusion. He had writ to her upon that subject, and Theresia was so pressed by her Husband to close up her Packet to Castille, that she sealed up Paws Letter instead of one to her Father. This mistake was not discovered till three or four hours after the Prince was departed. They had been employed all that time in instructions pro and con. But when the Princess was alone, and had a mind to read Paws Letter, which she believed she had left sealed upon the Table, she was much surprised to find the Letter she had writ to her Father Alphonso, in its place. That she sighed, and wept, and tore her hair, is no great difficulty to imagine. Nothing could serve, but she must die, Fernandez could not comfort her, and to speak truth, he himself wanted no little consolation: But there was no remedy but patience. The Example of her other Sisters gave his some relaxation, she could not do worse, than they had done before her. In the mean time Henry arrived at Burgos, with Paws Letter, instead of his Fathers. The good Alphonso was much revived at the sight of his dear Son-in-law; and looking now upon Theresia as the sole Inheritrix of that Love, of which Elvira and Vrraca had rendered themselves unworthy, he observed the tears drop down his venerable Cheeks at the sight of the Letter the Prince presented him from her. He opened the Packet with great joy, and supposing there was nothing in the heart of his Daughter, to which her Husband might not be privy, he began to read it aloud; but recollecting immediately that it was not Theresia's hand, he stopped at the first line, and then looking upon the Superscription to see how it was directed, he found it, For the King of Castille: and that the Superscription was written by Theresia herself; he concluded then that she might have some reasons (which he did not know) to make use of a Secretary, and then stepping to the Window, he read these Lines, which (to accommodate ourselves to all sorts of Readers) we have taken the pains to translate our of Spanish.  
Ah, my dear Princess, how insupportable are you grown with your remorses! have I not told you a thousand times, that there is nothing owing to Husbands, but the conservation of their Honours? That the great discretion lies in choosing a friend, who by the prudenee of his Conduct, would keep them from scandal: and these Formalities being observed, there is no more due from you to Prince Henry. Courage, Madam, overcome this unseasonable compunction; and that it may be nipped in the bud, permit that I may wait upon you this night with new Arguments against it.  
Never was any man so surprised as Alphonso at the reading of this Letter. It was to be his common custom to see his Daughters disloyal. Elvira had taken that liberty in private, Vrraca did it publicly, and the old King of Castille was so good a Father as to impute all to the imprudence of his Sons-in-law. He could not believe it was their temperament, or natural inclination which disposed them to so unnatural actions. The one was debauched by the Jealousy of her Husband; the other by her desire of Revenge: but for Theresia, he had nothing to say in her defence. Henry was accomplished in himself, he had settled the French oeconomy in his Family, and Theresia lived at Lisbon, as she would have done at Paris: He was liberal, frank, and faithful, so that Alphonso was so much transported at the injury done to this Prince, that he could not master his first resentments. However it had been but prudence in him to conceal the exorbitance of his Daughter, but the good man was so transported with choler, that he threw the Letter upon the ground, cast up his eyes to heaven as a person under some eminent affliction; and answering his own thoughts as it had been his Daughter, he cried out, You shall die, unhappy Child, you shall die: if your Husband should be so merciful to forgive you, I would tear you in pieces with mine own trembling hands, rather than your infidelity should go unpunished. The Prince of Portugal had like to have swooned at this transport, he could not conceive the Contents of the Letter, nor the cause of Alphonso's disorder; and ask him (in his surprise) what infidelity it was he charged upon Theresia, the King took up the Letter again, and delivering it into his hand, here, says he, see what reason I have to be disturbed, and confess I have brought Monsters, not Daughters, into the World. Henry took Paws Letter from the King, he knew the hand, and reading it half out, was so astonished at the Contents, he could scarce tell whether he was waking, or asleep. His conversation in the World had not been so small, but he knew a Woman's virtue was not to be warranted without good countersecurity. He understood the Sex by experience, and was not ignorant that the best friends are usually they which disparage the Husband. But to consider that he should be the Porter of that unfortunate Letter, was a Pill he could not swallow, nor digest. His misfortune was too common to be incredible, but the Circumstance with which it was accompanied, was beyond all belief: and it was not so much Paws Letter that affected him, as that it was his Destincy to deliver it. This consideration stounded him for some time, and the transportation of his Father-in-law, added fuel to his fire; but at last the storm was blown over. In that Age (as it is in this) the Tilt of Cuckold was so common, it was scarce any trouble to be so. The disgrace lies only where it is known: when a Woman's inconstancy is public, nothing is greater dishonour to her Husband: where it is managed with secrecy, nothing is so trivial. Henry looked upon it as no point of discretion, to publish the infirmities of his Wife, and therefore gave himself some few days to digest his resentment. But the Examples of his Brother-in-law having learned him some Wit, he came one morning to the King's Chamber, and said to him, You see, Sir, by the Letter I have brought you, that your Daughters have no reason to upbraid one another. They were born under the same Constellation, and if any thing discriminated me from the Prince of Galicia, and the Count of Tholouse, it is this, that their unhappiness is known, and mine is a secret. I have no inclination to publish it, and if you please you may conceal the Letter you shown me: Send word to your Daughter that you kept it from me, and I will never convince her of her error. In giving me Theresia, your Majesty gave me also a Province, which I hope in time to improve into a Kingdom. I have Children already which may succeed me hereafter. There is no necessity the Portugals should suspect whether they be mine, or Paws. Conceal the dishonour of your Daughter with as much care as I, and by the Example of your Family we will demonstrate, that it is the discretion of the Husbands which makes the difference betwixt the Women which are prudent in appearance, and those which are really irregular. The King of Castille took this Proposition very kindly. He began to repent himself of what he had done, insomuch that magnifying the Generosity he had expressed, he seconded his Counsels with several Examples, and most irrefragable Arguments: and the troubles in Castille being appeased by the death of the Count of Tholouse, and the interpostion of the King of France, Henry returned into Portugal, without any mark or token of that he knew. The truth is, he found out a pretence to send Paw out of the World, and I have been told he had another to make his Wife more obsequious for the future. But (as he presaged very judiciously) his Posterity have reigned several years in Portugal, whereas the younger Sons of the Royal Family of Castille, have always disputed the Crown with the Children of Vrraca.  

MAXIM V  
This I'll affirm, let things to how they can,  
The marri'd's really the happiest man.  
Let her be what she will, I'll lay my life.  
His owns more faithful than this Neighbour's Wife.   
But shall we never have done with these Daughters? does no other condition of life but the married, afford matter for our Annals? Yes certainly, History is so fertile in amorous accidnets, she supplies us with variety. About the same time while things were in this agitation in Spain, Love (which had laid about him so in the Royal Family of Castille) was not idle in the Court of the Emperor of the West. This Empire was then under the Dominion of Frderick Barberossa, a valiant and ambitious Prince. He had signalised the beginning of his Reign by remarkable Victories, so that there was nothing discoursed of in all Europe so much as his Power and Greatness. He kept his ordinary Residence in Rome, as well because the Climate agreed with his body, as upon certain secret Designs he had upon the Lands of the Church: and because his remoteness from the heart of his Empire, caused him to apprehend some Mutiny in the Towns of Germany, he obliged Prince Henry (his Son) to continue in that Province the greatest part of the year. This young Prince was extremely hopeful; the people of the Empire loved him entirely: So that his Father conceiving some Jealousy lousy thereupon, took the pretence of his Coronation to recall him to Rome. They passed the Winter very lovingly together; and the Emperor having a mind to pry into the Conduct of Alexander the Third (who was then Pope, and in possession os the Patrimony of S. Peter) he ordered his Son to visit him frequently. The Prince, in obedience to his Father, waited upon him as often as he was visible. He attended him in all his devitions, and among other places to a Monastery of Nuns where his Holiness had a Niece he loved most entirely: She was descended from the Blood Royal of Simo ily, and her Uncle the Disposer of all Ecclesiatical preferments; but as yet she was not of, years to be an Abbess, and therefore at Rome was known by no other name but Madam Gonstance. She was as handsome as was possible to wish, and besides several other good qualities she had a good voice, and sung incomparably well: at one of the Solemnities of that Covent the Prince heard her one day; and being a great Lover of Music, he had a great ambition to see her; the dignity of her relation to the Pope authorising his desire, he asked leave to see Constance when the Ceremony was ended. He was much transported at the sight of her, and had never seen so many graces in one Assembly before. Till that day, he was free, his soul was his own; and he seemed born for Mars' (not Venus) Wars. But he was not the first man hath become a Captive to the simplicity of a Nun. There is a sort of people not to be captivated but in this shape, and there have been Letters seen in our days which have taught us, that of all people in the World, none make Love with that confidence and freedom as the Nuns. The Monastical Gallantry hath its Laws and Rubrics apart. There are no elegant Entertainments, no Assiduities, nor public Attendances, all things within the Cloister are so carried privately and with discretion; nevertheless their Religious Civility is so great, they will not discourage any man's affection, and there is but few which attempt them, but they arrive at their designs. The Imperial Prince was a handsome Person, and a fine Gentleman; Constance had taken a Monastic life upon her, more in obedience than choice, and in vows of this Nature, there is something always reserved to direct the intention: Thus have we brought them into Cupid's Highway. The Prince seconded his first Visit with another, and lost no opportunity of multiplying them: the more he saw, the more he admired her; and Constance was no less taken with him: The Prince spoke, Constance attended. Constance suspected, the Prince protested; and in short, all Formalities being observed on both sides, the Prince persuaded her he loved her, and was persuaded himself that she loved him no less. The Policy of the Grate confining the Prince's Visits to certain and regular hours which his passion could not brook; he wanted some way of seeing Constance when he pleased, and that was not easy to find. Constance was very conformable, and the Order not permitting any Abbess of Quality (who would perhaps have known better things) there was a most severe old Governess who would trust no body but herself with the keeping of her Hock: The keys of the doors she brought up herself every night, and laid them in her Chamber. But what is it which Love cannot do? Love is the Father of Invention, and when a Lover has no more to do but to lull the numerous Eyes of Argus into a sleep, he thinks it a trifle, and performable with ease. Prince Henry judging of the inclinations of the rest, by what he had experimented in Constance, resolved to insinuate with such of her Associates, as he believed might be useful to his designs. He selected such of the young Cavaliers of his Train as were best affected to his interest, and most like to ingratiate with the Nuns; and gave them in charge to make Courtship to her that kept the Gate, her that was appointed to be present at all discourses, and another whose Office it was to rouse the Sisters in the morning. The Enterprise succeeded as was desired, and the Gentlemen gained upon them so, that by their mediation the Prince had all the liberty he could wish. She which was to attend their Discourses, reported nothing to the Governess but Dialongues of Virtue and Piety. The Sister which was to awake them, did it as she was directed, and she that kept the Gates was so favourable, as to give them the impression in Wax of all the Keys in the House: By these impressions the Prince caused new Keys to be made, and whilst the rigid old Matron presuming upon her own providence, was sleeping quietly in her bed, the Prince and his three Confidents passed away whole nights with the four Nuns in the Garden: And there was this very remarkable in their Society, that the Nuns were all of them true to their Camarade, lest they in revenge should be otherwise to them.  

MAXIM VII.  
Some men there are so vain, they cannot be  
Secure (they think) of their felicity,  
Unless the World does know't: but let them know,  
There's no man counted wise, that thinks them so.  
He who fares well, and cannot hold his peace,  
Must not be angry at too many Guests.   
The desire of things forbidden is an irregularity of Nature, which knows no bounds but excess, the respect and deference we bear to it, renders it insatiable; and it is commonly seen, the first step one makes towards things which are unlawful, is not long before it is followed by the last. Our Nuns were grown to that pass, they were not satisfied to manage their Loves within the Walls of the Cloister, to reveive and entertain their Gallants in the Garden, and to wait upon them out again a good way beyond the Gate; but their temptation increased by the pleasure they found in it. The Coronation of the Emperor was to be celebrated with so many fine Spectacles, that the noise of the prepartation was got into their Covent. They were taken with a Curiosity of seeing one or other of them. The heat which is commonly extraordinary in Rome, had obliged the Emperor to make choice of the night for the greatest part of their Solemnity; and the custom of going vailed having been long used in Italy, Constance and her Companions could see no great difficulty in satisfying their desires. They communicated with the Prince, and he opposed not their designs. The more a Woman transgresses the Laws of Civility, the fewer scruples and impediments a man hath to encounter. For the accomplishment of this Enterprise, he pitched upon a night in which the Emperor gave an Entertainment in a Garden upon the Banks of the River Tiber: and Frederick having contuived a new way of Divertisement, resolved to appear in Masquerade, and no persons were to be admitted, but such as were in Disguise. Price Henry caused Masuerade  to be made for Constance and her Camarades; he furnished them with a Foreign Equipage, and (committing them to the Conduct. of him who was Gallant to her which kept the Gates) took order for their entrance, and places in the Garden. They arrived without any accident; the person appointed to conduct them, attended in an unknown Coach at the Back-gate of their Covent, with Habits proper for their Disguise. The Ladies dressed themselves by the way, and left their own  in the Coach; they entered into the Garden, and placed themselves. The Prince saluted them as Strangers, but whether that Compliment made them more remarkalbe, or the transcendent Beauty of Constance pierced through her Disguise, she was scarce entered into the Garden, but the Emperor perceived her, and had the curiosity to inquire who she was. Either they could not, or they would not inform him; so that desiring to discover her by her voice, he accosted her, and fell into a discourse. The Prince told her which was the Emperor, as soon as she came in: So that notwithstanding his Disguise, Constance understood how she was to departed herself. At first their discourse was about indifferent things, the Emperor commended the fancy and neatness of her Habit, and Constance magnified the magnificence of his: But their conversation increasing insensibly, Constance (who understood the Emperor's affairs better than he did hers) gave him so many pungent and ingenious answers, that augmented his desire of knowing who she was. He conjured her therefoe to satisfy him in that point, but her reply was so ambiguous, he might believe she was of any good Family in Rome, and not know of which: And at last observing the Emperor to persist in his obstinacy, and fearing lest he should cause her to be dogged home to her Covent, or find out some other way to satisfy his curiosity, she promised the next day to give him a meeting in a Garden (which she knew not but by the name) where the Ladies of Pleastance did usually walk. She thought that Circumstance would make the Emperor believe that she which spoke to him was a Lady os that Rank, and so thinking her unworthy of his Company, leave her to herself, but it fell out quite contrary. Frederick indeed judged of her as she had presaged, but that opinion made his desires more violent: for finding them accompanied with hopes, from their conception, he gave himself wholly up to them without either fear or discretion; he considered Constance afresh, her shape, her air, the sound of her voice, the quickness of her Eye, and the Pleasantness of her Wit: All of them were as charming in appearance, as they were in effect: and flattering his imagination with a thousand fantastical Chimeras, he took his leave of her, the most enamoured Person in the World. Prince Henry discovered this new passion at the very first: he observed the Emperor stick to her, as he had been retained by Enchantment. He bade the Courtiers (especially his Favourites) to take notice of that Lady, of her Presence, and bonne Mine, and believing her unknown to the Prince, he called him to him two or three times, to inquire his opinion about her. The Prince was at first well pleased with his Curiosity, but considering the violence of his Father's humour better, he apprehended what might follow. He made signs to the Conductor of the Masquerades to retire with them immediately, and he being intelligent enough, took his direction, and making use of an opportunity when the Emperor was speaking to a French Ambassador which was there, and just come into the Garden: he withdrew Constance out of the Crowd, and reconducted her to her Covent. All the time they were passing in the Coach betwixt the Garden and the Nunnery, they employed in changing their Habits, as they had done as they came. They were just got to the Gate they were to go in at, when day began to break (as if it had attended their coming back, before it durst appear) but who could imagine the misfortune that befell them? She of the Party which carried the Key, had been so much taken up with the contemplation of what she had seen, that she had forgot where she had laid it. She examined her Gallants Habit, and she examined her Religious, gropt up and down the Coach, turned over her Papers, but no Key: The hour they rise in the Monastery approached. The people which brought Commodities to the Market began to appear in the streets: and not one of the poor Sisters could imagine by what Miracle they should be conveyed out of the Coach where they were, into the Cells where they ought to have been. No wonder if they invoked their good Genius, and made millions of promises never to run themselves into the like error again. There was not a Saint, nor a Protector belonging to their Covent, but they promised a Wax-canle, though by the tediousness of their delivery, they did not seem to be accepted: But at length length their Destiny was merciful, and their Key found in the fold of her sleeve, where she had put it herself, and where (according to the common accident in such cases) she had searched twenty times, and could not find it. They gave great thanks for so seasonalbe a discovery; they opened the Gates as easily as they could, and stole to their Quarters without any noise; and in the morning one was troubled with the Colic, another with the Headache, every one had her distemper, to excuse their lying in bed the next day. The Emperor in the mean time (pressed by his curiosity) was as impatient till the hour os the Rendez-vous came, as she was indifferent. He got up earlier in the morning, than his setting up the night before did seem to permit, but all that time he could take no rest, though Constance slept very sweetly. Scarce was the heat of the day over, but the Emperor was at his assignation: he took some turns about the Garden, before the Ladies which were used to walk there, could get into a condition to appear; but at length the walking hour approaching, he see four or five the handsomest Courtesans in Rome enter, amongst whom he imagined his unknown Mistress was one. He accosted them, and laid her particularly aboard with a Compliment upon her good Air, her excellent Shape, and the Majesty of her Walk. The damosel was mighty well pleased with his Judgement; she bridled, she strutted, and strained as much as was possible to deserve it; she bitten her lips to make them look red, and put her Eyes into the best posture she could: but she might have let them alone as well. The Emperor found his mistake, and that she had neither the Shape, Eyes, nor Voice which he looked for. The conversation of this Woman was tedious to him, when he compared her with Constance: and so leaving, and throwing his eyes up and down the Garden, he continued there till night, but no Nun, nor no body to supply the place she had gotten in his heart. This disappointment went very near him; he could not think of it without indignation, and his Choler fermenting with his Love, he retired into his Palace so agitated, and disturbed, one would have thought he had been to fight some great Battle, or had the Conquest of all Turkey in his head. Whilst he was consuming in his Melancholy, and fruitless desires, the Prince and Constance did but laugh at his misery: he understood by the person he sent home with them, of the meeting she had appointed with Frederick, and of her resolution to fail: and being told that afternoon by some of the Emperor's Servants, that the Emperor was gone into the Walks: He thought that a fit opportunity to visit the Pope's Niece, to see how she liked the Magnificence of the Solemnity she had seen, and to droll with her about the Emperor's credulity. Thus we may see the advantage youth hath over age, and how successful a man is like to be in his Career, when his own Son runs against him. The abused Frederick having to the motions of a violent curiosity, added the impulses of shame and indignation, his life became so uneasy, and melancholy, he was scarce to be known. He went from Church to Church, from one Company to another, searching of a person he did not know when he saw, and enquiring after one whose name he could not tell. Those who pretend great penetration into matters of Policy, attribute that to the Ambition of this Prince, which was indeed due to his Love. The unquiet air which was visible in his Countenance, portended some secret design. The frequent Visits he made (in quest of his Mistress) to the chief Families in Rome, presaged some fatal Revolution in the Ecclesiastical State. Those who where faithful to his Holiness, ceased not to put him in mind of the turbulence of frederick's Spirit, and that he had some evil designs or other in his head, which unless carefully prevented, would be mature immediately. Upon which add vertisement, Sienna (as a Town like to be the first object of his Ambition) was fortified forthwith: all his Holinesses Troops had order to march down towards Milan, which was looked upon as inclining to the Emperor. The Emperor having notice of what past, thought it high time to look to himself. His new Love had laid his Ambition asleep, but his anger had waked it again; and therefore it was necessary he should do something to divert his imagination from the Object that affected him. He drew together what Troops he had in Italy, and quartered them as close as the Country would bear. To excuse these proceed, he pretended a necessity of relieveing Vladislaus King of Bohemia, his near Kinsman and Ally, against the Polander, who was become jealous of his Kingdom. In the Imperial Court nothing was talked of but Musters and Preparations for War. Prince Henry (who by his employments, was hindered from visiting Constance as he had been used, and who foreseeing the Emperor's Affairs, must of necessity send him packing into Germany) began to suspect his Father might make some advantage of his absence, and signified his apprehensions by Letters to his most incomparable Nun. Having observed one day in one of her Answers, a Curiosity to know what the Emperor thought of his, it stirred up Jealousy, and not able to satisfy her in person, being to draw some Troops some few miles from Rome; he sent her his Answer in a Letter. Constance had no paper ready to return him an Answer, and the Prince's Messenger pressing her to write, because his Master requested it; she did it, and writ her mind in the blanks betwixt the Lines of his Letter, and then sealing it up, sent it back again to the Prince, containing both the Letter and the Answer. The Prince was on Horseback when he received it, and the Presence of the Emperor not allowing him time to read it, he put it up (as he thought) safe in his Pocket. But whether the trouble which was upon him, hindered him from putting it right in, or that it was the inevitable Destiny of all Lovers to have their Secrets discovered by their Letters; this from Constance fell down, and was observed by the Emperor: he made signs to one of his Servants to take it up, and give it to him; and was mightily well pleased, that it was in his power to understand any of his Sons affairs, he opened it as soon as he was got where he might do it secretly. He was surprised at first to see the two different hands, he could not imagine the reason of that Novelty: but at last perceiving one of them to be the Princes, he began with that, and found these words expressed therein.  
Madam,  
You are too much concerned at what is thought of you, not to rejoice when it is to your advantage. I am not to give Laws to your Curiosity: yet believe me, Madam, it does a little discompose me, lest to your desire of knowing what the Emperor thinks of you, you should add a readiness to inform him what you thing of himself.  
The word Emperor started him a little, but he did not conceive at first it was meant of him. There was at that time three or four other Emperors in being: Henry had been a long time at the Court of the Emperor of the East; and he had Intelligence with the Emperor of Trebisond: He might therefore have had some amorous Intrigue; where the name of those Princes might be concerned, but he was not long in this doubt, for this was the return Constance had made.  
Sir,  
Your apprehension is a Chimaera my assurances might have dispelled: I love you, you know, and you know likewise you deserve to be beloved: But though you can forget your own merits, and my kindness, remember at least that you are in the Spring of your Youth, and Frederick in the Winter of his Age.  
This Letter opened the Emperor's eyes, he perceived clearly now, that he was the man, and knowing within himself, that he had not had any Frolic with a Lady for several years, besides what past lately with the Lady in Mascarade; he concluded it must be there, and that his Son was his Rival. It would be a hard thing to determine which was most violent in his soul, the pleasure he conceived at the news of the unknown Lady, or his displeasure to find his Son was like to be his Rival. His first resolution was to send immediately for his Son, to conjure him to tell him where she lived, and her name, and afterwards to forbid him any Converse with her for the future, under pain of his indignation. But judging upon second thoughts, that in affairs of any standing, or settlement, open resistance doth commonly more mischief than good: he altered his mind, and concluded the best way to try what might be done by artifice before he came to violence. He set Spies upon his Son, he understood he went abroad every night, he employed people to dog him, and at leagth discovered he went into the Covent to Constance: and to complete the discovery, he saw another Letter of hers (under the same hand) lying upon the Pope's Table, to whom she had addressed it. He knew the hand was the same with the Ticket he had. From whence he inferred, that Constance must needs be his Son's mistress, but he was not certain she was the disguised Lady. The dignity of Constance, the reputation of her Virtue in Rome, and the Profession she had embraced, all these, I say, agreed so little with her being in Mascarade, that he had no sooner form a suspicion of what was too true, but these reasons confuted it: At leagth considering with himself, that a Nun when she forgets the Religious duties of her Profession so far as to love a man more than she ought, she might as well forget herself quite, and see spectacles as well as other people. He thought Constance had nor perhaps found so much difficulty to accommodate her Disguise with her Profession, as he had himself. He called for his Coach, and away he went to her to the Covent to consult the opinion of his own senses in so extraordinary an Intrigue, and scarce had Constance opened her mough to give him thanks for that honour, but he found it was the same voice he had heard in his Dialogue with the disguised Lady; he peeped thorough her Habit, and observed the same shape, and Majesty, which had so far transported him at the Masque. Her Eyes had the same fire, with which the Heart of Frederick was inflamed; and though her Monastical modesty would not permit her to use the same Wit and Vivacity as she had done before, yet he found she had the same quickness of apprehension as then. He had seen her several times at the Ceremonies of Saint Peter, he knew she was handsome, and sung very well, but looking upon her as a Religious, whose Talon was to be locked up from the World, he did not trouble himself so far as to consider each particular of her Graces. See him then at this time the most loving, and the most jealous Creature alive. Love in a young man, is but a youthful efflorescence, which reason and time tempers by degrees: But when it seizes upon a man that ought to have more wit, when settled and experienced, reason is not able to oppose itself against its first impulse, time doth but increase it; for never was any man cured of a folly which took him at an age when other people grow wise. This first Conversation of the Emperor, was only about indifferent things, he would not discover the bottom of his designs, whilst he had a Person so near him as his Son capable of defeating them: but having a fair pretence to send him farther off; he gave Orders that night that he should prepare for a Journey into Germany within four and twenty hours. The Prince had a long time expected that Command, and yet he could not receive it without changing his colour: He produced certain reasons to defer it for some time, but the Emperor would hear none of them; all the favour he could find, was only to be permitted private Conversation with Constance for a while. The farewell of these two Lovers was extremely kind, accompanied with great protestations of fidelity. This place would make a marvellous Ornament for a Romance, and I should have a great care how I passed it over in silence, were this a Romance, and not a History; but the style of Annals do not suit with Rhetorical Ornations, and therefore I shall refer my curious Reader to the passionate partings in Cirus or Clelia. As soon as the Emperor was delivered from the presence of the Prince, he laid aside his former dissimulation: He made his Visits to Constance openly, and presuming that the young Lady's profession would not admit him to discourse his Intrigues in the Secular forms, he told her bluntly at once, what he understood of her affairs. The Lady was (doubtless) much surprised at the Compliment: She denied it courageously, and believed that it was enough to have hindered the Mascarade from ever, having been, if she swore stoutly there had been no such thing. But Frederick having wherewithal to convince her by his own Eyes, he show her the Letter she interlined with the Princes, and swore as hearty as she, he would show it his Holiness, if she did not oblige him to the contrary by an ingenuous confession. This Menace made poor Constance to tremble, she betook herself to her whimpering, and her tears, and beseeched the Emperor that he would not ruin a Person of so Illustrious Extraction, whose Reputation was entirely in his hands. That it was true indeed her Curiosity had been indescreet, but that at the bottom it was innovent, and that as to her Intrigue and Correspondence with his Son, it was the common Entertainment of young people, and had no other end but the diversion of their minds, and a harmless affectation of making innocent Love. Frederick countefeited a belief of what she said: He was too cunning to testify the suspicion of a Crime, which would have put an invincible obstruction upon all designs. But the more he fancied her to be chaste, the more obstinate he was in his desires to debauch her. Had you consummated your Intrigues with my Son, Madam, said the Emperor, I would die a thousand deaths before I would propose any thing of that nature for myself; I am too good a Father to him, and not so impious inclined. But, Madam, the Amours and Gallantry betwixt you two having been so innocent, it cannot hinder you at all from granting me some favourable indulgence. These Propositions were close, and Constance could not hear them without horror, she cried out in her heart for the assistance of her dear Prince, she accused herself of imprudence in letting him go, and she used the utmost of her Rhetoric to mollify his Majesty, and render him less importunate. But he was a Person for dispatch, not easily changed in any thing he undertook, and would have thought it a great diminution to his Honour, should he have been wheedled out of his designs by a pitiful Nun. To make him desperate, was but to justify his Revenge; to satisfy him, was to transgresas the Laws, both humane and Divine; all therefore that Constance could do was but to beg time, and he gave her much less that she desired. But she was to be contented with what Frederick would give her; she was in no case to stand upon Conditions. As soon as she was rid of so troublesome an Entertainment, she ran immediately for Counsel to her three Companions. And having told them in what danger they were of being discovered, she conjured them to assist her in so perilous a station. The most timorous of the three was presently for satisfying the Emperor, it was indifferent to her what Victim they sacrificed to Fortune, so it rendered it favourable. But Constance was for dying a thing a thousand times, rather than following her direction. She loved the Prince, and the Tyrannical proceed of his Father, made her abominate him. It was concluded at last that she should suspend him, and keep him in hopes, till she could by some opportunity or persuasion recover the Letter out of his hands, which was the only Evidence against Constance: and that having rescued that, she should then handle him as she pleased for his sacrilegious Attempt. Constance pondering very seriously about this resolution, she did two things at one time, both opposite, and yet both answetable to her Policy and Address. She writ word to his Holiness, That the frequency of the Emperor's Visits alarmed their Society, and disturbed them in the Exercises of Devotion: for which reasons she did humbly entreat that out of his Pastoral care, he would forbid him any such Civilities for the future: And having at the same time intimated privately to Frederick, that she desired infinitely to see him, she put him upon a cecessity of displeasing the Pope, and furnished herself with a justisiable pretence, to receive them no more. This Expedient made great difference betwixt the Pope and the Emperor; so that for some few days Constance was quiet. But Frederick being too tenacious a Prince to give over upon the first difficulty, bethought himself of a Counter-battery for the Pope. He put Constance in the number, and declared himself a Benefactor to the Covent where she was. There was not a night but he pretended some heavenly Revelation, which required him to enlarge both the Revenue, and Fabric of that Monastery. He designs a Dormitory in this place, a Chapel in that. The Governess looked upon him as the Tutelar Angel of her Order, and the Hloy Father himself relenting at so specious a promise, magnified Frederick for his good intentions, and blamed his Niece for having interpreted them so unchristianly. The Emperor finding himself justified by the Pope, began to ress Constance again to a final resolution, the Walls of the Covent were broken down in some places, in order to his build so that Constance might honour him with particular meetings that way, if she thought good; and if she did not, he swore desperately he would be revenged. Constance observing his resolution, concluded her condition so desperate, she was now or never to make use of what remedies she had. She came to an agreement with the Emperor, and gave him an assignation in the night. The Emperor got very punctually into the Garden, at one of the Breaches: And all things being prepared both within and without, Constance presented herself, where the Emperor attended. She fell into a large Encomium of his confidence, told him that that was the surest way to win her heart, and having engaged to follow what directions he would give her, she conjured him to return her the Letter, and to choose rather to receive her favours from her own pure will, than to owe them to any fear or constraint, which would be unworthy of either of them. Whilst this Letter is in your hands, Sir, said she, you will always believe you obtain that by force, which nothing but your merit ought to make you to hope. This imagination must needs trouble your joy, and I am persuaded you are of a more gentle and delicate temper, than to govern like a Tyrant, where you may reign like a lawful Prince. Restore my Letter then, I conjure you, I beg it in the name of whatever it be that is most dear to you, and I do promise my acknowledgements shall follow your Generosity so close, you shall not have time to repent you of any thing you do. This Proposition was not pleasting to Frederick: He had a mind Constance should make the first step, and told her she ought to have the same confidence in his word, as she desired he should have in hers: But the cunning Nun knew to complain so artificially of his injustice to her sincerity, she was so apt to take his unkindness to heart, and he was so well pleased with her tenderness, it was not possible for him to refuse her any longer. He pulled the Letter out of his Pocket, and gave it into her hands; but he was much surprised to see her run away with the Paper, and to observe that at the very first step of her flight, he heard some body cry fire round about the Covent. This noise was made by her three Companions from their several Posts, they had agreed among themselves of this Stratagem before, and the Emperor suspecting nothing of it, was advancing towards the house to examine what might be the reason. But the Confusion was so great, and his Train which he had placed without, hearing the Name of Frederick, and Emperor, frequently reiterated in the Covent, they persuaded him so forcibly, that it was not safe for him to stay longer in the Garden, that he retired with all speed, and went directly to his Palace, so mad and outrageous at the Trick they had put upon him, that had he followed the first motions of his Choler, he would have set fire to the Monastery indeed, and sacrificed Constance and all her Sisterhood to the justice of his resentment. But not thinking himself strong enough at that time in Rome, he durst not attempt so great a piece of violence, besides it would not have been easy for him to have done it; for at the first Alarm about the Town, and the Palace of Alexander, that some body was stealing his Holiness his Niece, the Monastery was immediately encompassed with such a number of Soldiers, it would have been a difficult matter to have made any such Attempt. The Popesent one of his Officers to inform himself of the particulars. Constance told her story so well, there was no body but believed her. She said she had been drawn by force out of her Cell, and carried into the Garden, whence they had certainly conveyed her through the breach of the Wall, had not the Cries of her Companions (who heard her skreek out) prevented their violence. This Tale was so well invented, and the Evidences against the Emperor so probable, that the Pope doubted not in the least but the Emperor was the Author of this Tumult. Constance had long since complained of his Visits. She affirmed she heard his voice in the throng: He went abroad that night attended by several armed men, and had been met in the street with his Myrmidons, by some of his Holinesses Servants, which put the Pope into the highest indignation against the rashness of that Prince. He commanded his Guards to their Arms, he beset the Emperor's Palace, with resolution to revenge himself for the indignity done to him in the person of his Niece. But Frederick had prevented his diligence, he had withdrawn himself and his Family into the Quarters of one of his Troops, where he complained as much of the Affront done to him, as Alexander did on the other side. From hence it was arose that famous War betwixt the Guelves and the Gibelins, which was the desolation of Italy for so long time, and divided all the Princes of Christendom. The public pretence was, That the Pope refused the Bishopric of Ravenna to a Favourite of the Emperors, but the occult cause was Constances' rejection of the Emperor's Love, and that passion being turned into Rage, by the Trick she had put upon him, it is a hard matter to describe the effects that rage did produce. Rome was pillaged, his Holiness forced to abandon the holy See, and seek Sanctuary in France: Autipopes where chosen, Excommunications thundered abroad; and all these the consequence of a fatal Amour; though of so many dire accidents are reported in History, there are few people that can trace them from their true source and Original. The ambition of Frederick, and the perverseness of the Pope are generally charged with these disorders: The latter hath been condemned of severity; the first of an injustifiable design upon the Lands of the Church. The super Aspidem & Basiliscum of Alexander the Third is recorded in Capital Letters in all the Relations of that time. But there are few Memoires which attribute that to Constances' Gallant, which History imputes to the Protector of the Antipope: and thus it is the great Affairs of the World are secretly carried on: They have all several faces, and we see nothing but as the partiality or ignorance of the Historian represents. But without fear of digressing too much from the ways of truth, we may always mingle some amorous Occurrences with the Accidents which seem most remote and foreign to that passion; for if we take our measures right, there is seldom any passage, how Tragical soever it may appear) of which the Annals of Love may not become a Chronological History. As Constance was the secret Cause of the War, it was but just she should give her Uncle all the assistance she could to maintain it. She writ word to Prince Henry all the violences the Emperor had designed against her, and the ways she took to defeat them. Jealousy hath been always a kind of Apple of Contention, which spares not the most Sacred Alliances. The Emperor was most violently jealous of his Son, as well in point of Honour, as of Love. He saw he had a great Reputation in the Army, and he imputed the Affront Constance had done to him, to her passion for his Rival: so that the secret dissatisfactions of the Prince, cooperating with the ill disposition of the Emperor's mind, they began to look upon one another with diffidence, to that diffidence succeeded indignation, and to that, an irreconciliable disunion. The Prince deserted him, and went to the Pope, who having interdicted Frederick for his Attempts against the Ecclesiastical See, offered Henry to make him Emperor, though his Father was still living: and certainly the Condition he required was but reasonable; it was only that he should marry Constance of Sicily his Niece: he told him that without that security, he could not rely upon the word of the Prince; But in short, the Intrigues of his Niece were come to his knowledge, and he found it troublesome to conceal them; and as certain it is, Henry would been have glad if the Pope's Generosity had been entire without terms. He loved Constance most passionately, but every one knows.  

MAXIM VIII.  
Howe'er one loves before, the very name  
Of Wedding mentioned gravely, does rebate  
His edge (no doubt) checks his consuming flame,  
And brings the Martyr to his former state.  
The thought of Marriage, to a thoughtful mind,  
Opens his nerve, and shows'em he was blind.   
But his Holiness was not affrighted at this Doctrine, and less at the difficulty of granting a Dispensation for her who had been four years a Professor. But Prince Henry was under a necessity of submitting, however to comfort himself by the consideration of having Companions, he proposed to the three persons (who were Gallant to Constances' three Confidents) to follow his Example. They had made Love as furiously as he, he promised them considerable advantages, and the Pope was in so good an humour at that time, he would have given Dispensations to the whole Covent, if his Niece had desired it. But they who were his Camarades in his Amours, would by no means bear him Company in his Marriage. They told him that if they were as accomplished as he, they might undertake any thing upon confidence of their Merit; but for them who had not been so great Favourites of Nature, they could not but fear the Laws of Wedlock might be as easily violated, as the Rules of a Covent: That in so tender a point one could not be too cautious, and that if the worst happened that could be, and they must marry, they desired to do it upon his terms, and have an equivalence to the Empire of the West, for their Wife's Portion. The Prince did not think it convenient for his Chaity to the Nuns, to renounce his possession of the Empire, He left them unkindly in their Monastery to deplore the ingratitude of the Gallants, and launched himself alone into that Gulf in which his Associates had represented so many difficulties. He married Constance, and was crowned Emperor by the Name of Henry the Fourth. A famous Abbot in those times, who died not long after, and left a great Reputation of his Sanctity behind him, declaimed bitterly against this Marriage, and indeed the misfortunes which followed, turned his Imprecations into a Prophecy: But let him say what he please, Those ways which lead a man to the chief place in the World, are always counted the best paths one can walk in. And now let us take our leave of our new Emperor and Empress, and take a fresh turn about the World, to see if we can find any new Adventure in that Age, that may be fit to close up our Annals of this year.  
James King of Arragon, endued with much natural Chastity, and as much Experience as sixteen years of age could confer, was married to Eleoner of Castille, Aunt to the King which reigned in that Kingdom at that time, who for the number of her years, and her own inclination, was as well skilled in matters of Love, as her young Husband was ignorant. This Princess had an Amour with a Castilian Lord, whom she loved most passionately. She had past her Faith to him, and attended it with so many oaths and imprecations, she might justly fear the Justice of Heaven would follow her, if she transgressed. For this reason she did what she could not to marry the King of Arragon. She cast herself a thousand times at the King of Castile's feet, though he was but her Nephew: She wept, she sobbed, she threatened to starve herself, but her tears, and her prayers were to as little purpose as her threats. The Marriage was concluded by the Counsels both of Castille and Arragon, to be advantageous to both Nations. Eleonor used her utmost to prevent it: But Princesses of her Quality are as so many Sacrifices to the Policy of their Countries, and never to be disposed of by their own inclinations. The new Queen seeing herself forced upon a Match which gave her so many scruples, she considered of a way by which she might like a constant Mistress, continue faithful to her Gallants. She suborned an ancient Physician to insinuate into her young Husband, that he could not marry Eleonor, that there were invincible obstacles in the way which opposed its Consummation. The young Monarch, who was scarce got out of his Infancy, had never seen Woman (as it were) but his Queen Mother, his Governesses, and Nurses, and had been always told that Eleonor was a sprightly Princess; believed what was told him very honestly: and remembering that he had heard it wished several times that he would provide Successors for the Crown, he understood it a great shame and misfortune for him, to be unable to satisfy the desires of his Subjects. This consideration rendered him so melancholy, he could not endure the sight of any body. He shut himself up whole days together in his Closet: if he went walking, it must be alone; and having read in the Histories of that Kingdom, what sorrow some of his Predecessors had conceived for want of Issue, and what ill Consequences had followed the default of Heirs in several Kingdoms, the good Prince (who had an apprehension above his Age) began to look upon himself already, as the object of his Subjects hatred and contempt. Those who had the care of his Person, perceiving his humour and Complexion changed, entreated him many times to tell the reason of his Melancholy; but he answered with nothing but sighs, and the Queen confirming him daily in the Error he was plunged, he proposed it himself, that Eleonor should take her own liberty. The Queen had in her Train a young Lady called Theresia de Bidaura, witty, and handsome, and to whom the Person of the King was not so indifferent as to the Queen: She was originally of Castille, and brought along with the Princess Eleonor out of Arragon. This Lady (finding the young Monarch exactly according to her mind) had studied all his actions, and took all the care she could possibly to please him. She invented sundry Dances, and other Pastimes with her Companions, on purpose to divert him. If he did her the honour to speak to her at any time, she would be sure to make him smile with the wittiness of her answer; and kindness producing usually the like, Bidanra became by degrees as dear to the King of Arragon, as the King of Arragon had appeared amiable to Bidaura. The first apparition of his Love was in little confidences only, as in discovering to her his thoughts and Characters of the great Lords in his Court. From these trifles he past higher, and at length told her the secret of his Marriage, and that he was Eleonor Husband only by name. Bidaura was exceedingly surprised at a discourse so little understood. She looked earnestly upon the King, as if by so doing, she could discover the truth of what he said in his eyes, and not perceiving any thing in his person, but what seemed to accuse him of equivocating, she ventured to tell him, That he had been abused, and that what they had persuaded him, was nothing but a Chimaera. Alas, replied the young King very sadly, this Chimaera is too real for my repose, one of the most famous Physicians of our Kingdom hath sworn it, and Eleonor herself confirms me that it is true: What advantage would it be to her to put such a fallacy upon me? she would rather convince me, if it were otherwise. Bidaura ruminating upon what the King had told her, desired to know the Physicians name, who had persuaded him of that impotency, and understanding it was a Castilian (who she knew was entirely at the Queen's disposal) she stood still for some time, as recollecting her memory, when starting out on a sudden, and clapping her hands together, Courage, Sir, said she to the King, you shall be cured very suddenly, now the cause of your distemper is known. After which words she fell into a discourse of the intimacy betwixt Eleonor and the castilian Lord: That all Castille believed they had been privately married, and recollecting that the Physician (which upon the Queen's persuasion had put that Error into the head of the King) had all his life long been a Creature of Eleonors Gallant, she represented to his Majesty how probably it was that this might be a design to preserve the Queen of Arragon to her secret Husband. The King was much satisfied at the likelihood of what Bidaura had said, and he would have given half his Kingdom to have been cured so well. He went imme drately to Eleonor, and charging her positively with what Bidaura but suspected, supposing he had made some further discovery, she confessed is without much ado. But it was with such strong protestations, that she could use him no otherwise without violence to all Law both humane and divine; and with such instant supplication that he would protect her against the indignation of her Nephew, That the young Prince was so far from reproaching her for abusing his Credulity and small Experience. that he commended her fidelity to her first Love, and promised her protection. In the mean time Bidaura began to add Ambition to her Love, at first she aspired only to be his Mistress; but finding the Queenship of Arragon vacant, she fancied it might fall to her share to supply it, She dressed, and made herself as lovely as possible, she redoubled her diligence, and Complacences, and having brought the King to a Condition of making trial of his recovery, she knew so well how to keep herself within the bounds of Civility, she put him upon the first motions of Matrimony. The Marriage of Eleonor and the King was not quite nulled. The truth is, it had never been consummated, and the Counsel of Arragon had sent to Castille and to Rome to press an absolute dissolution, but Affairs betwixt Kings and Queens are not so easily dispatched. The passion of Eleonor for her Paramour might decline by degrees; if ambition or solid reason should take the place of her Love, it would have been more easy to break her pretended Marriage with her castilian Lord, than her public Contract with the King of Arragon. We may say then that Eleonor was the Wife of James, till further Order from his Holiness. But the King pressed by Bidaura's Charms, could not with patience believe those Formalities were to be preferred before the desires of his heart. He married Bidaura privately, and this Marriage being as  as it was unequal, he made it in his Conditions that she should not discover it. This Proposition was not at all pleasing to Theresia, and she did what she could possibly to divert him; but finding the King obstinate, and inexorable, she thought it good to be a Queen upon what terms soever it might be: And these were some of the Articles agreed on betwixt themselves, which perhaps may be of some use to the Reader, if he be in the same predicament.  

The Private Articles of their Marriage.  
We who subscribe these Articles, design,  
(As our Love is) our Marriage Clandestine,  
Next the word duty shall be laid aside,  
No Sooner aignty in Bridegroom, or in Bride;  
In case of difference, both shall comply,  
And neither be too humble, nor too high.  
If Husband sins, the Woman must connive:  
If she, the man dispenses with the Wife.  
All must be one, one Love, one loaf, one joy,  
And what does one must both of us destroy.  
These Terms we marry on, but reasons bid  
Conceal the Marriage, and let it be hid,  
With this severe condition ('cause good Wives  
Love tattling generally as they love their lives)  
If mine discovers, 'tis agreed by this,  
The Marriage's void, and farewel gentle Miss.   
These Articles were observed very religiously by the King. His private Marriage was every was as pleasant, as his private Amours, and pleasanter in this, that there was no occasion for remorse: and though his Marriage with Eleonor was solemnly dissolved, and she left to be his Wife to whom she had been formerly engaged; yet Theresia de Bedaura could never obtain liberty of the King to appear publicly upon the Throne; she had this satisfaction, that it was not possessed by another, and she brought Children into the World, who stood fair one day to govern the Kingdom of Arragon, but for all this she could never work upon the King's resolution. He had been so much dissatisfied with his public Marriage before, that he could not be won to renounce the pleasure of his private Bidaura, she had got the Ministers to her side, and all the Religious in the Kingdom were her Solicitors, but the King answered them all with this Article,  
If mine discovers, 'tis agreed by this  
The Marriage's void, and farewel gentle Miss.  
But we do ill to employ so much leisure, upon so barren a Story: Our Chronology leads us insensibly to a far better History, and it is time now to bring Love upon the Stage in better form, than as yet it hath appeared.    

THE ANNALS OF LOVE  
THE THIRD PART.  
IT is the Universal Confession of the whole World, that Constraint creates an appetite of Liberty; we desire nothing so ardently as what is prohibited, and yet some Husbands there are which cannot be cured of restraining their Wives. The Italians be the Husbands in the World the most liable to this kind of madness, and are by consequence most subject to the ill Accidents which follow. They tell stories of their revenge upon their Wives, which would pass for Prodigies in any other place, where their Captivity doth not authorise them. But the most pleasant (in my Judgement) that ever was transmitted by History, was that which happened betwixt the Roman Ladies and the Traticelles. These honest Gentlemen were near twenty young Fellows, living about four hundred years since. In their time there was a great year of Gallantry in Rome, and Courtship: The Lovers running like Rats up and down the streets all night long, sometimes with their Serenads, sometimes petrolling under the Windows of the most illustrious Houses, in hopes of a happy glance from the Persons they adored. But these amorous Exploits being too frequent to be private, the suspicious Husbands took the Alarm, and augmented the number of their Spies to such a Proposition, that that Trade was in a short time quite interrupted. The young Devots we mentioned before, were heavily afflicted at that sad Information; they had had no share in the nocturnal Gallantries which had passed, and they thought it unreasonable that they should be punished for the indiscretion of other people. Seeing then this Clutter and public Ostentation of Love, had been the cause of so much disorder, they resolved to carry on theirs privately, and à la Sourdine, without giving any more occasion of Jealousy than needs must. They pretended to live very recluse, they affected an outward mortification, and forming themselves into a new Religious Order under the Name of Fraticelles, they became in a short time so venerable for their visible piety, that they were never mentioned but as a new sort of Anchorets. Some of the most unquiet, and worst coupled Husbands, had a great curiosity to see these Devots; those persons who are under the anxiety of that Domestic care, find great comfort in pious Discourses, and the Conversation of these Fraticelles being then very grateful, there was scarce a married man in Rome but expected from their charitable admonitions, the Conversation of his Wife, were she never so extravagant. The Husbands were mad to be at home, to tell their Wives of this new Institution: and the good Women looking upon the pretence of a Visit, as a good opportunity to gad, expressed great satisfaction at the News, and had a strange desire of seeing these good Brethren immediately. By this means the Fraticelles were visited, by degrees, very often; and the good men at home, as well contented as might be. For the Fraticelles (for the better establishment of their Dominion) preached nothing but Conjugal Love, Fidelity, and Obedience in the Wives towards their Husbands; and variety of such other Precepts as were very useful for the tranquillity of a Family, and of great comfort to the Gentleman at home. But because what was good to be said to the one, might not perhaps be proper or agreeable to the other, they desired the good Women would come by themselves, to the end, said they, That we may labour the more effectually for your entire Conversion. There was no great difficulty of obtaining that mark of their respect; they had rather go th' Church, than not stir out at all; and the private Lectures of the Fraticelles not appearing so hard to be put in practice, as the Documents of the Ordinary Priest; they became very assiduous, to the great satisfaction of their Husbands. See, Daughter, said one of the cunningest of the Friars, to one of the handsomest of the Penitents one day; Appearances, and secious Pretences, are the Children of Prudence, which cost but little bringing up, and are of great use in Civil Society. What pleasures do you find in the disorders of a jealous Husband? Alas, is it not an easy matter to deceive him; a little Kiss given opportunely, hides a blush sometimes from his eyes, that (had he seen it) would have been as welcome, as a Dagger to his heart. A counterfeit sorrow when you take your leave, makes him the more courteous, and hastens your departure. And to speak truth, we do very well consider, all flesh is but frail, we do not (when you come for instruction) expect you should be Statues of Marble. All that we admonish is this, that you study the humour of your Husbands, and cajole it so cunningly, that they may not complain, and you do as you please. Love what is lovely, writ Letters, appoint Meetings, 'tis no matter, they are things not criminal in themselves; it is the prattling, and discovery that makes the Crime: and that it is so, let me ask you, do not you know Segniora Petronilla, who lives at the Corner of the Via Appia? Yes certainly, replied the Penitent, my Husband casts her every day in my dish, and proposes her to me as an admirable Example of Virtue; and doubtless she is one of the wisest Women in Rome. You are misinformed, good Daughter, as to that, replied the Confessor, she hath had ten Gallants in her time, and I know them all myself. The Marquis Cocles was one of them, he courted her two years together., and upon her score it was the brave Brundivisi was killed. The money she pretended to give to the poor, was carried privately to a younger Brother of the House of Ursini by a Templar, an Acquaintance of mine; and that Father you see with her so often with long sleeves, was formerly one of our Fraternity, banished for his licentiousness, and is now driving on an amorous Intrigue with her, under pretence of religious Conference, but I must needs say the Hypocrite hath Wit, she disguises her inclinations with a visible modesty; she caresses her Husband, complies with him in every thing, and makes the Servants pay him a most transcendent respect. Thus indeed it is Husbands ought to be dealt with; thus would I have you do with yours, and I'll assure you I speak it out of a true Charity for you. Such judicious Doctrine as this could not choose but produce great effects in all the discontented Families. The most cross-grained Wife of them all, became a Pattern of Complacency, and the Husbands came in Troops to give the Fraticelles thanks for the repose they had procured. The Friars perceiving their Reputation pretty well settled, they began to reflect about their own private felicity. They chose from amongst them a Superior, they called Friar Conrard an acute man, eloquent, his gravity and superciliousness imposed upon the World, and his outward Conversation he managed as he pleased. This new Governor chose out of the rest twenty of the youngest, the cunningest, and the most plausible men he could find, and as it were restraining the piety of the Order to this number, he chose as many she-Penitents for them, and (one half by Lot, and another by Election) bestowed them all amongst his Brethren, so that each of them had one. Having settled their Chapter in this manner, they divided the rest of their Congregation into two inferior Orders, one of which being absolutely ignorant of what passed amongst them, believed the Fraticelles as really devout as they pretended to be, and applying themselves wholly to the care of the Family, they made Sweetmeats and Restauratives for the Favourits of Conrade. The last Order of of this terrestrial Hierarchy was a certain number of old men, who being past the emulation of other people's felicity, and finding great Relief in the Magnificence of the Friars, they went up and down magnifying their Sanctity, inveigling Penitents, and endeavouring to corrupt some Notary or other, to foist them into the wills of rich men, that their Estates might escheat upon their Covent: And these Disciples were called the Secular Brethren. The Patron of this Society was one Hermanus, whom they honoured with the addition of Happy, and he was the first man amongst them that thought upon this Institution. The she-Penitents or Female Fraticelles were enrolled in this Cloister; and this Hermanus having been polluted with as many Heresies in his Faith, as Enormities in his Manners, the Fraticelles made use of his Name, and Opinions to support their false Explications of Scripture, and the ill Doctrines they disseminated among the credulous people. An Order so well contrived, ought not to be without its Rules and Constitutions. The more ignorant Friars had the Rules of a certain Friar very famous in the Church proposed to them, which they observed with all rigour; but the Virtuosos, and more Privileged Friars, had their particular Canons by themselves, of which these following are some fragments which with great labour and charge we have collected out of the best Libraries of this Age.  

