The Ephesian Matron   

The Cimmerian Matron    

THE Ephesian and Cimmerian MATRONS, Two Notable EXAMPLES OF THE POWER OF Love & Wit.  
Scilicet expectas, ut tradat Mater honestos, Aut alios Mores, quam quos habet?  Juvenal satire 6. 
In the SAVOY: Printed for Henry Herringman at the Sign of the Anchor in the Lower-walk of the New-Exchange. 1668.   

A LETTER CONCERNING The Ephesian MATRON: To a Person of Honour.  
Noble SIR,  
TO let you see what absolute Sovereignty you have over me, and how little power I have to obey, even the strongest inclinations of my own Genius, when your commands have once told me, I must apply myself to complaisance with Yours; I have struggled hard to master my natural aversion to Writing, and for a day or two taken up my long discontinued Pen; choosing for my Argument, a short Story, such, Whose Truth might supply the barrenness of my Invention, and whose pleasantness renders both the harshness of my style, and the morosity of my humour, the less offensive. It concerns a beautiful and good natured Creature, whose Adventures have been thought so memorable, that time itself hath not been able to sink them in that Abyss of oblivion, in which, many potent Monarches have been swallowed up; nor have many great Scholars, and eminent Wits, thought it beneath the dignity of their Pens, to transmit the memory of them to posterity.  
I cannot tell you the Woman's name; my Authors having been in that point unanimously silent; but you may call her, if you please, the Wand'ring Greek: for, she hath visited more Countries, than▪ Queen Christina, (who, though now naturalised a Roman, doth yet retain much of the Goth and Vandal) and is perfect in more Languages. After I had seen her in the Greek, Roman, German and French habits, and observed such a natural comeliness, as made her appear lovely and pleasant in each dress, that ingenious Foreigners had clad her in; and been assured by some of them, that even Princes had sometimes made her a Favourite: I had a humour also to put her into our English garb, that you might be acquainted with her, and judge, whether that be not as becoming and graceful as any of the rest. If I have set her forth in an equipage somewhat too grave and solemn, according to the fashion of my own fancy, which is most delighted with sad colours, and plain useful garments; so that she may now seem the Mistress rather of a Philosopher than of a Courtier▪ it was, because I would not have h●r appear altogether a stranger, and ignorant of the mode of the time, wherein the greatest levity and licentiousness, is commonly wrapped up in the most austere looks, and sober formality of dress; and Lasciviousness generally usurps the long v●il of Modesty. I have not furnished her with Jewels, and made her shine with gaudy Ornaments, bot● because I had none of my own, and because I think them fit only for such, who wanting native Beauty enough to fill the beholder's sight, avert him from discerning their defects, by catching his eyes with the lustre of Pearl, Diamonds and Rubies; whereas this our Matron is so largely beholding to the bounty of Nature, that she scorns the mean charity of Art; and you may as soon persuade her to turn Adamite, as to make use of precious Stones. Yet I'll promise you, her Linen is fine, clean, and white, though plain and unstarched. And because she is a Mourner, I have accoutred her in a sable Veil: which she pulls down, as often as she hath occasion to hid her blushes; and turns up again, when she is pleased to be more free, and discover the charms of her smiles.  
Nor can I tell you precisely her Age, though I guess it to be near upon that of the Roman Empire, which is, by some hundreds of years, elder than the Wand'ring Jew. But, let not that discourage you; for she is yet youthful, sprightly, and gamesome, and hath not a wrinkle in her face; insomuch, that a Gentleman, who surprised me, with her in my company, would not be persuaded but she was my daughter. Besides, what is immortal (as she seems to be) must, you know, be ever young and flourishing.  
As for her Religion, I confess also, I can give you no certain account of it, because (contrary to the custom of most of her sex) she is very reserved in that particular. Yet, if I may have the liberty of conjecturing from some Actions of hers, I should take her to be of old Epicurius' Faith, following the simple dictates of mother-Nature, and living by the plain rule of her own Inclinations; as holding it a contradiction, to be born under one Law, and to another bound: or else a Sister of the family of Love, which scruples at no freedom with a sanctif●●d Brother, and justifies her familiarity with fervency of Zeal, and suggestions of the spirit. Do not you therefore conceive her to be a Vestal, or one that resolves to pervert the purpose of Nature, and hath abjured the end of her Creation; albeit you see her in a Vault, in a lamenting posture, and with a small Taper burning by her: For really, she is a Cyprian Nun, consecrated to the Goddess of Pleasure▪ inflamed with zeal of Priapus: She is furnished with an Altar, with Incense, and with Fire too, and wants only a Priest to come and animate her Sacrifice.  
For her Humour, you will find her in all things a perfect Woman, a little subject to changes, seldom out of extremes; w●●●ing and smiling in a breathe, leaping at once out of a Charnel-house into a Nuptial-bed; soon quitting a violent grief for a good Husband lately deceased, for to solace in the embraces of a new Love; this moment, in the bottom of despair, and the next in the height of fruition; now endeavouring to destroy herself, and anon, doing her devoir to procreate another, and give Being to posterity; too wise to refuse a good proffer, or neglect a fair opportunity; highly sweet and obliging upon occasion, even to a stranger, and at first interview, full of frankness and endearments, where she affects; forward to excuse and palliate the errors of her friend, and admirably witty, in projecting a way to avert sudden danger threatening him. And what would you more from a Woman?  
Notwithstanding all these excellent qualities, let me not only desire, but also conjure you, to imprison her in your private Cabinet, so that she may be seen by no eyes but your own. Not ●hat you need be jealous of either her chastity or reputation; for, the one is proof against the corruptions even of Peter Arentine himself, if he were alive and conversant with her; and she hath cunning enough of her own to preserve the other: but, for fear she meet with affronts from the Ladies, who will never be reconciled to a Woman that is so weak, as to betray the frailties, and lay open the secrets of her own Sex. Besides that, she is a professed Enemy to their own darling, Platonick-Love; and ingeniously confesseth, she knows no flames, but such as arise from the difference of Sex, and are kindled in the blood, and other luxuriant humours of the body: and that her Amours always ●end to the propagation of somewhat more Material, than the simple Ideas of virtue, of which our Philosophical Ladies so much talk. Which heretical doctrine, if they once hear her preach, 'tis not all the Armies in the world shall protect her from suffering the fate of Orpheus; ●or shall you, Sir, with all your good language, and other ingratiating Arts, be able to vindicate hercause, or secure yourself from the hateful brand of a Woman-hater. As therefore you value this Ephesian's free conversation, or the favour of Ladies, be sure you keep her to yourself; but, if you will needs show yourself to be of the number of those open-breasted men, who think no pleasure complete, until they have boasted of it; yet, at least, be so just to the sacred Laws of friendship, as never to reveal who brought her into England, only for your private recreation; and then leave her adversaries to consult their grand Oracle Lily, how to find out,  
Most honoured Sir, Your most Humble Servant.   

