Love Letters Between POLYDORUS. The Gothick KING, AND Messalina, Late Queen of ALBION.  
PARISH, Printed for J. Lyford. MDCLXXXIX.   

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.  
THE Famed and no less true History of the Amours of Messalina, late Queen of Albion, having met with so general an acceptation in the World, that few Books of more seeming solid worth have attained to (as is easily demonstrable from no less than Fourteen several Editions that have been Emitted in less than Ten Months, Viz. Five in French, Four in English, Three in Dutch, and Two in Italian, and that Two at the Instance of several Great Personages in divers Courts of Europe, the said History, I say, having been received with so universal applause, has occasioned some of no mean intelligence to think it not unworthy their care as well as charge to procure these Letters of Amour (guessing that the Powerful Magic of Gold and Lovis d' Or's would have no less influence over some cropsick Spirits in the Court of Gaul than in other places;) they made forthwith seasonable applications thereof to an open-mouthed Gallant of a near Considant of Messalina's, who, among other participations of his Mistress' Favours, not only gained them a sight of the Originals of these following Letters, but time also to transcribe them, the being it seems the only agent for their safe delivery.  
Whether they have lost by the Translation or no the Originals (which I am credibly informed are already extant in French) will easily show, but the Translator assures me, the Truth anh Substance of them are punctually followed and observed.   

The first Letter.  
Messalina to Polydorus.  
FOrtune that fickle Goddess has Conspired and basely sided with my Rebel Slaves, and now like an impetuous Torrent they roll on, and in Confusion drive my scattered Troops before them, Virtue and Loyalty have lost their name; Relation, Friendship, all that should be dear is gone, and every hour some winged Messenger of Fate confirms our certain Ruin: Whether shall violated Majesty retire? There's none here that offers injured Innocency protection: No sense of Duty; no Remorse or Pity; Pity did I say? Forgive me thou sacred Guardian of Imperial Heads; that Majesty must needs be cheap and vile, unworthy thy great care, that can meanly stoop to the unthinking Crowd; no, rather mighty Polydorus, let me stand the hated Object of Spite and Scorn, e'er once admit a thought or act a thing which even thy great Soul would blush to own: 'tis true, the natural weak composure of our Sex, disables my Officious hands from mighty Action; but Oh! the fervent boilings of my Soul would even inspire the Boasted Courage of Man to something more than usual Undertaking: I swear by thee thou God like Man, if poor Lycogenes' baffled Fate, at first had trod the Paths I boldly drew, His Crown, had stood, the aim and envy not the prize of his now vaunting Rebel Christian Foes; but now Oh! Polydorus all is lost, and Fate, poor envious Fate has done its Worst: Where was thy mighty busy Genius then employed? Thy Genius that exemplary Scourge of haughty Rebels. How with his lofty Godlike Mien would the have come and stalked and stared the Rebels into Duty: Where were thy Thundering Firey Ministers of certain Death? Whose bellowing loud reproaches had made the amazed Invader blush and shrink, or tamely stand the Victim of thy just displeasure: But why do I thus rudely Chide my only constant Friend and great Protector: Thy manly Soul unused to poor clandestine ways to Victory, was like my poor Lycogenes and me securely wrapped in virtuous Innocence, while the poor Thief contrived and basely stole a cheap and easy Conquest. But surely Providence has well designed, at least to enlarge brave Polydorus Fame: 'Tis left for none but thee great Prince to retrieve what poor Lycogenes, alas! could not prevent; remember then what's owing to thy honour, think thou'rt the great Protector of the Pagan World: What shall I plead for injured Innocence and Sacred Majesty profaned? And surely Polydorus, I may say there's something due even to Love and Me.  Messalina.  

The second Letter.  
Polydorus to Messalina.  
Upon the News of the Prince Anaximander's descent into Albion.  
THe Gods, great Princess, have at last been kind, and by this happy juncture seem to own the justice of my Love and my Pretensions, now my kind Stars have given a blessed occasion to vindicate my long neglected Vows, and now my feeble contemplative Sighs (which yet, till now, did never unregarded fall) shall soon give place to more material proofs, and leave your unbelieveing cruel heart without excuse: Oh! that I might Blaspheme and wish the Universe Were all combined to cross or shock your well fixed Grandeur, Ease, or Pleasure; how like another jupiter methinks would I dart out my never missing Fires on their Rebellious Heads: How would I singly baffle their united strength, and with your Charms alone inspired, would prove my Power as well as: Love invincible: Speak my loved Princess, Speak, name but the bold Invaders doom, and I like Fate, nay more quick, will cut his trembling shrinking Thread, and drive his puny crawling Fame into its Primative Obscurity: Say, shall I ravage, burn, destroy, or bury that ungrateful envious Isle in the cursed grumbling Womb of its own Mother, Sea: Oh! how I tremble, rave, and burn, for fear his harsh ill croaking Trumpets, grate my Royal Messalina's Ears, and discompose or fright my lovely Queen: Sometimes methinks I see whole Bands of her Rebllious Slaves advance, stretching their sacreligious hands against her sacred Person; when with an awful true Majestic frown, she quells their audacious blind Rage, and makes it dwindle into slavish Flatteries: Sometimes with noble pity she laments their rash unthinking Zeal, and with officious Charity, would press Favours the Gods alone beside can offer, which, cursed ungrateful Brutes, they rudely slight and disavow. Prepare my lovely charming Queen prepare, leave that unhappy barren Isle, barren indeed and void of every Good, till thy more powerful Rays warmed their cold heavy Spirits, and with thy proper Stock, didst first enlarge their narrow Stores of Beauty, Wit, and Virtue: Come, come my Saint to some more fortunate Abodes, come and receive a Crown which none dare hope or can deserve but thee: A Crown which none can give, or can as well defend, but  Polydorus.  