The Rules and Constitutions to be observed by the Fraticelles.  
A Young man called to the Profession of a Fraticelles life, shall be first examined, and give good testimony of his Secrecy, and exterior Mortification; and then being transmitted to a second trial by one of the Fraticelles, purposely appointed to that Office, upon his Certificate he shall be received into the said Brotherhood, upon these ensuing Conditions.  
I. He shall love and honour the Lady committed to his Instruction, in consideration that those whom Love units, are but one Soul in two bodies.  
II. He shall preserve the Honour of the said Lady by all possible means, whether they be lawful or unlawful, natural or unnatural: for his chief Duty is to prevent all suspicions or appearances whatsoever, that may any ways reflect upon the Reputation of their Fraternity.  
III. He shall maintain to the utmost of his power an entire and perfect Union betwixt the Penitent and her Husband, in such manner that the confidence of the Husband, may be a seeurity to the Gallant; Prudence being the Basis of all amorous Converse, and the heart of a Woman vast enough to receive a lawful and a prohibited Love, without any justling or concussion.  
iv He shall never mention the word Love in public, but with the Epithet of Divine: Secrecy being the life and salt of an amorous Intrigue, for it is a Sacrilege worthy of death to impart an amorous Mystery to an indifferent Person.  
V He shall always carry two Tongues in his Mouth; he shall write two Hands, not only in two different, but in two opposite styles, so that upon good occasion he shall at the same time be able to send pious Meditations to the young Friars, and Madrigals to his Mistress.  
VI He shall indispensably practise the motions of his Countenance, and when, and which way to change them for his advantage, for as much as the Glance that is requisite for a Mistress, aught to be kept entire for her, and the humble Look towards the Earth, and the sanctified Look towards Heaven, to be kept for all the rest of the World.  
These holy Constitutions were engraven upon a Table of Copper, and hung up in Conrards' Chamber, as well that (by virtue of his private Authority) he might alter what he pleased; as that he was the Person of the Society more especially obliged to put them in practice. Having disposed things in this good order without, it was thought convenient to make some directions for whthin. The care of their Houses taking up all the good women's time in the Mornings, and their Conferences in the Afternoon being too liable to observation, it was coucluded they should make choice of the night for their Assemblies, and the pretence of these Vigils, being Devotions, the most jealous Husbands in the City solicited their Wives many times to repair to them often. From this point of precaution, Friar Conrard passed to the Muster of his new Penitents: He found them too numerous for his Fraticelles, and this redundancy was a trouble to them, they could not be at leisure to perform all the Offices of Directors as they required: To remedy this, it was concluded their Fraternity should be augmented, but their Revenue being judged too small, it was resolved, they should apply themselves to some of the most eminent and wealthy Ladies in Rome, and to draw them to a Contribution for the support of their augmentation.  
Hortensia, Sister to Pope Boniface the Eighth, who was Pope at that time, was the first Person they addressed themselves to. She was a Widow, and past the prime of her age, and yet handsome enough; she was rich, and liberal, and had a great influence upon her Brother the Pope, from whom by her mediation they hoped to obtain many favours. They employed themselves therefore unanimously might and main, to get her Ladyship enrolled in their Fraternity. This Princess had a Sister called Valentina, one of the most zealous Penitents belonged to their Fryary: she was very devout, she thought the Name of God sounded well, upon any occasion whatever, and this Valantine was fallen to the Lot of Friar Robert, the most intimate with Conrard of the whole Chapter; and the most capable of succeeding him, had his place happened to have been vacant. Friar Robert had a great mind to be nibbling at Valantina's innocent: He told her it was impossible the Fraternity of Herman should be so holy in her Judgement, as it pretended to be, seeing she had not as yet inspired Hortensia with a desire to be of it. That he could not but admire (having so great influence upon the first Princess in Rome, and making profession of so great kindness to the Fraticelles as she did) she had not as yet brought her to their Assemblies, and thus mingling his flatteries and reproaches together (as he saw it convenient) he put Valentina into so good an humour, that she was almost impatient till she got to Hortensia, and performed that service to the Fraticelles, which Eryar Robert had desired. She named their Names in two or three of her Discourses, where they were nothing to the purpose: when she took her leave of the Princess, she was still going to the Fraticelles; when she came into her Chamber, she came always from that Covent, whenever the Clock struck, she must be gone to some of their hourly Devotions; nothing was so indifferent or occasional, but it had some relation to this Order; and at length having with the continual repetition of the Name of the Fraticelles, as it were broken Hortensia's brains, she forced her at length to inquire what those Fraticelles were, which were so much in her favour. What are they, Madam? replied Valantina, with a tone a top of the house: they are living Pictures of Penitence, they are Mirrors of an Apostolic like; and in short5, Madam, they are all the Devotion of the Earth crammed up into a small number of religious men. A great Character indeed, replied Hortensiae smiling. Ha' Madam, replied Valantina, one cannot give those Sacred persons so much as they deserve. But the Princess interrupting her, demanded, what extraordinary thing is it they do, to deserve such extraordinary commendations? Do, Madam, replied Valantina, why their whole life is a continual act of Charity, they go about from house to housE appeasing domestic disorders, they calm the disquiets of the Soul by discourses (for their piety) may be called Angelical; and besides they show so easy and so pleasant a way to Heaven, one hath no more to do than to wish to be holy, and he is sure to get thither. Hortensia was a Person of a solid Judgement, and singular Piety. Alas, Valantina, said she, it is in vain to describe the way to Heaven so easy, there is no coming thither but through many tribulations. I am not, I thank God, inclined to any great sins; yet I can find nothing so difficult as to preserve myself in this World. When I reflect upon the Precepts of the Gospel, and consider how express and bitter they are against the most indifferent actions of Mankind, I must confess I cannot but tremble, and nothing but the thought of God's mercy re-assures me. True, Madam, replied Valantina in an anger, before I knew these people, I was of your opinion: Our ordinary Confessors have so troubled my brains with their scruples, I thought I should be damned for the least lie I told, or for hearing but a Flajulet with delight; but the Fraticelles know which way to cure a Soul of these Niceties. They affirm, that sin is not but in the Law: No, hold Madam, replied Valantina correcting herself, I cry you mercy, it is not so, they affirm (I say) that the Law was not made but for sin; that before the Law, sin which is now sin, was no sin: In short, Madam, said she, I cannot range my words so well as they, nor make it out so perspicuously: But see them, Madam, I beseech you, and then you will do me the honour to tell me what you think of them. Hortensia did not promise her to see them that time: She told her that naturally she had no inclination to new acquaintance; that she had Visits enough already to employ all the time her affairs would afford her. But the playing Valantina pursued her so close, and the Princess was of so sweet a disposition, that at last she told her she would see them once in her life. The day being appointed for this Visit, and Valantina having given Friar Conrard notice of the hour, 'tis two to one but he put himself into the best posture he could. He put on his best Robe, he shaved, cleansed his teeth, picked his nails, and then launching out into the Court to meet the Princess to give her thanks for the great honour she did him and his Fraternity, he forgot not the choice of his Grimaces, and Gesticulations, to render his Harangue more respectuful and gracious. He was a man as well bred as was perhaps in the World; he had an insinuating way, he had got the Bel air of Bigotery, and pretended preciseness, as exactly as any Courtier hath the gentile way of the Court. Hortensia was much satisfied with his aspect, and after some discourse having desired him to let her know the particular Practices of that Order: He told her, Madam, we know all men have their faults, and though we inquire strictly into them, yet it is with the Spirit of Secrecy and Compassion, and our desire is to reform them with private and familiar Examples: if Jealousy be a Husband's infirmity, we let him know how ineffectual it is, by the multitude of suspicious Husbands, whose apprehensions have served for no other end but to make them more miserable, If the Woman's fault be Wantonness, we instance in several such Women, who by their Levity have precipitated themselves into misfortune and ignominy, and having found by long Experience it is much easier to destroy Nature by Nature, than to elevate one's thoughts by supernatural Reasons, we combat Vice with Vice, and by the Portraiture of the World, we reform it. But good Friar Conrard, replied Hortensia, is there not some kind of Scandal in that way of proceeding? for by citing the Examples of other Persons, you declare the infirmities of your Neighbour, to them perhaps which never heard of them before. Madam, replied Conrard, it is good sometimes to commit a small evil for a greater good. When a man is ignorant of his faults in his own Person, they are to be represented to him in his Neighbours, where they are not disguised by felf-love or partiality; and if by the reprehension of another man, he comes once to reflect upon themselves, he must of necessity grant it scandalous in himself to practise the same things which are condemnable in another. And can he not be brought to this, replied the Princess, by inculcating the Precepts of the Gospel, and general Examples, without running into a Retail of particular men's actions? for let me tell you, let the publication of your Neighbours faults be grounded upon what foundation you will, it is in my Judgement very dangerous. Some Stories there are which the imprudence of some people have published, that are indifferent almost in themselves, and of no importance whether they be known or not; but for such things as are secrets, or known but to very few, believe me, Friar Conrard, it is little less than Homicide to discover them. We manage all things well enough for that, Madam, replied Conrard, our very tone altering the sense of what we say many times. That which would be a criminal reproach in the mouth of an Worldling, passes for charitable Instruction from a man in Reverence and Reputation for his Piety. The Privilege of Devotion gives us great Authority, otherwise, Madam, how could a public Director manage so many different Souls, and reconcile so many opposite sentiments? it must needs be, that he be permitted to dilate sometimes upon Virtue, and sometimes upon Vice, as he sees either of them necessary for his designs. When a Penitent relies too confidently upon his own integrity, and manners, we are to affrighten him out of that opinion of himself, before we can render him tractable and docile. Though he be virtuous in the highest perfection, yet he must be persuaded he is in a way of wickedness, because (as our great Herman hath very well observed) he that walks without the assistance of a Director, is always in danger of straggling; and therefore to inure the Penitent to a blind submission to his Director, he is to commit all his own experience and knowledge to the management of the devout person which directs him. The submission to the Orders of a Director is a holy kind of slavery, which leaves nothing free to the disposal of him that is to be directed: he must believe without seeing; he must be persuaded without understanding, and obey without expostulation. But, Madam, I wish the Heavens would be propitious to me so far, as that I might reduce into practice with you the little Documents and Instructions, I have taken the liberty to discourse to you to day: what extreme joy would it be to our whole Order, and especially to the meanest of the Fraticelles your most humble and respectful Servant Friar Conrard, to reduce to this holy submission I speak of, the great, the illustrious, the excellent, the incomparable Princess Hortensia? Ha', Madam, how should we build a Temple to Virtue upon the foundation of your fair inclinations; and how would the increase of so admirable a Plant, contribute to his glory, who should have the honour to cultivate it. These last words Friar Conrard delivered with so much fervour, that his Eyes sparkled, his Face was transfigured, and his Complexion animated with an admirable Scarlet, which Friar Robert desiring should be observed by Hortensia, recommended to her in these terms, Look, Madam, I beseech you, and see how our good Governors' Charity hath transported him. Hortensia could hear only that small parcel of their Doctrine for that day; she had business of importance required her attendance on the Pope, but not many days after she had an opportunity of knowing much more. There was at that time in Rome a devout Person of the Order of S. Dominick, who died Archbishop of Florence, and was one of the greatest Pillars of the Church. He was called Anthony, and though he was not arrived at the degree of perfection he attained afterwards; yet he deserved it so well, and was in so fair a way of acquiring it, that Hortensia esteemed him exceedingly. Two or three days after Hortensia had been with the Fraticelles, Anthony came to wait upon her, and the Princess being accustomed to give him an account when she saw him, of all occurrences since she saw him the last time; she told him she had been with the Fraticelles, and she began to recount the Conference betwixt Friar Conrard and her; but Anthony interrupting her at the first word, cried out, Madam, see those Creatures no more: They are nothing less, than what they appear, and believe before I die I shall see them exterminated by the Thunder of the Church. Why so? good Anthony, replied the Princess in a surprise, I never heard them speak any thing that might deserve that Prophecy. 'Tis true, they have a particular way of direction by themselves; and it is possible, there may be as much interest as charity in the care they take of accommodating domestic differences in Rome. But Anthony? They design to establish themselves, is not my opinion so criminal as to draw down the Thunder of the Church; and if we examine all Societies strictly, we shall find all of them infected with that sort of Heresy. It is true, Madam, replied Anthony, Covetousness is become an Epidemical disease, it is abominable in those who are consecrated to God, who are to give up themselves wholly to Providence, for them it is those passages were particularly pronounced, The birds of the air, and the lilies of the field; but, as you have observed very well, so many Societies are subject to that Crime, that I should not impute it as a Vice peculiar to the Fraticelles, had I nothing else but that to excuse them of. But, Madam, there are many more besides that, which they are guilty of. They practise a pernicious Hypocrisy, which conceals the love of themselves, under the veil of an exterior Mortification. These people (who pretend to the severity of Anchorets, and suffer themselves to be called by that Title) would not be refused the least delicate, or conveniency for this life: they never open their mouths but to traduce some body or other, and under pretence of impugning Vice, they discover the frailties of their Neighbours with unmerciful liberty. To what good is the ostentation of their nocturnal Prayers? is it not a duty which we own to public Example to be present at all Christian Assemblies? if they have a mind to pray in the night, let them pray in private, and by themselves, and not wake the whole Parish, that the poor man that is weary and asleep in his bed may be roused to take notice they are going to their Devotions. Prayers at those hours are not permitted but to the Religious, and such persons as by their open Profession have dedicated themselves to God; and certainly it must argue intolerable vanity in the Fraticelles, that they admit Women of all Qualifications, to be present at their Devotions. But, said Hortensia, these things (which would be abominable, if they were carried on by evil designs) may be well intended, and excusable. What is your reason you will not have the Fraticelles such as they appear? Because, replied Anthony, those who are really pious, strive what they can to conceal it; but the Fraticelles on the other side take all the pains imaginable to divulge it: Simplicity and Modesty is the Character of Charity; do you not observe how the Son of God forbidden the cleansed Lepers to tell he had cured them? Examine the Conduct of the Fraticelles: do they follow our Saviour's Example? on the contrary, the least of their actions they cry up as a Prodigy: The least step towards Repentance they call Conversion: If you will believe them, there is not an Hospital built, or endowed but by their means, without their Care, and their charitable Exhortations all the poor in Rome had been starved before now: the most illustrious Families would have been divided, had not their Counsels watched over them, and preserved them in peace. Ah, Madam, to speak truly and in Charity, what doth it concern me to know my Neighbours are hard to the necessities of the Poor, that such a one, and such a one is at difference with her Husband: let them do good as they have occasion, but let them not boast of it when they have done, lest whilst they teach me the remedy they were forced to make use of, they teach me also the nature of the disease. The Eloquence of Anthony being invigorated by a true Christian zeal, and sustained by the esteem Hortensia had of him, produced a considerable effect in the Spirit of the Princess. She called to mind how Friar Conrard had demeaned himself; how much his discourse suited with the vanity and detraction Anthony attributed to that Order; how Friar Robert had made her take notice of the zeal of his Superior, and concluding with herself, that if the Fraticelles were such as Anthony described them, she could not do better service than to root them out of the Church; she told the good man she would inform herself as well as she could of them, and employ all the interest she had with his Holiness to destroy them, if she found them guilty of those vices of which she began to suspect them. Anthony had a particular reason to promote the destruction of that Order, which the Princess did not know, his discretion permit him to declare. These Hypocrites had debauched a Sister of his, and under pretence of accommodating some small differences betwixt her Husband and she (which reason and time would without doubt have composed without their charitable assistance) they had made themselves Masters of their Family, disposed of their Goods, and Revenue as they pleased, and governing both Husband and Wife in their own way, they drew upon them the derisions of the sober part, and the imprecations of all the rest of the family. It is not to be supposed therefore, that Anthony would suffer Hortensia to forget her promise: he pressed her on to the execution of it very zealously, and the Princess partly in compliance with his request, and partly by an intrinsic stimulation of piety, (being desirous to instruct herself in the secrets of their Conduct) scarce past one day without visiting their Covent. Friar Conrard interpreting this assiduity quite contrary, managed the Commencement of his good Fortune with all possible Hypocrisy. Every morning he sent Presents of Flowers and Fruits to the Princess. there was not one of his brethren's Penitents but was employed in making some fine Works or other for Hortensia, or if she could not do it herself, she set all her Acquaintance on work quite through the Town. All these officious insinuations and expressions of respect confirmed the Princess in the opinion she shed conceived, that the Fraticelles mingled much Policy with their counterfeit Charity: she observed also a continual thread of detraction interwoven with all their discourse; but she discovered none of the abominations wherewith Anthony accused them. Friar Conrard (who knew that upon Hortensia's esteem, the entire Establishment or Ruin of the Fraticelles depended) he communicated but by halfs with her about the Eerours with which he infected the rest. But at length the Princess having given them so many Visits, they began to be persuaded she was absolutely theirs, and the necessities of the Covent at that time pressing Conrard on to put his shoulder to the work, he began to praise Hortensia's Beauty with more passion than ordinary: he found out amorous terms to express his most serious Mysteries, and one day as the Princess was going in Pilgrimage to a Chapel some few miles out of Town, and was willing to permit Friar Conrard to accompany her (Religious persons being much reverenced in Italy) the Servants and the rest of her Train thought it no less than their duty to the Superior of the Fraticelles, to leave him alone with their Lady. This opportunity tempted him: he took her Umbrella out of the hands of one of her Lacquays, and desired she would vouchsafe him the honour to do her that small piece of Service. The Princess consented, and the Friar Conrard thinking himself much honoured thereby; Certainly, Madam, said he (by way of acknowledgement) it is not without good reason that Beauty is termed a Ray of the Divinity; for we see no persons admirably handsome, but they are withal most tightly good: So that it seems these two things are inseparable, and the Creator hath so well signified his Complacency in beautiful Creatures, that he allows them to share in two Attributes which are the most proper to himself. Hortensia smiled at Conrards' Compliment, and imagining presently this would be a convenient Juncture to inform herself of what Anthony charged him, she replied, Till now I was of opinion that the beauty of the body was not a quality much regarded by God; the aspect of the Stars, or the disposition of Nature, make people handsome or ill-favoured; but this ill-favouredness, and this Beauty contribute so little to the glory of God, that by common observation we may see the handsomest Women the most subject to be ingrateful towards their Creator. What is that, Madam, you call Ingratitude towards the Creator, replied Conrard. I call it Ingratitude, replied the Princess, to employ the Talents he hath given us for the manifestation of his Power, to the Worship of his Enemies, as most part of your Beauties do every day. Alas, Madam, replied the Friar, how is your Highness mistaken in your ingratitude, so far is it from offending God, to make use of the Talents he gives us, that many times our not using them at all, may be more properly called Ingratitude towards the Creator. For (as our Herman says very well) to what end did God create Beauty but to please? and why did he give that power of Charming to Beauties, if it were a Crime to be charmed by-them? The Princess perceiving Friar Conrard in so good an humour for discourse, would not answer so as to silence him, but on the contrary resolved to make her advantage of this occasion. But Brother, said she, you quote this Herman so often, I cannot but desire you to tell me something of his Doctrine. I know you preach it up more freely to other people, than you have done to me; and to tell you the truth, I do take that reservedness something unkindly, and resolved to complain of it the first time you and I were together done. Friar Conrard was ready to leap out of his skin for joy at the Curiosity of the Princess, he had a long time expected this opportunity. Madam, he replied (with an alacrity above his dissimulation) we are neither reserved as to your Highness, nor does your Highness want any necessary disposition for the comprehending Secrets of our Doctrine; but our thrice happy and thrice Reverend Herman hath said things so odd and novel, and they are to be heard with so profound a submission, that I doubted whether your Highness would condescend to the obedience required to the hearing them. Yes my good Brother, replied the Princess, I will condescend, and at the same time sitting down at the foot of a Tree which afforded them a competent shade, Come, said she, let us rest ourselves here a while, I am weary, and we may spare an hour for this Discourse, without danger of wanting time for the finishing our Voyage. Friar Conrard sat himself down at Hortensia's feet, so transported, he could scarce contain his joy within the limits of his heart: The Servants which attended the Princess, placing themselves at such distance behind, that they could not hear the Harangue; the good old Friar began it in this manner.  
LOVE is as natural to Mankind as life. The World was made at first, and is still preserved for him, and the Venus of the Ancients, which they pretend animates Nature, is nothing but a desire in every Creature to unite itself with what is most proper. This desire in Animals degenerates into Instinct; in inanimate things it becomes a natural tendency towards the Centre; and in man it is the true mark of the Soul. It is not more natural for him to sleep, nor to eat, nor to perform the other functions of life, than it is to love; and if Love be so natural to the people of the World, who are subject to so many other passions, and diverted by Secular Employments; how much more ought it be so to us, who delivered from the continual activity of worldly people, pass our whole lives in a perpetual vacation? We are to day what we shall be to morrow, no Dignity gives us any care, nor no fear of indigence gives us any trouble; if our Luxury be bounded, our subsistence is assured. Ha', Madam, is there any thing in the World like one of us Religious to receive the impressions of Love in perfection? It is this disposition (both Physical and Moral) which for a long time hath peopled Heaven with Saints; for the Religious, affected, (like other men) with a natural desire of loving, this desire not being crossed or counterballanced with Ambition, Revenge, or any other passions that occupy the mind of the rest of the World; he loves with all his force, with all his soul, and with all his strength, as S. Paul teaches. But as among Animals, there are some proper for the Race, and some for the Charge; so among us Religious, some are for one kind of Love, and others for another. The Religious predestinated to the Love of God, gives up his heart wholly to the Divine Love; and this is it which hath produced so many Martyrs and so many Confessors. The Religious who is not endued with so violent an inclination for Heaven, he lifts himself up to the Creator, by the Contemplation of his Creatures; and this, Madam, is the Vocation of the Fraticelles, We love God as well as the other, but we love him dilated in the things below; the enjoyments of this life make us admire his goodness, and your Beauty, Madam, continued the ungracious Friar, with his wanton Eye fixed fast upon Hortensia, your Beauty makes me adore his Omnipotence: when I consider the Charms so conspicuous in your Person, and in all your actions, I do comprehend there is but one God could have created you so excellent, and so rising by degrees to the Eternal Principle of all things, by the effects of its natural Emanations, I enjoy, as one may say, the delights of Heaven, and the pleasures of the Earth at one time, my heart being divided (without Sacrilege) betwixt divine Love and profane, I may say what our Herman hath taught us, he is to be found in things (which according to the depraved sense of Humanity) seem absolutely contrary.  
This is an odd Doctrine indeed, replied Hortensia, and you had good reason to say it was novel; but, good Brother, I would fain know how you can accommodate it with the Orthodox Doctrine of the Church? for it appears to me diametrically opposite to what you have expressed. The Gospel commands us to look upon this life but as a passage: the Son of God nothing more than our denial of the Creature, and that we must renounce Honour, and Riches, and Kindred to follow him: But you Fraticelles find him in the midst of those things he hath commanded us to shun; make me understand this Mystery, I beseech you. It is a great Mystery indeed, Madam, replied Conrard, and well worthy of the acuteness of your Wit. We search God, I say, in all his works, and judging his design was to make man happy, seeing he created him after his own Image, we do endeavour to establish this felicity by all things which render it perfect. In truth, all men being not capable of these kind of Arguments, and some having been so inhuman, as to make Laws, and establish Maxims contrary to the felicity of this life, we frame ourselves (as to our outward deportment) to the greater number, but it is so, as that we have our own private happiness in our Eye; for we look upon public Esteem as one of the Conditions necessary to make it complete. The Princess thought she had no need of hearing Conrard any longer, to persuade herself of the Crimes Friar Anthony had charged upon the Fraticelles: The discourse he had made abounded with so many Errors, and the Hypocrisy (which the Friar had confessed at the latter end of his Speech) was so formal, there needed nothing more to assure it. She started up on a sudden, as if she feared she had forgot herself, and not had time enough left for the rest of her Journey; and dissembling the horror she had conceived against the Precepts of Herman, she left Conrard in great hopes she would become one of his most zealous Disciples. But he was much deceived in his opinion: For the Princess was no sooner returned to Rome, but she went to his Holiness immediately, and assured him that the Fraticelles were impious Heretics, who under the Disguise of an exterior Profession, concealed a most ungodly and dissolute life, and therefore she humbly desired he would appoint some persons to question them about their Doctrine, and to apply some remedy to the disorders which would necessarily follow upon the Church, unless some sudden stop were put to their Career. Hortensia's charge was considerable, and she had great influence upon the Pope, but he was so prepossessed in favour to the Fraticelles, that the Reputation of the Princess had like to have been split upon that Rock. Two of the Pope's Officers, and of the Principal of his Household (of which one was Brother-in-law to Anthony) had married two Women, but of Ages quite contrary to their own. The Sister of Anthony was young, handsome, and airy, and her Husband was about sixty years old, grave, Philosophical, and melancholy: he had a Sister almost of his own humour and age, who was married to a Roman Cavalier, who having taken her for her money, made no great reckoning of her Person: The young Lady complained highly of the reservedness of her Husband, and the old complained as much of the levity of hers. The Fraticelles had found a way to reconcile these differences, and to restore peace to their Families, which before was scarce to be hoped for during their lives. This great point of prudence having gained them a particular esteem from both these persons, they had persuaded the Pope clearly in their favour. He rebuked Hortensia with some kind of eagerness, for being so easy in receiving impressions to their prejudice, and commanding her never to speak to him of them hereafter but with respect, he put her into so high a passion, to see her Authority affronted, that she resolved never to be quiet till she had quite rooted out the whole brood of the Fraticelles: she redoubled her diligence at their Prayers, and Assemblies. Though Friar Conrard had not had the confidence to impart all the Arcana of their Society, especially in their nocturnal Conferences, yet she thought she had enough already to give her sufficient suspicion of the rest: she gave an exact account of what she saw and observed to Friar Anthony, and receiving Advertisements from Valantina besides, which confirmed her in her doubts, she attended only one proof more to declare herself publicly an Enemy to the Fraticelles, with which Friar Conrard supplied her in a short time. It was then that time of the year in which according to the Custom in Rome they wish many years to the Persons of Quality in that Town, and accompany their good wishes with some small Present or other. Friar Conrard as the most regular, and most active amongst them, was one of the first at acquitting himself of this duty: He sent to make his Compliment to the Princess, and presented her by the same Messenger with a Picture of Herman, the Frame made with great Workmanship, and enriched with precious Stones. This new Saint of Epicurus his Paradise was (in the Habit of the Fraticelles) drawn upon his knees before a Crucifix, his Forehead crowned with Thorns, a Deaths-head in his hand, and these words in Capital Letters at the bottom: LET THEM THAT APPROVE, IMITATE.  
Anthony was with Hortensia at the same time when this Present was brought her, and looking upon him very angrily, see Anthony, said she, how these Hypocrites abuse the Pictures of Penitence; to what persons they present them, and what Examples they propose to our imitation. Marry such, Madam, replied Friar Anthony, as they would gladly you should follow; but you must not leave them any longer in that liberty of proposing them to you, you must press the destruction of a sort of people so pernicious to the common Interest of the Church, and every moment that it is deferred, are so many favourable opportunities which we give them to do mischief. I dare not tell your Highness what abominations I discover every day in these Vermin: I will not imitate their indiscretion in telling you such of their Crimes as perhaps you have not heard of: But believe me, Madam, there is no more moderation to be used in this affair, and you must answer to God for the Souls of all they corrupt from the hour it was in your power to have destroyed them, till they be actually destroyed. But, good Anthony, replied the Princess, can I do any more than I have done already? I have inveigled them to tell me their Errors, I have carried them to the Pope, and I have justified the Charge by my own Testimony. You must do more than all this, Madam, replied Anthony, you must pretend great confidence in them, and act so as to give them as great a one in you; if I might persuade you, you should write to Conrard upon this occasion, and give him thanks for the Present he sent you, this might possibly oblige him to answer you with some kind of Gallantry, and conduct him insensibly into that pit, into which we must endeavour with all our power to tumble him. This Proposition made Hortensia tremble, it savoured of a kind of Treachery (which she abhorred at her Soul) besides she could not resolve upon any motive whatever, that any of her Letters should come into the Clutches of Conrard. But Anthony represented so well to her the necessity of stopping the course of so dangerous a Sect, and (though his Charity would not permit him to let her know all that he knew of their Assemblies) yet he gave her so horrible an Idea thereof, that she called for Pen and Ink immediately, and writ to Friar Conrard in these words.  
Whence comes it, my dear Brother Conrard, you propose Mortifications, and Examples of Penitence to my imitation? Is this the way to that happiness which your Hermanus does promise us? aught not I to complain of your disingenuity, when I see the visible marks of your Esteem, so little conformable to what I already know of your Doctrine.  
Who can express the Rape the receipt of this Letter committed upon Friar Conrards' Soul? He fell into such Extravagances, as the most worldly men would have been ashamed of; and not willing to lose so fair an opportunity to declare himself, he returned the Princess this Answer.  
You judge but ill, Madam, of the sentiments of my Soul, if you believe they can be dissembled to your Highness. Penetrate the appearances which abuse you, and you will find my heart delineated in the Picture you have received.  
He that brought this Ticket to the Princess, had instruction to tell her, that she should take a wet Sponge, and wipe over the face of Hermanus with it: and Anthony being desirous to understand the meaning of Conrards' Answer, the Princess and he followed his directions with the Sponge, but were much surprised to observe as they rubbed the old, a new Picture to appear. Hermanus was done only in Water-colours, but under it was the figure of Cupid lying upon the green, his head crowned with Roses, and instead of the Deaths-head, he held a Basket of all kind of Flowers, and about the border were written in great Letters these words:  
Not from the Garden so much, as from my Heart.  
The word Hortensia in Italian signifies the Goddess of Gardens, and so this Basket of Flowers alluding to the Princess' Name, expressed a most just and intelligible declaration of his Love. Without jesting, Madam, cried the pious Anthony when he had seen all: This is a subtle Contrivance for a Monk; one may easily see he hath passed his Apprenticeship: But alas, continued he (with something a more serious Tone) he spoke truer than he intended, when he said that this Picture was the Portraiture of his Heart. When we look upon the actions of Hypocrites, they are in Water-colours, and appear nothing but Crosses and Mortificationa; but pass the Sponge of severe scruting upon them, and you discover under them the most detestable vices in the World. After which words he took the Picture and Ticket into his hands, and begged of the Princess he might be permitted to carry them to his Brother-in-law, that he might by beginning with him, undeceive the rest of the World. The zeal of Hortensia would not suffer that any body should see the Picture before the Pope, it being he that was to punish the false Brothers for their Hypocrisy; but besides that Anthony believed that the Picture sufficient alone to rectify his Holiness, he thought he should disoblige his Sister's Husband, if he declared Conrards' Error before he had given him time to defend him. This precaution was useful more than one way: for the good Brother-in-law found so many plausible reasons to excuse Conrard, that he had frustrated this Complaint as he had done the former, had he spoke in the presence of the Pope. What Hortensia intends to publish about he impiety of the Fraticelles, said he, is only about points of Doctrine, which she doth not well understand. The Picture was a pious Emblem, signifying that true Penitents do find flowers of Comfort in their most severe Mortifications. The words about the Basket troubled him a little, but he was confident Friar Conrard would give him an innocent interpretation, if he desired it; and by this obstinacy of his, he pushed forward Anthony's impatience to have him discovered. But what will you say, Brother, replied Anthony, if I let you hear Conrard make Love to the Princess Hortensia, and speak things directly contrary to the Doctrine of the Church? It is impossible, replied the Brother-in-law, you can never do it, the Superior of the Fraticelles is too pious and too discreet to be guilty of such a fault. But in short, said Anthony, if I do as I propose, what will you say then? I will say, said the other, my senses deceive me, or if they do not deceive me (and indeed I believe 'tis scarce possible they should) I shall say I was enchanted for that time; for to tell you the truth, I shall sooner believe I am not what I am, than that Friar Conrard is otherwise than he ought to be. It is enough, replied Anthony, leave this affair to my Conduct and be contented to keep what I shall tell you, as a Secret. I did at first make great scruple of publishing any thing to the disparagement of this Society. The Habit they wore obliged me to more respect for them; so that my first design was to charge them only with the Errors of the Doctrine, without discovering any thing of the Exorbitance of their Manners, but seeing your Eyes are not to be opened but by a way I did hope I might have shunned, and that contrary to the respect you own to his Holinesses Niece, you declare yourself the Protector of those she would justly suppress, I must convince you by your own proper knowledge. The Princess is discreet, and charitable, and by all the other motives besides that of Charity, I should never have prevailed with her to oppose herself against so much clutter and noise as you do create; but when I shall have acquainted her how far I am concerned in their disorders, I do not despair but she will think nothing troublesome or difficult to relieve me. Anthony observed his promise very religiously with his Brother-in-law. He came to wait upon the Princess the next morning, he assured her the Fraticelles increased hourly in their Reputation, and that they had corrupted a great part of the most illustrious Ladies in Rome; that in their nocturnal Devotions, pretending to teach them the Art of Praying more exactly than ordinary, they took them into private places, where they seduced them by all sorts of flattery, and Heretical Precepts; and then concluding his Discourse with this, That she was the only Person qualified by God himself to purge the World from the infection of those Hypocrites; he conjured her not to desert the Interest of God and his Church any longer, but to draw Conrard into some Rendez-vous by some means or other, that by watching him, they might take him in the act, and convict him of all his Crimes at a blow. This request frighted the Modesty of the Princess at first, but Anthony supported it with so many Arguments, that Hortensia was overcome, and promised to do it. She signified to Friar Conrard, that she well understood the sense of his Ticket, if it were suitable to the sentiments of his Soul, it was no less conformable to hers; and cajoling the Error of the poor Friar with a thousand protestations of kindness (which would have deluded even prudence itself) she obtained of him a promise that he would come to her Chamber one night in the Disguise of a Roman Matron. She put him upon this Disguise, as well because it would make the iniquity of the Friar the more remarkable, as also out of a remnant of the respect she had still left for a Religious habit, which would not suffer her to scandalise them with so irreligious an interview. This Mascarade was a little suspected by Friar Conrard at first: it was a long time before he could be brought to part with his Habit: A desire to understand the last will of a dying man, or the consolation of an afflicted Family might furnish a Pilgrim with pretences to go abroad when he pleased; but for going in that Dress, he could give himself no reason: The Princess however managed the business so well, representing that her Family was too numerous to conceal one in a Religious Habit a whole night in her Palace, without being discovered, unless in some such Disguise as might take away the occasion to suspect: upon these persuasion he was overcome. He might have been more secure a great deal to have had the Princess to his Covent, and he wanted not conveniences to have entertained her at what time she pleased to have come; but she pretended a soreness in her leg, which stopped his mouth as to that Proposition. In this manner the day of the assignation was appointed, and arrived. Anthony's Brother-in-law was slipped into a Closet by Hortensia's Bed, from whence they could hear whatever was spoken by the Bedside, and he was accompanied by his Camarade. The Princess would receive the Friar in her Bed, the better to persuade him of the sore leg she pretended, and Conrard being as glad to find her in that posture, magnified his Love for so favourable a Conjuncture. Welcome good Conrard, said Hortensia, what will you say of this piece of my kindness toward you? will you not confess it is extreme? Madam, replied Conrard, bowing his body most humbly, I expected no less than extraordinary goodness from a Person of your Divinity. But if it be lawful for your most zealous and most humble Servant Conrard, to declare a truth to you, which perhaps you knew before: you are not the only Lady which hath placed those confidences in me. Those who vouchfased me that honour, were not indeed of your Quality, or perfection; but they were Persons of Honour, whose Beauties and Worth might have made an insatiable Courtier, the happiest man living. This is no more than what I have heard from other people, replied Hortensia, and let me tell you, that this consideration hath contributed much to your obtaining of this Rendezvous. Had I been the only Person had granted you this Privilege, I should have scrupled very much more to have done what I have; but Valantina hath assured me I had many Companions, and her assurance hath given me this confidence. The Princess spoke truth, though Conrard did not perceive it. It was indeed no more than what Anthony had told her of the debauchery of the Fraticelles, which had put her upon a resolution of destroying them, contrary to her own inclination, but because we should not discover the Name of so pious a Person, she made use of Valantina's; and the conscientious Friar knowing Valantina, could discover much of his Intrigues, he made no difficulty to acknowledge it. True it is, Madam, said he, whether it be only the indulgence of my Stars, or whether it be any little Merit in me, I cannot tell; but this I must say, there is scarce any person, I think, worthy to be retained, that escapes me. But what strange way is it that you take to oblige them? replied Hortensia: for my part I have been captivated with your cares, and the expressions of your kindness, but I suppose it is not possible you should have done as much for every Lady in Rome, as you have done for me. The whole time of your life would not have been sufficient, nor your Revenues able to have supplied you, for the very Presents you would have made. Madam you say right, replied the Friar, we do not treat all persons alike, nor indeed any body, as we do the Great and most Illustrious Princess Hortensia: But, Madam, these little Mysteries of our Society may well be put off to another time. No, no, good Conrard, replied the Princess (who understood his design) tell me, I beg of you, all your artifices, and measures you take with the good men; and the securities you require against the imprudencies, and natural levity of the greatest part of our Sex. I have a great desire to understand these things, and you cannot give me a greater testimony of your kindness, than by this confidence in me. If the Princess Hortensia, replied the Friar, had been a private Lady, in vain should she have aspired to the knowledge of the Fraticelles Intrigues, Friar Conrard would have constrained her to have deferred that Conversation; but he will not proceed with the Sister of the present Pope, as with a private person; her orders must be obeyed, let the a version be never so great. Madam, continued he, our general Maxim is, to cure Ladies of their Errors in Christianity, by the Precepts of our Hermanus, and to take off their apprehension of losing their Reputations, by reffecting how much it is our interest to preserve them. If we can but expunge out of Women the two considerations of God, and of Honour, our business is done, there is scarce one of them but becomes loving immediately; and if still they remain obdurate, we in that case betake ourselves to more subtle Expedients. And here the vile Fraticel stretching his confidence to the highest, and acquainting her with the most profound Mysteries of their Amours, there was not a neat way of writing a Note, but he taught the Princess how to do it better, no zealous or superstitious Present, but he show her the Art how to convert it into a Mystery of Love, no colour of piety, but which way it was to be perverted, and turned into debauchery; and passing before he was ware from numbering his Expedients, he came at length to instance in the persons upon whom they had made their Experiments, and put the Wives of the two persons who were listening to his discourse in the front of his Catalogue, as the most zealous for their Society of the whole City. The Princess cried out at the naming of those two Ladies, had she known they had been in the List of their Penitents, she woulod have had a care of putting Conrard upon that imprudence: but Anthony being too cunning to give her any such intimation, she knew not that inconvenience, till it was too late to repair it. Conrard observing her in that trouble, you seem, Madam, said he, to be surprised, did you take those two Ladies for Vestals, that you skreek as it were at the very hearing of their Names? I do assure you, Madam, tey gave us less trouble than any of the rest. One, she complained of the tediousness of an old Husband, and we appointed her a Director: the other could not endure the neglects of her young one, and we assigned her another more complacent that her Cuckoldly Husband. Hortensia (who was hearty displeased at this discovery, as well in consideration of Anthony, as for the disorders she foresaw in those two Families) replied, interrupting him, I beseech you, Friar Conrard, forbear this discourse, it makes me tremble to hear you; you cannot say true, you boast of things you never did: the two Ladies you speak of, are both of them discreet, I dare swear for them, and I look upon the occasion I have given you to run out into this language, as an unpardonable offence. This return was not at all pleasing to Conrard, and he had a mind to prevent what might follow. Come Madam, saith he, Let us leave our Divinity upon the Altar, and in the hearts of his Elect, and not mingle the discourse of it with our amorous Mysteries:  Altri tempi, Altri Curi: There is a Time for all things. 
And then to apply the Italian Proverb the more close, he was about to have forgot himself quite, and lost all respect for Hortensia: But the two Husbands in the Closet (not able longer to endure the impudence of the Friar) came suddenly forth, and apprehended him: Ah, ah, Friar Conrard, said the Old man to him, is this your way of making the Roman Ladies practise the Virtue you preach to their Husbands. The Fraticel was amazed at the sight of them, and at their manner of proceeding; so that he stood gaping, as if he had been Thunderstruck. He opened his eyes, without believing what he saw, he was seized all over with a trembling, his legs and his voice failed him, and not being able to say a word in his own defence, nor make the least attempt to escape 〈◊〉 suffered himself to be haled, like a Log into the next Chamber, where they kept strike guard upon him till the hour came he was looked for. It would be in vain to report the melancholy reflections of the good Friar; I suppose there is scarce any Reader but imagines it, without my description: he saw himself delivered up by a Princess to whom he had discovered such impieties as were worthy the cruelest punishment. The persons he judged would appear in Evidence against him, were the two Husbands, whom he had wounded in the most tender and sensible part of a Husband; and this reverse of Fortune happened at a time the expected to have been most happy. Whilst he was in this uncomfortable contemplation, and transported with a rage that relished more of the beast than the man; the Princess Hortensia (accompanied by the Learned Anthony, and the two Persons who before had declared themselves the Protectors of the Fraticelles) went to his Holiness to justify those Crimes he was so unwilling to believe: Conrards' iniquities were as good as proved, as soon as they were discovered; the knew them upon his own Declaration, and the Witnesses which charged him, were of unquestionable Repute. He was sent for therefore immediately to come and give an account of his Doctrine and Manners. He had like to have fallen down dead with fear at the delivery of that Compliment; and knowing that in those affairs, he is a great gainer, who gains any time, he begged of the Pope's Messengers in the most submissive terms he could use, that they would permit him to sent to his Covent for his own Habit; but besides that the Dress of a Matron was a great aggravation of his offence, they though it so pleasant to see how he managed it, they could not be persuaded from giving his Holiness a view of him. In this Equipage therefore they conducted him to the Pope's Palace. It was a pretty piece of Grotesque to see this famous Fraticel (who never show himself in public but in Sackcloth, and his head covered with Ashes) traversing the Grand Piazza in Rome in this Metrmorphosis. Those which carried him along, took delight in manifesting his shame, by not suffering him to hid his face, and the people which passed by, seeing the Beard of a Monk peep out of an old Woman's Coif, Is this the new Apostle? cried one, who boasted that he practised Christiantity in perfection: Do you see that Hypocrite, says another, who plays the Anchoret all day, and goes the Rounds at night in Mascarade, to play the amorous Gallant? I always thought, said one, (who pretended to be a man of understanding) there was nothing but ostentation and outside in the piety of these Friars. Forbear your Judgement, replied another, more easy of belief, perhaps it is upon some charitable instigation he hath taken up this Habit: and these kind of Conjectures and Ejaculations accompanied the poor Friar to the Tribunal, where he was no sooner arrived, and examined, but he was convict and condemned of most horrid impieties, he was delivered over to Execution four days after he was apprehended; the Sect of the Fraticelles declared Heretics, all their Followers excommunicated, and Herman, the happy Herman, as they styled him, was by his Holinesses Decree digged up out of his Grave, and his bones publicly burnt. This Act of Justice pleased Hortensia and Anthony very well: but it was not so grateful to all the rest of the World. Those who were of the Faction of the Fraticelles, gave relief to a great number of those kind of Libertines, who would have fallen from excess into necessity, if vice and vicious people should have been utterly extermined. Some of this sort of debauched persons preserved a good Party of the Fraticelles, and conveyed them to Lions, where they remained during the disorders in the Church: and from this infected Fountain it is perhaps such Torrents of Bigotteries and Phanaticisms do flow all the World over. The Libertines joined themselves to their fellow-Libertines. The Penitents who had been really abused, were glad to be brought out of their Errors, and were converted in carnest, in which number the innocent Valantina was one. But such as pretended to believe, that they might have a pretence to feed, were much troubled at the destruction of the Fraticelles, and some of this sort of Fellow-sufferers it must be who took care to provide Friar Conrard with an Epitaph, which with much ado we have recovered, and could not possibly be composed but by some of them.  

EPITAPH.  
HEre rests a man, who one may say,  
ne'er rested till his dying day:  
And whether now, or no be rest,  
I cannot tell, 'tis he knows best.  
Whilst he was here, in parts outvied,  
And Love-tricks, the whole World beside.  
Ten Husbands in one night would be  
Ease of their Nuptial Drudgery;  
Which is so much, I fear none can,  
Or will believe there rests a man.     

THE ANNALS OF LOVE  
THE FOURTH PART.  
DEbauchery is an infernal seed, so marvellously fruitful. One dissolute Example produces a thousand: and whereas Virtue makes its Conquests upon Vice by degrees, and that with much labour and patience; Vice overruns Virtue like a Torrent. The Sect of the Fraticelles appeared at first like the effect of an Enchantment. It's progress imitated the suddenness of its beginning, and dilated so fast, the continued care of five of Bonifaces' Successors were scarce sufficient to extinguish it. In imitation of the Fraticelles, every man set up one Sect or other after his own Mode: But amongst all of them, no one carried it so far, as Dulcinus King of the Lombard's, an ingenious Prince, and fertile in all witty Experiments. This Prince lived twelve or fifteen years after the Condemnation of the Fraticelles; the Ecclesiastical State was at that time infested with Wars, and those Wars hindered his Holinesses inspection into Foreign disorders: The Seat of the Wars having lain so long upon Lombardy, it was so exceedingly depopulated, that it took up all Dulcinus his care, to repeople it. He published his Decrees, forbidding all persons upon pain of death to live Bachelors past the age of fourteen. He contributed out of his own Estate towards Marriages that were unequal: He granted great Privileges to Foreigners to inveigle them thither; but Margaret his Wife (called in History the Volupuous) perceiving this new way of repeopling his Country, did withal diminish her Husband's Revenue, she bethought herself of a way, as effectual, and not so pernicious to the Sovereign. She advised Dulcinus to grant a general permission to his Subjects to change Husbands and Wives, as they should think it convenient. The advice was judged to be good, and put in Execution immediately, and the Prince being much pleased with the invention of the Princess, not only exhibited an Edict of Divorce, as she had counselled him; but promised Sanctuary and Protection to all Strangers which made use of that Privilege. This Declaration being rumoured in all the Kingdoms of Enrope, there was nothing to be seen but Navies of people of all Sexes from all Nations coming in daily to establish themselves in Lombardy, and enjoy the Liberty of that Country: insomuch that in a short time there wanted Corn for the Inhabitants, though of itself it is one of the most fertile Countries in the World: And it being part of the Policy of a Sovereign to give Example in the things he commands, the Prince and Princess were the first which began themselves to reduce into practice, what they had preached to other people. Being prudent and just, they desired to know how their Subjects would choose, and upon what grounds they would change; and therefore they made themselves Judges to examine all such as demanded Liberty of Divorce. Dulcinus, he interrogated the men about the Complaints they made against their Wives, that he might learn by them inclinations of her, whom he designed to take in the place of his own Wife; and Margaret having the same project in her brains in the Examination of the Women, she would needs be commissioned to hear their Objections. Dulcinus was not a little troubled to determine, as to the Accusations of the Husbands. He found all of them had so much reason of their sides, and told their stories so smooth, he could not but suspect the sincerity of their Informations; he thought it impossible there should have been so many ill Wives in the whole World, as he found in his Muster-rolls; and thinking his own Wife more tolerable than other people's (though she was not without her faults) he concluded he should be forced to stick to his first Wedding, how strong soever his desire was to a seconde. Those which were handsome, were either wanton, or proud; the ill-favoured were jealous; the witty, imperious and perverse; the sober were melancholy: and in short, not a Woman but had some quality or other inconsistent with the sweetness of Society: He considered not that none were accused before him but such as were defective, and that those Husbands which were contented with their Wives, never came near him for the benefit of his Proclamation. Margaret was not in such trouble with her Jurisdiction; whether she was less difficult to please, or that Dulcinus his qualities were so indifferent, every one she met with had better. But the Princess found sufficient grounds for all the men to plead the Privilege, though the Prince was resolved to keep her. He loved a new Wife better than an old one; but he found Margaret much better than the rest. The first Woman which was brought before the Princess, was a lively brown Lass, a good presence, and a sprightly countenance, her habit was neat, and well contrived, her actions pleasant, and easily discerned to be done one purpose to please. You may pass Mistress, says Margaret as soon as she saw her, there is no necessity of examining you to know your Complaint. You would have a Gallant, and your Husband will not suffer you; you have reason indeed to change, Husbands of that humour are troublesome, and you ought not to be contented till you meet with one will allow you that liberty. Alas, Madam, replied the good Woman, my Husband is none of those, and if I had though one must have had occasion of Complaint against their Husband, before she could enjoy the Privilege of changing, I should scarce have troubled your Majesty or your Kingdom at this time. My Husband loves me, he is young, and handsome, not jealous in the least, and I have what Jewels and fine  I will ask. Why then will you be changing, replied Margaret in a huff, for the bare pleasure of changing? Madam, replied the Woman, do not think it an inconsiderable thing to break a Chain that must otherwise hold me as long as I live: did you never observe the greatest Epicures, and those which are used to the most delicate dishes, how they will tower and plume themselves over a Ragoust of Beef? In earnest, replied Margaret, I see we are not all Sots of our Sex, I did not believe the Capricio of Change could have been carried so far; after which the Princess of Lombardy decreed that this Woman should be placed at the head of the discontented Wives, and that she should have her choice of all the men which should happen to be divorced. From this Examination she proceeded to a second. This was a pale, faint, languishing Creature, whose negligence in her March proclaimed her naturally lazy. What complaint do you bring against your Husband? said Margaret to her. Madam, replied poor Paleface, he loves me too much, he is always kissing, and caressing me, and I can never be at quiet. O cried Margaret, take away this Woman from the rest, or she will be of very ill Example, and then setting down her Husband's name in her Table-book, she would have sworn he was the man with whom she was herself to put her new Law of Divorce in Execution. She had scarce set led herself in that resolution, but in comes a third discontent, the passion in whose face made her conclude her Complaint would be quite contrary to the former. What, you are jealous I warrant you? said the Princess to her, and you must be discharged of your Husband for his Courtship to other Women. I wish, Madam, with all my heart, quoth the good Woman, your Majesty had been a Prophet, I should not have been so miserable as I am; there is nothing (in my Judgement) so convenient, as to have such a one for ones Husband, he is always neat and perfumed: he is always abroad, and his fear lest we should pry too far into his affairs, obliges him to leave the conduct of ours to ourselves: But alas, Madam, mine is not so well disposed, he never stirs from home but at Christmas, Easter, or Whitsuntide, and judging of my temper by his own, he never suffers me one step out of doors, but when he is my Gentleman-Usher. This good Wife had liberty to change her Husband immediately. This being adjudged one of the most lawful Causes of Divorce that could be alleged. Margaret continuing her Office, a Woman crowded up into the soremost Rank, the subject of whose Complaint was very new, and odd. Her Husband would by all means have her in Love with some body else, and the poor Woman could not be persuaded. It is then because the Gallant your Husband proposed to you, does not please you? cried Margaret. No, Madam, not so, replied the Woman, for he gives me my choice. He tells me, honest Women are such Dragons in a house, that if I do but rid myself of that good quality, he cares not who it be that destroys it. And I must confess, Madam, my honesty makes me a little fierce sometimes; Honour is a Jewel, and when a Woman can once say she fears no body, she is seldom to be vanquished in domestic Disputes. My Husband tells me therefore he would have me like other Women, and that a Woman is more tractable and complacent, when she hath an amorous Intrigue in her head. But, Madam, I had rather die a thousand deaths, than gratify him in that, my honour is my life, I will do nothing shall entrench upon that, and I will sooner renounce my Marriage, than the Privilege of speaking loud in my own house, as all honest Women may do. Margaret looked upon this Woman as mad, and made signs to have her taken away, without vouchsafing her an Answer; and she had reason to dispatch with her as fast as she could, for she had another attended with so much to say, that her very story concluded that Audience. It was a French Woman, originally of Languedoc, but so handsome, and charming, the Princess herself could not look upon her without admiration. How is it possible, said she, any man living should desire to part with you? The Stranger returned her no Answer to that; but told her, her accusation consisted of so many heads, she humbly begged leave to recite her whole story. She was not a person to be denied any thing, Margaret therefore complied with her Request, and the unknown Lady returning thanks for that favour, began her discourse in Italian (which she spoke as it had been her Mother-tongue) in this following manner.  