The Ephesian MATRON.  
A Certain Merchant's Daughter of Ephesus, having been long gazed upon by the admiring Youths of that populous and wealthy City, and sought in marriage by many, whose ample Fortunes encouraged them to hope for success, answerable to their desires, (which could not be but just and commendable, since fixed upon an Object, whom an incomparable Beauty, an ingenious Soul, virtuous Education, and that usual attendant of all these, an honourable Fame, had conspired to make an extraordinary Person) This Virgin, I say, was at length espoused to a young Gentleman, in whom nothing was wanting that could be required, to make him accomplished and amiable, especially in her eye, who loved him with equal ardours; and thought of no felicity, but in his mutual affections and society. So that all men (his envious Rivals only excepted) expected the perfection of mortal happiness to arise from so rare a union.  
But, observe unconstancy of human felicity; This pair of Turtles had not long enjoyed the pleasures of each others conversation, when Fate (seldom long propitious to Lovers) steps in, and divides them, by the eternal divorce of death; translating the Husband into a state of more durable delights, and leaving the poor widowed Lady in the arms of a distracting grief, too excessive to fall under the description of the most tragical Pen; and indeed so violent, as would soon have sufficed to the destruction of so delicate and tender a Nature, as hers was, had not her resolution to see her dearest All (so she called him) laid into his Tomb, with such Funeral Pomp, and solemn Obsequies, as were agreeable both to his quality, and her sorrow; somewhat conduced to her preservation. Which yet was but an accidental preservative, a●d such, whose effect she could not directly aim at; all the faculties of her wounded soul being wholly taken up with the image of her loss; and excluding all light of comfort, but those weak and faint glimpses that arose in her darksome imagination, from her hopes to make haste and overtake him, who was gone before.  
But alas! I speak much to the diminution of her fidelity, when I call them Hopes; they wer● advanced to full Resolutions, and those made unalterable, by the sanction of a solemn vow, to outdo the malice of death; and by a speedy reunion of her spirit with his, in the Elysium, to regain that content in the other World, which the cruelty of the gods had ravished from her in this. And according to this too rigorous Vow, she refuseth all nourishment, admitting nothing into her mouth but the cold air, and tears uncessantly distilling from her once bright and sparkling, but now dim and blubbered eyes; and this, notwithstanding the importunities of her Parents and Friends on one side, and the necessities of Nature on the other, urging her to commiserate and relieve herself. In this sad condition she continued three whole days and nights, abhorring all objects but what her grie● presented, and keeping her con●●●ed remembrance perpetually upon ●he Rack, to afford her the images of he● past felicities, that might aggravate the resentments of her present misery: Which yet being (as she thought) insufficient to exalt her sorrows to th● height of destroying her, she privately conveys herself in●o the Vault, whe●● the remains of her Husband had been newly laid, and there sits down upon the damp earth, with her eyes fixed upon his Coffin, lest her thoughts might chance to wander from their proper object▪  