The third Letter.  
Pedro to Polydorus,  
I Humbly presume to acquaint you Majesty, that the Prince Anaximander's Landing in the West of Albion, was followed with the unnatural defection of some of my Master's best Troops; whereupon the King Lycogenes in a great Council, declared his suspicion of the remaining part of his Army: However he resolved to meet him and head the Army himself; but alas! in vain, for as the Prince advanced, they all showed their unwillingness to engage, and his greatest Confidents sought but an opportunity to desert him: He is now returned to Alba-Regalis, and he has resolved in his Closet Council to repose the two dearest Pledges he has in the World, in your sacred Majesty's care and Royal Protection; I mean his most Royal Consort, and the Cambrian Prince his Son, already private Orders are given for all necessary accommodations, and 'tis resolved that they Embark within these three days at farthest: I am your Majesty's Devoted Servant,  Pedro.  

The fourth Letter.  
Messalina to Aspasia.  
'tIS true my dear Aspasia, too too true, and my Prophetic Soul has proved too nice a Harbinger of my Misfortunes: Talk talk no more Aspasia of Devoirs and Duty, thou standest a fairer Candidate to Rule than I: Time every minute threatens our weak Government, Thou standest surrounded with whole Bands of faithful Slaves, whilst poor Lycogenes is forced to flee, poorly fly even from his own Army: How great a Paradox to after Ages will it seem? When in the Records of the Albion Kings, it shall be said, Lycogenes at the Head of 40000 Men, lost Albion's Crown without a stroke: Gone dear Aspasia are those happy times, when every day brought forth some new Coined Pleasure, and every heart with Emulation strove to fall a glorious Victim to Messalina's Eyes. Ah! fading Joys, how quickly are ye fled? Ah! fickle Greatness, on what a slippery Ground is thy Foundation laid, bred from the fickle Air of Popular Applause, and like the Abortive Embryo in the Womb, canst never claim perfection: But tell me o ye dark Mysterious Powers, did your Almightiness then Create us wretched Mortals for your sport alone: Come lay your terrifying Thunder down a while, and give Oppressed Virtue leave to argue: Where is that boasted Justice which you claim and fix amongst your highest Attributes? where's that reward, that happiness you promise to Pious indefatigable Zeal? When did your Altars less neglected stand, or when more numerous were your bowing Slaves? When was the growing Power of your cursed Heretic Foes with so much Zeal and Industry pursued? and if ye had but even Winked all our endeavours had been for ever extinguished. But oh! Aspasia now I go too far, and vainly would confine Incomprehensive power: Come dear Aspasia let us raise our heavy fainting Spirits, and believe that Providence has yet some Joys in store, and by this taste of sorrow, would instruct us how to enhance and value future Blessings: Come think this Flight nought but a Royal Progress; (in this more happy than in cursed Albion) that now free and unconfined Walk, free from the censures of our Rebel Spies; now we may talk, and laugh, and love, and pray, and in each others Breast unlade the secret Revels of our thinking Souls: Oh! I have ten times more to impart, but interrupting business, noise, and hurry, scarce gives thy unhappy Messalina leave to say Frewell; o recommend, my dear, to thy best wishes, thy  
Messalina.  
Postscript.  
Whatever secret Orders our present cursed necessities may extort from the King my Husband, be sure thou charge Latroon, with all his Art and Courage, to maintain Iberia as the last Stake of our Glorious Fortunes; I doubt not Polydorus will be kind, and open us an easy passage to our Thrones again; the Torrent swell so high, and runs so violent, we have reason to hope our Troubles will not be lasting; in the mean time see all things in as good a posture as the Face of our Affairs will permit, and make haste to attend us at our court in Gaul.   

The fifth Letter.  
Aspasia to Messalina.  