The History of Nogaret and Mariana  
I Do not well know where I am to begin, the Description of the Knight and the Lady (which is the usual beginning of all such Narrations) is improper for me; in respect your Highness hath me here in your presence, and my Husband being but in the next Hall with Dulcinus, you may see him too, if you please. Nor shall I commence with any impertinent Genealogy, it not being material to your Highness who were my Ancestors, so you have but a true Relation of my Affair. I am a Wife, and have a Complaint against my Husband: Hear it I beseech you with patience, and judge of my Reasons. I was born in Montpellier (a Town very famous for the handsome Women it produces) and my Name is Mariana Nogaret. A Gentleman who lived not far off in the Country, having occasions at Montpellier, happened to see me by chance, and liked me so well, he pretended he loved me. This confidence, not being a thing so terrible in our Country, as in other places, I must confess freely I thought myself very much obliged to him: But the beginnings of our Amour, was of no long duration: for my Servant was called to the Court of France upon an Affair not at all important to this Story; and King Philip (surnamed le Bel) conceived so great kindness for him, he kept him about his person. He gave me notice of the favour he was in, and for some time I had reason to believe he would not force himself to forget me. He writ to me often, and his Letters seemed to be passionate; but the Court having this in propriety, to forget all former obligations, Nogaret by degrees became lazy, and would not write often, and at length neglected it quite. I past two whole years without hearing one word of him; but about the third year afterwards, being sent by the King, his Master, to Pope Boniface, passing through Languedoc, either by accident or design he came to Montpellier. I may say without vanity, had the Reputation of that time of being the handsomest Woman in that Province; I was grown something fatter than when Nogaret first saw me, my Neck, and proportions were better shaped, and Nogaret was grown also the finest Gentleman in France. We had no great trouble to revive our old flame, I saw nothing in all Languedoc to be compared to Nogaret, and he swore as hearty he had seen nothing in all France or Italy so lovely as myself. The trick of inconstancy which he had played me in his first Voyage, made me not rely too much upon his protestations then. I remembered he had promised as stoutly before, and forgot it almost as soon as out of sight, but he gave so fair pretences for his silence, and I had so great a desire they should be true, that I assisted the cheat, and contributed to my own deception. His Fortune and his Duty requiring his return, he stayed not long at Montpellier, but he gave me sufficient grounds to believe that what he left behind him this time, was much dearer to him than it had been before: He writ to me from all places upon the Road; there was not a fashion in the Court of France, but I had the Pattern one of the first; and the kindness of King Philip having raised him to a Rank in which he needed not fear being denied, if he demanded me of my Parents, he did it with so much ardour, and advantage on my side, that he easily obtained me. I was conducted to Lions, where Nogaret met me, and our Marriage being celebrated there, my new Husband conducted me to Court with an Equipage more like a Triumph, than a private Train. The King received Nogaret with great demonstrations of Joy; the Queen honoured me with Presents and Caresses, and if I had the pleasure to see Nogaret outdo all the young Lords of his Age, he had the satisfaction to hear his choice commended by every one that saw me. Three or four months we continued at this rate, with so much felicity and content both to the one and the other, that I cannot think upon that happy time without being melancholy to think it lasted no longer. But, Madam, what I am going to tell you is it to be believed? The first transports of our Joy was scarce passed, but the names of Husband and Wife became insupportable to us. Nogaret increased daily in Esteem and Reputation, and I may say the air of the Court was no diminution to my Beauty. Had not Nogaret been my Husband, I should have had need of my whole stock of Virtue to have kept me from loving him more than I ought; and he protested had not I been his Wife, he had died for Love of me before that; but the indispensable necessity of loving one another, gave us continual temptations to hate. We could not be alone together half an hour, but it was troublesome; if Custom or Capricio put us upon any Caresses, they went against the hair, and seemed done only to acquit ourselves of an ungrateful duty that lay upon us, without the least kindness or satisfaction in the World: Not but that we had a foundation of respect one for another, which indeed nothing could destroy. Nogaret lived with me very honourably, and I would have died a thousand deaths before I would have been deficient in my duty to him. But we looked upon one another as good friends, who being assured of one another's affection, love on, but in a quiet and serene kind of way, without the least passion or transport. This sort of Civility gives the good Woman all the Privileges her Rank requires of her Husband, and secures the good man against all tempests at home. But this is not enough for young Hearts who expect something further. They would have Love continue with the same fervour it began, for (think they) when that which ought to be the effect of Love, is but the effect of Policy and Complacence, Marriage becomes a heavy burden to those who are any thing delicate. These considerations rendering us unquiet and morose, Sara Colonne, one of Nogarets' particular Friends, began to perceive it. This man was famous over all Europe for his irreverences towards Pope Boniface; Nogaret had made a Journey into Italy with him, and besides the familiarity which Travelling produces among Travellers, Colonna was a lovely Person, and very judicious; he pressed my Husband to let him know the occasion of his Melancholy, and assuring him he should hold his friendship suspected for the future, unless he vouchsafed him that mark of his affection, he ravished it from him, that it was his disgust of me: How, says Colonna, disgusted with Madam Nogaret? Tell me I beseech you, do you know any Woman living more handsome and more worthy of your Love than she? 'Tis not of her Beauty I complain, replied my Husband, I must confess that is great, and any man but a Husband might be happy in it. But tell me, I pray you, of what use is that Beauty? of what use? replied Colonna, for whose or for what use should your Wife be, but for yours? do you make no difference then betwixt a handsome Woman and an ill-favoured? and if you restrain the pleasures of Matrimony only to the eye, is it not more pleasant for a Husband when he comes home to find a young, a lively, and neat Woman ready to embrace him, than to be received by a loose-bodied, mouldy, old Woman? Ha', my dear Friend, replied Nogaret, in a scornful way, a Wife is always handsome enough, considering how little her Husband regards her. A Man of Honour lives with an ugly Woman as with a handsome, and hath the advantage of loving a handsomer, if he can find her; whereas when a man hath such a Wife as mine, he seems to have lost his wits when he addresses to another. The Ladies send him back again to his Wife, as one he must needs know to be handsomer, and so he may call upon Saints, and swear as many oaths as he pleases that he loves her, and not persuade her at the last. Ha', said he, were I but the Husband of such a Woman (and named one of the ugliest about the Court) with what pleasure could I tell Madam Nogaret she was the handsomest Person in the World? She would believe me, because she would know it was true; she would think herself obliged by my commendations, and perhaps recompense them by some favour or other: but should I now make this Compliment to any other Lady of the Court, she would believe I did but railly; for she knows at her heart Madam Nogaret is handsomer. This Dialogue happened in a Hall where we usually dined: and there being a Grot on one side of it, into which after Dinner I had accidentally retired to repose myself, it was my fortune to hear distinctly every word they said. I was not at all surprised at the beginning of their Discourse, had my Judgement been asked in the same case, I should have said as much of Nogaret, as he said of me; but when I heard him wish himself married to the ugly person he named, I could not for my life forbear blurting out into a laughter. Celonna thrust his head into the Grot, to see who it was that laughed. He found me fitting there alone with a Book in my hand, harkening with great tranquillity at what passed betwixt us, as if I had not been concerned in the least; In earnest, Madam, said he in his turn, this may be called the House of Miracles. The man of all France who hath the handsomest Wife, wishes he had the ugliest, that he might have the pleasure of making Love to his own. The Lady of the whole World, which deserves best of her Husband, receives the assurance of his disgust with a laugh: What kind of Creatures are you two? You, says he to Nogaret, seeing you acknowledge your Wife worthy of your Love, why do you not love her? come into this Grot, and tell me your reasons? Alas, replied Nogaret with a smiling disdain, I have so much liberty to say what I will to her, that I have nothing to say. And you can hear this, and be merry, replied Colonna, addressing himself to me. Why should I not be merry? replied I without any disorder, is it not a thing pleasant enough to make my body laugh? Yes without doubt, replied the Roman, your Husband's discourse would make any one laugh, that was indifferent: but I could not have thought, Madam, you had been under that Character. It is the best course I can take, replied I, for to speak truth I am so much of Nogarets' mind in all that he hath said, that I cannot in Justice condemn him. Come, come away, said my Husband to Colonna, taking him by the Elbow, let us take a little Air, you have kept such a stir with the names of Husband and Wife, that the very pronouncing them so often, hath given me the headache. As soon as he had spoke those words, they went forth together, and immediately after my Tailor bringing me home an odd kind of Gown of mine own particular invention, I was pleased with it so well, I would needs go wait upon the Queen in it, and see how she liked it. I met her in the street, going upon her Devotions, whether I had no mind to follow her, and not having found two or three Ladies at home, which I went to visit, I resolved to attend her Majesty's return, in the Garden belonging to the Palace. I had promised my Coach to a Friend of mine that Evening; so that I dispatched that away as soon as I was in the Garden; and choosing the most private Walks I could find, I entertained my self with solitary thoughts. But, Madam, observe I beseech you, the strangeness of my Destiny, I was alone, not so much as any of my Train at the Garden gate, I was masked (and in that year which was 1310) they wore their Masques very little in France; by accident my Husband and Colonna passed by the place where I was, and seeing me a personable Woman, and walking alone in the Garden, my Husband had a fancy to accost me; he had never seen that Gown I was in at that time, and he had left me in another when he came out; so as not having the least suspicion who I was, he began with a very high Compliment about the Excellence of my Shape. This Encounter seemed pretty, I had a mind to divert myself with it a little, and dissembling my voice as much as I could, I pretended to be a Lawyer's Wife of the Country, who knew nothing of the Court, and seconded Nogarets' mistake so well, that it never came the least into his head, that I was otherwise than I told him. He was in a mighty Rapture, nothing but praises, and protestations in his mouth. He admired sometimes my shape, sometimes my Neck, my Hair was the finest he ever had seen, my Eyes, my Motion, that little he saw beneath my Masque, all excellent, and all enchanted him. Colonna thought good to pull him away by the sleeve, and endeavour to break off a Conversation which he began to be jealous of already; but he could not get him from me, he would follow me to the end of the World he swore; and to be short, when he did go away at last, he went away the most in Love of any man living. Colonna looked upon this Frenzy with compassion, I heard him conjure him in Italian (which your Ladyship perceives I understand in some measure) not to concern himself with a Person, which for aught he knew might be nothing less than what she pretended; that Paris was full of such kind of  which pretended highly to Innocence and prudence, though they knew more Roguery perhaps than they that interrogated them; besides he would make himself ridiculous to the whole Court, if it should be discovered he had only spoke to the unknown Lady, the little time he had spoke to her indeed: but Nogarets'. Ears were deaf to all such admonishments. He would have sworn by my Fashion and Mien I was as wise, as indeed I was; and being very importunate for liberty to wait upon me home (that he might know where I lived) I had need of all the Authority I began to have over him, to oblige him to excuse me. I told him I had a jealous Husband at home, who would never suffer such persons as he to enter within his doors; that I could not but judge of the effects I had produced in his heart, by the respect he should pay to my desires; that he should content himself with this, that I was not an ungrateful Woman, and that I should find out a way some time or other of satisfying his Curiosity more securely. He withdrew upon this, much pleased with that hope: and I having found an opportunity to tread upon Colonna's Toe, I signed to him that I would speak with him. He followed me to a place I had marked to him with my Eye; and Nogaret being too apprehensive of my displeasure to follow him, he attended at the end of an Alley, very impatient to know what it was I had to say to him. When I saw my Husband at too great a distance to understand what I said, Colonna said I, I am Madam Nogaret; he had like to have squeaked out at my naming that name, but squeezing him by the hand, hold your peace, Colonna, said I, this Intrigue is pleasant enough to be carried on a little further; do you go and find out some unknown Coach that may carry me home, and come and fetch me here as soon as you can: we will laugh at our leisure at what is past and to come. Colonna returned to Nogaret with so great an inclination to laugh, he had much ado to contain; he told my Husband I had inquired who he was, where his House was, and what means I was to use to write to him; and having accompanied him to the King's Apartment, he slipped suddenly from him, and getting into the first of his Friends Coaches he could see in the Court, he came to find me where he had left me before. This Roman was a perfect Friend of my Husbands, and upon any other occasion but this, I could not have prevailed with him to have engaged in any Treachery against Nogaret: but he thought he should do him a considerable piece of Service, to revive his passion for me, and he looked upon this Intrigue as a way as likely and as innocent as could have possibly been thought on. As soon as I was got home, I pulled off my new Gown, charged my Women to let no body see it, nor to tell any body that ever I had worn it, and having put on that again in which Nogaret had left me that morning, I fell into consultation with Colonna, which way we might spin out this Comedy. As to my Husband's neglect, I was absolutely insensible, and I had no design to cure him of that by this Stratagem; but I found the story would be pleasant, and I resolved to pursue it to the utmost. I had not wit enough to have invented it, but since Fortune had been so ingenious, I resolved as much as I could to improve it. Colonna encouraged my resolution, and returning to Nogaret, said as many good things on me then, as he had done bad before he knew me. In earnest, said he, the unknown Lady we say in the Garden, is very handsome, I see no body at Court hath a better presence, and if what her Mask hides, be as graceful as what it discovered, believe me she is the compleatest Beauty in the World. Nogaret embraced him for his News, as he had told him something had been infinitely for his advantage, and then conjuring his assistance in the discovery who she was, he confessed he had never been so much in Love in his life. I fortified this passion by three or four interviews, where I must needs say, I used the highest of my Skill to triumph over the Error of my fantastical Husband. It was then Carnaval time in France, in which the French run in Companies up and down the streets in Mascarade; and a Peace being concluded about the same time betwixt his Holiness and the King of France, that year was fuller of Divertisements than several others before it. The manner in which Nogaret and I lived, permitted us not to be often in the same design, we had each of us our Society, and when he was gone abroad with his Clan, I dressed myself in  he did not know, and taking only one or two of my Women (whom I had enjoined strictly to make no mention of my name) I followed him from one Company to another, to add new smart to his old Wound, if it were possible, The alteration a Mask gives to the voice, disguised mine so well, that Nogaret never suspected me for any body, but the unknown Lady in the Garden, and under that quality I could not speak one word but enchanted him. He conjured me by all that he could imagine might prevail, to give him an opportunity of waiting upon me at home, but he remembered the jealous Husband I had mentioned in our first Conference, and that brought me off there; and when from his Proposition of Visits, he was come so low, as to be contented with the bare sight of me now and then: I told him I had no great confidence in Courtiers, and I would have a little further Experience, before I would discover myself, that if he persisted in his earnestness to see me, or attempted to have me dogged, I would leave my House the next day, and conceal myself so well for the future, he should give me over for lost. This fear kept him in the temper I would have him; but to requite his Compliance, I sent him several Letters, which Colonna caused to be transcribed, and I received several of his Answers. I remember these Letters were the production of a very pretty Adventure. Nogaret had lost one of mine, and what I had said to him of the Jealousy of my Husband, making him apprehensive, lest it should be found by any body that knew the Hand, he contrived a pleasant way to evade that inconvenience. He caused several Notes to be written in several Characters, and when he had done, stole them into the Pockets of the most considerable Courtiers; I cannot tell you, Madam, what trouble this Whimsy brought into the Court; all these Tickets were of Love, some calm and smooth, others high and outrageous; some were full of Jealousy, others of Thanks, but all of them Assignations; so that there was nothing to be seen in the Walks but Gallants with Tickets in their hands, attending their Mistresses, and this produced many Quarrels and several Divorces. There was a great stir made to discover from whence they came, whether such a Ticket came from such a man, or from such a Woman, and the most expert persons in Characters were sent to resolve them. To say the truth, had this Intrigue betwixt Nogaret and me had any thing of reality, that Artifice would have been useful, for the Note he lost was found by one of his young Coxcombs, who (having seen it fall out of Nogarets' Pocket, and finding it treated of Love) brought it to me, in hopes (as I suppose) to have drawn some advantage to himself, by my Husband's indiscretion. I laughed hearty when I saw the Note, and his action who brought it: I thanked him for his Service, pretending it very important, and running to Nogarets' Chamber, Here, my Lord, said I, tendering him the Note, and counterfeiting myself mightily jealous, have a better care of your Love-Letters another time: So here is one fell out of your Pocket in very good Company, and it is not like a person of your discretion, suffer such Letters as these to run up and down the World. Nogaret blushed at the sight of that Letter, but the Trick he had played supplied him readily with an excuse, I'll lay my life, says he, this is one of the Letters, have been so slyly stolen into all the Pockets at Court, and then opening it as he had never seen it before, he read these words.  
Yes, Brave Sir, I believe I may be beloved, my Beauty is sufficient to convince me of that, without other Arguments, my Charms I am better acquainted with than you, and therefore cannot but doubt whether one can love what he hath never seen. As for you, it is no extraordinary thing that I should love you, I know who you are, I see you undisguised every day; but how can you tell but that which is concealed by my Mask, may put you out of conceit again with all you have seen. Women are the greatest Impostures in the World, and perhaps in the same moment you love me so ardently without knowing me, I may become the Person the most indifferent to you of all the Sex, if you did know me.  
Without dissembling, Madam, cried Nogaret, after he had read it, this is a pleasant Letter, and whether it be real or counterfeit, the Person who writ it hath a great deal of Wit. I had like to have burst out a laughing at Nogarets' Character, but not being as yet weary of so pretty a Divertisement, I forced myself, and replied without any emotion; What is it you see so extraordinary in this Letter? What is it do you ask? replied my Husband, why is it all, Madam, the sense, the model, the expression, the neatness of the thoughts. Certainly, said I, (with as much eagerness as he) I see nothing in it but very common. I do not pretend to be an excellent Secretary, yet I dare lay a Wager I will write as well as that when I please. Nogaret looked upon me with a disdain, had like to have put me out of Countenance, and lifting up his eyes and shoulders, as if he pitied my vanity, he judged it so idle that I had said, he vouchsafed me not an Answer. He went forth immediately (without speaking a word) in quest of his dear Colonna to give him an account of what had past. I had many of these Regales from him while the Carnaval lasted; but that growing near to an end, & Nogaret pressing daily for some ease of his Martyrdom, as he called it, I resolved to put an end to this Comedy, and give him a sight of me; I appointed him a meeting at a Countryhouse about a League out of the City, where I told him I had got leave of my Husband to retire for some days. He had like to have died with Joy at the News, he gripped my hand with so great transportation, he forgot he hurt me, and from the night in which I gave him that assignation, to the day he was to meet, he took so little rest, I began to pity him. He was in a perpetual trouble, changed his place every quarter of an hour, and I understood by his Servants he slept not a wink: but at length the desired day arrived. Nogaret by agreement was not to come to the Rendez-vous till after Sunset, and yet he came into my Chamber in the morning before day ready dressed. I pretended to admire his diligence, and asked him what might be the cause. He told me he was to receive an Order from the King to be executed by him, and that in expectation of that, he was to be ready all day. This invention made me smile, and being willing to put my Prevaricator to it, as much as I could, I asked him, Will this Order hinder you from supping to night with a certain Friend of ours, to whose House I have engaged to bring you along with me. Yes doubtless, replied Nogaret a little hastily, it will hinder me; for perhaps it will be night before I can execute it. Alas, said I, and how comes it to pass you dress yourself before day, for an Affair which you believe cannot be dispatched before night. You know my exactness, replied my Dissembler, in what relates to my duty to my Master, I had rather be ready twelve hours too soon, than have his business stay for me one moment. Good my Lord, replied I, taking him by the hand, be of my Company to night, let me conjure you, I do not often trouble you with importunities, but I must needs tell you, you will disoblige me exceedingly, if you refuse me this time. Nogaret had always carried himself with great respect towards me, when under the name of the Country Lawyer's Wife, I desired to know his opinion of his own, he still stopped my mouth, and told me, that was Sacred, and not to be discovered. I confess I have no great passion for her myself; but I have so much esteem for her, I would die a thousand deaths before any body should speak ill of her, and for me to speak well of her, I suppose is none of your design. This moderate Husband of mine having denied me a thing I had so instantly requested, he disguised his refusal with the best reasons he could think on; but all that would not discourage me, I kissed him, I caressed him, I upbraided him, and desired this Compliance as the only thing I would ever ask him again. Alas, I expected not he should promise me, I knew as well as he what obliged him to the contrary, but it pleased me not a little, to give him this disquiet as a punishment for his contempt of me. To be short, in spite of my Complaints, in spite of my Reproaches, away he went in order to his assignation, and that no man might take notice of his Journey, he would not have a Horse of his own, but took a Hackney in a by-place of the City, and without any of his Servants with him, away he went towards the House where I had appointed him to meet. I was got thither some hours before him: for besides that he was not to come before night, and I went from home presently after Dinner; he had an unluckily Accident by the way, which gave him a stop. He was very ill mounted, and the hopes he was in, employing his thoughts so much, he regarded not which way his Horse went, it was late, as I have observed, and about the beginning of Lent: so that the darkness, and dust concurring, his Horse lead him fairly into a Slough, from whence he had much ado to disengage himself. Had this Accident happened to an ordinary Lover, there had been no great matter in it, Love takes delight many times to sport itself with the impatience of Lovers: but to have it happen to a Husband, going to an Appointment with his own Wife, and this Lady he solicited with so much zeal (without knowing her) and went to meet in despite of so many dangers and impediments, to be daily at his disposing in his own house, was so pleasant a thing, perhaps the like never happened before. Poor Nogaret finding himself in a stinking Bog, upon an insensible Jade, which despised the correction both of his hand and his heel, made a thousand vows and obsecrations to Love to deliver him out of so villainous a place. He thought once to have alighted off his Horse, and tried to have disengaged himself on foot, but besides that the Slough was deep and muddy, he had but one pair of Breeches about him, and was unwilling to defile them in such an Adventure. He kicked, he spurred, he swore, he repined, but he might have kicked, and swore, and repined long enough, had not the officious Colonna come in luckily to his assistance. This good man (imagining very discreetly, that this Intrigue betwixt Nogaret and me could not probably be discovered without some kind of displeasure) came to prevent by his presence any ill consequence that might arise. The Moon was up, and Nogaret knew him by the light of it, he cried out to have him come to him, and being come; Ah, my dear Friend, said he to him (with a voice trembling betwixt choler and cold) help me, I beseech you, I can do no more, I have been two long hours in this Slough, and without your assistance I am like to be here all night. Colonna knew him, and seeing him in such a condition for an Enterprise which deserved better luck, as so pleased with the Adventure, that he could not answer him for laughing. How, said Nogaret to him in a rage, is it thus you relieve your Friend at a time when he hath so much need of your assistance? What assistance would you have? replied Colonna, laughing all the while: I am neither Ploughman, nor Mariner, and it would require all the Altars both of the one and the other to fetch you off where you are: What in God's name do you there? who conducted you? and how came you to march alone in the night, without any Servants, and upon an ugly Jade that is none of your own? We will satisfy you to those questions hereafter, replied Nogaret, much discomposed both with anger and shame: this is no time for such Narratives as those, but do what you can to deliver me, I beseech you. Colonna alighted, took his Hackney by the Bridle, spoke to him, and battered the Beast, till at last with much ado he got him to a place where Nogaret might throw himself off on his back upon the ground. When he was landed, they marched together to the next Village, where my poor Husband was scraped and made clean, and Colonna sent out to get another Horse for him, for his old Hackney was dying. But my Husband's impatience not giving him leave to attend the hiring of a new one, he leapt up upon Colonna's, and rid away full speed to the place of the Assignation. I was in Bed when he arrived, foreseeing the hour past, and not daring to venture back to Paris in the night, I resolved to lie where I was, being assured I could justify my absence, if it should be required. Nogarets' transport was so great, when he found himself alone in my Chamber, that he did not think of bringing the Candle with him to my Bedside. He threw himself upon his knees, and taking me by the hand, he kissed it with so much joy and affection, I was afraid he had been mad. I confess I began to be troubled at his mistake, and should have thought myself much indebted to Fortune, had she done that in my favour, which she had done in his. I would not have committed a Crime, but I could have wished some Enchantment like my Husbands had communicated to me as much pleasure in his Caresses, as he received in bestowing them. He threw himself upon the Bed, embraced my knees through the Counterpane, and gave me a thousand thanks for my goodness in the best Language his Love could suggest. But when after his first motions of trouble and transport, he came to draw the Curtains quite and in the unknown Person he so tenderly loved, he discovered the same Woman he so long had despised. He swore a great oath, I think in my Conscience 'tis my Wife, and stepping a little back to inform himself better, he fell down under the Chairs, so amazed at his Adventure, I feared he would never have recovered. No, Sir, said I, it is none but your Wife, you see how dangerous it is to commit yourself to the conduct of your heart, you would never have suspected yours to have been guilty of this mistake: Mariana is so indifferent to you under the Name of Madam Nogaret, that you could not think she could charm you in another shape. I am nevertheless the Lady in the Mask you were so taken with in the Garden belonging to the Palace. This Shape, these Eyes, this Neck: in short, all this Person you so passionately desired when unknown, is the very same you looked upon so disdainfully now you know me. I sent you word in the Letter you lost, that your passion would be over as soon as you saw me. I know not whether nogaret, overlaid with these reproach, was not able to endure them any longer, or whether there his indignation for being deceived, augmented the horror he expressed at the sight of me, but he ran down stairs as fast as he could, and calling for his Horse, away he went for Paris with all speed, as ill satisfied now with his Assignation, as he ever had been pleased. He was scarce gone a moment, but Colonna came in, I told him what had passed at our Interview, and I understood from him what had befallen Nogaret by the way. I could not forbear laughing for my heart, when I fancied him in the Puddle; but my kindness returning after a time, I dispatched Colonna after him, lest some new Accident might befall him. I looked upon all this Accident as a JesT, and I did hope Nogaret would have looked upon it not otherwise, but I was mistaken in my opinion. He was so much enraged at the fallacy, that he hath not forgiven me to this day. Colonna thought good to let him know, that it was Fortune which began it, and that if either of us had reason to complain of the Consequence, it was certainly I He replied to his remonstrances, that I was an Imposture, and that a Woman which could disguise herself so well, would act the greatest and most horrible disloyalties,  she had a mind to it. Seeing then I could not mollife him by any means, I caused it to be proposed to him to come hither and implore that Privilege you so graciously are pleased to afford all such Husbands as are dissatisfied with their Wives. The Coundition he stood in, in France, made him averse at first, but the good men which think themselves burdened with their Wives, fancy nothing imp●●lible that may ease them. We have left our Country upon these terms, and are now present in your Court. But see, Madam, and admire the unconstancy of my Stars, the liberty I now enjoy of parting with Nogaret, makes me begin to think our separation insupportable. I beseech you therefore, most Excellent Princess, continued Mariana (throwing herself at Margaret's feet) obtain of Duleinus in my behalf, that Nogaret may not have that permission, which I know he demands. As I imitated him in his disgust, it is possible he may do as much for me in my return. The necessity of our Loves begat our Antipathy, and who knows but the liberty to hate may revive our affections.  
Mariana was not out of the way, when she dissed in this manner. She had scarce ended her Petition, but Dulcinus came in to desire Margaret, in the behalf of Nogaret, to grant to such permission to Mariana. In short, this Couple took one another again, and loved one another as entirely, as when they were married at first. Their Example was so good, that being followed by several others, it carried many a good man and his Wife back again into France, who renounced the Privilege of Divorce, and demonstrated to the World, That liberty to change takes away the desire to do it. That did well, and like wise men to carry themselves so, they would have been constrained otherwise by force, to what they did willingly: for Pope Clement the Fifth (having intelligence of what passed in Lombardy, and finding this new Law inconformable to the Laws of Christianity) raised a strong Army, and sent it against Dulcinus, under the Command of a Legate, his Nephew. The Legate overcame him, forced him to renounce his Error, and rescued his Subjects from that Libertinism in which they began to be plunged.  
Unhappy days! unhappy War, whose rage  
Swallowed whole Countries, cost so many lives!  
Were't to be fought again in this our Age,  
We'd pull down Pope, rather than keep our Wives.  
Whilst Margaret was bewailing the success of the Legate, and some Husbands (apprehending the Consequences of that War) hasted very prudently to gain the benefit of that Privilege. Don Pedro King of Castille applied himself to the Establishment of that Custom in his Kingdom, which was so unfortunately suppressed in Lombardy. He had sent Ambassadors into France to negotiate a Marriage for him with Blanch, the Daughter of Peter Duke of Bourbon, a near Kinsman to Philip of Valois, the first King of France of that Race. The castilians are a phlegmatic people in matters of Negotiation, and those whom Don Pedro had employed about this, driving at the advantage of the Kingdom, more than the particular interest of the King, they were so tedious in concluding upon their Conditions, that Don Pedro began to be weary of their delay. He was as violent as they were cautious, when he sent to make that Overture about Blanch, he had prepared his patience for no longer expectation than was necessary for a Journey betwixt Burgos and Paris, and finding that elapsed, and no intimation when the Wife was to come, he began to think of easing his impatience by some gentle diversion, (for by that name it is all beginnings of Love are Christened) that which makes oftentimes the greatest affair of a man's life, is looked upon at first but as a transitory fancy, and whilst one thinks but to play and dally with Love as with a Child, the least of his scratches become incurable and mortal. At this rate it happened to our young Monarch. He discovered his inclinations to Nugnez de Prade Grand Master of the Order of Callatrava, and the chief of his Favourites. Such kind of Confidences as these, are not very honourable in themselves, but the favour ennobles them. It is always good to be employed in the Secrets of ones Master, let the part he be to act be what it will. Nugnez thought himself much honoured that the King of Castille had made choice of him to serve him in his Amours, and to acquit himself honourably of his Trust, he gave himself up entirely to the finding out a Mistress for Don Pedro This is an employment which requires no great trouble, Ladies are generally very well inclined, when they are desired for a Prince: but Nugnez could not accommodate with all that was offered him. He was as dutiful a Subject, as he was a dextrous Solicitor; and not being willing give the King any more than a bare diversion, it cost him some trouble to find out a Person handsome enough to please him, and yet not so complete as to work him into a passion. He thought he had met with one according to his mind, in the person of Maria de Padilla, one of the Maids of Honour to the Duchess of Albuquerque. This young Lady was witty and lively, she was young and handsome, and though she was neither of Beauty nor Quality sufficient to give any obstruction to the Marriage intended; yet she was well enough to satisfy his impatience till the Princess arrived. To relate the Formalities of our Monarch towards this Virgin, or the Virgins to the King, would be to charge our Annals with an impertinent Circumstance. Lovers of Don Pedro's Rank, are not subject to the Punctilios of a Romance. They carry their Mistresses by absolute Power, and it is not for them the Loveforms were devised. Nugnez told Padilla, the King likes you very well; and Padilla replied, What will his Majesty command me? but this bargain made with so much expedition, and consummated with so much ease, had not a conclusion suitable to its beginning. Padilla had athousand qualities capable of making a Lover happy, more than indifferent persons could discern. The vivacity of her Wit animated all her actions, her humour and complacency supplied the defects of her Beauty; and the King's Magnificence making her eminent for a natural inclination to neatness; Don Pedro at the very first found that his Mistress, which the Grand Master hoped he would never have discovered. He pressed his Ambassadors no more to dispatch; and the little concern he had for her return, making him think it precipitate when they did, he scarce believed the Princess was come out of Paris, when advice was brought that some body was to be Deputed to receive her upon the Frontiers. These tidings both surprised and afflicted him. He could have wished never to have heard it whilst he lived; but the Marriage of Kings being no jesting matter, there was a necessity that Don Pedro should pretend to be content. He dispatched Nugnez de Prade to attend the new Queen, and advancing himself some three days Journey from Burgos, in order to meet her, he resolved to content himself in this business as well as he could; but his Love for Padilla would by no means concur: her absence, though but for three days, seemed an Age to him. He must needs return to her, he could not endure the thoughts of marrying Blanch, and looking upon his lawful duty, as a desertion of his Mistress, he left the new Queen to shift for herself, and returned to his Padilla for consolation. When Nugnez understood the King had given Order for his Equipage to march back towards Burgos, he thought he had been misinformed, replied immediately to his Majesty, and finding him ready to take Horse, Why Sir, said he, in great astonishment, will you quit our new Queen before you see her? Consider I beseech you, you are but a days Journey from her? I know not, replied Don Pedro, whether that be enough for her, but I am sure 'tis too much for me. Is it, Sir, replied the Grand Master, that you have not found her as you had reason to have hoped, or that ill instructed in the obedience she owes you, she hath?— No, Nugnez, replied Don Pedro interrupting him, 'tis nothing of all that; 'tis only this, Don Pedro of Castille is not born for Blanch de Bourbon: Those who contrived this Meeting, knew neither of us both; and tob e short, she may return to France as she came, if her design be to be Queen of Castille: for she is nothing to me now, and never will be more. The faithful Nugnez discomposed exceedingly with this resolution, did what he could to make Don Pedro consider of what importance it might be: he represented the Power of the Duke of Bourbon by the accession of the Family of Valois to the Crown of France, the general interest of all Princes to vindicate an Affront to a Princess, so nearly related to the most Puissant of all the Christian Kings, the dissatisfaction of the Apoll stolick See, the murmurs of the people, and the injury he would do to his own Honour and Renown; but all these remonstances were in vain. Don Pedro departed without vouchsafing the Grand Master an Answer, leaving him to repent at leisure  e had recommended Padilla to be Mistress to the King. This faithful Favourite beholding at one Prospect the evils which this action would bring upon Castille, resolved as much as he could to divert it, by cajolling the new Queen. He prepared an eloquent Discourse to excuse her Entertainment, and after he had perused it, and was well satisfied with the Contents, he desired Audience of Blanch, and endeavoured what he could to justify Don Pedro. He pretended indisposition of body, and some imaginary Affairs of State to apologise for his departure; but there was no need he should trouble himself so far. Blanch was a Princess but of small Experience in the World, she had been brought up in a Monastery, where they make a scruple of opening their very Eyes, and she believed it was sufficient to have been married by Don Pedro's Ambassadors to make her Queen of Castille. When Nugnez perceived this Error, he was very much surprised. The King had given him to understand the Marriage was not consummate, he attended to see the Princess, mortally dissatisfied with her mistaken, and upon this point it was his Harangue was principally to insist: but whatever he could say to explain himself, and what address soever he used to eradicate that opinion out of Blanch (reserving the respect he ought to her Person) he found her invincibly persuaded she was Don Pedro's Wife already, and she blushed when she said it, as much as another Woman would have blushed at a far greater Crime. So profound an ignorance is rare in a Person of her Age; Nugnez could not contemplate it without astonishment, and adding pity to his wonder, by degrees both the one and the other produced sparkles of Love, which broke out at length into a most pernicious flame. Blanch was young, and of an excellent humour, and to be handsome, she wanted nothing but a desireto please, insomuch as our Grand Master fell in Love at a time when it was least suspected, and with the Person in the World he had the least design upon. In brief, his fidelity to his Master seemedto have shut up all the avenues of his heart against so criminal a passion: never was Subject more zealous for his Prince, and he had given a thousand instances of his affection. But what is it that Love cannot do? nugnez found Charms in the Innocence of Blanch, which Don Pedro looked upon as faults; he took no pleasurebut in the Company of the Princess, and the pretence of persuading his Majestyto his duty, giving him opportunity of frequent and long Conferences with the King, his passion increasedso fast by occasion of those interviews, he had scarce power to dissemble it. Had he consulted his own heart about the successof his Negotiation, he would have done what he could possibly to have caused it to miscarry. Which way soever he looked upon the King's aversion for Blanch, it could not be but advantageous to nugnez. First it threatened Castille with a dangerous War, and the Grand Master being chief Minister, that Menace must needs be grateful to him. Moreover it furnished the Courtiers with an opportunity of flattery, of which a Favourite may make a marvellous use, and if his Policy accommodated with this Divorce, the Reader may easily believe his Love would not be against it. But this generous castilian (being in reality more a Person of Honour than a Lover, or interested Subject) did as much to reduce his Master to what was just, as he had been to have received no advantage by his pertinacity. He conferred with the Duke of Albuquerque, Husband to Phidilla's old Mistress, and Nugnez particular Friend. The misfortune this Duke conceived it to have brought up the Person in his House, who was like to be the destruction of the Royal Family of Castille, made him more passionate for the interests of Blanch, than any other of the Grandees in that Kingdom. They went together to Padilla, they desired her (as Friends) that she wouldimploy all her Wit and Capacity with the King, to prevail with him to use Blanch as he was in duty obliged; but perceiving that under the Title of Friends they were not regarded, they changed their Character, they began to speak with authority, and threatened her with the resentment of the whole Kingdom, if she stopped not the course of an injustice, of which she was looked upon as the Author. Padilla was proud and witty, she discovered by the consequence how much she was nettled at this threat; but thinking that no time to hint her displeasure, she promised the Duke and the Grand Master she would contribute her utmost to Blanches satisfaction. But she had a care of being as good as her word; she had too much pride and ambition to make any serious prayers so contrary to her vanity and her hopes. Nevertheless the castilians (not being able to endure such an injury to their Nation, as the violation of their Faith solemnly engaged by public Authority, and the most confident persons amongst them) murmured highly against the injustice of it. The Grandees fell into Cabals, the Common-people into Factions, all things were tending to a Revolt. Leonora Queen Dowager of Arragon, Don Pedro's Aunt, apprehending the danger he was in, took the liberty to admonish her Nephew. She was eminent for her Courage, and is commended in History for her Eloquence above the rest of her Sex. She represented to this Monarch the deplorable Estate into which his Crown was running, unless he would observe at least some appearances of Honour and Justice with his Wife; and the property of Rhetoric being to give the strongest and most specious colours one can invent, to the evils he would avert, Leonora knew so well to delineate the misfortunes which threatened Don Pedro, that he thought them already upon his shoulders. He was a violent Prince, of a natural ferocity, to whom Posterity afterwards gave the firname of Cruel. As soon as the Queen his Aunt was departed, he sent immediately for Nugnez and having intimated his resentment against the Rebels, he told him that he found there was a necessity of preventing the Rebellion, and that the most probable was was by taking away the pretence, and removing Blanch into another World: that he was resolved to have her poisoned, and that knowing the zeal and fidelity the Grand Master had for his Service, he had pitched upon him for that Execution. If ever any Favourite in Love hath received from his Master Commission to murder his Mistress, he will easily comprehend how much Nugnez was delighted with this Discourse. He loved the King so entirely, he would rather have died a thousand deaths than have betrayed him; and he loved Blanch with a passion as violent as pure, and he loved only for Love's sake. When he considered Don Pedro as a most puissant Monarch, who honoured him hourly with his particular favours, he thought he could not obey his Orders too soon. When he reflected upon Blanch as an innocent Princess, deserving none of her misfortunes, and one he loved as his soul, he knew nothing so Sacred which he would not immolate to her safety. This perplexity having taken away his speech, the King asked him in an anger, if he was grown dumb since he came into his Closet. I wish, Sir, with all my heart, replied Nugnez, I were dumb indeed, I should then be excused for not answering the most strange, and to me the most cruel discourse I ever heard in my life. Why Sir? said he with his eyes fast fixed upon the King, will you take away the life of a Princess, who is guilty of no Crime, but not being so happy as to please you, and supports that misfortune with so much submission, her very patience ought to make your Majesty kinder! Do you call that submission, replied the King, interrupting him hastily, to form parties and publish remonstrances against me every day. I can no sooner stir out of my Palace, but I am assaulted by the Clamours of my people, crying out mutinously for their Queen. The Grandees of my Kingdom solicit me perpetually. The Queen my Aunt could not forbear denouncing of mischief. Would you have me sit still, and expect the Rebellion of my Subject with patience, and imprudently exposing myself to the indignation of the French, give myself up to the fury of my incensed Wife. No, Sir, replied Nugnez, I would have none of that: I would sooner die than entertain one thought into my Soul, contrary to your safety and your Kingdoms; and though I would spend every drop of my own, for the preservation of the Queen's blood, yet I am ready to let out that too, if your Majesty commands it. But I beseech you, Sir, continued the Grand Master, throwing himself at the King's feet, look upon the Consequences before you command me. Blanch is not one of your Majesty's Subjects, which you have advanced to your Throne by the mere motion of your goodness: she is illustrious for her Birth, for her Virtue, and nearly related to one of the greatest Kings in Europe. What does your Majesty think this great Monarch and his Allies will do, if he suspects you have made away a Princess of his own Blood, which upon your solemn solicitation he had given you for a Wife? Again, Sir, had not all formal Complacencies been denied, it had been possible a violent death might have passed for natural; but who do you think, I beseech you, will doubt of the truth, after the Treatment the unhappy Princess hath received from you. They would believe you, Sir, in great favour with Destiny, should they see you delivered so seasonably from a Wife you abhorred, without contributing any more to her death, than your bare desires. No, Sir, believe me, I beseech you, there will not be a person living but will conclude you joined your endeavours to your good wishes; and this opinion being once settled (as settled it will doubtless be) I leave it with all humility to your Judgement to consider what consequences it will produce. But what would you have me do then, replied Don Pedro, to secure myself against the perils to which our Divorce will expose me: for to live honourably with Blanch is more than I can do; I have an Antipathy against her which I cannot master, all her actions displease me, and I love Padilla even to adoration. Had I but either my Love or aversion to contend with, I might perhaps overcome one of them; but to combat them both at a time, and not content to tear a violent passion out of my heart, but I must undertake to put a person I hate naturally into its place, is a thing, my good Nugnez, I am not able to do. This, Sir, replied Nugnez, would not perhaps be so difficult to another, as it is to you. The Formalities which Hymen requires of a wise Husband, are not so incompatible with a foreign Amour; but seeing an accommodation which so many Husbands find easy, seems so impossible to your Majesty, enjoy your Padilla, and no other, your will ought to be our Law, and it is not for Subjects to expostulate against the desires of their Sovereigns. But, Sir, content yourself, I beseech you, with that liberty, and be not so far transported, as to dispose of a life the Heavens have not subjected to your power. Don Pedro replied, if I do not immolate her life to the security of my own, I am in danger of having mine sacrificed to the indignation of the French. Can you think so warlike and so potent a Nation can digest my treatment of Blanch, without attempting some thing to revenge it? And will they be more backward, think you, Sir, replied Nugnez, when they suspect you have destroyed her? The manner of her death will be doubtful, replied Don Pedro, which my aversion for her is not. Besides they may have hopes of forcing me to marry her whilst the Princess is living, of which she being dead, they must be desperate of course. To maladies that are curable, remedies are properly to be applied, but no body inquires after any for a man that is irrecoverable. In short, Nugnez, 'tis to no purpose to argue in a thing that is resolved. I will rid myself of Blanch, and if you deny me your assistance, I shall find others of my Subjects more zealous for my Service, and not so scrupulous, who will think it an honour to receive that Commission from my own mouth. Nugnez perceiving the King to be angry, and apprehending lest he should be really as good as his word, and give his Orders to some other person who would be more readily disposed to execute them than he: he pretended to be overcome with his reasons, and promised him to rid him of the Queen. But, Sir said he, suffer me, I beseech you, to do it my own way, and at my own leisure; do not precipitate an affair so well worthy of deliberation. We must first drive the French out of your Country, before we attempt any thing against a Princess of that Kingdom; we must pretend Plots and Machinations they were contriving in the State, thereby to lessen the esteem the people have for her; and by degrees we may give so great an appearance of Justice to her death, that though your Majesty should be suspected to have caused it, you could not be reproached with it. Don Pedro approved this last advice very well, and committing the whole care of that affair to Nugnez, he gave himself wholly over to his Recreations with Padilla. The amorous Nugnez, trembling with horror and fear for the discourse he had had with the King, and judging with reason, that if he did not pretend to execute his Orders severely, his Master would employ some body else, who would observe them more strictly, he began his hypocrisy by a general Banishment of all the French which attended the Queen: he pretended secret practices on their part, inconsistent with his Majesty's indulgence, or the security of the Queen: he clapped Guards about the unfortunate Princess, who under colour of securing her from Don Pedro, had private Orders to have a care of her safety; and fearing perpetually lest the King should repent himself of his patience, and hasten her death some other way than by him, he commanded her Guards to let no person whatever come near her, unless a Ticket was produced under Nugnez's hand. These charitable cares, appearing contrary to their particular motion, produced as much hatred in the heart of Blanch, as they ought to have done kindness and obligation. What have I done to you? Nugnez, said she to him one day, to be made the object of an injustice I could never hear you have exercised upon any but me. All Castille speaks of you as the most honourable Person it ever brought forth. Your compassion for the afflicted, and your respect for my Sex hath forced an esteem for you, even from your Enemies; and will you divest yourself of these qualities, to become the Persecutor of a poor Princess who never did you wrong, and had a great esteem for you, before you declared yourself the greatest Enemy she had. I, Madam, replied Nugnez, am I the greatest Enemy you have? And what other name, replied the Princess, can I give the man who keeps me in Prison, who banishes my own Country-Servants out of the Nation, and carries his Tyranny so high, my very Women are not suffered to come near me, but by his special permission. You will tell me perhaps the King hath commanded you to use me at that rate, but I cannot believe he can be guilty of so much injustice. It is you, Cruel you, who abuse his Authority, inverting it against a Princess devoid of all succour, and forcing her to Captivity, where she expected a Crown. But once again, what is it I have done? if I have given you any offence against my knowledge (which yet I cannot imagine) the pitifulness of my Condition ought to satisfy your Vengeance; and if I have never offended you, how can you be so cruel to treat me as you do? These words pierced poor Nugnez to the heart, he opened his mouth a hundred times to have told Blanch the truth, but his fidelity to his Master not suffering him to betray his Confidence, he contented himself with some particular actions which might undeceive the Princess, and rectify the false Ideas she had conceived, from the outward appearance of her affairs. There passed not a day but he sent her some little Present of Flowers, of Fruits, or of Essences: he provided her Voices and Music in some private part of her Apartment, to divert the tediousness of her Imprisonment. He got a Collection of fine Pictures, and rare Birds to furnish her Chambers, and speaking the French Language very well, he made Verses many times in that Tongue, which he presented her for her diversion. These little Civilities could not be kept so secret but these came to the Ears of Padilla. The Queen had a young Virgin attending her at that time, called Jane de Castro, with whom Fernandez de Hyvestrosa (one of Padilla's Uncles) was most desperately in Love. By her means this subtle Mistress had Intelligence of all that passed in Blanches Prison, and judging (by what she knew of the King's animosity) that he would be ill satisfied with Nugnez's Generosity, she believed she had now found a way of being revenged for the threats he formerly gave her. She conjured her Uncle to use all his Art for the discovery of the Intrigue betwixt the Princess and the Grand Master: for, said she to Fernandez, you may easily conceive Nugnez, who by the favour of the King is advanced to one of the chief Dignities of the Kingdom, would not by the disobeying of so good a Master expose himself, were he not tempted to that disobedience by some considerable design: he must doubtless have Intelligences with the French to the prejudice of the State, and we are so much bound to his Majesty's Bounty, I think we are obliged to prevent him any mischief we are able. Fernandez acting upon his Nieces Memoires, pressed Jane by his Letters, and his Discourse, to do as Padilla desired; and when she failed her expectation but a day, he would complain of his unkindness, in not returning her Answers; and at length having employed all the influence he had upon the affections of this Maid, to debauch the fidelity she ought to her Princess, he managed his affairs so well, he cajoled her out of these Verses which Nugnez had made (without her knowledge) and Jane de Castro had found in her Pocket, as she was putting her to Bed.  

Weak man not to adore a thing  
Whose every action, word, and glance  
Discovers nought but innocence,  
To the mst rigid and sagacious King.   

Cupid upon his Mother's knee,  
Tells not so harmlessly his Tale,  
Nor so effectually does prevail  
To make her love him, as she works on me.   

Rouse then unworthy man, and where  
Virtue for thy assistance calls;  
Beat off her fetters, and beat down her walls:  
Justice excites, and it is base to fear.   
Padilla had like to have killed herself with joy at the sight of these Verses, Fernandez explained them as he delivered them to her, and she running with them immediately to the King, possessed him highly against their innocent Love, and blackened his passion with such formidable Colours, that had the King followed the first motions of his anger, he had sent to have had Nugnez put immediately to death. But as he loved him very well, and could not easily forget the Services he had done him, he restrained himself in spite of his natural impetuosity. The Queen was at that time in the Castle of Maqueda, where Nugnez to remove her out of the sight of her Enemies, had caused her to be shut up. The Governor of the Castle had been put in by the Grand Master, and he had reason to believe he would be faithful to him, but there is no friendship nor acknowledgement proof against the Authority of ones natural Prince. Don Pedro sent for the Governor to him, he ordered him to receive certain Troops privately into the Castle, to be sure Nugnez knew nothing of them; and flattering his fidelity with as many fair promises, as he threatened his indiscretion with punishments if he refused, he caused the Garrison to be insensibly changed, and no Soldiers left of whom he was not secure. When he had used all this preliminary precaution, he ordered word to be brought him, when the Grand Master was with the Queen, and being desirous to evict him by his own Eyes, he repaired privately to Maqueda, forbade the Governor upon penalty of his life, to give the Grand Master any notice, and being conducted by Jane de Castro into a Closet near the Princess' Chamber, where that young Virgin was used to listen to their discourses, the King heard Blanch tell him, Were there yet in these Flowers you send me any Serpent concealed, or were they impregnated with any poisonous quality, that might put a speedy end to my miseries, I should say your heart began to mollify towards me: But I see well enough this Present is but a politic piece of Civility wherewith you season the injuries you do me, and which you would not practise, without doubt, were it not to rob me of the feeble consolation of complaining on you in all things. Nugnez was so much affected with a reproach he merited so little, that his patience was overcome: Why, Madam, said he to the Princess with his voice quite changed, would you more willingly receive poison from my hands, than these small Presents wherewith I endeavour to divert your sad thoughts? Yes without doubt, replied the Queen, I should look upon the poison as a token of your sincerity, whereas I consider all now but as so many tokens of your dissimulation. Certainly, Madam, replied Nugnez transported with sorrow, I have then complied very ill with your desires; for I have exposed my life and fortune, and do expose them every day in not giving you that poison, you are so earnest to have: and then his Love overflowing his fidelity and resolution, he began to discover to the Queen the discourse he had had with the King, the secret of his Conduct, which she had not perceived; and finding himself insensibly engaged to speak of his affection, be begun to make a perfect declaration. But Don Pedro prevented him for that, giving him no leisure to go through, he cried out Arm, Arm, and entering into Blanches Chamber with the Officers of his Guards, he caused Nugnez to be stabbed in his own presence immediately. The Queen would have run the same Destiny, if his opinion that he could convict her of Amours betwixt Nugnez and her, had not made him reserve her for more public Justice. He caused her to be removed and kept close in the Castle of Siquenca, and resolving to cut her off with more formalities than her Gallant, he returned to Burgos, as well satisfied with his Journey, as if he had gainned some considerable Victory. The mischievous Padilla heaped her Congratulations upon him, for so noble an action: Fernandez flattering himself with the hopes of the Grand Master's place in the favour of the King, could not satisfy his expectation with less than some eminent Dignity. But see the vanity of humane designs: Don Pedro, who had never looked upon Jane de Castro but with eyes prepossessed by Padilla, being at that time disposed to a change, he became enamoured of her when he saw her in the Castle of Maqueda. His heart was tender, Jane was amiable, and what had passed lately in Castille, having given Don Pedro a relish of injustice and impunity, he regarded not his Marriage with Blanch as an obstruction to his new desires: he gained two of the Bishops of his Kingdom to declare that his Marriage with the Queen not being consummate, it was lawful for him to take another as he pleased, and upon their bare Authority he married Jane de Castro publicly without any scruple. It is easy to judge Padilla and Fernandez de Hyvestrosa were nettled to the quick by this sudden Wedding. This ambitious Mistress, who could not endure so much as the shadow of a Queen upon the Throne of Castille, found it now in the full possession of an absolute Queen beloved by the King; and Fernandez, who flattered by the promises of his Niece, had been the secret Instrument of Nugnez's death, received no other fruit of his inhumanity, than a Banishment from the Court, and the loss of his Mistress, which he loved above the World. Had that Mistress of his been as sensible of Fernandez despair as he had reason to hope, she would have refused the Crown which was offered her; but that Age was like ours, they stood not much upon Constancy, the Glory of being a Queen outweighed the shame of infidelity, and let Lovers say what they will, a Crown is better than a Garland. In the mean time the unfortunate Blanch was alone in the Castle condoling the loss of her Grand Master, she understood then (but it was too late) the difference betwixt her past and her present Captivity: and the Image of Nugnez stabbed in her presence for her sake, caused such bitter remorses in her mind, she had much ado to keep herself alive. But we will leave her to mode her Complaints as she please, and prepare herself for that Poison which was given her some few days after, to give some relaxation to our Pen. The principal parts of these Annals having been mentioned before, it ought to be allowed us to repose after so rapid a Carieer: The rest of the Reign of Pedro de Castille is so  with Murders and Cruelties of all sorts, that I could not describe them without falling into a Tragical recitation, which I have always carefully avoided.    

THE ANNALS OF LOVE.  
THE FIFTH PART.  
JOhn Paleologus, Emperor of Greece, surnamed Calos (which in that Language signifies Fair) lived about two hundred years since. His Son Emanuel being gone with Supplies to the Emperor of Trebisonde his Ally, whom Mammomas Prince of Peloponesius had invaded with a formidable Army, fell in Love with the said Emperor's Daughter, and signified his Love to Calo-John. The Father loving his Son even to Idolatry, was so far from opposing his design, that he sent Ambassadors to the Emperor of Trebisonde to demand his Daughter for him, and it was granted; Emanuel was contracted to her, and took her away with him to Constantinople, where the Ceremony was to be consummate. This Princess was beloved by the same Mammomas who made War upon her Father; he had likewise demanded her in Marriage, but was refused, and upon that refusal he betook himself to his Arms. When he understood that to that rejection they had added the preference of another, he addressed himself to Amurah II. whose Ally he was, and who he knew watched for an occasion of making War upon the Greeks: he conjured him for his assistance, and Amurath's Policy accommodating with the request, he had a favourable Answer. He dispatched an Envoye to Calo-John to let him know, that Mammomas had demanded the Infanta, which was contracted to his Son; that Mammomas being an Ally of the Ottoman Empire, he was obliged to assist him, and to look upon all such as Enemies that opposed his Designs. This Declaration was as unjust as unseasonable. Emanuel was to be preferred before his Rival, in respect of his Dignity; besides the Infanta was within two days Journey of Constantinople: But the Power of the Turk being so terrible, that the Emperor of Greece judged it his best way to treat him with all imaginable Civility. He suspended the Marriage, sent an Ambassador to Amurath's to represent the pretences of his Son; and the Infanta being too far advanced to go back, was conducted to Constantinople, where she remained, as in deposito, till the Negotiation was ended. Emanuel was much troubled at the protraction of his happiness; nothing would satisfy him, but he must have Troops assigned him to go and fight with Armurah; he accused his Father of a compliance and condescension beneath his degree. But his desires and his murmurs were in vain, there was no remedy but patience. The Infanta (who loved him as ardently as he loved her) omitted nothing she could think of to comfort him in so tedious an attendance. She discovered to him in her Eye the extreme tenderness of her Heart: She studied his looks, and indulged his desires as soon as she descried them.  

Of all the remedies Nature e'er found,  
Or Art, to cure a pining Lovers pain;  
None cures so well, and closes up the wound  
So quick and safe, as to be loved again.   