IF the dear hopes of Revenge did not mitigate the excessive Grief for your Misfortunes, I should have blushed to have Signed this poor mean tender of my Faith and Love, otherwise than with my last dear Drops of Blood: No my Royal Mistress, I had ne'er survived the unhappy Tidings of your forced departure, but that my high-flown Soul, sure by Prophetic Rage inspired, bid me not only live, but hope I should at least revenge these barbarous Affronts offered to sacred Majesty: Yes most illustrious Princess. there is yet more than a glimmering hope of our Success; the Gods indeed can be severe, but not unjust, and though your Rebel Slaves may boast some small Success against your juster Arms, yet Providence in kindness, has reserved whole Bands of Valiant Iberian Slaves, whose Loyalty shall prove the Rebel's Scourge, and brand the name of Albion for ever: Oh! Then my dear loved Mistress do not grieve, this little gust of seeming happiness, which yet your Foes do so much magnify, shall like some fatal Pestilential Air return, and prove the Plague of all their cursed Posterity; those specious names of boasted Liberty, Religion, Property, etc. They so much urge, and which are still the Harbingers of their intended Villainies, shall soon be exposed to a Test they'll never bear; and like the superfluous Dross cast out for ever. Think mighty Princess as thou goest, how dearly they must pay (and quickly too) for this poor short-lived Scene of fading Glory; Look back on that presumptuous spot of Land, and pity its unbridled insolence, that like some little outcast from its Mother Earth, being kept & nourished by the unwary Sea, durst now lift up her proud rebellious Head, and vainly would give Law to both her Benefactors; poor feeble Vermin, whose mean obscurity hath hitherto been their only preservation; when mighty Polydorus, that Lord and Potentate of more than half the solid Continent, shall once vouchsafe to bring his conquering Arms against them, how then will they seek for Royal Messalina's Favour, and from her mediation only shall have leave to live, adore, and boast of Slavery: But why, my lovely Queen, should we disturb great Polydorus' more important Conquests, send but that Royal Pledge of all our future happiness, that little Hero of the Albion World, the Cambrian Prince, him, as the Scythians once their Infant King, we will with Loyal and Officious Zeal surround; and when we march against our Rebel Foes, He in his Royal Cradle shall advance and give a double edge to our Revengeful Swords; and while your dauntless Slaves▪ (flushed with the Encouragement of their just Cause, as well as presence of their Infant Prince) shall cut at every Stroke some blooming Branch of fresh Victorious Laurel for his Brow, We, whose ungainly Sex Nature has made unfit for such rough Service, will stand at distance and survey the Field at once to prompt and praise the Loyal Courage of your Conquering Slaves: Thus will we Fight and Pray with such Success, that Fortune blushing and ashamed to own her own great Attribute in Constancy, shall come a Suppliant to your Royal Feet, confess her weak Attempts against your Power, and even change her Nature to remain your fixed and faithful Slave for ever: Believe me Royal Mistress, 'twill be so, for sure they are something more than common thoughts that thus inspire the Soul of your Majesty's faithful  
Aspasia.  
Postscript.  
I have already given Orders for a Galley to transport me to Gaul, nor can the longing Lovers antedate their tedious minutes more, than I, till I come to condole your sacred Majesty's misfortunes, and Congratulate however your Safety: Latroon has already issued out Commissions for the raising Seventeen Regiments, and in a Month's time doubts not of having Thirty thousand Men complete to take the Field.   

The sixth Letter.  
Messalina to Polydorus After her flight from Alba Regalis  
HAST Polydorus, haste, 'tis Royal Messalina calls; the grizly Lion's Claws are spread against me, and nothing but thy powerful Arm can save me; hark how his hungry Whelps do yell and roar and scent in every Corner for their Prey, prepared at once to Seize and to dedevour me: Well cruel envious Fate, thou hast not yet o'ercome me, in spite of thee i'll live, and live a Queen; I'll find a way to countermine thy partial vain decree, and in a careless wise neglect, drown, all thy poor designs and resolutions; yes mighty Polydorus, now I come full with a sullen Joy, for having thus o'ercome the insulting Pride of my Rebellious Slaves, see how the more obedient Waves bow down, and with a pleasing murmur, (such as of longing Lovers when they meet, and in harmonious discord chide each others absence) they proclaim their pleasure for the presence of their Queen: Hark how the Winds do gently fan my Sails, and like officious Pages wait behind me, and with all decent speed direct to my desired Harbour: Sometimes my hopes do antedate that pleasing into pain, and then my needless fears suggest a thousand difficulties: Ye Gods what new Invention's this ye have found to plague me; avert the false ill boding thoughts ye Powers and take this airy Daemon from me; my evil Genius vainly would suggest that Godlike Polydorus could be false, that he could slight, and with a proud neglect look oddly on his Royal Messalina; methinks, o no, I do but idly dream, I hear thee in a