Scorn or suspense to an inflamed desire,  
Throw fresh supplies of fuel on its fire.  
He who being loved, does happ' imself confess,  
Ceases to love, and spoils his happiness.   
Just so it was with the young Prince Emanuel, he began to be so accustomed to his felicity, and so familiarly with her, she became indifferent to him; there must be playing at Cards, a great deal of Company, or some other diversion, or he could not be kept a day together in his Mistress' Chamber; when in the public Walks the Princess according to her usual manner applied herself particularly to him, Love had less share in his discourse than the fall of a Cascade, or the form of a Statue. The Infanta was not long before she discovered this Change; but those who love exceedingly, are apt to flatter themselves with the thought that they are beloved again, though never so little. The Prince having been one day two hours together with the Princess in the Gardens belonging to the Palace, without speaking one word to her, but of Flowers and Plants: How long, Sir, said she smiling, is it since you have been a Florist? have you no other discourse to entertain me with but of them? How would you have me entertain you, Madam, replied the Prince, all my stock of Compliments and Protestations are exhausted? The Princess blushed at his answer; but imagining the Prince said it only to sound her, she replied, I shall not run, Sir, into all the Traps that are laid for me, and you may feign yourself indifferent long enough, before I shall believe it is possible. I am not indifferent indeed, replied the Prince, I love you as much as I am capable of loving; but all things, Madam, have their season: the fears and the passions of other Lovers belong not to us; you ought to believe I love you, and I am very well satisfied you have no hatred for me; you give me no occasion to be jealous, and I do few things you are not witness to yourself. What is it then I should discourse of? what have I else to say to you? or what have you else to demand? Why, Sir, said the Infanta, interrupting him, is it possible you should speak from your heart? do not you find in your affections an inexhaustible bank of obliging things to say to me? and can you who have triumphed and boasted of your great skill in loving well, be ignorant that whatever is spoken by Lovers to their Mistresses, is always accompanied with some new grace or other to recommend it? You speak, Madam, like a Lady in a Romance, replied the Prince; and I should take great pleasure to read your Highness' Maxims in a Book; but to practise them, I find very incommodious. Believe me, Madam, we ought to love like rational Creatures, take that part of it that is agreeable, and leave the troublesome behind; Fears, and Jealousies, and Emotions have had their time: 'tis but reasonable now that Confidence and Tranquillity should have theirs. Ha! Sir, said the Princess, with tears in her Eyes, than I see you love me no longer, that confidence and that tranquillity you speak of are incompatible with true Love. Alas! Sir, continued she, if you be already come to the indifference and lukewarmness of a Husband, before I am your Wife, what am I to hope for when our Marriage is consummate? Whether the Prince was not yet hardened enough to see the tears of the Infanta running down her Cheeks without compassion; or whether the Title of unconstant gave him some kind of regret, but he did what he could to pacify his Mistress: He conjured her not to frame Chimaeras to herself so repugnant to her repose; he protested he loved her with as much ardour as she could desire. But he being perfectly cured, and Love having the only power to delineate itself, there was not one action he did, but gave his protestations the lie. He became gallant and frolic among the Ladies; he commended them for Beauties before his Mistress, and as the highest instance of his tranquillity, he neither observed the troubles which he caused, nor apprehended what he did that could cause them. The Emperor's eye was not so dull, it was not for nothing Nature had made him worthy of the surname of Fair, he had been always as subject to be in Love with other people as other people were to be in Love with him, and though History represents him at that time sixty years old, yet 
Age undertakes in vain to make defence,  
Where Custom has betrayed the Fort before.  
Love's an ill habit seizing on the sense,  
And th' more we've loved, making us love the more.   
The Emperor sent for his Son, and having remonstrated to him, and rebuked him for his coldness to the Infanta, he demanded, if he had discovered any new fault in her, which he perceived not before; if she had betrayed him in any thing already; or if he apprehended she would do for the future. No, Sir, replied the Prince, the Infanta is as wise as she is fair, and I have no cause at all to complain of her proceed. Why then, said the Emperor, do not you love her as well as you have dose. It is; Sir, replied the Prince, because there is nothing eternal here below; do you know, Sir, any thing upon the Earth but hath an end? or can any man instance in an Amour that lasted as long as the Lover lived? I confess, says the Emperor, there is nothing more common than variation in Love; but those variations have their Causes, either in the possession of the thing they love, or in the attraction of some new Mistress: Can you pretend either of the two? what new Lady is it has captivated you, or has the Infanta's good Nature permitted your Love to advance so far, that it is at its achme, and must of necessity decline? No, Sir, replied the Prince, I have neither of those reasons to pretend; the Infanta is virtuous, and I must needs say deserves to be better beloved: but, Sir, no man is master of his own sentiments, and it is as vain as unjust for a Mistress to call her Servant to an account for inconstancy; as we love many times in spite of our teeth, so we cool and abate in our Loves, and sometimes give quite over without any reasonable cause. However, replied the Emperor, for a passion to stop in the middle of its Career, as yours has done, is a thing I have not heard of before: whether it be more, or whether it be less, you love the Infanta still, though but indifferently, and that indifference is but the effect of some extraordinary kindness she has shown you which has satiated your desires. I beseech you, Sir, replied Emanuel, do not trouble yourself with those apprehensions, I am nothing at all of what you think, and nothing else but what I tell you; I have not those violent passions and inquietudes I formerly have had, but it is only because I fancy them unseasonable; I look upon myself now as the Master of the Infanta's affections, she has no Intrigue, nor Jealousy, I tell her what I please, I see her when I please, and I am assured I shall possess her: whence then should I derive my apprehensions? what reason have I to lie sobbing, and counting the minutes, when I can speak to her when ever I desire? why should I be jealous, when I am satisfied I have no Rival? Take away these emotions from Love, the case will be mine, and nothing remaining but what is in me. The Emperor was transported to hear his discourse; yet it was not without regret for fear he should return: This coolness of yours, Son, replied the Emperor very slyly, can never last long; those who are accustomed to the pleasures of Love, cannot so easily renounce them, it is hard for one to clear himself of the secret transports, the amorous disquiets, the fears, the impatiences; and in a word, the whole train of indispensable consequences which attend upon that passion; they do so pleasantly possess the Soul they inhabit, the very want of them is troublesome, when the passion ceases. On the contrary, Sir, replied Emanuel interrupting him, I must tell you (if it be lawful for me to be of an opinion opposite to yours) that the Effects of Love which create that violence in the beginning, hastens, may precipitate the Cure; when a Lover is but once arrived at this, that he can look soberly upon his Love, I cannot imagine how it was possible my reason could dispense with the extravagancies I have committed: I am ashamed of my former Errors, and I do now find them a great corroboration to my Philosophy. Not, Sir, but I am resolved to marry the Infanta of Trebisonde, because I have promised it, and I dare promise you to live with her as you will desire: But I beseech you, Sir, oblige me no farther than the Civilties and Formalities of a Husband; the ardencies and violences of Love are not to be expected from me. This was a point the Emperor had no design to press upon his Son, and therefore he left him without expostulating farther, and forming his hopes upon what he had told him, he clapped such persons about the Infanta, as were buzzing perpetually into her Ears, That the Emperor was not troubled with any of the incommodities of old age; That in Activity and Courtship he outdid all the rest of his Court, and, That doubtless he was so vigorous and strong, his Son was like to languish a long time, before he could expect to arrive at the Empire. To these discourses (which were delivered as it were by accident) they added more positive. The Prince gave no tokens of his indifference to the Infanta, but the Emperor made her sensible of them; if he left her, as it happened often, to speak to another Lady; What an Age do we live in, Madam, would he cry: in my time it was esteemed a Crime to lose the least moment a man could dedicate to his Mistress, we thought we had never time enough to speak our affections: and when Emanuel contradicted his Mistress in any thing, Do you believe, would he say, that when I was a young man, it would have been permitted a Servant should have been of one mind, and his Mistress on another? no certainly, their Love or their Breeding was better than so, and when I was at the age of Emanuel, if I should have been guilty of doing that once, which he practices continually, I should have been thought the most giddy and inconstant Lover in the World. How! said he another time, does Emanuel converse with other Ladies in your presence, and I not find his Eye upon you all the time of his discourse? Believe me, Madam, said he, you must discipline this young man, and teach him his duty a little better, his felicity besots him, and you will lose him in time, if you give him not now and then a quarter of an hours experience of your rigour. The Princess made use several times of Calo-Johns advice, but without any success: The Prince was never the more fond for those kind of Artifices; he found the Infanta always sweet enough upon him to serve his turn, and when she was angry, it concerned him less than when she was kind. As he was in this disposition, the Emperor had advice that Mammomas having insinuated with certain Lords of a Province belonging to the Empire, not far from Peloponessus, had debauched them to a Revolt: He sent the Prince Emanuel with an Army to reduce them, and in his absence declaring to the Princess what he understood of the indifferencies of his Son, he knew so well how to represent to her the resentment a discreet Woman ought to conceive, when she finds herself despised by her Husband, and described all the Discourses he had held with his Son, so exactly, that he found he had stirred up her indignation before he was ware. The Letters she received from Emanuel, did not a little confirm the suggestions of his Father: They contained nothing but indifferent relations; and if indispensable Civility caused him to mention any thing of Love, it was so flat and insipid, it was easily to be discerned he did it by constraint. One would have thought he had apprehended the vigilance of some jealous person; he expressed his desires so indifferently, one would have thought his prudence had retained the best half of his mind. He forgot himself one day so far in his tranquillities, that he gave a most excellent Character of Mammomas to the Infanta, not considering he was his Rival, and such a Rival as had been able to keep him from the possession of his Mistress. This is too much, cried the Princess, when she read the Letter, the Prince at length tires out my patience, and I shall be reproached all Greece over as an insensible person, if knowing how Emanuel uses me, I let him not understand again that I am not ignorant of ways to revenge myself. And this resolution was no sooner taken than executed. The Infanta told the Emperor, that she was at last grown weary of the Prince's neglects; that she would die a thousand deaths before she would marry him; and that she was come to acquaint him, she would sacrifice herself, before she would submit to the Conditions of the Treaty. This was it the Emperor designed: he commended her resentment, protested the deportment of his Son was no less ungrateful to his Ears than to hers, and wishing with all his heart he had been of an age to make her reparation himself, he solicited her to vengeance so hard, that at length she listened to his Proposals. She writ a Letter to the Emperor of Trebisonde by agreement with Calo-John; the Packet was delivered into the hands of an Agent, very faithful to the Emperor, and of a Wit as considerable as his fidelity. It would be requisite to delineate Calo-John exactly as he was at that time, to make the Reader conceive all that Love is able to make a man of his age do. He broke the brains of all the Officers of his Chamber to invent him new dresses; he trusted none but his own Eyes in the choice of the Colours he wore, and passing whole hours in conversation with his Glass; What thinkest thou, Calo-John, said he to himself, how dost thou like this Figure in the Glass? this Complexion, is it not fine? these Eyes, are they not soft and well made? they are not so sparkling indeed, as when I was young; but in Love the softness and sweetness of the Eye doth more execution many times, than the quickness and vivacity: What say you to this Shape, this Leg, this whole Contexture? said he, marching two or three steps with great magnificence. Ha! Calo-John, 'tis not for nothing the Infanta of Trebisonde prefers you to your Son; thou art a thousand times handsomer and more desirable than he, and this Election of the Princess is an effect of the solidity of her Judgement, rather than a token of her anger. Whilst the Emperor was pleasing himself in this manner in his own Efficacy and Merits, his Son had reduced the Rebels to the Terms his Father desired, and there being nothing left to detain him longer upon the Frontiers, he returned to Constantinople with the same serenity he departed. He found the Princess much colder to him than formerly, and the Emperor more spruce, but he did not concern himself for either; he was glad to find the Princess no more troublesome, and did not dive into the fineness of his Father. He recounted his Exploits to his Mistress in the same style he had writ them; and she told him (Ironically) she was much obliged to him for the description he had given her of Mammomas; that she had a great honour for his qualities, and that she did not believe when she vanquished his heart, she had had so illustrious a Captive. Our Lover being hardened, took all in the literal sense, and justified every tittle he had mentioned in his Letter: A good way to moderate the transport of a Mistress at the return of her Servant. The Infanta's indignation increased every hour, and the affairs of the Emperor went better and better. He failed not to ply her with thanks, both by Letters, and word of Mouth; and supposing his acknowlegments would be more eloquent in Verse than in Prose, he rubbed up his old fancy for a Paper of good Verses. Our Memoires do not represent them in a style à la mode, as to their Art or Invention, but his ardour and sincerity is conspicuous in them to this day. One time when he had outdone himself in the expression of the felicity he promised to himself, the Princess by ill Fortune dropped the Paper before the Prince, who taking it up, had a Curiosity to read it contrary to his Custom, but the Infanta discerning what it was; Do not read it, Sir, said she to him, they are Love-Verses. Emanuel smiled, and not believing what she said, I am sufficiently your Friend, Madam, replied he, to be entrusted with your Secrets; and having said those words, opened the Paper. The Princess clapped her hand upon it, and told him, you do not believe me, and yet I'll assure you I say true: Yes, said the Prince, interrupting her a little angrily, I do believe you, it may be some body makes Love to you: but I will see, by your favour, after what manner he doth it;  it be, he is something audacious, and has chosen an ill field to engage in; and then forcing the Paper from the Infanta, and knowing it to be the Emperor's hand; How, says he smiling, is it the Emperor in truth? let's see if he can make Love as well now as of old.  

When my poor heart's already laid  
In dust, for Love of gentle Maid,  
What boots it to call out for aid?   

My blood burnt up, my vigour spent,  
Mine Enemy omnipotent,  
What boots it, boots it, to lament?   

And yet methinks my hopes contend,  
And still inculcate, mark the end,  
Your enemy shall prove your friend.   

Ah! gentle hopes don't flatter me,  
I should (should I that minute see)  
Happier than in my Empire be.   
Emanuel thought the Emperor had but jested before, and looking upon it as a design of the Infanta's to make him jealous, he laughed in his sleeve at the innocence of the project. But when he perceived the Emperor was in earnest, he began as seriously to be displeased; Sure, said he, the Affairs of the Empire are but very few, when the Emperor can have leisure to employ himself about such trifles. You did not formerly, replied the Infanta, call the marks you gave me of your passion, Trifles? It is not the same case, replied the Prince, I was in Love, Calo-John is not. He believes he is, more than you, and truly I am of opinion it will last longer. Emanuel thought the Princess had jested, and yet that kind of jesting he did not like; he went to wait upon the Emperor, and showing him the Verses he had taken from the Princess; I beseech you, Sir, said he, will you divert yourself some other way, than by writing these Love-things to the Infanta of Trebisonde; I know it is but in sport, and that you have no intention to be serious; but they may accustom her to them, and she be brought by degrees to receive them from some body else: and you know, Sir, a man cannot be too cautious in things of that nature. That care, replied the Emperor (without any emotion) belongs to me, I shall have such an eye over her Conduct, you shall not need to trouble yourself at all. I confess, Sir, replied the Prince, as you are my Father, the deportment of her who is designed to be my Wife, may concern you; yet that concern is but small, in comparison of what a Husband ought to have. I know all those differences Emanuel, said the Emperor, and therefore I tell you, you need not trouble yourself. How unlikely soever it was, the Emperor should be enamoured of the Princess who was contracted to his Son, the Prince knowing his Father's temper, conceived violent suspicions thereof. He returned immediately to the Princess, and perceiving his old flames to rise out of this spark of Jealousy; Can it be possible, Madam, said he to the Princess, that the Verses you let fall, and I took up, should have been written in earnest? Why, Madam, and would you receive Propositions of Love from my Father? Yes, Sir, replied the Infanta, I would do any thing might rescue me from your disdain; you have made it, Sir, too manifest, and my patience would not have been any longer the effect of my fidelity, but of a baseness without excuse or example. Emanuel was startled at these words, as if they had been Thunder. I did not believe, Madam, said he to the Infanta, you could have taken the marks of right reason for disdain, they being always the infallible consequences of a declared Love. I looked upon you always as a discreet Lady, and thought it would be more acceptable to you, if I behaved myself as a Husband before you were my Wife, than to have changed my deportment afterwards: But, Madam, since I see you are not of my mind, I must hereafter serve you according to your own; return to me, and I shall return to every thing that will please you, you have no more to do, but to make the Laws, and it shall be my care to obey them all, Madam, but renouncing my interest in you. Anger is a cheat, and seldom as good as its promise: The Infanta had reason indeed, and was really angry with Emanuel; he had neglected her, he had given her a thousand indications of the declension of his Love, and he had added discourse to his actions; Nevertheless when she saw him submit, and repent, and remembered that he was the same Prince she had loved so entirely before, her Choler was dissipated, she forgot what she ought to the hopes of the Emperor, and the declarations she had made to him, and she began to renew her Commerce with the Prince upon new Conditions, when Calo-John entered into her Chamber. He had Advertisement that Emanuel was gone to make the Infanta a Visit, and was not ignorant that Love was capable of Reconciliation. Did not I tell you this morning, said he very hastily to his Son, you need not trouble yourself any farther for any thing relating to the Princess, for I myself would take that care upon me; How comes it then, Emanuel, your eye is still so vigilant over her? I thought, Sir, replied the Prince, I had been obliged to have a care over her, both by your order, and the Emperors her Fathers. Those Orders were given long since, replied Calo-John, but now they are out of doors. You told me yourself you had no passion for the Princess, and that you would not marry her for any other reason but because you had promised. I am so good a Father, I will not hold you to that promise; I understand Marriage very well, and I know it is as much as one can do to live contentedly with a Woman that he loves, how then can you expect to live well with one you do not love at all? The Prince would have replied, and protested he loved the Infanta as well as he ever did in his life: but the Emperor who had no mind to those kind of protestations, interrupted him, and commanded him to be gone. The Command seemed something harsh, the Prince endeavoured to disobey, and replies, growing hot: the Prince let fall some words, which were not perhaps exactly according to the Rules of Respect, whereupon the Emperor caused him to be seized: And this point of rigour recalled all the kindness the Infanta had ever had for him; she prayed, she pressed, and her importunity increased rather than extenuated his Crime: Love took up his rest now in the heart of the Princess; she repent she ever had repent, and would not endure to hear the Emperor's pretensions so much as mentioned any longer. In the mean time whilst things were in this posture, an Envoyé arrived from the Emperor of Trebisond: The said Emperor, Father to the Infanta, had been much troubled to consent to the Exchange; he was a severe Prince, and his resolutions : Nevertheless the dexterity of the Agent was such, he was overpowered, and consented that the Princess should marry Calo-John, but it was with such express Order to change no more, that the Princess durst never disobey: And to complete the ruin of Emanuels' Affairs, Mammomas being by Amurath suspected of an Intelligence with a Prince of Transilvania, who refused to admit him for his Sovereign; the Turkish Emperor deserted him, and left him to Calo-John to be infested as he pleased. In short, he married the Infanta of Trebisond, notwithstanding all the opposition she made; her Father commanded it, the Emperor was absolute, and Princesses of her Rank are but Sacrifices to Policy and Convenience, insomuch that Nature would have very much obliged the greatest part of them, had she brought them into the World without hearts: It is not to be expressed the rage Emanuel conceived at the News of this Wedding, but the effects which ensued may in some measure discover it. He escaped out of Prison, implored the Assistance of Amurath, and conducting him as it were by the hand to the Throne Imperial of Greece, he gave the fatal blow to that flourishing Empire; for which Frenzy he was sufficiently punished himself by the ingratitude of the Turk, who not keeping one tittle of all the promises he had made him, caused him to end his days miserably without his eyes, and without any other Dignity than a private place among his Janissaries: and the great Grecian Empire escaped no better than he. But the Divine Justice which revenged Calo-John for the evils his Son's fury had brought upon him, hath not as yet revenged the infidelity of their common Tyrant.  
The Order we have observed hitherto in our Chronology, 
Amedy Duke of Savoye.  conducts us insensibly to the Occurrences in the Life of Amade Duke of Savoy, whom some people call Amés, a Person so well known in History by the name of Felix the Antipope. He was of an amorous Complexion, and (it frequently happening that the Courtiers are the Apes of the Actions of their Princes) those which were performed by this Duke, were immediately followed by the whole Court: So that he being Voluptuous, his Court became a very School of Luxury and Debauchedness. All Offices and Honours were conferred according to their amorous Exploits, and Love becoming the Standard of Merit, such as were the most susceptible of that passion, were most gracious with their Prince: For these reasons and such other, the Marquis of Savona was in particular Favour: He was not the Duke's Subject, but had so linked himself to him by his good Services, that he was become the Depository of his Secrets, the Dispenser of his Graces, and the Companion of his Debauches. One night as they were marched together to visit a Lady (some few Leagues from Turin) for whom the Duke had a great kindness, and the Marquis managed the affair, they lost themselves in a Wood through which they were to pass, and at last found themselves at a House belonging to the Count de la Moriene: This Count had several years before banished himself voluntarily from the Court; he had received a wound at the beginning of this Duke's Reign, which had almost taken away his Eyes, and having not thought himself rewarded for so important a loss, he retired into the Country where he lived very privately. Some indispensable Affairs having called him to a House he had near Turin, he was obliged to make a Visit there, and was returned some few hours before the Duke lost himself, and was brought thither: When Amede and his Favourite discovered that House, they resolved to repose themselves, it was late, they had wandered a long time, and were something wet with the Rain. The Marquis clapped Spurs to inquire whose House, but when he was told it belonged to the Marquis de la Moriene, and that he was at home, he returned to the Duke to let him know they must march on, for that Count was an old Stoic, who would not fail to wipe them for being abroad, and in that Equipage so late: We must conceal my Name then, replied Amede, his sight is not very good, he hath not been this long time at the Court, I have but few of my Guards about me, and they no Liveries or other Marks to discover them: Ha! Sir, replied the Marquis, Sovereigns are not to be concealed in their own Countries, a Picture, the meeting of a Servant that hath seen you in the streets of Turin, the respect your own Equipage will show you and in short, a thousand little things will discover to the Count, that you are the Duke of Savoye. Well, if he does, replied the Duke, that inconvenience is less than to be drowned in the Rain, or break one's Neck off of one's Horse. If the Count knows me, I will be even with him for some Censures I have heard of his; and if he doth not, reposing a while at his House, we shall be the better afterwards to proceed in our Journey; upon which the Duke spurred on to the Count's house, and commanding his Retinue to take no notice who he was, he pretended to be one of the little Princes of Italy, with which that Country swarms. It was not out of Honour or Concernment for the Duke, that the Marquis of Savona had no mind to repose at this place. The Count de la Moriene had a handsome Lady to his Wife, which was related to the Marquis, and with whom, the History says, there was more than one kind of proximity. By reason of the morosity of her Husband, she never came to Court; but she pretended business now and then at her house by Turin, where the Marquis would meet her. He doubted not but she was then with her Husband, and knowing how ready the Duke was to take fire, he had a strong apprehension he would be smitten with the Countess. Word was carried in to the Count de Moriene, that a Person of Quality desired to see him, and that the Marquis of Savona, his Wife's Cousin, was of the Company, he came forth himself to receive them. He presented them with what the time of night, and the small time the Count had been there, could afford, and whilst they were at their Repast, Amedy having declared that he was making a Visit to the Duke of Savoye, and had mistaken his way Turin, the Count interrupted him, and told him, You had best, Sir, be sure the Duke be there, before you go thither yourself, for he is seldom to be found where he ought to be looked for; his pleasures invite him to so many places, where one would never expect to find him, that without good store of Scouts 'tis not easy matter to discover him. You know the Duke, replied the Marquis something hastily, but by other people's report, you have seen him yourself so little for these feveral years, you can say nothing upon your own knowledge; were you better acquainted with him, you would not speak at that rate. It is not necessary to see one's Sovereign, to know him, replied the Count, we judge of them by their actions, of which they have so many Witnesses, the report of them is not to be kept out of the most remote or obscure part of their Dominions; and then thundering out a long Declamation against Amedy and his Reign, there was not a Libel, or a mutinous Expression that escaped him. The Marquis could give him no sign to restrain him; for the Count had an infirmity in his Eyes, and could not perceive him. The Regale was something rare for the Duke; and as is to be supposed wanted no seasoning. People which are satiated with pleasures, are commonly very eloquent in decrying them. The Countess entered as the Philosopher was in the midst of his Ethics, and the Duke not being so much unknown to her, as to her purblind Husband, there was not an Apology of which she made not use to excuse the Error of the Count The old Stoic could not without great difficulty be brought to so much as to counterfeit Repentance, he declared that the Equipage of the Duke of Savoye gave Authority to all he could say; that it would be well for that Prince if he had such Adventures oftener, and applauded himself in what he had done, as it had been the best action of his life; all the Remonstrances of the Marquis, and all the entreaties of the Countess were little enough to persuade him to ask pardon: and he did well to be so difficult, for all they importuned him to, was to no purpose; the Duke found the Countess too handsome to pardon her Husband. When he was departed, and found himself at liberty to deliver his thoughts: Ha! Savona, cried he, how charming is this Countess? how could you forbear boasting of her Beauty till now? and knowing my inclination to handsome Ladies, why have you not solicited me to send for her to Court? I did not perceive, Sir, there was any want of her there, replied the Marquis something gravely: there were so many Ladies already handsomer than she, I thought she would not be desired. Do you say, said the Duke to him a little short, there is any thing in Savoye handsomer than the Countess? Yes, Sir, without doubt, replied the Marquis, the Lady you are going to visit, is in my Eye much handsomer. You know not what is Beauty then, replied the Duke, or you do not consider what you say: there is nothing upon the Earth so amiable as the Countess, I must have her to Turin, the temerity of her Husband hath given me occasion to cause him to be arrested; and his Wife will not fail to solicit for his liberty: let us haste back again to put this Artifice in execution, I have no further business with the Lady I was going to see, for the Countess de la Moriene hath at present the whole possession of my Soul. These words were as so many mortal wounds in the heart of the amorous Marquis. He conjured the Duke to remember that the Countess was his Kinswoman, and not to make such a breach on the favours wherewith he had honoured him; he alleged that it would be believed at Court, his Credit and Influence upon his Highness was lost, when it should be seen that the Husband of so near a Relation of his, was treated with that rigour. What he hath said of me, replied the Duke, aught to render him odious to all that love me: and you ought to have been the first to have demanded his punishment. Besides, Savona, the design I have imparted to you ought not to alarm your punctilios of Consanguinity, you may be sure I will do your Kinswoman no harm, I will rescue her out of a Desert, where she cannot but live with much trouble & reluctancy; I will give her the choice of all things a witty Woman ought to Ambition; and if she understands how to manage her own Fortune, what you look upon as the unhappiness of the Count, will prove at last the Establishment of his Family. As he resolved, so he did: he sent to the Count de la Moriene's House to apprehend him; he caused him to be committed to a Tower, where his greatest Prisoners were usually disposed; and that he might he more commodiously enjoy the solicitations of the Countess, he retired for some time to the Castle of Thonon, situate upon the Lake of Leman, it being a Countryhouse in which he principally delighted. The Imprisonment of the Count de Moriene made a terrible noise in the Court of Savoy. Such as were rigid and morose condemned it exceedingly, and called it no less than violence and injustice. Some whose penetration was better than their Neighbours, suspected the true cause, whilst others who were guided by their Interest, continued their respect, alleging he did well to punish the insolence of that man, That in the actions of Sovereigns all things were to be regarded as the Conduct of Providence; that that which was ungrateful to their Subjects, might have a higher cause than they could comprehend, and that God Almighty would not have subjected so many to the power of one man, had not he resolved to take particular care to direct him. In the mean time the Countess de la Moriene repairs with all speed to Thonon, as the Duke had prudently foreseen. The Marquis went out to receive her, and entreated she would be pleased to accept of his Apartment. When she was arrived, Well, Madam, said he, you are now at Thonon? the Court must be your ordinary Residence; the Deserts where my Love found you out first, must have the honour of possessing you no longer, and the effects of your Beauty hath given you the same authority with the Duke, as you had before with the Marquis of Savona only. What do you mean by effects of Beauty, replied the Countess, and authority with the Duke? Are these the marks of his kindness, which make you jealous? Ha! Madam, replied the Marquis, you are not yet acquainted with the Intrigue, the Duke was in Love with you as soon as ever he saw you; your Husband's offence is but a pretence to get you hither, and the Count de la Moriene had never been a Prisoner, but that you might be forced to solicit for his enlargement.  

Whenever man does for himself intent,  
And counts the minutes tedious till it fall.  
Nature and sense gives warning of his friend,  
And, above all things, bids not trust at all.   

However easy't be, 'tis prudence still,  
To make ones own design impossible.   
The Countess gave no Credit at first to the Marquis' Discourse, she imagined it nothing but the artificial terror of a prying Lover, to whom every thing gives occasion of Jealousy; and not thinking of any thing but the business she came about, she desired the Marquis to present her to the Duke. The Duke received her very supercilliously, the better to play the part of an offended Sovereign, and gave her just cause to tell the Marquis he was mistaken in his Conjecture, and that an amorous Person as he had represented himself, could not be capable of so much austery. But not long after meeting her at the Countess of Geneva's, his Sister's House, he took her into a Terrace to show her the Prospect: And to speak truth the pretence was well laid, for doubtless it is one of the best and most pleasant in the World. The first Object which presents itself is the Lake of Leman, with two or three Villages upon the side of it, from whence expatiating upon certain Mountains, some of them barren, others more beholden to Nature, but all covered with Snow; it gins to abate upon the ruins of a Triumphal Arch, which seem as left there on purpose to make that Prospect superlative. The Countess having observed all of them with a most judicious discernment, gave the Duke an opportunity as he desired himself. A Lady that could not so well have distinguished the pleasures of this Province, as you have done, Madam, said he to her, would have preferred this Prospect before the insociable Walks of a solitary Wood, and yet you, Madam, are not of that opinion, for I dare lay a Wager, the Castles of the Count de la Moriene please you much better, than the place where you are. I am contented, Sir, wherever Fortune disposes me, replied the Countess, I have always been told we must conform to her humour and Capricio, if we would live quietly without agitation, and therefore, Sir, as she hath hitherto given me to understand I am born for the Castles of the Count de la Moriene, and not for Thonnon, I must confess to your Highness' one of my greatest Requests to her is, that I may obtain a sudden dismission, and return to my old Deserts again. But, Madam, replied the Prince, if this Fortune you speak of should cause you to change your Deserts for the Court, would you appeal from her Decrees? and notwithstanding your inclination and promptitude to live with the Count, could you not be as happy with the Duke of Savoy? I never, Sir, create Chimaeras to myself, replied the Countess, I am ordained to live with the Count de la Moriene, and not to such Honour as your Highness proposes: suffer me, I beseech you, to bond my desires with my power. You know not yourself how far your power extends, Madam, replied the Duke, I know the effects of it much better than you; and if your desires be accordingly, you shall have as much felicity in having captivated the Duke of Savoy to your Charms, as you had power to do it: You do but sport yourself, Sir, with my misfortunes, replied the Countess, and add your mirth to the calamity of my Husband's imprisonment. If, Madam, replied the Prince, you believe not what I say, I must give you a Witness, and then calling the Marquis of Savona to him, who was about four paces off, so mad and transported with Jealousy, he was a hundred times ready to run in, and interrupt them. He commanded him to tell the Countess what he knew of his affection for her; If it was not true that he loved her at first sight, that ever since it hath daily increased, and that now it was at that height, there was nothing in his power but she might promise herself from its violence. It was a hard task for Savona to assure his Mistress of the Love of his Rival: He did all that was possible to have evaded it; he told the Duke there was no need of further evidence where he had affirmed, for his own assertion was above all other Authority. No, no, replied the Prince; 'tis not an Elegy I desire at your hands, tell me sincerely without these Prologues, what you know of my Love. His Command was so positive, and uncapable of delay, he was forced to speak and tell whatever the Duke pleased the Couness should know. This Discourse was made with so much constraint, the Marquis is to be excused in whatever he said; but the Countess taking it in dudgeon, reproached him by his Compliance in most biting and acrimonious terms. You ought, said she to him Ironically, yourself have delivered me up to the desires of the Duke, there wanted nothing but that excess of obedience, for you to have discharged yourself honourably; you were the first who brought me the News of Amedy's Love; your perpetual suspicions assure me of its perseverance, and that he might be sure not to be ignorant that you had told me, you confirm in his presence, what you told me in private, Complete all, good Marquis of Savona, and go and tell him the ways you took to surprise me yourself, you own that confidence to the benefits of so incomparable a Master. The Marquis alleged several Arguments in his defence, but he could not prevail with her to admit them: As one is always innocent, whilst he pleases, so when he gins to displease, he is always to blame. The Countess had taken up a fancy, that the Marquis was culpable; and to perfect the ruin of his affairs, Amedy having Intelligence that the Emperor Sigismond was at Lions, sent the Marquis of Savona thither, to make his Compliments from him. The Duke was obliged to him for the Erection of Savoy into a Duchy, which carried the Title only of a County, till the said Emperor's Journey into France in the year 1416. and could not do less than testify his acknowledgements by that Embassy; and this Commission being one of the most honourable in Amedy's donation, he cast his eyes upon his Favourite as the most proper Person to receive it. At another time he would have accepted it with thanks, but then he looked upon it as the fatal period of his Amours. He would fain have expressed his apprehensions to the Countess, and have conjured her to have opposed them; but she cut him short still with this, Have you not promised the Duke, said she smiling, to come and tell me from him, that he is resolved to take the advantage of your absence, and that it is upon that design you are sent away? I remember when first you told me of his Love, you did it with some pretences of fear, and I expect to see you called in for a Witness at your return, of all you are pleased to communicate so slyly at your departure. Ha! Madam, cried the Marquis of Savona, you know at your heart with what design I declared the Duke of Savoys Love to you at first, and with what design I now desire you to be cautious of its progress. I know no more, replied the Countess, but that very imprudently you told me Amedy was in Love with me; that since you have confirmed it before his face, and that now you prognosticate your destruction. If I may judge of your Prophecy by what is past, this pretended destruction is concluded already betwixt the Duke and you, and you do but prepare me as to an infallible thing. A Farewell with so little kindness, ought not to leave the heart of the Countess so well fortified, as to resist the Attaques of the Duke of Savoy, and therefore she suffered herself to be vanquished without any considerable resistance; the talk of the World was her greatest discouragement, and the Duke wanting neither Examples nor Expedients to dissipate that scruple, the Marquis found the Treaty very far advanced at his return. The Duke, according to his custom, did him the honour to communicate even this Intrigue with him; he told him the Countess hath conjured me to say nothing of it to you, and whether she fancies you severe as to the deportment of your Kindred, or whether being oftener exposed to your sight, than other people, she is unwilling to put herself upon a hazard of blushing every time she sees you, but she seems to be more apprehensive of you, than of all the rest of the Court: But, my dear Savona, you are much better known to me than to the Countess, and I should rob you of a greater pleasure, I am sure, if I should suffer you to be ignorant, that in three or four days time my desires will be perfectly satisfied. The Marquis was so discomposed at this discourse, it had like to have betrayed him. Do you say, Sir, replied he, that within three or four days you shall enjoy the Countess de la Moriene? Yes, said the Duke, and I had enjoyed her before this, had she not very prudently judged, that (to put the better face upon my coming to visit her) it would be necessary to counterfeit herself ill, and she pretends to be ill at this very moment; my Physician hath order to give out her life is in danger, and my Sister commiserating the report, is to be the first that shall tell me the Countess is sick with grief upon her Husband's Imprisonment, and that I own so much to her Quality and Sex, as to bestow one consolatory Visit upon her, to recompense in some sort the affliction I have given her. Is it possible? just Heavens! replied the Marquis, according to the sudden dictates of his thoughts. How now! whence this astonishment, cried the Duke, interrupting him, did you believe the Enterprise more difficult, or had the Countess reason, when she suspected your niceness about the purity of your blood? No, Sir, replied Savona, recollecting himself; but I believed the Conquest as troublesome as glorious, and in the passion I have for your interests, cannot but admire the Countess should be conquered so cheap. Nay, replied Amedy, I found her high enough of herself; but a Prince of my Quality and Age, ought not to meet with one moment's resistance. When a Sovereign Prince is born, it is to command all that are about him, and I am resolved for the future to put the Ladies of Savoy into a more commodious posture, than they at present are in. Having spoke these words, the Duke left him, and went to see the Countess of Geneva; the Marquis retired to his own Apartment, so confused and transported with rage, I cannot without crime repeat the flagitious designs he had at that time in his head. He would go to the treacherous Countess, reproach her by her Treason, and if he could not hinder the execution of her promise, he resolved to stab her, even before the face of the Duke: Sometimes he would steal her away, sometimes kill himself; and if any thing worse presented itself to his thoughts, he would do it immediately: But his reason at length overcoming these effluctions, he concluded to deliver the Count de la Moriene, if he could, and cause him to carry away his Wife. The design is too large to be particularised here, but the execution was not so difficult as might have been imagined. Since the Countess became tractable, her Husband was not guarded with that strictness as before: The Duke who understood himself well enough, and had caused the said Count to be arrested upon a reason which was almost effected, considered he should not keep him long in Prison: He loved only upon the common design, and it was with him as with the greatest part of his Sex, his felicity was never at any great distance from his disgust. The Countess lodged in the Marquis' Apartment, and Thonnon was rather a House of Pleasure than Defence. The Marquis made an excuse to Thurin; he visited the Count de la Moriene, acquainted him with what had passed, and giving him a true notion of the danger his life and Fortune were in, they agreed upon the ways, and what Refuge the Count was to take. The Officer who guarded the Prisoner, was one of the Marquis his Creatures, to whom (as many others did also) he ought both his place and his life. Things being so well disposed at Thurin, the Marquis returned to Thonnon; he placed more of his Creatures at the door of the Apartment where the Countess lay, which opened into a Garden from whence they might easily make the Lake; he ordered these people to open this door upon a Signal agreed betwixt the Count and he; he had taken care to have a Boat provided, and lie ready till they came. The business succeeded as well as they could desire, the Count was delivered out of Prison, and brought privately one night into his Wife's Chamber; he acquainted her that from very good hands he had Intelligence the Duke had ill designs upon her Person; he pretended to be persuaded she knew not of them herself. supposing a positive charge might have affrighted her too much; and commanding her to follow, she saw so much in the old man's face that he would be obeyed, that she durst neither cry out nor contest. He conveyed her to the Bark, and from the Water, in a Coach well guarded; the Marquis having placed fresh Guards at convenient distances. When he judged the Fugitives too far off to be overtaken, he was the first that carried the News to the Prince: I always thought, said he to him, the Conquest of the Countess was too cheap to be certain; she hath pretended to comply, to delude your Highness with the more security; and would scarce have been so tractable, but to compass her designs without suspicion: she hath got her Husband out of Prison, and hath so contrived it, she hath made him steal away her. It is not to be expressed the trouble this relation gave Amedy; he caused all his Family to mount immediately and pursue: Bring me, said he, alive or dead that impudent Fellow, who after he had so highly offended me, durst be so audacious as to break Prison himself, and out of my own House force away his Wife, whom I had kept there as a Hostage for him, he shall perish, and all his Accomplices, though my own Son were in the number. From these public discourses passing to private, Do not you think me the unhappiest man alive, Savona, said the Prince to his Favourite, to lose this Woman the very night before I was to enjoy her? To morrow, to morrow, my dear Marquis, my desires should have been satisfied, she would have consented, and the very moment was appointed for that blessed Interview. Do you not perceive, Sir, replied the Marquis, that she consented no further, but to make her pretended consent ineffectual at last? Ha! Savona, Savona, cried the Duke, she consented in good earnest, I know it by the motions and variations of her countenance, she loved me entirely, and I date swear the poor Woman was carried away in spite of her teeth, would you had seen with what kindness she received the assurances of my passion; and what protestations she made me of her own. These words touched the Marquis to the Soul, he had need of all his temper and ambition, to restrain himself from breaking out; and had not the consideration of the condition of his Rival qualified his anger, there had been nothing so desperate but he would have attempted. In the mean time, those who were sent after the Countess, contrary to the Marquis' presumption, overtook her: Their Coach had been overturned; they had had some other disasters in their Equipage: and the Countess leaving Thonnon much against her will, had counterfeited herself ill so artificially, that all the Frontier were stopped, before the Count could get at them They were arrested upon the Frontiers of Dauphin, where the Count had designed his retreat. When he understood the Duke's Guards inquired for him, he barricadoed himself in the Inn, resolved to perish before he would surrender. The persons sent after him, having express Orders to bring him dead or alive, never stood upon Compliments, they pressed him so close, there was no possibility of escaping: and those who are far gone in Stoicism, being not far from Barbarity, the Count took up a resolution suitable to the fierceness of his own Nature, and his hatred for Amedy. He killed the fair Countess, and stabbed himself when he had done.  
Let the Reader imagine, if he pleases, the transport the Duke was in at this horrible News. He said, and he did things very inconsistent with his Dignity; but that which gave the highest tincture to his despair, was, to understand that it was his dear Favourite, the Marquis of Savona, had given him this bob. The Count reproaching the Countess by the way, had let fall some words which assured her of the truth, which words she had writ down in her Table-book (found in her Pocket after she was dead) with design to send them by the first opportunity to the Duke. The Prince, finding himself betrayed, to satisfy his Revenge, used all the means a just indignation and an absolute power could invent. He caused the Marquis to be stabbed, he confiscated the Count de la Morienes Estate, and annexed it to his demeasness: and not being able ever after to be reconciled to the World, he resigned the Government into the hands of his Son Charles, whom he married to the Princess of Cyprus; and retiring to his solitude of Ripaille, he remained there till he was made Antipope. During this recess he composed his Memoires, out of which we have taken this Relation. The general History says only this, that Amady retired upon some secret discontent, but gives no account of particulars. Our Annals of Love supply that defect, as they have done several other, and could have carried their disquisition much further, if they might have been permitted: An Antipope of the Duke's humour is very proper to furnish us with Rarities, but the Italian Proverb tells us.  
Al negocio del Cielo,  
Se bastava gli Angeli.  
Let Angels sing the things above,  
They are too high for Tales of Love.  
We are in an humour of speaking of the strange Effects of Love, 
Agnes de Castro.  and must satisfy the Capricio of our Genius. Don Pedro Prince of Portugal, Son to Don Alphonso, was almost contemporary with Amedy, the King his Father had a second Wife who governed him absolutely. The Prince obtained no favour from the King, but what he ought to his Complacence for the Queen; and, as the highest excess of her Tyranny, she would constrain him to marry a Daughter of hers called Leonora, which she had had by her first Husband James of Arragon. The Lady was handsome, and had not Don Pedro been under a necessity of loving her, it is possible he would have loved her well enough; but Love is hardly to be obtruded upon a generous Soul. Don Pedro's natural inclinations were great, his Courage-high, he could not truckle to the Orders of the Queen; and the more eager she was to force his affection for the Princess, he was the more obstinate and averse. He had a Nurse (widow to the Marquis de Castro) who had an influence upon him. In all the Countries on that side the Mountains, the Nurses are chosen as chosen as much by their Extraction, as any other Qualification whatever. They have an opinion, that the inclinations of ordinary Women are transfused with their milk: and I am not certain whether it be altogether irrational. The Queen accumultated her Caresses and Presents upon this Lady, and conjured her to employ the utmost of her interest to dispose the young Prince to what she desired; but who is it but knows how much Fortune delights to defeat the designs of humane Prudence? The way the Queen proposed to make her project successful, proved the greatest and most effectual obstruction. This Marquis' Lady had a Daughter named Agnes, a sprightly and handsome young Lady. The Prince had seen her without any Concernment, whilst he had viewed her en passant, but the Commission her Mother had received from the Queen, giving him more frequent occasions of entertaining her. the Prince became enamoured at last. What he had sucked from the breast of her Mother, fermented in his heart in favour to the Daughter, and the Love which was produced from so natural a Sympathy, was violent from its very beginning. The Prince was not able to suffer without declaring it. The Terms in which he did it, were not displeasing to the young Castro; and being a handsome man in his person, it cost him no great trouble to insinuate into her affection; the greatest discouragement she had, was their uncertainty of her Mother. She was a Woman entirely devoted to the Interest of the Royal Family; she would not see her own Daughter advanced to the Throne, at the expense of the least difference betwixt the King and his Son; and being not of a Temper to be easily deluded, Agnes was persuaded she would not endure the passion of the Prince. She represented her Judgement to him, and though of herself she could have heard them eternally, yet she conjured him for those reasons to give over that discourse. But those kind of Conjurations are always in vain; a Lover is never so furious, as where reasons are introduced to persuade him to the contrary. The Prince's passion was augmented by this difficulty; but to accommodate with the prudence of Anges, which he could not deny to be upon very good grounds, he resolved to counterfeit an affection for the Princess of Arragon, but with this contrivance, that whatever he should be forced to say to Leonora; should be received by Agnes as intended to her, and the progresses he made upon the heart of the one, should be constantly placed upon the account of the other. This resolution being taken, and the Conditions agreed, Don Pedro pretended to comply with his Nurse's advice. The King and the Queen overjoyed with this change, advanced the whole Family of the Marchioness, and made a thousand Presents to Agnes. It was a rare thing, and very much to the Reputation of Love, of Lovers of that Age to delude the Dagacity of two wise and interested Women, and a King accomplished in all the Mysteries of Government; but that which was most pleasant of all, was the blindness of the Princess of Arragon, who knowing herself handsome enough to be beloved, and receiving the same-expressions, which the Prince, if he durst, would have made to the young Castro, made many acknowledgements to her Rival for her assistance, without suspecting the least. One night when in the presence of Agnes the Prince begged a kiss of Leonora so earnestly, he was in a fair way to have prevailed: Not so fast, Madam, if you pleased, cried the young Castro, you do not consider what you are about to do; there are more persons concerned in your conduct, than perhaps you imagine, and you must answer for my Virtue, if you expose your own in things unworthy of your Modesty. The Princess, who knew nothing of the agreement betwixt Agnes and the Prince, being surprised, asked her, how she became responsable for her Virtue; Do you not know, Madam, replied Agnes, that Persons of your Eminence and Extraction, are to be Examples to all their Inferiors? I look upon you, Madam, as my Model, and had I a Servant, I should think I might do any thing innocently, that I saw you do before me with the Prince. Yes indeed, replied the Princess, you might do it innocently enough, I never condemn that in another, which I practise myself, and I do not think I had transgressed the bounds of Civility so far, but I might have been imitated by all the Women in the World. The Prince durst not interpose in their Converse; he did not at first discern what Agnes intended, and when he had, he durst not contradict her for fear of discovering the Secret: But when he saw the question dccided in his favour, and that by the mouth of the Princess, he made a sudden acclamation, magnified her Equity, as he called it, and after that day Leonora did nothing in obedience to the Orders of the Queen, but Don Pedro exacted the same from the kindness of Agnes: If he received an obliging Letter from Leonora, See, Madam, said he to the young Castro, the Princess shows you what you are to do to your Servant. If the Princess gave him a Brasselet, you may learn by this, said the Prince to Agnes, you are to gratify your Servant, the Princess has given you an Example, and it will be injustice in you not to follow it. The deluded Princess confirmed all the Prince did already, and Don Pedro abusing her Error, made her most pitilesly pronounce sentence many times against herself: But this kind of Recreation was too pleasant to last long. Don Pedro had made a Paper of Verses for Agnes under the Name of Leonora, and resolved to present them to the Princess in earnest when Agnes had seen them, but Agnes having a desire to keep, and consider them a while, unhappily the Verses dropped one day out of her Pocket, and were brought to Leonora before the Prince could bring them himself. Leonora thought they had been lost, and took great pains to remember what she had done with them, when the Prince came in and presented them to her again. In searching for other papers, he had found them in his Pockets; and thinking it never unseasonable to make a Present, he brought them to Leonora in great haste, as if they had been finished but just then. The Princess blushed when she knew them, and being told by the person that found them, that they felo out of Agnes' Pocket; You will do me a pleasure, Sir, said she to the Prince, not to give any thing to another body that is intended for me. Don Pedro assured her he had obeyed her beforehand, and that those Verses had never been shown but to her: and persisting in that story, the Princess began to be angry, went into the Queen's Chamber, and gave her an account of what had past. The wise Queen found matters of suspicion, which the unexperienced Leonora had not discovered: There was a kind of a Love-knot in the Verses of Agnes, which were not in those presented to Leonora, and the Name of the Princess writ in another Character. There wanted no more to persuade the Queen of the truth: She sent for the Prince, and told him, that he had placed his Hypocrisy very ill; that the Marchioness of Castro and her Daughter, were too sensible to be accessary to his disobedience; that it was by the Kings express Orders Agnes had pretended to hearken to his protestations, and to testify what she said, she had presented to the King the very same day the last Verses he had made for her. This fetch succeeded as the Queen could desire, the Prince blushed, and saying only he could not have thought young Agnes so perfidious, by his silence he seemed to consent to the whole accusation. The Queen taking up an opinion the Marchioness had betrayed her, gave the King notice of her ambitious designs; upon which she and her Daughter both were forbidden the Court, and the Prince murmuring against that prohibition; they doubled their rigour, and interdicted him the liberty of seeing them at home. The Prince perceiving by that what a Trick they had played him, swore he would be revenged, threatened the Queen in the King's presence, and forbore visiting Leonora any more. But all this would not satisife the Marchioness, her Genius lay for the Court, and she could not live out of the Verge of it. She writ to the Queen, and protested the two Lovers had deceived her; and to make good what she affirmed, she promised to watch them more narrowly for the future, and give her Majesty a faithful account of their proceed. In the mean time the Prince could not live without Agnes, he wanted not such as carried his Letters, and returned him her Answers. This kind of convenience would have been a great matter to one which had never been happier, but in Love all descents are precipices, and all stumblings are falls. He considered that the Marchioness house stood close by a Park-wall, which joined to the Gardens of the Palace, and that Agnes' Apartment had the prospect on that side. He gave Agnes notice of the commodity, and having furnished himself with a Ladder of Cord, he went every night out of his Chamber when his Servants were asleep, and without the company of any (but one of his Officers who lay without in the Wardrobe) repaired under his Agnes' Window. They had much and frequent discourse, and that so kind. The Confident of these interviews imagining they might be further improved to his Master's satisfaction, resolved what he could to drive them to the height. He was an old Fornicator, and had had many an Intrigue passed through his hands in his time, he apprehended the Prince's desires would be satiated with enjoying her, and knowing that those desires were displeasing to the King, he concluded he should do both King and Master good service, if he could put an end to these Conferences. He provided himself of another Ladder, hide it in a Hedge near Agnes' Windows, and observing one night by the Lady's discourse, that that was a favourable conjecture for his designs: To what purpose, Sir, said he to the Prince, is this spinning of time, when you may dispatch all, if you please? Mount, mount, Sir, and go to her, and do what you have to do nearer hand, and then set up his Ladder. This counsel was pleasing, and the Prince (the Window being low) was at the upper end of the Ladder, as soon as his Confident had proposed it; Agnes was discreet, and no having suspected such an Attaque, she could not receive it without horror: she retired immediately to the next Chamber, from thence into the Hall, and thence down the stairs. The Prince followed her as close as he could; but not knowing the turn of the House, and the Fugitive being still some distance before, there was always a Chamber betwixt them. Young Agnes without doubt could have wished he had been nearer, and began already to fear lest he should hurt himself in the dark, and as if the stairs had been the bounds of her apprehension, she was just thinking of returning from whence she came; but she was prevented in that by her Mother and the Princess of Arragon. Her Mother did not believe the Prince's desires were lawful, nor (if they had) that they could have ever-been executed, and therefore had kept her Parole very punctually with the Queen. She had watched the two Lovers so close, she had discovered their nocturnal Entertainments: she had given faithful advertisement, and Leonora like an enraged Lover, delighting to reproach his Treason to the Traitor himself, got leave of the Queen that she might lie privately in the Marchionesses House, and if possible, catch her Gallant in the fact. At so an unexpected apparition, Agnes gave a skreek, and would have run to the Prince to have saved her, but her Mother stopped her, and giving her a twirl by the Elbow, thrust her towards the next Chamber: As she opened the door, there came so sudden a gust of wind out of it, as blue out the Marquis' Candle; she was afraid her Daughter should have escaped in that interval, and having a mind to surprise the Prince, whom nevertheless she believed to be under the Window, she seized upon Agnes herself, and would not let her stir, till a new light was brought. Leonora committing the care of securing the young Castro to her Mother, slipped privately without any noise into the Chamber from whence her Rival came out. The Prince by the glimmering of the Moon (which was then rising) was just got thither, and taking Leonora for the person he pursued, he threw himself upon her, and clipped her in his Arms with as much ardour as could be expected from the affection of an amorous young man: Dear Agnes, said he to the Princess, why do you withdraw from my affections? are you not sensible of their purity? I swear, Agnes, and I call Heaven to witness, my design is nothing else but to set the Crown of Portugal upon your Head; sweeten this attempt of mine with some expression of your kindness, and trust yourself for once to the faith of a Person that adores you: You are not ignorant of my passion, you are acquainted with all the fallacies I have put upon Leonora, the indeed inhuman way I have taken to make her a blind and a cover for my affection to you; and the little advantage I have made of her Errors, have given you an entire prospect of my Soul. The innocence of the Prince's intentions made him a little bold, he interrupted his discourses with some little exorbitances, and so resolute he was to make Agnes his Wife, that doubtless he would have presumed to have anticipated in some points, had not the Marchioness came into the Chamber with her Candle. It is no easy matter to determine who was in the greatest Consternation, the Princess to have heard the Prince's Discourss, the Marchioness to find Don Pedro where he was, and the Prince at the Apparition both of the one and the other. For some time they were all of them amazed, and stood gazing one upon another without speaking a word; but at length old Castro coming first to her tongue, she accosted him thus: How! Sir, said she to the Prince, and is it true that you make no scruple of sullying the Honour of a Person, which gave you your first nourishment? Is this, Sir, my recompense for having born you so often, and with so much tenderness, at my bosom? Ha! Sir, could I ever have expected this treatment from Don Pedro, or from the Son of the Great King Alphonso? Was I then to be the Victim of your secret passions, added the Princess, did I serve but as a stolen and pretence, and was it only for the Love of Agnes you pretended to love me? The Prince at this second Charge, conceiving the Service too hot, quitted the field, and having with great speed secured his Ladder, he rescued himself from the reproaches of two outrageous Women. This Adventure made as much noise in the Court as could be expected from the fury of the Queen, and the Authority she had usurped over the Spirit of the King. The promises which Don Pedro made by mistake to Leonora, interfering with the Power of the King, there was no kind of reprehension but it drew upon the Prince; those appearances of Love wherewith he had abused the Princess of Arragon, giving occasion of offence to the Royal Family from whence she was descended, pushed on the Queen in her murmurs and threats, even to an excess: she exclaimed against the consequences of that insolence, and nothing could repair it but either the Prince must marry her immediately, or else the King must give her leave to retire with her Daughter into the Kingdom of Arragon. The Marchioness herself, who by Leonora's condonation was become clearly of her side, and desired his Majesty to assign her a Husband for her Daughter, declaring that after such contumacy as she had committed, it was but reason she should expect one no where else but from the bounty of the King. The Prince endeavoured to dis-entangle himself as well as he could; sometimes he stormed like a mad man, sometimes he submitted, sometimes he threatened to attempt any thing for the vindication of his liberty, and then again he would call for quarter to purchase a little repose. The King observing his disorder to increase, and that the more violent it became, the more it was opposed, he thought no way so sure to put an end to it, as to cause Agnes to be killed. She died, as the Queen gave out, of the small Pox, but the more learned Authors are of opinion it was by poison. It is easy to conceive Don Pedro's distraction at so Tragical an accident, he resolved to revenge himself upon whom ever he did but suspect to have an hand in it, and his Father dying just in the nick, hence it was there arose an irreconciliable quarrel betwixt the two Crowns of Arragon and Portugal. Don Pedro sacrificed ten years' War, and so much blood to the Ghost of his dear Agnes, as might well have given him the addition of Cruel, had not the gentleness of the latter end attoned for the beginning of his Reign.  
THere was another Agnes living almost about the same time, 
The Countess of Pontievure.  no less famous in the History of France, than Agnes de Castro in the History of Portugal. She was Mistress to Charles VII. who governed the French Monarchy from the year 1422, to the year 1461. The troubles which happened in his Reign, are not my province in this place: There are Authors enough have related the Invasion of the English, and the Exploits performed by the Pucelle in their expulsion; I will concern myself no further than the Amours of this Agnes. The Dauphin of France known since by the Name of Lewix XI. endured with great impatience the Power this Woman had usurped upon his Father. He acted nothing but by her Counsels; he gave her the Barony of Pontievure ' (which till then was always an Appanage of the youngest Sons of the Royal Family) and all Favours and Offices in the Kingdom passed through her hands. A great part of her Influence she employed in obliging the Prince, and omitted nothing which might mitigate the animosity he had against her; but the Kings Presents passing through her hands, were impregnated with poison. He had tried several ways to destroy her, but none succeeded; however he would not give over, but resolved upon another he believed more infaillible. He had a Favourite called Chaubannes, Count of Dammartin, the handsomest young Lord in all the Court; he proposed it to him to make Love to her, and knowing his Father's Jealousy, he doubted not but he should ruin the Countess, if he could convince her of the least infidelity. He imparted his design to the Count, and conjured his concurrence. The Proposition at first appeared to be dangerous▪ he demanded of the Dauphin what Expedient he had thought of to secure him against his Father's indignation, if his design should happen to be suspected. The real Service you will do him thereby, replied the Prince: We will tell him that she had solicited you a long time, that the fear of being the Author of such ill News, had hindered you from discovering it, and that you did hope in time to have tired out her importunities by your aversion? but that perceiving what you designed to extinguish those flames, did but kindle and augment them, you believe it your duty now to give him notice of all. Possessed, as he is, of the fidelity of Agnes, he will perhaps question the report; you will ask him what proof he desires, and then whatever is past, or whatever you hope for the future, will be but the consequences of his Orders. Upon. these Arguments Chabannes complied: He had a Valet de Chambre called S. Colombe, of whose fidelity he had had ample experience; he caused him to open Scene with Mortaing the Countess' Woman, who was privy to all her Mistress' Secrets. S. Colombe counterfeited a passion immediately, as having that Lesson by heart, and Mortaing was naturally very compassionate of other people's sufferings. They came presently to their protestations and promises, and the Confidencies of the Mistress were not long behind the assurances of the Servant. When S. Colombe found things in the posture he desired, he declared the affection his Master had for the Countess, and to sweeten the proposition he made to her to be serviceable to his Master; See, dear Mortaing, said he to her, besides the utility which will accure to us both by that Commerce, it is the only way to continue our own, sooner or later all things are discovered; and if our Lady comes once to discern our Amours (as how can it otherwise be) she will never forgive you that, which she looks upon at present as a Crime, for, Mortaing, it is none to love a King, that makes one the more honourable among men, and I am persuaded is venial even before the Gods. Kings are so dear to them, I fancy every thing is grateful to them they do; but we that are of a more common Constitution, are not to expect the Privilege of Princes, and can never obtain the Countess' indulgence, unless we can reduce her to a condition of having need of it herself. Mortaing liked S. Colombes reasons very well, and the same night as her Mistress was undressing, she put her upon a discourse of all the people at Court. There was not one of them could escape her censure: But when they came to Chabannes; Ha! Madam, for him, cried Mortaing, we cannot but speak well; I never saw any man so complete, and if I should wish myself handsome or great, it should be on purpose to love him without being ridiculous. Agnes was well enough persuaded her Damoiselle was in the right, the Excellence of his Qualities had not escaped her observation, and she had long since in her heart had a hankering after him; but the Favourites of the Dauphin having but little Commerce with the Mistress of the King, the Count of Dammartin had observed none of the Simpering and Allurements she made use of to ensnare him: Whereupon our Countess had conceived such displeasure, she almost abhorred him, and turning away her head at the name of Chabannes, she interrupted poor Mortaing in the midst of her Elogium. Never name that man to me, said she to her, I hate him worse than death or old age. These words put the Damoiselle into a most profound silence; she withdrew into her Chamber in great confusion, and was impatient next day to see S. Colombe, to advise him to employ her no more in such desperate Commissions. S. Colombe went immediately to his Master to acquaint him with the success of his Embassy; the Count was surprised at the News, he did not remember any thing he had done to disoblige the Countess; he ordered S. Colombe to set his Mortaing a work to fish out the cause of her aversion. At the entreaty of her Gallant, Mrtaing makes a second attempt, but with as little satisfaction as before; the Countess could not forget the many glances she had lost, and could not pardon the Count of Dammartin that he had never observed them. This obstinacy in the Countess nettled the poor Count, and not being accustomed to the hatred of fair Ladies, he began to do that out of vanity, which he was unwilling to have undertaken at the solicitation of the Prince. The King was at that time at Tours, where he resolved to pass the whole Winter. The happy way he was in, of recovering the whole Kingdom, put the Court into a disposition to mirth; insomuch as there was nothing spoke of but pleasure and entertainments: The Dauphin's Wife, who was the King of Scots Daughter, young and beautiful, loved her diversions exceedingly; the Queen was complacent, positive in nothing, but complied with whatever she and the rest were inclined to; and the Dauphin himself (having given relaxation to his many distractions, in hopes his revenge was at hand) was at that time more addicted to be merry, than he had been accustomed to be. Chabannes made his advantage of those favourable opportunities; he danced well, did every thing well, and attaqued the hatred Agnes pretended with so much address, made her quickly discern that what she interpreted as a real aversion, was but the obliging effect of his modesty and bashfulness. The Count perceived how things went almost as soon as the Countess, and being an old Sophister at that trade, he seemed as fast to retire, as she seemed to advance. He knew the frailty of her Sex, that they desire nothing so furiously, as what is refused them: When he observed the Countess' Eye fixed upon him, he turned his face another way; if she entertained him with discourse, and turned it upon Love, to give herself opportunity to represent the disposition on of hers, he talked of nothing but the indifference of his temper; and the pain it would be to him to love any thing long. At length his wiles had their intended effect; for one night when the whole Court was at the Apartment of Madam la Dauphine, and Chabannes in his old way had shifted off the oeillades of Madam la Countess, she took him aside towards a Table where there was a Glass, and pretending to rectify her Hood, she asked him why it was he avoided the looks of the Ladies so much; I am afraid, Madam, replied he, to show you the object of your disdain, and I cannot but respect you, even where you are unjust. Agnes blushed at his answer, and remembering what she had said to Mortating, she was impatient to be home, to know upon what grounds that Wench discovered to the Count what she had discoursed to her in private. She caused her to be called as soon as she was got to her Chamber, and reproaching her by the lightness of her tongue, in the bitterest language the could think of, she commanded her to tell her truly what it was prevailed with her to be so foolish. Mortaing supposing her Mistress' hatred for the Count as violent and immortal as she pretended, concluded she had committed a great Crime in entertaining the Propositions of his Love: She threw herself down at her feet, told all S. Colombe had said to her, conjured her to pardon what was past, and wished a thousand imprecations, if ever she were guilty again in that nature for the future. There is no great hurt in the business neither, said Madam Agnes, sweetening her again, the Crime was that you concealed it from me, do not you make such Secrets another time, for I will have nothing pass in my House, but I will know it myself: Alas! Madam, replied the trembling Mortaing, I durst not tell you for my life; for you told me you hated the Count Dammartin perfectly. Yes, says she, and I do hate him without doubt, but that hinders not but I may be well enough pleased to hear he hath a kindness for me; it is a way to exercise my Revenge: do you ask his Valet de Chamber the progress of his Love, and when he tells you, give me an account, but be sure do not let him know I desire to hear it, for it concerns me much he should be ignorant. Mortaing promised to keep it most sacredly; but she had no Secret she could conceal from her Colombe. Chabannes had intelligence of all; and being a while after at a Pastime in the Queen's Apartment, where the men demand a Secret of the Ladies, and give them their answer in some pretty-conceited Verse, it fell to his share to ask a Secret from the Countess de Pontievure; when one has so much concern for the hatred of people, replied the Countess, it is but reason they should endeavour to remove it. A wise man, replied Chabannes, doth nothing without Orders; I conceive I have yours at this time, and in that opinion he made his Verses, which the King (though ignorant of the true meaning) caused to be set, and he and the whole Court sung nothing else for some time: and thus have I have rendered them for the satisfaction of the Reader.  