disdainful Tone, complain, and ask, is this the so much boasted Albion Queen? Where are those Roses that like blushing Cupid's sat on her lovely Cheeks? Where are those Eyes, those all commanding Eyes, whose every pointed Ray would so surprise and blind the unweary gazer? Where's that famed Beauty, Wit, and Mien, etc. Oh! wretched Messalina say no more; forgive me Polydorus, for I rave, and my blind Fears suggest impossibilities; Greatness has double Splendour in Distress, as Roses double sweetness when in Tears; and Polydorus Soul is far above that gilded Pageantry that fills and reigns in mean desires: 'Tis true thy Messalina comes like the poor Shipwraced Mariner from the devouring Sea, not stocked with all the Riches of the East, as when I parted from thy bounteous Land, and came to purchase (as cursed Fate has made it) but an imaginary Crown of poor Lycogenes; yes, yes indeed thy Prodigal's returned bare and despised by those who stand enriched with her too bounteous Stores: Well let them vainly boast their ill got Prize, that like some venomous Canker will overspread and ruin all their Peace and Happiness; methinks my cooler thoughts incline my tender Heart to pity their misguided Zeal: But oh! like furious Madmen they run on, and slight the sound advice of their Physician; Oh! the blind hurry of Plebeian rage, how like devouring Flames before the officious Winds, they unresisted break through all that stands before them, and like those Flames, which some thick daring Wall has stood, by chance, the shock of their impetuous fury, they strain shrink back and hide their blushing Face, and creep and seek even unto those they have ruined for protection: Be thou then Polydorus, that kind God, that canst alone withstand and baffle their unwealdy Valour: Arm, Polydorus, Arm, and reinforce the mouldering Fortune of my poor Lycogenes: 'Tis thy Victorious Arm alone can bow the stubborn Genius of that haughty Isle; 'Tis left for thee alone to fix the tottering Crowns of poor unhappy Princes; and think great Prince, since I can hardly yield by other Merits than my own to Reign, from thee alone I could vouchsafe to take, and none but Polydorus dare bestow a Crown on  
Messalina.  
Postscript.  
I have with Sebastian and Elvira sent before me the small remainders of my broken Fortune, all that in such Confusion I could keep, except that dearest pledge and hope of all my future joys, I mean the Cambrian Prince, whom, Polydorus I presume to recommend to your peculiar Care and Protection: The Marchloness de Tomazo I have ordered with all convenient speed to attend your Majesty at Luteria, and take your Instructions; I design to land at B—aux, but am fearful of meeting with any Stragglers of the Albion Fleet, I shall be obliged to embark on one of the small Royal Galleys, and leave my Safety to your Consideration.   

The Seventh Letter.  
Polydorus to Messalina.  
WHat shall I say or do, thou Mourning Excellence? How shall I moderate my growing Ecstasies, my Joy unspeakable for thy Arrival in my happy parts? Alas! with modest decency I would condole and curse the fatal Cause that makes my Princess grieve: But oh! can Saints be sad when they enjoy the dear blessed presence of their Deity; or, shall the Sick repine at their Recovery, because the luscious Palate was not pleased with the Application of some bitter Medicines: Oh! let me, lovely Princess rather bless, at least relent and pity that unhappy Isle, that would so tamely part with all that rendered it desirable; mean and obscurely did they spend their time between the glimerings of Day and Night, the Sun scarce deigning once a Month to visiit, and never was familiar with their Tents, until he substituted thee my shining Queen, with thy bright Eyes to represent his Glorious self; 'twas then they first could boast their much enlightened Land, and sit and bask in thy refulgent Glory; poor wretched Slaves, their starved Appetites unused to such delicious fare, heedless and greedy to the Banquet run, and without measure fed and surfieted: And sure the Sea-gods were themselves a sleep, or startled at thy dazzling Excellence, or charmed with the Music of thy Siren Tongue, forgot to send their foaming Harbingers to fetch thee to their longing Arms. Oh! had they once conversed or known thy Charms; Charms which the Jealous Nymphs and Goddesses soon saw, and therefore fearing thy dread Rivalship, clasped their enchanted Godheads in their Arms, and with officious haste conducted thee out of their Watery Territories, well fare their Jealousy and too just fears, that has so sure and swiftly brought my lovely Angel to my wishing Eyes, welcome, Ah! welcome bright Divinity, welcome as is the dawning Light to the Night-straying Traveller: What mean those liquid Pearls, that balmy Dew, that silently creep down thy blooming Cheeks, and drown thy spreading Roses? Why do thy Eyes like falling Stars point down, as if with thy Rebellious Slaves they would conspire to rob the of thy Beauty, as thy Crown? What can my Royal Messalina want or grieve for, when Polydorus is so nigh: Say dost thou think thy Grandeur is impaired, mark but the thickening Crowds of bowing Slaves, that with entegrety and Loyal Zeal, press and are proud to pay their strict Attendance: See how the shining Nymphs of Gaul repair, and with amazing Joy prepare to welcome their great Diana.  