The SONG.  
I am no Pilot that defies the Seas,  
And launches spite of Winds he can't appease;  
He that despairs to merit with his Love,  
Vainly attempts those Charms will mortal prove.  
As Rocks, Winds, Seas, the wise man will avoid  
Those perils which so many have destroyed.  
The prudent Labourer ne'er manures a field,  
But what he hopes some recompense will yield.   
The Dauphin perceiving Madam Agnes whispering with the Count, was impatient to know what she had said, he took him out therefore into the Garden by Moonlight, to demand what it was. We triumph, dear Prince, we triumph, said the Count to him smiling, the Lady is reduced to a Parley already, and it is now our business to give her an Answer: Haste then and do it, replied the Prince, I shall own all my tranquillity to you, if you ruin that Woman; but have a care, show not too much respect to her, tell her, that after such declaration of her hatred as she made, it will be requisite you should have good proofs to assure you of the contrary: demand some kind Letters from her, tell her you delight in such things, and drive on the business with all speed to an Assignation. You may tell her you desire that favour but as a fign of her confidence, and, if you will, swear stoutly you will never abuse it. He concerned himself not much whether he had the real enjoyment of the Lady, so he had but a manifest assurance to obtain it. To the instructions he had given him, the Dauphin added all opportunity imaginable, he obliged Madam Dauphin to be more frequently with the Countess, to please the King as he pretended, and taking Chabannes along with him, he invented so many specious ways to separate the Company, that there was few days but he ordered things so, there was a particular Entertainment betwixt Madam Agnes and the Count But these opportunities produced an effect which neither Prince nor Dammartin did ever expect: The Countess was one of the handsomest Ladies in the World, and the Count was of an age that is seldom indifferent: He found there was no dallying with Love, without being punished at last, and what he intended hypocritically, proved really true. This Experiment produced great alterations in his Politics, he became discreet when he was most guilty of indiscretion, and the Prince could get nothing out of him now, but relations of Madam Agnes' cruelty. Whence comes this sudden turn? said the Dauphin to him, I thought she had been running headlong upon the Precipice we had prepared for her; who is it has stopped her? She has doubtless some intelligence of our design, replied the Count; Ladies which have had any such affairs in the World, can easily discriminate betwixt true Love and pretended. It is strange, said the Prince, that this Woman should never be faithful, but now when I should make my advantage of her infidelity; I knew ten persons belonging to the Court (none of them comparable to you) with whom she has communicated in that time: They had more Merit, or more Love than I then, replied the Count smiling; But, Sir, said he very subtly, if you have already so many assurances of the Countess' infidelity, what need is there that I constrain myself any longer to make Love to her? the Intrigues she has had with another, are not they as criminal towards the King, as if I were the Gallant myself? No, says the Prince, they are idle, timorous Fellows, and dread the falling under Agnes' displeasure; besides there is no man in the World so proper for my Confidence as you, you are the man alive I can trust without danger: You must not therefore be discouraged, Chabannes, this Whimsy of hers will be brought off at last. The Count promised the Prince to redouble his endeavours: and indeed though Agnes spoke no more to him before Company, he plied her sufficiently when they were alone. He had caused Pages  to be made, of all the considerable Liveries of the Court, and pretending Messages sometimes from one, and sometimes another, there was scarce a morning but he brought her a Letter from himself. Under the Reign of Charles VII. the people which wore Liveries, were not such Striplings as now a days they are; no body took a Lackey, till he had a substantial beard. Trousers were taken up afterwards upon Command, as is mentioned in several Histories, so that Dammartins bonne mine was not incompatible with the Dress of a Footman. One day when he had put himself into Madam lafoy Dauphin's Colours, and according to his Custom, pretended a fictitious Errand from her; he was sent for up into her Chamber, and being in Discourse with Agnes by her Bedside, he forgot himself, and spun out his time longer than he ought. The King entered unexpectedly into the Room, and the Prince with him. The Countess lay always in the same Apartment with the King, never any thing but some Gallery or Antichamber betwixt their Lodgings: and to prevent any Conspiracies, his Guards stood always at her door. By a Courier from Guyenne the King had received News, that the Principal Towns of that Province were reduced to his Obedience: He ran immediately to impart it to the Countess, and the Dauphin, being in a good humour at that time, accompanied him in his Visit: The Chamber was dark, and Chabannes had no great difficulty to get out of the King's sight; but the Dauphin having a glance of his Livery, and having a Message from the Queen to deliver to his Wife, obliging her to a Visit after Dinner, he called the Page to him, and bid him tell his Lady. Agnes was in a bodily fear, and indeed had the day been clearer, or the Dauphin's Message required an Answer, the Countess and Page both had been utterly undone, but by good Luck he came off with his Congee. He ran home as fast as he could to change his Robes, and returning immediately to the King's Lodgings, he made a great noise of two or three extraordinary things he had done that day, on purpose to take off the suspicion of his real occupation. The Dauphin took him home with him to Dinner, and giving him an account of the Visit he had made to the King's Mistress, it came into his mind that he found his Wife undressed when he came back: He sent to her to demand, if she intended to wait upon the Queen in that posture. She was ignorant what he meant, and sent him word she had received no such Orders from her Majesty; whereupon he went to her Chamber himself, and having given her an account of the Message he sent her by the Page, he caused him to be called, and gave Order he should be corrected for his neglect. But he could not be so readily obeyed, for none of her Pages had been with Madam de Pontievure, and his Lady assured him it was not in her thoughts to send thither that day. The Prince was never so amazed in his life; he saw a Page in his own Livery talking to the Countess, he thought he heard him tell her, it was Madam lafoy Dauphine which inquired of her health, and yet this Page was not to be found. Chabannes did what he could to satisfy his Curiosity; he told him there could be no mystery in a Page who suffered himself to be seen both to the King and him, and that it must needs be he mistook the Colours, and thought another Livery his own: But the Prince had a better opinion of his Eyes, than to be persuaded to that. He sent his Scouts abroad, and it was not long before he had some confused light of the truth: One morning when Chabannes was locked up with the Prince, and endeavouring to pacifice his suspicion, one of the Gentlemen he had employed in the discovery, having been let into his Closet; The Page, Sir, said he to the Prince, is no longer a Page, he is now become a Merchant of Laces, and not above two hours since he was with Madam de Pontievure in that Equipage. It may be a Merchant indeed, replied the Count, who was not a little concerned in the story. Pardon me, Monsieur le Comte, replied the Gentleman, it is the same Page the Dauphin saw in his Livery the other day in the Countess' Chamber. One of the Scotch Guard that I know very well, and one that is no Fool, was Sentinel at Madam Agnes' door that day the Page entered, he found him so handsome, he took particular notice of him; and being upon the Guard again to day at the same Post, he perceived the Page and the Merchant were both one. But, said the Prince, interrupting him, this Scotchman that knew the face of the Page and the Merchant so well, doth not he know any person about the Court which resembles them? No, Sir, replied the Gentleman, he is a Stranger, and has not been long in his Majesty's Service; but he has promised me to examine all people so strictly for the future, that without doubt it will not be long before he discovers him. This Prophecy made Chabannes to tremble, he thought it was upon too probable foundations. He was very remarkable for the Excellence of his presence, and was the most illustrious Object in the Court. He discoursed at large with the Prince about the business, and having cunningly informed himself of the Scotchmans' name, he came to S. Colombe to give him notice of what had passed, and told him he would spare no cost or pains that might prevent the ill Consequences he dreaded. S. Colombe was no Changeling; he need speak but one word, to make him know what was to be done. He went to the Guard-Chamber to find out the Scot He invented a Scotch Genealogy which made them Cousin Germane, he pretended to be overjoyed to see him, and the first expression of it, being to give him a glass of Wine, he drilled him into a Cabaret, where he had disposed certain Soldiers to quarrel with him. The thing happened as S. Colombe had projected, the Guard was killed, and the Contriver of the Enterprise withdrew himself so cleanlily, there was not the least mention of his name. When Fortune sets herself to be favourable, she does nothing by halves: One of the Soldiers S. Colombe employed in this business, had been formerly a Servant to Monsieur de Trimoville, a Favourite of the Kings. Some persons of his Family who had been his Fellow-Servants, passing through the street where that Murder was committed, and observing several other of the Guards running in to rescue their Camarade, they thought themselves obliged to defend their old Companion: This Rencontre cast the scandal of that Act upon the Servants of Monsieur de la Trimoville, and gave the Prince occasion to suspect that his Master was the principal in the Intrigue. He was almost of the same stature with Chabannes; he had black hair, and curled like his; and though the Features of the Count Dammartin were better than the others, and his Complexion more lively, yet the Room being duskish, they might well be mistaken. Monsieur le Dauphin concluded from hence, it was Monsieur Trimoville he had seen in the Habit of a Page in Madam Agnes' Lodgings; he hated him before, out of a general hatred he had for all the King's Favourites, and was glad at his heart of this occasion to ruin him, and his Father's Mistress together; 'Tis Trimoville, 'tis he, said the Prince to Chabannes, I have a confused remembrance of his very face; and the Murder of the Scotchman by his Servants, is an inexpugnable confirmation. The poor man without doubt would have told, and Tremoville having so many opposite interests to reconcile, wanted not his Spies; he knew he was in danger of being discovered, and therefore caused him that could do it to be killed. Chabannes seemed to be of the same Judgement, he seemed to admire with the Prince, that a Favourite of the Kings should commit so great an insolence. 'Tis common, replied the Dauphin, Great men are frequently exposed to the Treachery of their Creatures; for not being able to discern whether they love them for themselves, or for their beneficence, they look upon that as the effect of their Love, which indeed is but the product of their own Interest. The Dauphin was naturally violent, and his hatred to the King's Favourites, rash, and impetuous: he thought he needed no other Evidence to accuse Trimoville, and notwithstanding all Chabannes could say to advise him to the contrary, he went forthwith to the King, to advertise him of what he thought he had been sure. But that accusation came to nothing; it happened the same time the Prince affirmed Trimoville to have been in Disguise with the Countess, he had been at the same time shut up in Conference with the King about affairs of importance. The King being assured of this Circumstance, made him believe the whole story but a practice invented for the destruction of the Innocent; there was not a reproach nor reprehension but the Prince was forced to endure: and that ill success did but augment and exstimulate his Curiosity. He doubled his vigilance, and spent whole nights petrolling about Agnes' Lodgings. One night among the rest as he was upon the Watch by a private pair of stairs (which he was informed was the way by which the two Lovers corresponded) he perceived a man to ascend in the Habit of Citizen, with a parcel of Books under his Arm, and by the light of a Flambeau, which he caused to pass by on purpose, he descried it was Chabannes. It is not easy to determine which of the two was in the greatest surprise; the Prince started back two steps, and Chabannes had like to fallen into a swound; but remembering that he had need of the greatest presence of Spirit to bring himself off out of that dangerous condition, he recollected himself, and Silence, dear Sir, said he softly to the Dauphin, let me alone with my Stratagem, I have begun, and do thus, pursue it for your interest, let me proceed, and I will tell you the whole Mystery when we have more leisure. Chabannes' thought to have qualified the Prince's heat by that Proposition; and supposing the time too short for so specious an invention, he thought to gain more to make it more plausible: But the Prince was not to be wheedled at that rate, he had naturally an aptitude to be jealous. It was not many moments before that Chabannes had left him, and no mention of his design, besides his discomposure at first betrayed him. The Prince's Eyes opened both in an instant, he was highly transported; but the desire of Revenge following close upon his suspicion of the Treason, he restrained himself, and pretended to be caught in that snare which Chabannes had laid. Chabannes was admitted into the Countess' Chamber, and persuaded himself his Wits had brought him off; he gave her a relation of all that was past, and the good Lady was almost distracted, for she could see no way possible to get out of that Labyrinth. The Dauphin in the mean time ran to his Father's Chamber, he had a thousand fancies in his head in a moment which persuaded him Chabannes was the Traitor: I beseech you, Sir, said he to the King, will you be pleased to go along with me into Madam Agnes' Chamber, and you shall see irrefragable proofs of her infidelity to you. The King had that night supped in his Bed, he had been a hunting, was weary, and no body with him to entertain him but Trimoville. Is it not Trimoville again, said he to the Prince, pointing to him with his finger, who is in such favour with the Countess? No, Sir, replied the Dauphin, it is not Trimoville, and I beg his pardon for suspecting him; but vouchsafe, Sir, I beseech you to discover the Mystery with your own Eyes, and you shall find it extraordinary: The Prince would not name Chabannes but in his presence; he had entrusted him with so many flagitious Secrets in his time, he was afraid of his indiscretion, and was resolved to destroy him before his accusation. His reservedness in that point made the King give little credit to the rest; he would not disturb his Mistress, he told him he was sufficiently assured of her Virtue: but Trimoville who had a long time desired to be right with the Prince, and found himself obliged to him for the Apology he had made, added his instances to the Princes, and together they prevailed upon his Majesty to go; he called for his Nightgown, and giving Order no body should follow but the Prince and Trimoville, he went into a little Gallery which passed betwixt his Lodgings and the Countesses. The two Lovers had been so long in consultation about the Course they were to steer, that the debate was not ended, when Mortaing (who was all the while upon the Guard) came in running with the New that the King was at hand. The Countess was extremely surprised at the Alarm; but being resolved (let what would happen) Chabannes should not be found disguised in her Chamber, she caused him to step in betwixt the Papers, and the glass of the Window, and Mortaing having put to the Shuts, and drawn the Curtains, the King found the Countess without any Company, but a few Books which she pretended to be reading with great intention. What have you done, Madam, said the Prince to her with something an angry Tone, with the man that brought you these Books? Have you occasion for him, Sir, replied the Countess with a smile as quiet and unconcerned, as it had been natural? Yes, Madam, replied the Prince, I have occasion for him, and it is for him the King comes hither to search; you must command him to be called then, Sir, said she to the Prince, it is not long since he was here, and he cannot be gone far. The Prince had placed his Sentinels at all passages to the Countess' Apartment, he sent to inquire of them, if any such person had gone by, and they assured him not. We shall not go far then sure, said the Prince, taking the Candle in his own hand, to find out what we look for, the Bird is not yet out of its Nest; and then searching in all the corners of the Chamber, he put the poor Countess into a miserable fright; but perceiving he did not think of looking where he ought, she recollected herself, and taking the advantage of her good Fortune; See, Sir, said she to the King, the effects of that hatred Monsieur Dauphin has always had for me, which I could never overcome: It is not many days since he suspected me for Tremoville, now he would charge me with another, and I do expect some time or other he will foist some body into my Chamber, on purpose he may be found there. Shall I be any longer exposed to these dangers, Sir? said she to the King, suffer me I beseech you to retire (and with that word she burst out into tears) I conjure you suffer me, by all the bounty wherewith your Majesty has honoured me: I am not able any longer to hold out against the Power and Malevolence of the Prince; I respect him as much as he hates me, and a thousand deaths I would endure before I would divert your kindness from him; suffer me therefore, for God sake suffer me to retire. No, Madam, replied the King (touched to the very heart to see his Mistress' tears) you shall not retire, my Son shall learn to pay better respect to what is so dear to me; and thereupon he commanded him out of his sight, and to appear no more before him till he was sent for. The Dauphin thought that Command very unjust, and the History tells that he dispensed with many things which were inconsistent with the respect he ought to his Father; but Tremoville pacified the disorder, and prevailed with the Prince to go out of the Chamber. To comfort the Countess after so many crosses, the King told her he would take up his Quarters with her that night. She used all the Arguments she could to moderate that excess of Commiseration; she pretended she had cried till her head ached, and the injuries she had received had put her into a very ill capacity of that Honour: But the King admitting no excuses, there was a necessity she must obey, and Chabannes continued all that cold night in the Window, whilst the King was luxuriating in the Arms of his Mistress. I leave the Reader to judge how the poor Stationer entertained himself; he durst neither breath, nor stir, and the least sneeze in the world might have cost him his life. The compassionate Countess did what she could to shorten his pain: she counterfeited herself ill so cunningly, the King left her very early in the morning. As soon as he was gone, Mortaing came to take her Count out of the Press, where he had passed away his time so sadly betwixt apprehension and cold, that he was in appearance more than half dead.  
But there's no cold so rigid to the sense,  
But yields to th' ardour of Love's influence.  
In vain, in vain, the Frost and Snow conspire,  
T' asswace the fury of a Lover's fire.  
If Love but interposes on his score,  
One moment's happiness elates him more  
Than years of sorrow could depress before.  
When the Count was sufficiently chafft, and come to himself, it was agreed betwixt them that he should pretend to the Dauphin, that having found a Letter which appointed a Rendez-vous in Madam Agnes' Lodgings, to a certain person who was to be admitted in the Habit of a Citizen carrying his Books; he had taken that Disguise upon him to discover the Intrigue: but that he found it was nothing but from one of her Women to a Gentleman, and therefore he went back again without further attempt, when he perceived it was a Mystery of so inferior Contrivance. Chabannes had but little hopes the Dauphin would swallow this story; but he was to make the best of a bad Market, and if the worst came to the worst, it was but losing his friendship: The greatest difficulty remaining was, which way to make his retreat without being perceived, for they doubted not but Scouts were laid at all passages about her House. Mortaing remembered herself of a certain English Woman of an extraordinary stature, who was one of Madam Agnes' Laundry-Maids, she went up, and fetched down one of her Gowns, pretending to see the fashion of it: She put it upon Chabannes as well as she could; and giving him a kind of a Hood they wore in those days, which covered half their bodies, she passed him through the Wardrobe, as if it had been she whom he did represent. The Spies having Orders to stop no body but such a one as was described to them, they examined not the Laundry-Maid, but let her pass out of the Palace without any obstruction, but as he was marching to a House in the Town where S. Colombe managed his Disguises, Chabannes was perceived by a person, who having a while considered his motion and his habit, cried out on a sudden, Ah marry! this is he I look for. Upon which Alarm two or three armed men that were by, threw themselves upon the Count, who was then in no posture to defend himself; they seized upon him, clapped him into a Boat upon the Loire, and commanded the Waterman to pass over to the other side as fast as he could. Our Lover in Mascarade knew not whether he was arrested as Chabannes, or as the English Woman, and not daring to tell them who he was, left they should take him for who he was not, he would not turn up his Hood. One of Madam Agnes' Servants having seen this Attachment, and knowing the Laundresses Gown very well, she came thundering with the News to the Countess' Apartment. The story seemed false to the Family, for the English Woman was at that time in the Wardrobe; but Madam Agnes imagining the worst, believed it was the Dauphin had caused him to be apprehended. She doubted not but the whole Intrigue was discovered, and not being able to outface the first reproaches of the King, she got into her Coach, accompanied only by Mortaing, and without more ado betook herself to a Monastery. The King hearing of her Retirement, concluded it the effect of the last night's perquisition, and fell into a most outrageous passion against the Prince. The Dauphin protested he was in the right, and not guilty of any thing that was false; but it was in vain, the more he laboured to justify himself, the more he exasperated his Father. His Friends advised him to withdraw till the storm was over, and accordingly he retired into the Province of Dauphine, as some say much better satisfied with Trimoville than they could have imagined. Chabannes in the mean time returned peeceably to his own House; the man that had run away with him, was the English Woman's Husband, in whose  the Count was escaped: This Woman had run away from her good man upon pretence of ill usage; and he being not at all consenting to the Divorce, and not daring to offer any violence to the Sanctuary she had chosen, he watched her perpetually in the streets, resolved to secure her whenever he met her, as he thought he had done in the person of Chabannes. When by the reproaches he made him, the Count perceived his mistake, he pulled up his Hood, and the man being undeceived, he begged his pardon, and reconducted him to the Citizen's house, whither he was going before when he stopped him. Chabannes changed his , and came immediately to Court to see how things past. He was exceedingly surprised to understand their proceed, and dispatched S. Colombe to Madam Agnes in Post-haste: he prevailed upon her more by that one Message, than the King had done with all his importunities: She took her leave of her Covent, and returned to Court illustrious, and more pleasant than ever: But she enjoyed not long the advantages of her restauration, for she died not many days after. The causes of her death were found to be unnatural, and Monsieur Tremouille's sudden Retreat to the Dauphin at the same time, made it too probable he was instrumental in the business. The good King Charles was so passionately afflicted therewith, he would admit of no consolation: Chabannes had like to have died with sorrow, but the King's favour supported him. He had Tremovilles' place (vacant by his absenting himself) conferred upon him by the King, during whose life he quickly enjoyed it. It is not to be imagined he was in such favour when the Prince came to the Crown; he was arrested before he could escape, and the Dauphin being now Lewis XI. would have sacrificed him to his new Dignity, had not he evaded his indignation by escaping out of the Bastille. I refer the Reader to the History itself to be informed of all the Occurrences. The Annals of Love observe only the more remarkable Passages, and represents them without any regular Order.   

THE ANNALS OF LOVE.  
THE SIXTH PART.  
ABout the same time we have spoken of before, 
Feliciane.  the Wife of a Spanish Merchant who traded into the Levant, being taken Prisoner by the Corsaires, and her Husband slain in the fight, she was sold to one of the principal African Lords, whose ordinary Residence was in Tunis. The African Lord became enamoured of his Slave, and finding her too virtuous to make a bare advantage of his passion, he was constrained to marry her. He had one Daughter by her, which he called Feliciane, after the name of her Mother. The Mother and the Daughter begat a kindness in him to the Spanish Nation: He suffered his Wife to teach his Daughter that Language, as her Mother-tongue; and when any Spaniard of Quality came into Barbary, he lodged them usually at his own House, and performed all the good offices to them he was able. Alphonso Ribiero, Son to Don Garcias Ribiero, born in Alcantara, came to Tunis, to treat about the Ransom of his Elder Brother, who sailing into Greece, was taken by the Pirates, and exchanged with certain Slaves of Barbary. Alphonso was too young to be entrusted alone with so great a Negotiation; he was appointed only to the Ceremonial part; for there was an old Servant of his Fathers sent along with him to manage the Bargain. He was received by the Father of Feliciane, not only as a Spaniard, but as a person particularly related to his Wife: She had been at his birth, and passed the prime of her years in Don Garcias House. The young Feliciana and he were presently surprised with a violent inclination one for the other; Nature had, it seems, delighted herself to prepare ways for their affection. Alphonso resembled the young African so exactly, and the African Alphonso, that they might well have been mistaken, had not their Habits distinguished both their Sexes and Persons.  
But Love's no need of likeness, he desplays  
A thousand Arts, contrives a thousand ways.  
To bedge in people's hearts, by secret turns,  
The most unlike, and the most cold he burns:  
Nought's incombustible, when he conspires,  
No humane temper can withstand his fires.  
Feliciana seeing her own Picture in Alphonso, as he did in Feliciana, she fell in Love almost at first sight; their looks, their manners, their motions, every thing in them prevented the office of their Tongue: so that they were immediately advanced to their reciprocal promises. Sympathy is a great promoter of such Adventures, and makes a great deal of ground in a little time. Great was the joy for their Love: he performed his Honorary part very well, he was the Priest and the Deity both; But the liberty of his elder Brother was an unseasonable impediment to the Mystery. Alphonso used all the Arts he could invent not to return into Castille; there was not a Curiosity a man of his age could be capable of pretending, but he made use of to stay; but his Brother was inexorable, and he must go along: yet this was not without solemn promises from Alphonso to come back again in a short time, if he lived, and as fincere assurances from Feliciana, never to falsify that faith which she had given him. Their Adieu was sorrowful and kind: excess of Love was at that time in season (for Love has its seasons as well as other things, and is as troublesome to those whose desires are satisfied, as it is agreeable where they are in their spring) Alphonso being departed, and Feliciana very impatient of his return, many months passed, and no News of her Castillan. There were several Spanish Ships arrived upon the Coast of Barbary, and in them some Alcantara Merchants, with Presents from Don Garcias for Feliciana's Mother; but no Letter, nor no private Message for her. This negligence startled her, she was afraid she was betrayed, and the first effect of that opinion being a resolution to reproach the crime to the Criminal himself, she insinuated with a Master of Biscay, and persuading him she would go over into Spain to turn Christian, she made him promise her to land her in the Port of Carthagena. The bargain made, and the hour of her Embarkment arrived, Feliciana put on a Suit of  of Alphonso's, which he had left by accident behind him, and providing herself with certain Chains of Gold, away she went to meet with her Biscayen. The Seas and the Winds were so favourable to her designs, that she landed at Carthagena without any accident: she brought a Horse there immediately, and taking a Guide, put herself upon the Road for Alcantara. She inquired of Alphonso wherever she came; in some place they knew not where he was, in others they knew him not at all; but at length there was an old Hostess of Toledo who told our disguised African there was to be a Meeting of all the Ribieroes in that Town within a few days, that she understood so much from a Neighbour of hers, at whose House that Family used to lodge; and that the same Neighbour told her withal, that Don Garcias came to be present at the Marriage of his younger Son with one Hippolita de Cueva, which was reckoned the handsomest young Maid in Castille. This News struck Feliciana to the heart, she wondered not now her Lover had been so lazy as never to write to her; she found he had other affairs upon his hands: she resolved however to attend him at Toledo, and causing herself to be called Felician, her shape and her legs concurred so well with her design, she was not suspected in the least. She was handsome, and the Sex she pretended to in her Disguise, made her Beauty more rare. She never stirred out of her Inn but the received some Compliment or other: One Evening as she was walking in one of the Walks in Toledo, and according to her old custom had been interrupted by several idle Propositions, a certain Lady in a Veil came to her, pulled her privately by the Arm, and made signs to her to follow her: Feliciana, or Felician, as you please, thought this also was another of his Mistresses, whose hopes she was constrained to betray; and in that opinion would have steered her course another way, but the Lady laying hold on her; Fellow me, thou perfidious Alphonso, said she to her, follow me, or I'll be thy destruction. The Name of Alphonso awakening the Curiosity of Feliciane, she followed the Lady into a Chamber where there were several Candles lighted. The Spanish Lady as soon as she was entered, turned up her Veil, and discovering a singular Beauty; Whence is it, Alphonse, said she to her, that you constrain me to these Stratagems to gain a little of your Converse? what reason have you to change your Name, and call yourself Felician? why do you conceal yourself from Hippolita de Cueva? in short, what is this Mystery, and what grounds have you for it? Feliciane perceived by her discourse it was her Rival whom Fortune had delivered into her hands, and being firmly resolved to give her no quarter; This Mystery is greater than I can tell you, Madam, replied she, I would spare myself the hardship of telling you myself, and that is the true reason I have declined you for some days: But, Madam, since you will force me, I must needs confess I am not capable of accomplishing our Marriage. Don Garcias Journey to Toledo will be in vain, for the faith you expect so impatiently from me, is, alas, engaged to another a long while ago. How! cried Hippolita in a mighty surprise, your faith engaged to another? Yes, Madam, continued Felician, an African Lady, inferior to yourself neither in Birth nor in Love, and (to one that was in Love with her) not much behind you in Beauty, has received that faith which you challenge. Ha! why then, thou perjured Person, replied Hippolita, hast thou been so audacious as to promise me? I am a man, replied Feliciana, and he that names Man, names Unconstancy; your Beauty made me forget for a while what I ought to my African; but I am returned to my first Love, and since I must be free with you, let me tell you I will die a thousand deaths before I will betray her: Ha! Traitor, cried the disconsolate Hippolita, I always pierced into your heart through all your Disguises, I observed always a force upon your actions, which me-thought, gave your Language the lie; and you know, vile man, I have told you so often. But, said she pursuing her transport, you shall never boast you have captivated Hippolita, unpanisht, what my kindness cannot expect, my vengeance must obtain: And then calling up people to seize upon Feliciana, whom she mistook all this while for Alphonso, she ran to her Father's Chamber to give him an account what she had done. The old Castillan applauded the indignation of his Daughter; he commanded Feliciana should be kept safe that night, and the next day he sent her to Prison. A Magistrate of no small Authority in that Town, was desired to examine her: She began to relent, would have changed her story, and pretended she was mistaken for another; but Hypolita's allegation, and the testimony of several other persons which assured him it was Alphonso, prevailed so far above all that she could say, that she was almost brought to the miserable Election of marrying Hippolita, or losing her head. She had rather have died, than have cured the Jealousy she had created in her Rival; but considering that what she was unwilling to do herself, Alphonso would do of course; she writ Hippolita word, that she was so far from being Alphonso, she was the African Lady she had told her of, and that if she would take the pains to come to the Prison, the should satisfy her own eyes with the truth of it. This Letter was delivered to the Keeper, and he desired to see it conveyed to Hippolita. He received it without any difficulty, looked upon it as a Recantation, and knew the whole Family of the Cuevas desired nothing more than that Alphonso would do as he was obliged, without further compulsion. But by accident the Count de Atrevalo, Confident to this Alphonso of Castille, and one who disputed the Crown with King Henry, made his Entry that day into Toledo, as Covernour of the Town. The Keeper must needs be a Spectator of this Ceremony, and engaging himself too far in the Crowd, he lost his Letter. It was taken up by one of the Count's Officers, who finding the Contents a little odd and unusual, would needs show it his Master. The Governor was as much surprised with the Adventure as his Man, and had a great Curiosity to understand the Particulars. He sent word to old Seigneur Cueva, he desired to know the difference betwixt him and Alphonso Ribiero; and upon that pretence sending for the Prisoner, he told her what he knew of her affairs already, and desired her to inform him of the rest. She satisfied his Curiosity; she was resolved to oppose the Marriage betwixt Alphonso and Hippolita, and she believed it so near a conclusion, that she thought she ought not to make a Secret any longer of that which the whole World would know in a very short time. But it fell out otherwise however. The Count de Atrevano, who by the ntural propensity of his Nation, was inclinable to impressions of love, took a great liking to the African; he thought he should do great Service to the Families both of the Cuevas and Ribieros, to keep this Lady out of their sight, and fancying great pleasure besides in having so fair a Mistress in his Chamber, without any Parents or Relations to call him to an account; he caused Feliciana to be removed to a Castle a few days Journey from Toledo. The carrying her away made a strange noise in the Town ● Hypolita's Friends believed Don Garcias had caused it. Don Garcias on the contrary, who expected to find Alphonso in good Intelligence with Hippolita, and was come thither to see her married, was much surprised to hear News so contrary to his expectation; he demanded his Son of Seigneur Cueva, and old Cueva demanded him of him: To explain the Intrigue, the Governor attended for Alphonso, but Alphonso did not appear; considering therefore that he could not declare what he knew, without discovering what he had a mind to conceal, he resolved to say nothing, and therefore leaving the Parents to dispute it among themselves, he went himself to the Castle, whither he had caused Feliciana to be conducted. He had ordered her women's , and Women to attend her, and the Count found her as handsome a Lady as he had been a Cavalier. He acquainted her with his intentions, and telling her it was unreasonable so excellent a Person should be served only by a Lover that had been false, he offered himself to repair the injury she had received from young Alphonso. Feliciana trembled at his tidings, but returned him this answer, That she gave him many thanks for the Civility of his Offer; but being come into Spain only in quest of her Alphonso, she begged of him the liberty to pursue her design. The Governor would not openly contend with her obstinacy, he had a mind to be happy with as little trouble as he could. He made several rich Presents to the African, and she accepted them with scorn, he shown her the Rarities of the Castle, and she seemed not to regard them; he resolved to have a little patience, and see how that would work: and therefore returned to his new Government, and leaving one of his Nephews, called Don Ferdinand in Command he gave him express charge to have a care of her Person, and so to prepare her with his Counsels, that he might find her tractable at his Return. He put his affairs into safe hands to succeed. Don Fernand had been no less smitten with the sight of Feliciana, than his Uncle the Count: When he found himself Master of his Destiny, he began to pay her such respects as were not at all compatible with his Commission, he sighed, he raved, flew out so far as to make ridiculous Pictures of his Uncle, and by degrees fell into expressions to this purpose, that if he were in Love with Feliciana, his thoughts were more innocent than his; it was not long before he blurted quite out, and told the African the whole bottom of his heart. All Lovers in the World but Alphonso were indifferent to her, the legitimacy of Fernando's desires were no advantage to him at all, and she had no more inclination to be married to him, than to be Mistress to his Uncle; but judging very prudently notwithstanding, that by opposing one of them against the other, she might secure herself against both, she pretended to hearken to Don Fernands' Propositions, and let fall some trisling Complacences on purpose. A witty Woman is at no great expense to please a man that is in Love with her. Fernand was extremely well satisfied with his good Fortune; Feliciana prevailed with him to let her escape, but upon promise to stay for him upon the Frontiers of Arragon, where in a few days he engaged to wait upon her, and conduct her into France. He had a great mind to have gone away with her from the first, but she persuaded it would be more convenient for him to stay with the Count, and to facilitate her Escape, by perverting the Hue and Cries, and sending them the wrong way. The Project being laid with all possible deliberation, and all things prepared that were necessary for its execution, Feliciana resumed the Habit of her Cavalier, mounted upon a Horse Don Fernand had given her, and deluding the vigilance of her Women, stole away one morning from her second Imprisonment, to seek out a refuge for the innocence of her Love. Don Fernand fastened a Cord to her Bedchamber Window, that it might be presumed she had escaped that way; he pretended to be infinitely concerned for her escape; and for his better dissimulation, he put himself in pursuit of her, as if he had had an unsatiable desire to have recovered her. He was but just gone out, when Alphouso came to repose himself an hour or two in the Castle. He had his reasons not to venture himself in the Towns, and knowing the Magnificence of the Count d' Atrevalo, he doubted not but a Stranger of his Garb would be well received in any place belonging to him; nor was he deceived: They entertained him very civilly, appointed him to eat, and Feliciana's Apartment being open, and lying most conveniently, the Steward attended the new Guest into her Champber. There was a Picture of Feliciana's hung up in the Room, exceedingly like her, which Don Fernand had begged of her one time when his Uncle had sent Painters to adorn a Gallery in the Castle. Alphonso was surprised at the sight of that Picture, as is easily to be imagined. Feliciana was dressed in the Spanish Mode, and that Dress disguised her a little; but however she was discernible to Eyes less penetrating than a Lovers. He was going out to inquire of some body whose that Picture was, and how it came thither; but in his perplexities he took one door for another, and instead of going into the Antichamber, which led to the stairs, he found himself in a little Closet adorned with Pictures, whose Frames of Wainscot were all covered over with Love-knots, wounded Hearts, and double FF. these fancies augmented his astonishment; and to carry it on to the highest degree, he found a little Table-book lying open upon the Table, and written as he conceived with Feliciana's own hand: he took it up, and read these Verses ensuing.  
Ingrateful Wretch, and perjured, what can be  
Equal to th' guilt of infidelity?  
What more transgressive to Love's laws? what more  
'Gainst Nature, than t'forget what you have sworn?  
But hold! fond Heart, let not his present state  
Expunge the kindness he expressed of late,  
Betrayed, I ought, but loving, cannot hate.  
And at the bottom of these Verses there was writ in great Characters,  