Polydorus.  
Imperfect in the Original.   

The eighth Letter.  
Polydorus to Messalina, After the first Visit at St. Gerard—  
'Tis true, long Absence and devouring time, by this might well have been supposed to have worn the faint Ideas of indifferent Charms; 'tis also true that Polydorus Heart, which cares and mighty business still has pressed, has long a Stranger been to those soft Pleasures which serve to alleviate the toils of Princes; but what can Royal Messalina thence infer? But that the Almighty power of her sublimer Beauties scorned to be tied to common rules of time or place; and that though absent, like the Sun in Clouds, her influence still does operate on all, as present, in its bright Meridian glory: Yes cruel unbelieving Queen, 'tis true, that time nor absence has had power to heal the fatal Wound your pointed Lightning gave; my too, too tender heart does still retain the impression which your early Beauty's made, my aspiring hopes, though in disguise, did still pursue the wand'ring Steps of their loved cruel Object, resolved like valiant Warriors ne'er to yield to the suggestions of a faint despair: No mighty Princess, Polydorus heart, in Love as well as War's Invincible, those Charms which once my greedy Eyes sucked in, and run with speed to inform my amazed heart; those dazzling Charms I say do still employ my anxious thoughts, my covetous desires; nor did your absence otherwise allay or stop the rage of my devouriug Flames, than just to allow my panting heart a breathing, which now your presence has again inflamed; and by the addition of diviner Beauties (which hitherto your cruel cunning had reserved) as it were by Ambush, my unwary Eyes surprised, and fixed me now your everlasting Slave: Yes mighty Nymph, I do not blush to own I am totally Subdued: Your never erring Shafts have found an easy passage to my yielding Soul, and now the pleasing Poison trills through every Vein, through every Poor: In vain I strive, in vain apply, to expel the insulting Tyrant from my Breast; too sure he's rooted, mingling with my Blood, till he at length become a part of me: Well my almighty Conqueror, since my Stars, conspiring with your Power, have thus Subdued me, tell me the Conditions you appoint your Slave; declare the manner how you will be Worshipped, oh! speak, command, for my officious Zeal waits with impatience now to be employed: Say lovely Messalina, canst thou yet vouchsafe to admit poor Polydorus in the crowd of thy admiring Slaves? Canst thou suspect his Loyalty or Zeal? And if thy Smiles may be by man deserved, canst thou misdoubt his power? Ah! no my lovely Queen can ne'er mistrust what many years' experience has confirmed; too oft she has proved the strength of my inclining Heart, conquered, disarmed, and left at pleasure breathless: Such Messalina is thy Power, such thy victorious Beauty: Ah! lovely Queen, what then remains to make thee Glorious, but  Polydorus.  

The ninth Letter.  
Messalina to Polydorus.  
AFter so long a Series of Misfortunes, which with malicious haste have crowded on me, my cruel FateI hoped, even for its own convenience would have stopped, and for variety have turned itself to some less weary Object: Oh! the eternal Powers, that boast with equal Scales to poise the World, tell me, is loss of Riches, Glory, Power, so trifling insignificant a punishment for the frail Errors of a humane Life, that in your zealous Fury you can thus contend, each striving to exert and wreak his powerful Malice on a wretched Queen; was't not sufficient that my Royal Birth was first exposed to the malicious, base, false, Censure of my Slaves? Was not the mighty Sacrifice of three fair crowns which at one Offering you severely claimed sufficient to atone for all the poor neglects my weak misguided nature made? Must I for ever stand your aim and mark? Or is my Debt so unaccountable that my whole stock of life shall scarce defray it? Yes cruel Polydorus now I see this is the sad Estate of wretched Messalina; ah! poor neglected virtue, whether art thou fled? If not in godlike Polydorus' Breast, where canst thou hope to find, Alas! a safe Retreat? Oh! cruel Friend, for spite of myself, I still must call thee so: Do then my loud tongued Wrongs serve for harmonious Music in thy Ears? Are then my Sufferings (which even my Enemies admire, and some do pity) so easy, or so well made up, that thou couldst rather seem to congratulate my Triumph, than lament or help my shattered Fortune; hard hearted Prince, couldst thou then think that Messalina's Ears, that labour yet with the triumphant noise of my Victorious Rebel Slaves, could stand with ease and patience to listen to the soft trilling of a Lovesick Passion? Ah! faithless Prince, are thus my mighty hopes beguiled? Is thus thy glorious Court (the Sacred Refuge once for injured Innocence) changed, and designed my only Ruin and Destruction? Oh! no, it cannot, must not be, I sure mistake, and Polydorus ferven tender of his heart, is nought but the result of his highest Friendship; Yes glorious Prince, I can endure to hear thou lov'st, and lov'st with mighty Zeal thy Royal Messalina; lov'st as the Guardian Angels do their tender Charge, and with like Purity and Innocence.  