THE PROFESSION OF AN AMOROUS FAITH.  
This Title promised some rare and divertising Articles; but Feliciana had not had time to write them, and if she had, Alphonso was in such trouble, he could not have had the power to have read them. He went down the first stairs he could meet with, which stairs went directly to her Maid's Chamber, where by accident having taken Physic that day, the Governess was in Bed. She was an old Woman truckling under the burden of her age, and yet seeing but a man come into the Room, she skreekt out, and hid her face under the Coverlet, as if she had been but fifteen, and her virtue in the greatest danger imaginable. Alphonso excused himself, told her he was a Stranger, who knew not whither the stairs would carry him, begged her pardon for surprising her in that condition, and desired her to inform him, if she could, where the Count d' Atrevalo had got the Picture which hung in a Chamber hard by. Is it Feliciana's Picture you mean? said the old Woman, with her head in the Bed all the while. Yes, replied Alphonso, 'tis she I speak of. Don Fernand, that Governors' Nephew, replied the old Woman, caused it to be drawn by the life. And where is that Lady? cried Alphonso in haste. The Governess was much offended with Feliciana's escape: she found her employment very good, could not pardon the African for making it cease, and the disgusts of such kind of persons go seldom without a touch of ill language. She is rambling about the World, said the malicious old Woman; she was two months together in this House, where the Cont d' Atrevalo caused her to be treated, as she had been the best Lady in Castille; but not being willing to be restrained, and, as it seems not accustomed to be contented with one Servant, she got away this very night out of her Chamber Window by the fidelity of a Bed-cord. I am damned, if jealous Don Fernand had not a hand in it: I observed kibg since there was a kindness betwixt them; and when she sat for her Picture, I durst have sworn by their gloating, the poor Count would be betrayed. The old Matron had scarce finished these words, but two or three of her other Women hearing a noise from the next Chamber where they were, came in to see what was the matter. They no sooner cast their eyes upon Alphonso, but they took him for Feliciana; one could not forbear expressing her joy to see her returned; another upbraided her by the fright into which she had been put. Alphonso perceived their mistake, and told them they took him for another person; but they observing him to be preparing to be gone, and not being able to believe but this was Feliciana, they threw themselves upon him cried out for more help; and in short, seized upon him in spite of all his protestations, that he was none of Feliciana. Whilst these things were in transaction, the Count d' Atrevalo arrived; he had been told of Feliciana's escape by the first he met, and understanding afterwards what had passed in the Governesses Chamber, he repaired thither with all speed to see what was the matter. Which way have I disobliged you, Feliciana, said he to Alphonso whom he took at first for his African, what have I done that should cause you to disguise yourself to escape from me? I love you, I confess, Feliciana, but I appeal to yourself whether that passion had ever any effects that might constrain you to this Metamorphosis. Submissive Representations have hitherto been to only Interpreters of my Heart: I have not left you any thing to suspect me of that was unworthy, I have required nothing of you but what was lawful; I have kept you two months together in my House, without abusing my power, and you have restrained my affections t the severe bounds of Civility: why then, Feliciana, do you fly from me? or what one thing have I done to disoblige you? Had it not been for the Conference he had had with the old Governess, this Discourse coming out of the Rivals own mouth would have amply resolved his suspicions; but it was not now, the Count he was jealous of so much as Don Fernand. I am not she you take me for, Sir, said he to the Count; I know my resemblance is great enough to authorise your mistake; but though Nature hath created that resemblance in our faces, Heaven hath form our mind of different Constitutions; hers is as disloyal as mine is faithful, and the perjury of which she is guilty, betrays me with as much ingratitude, as I am charged with for not betraying of her. The Count having had leisure whilst Alphonso was speaking, to examine him more strictly, discerned some difference betwixt him, and his African. His stature was the larger of the two, his Features more remarkable, and he perceived some glimmerings of a beard, he began to think it must be Alphonso, and therefore looking upon him now rather as his Rival than his Mistress; he caused him to be shut up close, sent to give notice to old Cueva of his detention, and swore he would die but he would make young Ribiero marry Hippolita. In the mean time Feliciana was making her escape, not knowing whither she was going, nor in what place she could find any protection. She durst not continue in Castille, she could not resolve to go back into Barbary, much less would she go to the place where she had appointed Don Fernand to meet her. She took the right hand way, where she had promised to take the left, and the left where she was to have taken the right; and being equally fearful of losing, and not losing her way, she marched on in a most unutterable perplexity. It is not to be questioned whether she made use of any imprecations against the ingrateful person, had run her upon these difficulties, whether she resolved to hate his person as much as she detested his infidelity, and whether in repenting she had loved him, she did not resolve to love him no longer; all these confusions were the common effects of jealousy and anger, and never was Lover in Feliciana's condition but was sensible of them. Being in the highest of these sorrowful reflections, and entered into a Wood she knew not which was the way out of; she was in great danger of passing not only the rest of the day, but the whole night in that solitude, when by accident she met with a Cavalier, who having looked wishly upon her once or twice, made up to her with design to accost her. The poor Feliciana was so prepossessed with fear, that forgetting her Disguise, she apprehended this Gallant would prove some new Amouroso, and clapped Spurs to her Horse to escape him, if she could: But the Cavalier crying out after her, Hold, Seigneur Alphouso, 'tis your most faithful Mandoce, she recollected herself, and became so curious as to look back. She resolved to make advantage of this accident, and replied, I did not know you indeed as I was passing, but well, how does the fair Hippolita? Hippolita, Sir, said Mandoce, would not receive your Letter; she told me you were a Traitor, and that she abhorred your very Name, that she would not prosecute your death, that she was so generous as to rejoice that you were safe; but that you should not presume for the future to abuse her integrity, unless you desired to provoke her fury again. I entreated her to explain her Discourse, and assured her I knew nothing of it; but my ignorance was taken for an artifice, and she threatened to have me apprehended, and your retreat, and the place I was to meet you, extorted from me by torments. I had no directions to inform her, and me-though she looked as if she would have been as good as her word: Her threatening me so, made me get out of Toledo as fast as I could, and my advice is, that you would get as far off as you can also; for knowing how things stand in your own conscience, my opinion, Sir, is it will be no place for you. And having given his Judgement, Mandoce supposing Feliciana to be his Master, put the Letter into her hands. Feliciana took it, and stepping two or three paces aside, that Mandoce might not perceive the trouble it gave her, she opened it, and read as follows.  
Madam,  
Your desert is too great to be made the object of 〈◊〉 counterfeit passion. My heart is entirely another bodies, and I cannot obtain from its veritable sentiments, that it should constrain itself any longer. Y●● will call me treacherous, and perjured, but, Madam, 'tis to avoid those Epithets, I expose myself to them. The suspicions of Don Garcias made me guilty of a procedeur contrary to my nature. I could not disentangle myself from his vigilance, but by pretending Love unto you, and I could wish with all my heart my pretences were in earnest, that I might do Justice to your Charms: But, Madam, the affections of a man's heart depend not upon himself; pardon mine then I beseech you, a Crime it could not but commit, and if you be generous, complain, but do not abhor me.  
There was not a word in this Letter but was a wholesome Antidote against Feliciana's Jealousy; and as if her good Genius had apprehended that the forgetting of names might have yet left some poison behind it: Mandoce beginning where he left; There is no room now, Sir, said he, for unseasonable Contemplations, your time is but short; and seeing you are resolved at last to return into afric, why will you not take this opportunity, and away to the next Port. There is a Vessel ready, and you have no more to do but to go aboard, and set Sail; besides let me tell you, I heard a Whispering among some people who baited at my Inn, which makes me jealous of your person. They said that you were apprehended, and that the Count d'Atrevalo had sworn to make you marry Hippolita: I see well enough those Fellows were mistaken, and I know well enough those rumours are vain; but believe me, Sir, let us save ourselves, if we can, Hippolita is highly offended, and will play you some scurvy ●rick or other, if she be not prevented. Feliciana could not contain herself at this last assurance of her Servants fidelity, she gave thanks to her Stars which had drawn her out of her error, and pronouncing herself a thousand times happy, thrice happy Feliciana; she conjured Mandoce to tell her where she might find Alphonso. Mandoce was so frighted at that question, he had like to have run away from her; he looked upon Feliciana as he was utterly undone, and taking her still for his Master, he asked her (shivering) if she were out of her Wits: No, Mandoce, replied Feliciana, I am not out of my Wits; on the contrary, I have recovered them. Then she told him her Name, and that she was come into Spain on purpose to seek him. What Mandoce had heard talked to his Master formerly, of the exact resemblance betwixt Feliciana and him, persuaded him presently all was true that she said. He fell down upon his knees, and gave thanks that their Journey was shortened, and conducting the African where his Master had appointed to meet him that night; he gave her an account as they traveled, that Alphonso's Brother had conceived a suspicion of their Amour before his departure from afric; that he had advertised his Father of it at his return, and that the old man having intercepted Letters, by which Alphonso assured Feliciana he would be with her ere long; he caused him to be so narrowly watched, he could not make one step but Don Garcias had notice; that being weary of that persecution, and persuaded he could not (without collusion) disengage himself from his vigilance, he had pretended Love to Hippolita de Cueva, who was gone to see one of her Aunts at Alcantara; that Don Garcias believing he had been in earnest, had concluded the Articles with Hypolita's Father, and constrained Alphonso to sign them: But that a few days after he had escaped, and got off to a Friends house, who furnished him with money for his Voyage into afric, whither he was then ready to go, and had been there before that time, had the season of the year been proper for his designs. This Discourse, and such others entertained Feliciana to the place where she expected her Alphonso, and where she found him in effect; but alas! not in the condition she desired. The Count d'Atrevalo having News that the Count de Benevent (a great Lord in Castille) and some other of his best friends were coming to his House, and apprehending that Alphonso might take advantage to escape by the disorder so much company was like to produce; and being absolutely resolved to secure the possession of Feliciana, by forcing his Rival to marry Hippolita, he caused him to be conveyed to a Fort upon the Frontier of Murcia, not above a days Journey from thence. The Prisoner went away late from the Count's House, and could not reach his Giste; he was forced to lie by the way, and it fell out his Quarters were taken up for him in the same place where he had appointed Mandoce to come to him: The same Fortune contrived it, that Don Fernand returning from the search he pretended, was come to the same House. Feliciana saw him come into the Court, through the Windows of her Chamber, and the very sight of him had like to have made her betake herself to her heels; but a new fancy coming into her head in the instant, she sent Mandoce to let him know Feliciana would speak with him, and ordered one of Alphonso's Servants to conduct him into a little Court into which she had observed one of her Windows did look. Mandoce discharged himself of his Commission, and Don Fernand came overjoyed to the Window where Feliciana expected him: My dear Don Fernand, said she to him, and as softly as she could speak, Heaven has sent you once more to my relief; I am taken again, 'tis I that am conducting to the Frontiers of Murcia, the Count d'Atrevalo takes me for Alphonso; but do not you suffer yourself to be deceived with our resemblance; I am Feliciana, and to convince you, See there, said she, throwing her Table-book to him, see what you gave me when I took my leave of you at the Count's Castle, you shall find there the Roads you directed me to take, and set them down with your own hand, save me once more, if you can possibly. After this Proposition she pulled in her head, and retired, as she had been afraid to be overheard; and Don Fernand returning as fast, he fell upon contriving which way he should rescue the Prisoner which he took to be Feliciana; he went to the Officer which commanded the Convoy, and told him the Count having occasion to employ him with all speed at the Castle, had sent him to execute his place. The Officer knowing him to be his Nephew, and in good esteem with the Count, made no scruple to resign, and mounting in the morning by break of day, away he went Post where Fernand directed him. His back was no sooner turned, but Don Fernand commanded his Convoy to horse, and dispersed them, some he placed in one post, some in another, some he sent to secure such a Pass, others to possess such a Bridge, and when they were far enough asunder, running to Alphonso's Bed, Come let us save ourselves now, Feliciana, said he, all things are ready for our escape: We will go to Carthagena, which is no great distance from hence, and from thence pass into Barbary; but you must make haste, for time is precious. Alphonso understood immediately who he took him for; but he had no mind to rectify an error was like to procure him his liberty. He dressed himself out of hand, and followed the Count They took Horse without any noise, and marched directly for Carthagena. The Sun was not quite up when they departed, and they passed upon a Causeway that would not permit them to discourse. But as soon as Don Fernand found himself out of danger, my dear Feliciana, said he to his Rival, putting one of his Arms about her Neck, see now, at length we are delivered from the Tyranny of the Count d'Atrevalo: he shall disturb our felicity no more, and thanks to the good counsel you gave, we shall find in Barbary that repose, which we durst not so much as hope for in Castille; But tell me, my dear, how came you to be retaken, how came you to deceive my Uncle, and by what good Fortune did you find the way of speaking to me yesterday? Alphonso understood but one part of his Discourse; but that was sufficient to inform him, that he who talked to him was his Rival, and the Count's Nephew who rescued Feliciana from the hands of his Uncle the first time. This consideration transported him with jealousy and fury: he clapped his hand upon one of Don Fernands' Pistols, and clapping Spurs to his Horse to disengage himself a little, he turned short, and told him, thou shalt die, vile man, thou shalt die, and thy blood revenge the persidiousness of my ingrateful Mistress. Don Fernand was so surprised at this action, he took it at first for a dream. He looked upon himself, he stared upon Alphonso, he knew he was Don Fernand; but he took his Rival for his Mistress, and not being able to accommodate these inconsistencies, being clearly transported, he demanded of Alphonso, if he had lost his senses, or whether he knew him or not: I know you too well, replied the young Bibiero; but it is you that does not know me: defend yourself while you may, or I shall spoil your fencing. Feliciana and Mandoce came in just as Alphonso had spoke those words: They had watched when Don Fernand departed, and traced him all the way; Hold, Alphonso, cried the African, forcing herself betwixt them, do not attempt the life of a person, to whom you are indebted for your Feliciana. These words and the sight of Feliciana, opened Don Fernands' Eyes, and he became sensible of his mistake: he remembered he had heard talk of the resemblance betwixt Alphonso and his African, and concluding it was his Rival he had delivered, he would have fallen upon him; but Feliciana and Mandoce opposed: Be patiented, Don Fernand, said the African to him, be patiented, your fury at this time will be in vain: I do not doubt but it troubles you, that you have rescued your Rival, instead of your Mistress, and that it must be great regret to you to have twice betrayed your Uncle, when you consider the effects of that Treason were nothing else but the delivering up Feliciana to her Alphonso; but there is a Destiny in Love, as in other things; you were not born to be more happy in yours, I am sorry for it with all my heart, and will pray hearty to Cupid to comfort you. As for myself, 'tis not in my power, I am young Ribieroes, and can be no bodies else: And having ended her Speech, she whipped on her Horse, and Alphonso and Mandoce followed: Alphonso had like to have run away at the very sight of Feliciana, so strange an impression had the opinion of her inconstancy made in him: But Mandoce perceiving it, got up to him, and conjured him not to be so fierce, for he could assure him his Mistress was innocent. What she said to Don Fernand confirmed his report, so that Alphonso followed her much better satisfied than when she fell first upon Fernand. Don Fernand endeavoured to have opposed their flight, at least not to leave them; but the first was impossible, and as to the second, the trouble which was upon him not permitting him the prudent management of his Horse, he ran him upon a Rock before he was ware, and down he came with all four. The two Lovers did not hold it any part of their Charity to relieve him; they rid as fast as they could to Carthagena, and from thence past with all speed into afric, where the sincerity of Alphonso's intentions, made the Father and Mother of Feliciana forget what their Daughter had done. And all the Family of the Ribieroes were glad to follow their Example. The fury of the Count d'Atrevalo was so great upon the News that the two Lovers were arrived safely in Barbary, that not content to exercise his rage upon his Nephew (who was pursued and slain by his Orders) he extended it to all such as had any intimacy or relation to Alphonso. He persecuted Don Garcias severely, for having taken away the best part of his Estate, and caused his elder Son to be executed, he forced the old man to seek Sanctuary with his youngest: and this was the Source of all the Divisions in the Kingdom of Castille, which in less than thirty years' time caused the change of so many Masters, and at length pulled down his Holinesses Excommunication upon the Head of the Count d'Atrevalo; but we will leave him to his penitences, and continue our Remarks upon the most amorous Passages in History.  
Love is a thing hereditary falls  
Like Land, unto the Children; Parents free,  
And gay, produce the like, no spleens, no galls,  
But streams of Love run down the family.  
The mother which before was soft and kind,  
But seldom leaves a dogged Girl behind.  
There is no Reader I suppose so ignorant, 
Jane supposed of Castille.  but he knows what the Spanish History reports of Leonora, the Wife of Henry the Fourth, King of Castille, surnamed the Impotent. This Princess having a private Amour with the Count de Cueva, chief of the Family we have mentioned so lately, and since created Duke of Albuquerque, would not trouble herself, as other Ladies do, to conceal it from her Husband, she made her Love an Affair of State; and King Henry, persuaded that it was by his fault his Wife had no Children, and being passionately desirous of them, he entreated Leonora very civilly that she would contrive some way or other to provide him one. She pretended great horror at the first Proposition, that she might have the pleasure of being pressed; and the King did her that kindness, he pressed, he entreated, and his Election concurring with the Queens, the good Monarch conducted the Count de Cueva to the Royal Bed with his own hand. The business was executed with full liberty, and of this admirable Conjunction that Jane was born who was owned by Henry, and for a long time after disputed the Crown with the famous Isabel, Grandmother to the Emperor Charles V It would be to invert the Laws of Nature and Gallantry, to ascribe rigid and severe Virtue to a Daughter of so spurious Extraction, we must endeavour to represent her conformable to the Birth wherewith her Mother had honoured her. She was not above sixteen or seventeen years of age, when Lewis XI. King of France (the same we have spoken of before as Dauphin in the Gallanteries of Agnes) sent the Bishop of Alby to demand her in Marriage for his Brother the Count de Guyenne. The Count de Boulogne was employed particularly from the Count de Guyenne with full power in his Name to do what he thought requisite in the Affair, and he thought good to fall in Love with her himself. He was handsome, and a●ery, and the French are never so transcendantly illustrious as in foreign Countries. The Infanta of Castille saw nothing at King Henry's Court so magnificently spruce as the French Count: She could not forbear running into an admiration of their Manners and Deportment, and the Count, like a good Politician, persuading Monsieur d'Alby, that to render their Embassy successful, it would be convenient to gain upon the inclinations of the Princess, in respect of the power she had over her Mother, and her Mother over the King; he entertained her with continual Discourses about the liberty with which they made Love in France. It had not been long since Charles VII. was dead, and the severity of Lewis' Regiment was not established as yet: He talked of nothing but the wonderful freedoms of the last Reign, to have heard him, one would have sworn the good qualities of the Ladies were denominated by their Conquests, and he assured her that in France one would pass for either simple, or deformed, if at her age she had not had two or three Amours. The Princess was jealous of the reputation of her Charms, gave the Count to understand she liked the French fashion very well, and according to his description, would be very glad to be in it. For her first Lesson, he caused her Picture to be taken in little, by the permission of the Queen, to send it as he pretended, to the Count de Guyenne; but when it was finished, he caused a Copy to be taken, and sending that to the Count, he kept the Original for himself; See, Madam, said he to the Princess, how ingenious men demean themselves in our Court; their pretences are honourable and fair in every thing they do. Their outward professions are always above censure; but the secret intention they reserve to themselves; and it would be a sign of a very barren invention to circumscribe it within the bounds of a single design. Such solid Lessons as these meeting with a Nature apt and disposed, made so great a progress in a few months, that the Princess was able to have commented upon his Text. Castille was then in great Troubles by the pretensions of the Infant Alphonso, Brother of Isabel, and the Nephew of Henry, who (as Historians say) without any lawful Right made Claim to the Crown. The Grandees of the Country endeavoured to accommodate the difference. The Marquis de Villena supporting Alphonso's, and the Duke of Albuquerque Henry's pretensions. The young Princess had a mind to bring over the Marquis to the Interests of Henry, in which she was engaged; and to that purpose bethought herself of putting the Count of Boulognes' Documents in practice: The Marquis de Villena hoping to draw some advantage from the Conversation of the Princess, which might be profitable to Alphonso, prevented the obliging designs she had upon his Heart. They began their first Commerce with their Eyes: if he thought he understood the meaning of her glances, his were no less intelligible to her; so that there needed no further explication of that Language. There was a Garden belonging to the Palace, reserved only for the Queen and her Daughter to walk in, into which no man was ever admitted: The Princess took the Air there every night without any Attendance but an old Governess (the Count de Boulogne had corrupted) and her Maids who never came near her but when they were called. The Marquis found a way to introduce himself into this Garden; he attended the hour in which the Princess was accustomed to walk, and following her with his Eye into a Grove of Cypress-trees which form themselves into a Labyrinth, he discovered himself to her when he judged it convenient. The Princess was surprised to see a man in that place, and the first impression made her retire: but the Marquis conjuring her to hear him one word, the Infanta was flexible and yielded. And for as much as the Daughters of Kings are not to be courted as common persons are, reasons of State being always the pretence of an ingenious Lover among them; he began first with a Declaration of the absolute Power he had to negotiate in the difference betwixt Alphonso and Henry; he next represented how easy it would be for him to propose in the Treaty her Marriage with Alphonso, and observing the effect that Overture had upon the Princess, he began to insinuate the Love he had for her himself, and declared that by her indulgence and affection, she might engage him in her Interests. The Princess took a resolution worthy of the Doctrine the French Count had preached to her: she pretended great severity, but yet without shifting the Marquis' hopes; My heart, says she, prefers the love of Virtue to all the Dignities in the World, nevertheless it is not so ungrateful, but a considerable service may have an influence upon it. In the midst of this Conference the Princess apprehended she heard some body walk behind the Palissade, against which she was leaning, and she trembled at the Alarm. Though the Queen had made no profession of austerity herself, yet she exacted it in others, and according to the Maxim of Court Ladies, was a declared Enemy to all other people's Courtship. The Princess fearing therefore to be surprised alone in discourse with a man, made but one leap betwixt the place where she was, and the door into her Apartment; and in imitation of her, the Marquis made as much haste away as he could. He that put them to the rout, saw nothing but their shadow: it was the Count of Boulogne, who observing her walk, had got in at one of the Gates, and was watching upon the same design as had tempted his Rival. He was in as much fear of being discovered as they. When he heard them he hide himself, and suspecting nothing of the truth, he gave them as much leisure to escape as they could wish. When by the profound silence after they were fled, he judged he might come forth without danger, he stole to the Princess' Window (which he knew looked into the Garden) resolved to knock gently, and if it were possible, prevail for some moment's Converse; but he was surprised with a violent shower of rain, which made him apprehend the Princess, could neither come out herself, nor put her head out of the Window, so that he was glad to retire very melancholy upon the illness of his success. As he was marching off, he perceived something under his feet, which he took up, and found it like a Woman's Pantoffle or high Shoe; and indeed it was one of the Infanta's, which she lost as she was running away, and durst not stoop to take it up again. The Count seized upon it, and imagining the Lady which lost it, must needs have been in great haste to leave it behind her, he concluded the noise he had heard could not be without Mystery; and had a great curiosity in himself to find out the bottom of it. The Pantoffle being in his Judgement necessary to his design, he put it up carefully in his Pocket, and went home to his Quarters. Being there, he began to examine it particularly, and found it to be richly embroidered, and the form very handsome; he sent one of his Servants (who w●nting no cunning) to inquire of all the Workmen in the City, for whom that Pantoffle was made, and it proved to be made for a young Castellane, called Elvira, who was one of the Princess' Maids of Honour, and having excellent invention in all kind of Trim, the Princess herself wore many times of her Work. The Count de Boulogne being ignorant of the second Destiny of the Pantoffle, contented himself with the first; and (his Intrigue with the Princess carrying more of honour than profit along with it) he thought it not incompatible, if he had made a little Love to the Castillane. She had appeared to him very pretty from his very Arrival, and if the honour of having the first-fruits of a Royal Heart, joined with some secret designs upon the score of the Count de Guyenne, had not solicited his desires for the Infanta, Elvira had had the first of his devotions. He was hearty glad to find his way so well prepared: Lovers by the by, do not insist so much upon Quality and Greatness; the Conquests that are most easy, are most acceptable with them. He built upon the foundation of a former Rendez-vous, and judging of Elviras' Complexion by what he thought he knew of her already, the first occasion he met with, he fancied would be favourable enough. Being at a Comedy in the Queen's Apartment, and a Collation afterwards, to which the Ambassadors were invited, he took Elvira aside towards a Balister, and pretending to desire her explication of some Paintings upon the Wainscot, which he liked very well: 'Tis not these Paintings is the business, Elvira, said he, as softly as he could speak, that is but the pretence of our discourse: I love you, and could never be happy in an opportunity of telling you before. I know I attempt a Fort, has been taken already, but it is the custom among the French to dispossess all Usurpers: I am not ignorant of your affairs, it was I routed you the Queen's Garden the other night: it was I made you run in such haste, and it is I have the Pantoffle in my custody, which you lost by the way. I have not told any thing of all this to any but yourself, and will die a thousand deaths before ever I will tell it, But, fair Elvira, let me remember you, such discretion as this deserves some kind of favour, recompense it therefore, if you please. Elvira was young, high-spirited, one that would not admit of an Intrigue, and for whom Nature had liberally done, what the Laws, and Education do many times find great difficulty to do. You address yourself very ill, Monsieur, said she to the Count something angrily, you must seek a new Object for your Romances, such trifles will not relish with me: And what she said, she spoke with that Emphasis, as bold as the Monsieur was, she put him out of Countenance. Neverteless being assured, as he thought, Elvira was not so terrible as she desired to appear, this sally did but redouble the ardour of his Attaque; he watched Elviras' Eyes  he was permitted to see her: He took all lawful occasions to make her little Presents, he gave many Bills to the Princess' Maids, and found a way to insinuate, they were intended only for her. But 〈◊〉 more he concerned himself, the less notice she took. When he talked to her of the Garden, the Rendez-vous, and the Pantoffle, she looked upon him as distracted, and he (not to drive a thing too far, when he perceived she delighted not to hear) took himself up, and pretending to believe her heart as yet undisposed of, beseeched her he might have it in that quality rather than fail: She told him very snappingly, she would do nothing in that nature, and that she was a professed Enemy to those kind of Intrigues; but let her say what she would he would have been sworn to the contrary, and that it was her caution, not her humour deceived him. Well, he must needs know which of the two spoke truth: He had made but one of the Gardiner's before, he made them all now; he understood the Marquis de Villena entered into the Garden that night he found the Pantoffle. He sent for the Workman that made it, and examined it himself; he assured him he made it for Elvira, so that the obstinacy she had expressed, began to lose that credit it had almost acquired. The Count suspected it an artifice, and believing it would be meritorious to convince her of her juggling, he resolved to take her in the act. Though he had all these designs in his head, his Intrigues with the Princess went on nevertheless: He accosted her as oft as he could, he writ Letters to her every day, and invented an hundred ways to convey them; sometimes he sent them wrapped up in dried Sweetmeats (and I suppose it was he brought up that custom at his return, for it is still practised in France at this day) otherwhiles he brought Verses and Songs according to the way of the French Court, and then stole in a Letter amongst those the Princess seemed to like. He was so ingenious likewise to cause a Busk of Leaf-gold to be made upon blue Enamel, all hollow within, and the Princess pretending to show him the Workmanship, or playing at some kind of Sport where that would be necessary, she received his Notes many times, and many times answered them. They were as kind as at the beginning, and (except certain degrees of benevolence which he reserved till after his Embassy was concluded) he thought himself in as much favour as he could wish; but he was very much mistaken. The Marquis had satisfied the Infanta, that her Marriage with Alphonso would be more honourable and advantageous, than the Count de Guyenne; and th● Princess treating the Ambassadors according to the quality of their Proposals, the Prince of Castilles Ambassadors had the precedence in her heart. The Marquis had met her by her order in the Garden, where he had found her the first time without it; and as his designs of marrying her to Alphonso, were not so sincere as the Count de Boulognes' were to marry her to the Count de Guyenne; the story says, the Marquis was much bolder with the pretences of the Prince of Castille, than the Count was with those of the French Prince. One evening when he was in the Queen's Garden attending the Princess who had promised to meet him without any Equipage but her Governante; the Count de Boulogne, who had his Scouts abroad, had notice where he was: he hasted privately into the Garden by the Gate that was at his disposing, and expecting at least to take Elvira in a lie, he stole gently behind an Arbour, where the Gardener he had made, assured him the Marquis was entered. The evening was dark, and the Princess, and Villena spoke very low, nevertheless the Count could here the Whispering they made. He went round about the Arbour, and throwing himself into it suddenly; How now! Madam, said he to the Princess, you will have no Amours not you? your Rendez vous, and the story of the Pantofles are but Romances and Fables? you have no kindness for the Marquis of Villena at all? and you are naturally, what the most virtuous are by Education? Part of this charge was properly enough upon the Princess, and had the Count been assured to whom he had addressed his Discourse, his public and private Interests would have authorized him to have expressed himself in that manner: But the haughtiness and quality of the Infanta would not permit her to return him any milder reply. She told the Count he was very bold to intrude himself into a Conversation where he was not invited; that she had her reasons for the secrecy of her discourse with the Marquis, wherewith the King was already contented, and (besides the Queen) she thought herself not accountable to any body else; that he would be gone immediately, unless he desired she should forget the respect she had for his Dignity, as he had forgot what was due unto her. It is not easy to express the astonishment the Count de Boulogne was in when he heard it was the Infanta; he thought he had been mistaken, and interrupting her in a fright; Why, Madam, said he to her, is it you that is in this Arbour? Yes, replied the Infanta in a passion, it is I: And this Cavalier with me is the Marquis de Villena? Yes, said the Marquis, I am the Marquis de Villena, and I am in discourse with the Infanta about matters of State. I ask your pardon, Madam, replied the Count out of countenance, I did not expect to have found the Marquis in so good Company, I shall take my measures better another time, and seeing the respect I own you is exposed by such accidents undesigned, I shall keep a better guard upon it for the future. Having finished these words, he withdrew, and left the Infanta in a most inexpressible disquiet. The true cause she concealed from the Marquis; that piece of sincerity is never in use; but the scrupulous virtue wherewith the Queen did seem to embellish her older years, supplied the Princess with pretences enough for her disorder. As soon as she was got to her Chamber, she writ a Letter to the Count, and though she fathered her Rendez-vous upon the troubles of Castille, yet she expressed so sensible a sorrow for the suspicions he had conceived, that one must have been the Infanta herself to have discovered the fallacy. This Letter by ill Fortune fell into the hands of the Marquis de Villena. The Princess had the Names of her Gallants so ready in her memory, that she confounded them, and thinking to name the Count de Boulogne, she directed her Messenger to the Marquis. The Messenger understanding no further than what he received from her mouth for there was no Superscription) carried it directly as the Princess had commanded before she was ware. Such Messages as those are usually great interruptions to Gallants repose. The Marquis spent the best part of the night in contemplation of that gracious Letter, he was immediately satisfied of the mistake. The Count was so exactly described, he needed not have been his Rival to discover it was to him. This made the Marquis as jealous as angry: He considered in what manner the Count accosted the Princess, and judged her answer, though apparently angry, yet upon second thoughts more than ordinary familiar; he deduced two or three melancholy Consequences, and resolved to second them with Conference with the Count, he went to speak with him as soon as he was dressed. The Count had received a Ticket from the Princess, addressed to the Marquis, as the Marquis had received one the night before intended to the Count She had discovered the Destiny of her Letter, upon the return of her Messenger; and would fain have rectified it, if it were possible; with this design, she conjured the Marquis to meet her in a Monastery, where she was to dine that day, and where she hoped to have the liberty to discourse with him. The faults of Servants have such a successive concatenation, they are neither to be justified nor prevented. The Princess had given so severe a Lecture to him that carried the Letter, for having delivered it to Marquis de Villena, and reitered with so confused a transport, that what she writ, was for the Count de Boulogne, that his name ran still in his head, insomuch as he mistook again and carried the Ticket to the Count He was just reading it when the Marquis came in, and Villena seeing him go out who brought the Note, and knowing him to be the same person who had brought him the Letter the evening before; This Officer of the Princess, said he to the Count, hath prevented my zeal but a moment, I am come to deliver you the Letter which without doubt he has told you did belong to you. He told me but one thing (and that I am not much concerned to know) replied the Count; which is, that the Princess goes this day to dinner in a Monastery in this City; you who have more affairs to treat with her than I have, and who chooses such private places for your transactions, may, if you please, make your advantage of this; and giving him the Ticket, he bade him look where it was. The Marquis was named in it, so the Count made no scruple to deliver it to him. Ha! truly, said the Marquis smiling when he had read it, this Adventure is pretty; the Princess I preceive would not leave us any thing wherewith to reproach one another, and I should have had the advantage too much, should I have given you the Letter she writ to you, unless you had had the same Present for me. Having said those words, he thrust it into his hands. The Count read it, and going on afterwards in his Discourse; The Princess, said he, takes more pains than she needs, I am too wise to do her any injury, and too incredulous to be deceived. But, Sir, said he to the Marquis, may I ask you, how long is it since you have been in possession of the Princess' favours? for knowing so much as I do, I suppose you will not be desirous to make it a secret; I believe, Sir, we are both guilty of the same indiscretion, replied the Marquis, I am no more ignorant of your affairs, than you are of mine, and I think the Princess is not worthy of your Cautions, when we reflect upon the way she hath treated us. The two Lovers being strangely irritated, but possess with a passion too indifferent to produce any Tragical effects, entered into an entire intimacy upon the score of their Adventures, and resolved to be revenged by defeating her Marriage with either of the Princes from whom they were employed. But they had not the pleasure of that revenge, Alphonso and the Count de Guyenne dying about the same time, and the King of Castille following not long after, the Princess' Destiny conducted her into Portugal, where she failed not without doubt to put her old Maxims in practice. But I could never get the true Memoires of the rest of her Intrigues. All I could learn was only this, that after several Adventures, a Ray of Grace confined her to a Monastery of Saint Clares, where she ended her life with most exemplary devotion. The Count de Boulogne (who knowing her humour, looked upon her retirement but as some amorous discontent) communicated his thoughts to so many people, that the Tradition is come down as far as us, and I have related, as I received it: and thus finding the third, Tome of our Annals sufficiently large, I make haste to acquit myself of my fourth.    

THE ANNALS OF LOVE.  
THE SEVENTH PART.  
ISmael (who by Usurpation had wrested the Persian Empire out of the hands of Prince Imerse, Grandchild to Vsun-Cassan) had two Sons which were Twins, the eldest was called Scach-Caly, and the other Chasan-Helif: the Sophy designed the first of these two Princes for a Sister of Imerses, named Imerselle, to whom from her Infancy he had given Education suitable to his design, and this Marriage being like to corroborate his Usurpations, he resolved it in one of his Royal Feasts, so famous in that Country, where it is reckoned a crime no less than mortal to appeal from the Decrees pronounced at such times. The Grandees of that Empire having been long prepared for that Alliance, had approved it before, and the pain annexed to the infringement of that Law, transcending any repugnancy the Princess could conserve against the Family of that Tyrant; there was nothing expected but the Conclusion of that Negotiation, and the delivering up certain Provinces which as yet remained faithful to their lawful Prince; but in such cases the suffrage of the people is not so necessary, as a concurrence of Love: Which admitting no Laws but its own; Prince Caly understood those of his Country in vain, and could not bring his heart to a compliance therewith. He was desperately enamoured of a Kinswoman of his, called Zuria, and his passion being secret, was the more violent. He did what he could to resist this inclination; but finding it grow higher by depression, he sent for his Brother, and made him his Confident both of his Love, and despair. Nor indeed could he have chosen one more sincere, for besides the perfect amity betwixt them, Chasan had an ardent affection for Imerselle: he never durst declare it to her, because he thought her too worthy of the Empire, and so too high for any Subject to marry; besides he knew the Order of Nature had designed her for his Brother. How! Sir, said he, when the Prince told him he could not love Imerselle, is the Princess of Persia offered to you, and you will not accept? I know her Excellencies well enough, replied the Prince; but I am obliged by so strong ligaments to Zuria, that I am not able to break them. I must confess Imerselle is beautiful, I must confess she is virtuous, and I know in prudence I should look no further. But, dear Brother, I have no sooner made this reflection, but I find I know not what ebullition in my mind that opposes it immediately. My mind will not be subdued by the dictates of my reason, the Beauty of Imerselle affects my Eye, but makes no impression at my heart; and whatever I endeavour for her to no purpose; I feel naturally for Zuria without any constraint. Ha! Sir, replied Chasan, you shall find more people with the same passion for Imerselle, which you have for Zuria, than you shall find on the contrary: Nothing in this World is so perfect as Imerselle, nor nothing in this World so desirable. Ha! dear Brother, cried the Prince embracing him, if I be not mistaken, I discern you, you love Imerselle without doubt, and though Fortune hath done me a displeasure, I see she hath provided me a remedy: Is it possible that in robbing myself of a thing I abhor, I should be serviceable to a Brother I love so entirely? It is but too possible that I love Imerselle, replied Chasan, for my passion for her is as ancient as my reason. But, Sir, which way will that be a remedy to you? you must resolve to die, or marry the Princess. Our Father is severe, he apprehends the Revolt of a people he hath conquered, who do still retain an inclination to their natural Prince: He will never encourage their disobedience, by dispensing with yours; and (I cannot speak it but with horror). I have too much reason to believe he will punish it in you as severely as in the meanest of his Subjects; What advantage to you then, if I admire Imerselle? will my misfortune be a diminution to yours? and will you think yourself the less miserable for my being so too? We must try what we can to be neither of us so, replied Scach Caly, the Sophy is old, and I cannot think will make overmuch haste to consummate our Marriage: He hath a troublesome War upon his hands will give him impediment for a while; let us make use of the present, and leave futurity to the disposition of the Heavens. Having said thus, he proposed that Prince Chasan should make Love to Imerselle in his Name. We shall have no great task to obtain conveniencies, continued Prince Caly, we are of the same stature, and have the same voice, let us commit the rest to the Conduct of Love. It was not many days after this resolution was taken, before the Princes met an occasion for an Essay: The Prince Imerse was retired to the Court of Bajazet II. Emperor of the Turks, who had given hopes of restoring him to the Throne of his Fathers. Campson, Sultan of Egypt, declared Enmity to Bajazet, being glad to divert those Troops which might otherwise be employed against him, sent Thoman Bey (who succeeded him in that Monarchy) to the Sophy, to offer him Alliance, and conjure him to an Union. This Overture was too much to Ismaels' advantage to be refused; he received the Ambassador very honourably, and to do something the Egyptian might more particularly apply to his own esteem and his Country's, the Court of Persia invented Dances à l' Egyptienne, in which they danced masked, and habited after the manner of Egypt. This Disguise furnishing the Princes with the opportunity they wanted, they caused their Habits to be made exactly alike, and Caly giving place to his Brother, and paying him all the respects that might signify him to be elder Brother, he got the liberty to be with Zuria, whilst Chasan supplied his place next Imerselle. The Princess Imerselle found her false Caly much more passionate than her true one: he expressed himself so zealously, and in such terms, as the sincerity of her old Caly could not dispense with: one of the conditions of this Ball was, that they should have liberty to steal little discourses whilst it lasted, and Chasan received those his good Fortune gave him with the Princess, with so great transportation, the Princess was surprised. I believe, Sir, said she to him smiling, the Habit you wear hath some secret propriety to make you amorous, you never appeared so much to me before, and 'tis no longer ago than last night, I was telling the Princess Zuria, your Cousin, that if your coolness continued, I should be the first would expose myself to the rigour of the Law, rather than see you obey the Sophy with so much reluctancy. Disguise, Madam, replied Chasan, is many times so necessary to Love, Lovers can speak nothing passionately without it; It is not the Command of the Sophy that brings me thus near you, it is the desire of my own heart; I might be another, not Caly, without yours or my Father's perceiving it: But my heart acting by peculiar Principles of its own, without any foreign constraint, it is Love which speaks by my mouth, and not the Sophy's Decree that excites me. But this Love, is it more constrained in my Closet, replied Imerselle, or in another place you please to choose, than in the confusion of so great an Assembly? Were we of those kind of Lovers to whom all occasions of Converse were interdicted, or whose actions were exposed to the eyes of our Enemies, I should not wonder you should want a Disguise to declare your affection; but by his direction, to whom Nature and Fortune hath obliged us both, you may impart it how, where, and as often as you please; all places are proper, and all expressions allowed you; how comes it then you have been so indifferent before, and are so vehement now? The Prince would have been put to some trouble to have answered this second question, had not the Company broke up, and relieved them. His Brother and he ran to the Window, as it had been to take a little air, and returning without their Masks, Scach Caly was obliged to give Imerselle his hand, and to wait upon her to her Apartment; but it was done with a coldness so unconformable to the Discourse she had had before, that she could not but admire the difference. The Sophy believing it had been his eldest Son that entertained Imerselle all the while, and perceiving him whom he took to be his second, to keep close to Zuria, he fancied he was in Love with her, and was not displeased; Chasan, said he to him next morning, I am sensible of the secret inclinations of your heart; fatherly Love is full of observation, and I have discovered that which perhaps you never intended I should see. I might complain that you consulted me not; but I am a good Father, and will impute that want of respect, to the impetuosity of a passion, which by my own experience I know is not to be mastered by persons of your age. Chasan could not at first recollect what should cause this Error in the Sophy; he suspected he had discovered him by some or other of his gestures, whilst he was in Conference with Imerselle, and that preferring the satisfaction of his Children to the rigour of his Laws, he would not constrain their inclinations. Is it possible, Sir, your paternal Love should have so excellent an efficacy? replied Chasan; Yes, dear Son, it has, replied Ishmael, and I give you my inviolable word; the same day your elder Brother marries the Princess of Persia, the same day you shall marry your Cousin Zuria; His Cousin, Sir? replied Caly, who was present at the promise. Yes, his Cousin, replied the Sophy, I observed him discoursing with her last night, as with a person not indifferent to him, and though I might well dispose of him otherwise, yet such is my indulgence, I shall gratify his desires. It was very lucky that the Sophy went into his Closet as soon as he had spoke these words: the Prince's discomposure had discovered that which they intended to conceal: They retired to their Apartments so afflicted and confused, they had scarce power to contain themselves from murmuring. How! said Chasan, is it not sufficient to satisfy the rigour of my Destiny, that I have loved a Princess from my Childhood, and dare not hope to enjoy it? But I must marry one I neither can, nor aught to love, Is it nothing, said Caly, that I must be deprived of Zuria, but I must be forced to marry Imerselle? and my Brother whom I love as myself, must he become the only Person in the World I ought to hate? How! Zuria must be married to Chasan? then Chasan it is I must esteem the only ruin and supplanter of my happiness. It shall never be, Sir, replied the young Prince, I can love no body but Imerselle, and therefore will never be married to Zuria. You would marry her, replied the disconsolate Caly, could you but conceive the secret Charms wherewith she effacinates the hearts of all that approach her, could you but discern the sweetness of her Wit, the excellence of her Soul, and the obliging way she has in all her actions. Ha! dear Brother, 'tis impossible you should see that Princess with the least assiduity, but you must needs be in Love with her. I am afraid rather, replied Chasan, you will not be able to defend yourself against the transcendencies of Imerselle, when you come to observe her with more intention. No, you are secure against that danger, replied Prince Caly, interrupting him, I have had trial already of the Charms of Imerselle, and I find they can do nothing upon me; but you having as yet had no conflict with Zuria, your first must of necessity be mortal. After they had a long time tormented one another in this manner, they went together to Imerselles Lodgings, and found the Princess Zuria with her; had Love been to have disposed of their places, the Princes had known how to have chosen them well enough. But Zuria being fearful of the life of her Prince, would not suffer him to speak privately with her in the presence of the Princess of Persia; and Chasan apprehending Imerselles severity, durst not own his passion without his Disguise. The constraint they suffered in not having the liberty of their own inclinations, was conspicuously visible in their faces. Zuria took notice of Caly's distraction, and applied all the consolation the kindness of her glances could contribute; and the more she applied, the more his disquiet was increased. The Princess of Persia imagining the Prince at that time so melancholy and dejected, was the same who the night before was so vigorous, and brave, she upbraided him by his pusillanimity, and he knew not how to defend himself. They spent all the afternoon in this doleful employment, but the evening being come, the Princes hoping for more favours from its obscurity, than from the clearness of the day. They proposed to the Princesses to take a Walk; they accepted of the motion, and all four went down into the Garden together: Scach-Caly led Imerselle, and Chasan Zuria; the Prince looked back every step he went, to see if Zuria's Beauty had not produced the effects he presaged. By the actions of his Brother, it seemed to him his Prophecy was false, and whilst they were in the light, his suspicions were tolerable, but when they came into the dark Alley, and he could not see what passed betwixt them, he lost all consideration, and cried out, without knowing what he said, he will be in Love withher, doubtless he will be in Love with her; it is impossible for him to defend himself: Who do you speak of? said Imerselle interrupting him, and gripping him by the hand. The Prince was troubled to find he had betrayed himself, and doing what he could to recollect; It is my Brother, Madam, I speak to, replied he. He has often told me he is Beauty-proof, and that no Woman living was able to make any impression upon him; I was unwilling he should have that advantage of me, and therefore I entreated my Cousin to use what Art she could to subdue him. Will you please, Madam, and we will listen to hear how she succeeds? The word was no sooner out of his mouth, but he ran the Princess up into a Hedge, and thrust himself by her: It was dark in that Alley in the day time, and was not to be expected it should be lighter, when it was dark every where else. Chasan and his Cousin past just by Imerselle and the Prince without perceiving them in the least, and Caly heard what his Brother discoursed; It is that, said he, will be one day the greatest of our pleasures. A deelared Intrigue is but flat and insipid; Love is never so well settled, as where no body suspects its residence. Chasan spoke these words upon the score of his passion for the Princess of Persia; but Caly's Jealousy would not admit of that interpretation; he understood all according to the depravity of his own sense, and that imagination overpowering his Judgement, he ran immediately to his Brother, and left his Princess without her Gentleman-Usher. Chasan heard one behind him, and demanding who was there, Caly quickly informed him, by thrusting him hastily from Zuria, and telling him he had supplied that place long enough; he intimated thereby that his place with Imerselle was vacant. Chasan ran to the Princess to propagate the Mystery of the Egyptian; he found her highly disgusted with the manner in which Caly had quitted her, she was got as far as the end of the Alley, to have called her Women, and gone back to her Lodgings: But Chasan stopped her by the Gown, and desired the reason of her retreat. Here is no need of me, Sir, said she twitching her Gown out of his hand, and doubling her pace. The young Prince imagined presently Caly had discovered something of his Love to Zuria, and being defirous, if possible, to repair it: But, fair Princess, said he to Imerselle, holding her still by the Gown, do not use me so severely, I beseech you, I am not capable of any desire that may offend you; if before I was ware I have done any thing has displeased you; See, Madam, I am ready to die in expiation. This submission of Chasan, whom she took all the while for Caly, did in some measure qualify her anger: she loved not that Prince, but as one he thought designed to be her Husband; but she was high, knew well she deserved all the respects of a Lover, and could not brook the indifferencies of Caly. She made her reproaches therefore to Chasan, mistaking him for Caly, which he found by their fierceness to proceed from a real displeasure. You indulge my affection perhaps more than you intent, when you let me fee so much of your indignation: it is too violent to be the effect of an ordinary cause: You love doubtless, for so immoderate an anger goes seldom unaccompanied with a proportion of the other. Do not you flatter yourself with that imagination, replied Imerselle, if I love you, it is only so far as I am forced by the Commands of the Sophy. Before I was obliged to marry you by that irrevocable Decree, I looked upon you as there had been no such man, and (by a blind instinct from I know not what cause) had I consulted my own heart, I should have found there Prince Chasans' interest much greater than yours. Chasans, Madam? replied the Prince. Yes Chasans, replied Imerselle, his deportment accommodates much more with my humour than yours: he has more Complacency for me than you, and I find a secret propensity in me to do him what service I can. Ha! Madam, cried Chasan, interrupting her, do not suppress that propensity, I beseech you. Chasan is equally dear to me with myself, his advantages are mine, I feel all his desires, I participate of his joys, and I cannot be happy but in his good Fortune. I said not what I did, replied the Princess, to put you upon that declaration: I am sensible how I am engaged by the Laws of the Persians, and the Sympathy I have for your Brother, will not make me hazard my life by making him my Husband; nor indeed do I know whether he would desire it, we have never discoursed of any such thing, but I am glad I have this opportunity to let you know that 'tis my Honour, and nothing else, is exasperated by your slights. Find but a way of enfranchizing me from the penalty of the Decree; restore me but once freely to myself, and dispose of yourself afterward as you please, I'll assure you I shall not be concerned, but whilst I continue under the engagement that is upon me, I expect it should be reciprocal, and you sensible of your obligation as well as myself. This Discourse drawing on Chasan into a Conversation he did not like, he was constrained to personate Caly all the rest of the Walk: he begged her pardon for what he had not done, and made a thousand prayers and protestations: They had the true Character of Love, that passion is never more prodigal of its favours than at the time of reconciliation. Chasan had a Ring given him by the Princess off of her finger upon this condition, that whenever she was required by that Signal to perform her engagement, she would cheerfully receive him for her Husband. The Prince Caly had almost the same assurances from Zuria; she could not (whatever she said) resolve to expose a person she loved so entirely, to the severity of his Father: But Love having inspired him with thoughts of running to some Sanctuary, she consented, and obliged herself that  they found themselves reduced to that necessity, she would readily submit. These favourable hopes quieted the disorders of the two Brothers; they passed that night with more tranquillity than they had done five or six before; but their sleep was a Cheat, which enchanted them for some hours, only to make their sorrows the more sensible when they waked. The Prine Imerse having advertisement of Ismaels' designs upon the person of his Sister, being averse to that Alliance, and retaining a just hatred to the Usurper of his Throne, he resolved to attempt any thing might obstruct the accomplishment of the Marriage. The Sophy held his Court at that time at Xiras, the Capital City of that Province in Persia. This City preserved a fidelity for its Prince, which all Ismaels' Authority could never eradicate; Imerse sent private Agents to the principal Inhabitants, remonstrated the trouble it would be to him to see his blood confounded with the blood of his implacable Enemy; and conjured them, if they could possibly, to prevent that disparagement by stealing Imerselle away: His Agents acquitted themselves so well of their Commission, that the very night after the Walk we have mentioned, the Princess of Persia was surprised, and the Princess Zuria with her, who unfortunately for Caly, lay that night with Imerselle. The Enterprise was performed without any great noise; the Princess' Lodging in a quarter of the Palace, a good distance from the Sophys Apartment; the Instruments of the design were let in by the Princess' Women, who were most of them related some way or other to the heads of the Party, and the Prince Imerse having charged them with express Order under his Hand, that his Sister might not mistake, there was only Zurias' skreeks to be prevented, which were stopped before she was well awake. They clapped the Princesses into a Coach which attended on purpose, conveyed them out of a Gate they had secured, and following the Road to Texel with all speed, they were received into that Town by Imerse, and the Sultan Selim, the Son of Bajazet II. who in the name of his Father had the Command of all Phrygia. It is easy to imagine the affliction of the two Princes at this sorrowful News; they mounted immediately, and being followed by the whole Court they endeavoured to discover which way these Ravishers were gone; but they could have no information, till it was too late to overtake them: They seemed to be inconsolable, and their Love not being to be confined within the bounds of simple grief, they resolved to get to their Princesses, if they could, and try all ways possible, for their relief. They took upon them the Habit of certain new Dervishes of the Sect of Scaydar, who was a famous Commentator upon the Alcoran, and from whom they were descended, and alluding the Cautions of their old Father, they took their way towards Phrygia. They had not marched far before they had News of what they sought after: The Sultan Selim was fallen in Love with Imerselle at first sight, and Imerse had as great a passion for Zuria; their Loves were so conspievous by their public magnificences, there was scarce one person ignorant of it in the whole Country. Our loving Dervishes were almost distracted at the Report, they hastened their march, and in a short time were advanced within half a days Journey of Cibotis, called otherwise Apamia, where the Sultan Selim held his Court. They took up their habitations in a Desert near the River Meandre; a Grot with two or three murmuring Fountains were presented to them by Chance, as it had been by Command. Such persons as they had been constrained to bring along with them, they sent into the City, to supply such things as they wanted, and to diffuse the noise of their extraordinary Virtue among the people, which was so effectually performed, they were not long before they were visited by all the Bigots and fanatics in Mahumetism. They entertained their devout Visitants with Discourses only of the Vanity of this World, and the solid pleasure in the Contemplation of the next. It is a general Maxim, the hypocritical Devout is always more eloquent than the true, their soul is full of nothing but itself, the humility of good men, and meditation upon what they are to treat, and this Evangelical simplicity (which is the imitable Character of true piety) adding much to the riches of their expression, they become very strong and powerful in their persuasions. Our pretended Dervishes joining to their Hypocrisy, a high natural Wit, made so great a progress among the Inhabitants of Texel, that in a short time the News of them came to the ears of Sultan Selim. The new Scaydars were not mentioned but as the eldest Sons of Prophets, and (by an usual Hyperbole in such occasions) several persons affirmed they had seen them do Miracles, who never heard of them but from the mouth of some fantastical Enthusiast, or the relation of some private Emissaries of their own. This high reputation drawing upon them the esteem of the Sultan, he sent Presents to the pretended Dervishes, and conjuring them to recommend him to their Prophet. They promised him their intercession, but his Presents they returned, pretending they renounced all things belonging to this World; and had now no Commerce but with the Angle's. This Answer moved the Curiosity of Selim, he made an agreement with the Prince Imerse, to make them a Visit: The two Princes had advertisement of their design; they had their Spies in the Town, who observed and gave notice of the motions of their Rivals: They studied gravity for some time wherewith they might receive them; and Selim being arrived at their Cave, they knew so well how to furnish it with such things as might persuade him of their Sanctity, that the best piece of Householdstuff to be seen, was the instrument they kept to mortify their flesh. The Inventory almost frighted the two Curiosoes, they were afraid of profaning so holy a place, and the Dervishes seconding their Error; Most dear Children of our great Prophet, said Caly to them, be not fearful to approach the most humble Servants of the Eternal, 'tis for your sakes only we are sent into this Province, and it is the charitable care the Heavens take of your Conduct, that has put it into your hearts to visit us. Hark, you Sultan Selim; Hark, you Prince Imerse, the Stars do look upon you with a malevolent Aspect, and you have a strong disposition to follow their malign Influence: Our Divine Prophet has thought you worthy of his own direction in so perilous a passage, and we are the sacred Interpreters of his adorable intentions. At these words adorable, sacred Interpreters, delegated to them from so venerable a Prophet; the Sultan Selim and Prince Imerse, made a most profound Reverence, and protesting they would receive with as much submission as saith, the divine Decrees it should please those Scaydars to pronounce, they humbly entreated they would vouchsafe to begin the Exercise of their Mission. The counterfeit Dervishes concluded it best to pretend as much difficulty as they could, to confirm their Rivals in their credulity. The Mysteries of Heaven are neither explained, nor received with so little preparation, said Chasan, there must be prayers, and austerities to open the sacred Repositiories of the Celestial graces: You have a heart  with mundane desires, how can you believe, till they be expelled, there should be room for divine Inspirations? Purge, purge away the pollutions wherewith that is defiled, and then our great Prophet will replenish you with such salutriferous emanations as he has reserved for you: Love, hatred, and ambition are like so many Tempests in your Soul, force yourselves what you can to calm them, excite yourselves what you can to tranquillity, deprive yourselves of the sight of such objects, as produce those turbulencies in your soul; we do not name them, because our revelation tell us, you will divine even that, of which we think not convenient to remember you. But, dear Princes, let us acquaint you, we are not ignorant of the most secret of your thoughts; and when you shall be worthily prepared for our instructions, shall tell you such things as will surprise you: God then, and put yourselves into a condition to merit that bounty wherewith the Heavens are pleased to favour you; and when you judge your souls in such a posture as is required, repair to us again, and be further informed. These cunning Dervishes referred the Rivals to a second Conference, as well to agree upon what they were to say, as not to render themselves suspected of a premeditated design; and this adjournment producing the effect they expected, the Sultan calculated the importance of their advice, by the difficulty they made of giving it: he thought he might from these Holy persons draw such wholesome instructions as might direct him in the conduct of his whole life. These Fathers have a strict Communication with Heaven, said he to Prince Imerse, the brightness of their virtue blazing in their actions, and there is a Character of piety so visible in their faces, it seems to be expanded by the divine hands of that great Prophet himself: Imerse concurred exactly in Selim's observations, and both of them projecting to make their advantage of the Present Heaven had made them of these wonderful men, they sent to give them an account of the preparations they had made for a second Visit, and to desire their opinions, whether they were sufficient. The Princes sent them word, no: They had sent out their Scouts for more news; and from the people which came to see them, wheedled out such Intelligence as was necessary for their design, they had a mind to gain more time to complete their informations, and contented themselves to send them this single Injunction, that above all things they should forbear the Conversation of Women, lest they should abuse the authority their Director had given them; there was no sort of penance but they exacted from their Rivals; they made them fast, they made them watch; and their subtleties extended to greater trials than those: But at length, supposing themselves sufficiently enlightened, they let fall their secret persecution; and the day for their second Visit being appointed, the abused Princes came again to their Grot. The anger of Heaven, said Chasan to them as soon as he saw them, gins to dispel, the instance of your prayers, and the piety of your works, have mollified the rigour of that sentence Stars seemed to pronounce against you: And that you may believe we speak not of ourselves, you shall hear what our great Prophet has revealed to us; You, Sultan Selim, said he to the Turkish Prince, taking him afide, you have drawn down the divine displeasure upon your head, by a secret animosity you had against your Brother Mahumet; you would have been preferred before him to the Government of Amasia, and not succeeding in your design, the despite you conceived prevailed with you to excite the people of that Province to complain of him so vigorously, their complaints cost him his life. Do not I tell you true, Sir, said Chasan? The Sultan was forced to confess, he had actually committed all he was charged with, and having added something of his own, he confirmed the Dervis in whatever their perquisition had caused them to suspect. The Heavens, justly incensed against you for so detestable a crime, continued he, has provoked you to the Love of a Princess of Persia, which will be certainly your ruin: It is decreed, and our great Prophet has sent us on purpose to give you advice; but your, and our prayers begin to incline him. He was a man, as you are, and though his humanity was sustained by divine Qualifications, he knows nevertheless how far the frailties of your Nature may carry you: Let that Princess be brought hither, let her Attendants be as few as they can, for we delight not to converse with more in this World than is necessary for your preservation; and for no other reason, but for the accomplishment of our Prophet's designs, could we be induced to any private Entertainment with Womankind: But we know our instructions, and it is for the execution of them only we are come into this Province. The Sultan was so respectful, and so serious in his attention, the counterfeit Dervis had much ado to compose himself, and retain the gravity required: nor was Caly in the mean time under lesser temptation; he was gotten into the particulars of all Imerses affairs. That Prince had ingenuously confessed all the Circumstances of the stealing the Princesses, named the persons with whom he had Intelligence in Xiras, and discovered several other Secrets of importance, which the Dervis fished out of him by pretending he knew all before, and demanded his recapitulation, as a mark only of his submission to the will of the Prophet, and passing from matters of State, to matters of Love; You are in Love, Sir, said he, with the Princess Zuria, the prescience where with we are endued, gave us information of that Love, even before it was conceived: But, Sir, let me tell you, you will meet with great difficulties in that Enterprise, it is not at all pleasing to our divine Prophet, and you will make him a Sacrifice infinitely grateful, if you surmount that passion, and desist: Ha': holy Father, replied Imerse, it is not possible to surmount it; if any thing could have prevailed, the Princess' severity would have done it: she is insensible of all my pains, and received my offers with most insufferable neglect. Without doubt, replied Caly, her heart is prepossessed in favour of some other person. Has not the Sultan Selim, think you, made no impression there; he is young, he is handsome, has his just expectation of the Ottoman Throne, and I am afraid (by what I observe in the Constellations) that Prince will betray the confidence you have in him. If he must betray me, replied Imerse, it is not upon this occasion; he is extravagantly in Love with my Sister, and the Princess for whom my passion is so violent, has no less indifference for all the World than for me: Yet I cannot but think her of an amorous temper, replied the Dervis, she is born under a Planet not guilty of such indifferent Influences, and I dare promise I could find out a place in her heart capable of those impressions, had I but discoursed with her as long as I have done with you. How! I beseech you, said Imerse interrupting him, will you vouchsafe to discourse with her, and I will bring her to you  you please; she will make no scruple of coming, she has already an extreme curiosity to see you, and when the other day I gave her a description of your person, I observed an emotion in her countenance so great, as I thought she had not been capable of. I commend her zeal, replied Caly, the desire of seeing persons eminent for their piety, is a happy preparative to their imitation. Heaven does not grant those graces to all the World, and I know by that, Zuria is a Darling of the divine Prophet, upon which assurance you shall obtain that act of charity from me when you please. But it must be speedily, for the time that was assigned us for our conversation of men, is now almost expired; and we must ere long leave our association with profane persons, to renew our Commerce with the Angels. The credulous Imerse knocked his knees with a holy trepidation at the Dervishes news, and making the bargain as strong as he could, for the next day, Selim obtained of Chasan, that Imerselle might bear her Company. The Dervishes slept but little the night before that blessed Interview; Caly's joy produced transports incompatible with his repose, and his Brother's apprehensions kept him as watchful on the other side. He was afraid to find Imerselle prepossessed with kindness for the Sultan, he was handsome, and the little Love the Princess had for Caly, made him afaird Selim would not meet any considerable defence. He durst not mention it in the least to his Rival, lest he should not be able to master his confusion in so subtle a point; reserving himself therefore to be informed from the Princesses own mouth, he prepared himself for those informations with inexpressible commotion. The deluded Lovers were in no less anxiety. Hope is an unquiet passion, which gives the mind more agitation many times, than a real despair. They proposed the business to the Princesses at their return; they approved it, especially Zuria, who finding the description of the Dervishes not much differing from Ismaels' two Sons, had a violent imagination of the truth. She was got up and ready  day, and pressing Imerselle to make as much haste, they were got to the Grot before they were expected. Their new Lovers would accopany them by all means (which was foreseen by the Dervishes) but they thought that obstacle would be removed by the respect they would show them. They had shrouded themselves each of them under a Hat with a long tail pulled down in such sort, it covered most of their faces. That kind of Dress they pretended, was the Habit of their Piety, when they were forced upon any Conference with Women: Chasan made signs to Imerselle to follow him to the foot of a Rock, where he designed his Communication; and Caly took Zuria aside to walk under the Trees; and that the Turkish Prince and his Camarade might give no interruption, they gave them certain prayers in the Turkish Language with injunction to go into the Grotto, and say them over there for their happy success. The Rivals were flexible, and obeyed: They were so possessed of the Dervishes Sanctity, they would have extended their conformity much further, if it had been desired. Chasan having placed Imerselle upon a part of the Rock, which was covered with moss, keeping himself just before her upon his feet, that the Sultan's Equipage (who stood round about the Grot) might have no prospect of his face. I have great things to relate to you, young Princess, said he, dissembling his voice as much as he could; I know things of you, you do not know of yourself; but as the ingenuous declaration of our most secret sentiments is the ordinary Channel of Celestial graces, do you merit by that act of submission the good things which are in my power to impart; tell me sincerely what was your thoughts of Seach Caly, what of Chasan Helif, and what is your present opinion of the Sultan. Observing her to change colour, you are surprised, Princess, said he, to find me so skilful in your affairs; but let me tell you, those persons who are honoured with a familiar Conversation with Heaven, are ignorant of nothing that passes upon Earth. I know you have a secret inclination to Chasan; you discovered as much to Caly himself that night you were walking in the Palace Garden at Xiras, which, if my memory fails not, was the night before you were carried away; judge now if I be not acquainted with your affairs, and save me the labour of telling you any more. Alas! replied Imerselle in a great surprise, I can say no more to you, having discovered my affection for Chasan, you have discovered the greatest secret of my soul. I confess that Sympathy was born with me; yet when I thought it my duty to resist it, I did it with some kind of success, he never had the least inclination of it from me, as you have had now: But if I must confess the true state of my heart, I must acknowledge that inclination increases every day upon me; I love Chasan much better in Phrygia, than I did in Persia, and by I know not what Capricio of Love, absence augments that in me, which it destroys in all other persons in the World. You have no kindness then for Selim? said the happy Chasan, and the Princess replying only with a contemptuous shrug, gave him more satisfaction than an eloquent Discourse. I am fully satisfied, fair Princess, of your sincerity, said Chasan, and to recompense it by an information as grateful, know Imerselle, that Chasan loves you a thousand times better than you love him. It was he entertained you at the Egyptian Ball under the name of his Brother; it was he who leaving Caly with his Cousin Zuria that night you were walking in the Garden, appeased your indignation with those mollifying words: To him it was you gave that Ring which engaged your faith to him by those sacred protestations; and in a word, it is he who (renouncing all the pleasures of his Father's Court, and despising all the dangers he should be exposed to, were he known) speaks to you at this present under the Name and Figure you see. The Prince might trust Imerselle without scruple, the confession she had made secured him against any indiscretion. It was not without reason he had taken care the Princess' face should be covered: the alterations this discourse made there, could not have been provided against but by that precaution: She blushed, she was disturbed, she had like to have cried out, and run away; but the danger the least noise would bring upon Chasan, restraining that impetus, she remained as  in the place where she sat: Chasan taking advantage of her perplexity, drew out the Ring, and discovering his face, the Princess found so much Love there, that though her Eyes, and the sight of her Ring had not convinced her, she would have concluded no body but the counterfeit Egyptian, and he that made Love to her in the Walk, could have looked upon her with such passionate glances. She blamed the Prince for the perils to which he had exposed himself, she conjured him to clear himself as soon as he could, and then inquired very earnestly how he had done to delude the Sultan and Prince Imerse so handsomely. He gave her an account in few words of whatever she asked him; he told her the Love Caly retained for Zuria, their adventures as Princes of Persia, their adventures as Dervishes, and concluded all with a request to her to cajol the imaginations of Selim, that by that Complacence persuading him of the interests the Dervishes had in Heaven, he might be induced to permit the Princesses to visit them oftener. The Conversation of Caly and Zuria was neither so serious, nor sincere at first: she knew the Prince as soon as she see him, his shape, his voice, but above all the secret emotion of a heart truly affected, assured her it was none but her dear Caly that spoke to her; however resolving to punish him for that he had so well mastered his transport: It was not necessary, devout Father, said she to him, that the Prince Imerse should bring me hither upon the design he pretended; for whether by the miraculous efficacy of your prayers, or whether that there is a period for anger, as for other things; so it is, that sensible part of my heart which you promised to find, is perfectly discovered. I love the Prince of Persia, and am ready to act whatever his Love can reasonably expect from me. I am amazed, replied Caly in some kind of disturbance, that this change should be so sudden; I have some secret Revelations which assured me that your passion for the Prince Scach-Caly, would have made a better defence against the attaques of the Prince Imerse. It did indeed make defence for a while, replied the sly Zuria, and since you know all, I need not scruple to confess, I did love the Prince you speak of very well; but the absence of one Lover, and the assiduities of another make strange Metamorphoses sometimes in the affections of a Woman. The disguised Prince began to rave at this discourse, which made the Princess judge she had carried her hypocrisy too far. She smiled, and looking upon the Prince with an air sufficient to despel a thousand suspicions; Recollect yourself, Seigneur Dervis, said she to him, you have but little Communication with Heaven, if you have no better notion of what happens below: Call in your good Genius to your relief, and she will tell you Zuria will never love any thing but her dear Caly, whom the disguise of a Dervis cannot conceal from her heart, and that in all Habits, as in all places, he shall find her always the same. The Prince perceiving his Error by those words, reproached her a thousand times for the perplexities she had put him to: It was resolved by agreement they should contrive as many Conferences as they could. He told her designs, which the proximity betwixt Imerselle and Imerse would not permit Chasan to discover to that Princess; and then passing all of them together to interrupt the two Lovers meditations in the Grot, the abused Princes found their prayers so effectual in appearance, they thought they could not sufficiently admire the Celestial power wherewith the Dervishes were endued. The Princesses flattered their hopes with a thousand frivolous assurances; Zurias' greatest care was to make peace betwixt Ishmael and Imerse; Selim promised to dispose hi● Father Bajazet to mediate in the affair, upon condition he might have Imerselle for his labour; th● Princess pretended to consent, and frequent Journeys were made to the Dervishes to recommend their success to the Divine Prophet. The abused Lover were employed always in Pilgrimages, and it was admirable Entertainment for their Rivals to se● them besotted with their credulity, whilst they good Fathers, were making Love to their Mistresses. Their discourse grew more passionate by degrees; and doubtless had the circumstances of ti●● and place been a little more favourable, a kindness upon that occasion would have had a singular relish: The counterfeit Dervishes sustained their Character with incomparable address; they never fed but in the night, to persuade such as would be so simple, they kept perpetual fast. The Turkish Prince looked upon them as sent down from Heaven, and gave the Sultan his Father such an Elegy of them, he sent a person on purpose to visit them from himself: They refused to see his Envoy, pretending that was a day in which they were not allowed to admit of any humane Conversation; and the Princesses themselves coming to see them that day, were sent back with the same excuse. But it was not for nothing they denied themselves so great a happiness; they had seduced some of the principal Inhabitants of the Town of Antalia (which was the Residence of Caragose Beglierbey of Anatolia) he had infused into them, that he had received a marvellous Sword from Heaven, by virtue of which a new Government should be established in Turkey, that Bajazet was but an unprofitable Trunk, and that the crimes of Selim had provoked Heaven against his whole Race: The crimes wherewith he charged him, had been told from his own mouth, he declared them to the Natolians with advantage, and promising them no less than inestimable riches in this life, and eternal felicity in the next, if they assisted towards the erection of that new Dominion; they concurred, engaged to receive him into their City, and take Arms under his Conduct to maintain the Sect of the Scaydars. This Treaty was managed in the most obscure part of the Desert, at the same time the Dervishes gave so great a testimony of their Sanctity, by refusing Bajazet's Envoy. The day set for the Enterprise, and all things prepared for its execution, they sent word to Sultan Selim, that at length the moment was come in which the Divine Prophet commiserating the violence they had done to themselves in conversing so long among sinners, had given them leave to withdraw from that slavery, and retire into a Desert unknown to all persons affected with the pleasures of this World, and that when they were once gone, they should be heard of no more till they were dead, that before their departure they had obtained by singular favour a liberty of revealing all their secrets to them effectually, which they had done hitherto but in part; that if he pleased he might come to them to the Grot, and bring the two Princesses with him, to whom likewise they would declare the last pleasure of their Prophet; but that they should have as few of their Attendants as possible, in respect of the horror they conceived at the sight of the people of this World. The Sultan ran headlong into the Trap he had laid for him; he went to the Grot with the Princesses, and Prince Imerse, and not above eight or ten armed men in their Company. The Persian Princes lay in Ambuscade upon a pass, at the head of three or four hundred new Sectaries, which they had divided into several Squadrons, and disposed privately up and down to prevent the danger of an Alarm, but with directions upon a Signal, agreed to draw into a Body, which they did, and fell upon the Sultan when he least expected such entertainment. The Princesses were secured, and carried away by their true Lovers to the City Antalia, where the Princes were received. They drove away the Beglierbey, and put all that opposed to the Sword; after which, they got so many men together, by their false predictions, and possessed themselves of so many Towns, that by the assistance of Ishmael, they maintained War several years against all the Disciples of Osman, and missed narrowly of extinguishing them quite. They gained three great Battles, killed three Bashaws, and which was more to their satisfaction, enjoyed their Princesses quietly, whom the death of Ishmael and Imerse, who lived not long after, left entirely to their disposition.  
Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, 
Don Sebastian.  animated against the Moors, rather by his Christian zeal, than his prudence, passed into afric at the Head of a puissant Army, in the year 1580. The pretence of this War, was the oppression of Mulai Mahomet, King of Morocco and Fez, whom his Uncle Muley Moluc, called otherwise Abdelmelec, would dispossess of his Kingdom, as belonging to him. Equity and Justice were of Abdelmelech's side; but the Christians for Muley Mahomet. He had passed his word to them, that if they secured him in his Throne, he would embrace the Catholic Faith; and that engagement outweighed all other considerations: Sebastian armed himself, solicited all Christian Princes, passed with his Army into afric; and I am apt to believe with many grave Authors, the interest of Religion was the only motive that carried him: But Love insinuates many times, where it is not desired.  
Muley had a Daughter called Xerina, who being born of a Greek, was not so black as your ordinary Africans: She was as well proportioned as was possible, and the Courtship of Granada was not worn out of the Manners of the Moors at that time. Don Sebastian could not defend himself against her Charms, though he was contracted to Mary of Portugal, his Cousin, was to marry her at his return, and loved her exceedingly before he was acquainted with Xerina; this Marriage was of great importance to the repose of Portugal.  