And sure since Gratitude may well exact for such high Merit, suitable returns, believe me Polydorus, thou hast no mean share in the most solid thoughts of Messalina: since universal Fame has long vouchsafed to adopt thee her chief Favourite and Friend, since all thy Sex without distinction bow, owning, in spite of envy, thy just praise, since the fair Goddesses of all the Earth do with officious emulation strive to pay their just acknowledgements to thy great merit, since all thus languish, covet and desire a share in Godlike Polydorus heart, shall Messalina only stand and tempt the force of so almighty power; no mighty Prince, see thy submissive Slave, I own myself enlisted in the Roll of all thy innumerable Debtors: But oh! cursed Fate, that made me stake my Credit, to render me at last a shameful Bankrupt: 'Tis so, great Polydorus, Messalina now can only make returns to all thy Princely bounties in bare and thin acknowledgements, that heart, those Eyes, which heretofore would stand, and gaze, and think, and with, and boldly rove o'er all the beauties of thy Manly Face, are now (I dare not say unluckily) confined, strict bounds are set to all my pointed steps, and sharp-eyed virtue waits with busy care to guard my Looks, my Words, my Thoughts, my Actions: Ah! then be good and kind my lovely Prince, and think what's due from Polydorus to his Friend, what's due to Honour too from Messalina; think that those Charms which grace thy lovely Person, need not the bait of thy persuasive Eloquence, if Honour, Duty, Virtue, did not stand and bid defiance to thy utmost force; deaf to the harmonious Music of thy Tongue, and blind to all thy glittering persections; rest then my Polydorus, rest content, and let my watchful Ears, which by thy busy tempting Charms are forced to wake; have rest, and think that Fate alone withholds all thou canst hope or wish for from  
Messalina.  
Postscript.  
I received just now Letters from rebellious Albion, which by Tomazo I have herewith sent that you may better understand and judge of my Affairs there▪ All things go on with a high hand, and without speedy Assistance I fear will grow desperate: Poor Lycogenes is much perplexed for fear Latroon should be overreached by the christian Grandees of Iberia: If I have any power with Polydorus, I would wish to have the Affair of Iberia dispatched with all speed.   

The tenth Letter.  
Polydorus to Messalina.  
WHat means my lovely Messalina thus to start, and what is this amazing cause of her displeasure, what new affrightening tidings have disturbed her Ears, or what foul ghastly sight has thus surprised her, tell me thou dear tormentor of my Soul what strange and wondrous accident has thus provoked thy zealous Exclamations? When first I read those dear but cruel lines, all fragrant with the fresh Impression of thy hand, I thought no less than Murders, Rapes, and Villainys unheard of, could so extort and raise thy fatal Indignation; each word raised Terror in my guilty Soul, and every line seemed to have born the dreadful visage of my Executioner; At length my recollected Senses made me look, and mark, examine, call and ask, where is this bold Usurper, Villain, Ravisher? what impious Intruder can this be, that dares presume to assault the well-known guarded Breast of my almighty Queen? These, cruel Messalina, were my Thoughts, my sad Expostulation; till running with my eager Eye along, I soon perceived, too sooon alas! I found, unhappy Polydorus was the man whom you had thus marked out with signs of blackest Infamy: Ah! cruel Tyrant Love, through what ambiguous paths dost thou conduct me? What strange and different methods dost thou take to oppress a heart that ne'er tebelled against thee? Cruel Messalina, is this then the Reward of my long-vowed continud zealous Passion? Are then my Sorrows (greater than ever yet despairing Lover felt) so easily become thy sport? Is't not enough thou never wouldst vouchsafe to crown my faithful Services with one poor smile? That thou thus cruelly canst seek to add to the heavy weight my groaning Heart lies under; and instead of Cordials to my fainting Spirits, thou pourest Poison into my aching Wounds, and canst endure to brand the truest, most sincere and loving heart with (Oh! I rave to think it) Ingratitude, the worst of Crimes: But am I, cruel Queen, ungrateful when I Love? And is that then become a Crime in me which (all that have been happy to have seen thee) account a pious Zeal: No mighty Nymph, if 'twere a crime to love thee, think but what an innumerable Company of Pious gazing Slaves each look of thine would every moment Confound and Cast into the utter Regions of Perdition; and 'twere a Crime indeed to think those lovely Eyes and Heavenly looks, which surely are the Fountains of all Life, could change their wont Natures, and effect a power of killing all their humble Votaries, and that come with pious Zeal to kneel before them: Kind Heaven allows the meanest Wretch on Earth to come and bring his Mite of Incense with him, let also thy Divinity vouchfase to accept the adorations of thy Slaves, and if from any offerings they bring, there's any dare presume to a reward, vouchfase thy Polydorus then to plead, who brings with him a heart sincerely true, and if by man thy love may be deserved, will prove itself not most unworthy thy Protection.  
Subscribed in haste, Polydorus.  
Postscript.  
I just now received a visit from Lycogenes, which he made me in order to take measures for his speedy embarquing for Iberia. My lovely Queen, thou canst not be insensible how the urgency of my own affairs (which I haus just reason to apprehend will grow very thick and difficult upon me) have put some restraint on my resolutions to have equipped him for a descent upon Albion, though by our Ministers we are persuaded to give some way to the present brunt, and form such considerable Forces, in the mean time, in Iberia, as may speedily and effectually, bring about our Designs; and though the justice of his Cause, his own Personal Valour, and the formidable assistance he will have with him, may justly take away all apprehension of failure, yet I can never look on the compliment of his designs, other than the result of my adorable Queen's Prayers, and it were a sort of Sacrilege to question the success, when so prevalent a Saint as my Royal Messalina espouseth our Cause.   

The Eleventh Letter.  
Polydorus to Messalina. Just after Lycogenes departure from Gaul.  
WHY should my lovely Queen, with fear and frivolous disputes, thus aggravavate, at least, continue the sorrowful remembrance of her past misfortunes? Why are those eyes, where charming Cupid's should disport, and in their comfortable Sunshine bask and play, with Pearly melancholy showers overwhelmed? Why should the memory of a quite spent Storm, drown all her hopes of future happy days? Revive, revive, dear charming Saint, and think the worth of these most precious drops, have far outbid all that malicious Fortune can impart: Why should thy blooming Beauties fall a Sacrifice to the faint pleasures of unfortunate Lycogenes' Crown? If 'tis Ambition fills thy lofty Soul, if Rule, Dominion, Empire be thy aim, look on some glorious Diadem, that may sit bright and easy on thy brow; think of that Kingdom which the united strength of all the well-known World can scarce disturb, much less subdue. If numerous attendance be thy care, think of that place whether all the universe do flock, and with officious pomp should wait thy every Motion, let not the narrow bounds of one weak barren Isle press thy capacious thoughts, but think when thou hast Polydorus in thy Arms, thou hast, like Cleopatra once, the Lord and Arbiter of even more than Caesar's World, why should thy lofty and unbounded Soul, stoop to the mouldy prescripts of doting feeble Age, or which is worse of crafty whining Priests: Great Monarches to themselves should be a Rule, and virtues from their wills should have their Denominations, 'tis fit that poor Plebeian Souls should stoop and learn, while every action of their Prince should be, as an infallible director; Duty, Religion, Conscience are but names Preached up to keep the otherwise Tumultuous World in order, Honour a mere fantastic spirit is urged, only to hint discretion in our actions, and so preserve the opinion of the busy spying world, alas 'tis utter Blasphemy to think the Gods should deal of pleasures ●vch infinity, only for us to gaze on, not to use, and 'tis as bad to think such multiplicity for every chooser they would give, that we should niggardly ourselves confine to one, and that perhaps misguided choice, oh no, my lovely Queen, let's pluck and Eat was the opinion of our first wise Parents: Let not thy Roses, that with beauteous sweetness lift up their blushing Cheeks, as if ashamed to hang so long neglected on their yielding Branches, fall murmuring as 'twere to the ground, and pine away to melancholy paleness, think that one hour thou losest now of Life, carries an Age of Youth and Beauty with it. Time, on the foolish and deformed, sometimes may be said justly to attend and wait, but Beauty, Youth, and Wit, have no spare hours; each minute, with a hasty soot, steps on, and leaves the unwary gazer in confusion. Let's then, my lovely Queen, in time repent; let's not provoke the angry Boy too long, those Darts which hitherto he Shot were dipped in Juice of fresh plucked Roses, fragrant Ointments, if there which easy fly do fail to warn us, let's beware, his deadly Poisoned shafts, stand ready bent and fixed for fatal Execution. Come, let me fly then to thy out spread Arms, let me embrace thy tender Snowy Limbs: Oh! let me Suck that Balmy Cordial Breath, kiss, kiss, thy rolling Dying Eyes, and ravish all thy Beauties. Come, let me print young Cupids on thy Lips, and Kiss them into Life, and warm perfection. Oh, the Transporting Joys! Oh, ecstasy of happiness! If such the thoughts, so killing be the dreams of what my panting soul longs to enjoy, how shall I bear the essence of my joys? The substance will orewhelm my fainting Spirits, if thus the fleating shadows can transport. No, do not, do not grant, frown, storm, complain, and call whole Troops of armed virtues to thy guard! Tell me of honour, gratitude, civility, and thunder loudly in my ears, threaten disdain, scorn, and dire revenge, if ever I attempt, nay ask it of thee, do this and more, and think too thou art kind for sure the joy must needs be more than Sensible Man can bear. But oh! the weak resolves and poor designs of Hearts bound up in magic Chains of Love, were but thy lovely Arms once spread, did but thy wishing eyes with one dear languet call thy Polydorus to thy Breast: Were Serpents basilisks Mountains of Fire, or fury's with their grizly looks between, and dared to interpose and stop my ready passage to my Queen: Gods! with what fury would I cut along, Armed with powerful Love, would meteor like glide through their thickest fury: No, no, my Princess I did vainly rave, 'twas lovesick folly, if thou wouldst have thy Polydorus live, look with compassion on his wounded Heart, and gently breath new life into his almost cold despairing Soul; warm now with gentle fires his Dying Spirits, and think it not the least of all thy glory's, if in the counting up thy numerous conquests, thou canst with unexampled pride relate, the gift of Life and happiness to mighty Polydorus.   