But obstacles in Love do but allure,  
And tempt th' indifferent Lover to desire,  
That God delights in difficulties sure,  
Who will not suffer soft and gentle fire.   

What reason prompts is but esteem, not Love,  
And to pursue it, civil, and no more;  
What passion, nonsense will, and humour prove,  
And run the desperate Lover out of door.   

Let reason then triumph, let passion fall,  
Be wise and civil, but not fond at all.   
Don Sebastian being of too great Eminence and Quality to apprehend a repulse, it was not long before he acquainted Xerina with his affections. The Princess approved of him well enough, and her ambition increased her approbation. She received the declaration of his Love without any difficulty, and promising Don Sebastian to turn Christian, as he promised to relinquish the Princess of Portugal; Love was so witty as to prevent the remorse for his inconstancy, by persuading him he did a meritorious act in quitting his first Mistress, to make his second a Proselyte: and thus were these new Lovers united in a quiet and firm union. Don Sebastian entrusted Xerina with his most secret thoughts, and the Princess to recompense that confidence, shown him all the kindness imaginable: In this posture they lived whilst the War was in suspense; but Abdelmelec having forced Muley to a Battle in the Plains of Tamista, the Kings of Morocco and Portugal were slain, and with them so great a number of the Portugal Nobless, there was scarce one left to return with the sad news. Xerina losing at that defeat the Crowns of Morocco and Fez, and her hopes of Portugal with them, was transported with a most inconsolable sorrow: A little before day she ran herself into the Plain of Tamista (attended by only one Christian Slave called Laura, who was privy to all her secrets) resolving with her own hands to have sacrificed herself upon the Corpse of her beloved King; she searched for him among the dismal numbers of the dead and the dying, with which that Plain was covered at that time. Some of the wounded who had yet so much sense left them as to know her, directed her to that part of the Battle where he fought; she ran thither with great fury, and supposing she had met with her Monarch in the person of a young Portuguez, who resembled him very much, she fetched a sad shriek, and prepared herself to execute her dire resolution; but the poor man opening his eyes at her Cry, and it being by that time clear day, she perceived he was not dead. From an unmeasurable sorrow, she passed to so immoderate a joy, it had almost cost her her life, but recollecting her self, and calling Laura to her assistance, her Love reinforced her natural strength so well, she drew her beloved from amongst the dead, and haled him to the Bank of the River Mucazen, which runs along by the Plain where the Battle was fought: Having got him so far, she examined his wounds, bound them up as well as she could, and sending Laura to a house she descried not far from the River, she caused people to come and help to carry him to some place of security. Indeed there were but few of that Nature in that Kingdom, for the success of that Battle gave Abdelmelec possession of all his pretensions, and the Engagement of Don Sebastian with his Enemy Muley, rendered his death necessary to that new King's repose; Xerina was as well fearful of the life of her Lover, as of his liberty, if he fell into the hands of the Conqueror. She put him therefore into a Bark, and rowing down with him to the mouth of the River (which was not very far) she landed him in a little Island where there were some few habitations. She had many Jewels about her; the Ladies of her Quality among the Moors, are usually covered with them; she distributed some of them amongst those who had assisted, and conjuring them to fetch her Surgeons from some of the neighbouring Towns, they brought her such relief as his condition required. His wounds being searched, were not found to be dangerous, their greatest apprehension was from his great loss of blood; the sight of what was done for him, surprised him exceedingly, he saw himself lamented, and relieved by one of the fairest persons in the World, whose Quality was proclaimed by her Habit, but could not satisfy himself for what reason a Lady he had never seen before to his knowledge, should concern herself so far in his recovery. He would have inquired, but she stopped his mouth, telling him in Portuguese (which she had learned to please Don Sebastian) that he was not yet strong enough for a discourse, and that she would give him an account of all when his health did permit. These cares augmented his astonishment more and more, and he called out many times to have his Destiny cleared. The first moment it might be done without danger, Xerina sat down by his Pillow, and told him; At length, Sir, I begin to conceive hopes of your recovery; the Heavens would not deprive the Portugals of their King, and have been pleased to make use of the Ministry of your Xerina, for the preservation of the life of her dear Don Sebastian. The wounded person found the Princesses mistake by her discourse, but thought it no prudence to convert her, on the contrary he used all his Art to confirm it: he foresaw too many good consequences, to manage them ill. He returned a thousand passionate acknowledgements to the Princess, and conjured her to tell him which way it was possible she should get him off the field. She gave him an account, and by that account he discovered Xerinas' Birth, and engagements with the King of Portugal. He did his utmost to personate Don Sebastian; and he might do it the more securely, because the people whom Xerina had sent out in quest of Don Sebastian, had brought her word, that endeavouring to save himself by swimming the River, he was drowned, and his body not to be found. She believed this truth to be an error, as confidently as her own error to be a truth; and promising no less to herself than in a short time to be made Queen of Portugal, there was no care, nor no promise but (in her opinion) she ought to so just a pretention. The wounded Portugal had Courage and Wit enough to make his advantage of his Fortune. He learned by the Princess' discourse, that Muley Boabdelin, a Prince of the Blood Royal of Morocco, had had particular friendship with the true King of Portugal. She caused advertisement to be sent to him, that her Friend Don Sebastian was not dead according to Report, but that if he pleased to repair to the Isle of Mucazen, he should hear further. Muley departed with all speed from the remotest part of the Province of Hoscore (whither he was retired from the Tyranny of Abdelmelec) and causing himself to be conducted by Xerinas' Envoy, to the place where he assured he should find him, he was deceived by the resemblance, as Xerina had been before him. In the Histories of all Ages and all Countries, there is nothing more strange than the perfection of this resemblance: It extended even to the natural marks Don Sebastian had in certain places of his body. Muley not doubting therefore but the person he saw was the true King of Portugal, he expressed extreme joy at his preservation, and acquainted him that his Uncle Henry, Cardinal of Portugal, and Brother to Don John who died last, was by the consent of the people, chosen to succeed him. This news startled the ambition of our counterfeit Sebastian; he was afraid it would be no easy matter to dispossess Henry of a Throne he was established in already; Muley was of his opinion: it was agreed they should negotiate with some of the principal of that Kingdom, to assert the Interest of their Monarch, and not suffer it to be invaded by the artifice of an upstart King. Muley offered Xerina and her Lover a retreat in the mean time into his Province of Hoscore, where he was too well fortified to apprehend a pursuit. They concluded amongst them, that it should not be published Don Sebastian was alive, till he should be in a condition to be restored to the Crown; but to authorise what kindness the Princess had shown him, Muley acquainted them that above all things it would be necessary for him to marry Xerina immediately. This was one of the effects of that resemblance of which the false Sebastian hoped to reap the benefit. He was enamoured of the Princess' Beauty and Behaviour: he satisfied Muley's desires with as much joy as readiness, and till his possession had mastered his appetite, reckoned himself among the happiest of his Sex; but when once he was married, and had quenched the ardour of his desires, the private Negotiation in Portugal began to go on but slowly; no body was vigorous enough in his affairs, and nothing would serve but he must go over, and manage them himself. Poor Xerina dissuaded him from that resolution with the most fervent Caresses Love could possibly inspire: I love you as well without your Crown, said she to him, as with it, and why then is it necessary? let it be your felicity to be beloved by me, as it is mine to be beloved by you, and you will have no need of such hazardous desires. Why! Madam, replied the false Monarch, do you think it possible for a Prince born to wear a Crown, and who hath already tasted the sweetness of Dominion, to condescend and debase himself to the condition of a private person? Ha! Madam, either you have not considered what it is to be a King, or you have not any regard to my satisfaction, seeing the Propositions you make, are so unacceptable to me. Pardon, Sir, what is past, replied Xerina, and I shall disoblige you no more in that nature; I must acknowledge your soul to be too large to be bounded with ordinary employments: But let mine have the same Justice, suffer me to contribute my assistance towards the recovery of your Crown, and vouchsafe me my share in all the difficulties you shall meet. Africa, Asia, Europe, and all places are alike to me in your Company, refuse me not then that pleasure of following you, which you own to my Love; and were I so unhappy to find any thing more potent upon your soul than that passion, yet it ought to be my glory to cooperate towards the establishment of an Authority, to which you have no pretention but for me. These kind considerations passed for reproaches in the Spirit of the disgusted Sebastian, he was offended therewith, and his Capricio provoked Xerina as much. They fell into some extravagant expressions, and those pretences furnished him with his desired pretence. Xerina had news he was preparing for Europe, and she made Verses to dissuade him so kind and importunate, nothing but a satiated Lover could have read them without being moved. He scarce vouchsafed to cast an eye upon them, and some of them were not opened till he came into Portugal. He had found Love so favourable to him in afric, he presumed it would be his Conductor in all his other Enterprises. He understood the secrets of Sebastian as well as he had been he; That Prince had discovered all to Xerina, and this false Sebastian had wheedled them artificially out of the Princess, in pretending to take delight in the relations she made of the expressions of his Love. Tell me I beseech you, Madam, said he, what was it you were most affected with in all my proceed, I would willingly know what it was satisfied you most, that I might do the same thing often, which I did before with such success. The Princess ingenuously confessed the thing by which she thought herself most obliged, was his desertion of Mary of Portugal; and that the rather, said she, because that Princess is fair, loved you very well, and (as you told me yourself) was beloved entirely by you, before your acquaintance with me: And, Madam, the secrets of State which I imparted to you, replied the Impostor, were not you well pleased with them; that piece of confidence is the highest and most obliging a Monarch can express. Xerina acknowledged her engagement for them also; and then falling into a recapitulation of whatever Don Sebastian had told her (that was of importance) she discovered to her false Prince all the Intrigues of that State. Furnished with a precaution so necessary, he took his Journey for Italy, as knowing the Princess of Portugal contracted to Don Sebastian, was married since his death to Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma, and was at that time a Widow. Persons of the Quality he pretended are not ignorant of those kind of affairs. He arrived at Parma, and having caused the Duchess to be acquainted, there was a Portugal Gentleman which had brought her tidings he could not communicate to any but herself, he was by her order introduced into her Closet. By an Express from Lisbon, she had lately received news that Cardinal Henry was dead; and was preparing her Claim to the Crown for Ranuccio Farnese her Son, who being by the Mother side descended from Prince Edward, derived his Original from Emanuel, the Chief of that Royal Line. Several other Pretenders did the same: Catharine, the Sister of Mary, set up the Interest of Theodor de Braganza her Son: Emanuel Philbert, Duke of Savoy, pretended to it in right of his Mother Beatrix of Portugal; and so large was the Competition, Catharine de Medicis (though of a Branch far remoter than the rest) was not wanting with her Claim; but above all Paul iv was most solicitous, pretending that Crown to be a Fief to the Papal See, and endeavouring zealously in his own person to defeat the pretences of his Competitors. To regulate so great a difference, the States of that Kingdom were convened; and the Duchess of Parma having her head full of those affairs, looked upon her false Sebastian as the Ghost of her true one, came on purpose at that time to direct her in her distractions. She fetched a great skreek as soon as she saw him, and running to the other end of the Closet in an amaze, she told her new King she took him for a Spirit. How! Madam, said he without any visible commotion, does Don Sebastian fright you? he expected a better reception for the pains he hath suffered coming in to see you. The Duchess' trouble increased at the hearing of his voice, so as she could neither speak, nor stir out of her place. Dear Cousin, continued her false Sebastian in a most passionate tone, I am no Phantosm, I am the same Don Sebastian you formerly honoured with your favour, and I am returned as full of your fair Idea, as when I went first into afric. The Duchess recovered herself a little, and permitting Don Sebastian to come nearer, she put forth her hand, though tremblingly, towards the hand of the Monarch, she touched him, she considered him, and her senses assured her that what she saw and what she felt, was certainly Don Sebastian. Ha! Sir, said she with a most pitiful voice, whence do you come? where have you hid yourself thus long? by what miracle are you returned? When you shall be in a condition to hear me, replied Sebastian, I will give you an account; in the mean time recollect yourself from your fright, believe me the real King of Portugal; and if you do not know me by my shape, my voice, or the features of my face, at least own me by the impression of Love you cannot but discover in my Eyes. I am fully recollected, replied the Duchess, calling for a Chair for him, and sitting by him herself: I confess the first sight of you put me into a confusion I could not suddenly master; but now, Sir, it is dissipated, and gone. Tell me therefore I beseech you, and do not delay me, to what miracle is it we own both your life, and return. To love, Madam, replied Sebastian, a passion that was able to affect your heart, could not be less favourable than to defend me against all other accidents. Then he gave her a relation how he had been taken from amongst the dead by Xerina, how for some time he had continued in the Isle of Mucazen, and afterwards in Hoscore; but he concealed very carefully from the Duchess, that ever Sebastian was in Love with Xerina before the Battle. He told her that Princess was in Love with him indeed, but without any expectation. I had no inclination in the world to have her so much as think so, continued he, for having past my Parole to you, I would have died before I would have broken it. He told her that by the assistance of Muley Boabdelin, a Prince of the Royal Blood of Morocco, Xerina had given him all imaginable persecution, to force him to a relinquishment of her, that she had urged to him her Marriage with the Duke of Parma, and pressed him very hard to a reprisal, but that understanding a while after, she was a Widow, he had escaped out of Prison, and was come to throw that Prince at her feet, who had not only loved her always himself, but flattered himself with the thoughts of being beloved by her. The Duchess demanded, if he loved her so well, why he never writ to her? I writ several times, Madam, replied he, but Xerina without doubt (who expected that from my ruin, which she could not hope from my restablishment) took such Orders to intercept them, as never any of them could come to your hand. My Captivity was very severe, I was treated like one that was beloved, but could get no liberty to free myself from the trouble of that Character. The Duchess of Parma overjoyed with the relation of a Constancy so well represented, made as many excuses as Congees to her mistaken Cousin. She appointed him an Apartment according to his supposed Quality; assigned him a suitable Equipage, and furnished him with grave men to send as his Deputies to the Estates of Portugal. That Deputation caused a strange surprise, as may be imagined. They selected six out of their Assembly, some of which had been Ministers to Don Sebastian, and sent them into Italy, to survey their dear Monarch: their Eyes persuaded them it was he; but not daring to rely wholly upon them, they asked him certain questions they would have sworn none but the right Don Sebastian could have answered. But he was throughly instructed by Xerina; Love had transported the soul of the King of Portugal, into that of the Princess of Morocco, and by an effect of the same Love, the soul of Xerina was transmigrated into the false Sebastian. The Ambassadors (convinced that no man living could have resolved those questions but the true Sebastian) made their Report to the Estates, he was undoubtedly their King: The Competitors accused them of Treachery, protested they were corrupt, and demanded that Don Sebastian might appear in person at the Assembly of the State's General, to be formally interrogated before them. Such as were affected to the memory of Don Sebastian, could not be persuaded it could be done with security to him: the Assembly was divided; such as were for the King, were called Royalists; such as were for the Princes, were called the League. During which disorders, he that was the cause of them, had his Residence at Parma, attending till there should be an Army raised to vindicate his interest, at the Head of which he resolved to demand Restauration. He ought his life to Xerina; he was loved entirely by her, and had loved her as well: But the Princess of Parma engaged the Princes of Italy in his quarrel, and when the design of being King interposes in an Intrigue, reason of State rules the roast, and leaves all others in the lurch: He sacrificed his gratitude to his ambition without any remorse, and employing those Lessons of kindness he had received from Xerina, against herself, he made them the foundations of that Complacence and artifice, to which the heart of the Duchess was forced to submit. She loved him for his person, much more for his quality; she began to be jealous without knowing any reasonable grounds for her jealousy; such passions as hers are seldom without great curiosity. One evening when her counterfeit Sebastian was leading her by the side of a Canal, which is one of the greatest Ornaments to the Palace of Farnese, she spied a Ribbon hanging out of his Pocket, which she judged might be one of those Letter-cases called in Italy Cartero's; she stole it out gently, and having conveyed it into her own Pocket, without being perceived, she began to be impatient to be peeping. She could not have had any thing more proper to have justified her secret suspicions, than that. It was a parcel of Xerinas' Letters and Verses, which the false Sebastian had found that morning (in a little Cabinet he brought with him out of afric) and had put them in his Pocket with resolution to have burnt them, but he was interrupted by the coming in of the Duchess; and this Walk having followed immediately upon the Visit, he was forced to keep them in his Pocket, till the curious Duchess thought good to remove them. She read two or three Notes at first, which seemed to be nothing but assurances of the Sacrifice her Monarch pretended to have made to her, of the affections of Xerina. That Princess had complained of the unconstancy of his Love, and reproached him by his infidelity: But she not having had always reason to complain, there were Letters of his, recriminating upon her. They were all writ in Portuguese, but one among the rest was sealed up, which the tender Xerina had sent to her Ingrate, some few days before his departure from Hoscore, and contained a Paper of Verses upon their late difference, so sensible and kind, I could not but insert them.  
Is it decreed then, and pronounced above?  
We must have no return, no mutual Love.  
Can't our old inclination and converse,  
(Which seems aught to make our absence long and fierce,  
And seems t' assure me of your heart) can't they  
Contribute, and remove those blocks away?  
My wrath ne'er went so far, I never meant,  
When my rash tongue to your voyage did consent,  
You should have t a'ne th'advantage, even when I  
Felt my poor heart give my false tongue the lie.  
In vain I seek thee now in places where.  
So oft in Love to me thou didst appear.  
In vain I seek thee where thou never wert,  
Since th' day thou overcam'st my pride and heart.  
No place escapes me, but I think on you,  
No place occurs, but I expect you too.  
Where'er I come, on whatsoever I see,  
I leave, methinks sweet images of thee,  
Which at my next return (required) they  
To my poor fancy as faithfully repay.  
Each dream, each sudden noise, each thought in vain  
Seems to return my Love, my King again.  
I run where hope conducts (deluded) and  
whate'er I see, I call Sebastian,  
Come, come cry I, indulge my sweet desires,  
Come where my Love, come where my faith requires.  
Rouse up thy dying flames, try with what Art  
Pretended wrath new ardour can impart,  
Wrath, not allowed in Lovers breasts to burn;  
But to endear, and sweeten their return.  
Shall these complaints, shall these requests which were  
But errors fruits, vanish in idle air?  
No, without doubt, Love will convey them so,  
They'll have access, and influence on you.  
Methinks I feel th' agreement of our souls,  
And your kind Love your negligence controls;  
Methinks you're weary too of our debate;  
Let Love alone, how to accommodate,  
He'll rectify our quarrels, let you see  
A thousand new complacencies in me.  
Mine eyes, I fancy, will appear more bright,  
Than when they first discovered my delight:  
And to consummate all, you'll love me too,  
As well and long, dear Prince, as I love you.  
All this shall do you no good, cried the Duchess of Parma; when she had read them through, I shall take such Orders, your hopes shall evaporate. But alas! said she (casting her Eyes upon such places as gave the strongest insinuations of Xerinas' being beloved) I fear it is too late; and reading them again, she stopped when she came at these.  
In vain I seek thee now in places where  
So oft, in Love to me, thou didst appear.  
This, said she, is not the expression of a despised Lover; if it be true thou art so now, it is no less true, that thou hast not been so always; that consideration representing Don Sebastian light, and unconstant, and apprehending the same levity of which she saw such fatal marks in the Princess of Morocco, she suffered herself to be surprised by the most violent fit of sorrow, she had ever been sensible of in her life. As she was in the midst of these melancholy reflections, her false Don Sebastian entered into her Chamber, he had perceived he had lost his Letters; and suspecting what had really happened, was come to make his Apology. The first thing he saw when he came in, was Xerinas' Letters upon the Table, and the Paper of Verses on the top, and clapping his hand upon them, Your charity sure is very small, Madam, said he to the Duchess, to expose the follies of a Princess, whose Quality and Innocence deserved more compassion: Conceal her extravagances, I beseech you, Madam, I am much troubled they should fall into your hands, I put them into my Pocket, with design to have burnt them, and kept them not only from your Eyes, but from the sight of the whole World. They have not been always so odious to you, Sir, replied the Duchess, and if I may conjecture from them, I own that to your Highness, which I ascribed before to your constancy; 'tis not to the Love of me, you sacrifice the Princess of Morocco, 'tis to the fickleness of that which you pretended to her; and then showing him the Verses she had marked, Read, Sir, said she, read here in what manner Xerina expresses herself, and then vouchsafe to tell me how your return is to be called. The Verses were exceeding tender and kind, and must needs renew the impressions of sensibility in a heart which had been sensible before; but nothing is so obdurately impenetrable as the heart which follows after a violent passion. Sebastian concerned himself not one jot at what Xerina had written; but applying his thoughts wholly to pacify the Duchess: I never loved the Princess of Morocco in my life, Madam, said he to her; if she fancied so herself, and that imagination broke into these Verses, it is but a vanity common to the greatest part of her Sex, to which I have contributed no more than by an indispensable Civility. But, Madam, in the case of your Marriage with the Duke of Parma, it is not possible for me to flatter myself with that opinion, 'tis a thing palpable and constant, and can never be excused. Do not you upbraid me by my Marriage, to justify your own Levity, replied the Duchess: Women of my Quality are subject to such Formalities, as no passion can exempt us from. I believed you to be dead, and all Portugal bear me witness I never saw Duke Alexander till I married him: But you, Sir, knew I was alive, you knew where to address yourself; yet you did that by Election, which I did out of obedience and constraint; and if your heart hath been touched for Xerina, you are guilty not only of one single act, but of a habit of infidelity. Don Sebastian did what he could to expunge that fancy out of her mind; he endeavoured to persuade the Duchess, that if people be found at their return, as they were when they departed, they ought never to be questioned about the interval. The Duchess did not relish that Doctrine, she proceeded in her Jealousy, multiplying her Chimeras, till at last to rectify all, Xerina arrived at Lisbon. This Princess receiving no tokens of her Servants remembrance, and understanding by report how things proceeded in Portugal, she obtained liberty of Muley to go thither herself to clear up those doubts which the Portuguez lay under: And indeed she did clear them; but (in giving her reasons (which seemed to be satisfactory) that the false was the true Sebastian) she discovered withal, that her mighty Monarch was married to her. It was happy for him he was departed from Parma when these tidings arrived; had he been there, the fury of the Duchess would too probably have found out some fatal way of Revenge; but by good luck he was gone to head those Troops his Friends had raised for the assertion of his interest. Xerinas' Title was indisputable; she was contracted to Don Sebastian by the King of Morocco, before the Battle of Tamista; it was not to his gratitude to Xerina only the Duchess of Parma ought to attribute his Treason, for he had loved her Rival before she had saved his life; and he which she mistook for Sebastian, had married her afterward in the Province of Hoscore, with all requisite Formalities; nor could the difference of their Religions be any obstruction, for Xerina had promised to turn Christian, and performed, as soon as she was landed in Portugal. How could the Duchess of Parma's fury be expressed when she understood all these circumstances? Had he had but one fault to have been pardoned, 'tis possible Love might have obtained it: But all ways of reconciliation were interdicted; and that which rendered her indignation most just, was, that this false Sebastian had received a thousand innocent favours from her, which this unlucky news converted into crimes. Love effected that in her which it produces in most of her Sex; she ran from one extremity to another, and her anger being augmented by the consideration of her past kindness, she sent on purpose to the States of Portugal, to remonstrate that her new Sebastian was an Impostor, that she had discovered it by several contradictions, wherein she had surprised him; and pretending a Voyage into Portugal, with design to procure that Crown for the young Farnese, her Son, she came in person to Lisbon to incite Enemies against that Traitor. Her fury was better sighted than her Love; for 'tis clear, he demanded a Crown to which he could make no pretence: but the Duchess acted not upon that foundation, it was Jealousy alone which infused her revenge; and as the highest motive to her animosity, she found the Princess of Morocco so tightly beautiful, she could not but excuse in private that crime, which publicly she endeavoured to punish. This consideration excited her the more; she was in a rage, because she had no more reason to be so. The Princess of Morocco discovered all her confusions; and being together one day, I see, Madam, said she to the Duchess of Parma, you will not have Don Sebastian true King of Portugal, because he cannot make you participate of the Crown; but, Madam, I will expiate the infidelity wherewith you charge him, by giving you the true Character of my Soul. Employ your interest to restore him, retract those reproaches your unjust resentment hath diffused, and I am content the Prince shall perform that promise he made to you formerly; for I had rather see him in the Throne, and flatter myself in private, that owing me his life and his Crown, he loves me at his heart better than her who would deprive him, then to possess it quietly myself, and apprehend whilst he is even in my arms, his inclinations are somewhere else. These generous resolutions being by public Fame carried into his Camp, the false Don Sebastian could not but resume in some measure that Love which his ambition had expelled. He was advanced with his confederate Troops to that part of the Frontier which separates Portugal from the Territory of Oviedo: he was forced to an Engagement at that pass, where fight to make Xerina Queen, as well as himself King, his zeal made his Valour so inconsiderate, he was taken Prisoner in the Combat; and being conducted to Lisbon, there was nothing discoursed of among his Competitors but chastising his temerity by some ignominious punishment: The defeat of Tannista had not been so mortal, but there remained some considerable persons who could give an account of the destiny of their King; all of them affirmed they had followed him to the River Mucazen; some that they saw him drowned, and some that they ran great hazard of the same Fate, in endeavouring to save him. This report was nor according to what Xerina believed; she had found her pretended Sebastian in the midst of the Battle; and that which made most against him, was, that the habit by which the Princess described him, did not agree with what the Portugal Officers assured he had on that day. Nevertheless Nature had been pleased to put such a resemblance betwixt them, and it was seconded so well by their Wit and their Courage, it was not known which way to resolve; the more this accident was examined, the more intricate it appeared. To deny the Crown to their lawful Prince, was an unpardonable offence; to prostitute it, on the other side, to an Impostor, was no less unjustifiable. But death fixed their resolutions; for whether Policy of State looked upon Don Sebastian's Alliance with the Moors as dangerous to that Kingdom; or that the Duchess of Parma perceiving the States inclining to Don Sebastian, found out some unlawful way of preventing the Triumph of her Rival, so it was the counterfeit King died in Prison, and left no small suspicion that his death was unnatural. 'Tis reported before he expired, he desired to speak with Xerina, and (the last moment being an admirable Touchstone to try the juggle of a man's life) he declared to the Princess of Morocco (as is reported) that he was not King of Portugal, and conjured her not to enterprise any thing against him whom they should choose after he was deceased. This Declaration was no more than what was necessary, for Xerina had a Son by him, who would have been the occasion of very great disorders, nor could he do all this without great testimony of remorse: 'Tis not one way alone, Madam, said he to the Princess, in which I have deceived you; for that part of my fallacy, which made me your Husband, I reproach myself not much, I should have blamed myself much more (had I neglected it, being in my power as it was) than I think myself culpable, in accepting that honour: But, Madam, that which sticks closest, and gives me greatest regret, is, that for some time I have discontinued my affection, and (in hopes of a Crown which I never obtained, and which by a thousand accidents might have been ravished from me, if I had) have forsaken a heart all the Crowns in the World were not able to recompense. Do not afflict yourself with unnecessary compunction, replied the generous Princess, I loved the person of my Sebastian, above the Dignities which surrounded him: I thought to have found his person in you, and those Charms wherewith I was surprised, lost nothing of their Energy for not proceeding from a King. I confess I should not have observed them in an ordinary person, my Spirit and my Birth would not have permitted to have fixed my Eyes upon any less than a King. But at length I became delighted with my error, for to a virtuous Woman the name of a Husband is so sacred, it wipes away all spots that can possibly accompany it. Let us strive to overcome your distemper my dear Prince? Pardon me, Fortune, for giving him that Title, said she with her Eyes up to Heaven, thou oughtest to have given it, though thou didst not; and then turning again to her Beloved, she cried, Force yourself, dear Sir, out of the jaws of death, if it be possible, perhaps our Destiny may be kinder in afric than in Portugal. The supposed Prince was so strangely affected with this excess of Generosity, his very transport was sufficient to have killed him: He expired in the Arms of his over-passionate Xerina, and her soul was in no small danger of bearing his company. This man had abused her by a deceit insupportable to the Quality of a Princess, and his subsequent inconstancy was more offensive than the other; but Xerina had loved him entirely, and (let vindicative Ladies say what they please) that person is never hated, which was beloved hearty before. They complain of their Stars, they abominate their Influence, and hate themselves many times for having so little discretion; but this hatred indeed, is but a Copy of their Countenance, and never goes so deep as they would seem to pretend: The Ideas of a man who hath been perfectly beloved, aught always to be sacred: No resentment can attaque them without Sacrilege; and if any fury could be found so violent, as to violate that Law, she never was capable of true affection, she loved to satisfy her own appetite, and not only for Love, Xerina observed the last orders of her counterfeit Sebastian, with exceeding punctuality, as soon as her sorrow permitted, she retired into afric, and gave not the least opposition to Theodore Braganza, who was elected King of Portugal. I do not think the Reader requires further light in this Adventure, I have enlarged it much to what it is represented in my History, and I assure myself there are many who believe they have perused all the Memoires of that Age, to whom this Princess of Morocco is every where a stranger, except in the Annals of Love.   

THE ANNALS OF LOVE.  
THE EIGHTH PART.  
MAhomet III. had three Sons by three different Sultanesses: Mustapha, whom he caused to be slain in his own time; Jacaya, whose History I am writing; and Achmet, who succeeded his Father in the Empire: Jacaya's Mother was a Christian; the Magnificences of the Seraglio were not able to eradicate the sentiments of her Religion. She pretended herself sick, and a Physician, indulging her designs, advised her for change of Air to remove to Magnesia. She obtained leave to carry her Son along with her, and having dispersed it abroad, that he died of the small Pox (which had raged violently about that time) she caused another to be buried publicly in his stead, and committed the care of her Son to an Eunuch, one of her Confidents. The Eunuch transported him to Greece, and recommended him to the Tuition of the Bishop of Thessalonia: The good Bishop baptised him, and gave him careful Education till he was fifteen or sixteen years old. At that age the Eunuch, who was privy to the Mystery of his Affairs, had a great desire to impart them to him. The weight of a secret is too ponderous for persons of his Character; and to speak Poetically, would have been a troublesome bundle in the Ferry-Boat of Charon. See then the Prince informed of his Extraction, and very desirous to know what they talked of him in the World. He disguised himself as a Dervis, and stealing from the Tutelage of his Bishop, he directed his Course privately towards the chief Cities in Greece. Many people were offended at the prematurity of his Profession, and believing him what his Habit represented, 'Tis pity, said the Ladies, this young man should have been so early devoted to Heaven. Being arrived at Scopea, he understood the death of his Father; he knew likewise that Mustapha being out of the World, the Ottoman Crown would have fallen upon his head, had not the false news of his death diverted it upon his younger Brother. His Mother's zeal to preserve him, began then to appear indiscreet: He was of an age in which they are more sensible of earthly than celestial Dignity. He passed into Asia, where his Intelligence told him certain Bashaws were in Revolt against their new Emperor: He discovered himself to be the Son of Mahomet, put himself in the Head of their rebellious Troops, and marched against Achmets' Lieutenants. A Romantic Author would not fail to have made him conquer his Enemy, and given the Empire to the Exploits of his victorious Arm; and not without reason, for right being on his side, why should Fortune be against him? however he performed what a man of Courage could possibly do in defence of his Title; but in despite of his Bravery and diligence, he was wounded, defeated, and had much ado to escape the pursuit of his Enemies; I take the liberty notwithstanding to enlarge, and intersperse his Adventures with such Accidents as are least incompatible with the History. Though this reverse of Fortune was a most sensible affliction to our young Sultan, it did not quite ruin his hopes. Right of Blood never wants Protectors, no Kingdom being so empty of seditious and turbulent Spirits, but there will always be some will embrace with both Arms the pretence of a Revolt, if guilded with the least appearance of Justice. The Bashaw Dervis (who was very potent at the Port, and had a secret amity with the Bashaws of Asia) had a great inclination to assist them: He caused Jacaya to come to Constantinople privately in the Habit of a Persian Priest; the Conferences of the Confederates are frequent and open; Plots are laid for deposing Achmet, and advancing Jacaya to the Throne, and so probably, and forward were their designs, his foot might have been said to have been upon the first step; but the very same day all things were to have been put in execution, the Bashaw Protector was discovered, and all the Prince's hopes reduced to the single attempt of an escape. He put himself into the Train of a Polish Ambassador who was returning to his Master, and rebaptising himself with a new name (Hope) he followed his Ambassador to Cracovia: This young Prince's design was to discover himself to the King of Poland, and to desire Sanctuary in his Court; but by the discouragements he heard by the way, he was diverted from that resolution. His Affairs being great, and his History singular, they were the subject of all Conversations; some said Jacaya was dead, others he was retired to the Emperor of Germany. Every one playing the Politician according to his own fancy, and arguing the ill consequences his retreat might bring upon them who received him, they gave the disguised Prince to consider his Refuge was to be chosen with all possible Caution. Before he would hazard himself, he concluded to take the secret advice of his friends; continuing therefore in his present condition, till he could receive their opinions; by his diligence and dexterity he had rendered himself so grateful to his Master, he was grown the greatest Favourite he had in his Family. In this quality he became his Confident in an Intrigue he held with a Transylvanian Lady called Metzala, whom the Wars of her Country had driven for protection into the Polish Court. This Metzala was very fair; the obligations betwixt them depended more upon utility than inclination; but she was of so equitable a temper, she did Justice to the favours of Nature, in what object soever she met them. The outward condition of Jacaya could not disguise, much less efface, the goodness of his Mien; and the Beauty of Metzala was of a degree which would have staggered the Loyalty of a more religious person than Mahomet's Son. The Lady and this counterfeit Hope began to despise the obstruction of their different Relations to the Polish Ambassador. Metzala permitted the disguised Prince to droll in her presence, and to play upon the Age and Courtship of his Master: He took the boldness to make her several mysterious Presents as new-years gifts, or offerings upon her Birthday; and (having given and received oelliades both on one side and the other) Jacaya presuming he was advanced so far, as that he might speak his mind without danger of reprehension, he writ a Letter imparting his thoughts, and carrying it himself, he delivered it to Metzala instead of another he was to have presented from his Master. Metzala was at that time taking the air in her Balcony, when she pretended Hope brought her the Letter. See, Madam, said he accosting her, a Present which perhaps you expected not: If it be welcome, I expect great reward from your Magnificence; if otherwise, your rejection will be punishment sufficient. Metzala took the Paper, and opening it, found these words.  
Madam,  
I am a Messenger of Love, and you ought not to be surprised with that Title; for it is a long time. I have been so with you, hitherto I have only offered such vows as their age rendered, but lukewarm, and unfit to be presented to you. Now, Madam, I tender you a passion as ardent as sincere, and as violent as solid; the hand from whence this Offering comes, you may possibly at first think guilty of Sacrilege; but suffer not yourself to be deluded by appearance, I'll assure you she is a Cheat, and if you please to trouble yourself with a stricter disquisition, you will find no Rank or Quality so high, to which Hope may not justly aspire.  
The trouble which was but too visible in the face of Metzala, whilst she was reading this Letter, she gave the disguised Prince sufficient conviction how she was agitated within: She changed colour every time, and her heart forcing her to desire what her reason hindered her to hope; she was preparing for great questions, but had not leisure to propose them; for a Lady of remarkable Quality came into her Chamber at the same time. She composed herself as well she could, and passing out of the Balcony to meet the Lady, You may tell your Master, said she to Jacaya, when I have examined the Diamond his Letter speaks of, I will give him my opinion; as far as I have yet perceived, it doth not answer his Character. That, Madam, replied Jacaya, is no wonder, the stone is ill set; and the Merchant said, as perhaps you may have observed, you must look further than ordinary to give it the true value. Well, we will see what it is, replied Metzala; making him a sign to be gone; I shall not be abroad all day to morrow, bring it to me again after dinner. Jacaya withdrew after this Conference, and the Polish Lady which came in, being acquainted with the Amours betwixt the Ambassador and Metzala, she concluded the Diamond they talked of, was some new Present from him. She took no notice of her stispition to Metzala; the friendishp betwixt them was not arrived at so high a confidence. Their discourse were of the fashions, of the times, and such indifferent things; but as the greatest part of that Sex are less frank and open among themselves, than among men, she was not so reserved with the Ambassador, as she was with his Mistress; she went that very day to a Walk where she met with him; she caused her Coach to drive as near him as she could, and thrusting herself out of the Boot, What do you do here? said she smiling, you are expected, to recompense your late liberality. Your Turkish Officer hath done his best to make her prise it; had he been the Merchant himself, he could not have said more of the Diamond. The Polish Lord could make nothing of that Aenigma, he would fain have had her explained it; but several Coaches having interposed, he could get to her no more: He drove immediately to Metzala to inquire of her, and very earnest he was to be resolved. The Transylvanian smiled at his request, pretending greater tranquillity than in justice he ought. This Droll Hope brought me one of your Letters after dinner, he makes always the pleasantest sport when he speaks of your passion; he said your heart is a precious Stone, with which a Queen would think herself honoured. This Lady came just in as he was in the Panegyric, and heard that expression: See, I beseech you how fools may put wiser people into disorder, and how unhappy we are that are forced to entertain them? But the Polish Lord was not to be coak'st; he did not take this shift of Metzala's as she expected; it was a long time since he had been displeased with her courtesy to his man Hope. I beg of you, Madam, said he, do not use that Boy to so much familiarity. Those kind of people are not born to be the objects of so much Generosity; and what among us is but a natural Civility, passes among them for a preference, will make them insolent: How can you admit such a Fellow as he into the particulars of your affairs? If he brings you my Letters, and returns your Answers, I have taken care he shall do that faithfully, but do not you, Madam, enlarge his Commission. Metzala could not hear him speak so contemptibly of a person for whom she began to have a kindness, without saying something in his defence. She told the Ambassador, he did not know the treasure he had in Hope; that he was a Servant he could not value sufficiently: This discourse confirmed the suspicion of her Gallant, and he could not conceal it for his heart. Metzala found him injurious in his language, his conversation angered her, and some smart Repartees did pass betwixt the Lovers. The Ambassador was an old Fornicator, had had more than one Love-quarrel in his time; he understood the difference betwixt Choler and Choler. He doubted not but Metzala's anger had a touch of infidelity in it. He turned away Hope when he came home, and caused it to be told him by way of charitable advice, that if ever he came within Metzala's doors again, he would meet with very ill Compliments before he went away. This way the true course to fortify the inclination of Metzala's. She apprehended (by an excuse Jacaya fent her, for not waiting on her any more) what the Jealousy of the Ambassador had done, and what would otherwise have been a  condescension, becoming now but a laudable compassion; she was forced to make use of an undecent hour to inquire into affairs. He was brought privately into her Chamber, when she thought all her Family was in bed: There was not an obliging word but her kindness dictated it to her Generosity; she was in bed, and Women which are naturally handsome, are much better in that posture than dressed. Jacaya was importuned to explain what Metzala found obscure in her Letter; he told her his Birth, his Love to her, and the desires of his Soul in words extremely suitable to his passion; but his narration was interrupted when it was just at the best, The jealous Polander had conceived shrewd suspicions of the truth: All Metzala's Servants were at his disposition, he caused them to be informed what it was he desired of their zeal. Those who were thought fastest asleep, were broadest awake; and scarce was Jacaya got into the Chamber of his Mistress, but the Ambassador had notice, and ran immediately with two or three of his Servants, whither the Alarm invited: At the sight of all that Company, Metzala was strangely surprised, she demanded of the Polander, what it was gave him the confidence to come to her at that time a night, and how long he had been accustomed to such Visits as those. Do not you justify yourself to your new Gallant, replied the Ambassador with a tone of contempt, my design is not to let him see your gate is open to me at all hours in the night, I scorn to boast of a Conquest in which my Valet participates. At that word he ordered those who came along with him to seize upon Jacaya, whom he took for no better than his man Hope; but he proved to be Mahomet's own Son. For catching hold of the Polanders Cimeterre, wresting it out of the Scabbard, and putting himself upon his guard, he satisfied his Master it would be no easy matter to have his Orders obeyed. Metzala, affrighted at the action, and apprehending for a man whose Extraction excused her resentment, she leapt in a rage out of bed, and cried out for help: An Envoy from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who lodged not far from her House, and came usually very late home, hearing of her Cry, ran in to see what was the matter: Jacaya knew the Tuscan Envoy, having seen him many times in the streets: He desired his protections, and in few words told him, he was that Ottoman Prince which made so much noise in the World. The Tuscan had received private Letters before, that Jacaya was in Poland in disguise. The Prince endeavoured to persuade him to a belief; and though the Polander looked upon the relation as fabulous, and conjured the Tuscan to receive it not otherwise; yet he did not think fit to be persuaded by one who was so much concerned. He took the person of Jacaya into his protection till the morning, resolving to carry him to the King to have the truth more strictly examined; and he was found to be as he pretended: He had all the declarations of the Sultaness his Mother, of the Eunuch, and the Bishop of Thessalonica; he had Letters from some of the Bashaws of Asia, which they had lately writ to him under the name of Hope; and to dash all scruples that might be pretended, there was a Chaous from Achmet at that time in the Court (who had been sent to the revolted Bashaws when he was amongst them) which knew him. The testimony of this Chaous was irrefragable, and had not the malice of his offended Master, diverted his Majesty's inclinations, Jacaya had found the refuge and security he wanted, in the Court of that Monarch; but that incensed person laid so many impediments in his way, and contrived so many Plots against him, the Turkish Prince thought it not prudent nor safe to stay there, and expose himself any longer. He tried to have him assassinated, he misrepresented him to the King, and he had no sooner cleared himself of one calumny, but he was aspersed with another. He conjured the Tuscan Envoy to deliver him from this persecution, and procure him a Retreat to the great Duke's Court: and the Tuscan acquitted himself of that generous Act with zeal and success. Jacaya departed for Florence, not without great trouble to Metzala; but she must of necessity be patiented. The Grand Duke received him with great kindness, and assigned him considerable Pensions; the secret differences in the Turkish Empire, seconded the liberality of the Duke; and the person of Jacaya being every way complete, he became immediately the Love and Admiration of the whole Tuscan Court; which though it be not altogether so great as other Courts of Europe, yet the Ladies are naturally handsome in that Climate: not a Florentine Woman he saw, but could easily expunge the memory of Metzala. At firsthe played the generous Gallant; but not finding that kind of Courtship so agreeable with his mind, he restrained his desires to the person of a young Lady called Angelicadi Strozzi, who was reputed the handsomest young Woman in Tuscany. Her Mother was dead, and the Marquis de Strozzi her Father, having been happy enough in his former Amours, to suspect the virtue of all the Women in the World, he was a continual Watch upon his Daughter; so as she never went abroad but to Church, or some other Festivals where her quality did indispensably require her; and even on those occasions she was attended by an old Widow her Kinswoman, who would never trust her out of her sight. It cost Jacaya by that means many a sigh before he could gain a favourable opportunity to explain himself; he endeavoured to have made his Eyes his Interpreters, but Angelica was at that time too young to understand that language. One night when they were making great Fireworks in the Grand Piazza at Florence, in joy for the Duchess' being brought to bed of a Son, and Angelica was among the rest of the Court-Ladies, looking out of the Windows; the Duke having called aside the Marquis for his Judgement about the Fireworks which he understood perfectly well: and the old Sentinel being removed upon some other occasion, Jacaya thought best to take this opportunity, as not being able to assure himself when he should have another. He got as near his young Mistress as he could, and showing her a Squib thrown into the air, which fell down with more than ordinary noise; So it is, Madam, said he, with Lover's desires, the constraint and confinement makes them more impetuous when they break forth; so that what ought not in strictness to be said under whole years' attendance, seems in some measure to be excused, as soon as occasion is offered to speak it. I love you, Madam, and I do it exceedingly. I am sensible of all the precautions Civility exacts of a Lover in order to this declaration: But, Madam, should I employ as much time in attending a convenient opportunity, as I have passed already without meeting one, I should die without doubt before your Ladyship would understand my disease. The young Strozzi was so surprised at the discourse, she knew not what to answer, besides she had no time; for the old Scout perceiving their Converse, flew back like Lightning to disturb it. The Prince cast many a glance upon his new Mistress all the rest of the night, or (to speak more properly) he never took his Eyes off of her; he observed her much discomposed, she looked down upon the ground as soon as she perceived him; but he apprehended there was more of modesty than anger in her discomposure. After the Fireworks were done, there was a magnificent Supper, and after that a Ball. The Turkish Prince took out Angelica to dance, and gave her all the intimations of his passion, that the vigilance of the old Marquis would permit him to give: He did not perceive Angelica do it, and none else of the Company came near enough to him, to convey any thing into his Pocket; nevertheless when he came to his Chamber, he found a little Table-book there with certain Lines in Italian to this purpose.  Impetuosity and ardour in fire which hath been long constrained, is pardonable; but the noise and cracking, is abominable. 
At the reading of these words, the Turkish Prince was in as great a Transport, as a Lover could be. He doubted not but it was in Answer to the Declaration he had made; and overjoyed she had received it so favourably, he passed that night in extraordinary hopes. The next day he went to Mass to the Church where Angelica went ordinarily, where he observed a grave Matron attending him, and making signs to him now and then to follow him out of the Church: He submitted to the signal; and the Matron demanding, if he had found nothing in his Pockets over night; he was afraid at first to confess, lest he should do Angelica a mischief before he was ware; but the old Woman observing his confusion; Tell me truly, said she to him, for it was I that put the Table-book there, and the advice which is given comes from me: I am Angelica's Nurse; I was behind her yesterday, when you had your discourse, and I will promise to bring your affairs to a happy conclusion, provided you be discreet, and your intentions sincere. Though it was great satisfaction to Jacaya to find an Agent so proper, and so ready to his hand, yet it could not but give him considerable regret to find Angelica had no share in the Answer he had received; and he expressed it to the Matron. Do not trouble yourself, said the Matron to him, repose yourself upon me, I will do you what service I can, for 'tis a long time since I have been preparing to be revenged upon the unjust severity of the Marquis. His Daughter was not born so fair, to be locked up in a Chamber, and we that are Governesses of such Beauties as she, have no way to make ourselves considerable but by our address in ostentating our Talents. Jacaya concurred with every word she said, and seconding his approbation by a Ring he gave her off his finger, he made the Matron so firm to his Interests, that that very day she carried him a Letter to his Mistress, and returned him an Answer. The Contents of her Answer was only a request to him to write to her no more; but let a Lady's request be what it will, she makes a great advance when she is induced to write again. The Nurse inculcated her cares very much, and promised faithfully to continue them, and their success was accordingly; their Commerce by Letters was established, and there began to be a conformity in their styles. Things being in this posture, the grand Duchess would needs regale the Ladies of her Court at the Pratolin (which is one of the most beautiful Houses of Pleasure the Duke of Tuscany hath near Florence) Angelica and her Convey were of the number of the Guests; by accident the Marquis de Strozzi was fallen into discourse with Jacaya, who partly in revenge, and partly to make his advantage thereby, past so artificially from one story to another, and kept the old man in a perpetual motion all over the Walks, that at length he tired him quiet. The Duchess was at that time in a Salon of rustic work, built in the most solitary part of the Wood belonging to that Palace; four little vaulted Arbours were (as it were) attending on that great one: The Company weary of walking, was retired part into the Salon with the Datchess, and part into the lesser Arbours by themselves. The Marquis was of the last number; he entered into one of the little Arbours finding it empty, and being weary with walking, he was no sooner sat down, but he fell asleep. Jacaya left him very civilly asleep, and past to the Duchess, to see if he could find out Angelica, and make any improvement of that opportunity: Pretending to inquire by accident of some of the Court, he understood she was with her Argus in one of the Cabinets: He sent a Gentleman of his Retinue to the old Matron, to let her know the Marquis would speak with her on the other side of the Wood; and perceiving his design had taken, he went into the Arbour to supply her place till she came back. The young Lady blushed exceedingly when she saw the Turkish Prince, and would immediately have been gone, but a secret inclination which she could not overcome, prevailed with her to stay: Jacaya perceived her propensity, and endeavoured to fortify her, he prayed, he promised, he pressed, his desires were violent, and his passion eloquent. The Arbour in which this Scene was acted, answered exactly to the Arbour where the old Marquis was asleep, and by the effect of an Art which is common in all the grand Duke's Houses (and of which we have formerly seen an Experiment in the Palace of Mary de Medicis built at Paris) that which was spoken in one of these Arbours, was conveyed secretly into the other, without being perceived by those who were in the body of the Vault. This transportation of the voice from the Angle of one Vault to another, is not a Romantic invention of mine own to discover my Intrigue, for there is no body hath traveled into Italy, but will assure you of several places in the Pratolin built after that manner; and before one of the vaulted Chambers in the Palais d'Orleans was altered, it was remarkable for the same piece of Architecture. The Marquis being so near, and in a place where he could hear distinctly all the Turkish Prince said to his Daughter, the cariosity of knowing who was the Mistress set him perfectly awake: He listened attentively, and understanding the promises wherewith Jacaya accompanied his Propositions; Yes, said he to himself, that's the Dialect of all Lovers, I know that Lesson without Book, and have made use of it to six several Ladies in my time, but the Women are mere Sots that believe a word of it. Jacaya pressing hard, and Angelica not being disposed to grant him the favours he desired, the Marquis heard her answer: No, Jacaya, I cannot comply with the thing your desires would exact; I am sensible I love you as well as is possible, and I must acknowledge there are certain minutes in which I wish myself with you in the same liberty as now; but, Sir, the danger dismays me, and it troubles me to think I am not able to do any thing for you now, but to manage myself so as it may be in my power hereafter. But, Madam, replied the Turkish Prince with some kind of impetuosity, the moments these considerations make you lose, may perhaps be irrecoverable. The Stratagem I have used to send your old Sentry away, cannot last long, and perhaps your Father may wake at the very instant I am speaking: do not therefore, I beseech you, dear Angelica, consume those minutes which are intended only for Love, in tedious expostulations. The Prince encouraging himself by his own proper discourse, would doubtless have been too hard for Angelica's scruples; but her Name which Jacaya had mentioned, discovering the Intrigue to the Marquis, he fetched such a cry, as put our poor Lover beyond all his designs. Angelica made but one leap betwixt the place where she was, to the Duchess' Salon and the Turkish Prince, being ignorant of the artifice by which the Marquis his cry was conveyed to his ears, believed he was discovered, and retired into the thickest part of the Wood, outrageously mad for the miscarriage of his Enterprise. The Marquis had cried out before he was ware, and durst have sworn almost he had done no such thing; so that observing the profound silence which followed, and not perceiving what had caused it, he attributed it to a quite contrary effect. Persons of his humour and age do seldom interpret any thing for the best. The old Marquis ascribing that to the excess of their Love, which was nothing but their fear, he ran into their Cabinet in a fury; and if he had found them employed, as he expected to find them, it is clear he would have out run into desperate extremities; but by good luck he found no body there but the old Matron, who having sought him all over the Wood to no purpose, was returned to the Arbour where she had left Angelica, at the same instant the Marquis came in also. The good man being in an anger, demanded very snappingly why she had left his Daughter; and she demanded of him as short, why he took delight to make his Traps about the Wood, and through all the Walks about the Palace to no purpose. They gave account of their reasons on both sides; and the Marquis' suspicions being augmented by what she related, nothing could serve his turn but he would go and stab his Daughter before the Duchess' face. But the reverend Matron restrained him as to that: She represented to his consideration, that what was passed was irreparable, and impossible to undo; that he must leave those things to Destiny, and apply himself to the prevention of such practices for the future. I know very well, said she, Jacaya's Extraction places him above the Laws, which might constrain particular persons; and though he would freely submit, I am not ignorant that Princes are never without some reason of State or other in their Pockets, to keep them from performing that in their restablishment, which they promised in their affliction: But the most casual Marriage will be better than that, what you believe is already consummate betwixt the Turkish Prince and your Daughter: Employ yourself seriously to make one of the Marriages we speak of; and instead of ruining Angelica by an ineffectual discovery, conceal your resentment, so that by a dissembled confidence, you may hasten the moment of your satisfaction. The Marquis approved of her advice very well; he forced his Choler as much as he could to compose his Countenance, and entering into the room where the whole Court was, he counterfeited that, and two or three days after so handsomely, the two Lovers apprehensions were entirely laid aside. They began to write Letters, as they had formerly done, and the Nurse which managed the Intrigue, observing by her private discourse with Angelica, that fear was the only impediment which kept her from satisfying the desires of the Prince, she thought she should do a meritorious act, if she could betray the innocent Angelica to a Rendez-vous, to which she would not otherwise consent. She saw her modesty made her reject all allurements of Love; but she hoped time and accident might make her more happy. This hope having long since been digested, and Jacaya well instructed in what he had to do, our female Engeneer found occasion to have the Windows of a low Hall under Angelica's Apartment, to be so altered, that the wooden Grilles or Bars might be taken out, and put in again with ease. These Windows were no higher than the Butresses, and looked into a by-street that was little frequented. The Nurse complained that Angelica's Chamber was too hot, and the old Matron was brought to consent she should change her Apartment. The other being proposed and approved, the day was appointed for their removal, and the Turkish Prince had advertisement not to lose so fair an occasion. He assured the Nurse by a Ticket, he would not fail to be at the assignation; but by the continual care the Marquis took to know how things passed, this Ticket fell into his hands. It had no subscription, and imported only thus much, That Jacaya would not fail to be at the place appointed that night at eleven of the Clock. And now the old Marquis would have sworn he had them sure: He sent for the Officers of the Town, and having disposed them into a room, and ordered them to remain there ready to execute their Offices when required; the Marquis not daring to trust any Scout but himself, clapped himself upon the Watch in a little Closet, built in the form of a Watch-house, from whence he could see all that went in or out of his house. The hour appointed by Jacaya's Billet being come, the Marquis heard one while in the street, which he took at first for the signal, and indeed at that whistle the Porter opened the Gate gently, and let in a person covered all over from head to foot with a Cloak à l'Italienne. The Marquis made no question but this was Jacaya, and lamenting the condition of persons of Quality, to be exposed to the infidelity of their Servants, he followed with his Eye to a Gallery corresponding to Angelica's Chamber, into which none but her Women were permitted to enter. The Vision knocked, and the door opened; there was not any place so secret in the house, into which that whistle would not have given her admission. The old man thought he had seen enough, he sent for his Judge and his Notary immediately, he put himself at the head of them with a lamp in his hand, and making the least noise he could for fear of losing his prey, by the secret orders he had given, he got presently to his Daughter's beds side. The kreaking of his shoes in going, and the light of the lamp, having got before him to the Eyes and Ears of Angelica, she clapped her head into the bed, and caused the party in bed with her to do the same. The Marquis drew the Curtain, and seeing two persons in bed, he commanded the Judge to do his Office; and pulling a Dagger out of his Pocket, which he had brought with him on purpose, he swore a desperate oath he should marry his Daughter, or die upon the spot. At these words of Judge, Death, and Dagger, Angelica threw herself out of the bed, in a great fright, and escaping into a Closet on the inward side of her bed, she fell a barricadoing the door with whatever she could find. The Marquis not having so much occasion for that part of his prey, as for the other, suffered her to go as she would, and reserved himself for what was behind. The Judge, the Notary, and some Servants selected for that design, seize upon the remainder, and haling it violently out of bed, the Marquis was strangely surprised to find it was only his Daughter's Nurse: He cried out it was none of she he looked for, he asked for Jacaya, and protested he would kill them every mother's child, if they did not tell him where he was. The old Nurse understanding by that demand, what was the occasion of this disorder, she took heart, and with the grave and severe tone of a Matron, asked him if Angelica's Chamber was a fit place to look for a man at that time of night. True it was, as was mentioned in the Ticket, Jacaya was to have met that night in Angelica's Apartment; but some Gentlemen from Provence having come to see the Marquis of Strozzi, that day, he had disposed them that night into the Chamber appointed for the Interview, and put off the young Lady's removal till the next. The Nurse went out before noon to give Jacaya advice; and for the better disguising of her Sally, she went to see one of her Relations that was sick, and had continued with her to the very hour in which the Marquis saw her come in: For knowing the Jealousy of her Master, she thought it not best to come home till she believed he was in bed, lest she should be troubled with the impertinent questions he used to all people that had been abroad. She had desired the Porter to open the Gate when she gave him the signal, as he did, and it was she the Marquis had seen enter both into the Court and the Gallery belonging to his Daughter's Chamber. The cunning old Fox being assured the Turkish Prince was not to be found where he was sought for, she laid about her, and gave the Marquis all the reproaches she could have given him, had she been really innocent. She caused the Porter to be called, to testify it was she that came in: she would needs have him send to the sick person, where she had been visiting, to satisfy himself, whether she was not newly come from thence; and pursuing her confidence so far as to press him to send to Jacaya, he did, and having found him in bed, she put the poor Marquis into such a confusion, as he was never in before in his life. This story made a great noise in the Duke of Tuscany's Court; some Ladies who emulated Angelica's Beauty, and perhaps had their private designs upon the affections of Jacaya, began to talk of it at their pleasure: Jacaya protested it was only the old Marquis' fancy, and that he had never had any familiarity with his Daughter: But the good man, to justify his senses, and demonstrate that his age had as yet done him no prejudice in his judgement, gave a relation to all people of what he heard in the Pratolin; and pretended he had done the part of a wise man, when he had discovered upon what grounds he had done as he did. By this means was Angelica become the whole discourse of the Court; and though she was really innocent herself, yet she served for an eminent Example, that in matters of Reputation, appearances are sometimes as dangerous, as real transgression. The Family of the Strozzi was very considerable in Italy; the Relations of Angelica were sensible of the injury the Turkish Prince had done her, and Jacaya's ambition not suffering him to apply such public remedy, as would have been required, the Counsel of the Grand Duke, after great division and debate, concluded at last that the poor Prince should be put to seek his protection from the Pope. But the malice of the Strozzi not regarding the Holiness of his Protector, they laid so many secret practices against his life, that they forced him out of Italy, and obliged him to pass into France with the Duke of Nevers, newly come to the Dukedom of Mantua, whose Subjects refused to admit him into his State. The Court of France was at that time the most splendid in the World: The Marriage of of the young Lewis XIII. with the Infanta of Spain, supplied new matter to the Magnificence of the Queen Mother Mary de Medicis; and that time was so eminent for fair Ladies, that never was there so many Beauties together in one Court, as in his Reign. The Duke of Mantua having brought the Turkish Prince into France, he would needs be his Patron amongst them: He proposed to him to accompany him in his Visits to the most beautiful, and most eminent in Dignities; but the Prince stopping him at the first words of his Proposition; I beseech your Highness, said he to the Duke, suffer me to forget there any such Creatures in the World: I see the Ladies of this Court are transcendently handsome, but it satisfies me to look upon them at Court as so many pieces of good Painting; I will never pursue them to their own Houses, if you will please to dispense. How! said the Duke, not see them, can you think to be in a Court so illustrious as this, and never visit the Ladies? Ha! my dear Prince, Paris is not Constantinople, you must visit them here, or be exposed to whatever their scorn or indignation can inflict; and you cannot imagine how dangerous the displeasure of that Sex is for a person of your Age and Extraction: You may play the Turk in your own Country, but in France you must imitate the French. I ought not any where to be looked upon as a Turk, replied Jacaya a little angry, I came so young out of that Country, I have retained nothing of their Customs: My first years I spent in Greece, where they live with liberty enough; the Court of Poland is none of the strictest, and if one may believe the imaginations of the Marquis de Strozzi, continued he smiling, I, of all the World, have little reason to complain of the severity of Italy. But, Sir, I desire to be excused from any Amours in this Kingdom; and to preserve myself from the dangers which I have many times incurred, I tell you once again, I have no inclination to visit any of your Ladies. I am too much your friend, replied the Duke, not to root out that obstinate fancy; you will pass for some pitiful Creature, if you do not visit the Ladies: And for the dangers you speak of, they are not so great as you apprehend: the multitude of Beauties obstructing the choice, one can scarce give his heart to one, but the next fetches it again. That uncertainty preserves many souls from the torture of Love; and if it so happens one should be caught, a French Ladies Gallant runs no harder Risks than an ordinary Lover. And then not staying for the Prince's answer, he pulled him along with him by force, to two or three Ladies of his Acquaintance, and among the rest the Duke of Savoys Ambassador's Wife, which was a very pleasant Person, and spoke Italian excellently well. But whatever these Ladies could do to signalise their Entertainment of Jacaya, they could not get the least obliging Syllable from him: He fixed his Eyes upon the ground like a Novice of two days old, and answered with nothing but monosyllables. The Duke's friends laughed at him next day for bringing such a Spark into France: He found them altogether in the Ambassadresses House, where they were at play, till it was time to walk. What Innocent is that you have got? cried they to the Duke, as soon as they perceived him: he is afraid to speak one word, and to look a Woman in the face, is as much as his life is worth; what do you with that poor Creature? or to what use do you design him? Ha! Ladies, replied the Duke, he is nothing less, than what you take him for: He hath been told the French Ladies are much used to play upon Strangers; and not knowing the French Tongue very well, nor being yet acquainted with the Intrigues of the Court, he is afraid to expose his discretion till he be informed better in both: But such as you see him, if you could fasten him to your Chariot, I question whether you ever triumphed with a more illustrious Captive in your life. Alas! said one of the Ladies in a jeering tone, certainly that Honour must be left to a Venus in the Hang, for whilst he was in my Chamber, he regarded nothing else. I am of opinion, says another in the same sly way, the little Cupid by my bed's side, is Rival to your Venus, for the Turkish Prince was graciously pleased to vouchsafe him many a favourable glance whilst he was with me. For my part, said the Ambassadress smiling, I have neither Venus nor Cupid to employ the contemplation of the Duke of Mantua's new friend; the Beds and Borders in my Garden were the only things he thought worthy of his Eyesight; and though he made me a large Visit, was a whole day in my Chamber, and I discoursed with him in a Language he understood better than French; yet I dare lay a good Wager, he cannot tell whether I be fair or brown, little or great, and that he scarce remembers I was the Ambassadress of Savoy. You may proceed, Ladies, if you please, replied the Duke smiling, and pass your Judgements upon the poor Stranger; but let me assure you, you are in an Error at this time; that Sultan Jacaya is one of the wittiest persons of this Age, and one of the greatest Courtiers besides. Ha! Monsieur, cried the Ladies, as it were altogether, do us the honour to let us know what days they are in which he shows. Every day in the year, replied the Duke, provided he be not among Women. He knows you too well to talk before you; but if you will agree upon a place where I may make him speak without knowing any body hears him but myself, I do not question but you will make his mistaken merit an honourable amends. The bargain was made, and to be put in execution next day. They chose the House of the Mareshal Bassompierre, where there were several places convenient to conceal themselves. A Summer House at the end of a Terrace-walk, which looked upon the River, was designed for the Rendez-vous, and the Ladies being met at the hour appointed, the Duke of Mantua brought in his Monster into a place where they could all hear him. After some preliminary discourse about the situation of the House (in which those of them which were curious, confessed he did well) the Duke cutting himself short, and looking upon Jacaya with a subtle sort of smile, Observe, said he, this place, where in spite of the Beauty which you cannot but discern, I believe you but seldom appear, because for the most part it is full of Ladies: The Mareshal of Bassompierre, to whom it belongs, is a great Admirer of that beautiful Sex, and will not have his door shut against any that hath but the shape of a Woman; therefore being so fine a House, and at the very Gate of Paris, 'tis odds if at this very hour there be not five or six Ladies, which conceal themselves in some of the solitary places. As to them, replied the Prince smiling in his turn, my care is at an end: the Visits you forced me to make some days since, will preserve me against their Charms; for after the rate that I deported myself with those which I saw, I am mistaken if they will not shun me as much as I can avoid them for my heart. 'Tis true enough, said the Duke, you were very ridiculous (if you will give me the liberty to tell you so) I thought so myself, more than they did, replied Jacaya, and when I think of the person I have acted, I know not how I could have the power to do it. To tell you the truth, replied the Duke, it was not at all natural. Alas! no, persisted the Sultan with a sigh, I am nothing less than indifferent for Ladies, or distracted in their Companies; on the contrary, I am born not only inclinable, but passionate for that Sex. I cannot see a handsome Woman, but she is ready to draw my Eyes out of my head, and gives me so pleasant a commotion I am not able to define it. I love ardently, I love nicely, I devote myself wholly to what I love; and am convinced in this life there is no pleasure so great as to be beloved where one loves. But hitherto Love hath seemed incompatible with my safety, and with the just ambition of my mind: It disturbs all my designs, it drives me from all my protestations, and no sooner can I entertain the very shadow of an Intrigue, but the malignity of all the Constellations do seem to declare against me. Make therefore no more Combinations against my tranquillity, continued he smiling; for I am at length resolved to love nothing for the future, and I am of opinion should sooner break with you, than be prevailed upon by your persuasion to love any thing again. You have cleared yourself of their Ambuscadoes in very good health, replied the Duke with a tone tending to Raillery. The Ambassadress yesterday was saying in merriment, you knew not whether she was handsome or otherwise; How! said the Prince with a little more red than ordinary in his Cheeks, she was very much mistaken, never any Woman of her Excellence escaped my observation; nor dare I confess all the impressions she made upon my heart. Why! replied the Duke, being somewhat surprised, hath the Ambassadress given you any impression? I durst have sworn your Eye had not been long enough upon her, to have known her from another Woman. Ha! good Sir, said Jacaya to the Duke, you are too politic, you have a mind to inveigle my heart, and I am afraid are engaged, if possible, to entangle it: Do not command me to give you a description of the Ambassadress, we must always be tender of speaking of what we would not keep constantly in our mind; let it suffice I know her proportions very well, and that the lustre of her comely black Hair, the vivacity of her Eyes, the Majesty of her Shape, the sweet and obliging Air expanded all over her body, her fine Mouth, and her incomparable Teeth, were never observed more strictly, nor with more veneration than by me. I know further, that Nature hath seemed to please herself in giving her the Arms and Neck of a fat Woman, with the shape and proportion of a lean: The Ladies who had no share in Jacaya's Elogium, thought it high time to interrupt him; they sallied out of their Reconditory, and crying out to the Duke of Mantua, Pardon us, Sir, we recant, the Prince of Turkey is as gallant and courtly as you describe him; they acquainted Jacaya with their Conspiracy against him, he reprehended the Duke by a significative look, and to render their design ineffectual then, and discourage his friend from such Plots for the future; he returned home to his own Lodgings, in spite of all the Lady's importunities to the contrary. This kind of deportment set them all into a loud laughter, Come back, Sir, come back, cried they to the fugitive Prince, we will promise you Quarter; do not be afraid of your heart, we know a way to secure it. But the Prince marched on to his Coach without seeming to hear them: The Ambassadress, who was naturally amorous, and according to the inclination of her Sex, could not but hold herself obliged to the Turkish Prince for the Character he had given her, told her Companions it was an affront to them to have a man run from them in that manner; and that if she might advise, they should make him repent of his insolence. They liked her counsel very well, they had none of them any design upon the heart of Jacaya, they had already as many of those as they could tell how to manage; but they thought it pleasant to torment the poor Prince. The Duke of Mantua promised to assist them; he did not look upon it as any defect of the friendship he had promised them, to deliver him up to three or four the handsomest Ladies in the World, at their earnest request. Jacaya came not into the Queen's Apartment, but through twenty or thirty oeillades; the Ladies of the League, gave the word to engage him by turns, every one in a particular conversation; and the pretence they made use of, rendering their desire but merriment, it was no strange thing for a person of quality to be seen walking with the Sultan, or in entertaining him otherwise alone. Ha! Ladies, said he to them one day, I am here in my Asylum, do not violate the Privileges of the place, by endeavouring the Captivity of my heart. Alas if you had it, you knew not how to use it; I know the humour of the French Ladies already, their greatest weakness is their levity. In the Countries from whence I come, they are constant; they speak nothing, but they think; and when they think a thing, all their care is to put it honestly in execution: Those Ladies would be much troubled to destroy a man; but in this Court, the Goddess most adored is Pretence. Great liberty, great kindness: Society is not only permitted, but commanded; and when of that, which in another Country would be all, we endeavour to make our advantage in this; we find that all amounts to just nothing. Quarter therefore, Quarter, fair Ladies, for a poor Stranger. The French Ladies were generous, and conceiving they had diverted themselves long enough with what they entertained at first only for their diversion, they began to think of letting the poor Sultan alone, to enjoy himself after his own Mode. But the Ambassadress was not so indulgent; in her judgement Jacaya demanded Quarter in such a way as was not fit to be granted. She found him in the Thuileries with the Duke of Mantua one day and accosted him; May one be so bold, Sir, said she to the Sultan, passing near him, as to desire the honour of your Ushership? No, Madam, replied Jacaya, you are too handsome at this time; and having said so, he made a low Reverence with design to have been gone; but the Duke of Mantua catching him by the Arm; It shall never be said, said he, you made your friends blush for your incivility towards the Ladies. Sir, said the Prince to the Duke, with some discontent in his countenance, I cannot comport with your manner of usage; and if you anger me any further, I will fall in Love with the Ambassadress. The Duke of Mantua blushed indeed at that menace, without knowing the reason. He could not get it out of his head during the rest of their Conversation; and taking the Sultan home with him to Supper, he demanded of him very seriously if he were in earnest, when he said he would love the Ambassadress of Savoy. It was not yet come to a resolution; but the Sultan, who had a mind to be merry in his turn, and observed the Duke asked him that question with some little commotion, he was glad of that occasion to revenge himself. Yes, Sir, said he very gravely, I am most certainly in earnest; do not you think her worthy of being beloved? 'Tis not of her worth I speak, replied the Duke, the question is, whether she will love you again: What would you say, said the Turkish Prince, if she be in Love with me already? I will say you are a happy man, replied the Duke. Read these Verses then, said Jacaya; and giving him a Table-book out of his Pocket, the Duke opened it, and found these words.  
Nothing's so deep below, so high above,  
But feels the mighty influence of Love.  
The rugged Earth, th' inexorable Sea,  
The Winds, the Stars, all own his Sovereignty;  
Nothing's too far, too great, too good; he sways  
All things at will, and every thing obeys.  
What are these Verses to the purpose? continued the Duke. Turn the leaf, replied the Sultan, and when you have read all, I'll satisfy your Curiosity. The Duke followed Jacaya's directions, and found on the other side, as followeth.  

The little Bird which claps his wings,  
And hops from th' Myrtle to the Thorn;  
From thence to th' Elm, and chirps, and sings,  
What would it say (had it been born  
With reason) in those warble.  
But oh! blessed Love, that dost inspire  
Such Anthems for my shady Quire.   

The Bull that in the Pasture lies,  
And stamps, and stairs about, and lows,  
Shows not his rage so much thereby,  
As his affection for the Cows.  
The gentle Brook which murmuring flies,  
Why in such haste? but that it shows,  
It loves, it longs, and would be there:  
And would you (dear) be singular.   
Now, Sir, said the Prince of Turkey to the Duke of Mantua, what is your opinion? would not one resolve to love upon less solicitation? I confess, replied the Duke, these are of importance; but tell me sincerely, is it the Ambassadress who invites you from your indifference in this manner? You are very strange in your questions, replied the Prince smiling, am I not indiscreet enough of myself, but your affected incredulity must render me more so? Had the Duke told the Sultan at the same time of his own affection for the Ambassadress, it was then in time, and Jacaya had suppressed his natural inclination: But the Duke dissembled as well as he, and told the Sultan he was glad of his good Fortune. In the mean time it is not to be imagined, the effect this Juggle of Jacaya's produced in the Duke of Mantua's mind: Till that very minute he never perceived he loved the Ambassadress; but when he examined the secret displeasure it was to him, to believe the Sultan in her affections, he doubted not but that displeasure arose from an inkling of Love. He passed away that whole night in detesting the ignorance of his passion, and representing to himself what he had done towards the making of that Intrigue, which disturbed him, he could not sufficiently admire the oddness of his Destiny. As soon as she was to be seen the next day, he made a Visit to the Ambassadress, and found her translating a piece of Pastor Fido out of Italian into French. The Lady being as courteous as witty took great pleasure in giving the Sultan intelligence, of the French Language, by her Translations out of Italian, which Jacaya understood perfectly well. With this design it was she gave the Prince the first fragments in his Table-book; and had the Duke considered, he would have remembered the sense was there exactly in the Scene of Silvio and Linco; but he was so strongly perplexed with jealousy and anger, he had not time for any such reflections. Is it Jacaya, Madam, said he in a biting way to the Ambassadress, which employs your Poetical Vein? Yes, replied the Ambassadress, not observing the manner of his pronounciation, how do you know it is for him I put my Wit upon the Tentars'? Jacaya is not endued with so much discretion, replied the Duke to let his friends be ignorant of any favours he receives from the Ladies. Ha! Sir, replied the Ambassadress, the favours he receives from me are common to all the persons of Worth which I know, if they be ignorant of the French Tongue. I find at my arrival at this Court they did me an extreme pleasure to make me perfect in that Language, and I am endeavouring to do the same kindness to Jacaya: He doth not receive the effects of your goodness, Madam, replied the Duke, in that way; and then he gave her an account of all that past betwixt Jacaya and him. He designed to have incensed her by that information, and obliged her to have banished Jacaya from her Company. But his intelligence produced a contrary effect. Jacaya was one of the most accomplished Princes in the World, and our Savoyenne discerned too well, to be ignorant of his perfections. Nevertheless, the less she observed the Punctilios usual upon such occasions, she complained highly of Jacaya's indiscretion, and affecting to pass by him without any Salute, she persuaded the Duke of Mantua she was really angry. In that opinion he was very well pleased, and his Love became so violent, it was no easy matter for him to conceal it. The Sultan, who had spoke truer than he intended, perceiving his threat was effectual in earnest, spared not by all means to propagate his affairs. Tell me, Madam, I beseech you, said he one day to the Ambassadress, what is it a man must do to deserve your Esteem? The respect I bear you, savours too much of timidity: That Character I know doth not please you, you have been so often pleased to express yourself to that effect, that I might take another upon me. I endeavour to obey you, I follow you wherever you go, I entertain you as often as I can, and could I believe you would hearken graciously to what I should say, I could tell you great things: But you seem to grow cold at the least signification of my flame; and having no inclination to hear any body speak, but when they are resolved to be silent, your Curiosity ceases as soon as I prepare myself to speak. My Curiosity did not expect to have heard from the Duke of Mantua, that you were my Gallant, replied the Ambassadress something tartly: Why? Madam, said the Turkish Prince, did the Duke of Mantua inform you so? Yes, doubtless, replied the Ambassadress, he is too much my friend not to give me notice of your indiscretion. He is mine too very much, Madam, replied Jacaya, the kindness he hath done me is a sufficient testimony; I could not have expected it from him, and (if I may have liberty to say so) it was but by chance I discovered that secret to him. But he hath made the best use of it for me, and saved me many a Compliment: You know now I love you, without my trouble of swearing it; and I may employ all that time which would have been necessary to have persuaded you to it, in using my best means to make you love me. The Ambassadress found this Declaration so pretty and singular, she had not power to keep her countenance any longer, but fell out into a laughter. Some Lovers, continued the Turkish Prince, would have been offended at this effusion of mirth; but I am not of their opinion, I hold it pleasant any ways to divert the persons we love; and since you are so pleased with my assurances, 'tis an Entertainment I shall give you as often as I may. As he promised, he performed; When at any time he saw the Ambassadress serious: Resume your good humour, Madam, said he, I love you no less at this instant, than when my assurances put you into such a fit of laughter. When she was gay, and merry (as she generally was) my affairs go on now very well, said Jacaya to her, you see without doubt my passion written in my Eyes, being in the same humour in which I found you the first time I professed it. The Ambassadress forced herself as much as she could to be severe; but her severity would not hold against the insinuation of the Sultan: She accustomed herself insensibly to hear him tell her he loved her, till that custom became a habit, and produced a passion in her wherewith the Sultan had good reason to be content. The Duke of Mantua was too much affected with that Intrigue, not to pry into the bottom of it: He advanced so far as to give the Ambassadress his judgement of it, without declaring the true motive which impelled him. She received his advice as a piece of pleasantery, and paying in counterfeit Coin what he delivered in true, she turned all en ridicule. He would have spoke more intelligibly, and to the charitableness of his advice, added another Epithet that belonged to it; but his Love was no happier than his Jealousy. Ha! said the Ambassadress to him, you have not taken a right Copy of Prince Jacaya. by your looks one would imagine your discourse were serious. I intent it not otherwise, Madam, replied the Duke, the passion wherewith you have inspired me, is (in my judgement) the seriousest affair I can treat of. That part doth not agree with you at all, Sir, replied the Ambassadress, I know you are but merry, and should I take your pretences for truths, I should likewise desire you to remember who I am; but I am not so easily deluded. Why do you now tell me you love me? are my Charms any greater now, than they have been these two years that you have been exposed to them? No, Sir, you do but railly, and (give me leave to say) not with the neatness and dexterity, is to be expected from an ingenious man; and seeing the Prince of Turkey come in at the same time, Come hither, Sir, said she smiling, come hither, and let me hear some of your Amours before the Duke of Mantua, that he may discern the difference, and begin a new Lesson; for two hours together he hath been endeavouring to imitate you, but could not attain. I am to day, Madam, replied the Sultan, in no humour to make Love; you looked upon me this morning at Mass, in such a way as hath discomposed me for all this day: I could not discover the least spark of kindness in your Eyes. Tell me, I beseech you, is it enough for a Lover, that they be sparkling without kindness? or do you think they have acquitted themselves of their duty, when they have dazzled a poor Creature? I must see Love in them, or renounce their Empire; and when mine declare I love more than ever, I expect yours should make answer, And I'll assure you there's no Love lost. If that be all, replied the Ambassadress, rather than the Duke shall want his Lesson, I'll look upon you as you please. Do I look well now? continued she, fixing her Eye upon him with as much tenderness as she could. Ha! I know you, dear Eyes, said the Sultan, I see now you are disposed to hear me; and then he ran out into a thousand amorous expressions, but the Duke of Mantua (who took no recreation in that kind of divertisement) interrupted him, by departing hastily out of room. Jacaya observed his Physiognomy so changed, he was afraid he had been ill, and desired the Ambassadress she would permit him to follow him, which he did, but could not overtake him till he came to his Lodgings. The Prince of Turkey desired to know, what it was obliged him to retire so abruptly, and assured him the Ambassadress was very unquiet till she could be satisfied of his health. The Duke being brim full of passion, answered not the Sultan's Compliment; but looking fiercely upon him with his Eyes, in which grief and rage were both livelily delineated; Actum est, it is decreed, cried he, I love her; my Love hath not been thus long constrained, but to break out with the greatest violence, and I will perish a thousand times before I will endure my Rival shall be beloved. Jacaya thought him in a Frenzy, and taking him by the Arm to feel his Pulse, What do you talk of a Mistress, and a Rival? you are in a burning Fever, do you remember who it is that speaks to you? Yes, Prince, replied the Duke, with somewhat more moderation, I know you too well, you are the Ambassadresses Darling, but you must resolve to take away my life, or renounce those addresses. Why, Sir, said the Sultan in a great surprise, do you love the Ambassadress? To say I love her, replied the Duke, is too mean; I admire, I adore her, and either you must resign, or one of us must die. Jacaya, confounded at this Alarm, as may well be imagined, fell down upon the Chair that was next him, and leaning his Elbow upon the Table, fell into a contemplation of his Destiny. He loved the Ambassadress entirely, and though his passion was begun in sport, and continued in a Frolic; yet at the bottom he was most absolutely serious. He was of an amorous Complexion, much subject to Love, and in that respect it was no easy matter for him to renounce it; on the other side, he had been infinitely obliged to the friendship of the Duke, he had protected him against the Conspiracies of the Strozzi; he had given him all necessary supplies, and he had never been admitted in France, but by his means. Love! Ha', cruel Love, cried he with a sigh, will you be always mine Enemy? Alas! Sir, said he, addressing himself to the Duke, I foresaw the misery is befallen me; and had you left me in that liberty I desired, I had never pulled it down upon me: Had you no other way of breaking with me, than by making me your Rival: I suppose my friendship hath tried you, and I do not admire it; the unfortunate are often tedious to their friends; but had it not been enough to let me have known so, without adding the consequences of an infructuous passion? Do not call me to an account, said the Duke, for what I have done; I knew nothing of it myself, and would have sworn I should never have been in Love with the Ambassadress: The very moment before I knew she had a kindness for you, my Love began to declare, by the approaches of my Jealousy; the news of your being in Love set me also on fire; and that fire having been a long time depressed secretly in my heart, that part of it which appears but its beginning, is indeed the utmost extremity. It is not that I am weary of your friendship, and I offer you mine as pure as you have found it; But, dear Sultan, show me your compassion by your compliance; Ladies are unconstant, and perhaps you will do that of yourself one day, either out of weariness or revenge, that I conjure you to do now in kindness to me. The Turkish Prince could not relish that Proposition; all that his obligations and Policy could get from him, was only a promise to endeavour to master himself. In order to which he absented himself for some time, and pretending a Curiosity to see the King's Houses, and other Palaces about Paris, he had several Entertainments with several Lords of the Court. Whether in some of those Entertainments the Duke of Mantua laid any design for him; or whether the consideration of his misfortune in his Love exstimulated him to retire into some unknown part of the World, where that passion was a stranger, is not known; but certain it is, he disappeared in an instant, and could never afterwards be heard on. The Duke of Mantua was not much happier; for the Ambassador dying in France, and his Lady returning into Savoy, the Duke's Affairs called him into Italy, and gave him no leisure to abandon himself to the desires of his passion.    

A TABLE of all the Histories contained in these Eight Parts.  

THe Countess of Castille. page 1  
The Pilgrim. page 4  
Alfreda of England. page 14  
Don Garcias of Spain. page 30  
The Duke and Duchess of Modena. page 37  
The three Princesses of Castille. page 53  
Constance the fair Nun. page 81  
James King of Arragon. page 106  
The Fraticelles. page 113  
Dulcinus King of Lombardy. page 156  
Nogaret and Mariana. page 163  
Don Pedro King of Castille. page 185  
John Paleogolus Emperor of Greece. page 205  
Amedy Duke of Savoy. page 223  
Agnes de Castro. page 251  
The Countess of Pontievure. page 262  
Feliciane. page 286  
Jane supposed of Castille. page 310  
The Persian Princes. page 325  
Don Sebastian King of Portugal. page 355  
Jacaya a Turkish Prince. page 380   
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of Books Printed for John Starkey Booker-seller, at the Mitre in Fleetstreet near Temple-Bar.  

Divinity.  
Folio's.  
THirty six Sermons preached by the Right Reverend Father in God Robert Sanderson, late Lord Bishop of Lincoln; the fifth Edition corrected, price bound 18 s.  
2. The Jesuits Morals, collected by a Doctor of the College of Sorbon in Paris, who hath faithfully extracted them out of the Jesuits own Books which are Printed by the permission and approbation of the Superiors of their Society. Written in French, and exactly translated into English, price bound 10 s.  
Quarto.  
3. Tetrachordon: Expositions upon the four chief places in Scripture, which treat of Marriage, or nullities in Marriage. Wherein the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce is confirmed by explanation of Scripture, by testimony of ancient Fathers, of Civil Laws in the Primitive Church, of famousest Reformed Divines. And lastly, by an intended Act of the Parliament and Church of England in the last year of Edward the sixth. By the Author J. Milton, price 1 s. 6 d.  
Octavo.  
4. A Confutation of the Millenarian Opinion, plainly demonstrating that Christ will not reign visibly and personally upon Earth with the Saints for 1000 years, either before the day of Judgement, in the day of Judgement, or after it. By Tho. Hall, B. D. price bound 1 s.   

Physic.  
1. Basilica Chymica & Praxis Chimiatricae, or Royal and Practical Chemistry; augmented and enlarged by John Hartman. To which is added his Treatise of Signatures of internal things, or a true and lively Anatomy of the greater and lesser World. As also the Practice of Chemistry of John Hartman, M. D. augmented and enlarged by his Son, with considerable Additions; all faithfully Englished by a Lover of Chemistry, in Folio, price bound 10 s.  
2. The Art of Chemistry, as it is now practised. Written in French by P. Thybault, Chemist to the French King, and Englished by W. A. Doctor in Physic, and Fellow of the Royal Society, in Octavo. price bound 3 s.  
3. Medicina Instaurata, or a brief Account of the true Grounds and Principles of the Art of Physic; with the Insufficiency of the vulgar way of preparing Medicines, and the Excellency of such as are made by Chemical Operation. By Edward Bolnest, Med. Lond. in Octavo, price bound 1 s.   

Law.  
Folio's.  
1. An Abridgement of divers Cases and Resolutions of the Common Law, Aphabetically digested under several Titles: By Henry Rolls, Sergeant at Law; published by the Lord Chief Baron Hales, and approved by all the Judges, price bound 40 s.  
2. The Reports of Sir George Croke Knight, in three Volumes, in English: Allowed of by all the Judges. The second Edition, carefully corrected by the Original, price bound 45 s.  
3. The second part of the Institutes of the Laws of England; containing the Exposition of Magna Charta, and many ancient and other Statutes: Written by the Lord Chief Justice Coke. The third Edition, with an Alphabetical Table added, price bound 14 s.  
4. The third part of the Institutes of the Laws of England, concerning High Treason, and other Pleas of the Crown, and Criminal Causes. The fourth Edition; written by the Lord Chief Justice Coke, price bound 6 s.  
5. The fourth part of the Institutes of the Laws of England, concerning the Jurisdiction of Courts: Written by the Lord Chief Justice Coke. The fourth Edition, with an Alphabetical Table not heretofore printed, price bound 9 s.  
6. Brief Animadversions on Amendments of, and Additional Explanatory Records to the fourth Part of the Institutes of the Laws of England, concerning the Jurisdiction of Courts. By Will. Prynne Esq; price bound 12 s.  
Quarto.  
7. The History of Gavel-kind, with the Etymology thereof, containing a Vindication of the Laws of England; together with a short History of William the Conqueror. By Silas Taylor, price bound 3 s.  
Octavos.  
8. An Exact Abridgement in English, of the Cases reported by Sir Francis Moor Knight; with the Resolution of the Points of the Law therein by the Judges. By W. Huges, price bound 2 s. 6 d.  
9 An Exact Abridgement of all the Statutes in Force and Use, made in the 16, 17, and 18. of King Charles the First, and the 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16. of King Charles the Second. By William Hugh's Esq; price bound 2 s. 6 d.  
10. The Touchstone of Wills, Testaments, and Administrations, being a Compendium of Cases and Resolutions touching the same, carefully collected out of the Ecclesiastical, Civil, and Canon Laws, as also out of the Customs, Common Laws, and Statutes of this Kingdom. By G. Meriton, price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
11. A Guide for Constables, Churchwardens, Overseers of the Poor, Surveyors of Highways, Treasurers of the County-stock, Masters of the House of Correction, Bailiffs of Manors, Toll-takers in Fairs, etc. showing the extent and power of the several Offices; the third Edition enlarged, collected by George Meriton, price bound 1 s. 6 d.   

History.  
Folio's.  
1. The Voyages and Travels of the Duke of Holsteins' Ambassadors into Muscovy, Tartary, and Persia, begun in the year 1633. and finished in 1639. containing a complete History of those Countries; whereunto are added, the Travels of Mandelslo, from Persia, into the East-Indies, begun in 1638. and finished in 1640. The whole illustrated with divers accurate Maps and Figures. Written Originally by Adam Olearius, Secretary to the Embassy; Englished by J. Davies of Kidwelly. The second Edition, price bound 18 s.  
2. The present State of the Ottoman Empire, in three Books; containing the Maxims of the Turkish Polity, their Religion, and Military Discipline: illustrated with divers Figures. Written by Paul Ricaut Esq; late Secretary to the English Ambassador there, now Consul of Smyrna. The third Edition, price bound 10 s.  
3. The History of Barbadoes, St. Christophers-Mevis, St. Vincents, Antego, Martinico, Monsarrat, and the rest of the Caribby Islands, in all twenty eight; in two Books, containing the Natural and Moral History of those Islands: Illustrated with divers pieces of Sculpture, representing the most considerable Rarities therein described. Written by an ingenious Hand, price bound 10 s.  
4. Il. Cardinalismo di Santa Chiesa, or the History of the Cardinals of the Roman Church, from the time of their first Creation, to the Election of the late Pope Clement IX. with a full account of his Conclave, in three Parts. Written in Italian by the Author of the Nipotismo di Roma, and faithfully Englished, price bound 8 s.  
5. The World Surveyed, or the famous Voyages and Travels of Vincent le Blanc, of Marsscilles, into the East and West-Indies, Persia, Pegu, Fez, Morocco, Guinny, and through all Africa, and the principal Provinces of Europe, price bound 10 s.  
6. The History of the Life and Death of William Laud, Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, containing the Ecclesiastical History of the three Kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, from his first rising, viz. 1621. to his death 1644. By P. Heylin, D.D. price bound 10 s.  
Quarto.  
7. A brief Account of Mr. Valentine Greatraks', the famous Stroker, and divers of the strange Cures by him lately performed. Written by himself to the Honourable Robert Boyl, price stitched 1 s.  
Octavos.  
8. A Relation of Three Embassies, from his Majesty Charles the Second, to the Great Duke of Muscovy, the King of Sweden, and the King of Denmark, performed by the Right Honourable the Earl of Carlisle, in the year 1663. and 1664. Written by an Attendant on the Embassies, price bound 4 s.  
9 A Relation of the Siege of Candia, from the first Expedition of the French Forces to its Surrender, the 27. of September 1669. Written in French by a Gentleman who was a Volunteer in that Service, and faithfully Englished, price bound 1 s.  
10. The History of Algiers, and its Slavery, with an account of that City, and many remarkable Particularities of afric. Written by Sieur d'Aranda, sometime a Slave there, Englished by J. Davies, price bound 3 s.  
11. An Historical and Geographical Description of the great Country, and River of the Amazons in America, with an exact Map thereof. Translated out of French, price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
12. The Works of the Famous Mr. Fr. Rabelais, treating of the Lives of Gargantua, and his Son Pantagruel; to which is newly added the life of the Author. Translated out of French into English by Sir Tho. urchard Knight, price bound 5 s.  
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14. The History of the late Revolution of the Empire of the Great ; together with the most considerable passages for five years following, in that Empire, with a new Map of it; to which is added an account of the extent of Indoston, the Circulation of the Gold and Silver of the World to discharge itself there, as also the Riches, Forces, and Justice of the same, and the principal cause of the Decay of the States of Asia: by Monsieur F. Bernier, Physician of the Faculty of Montpelier. Englished out of French by H.O. Secretary to the Royal Society, price bound 4 s.  
15. Deceptio Visus, or Seeing and Believing are two things, a pleasant Spanish History, faithfully Translated, price bound 2 s.  
16. The History of France, under the Ministry of Cardinal Mazarine, viz. From the death of King Lewis XIII. to the year 1664. wherein all the Affairs of State to that time are exactly related. By Benjamin Priolo, and faithfully Englished by Christopher Wase, Gent. price bound 4 s.  
17. The History of the twelve Caesars, Emperors of Rome. Written in Latin by C. Suetonius Tranquillus, newly Translated into English, by T.B. Esq;.  
18. The Annals of Love, containing select Histories of the Amours of divers Prince's Courts, pleasantly related. By a Person of Honour, in eight Parts, price bound 3 s. 6 d.  
Twelve.  
19 The Present State of the United Provinces of the Low-Countries, as to the Government, Laws, Forces, Riches, Manners, Customs, Revenue, and Territory of the Dutch. Collected out of divers Authors, by W.A. Fellow of the Royal Society, the second Edition, price bound 2 s. 6 d.  
20. The Present State of France, containing the Orders, Dignities, and Charges of that Kingdom: Newly corrected and put into a better Method than formerly. Written in French, and faithfully Englished, price bound 2 s. 6 d.  
21. The Present State of the Princes and Republics of Italy: The second Edition enlarged, with the manner of Election of Popes, and a Character of Spain. Written Originally in English by J. Gailhard, Gent. price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
22. The Policy and Government of the Venetians, both in Civil and Military affairs. Written in French by the Sieur de la Hay, and faithfully Englished, price bound 1 s.  
23. The Voyages of Italy, or a complete Journey through Italy, in two Parts, with the Characters of the People, and the Description of the Chielf Towns, Churches, Palaces, Villas, Gardens, Pictures, Statues, Antiquities; as also of the Interest, Government, Riches, Force, etc. of all the Princes, with Instructions concerning Travel. By Richard Lessels, Gent. who traveled through Italy five times as Tutor to several of the English Nobility, Opus Posthumum, corrected and set forth by his old Friend and Fellow-Traveller, S.W. Never before extant, price bound 4 s.  
24. A Relation of the Coasts of afric called Guinnee, with a Description of the Countries, Manners, and Customs of the Inhabitants, of the Productions of the Earth, and the Merchandise and Commodities it affords, with some Historical Observations on the Coasts, being collected in a Voyage made by the Sieur Villault Escuyer Sieur de Bellefond in the years 1666, and 1667. faithfully Englished. The second Edition, price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
25. A Relation of the French Kings late Expedition into the Spanish Netherlands, in the years 1667, and 1668. with an Introduction discoursing his Title thereunto, and an Account of the Peace between the two Crowns, made May 2. 1668. Englished by G.H. price bound 1 s.   

Poetry and Plays.  
1. Andromicus Comnenius, a Tragedy. By John Wilson, price stitched 1 s.  
2. Heraclius Emperor of the East, a Tragedy. By Lodowick Carlel Esq; price stitched 1 s.  
3. The Shepherd's Paradise, a Pastoral. By Walter Montague Esq; price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
4. Aminta, the Famous Italian Pastoral. Translated into English, price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
5. Paradise Regained, a Poem in four Books, to which is added Samson Agonistes. The Author, John Milton, price bound 2 s. 6 d.   

Miscellanies.  
1. A general Collection of Discourses of the Vertuosis of France, upon Questions of all sorts of Philosophy, and other Natural Knowledge, made in the Assembly of the Beaux Esprits at Paris, by the most ingenious Persons of that Nation. Englished by G. haver's, in two Volumes, Folio, price bound 30 s.  
2. A Treatise of the Sibyls, giving an account of the Names and Numbers of them, of their Qualities the Form and Matter of their Verses, and of their Books. Written in French by David blundel. Englished by J. Davies, Folio, price bound 7 s.  
3. The Merchant's Map of Commerce, wherein the universal manner and matter of Trade is compendiously handled, the Standard and Current Coins of sundry Princes observed, the Natural and Artificial Commodities of all Countries for Transportation declared, the Weights and Measures of all places of Traffic collected, and all reduced to the Practice of the City of London. By Lewis Roberts, Merchant: The second Edition enlarged, in Folio, price bound 16 s.  
4. The Golden Calf, in which is handled the most rare and incomparable wonder of Nature, in transmuting Metals, viz. how the entire substance of Lead was in one moment transmuted into Gold Obrizon, with an exceeding small Particle of the true Philosopher's Stone, at the Hague in the year 1666. Written in Latin by John Frederick Helvetius, Doctor of Medicine at the Hague, and faithfully Englished, in Twelves, price bound 1 s.  
5. Accidence Commenced Grammar, and supplied with sufficient Rules; or a new and easy Method for the learning of the Latin Tongue. The Author John Milton, in Twelves, price bound 8 d.  
6. Tho. Hall's Translation of the Second Book of Ovid's Metamorph. Grammatically, in Octavo, price bound 1 s.  
7. The Rules of Civility, or certain ways of Deportment observed in France amongst all Persons of Quality upon several occasions, faithfully Englished, in Twelves, price bound 1 s.