The Twelfth Letter.  
Messalina to Polydorus.  
WHAT shall I do thou Universal Conqueror, whether shall I retire to hide me from the danger of thy all powerful Love; oh! thou subtle, invincible deceiver of our Sex: By what strange magic is't thou thus dost draw, even the most wary, nice resisting hearts with, within the plainly dangerous Circle of thy alluring Tongue, oh! Virtue, Conscience, Duty now defend me, come now Exert your utmost power and force, for less than your united strength will ne'er repel, those vigorous attacques are made against me: No, no alas, my Feeble Panting Heart, proves me already more than half o'ercome, and though some Sparks of innate Courage yet remain, which vainly would support, and prompt my fainting Spirits, yet Fate, and Godlike Polydorus Charms; which never sure knew pity or repulse, come thronging into my forsaken Breast, rifling each corner with a Covetous Pride; and lead my now defenceless Heart in Triumph. Yes, yes, Great Conqueror, I see thy power; and now can wonder at my own Resistance, now I can see thy Dear commanding Charms, thy winning Graces, now I can hear and with Emphatic skill distinguish each accent of thy sweet Harmonious voice; now I can stand and with amazing silence hearken to the persuasive Rhetoric of thy Tongue, each look, each word and action new supply fresh matter to my Love and Admiration; now I can Smile and pity those poor Hearts who with all heat and eagerness pursue, and toil for the dull fading toys and pleasures of Riches; Popular applause and Glory. Ah poor mistaken wretches, did they but know those worlds of pleasures, I in Love enjoy, how soon they'd quit those weak unworthy trifles, (which they, as drowning men catch hold of Straws with blind, destructive zeal pursue) and strive with eagerness to grasp the solid never-failing Rocks of Love and Pleasure: Yes Polydorus, I am grown a wonderful proficient in thy Art, thy generous Rules do so convince and move, have had so powerful an influence o'er my Soul, that I can now with pleasure hear thee plead, and teach the wondrous precepts of all knowing Love, I now without a groan, or fie can hear a doleful tale, of Kingdoms lost and Kings dethroned, unmoved I stand when some State Politician, needs will tell of Tumults, Rebels, Wars and Revolutions; alas all these stand on the slippery precipice of Fate or chance; and since without our power, why should we grieve: 'Tis true good manners and Civility exact my wishes for Lycogenes, the Gods themselves can witness how my Prayers go up with equal zeal for him as me, but yet kind Nature wisely did ordain self preservation always should take place; and since the circumstances of my Fate deny, all other Succour than my vows and Prayers, the World can never dare condemn that care; (Nature and Providence allow and teach) I take to mitigate the smart and pain of my almost incurable misfortunes, yes this alone might well be thought a Plea sufficient, even for an erring faulty Love, but when I think I only make returns (poor as they are) to the Divine unvalluable passion of Godlike Polydorus, my Love seems then to claim Regeneration, is Sanctified, and rises free from all impure contraminations: Take then my Heart thou only brave great man, take to thyself that Heart which Fate by a thousand signal circumstances has declared was from the first designed for thee; and thee alone, and surely thou dost best deserve that treasure, who best knowst how to value it. 'Tis true, I had even from my own Lycogenes something of zealous formal Reverence, a blind obedience whensoe'er I called, he with all Dutiful submission paid but yet methought 'twas such a timorous zeal, as Servants pay to their commanding Lords, my haughty Geniu foroed a just compliance, but yet it looked like Duty more than Love, and where the payment is but just our due there's left but little Room for thanks or Praise. Beauty like puny Stomaches should be bribed with Picquant Sauces and provocatives, nor should they ever wait the levy motions of distant Cooks and tedious preparations, Loves Squeamish appetite will quickly Pall, and therefore my little Cambrian Prince, just now attends me, and by a seeming Providence, comes in to interrupt my farther raving: Oh Polydorus! Oh wretched Messalina!  
FINIS.