It was great wonder that Nature  
Might suffer any creature.  
To have such sorrow, and she not ded;  
Full piteons pale, and nothing red.  
She said a lay, a manner souge;  
Without note, withouten song;  
And was this, for full well I can  
Rehearse it, right thus it began.  
I have of sorrow so great won,  
That joy get I never none;  
Now that I see my husband bright,  
Which I have loved with all my might,  
Is from me deed, and is ago▪  
And thus in sorrow left me alone,  
Alas death, what yeleth the,  
That thou noldest have taken me?   
This (you'll say) was a rare demonstration of a Woman's constancy, and ought not to be passed over without admiration, and an acknowledgement, that this virtuous Matron well deserved to wear a Garland, in that Troop of Heroical Wives, who scorning to survive their better part, their Husbands, are honoured by posterity, as examples of singular faith, and conjugal amity. And I shall also ingenuously confess, that her love must needs be great, which transported her to so generous a pitch of sorrow, and bravery of resolution. I presume moreover, that your pity is already risen to that height, that are concerned in her danger; and that you would most gladly run into the Vault, ●o save her from a death so cruel, so imminent. But alas, she is resolved upon it, and your humanity would but degenerate into a prolongation of her afflictions. For, in life she knew no content, but in the society of her Love, whose mortal part was now in the cold fetters of an everlasting sleep; and therefore remains holy uncapable of any the least consolation, unless from this, that she may be hastened in her journey, to meet and embrace his beloved Ghost. If therefore your commiseration will do any thing towards her comfort and repose, pray exercise it in killing her, and let the kindness of your sword suddenly prevent the lingering tortures of her famine and laments. But I know you are too good-natured to have her die; and but to suppose her▪ after all this, capable of being reconciled to life, were the only way to make her and her whole Sex hate you. What then is to be done in order to her Rescue? Why, have but patience a little, and you shall see how miraculously Fortune hath contrived to gratify you and other her friends, in her preservation▪  
It happened, that on the very same day her Husband's funeral rites were solemnised, and his Corpse set into the Vault amongst his Ancestors, there was a notorious malefactor executed, and his body left upon the Gibbet; the better to strike terror into others, and by the example of his infamous punishment, to raise in the hearts of all the spectators, a due● abomination of the like crimes. And lest any of the Villain's relations or confederates, should take down the mangled Carcase, and convey it away to burial privily in the night; Proclamation was made to the contrary, at command of the Magistrate; and a guard of Soldiers consigned to watch it, with the penalty of no less than death to such of them, as should through carelessness, drousieness, or absence, be failing in that their duty. Now night being come, the Soldiers thinking one was enough to attend that easy charge, fall to casting lots among themselves, who should undertake it; and the lot falling upon one, of whose vigilancy the rest had no reason to doubt, they all withdrew themselves into a Tavern near at hand, the better to secure themselves from the cold, and rawness of the night, leaving that one to perform the Duty.  
They were no sooner gone, when this Sentinel also, feeling himself pinched by the cold, and confident none would hazard so dear a thing as life, in stealing away the torn carcase of a Rogue, bethinks himself of shelter and rest: and remembering there was a certain spacious arched Vault (the very same our Mourner had obscured herself in) underneath the Temple, over against which the Gibbet was erected; he retires into it, conducted thither, doubtless by the invisible hand of his good Angel.  
Being entered into the mouth of the Vault, his eyes were instantly saluted with the beams of a small and weak light, that shone from the farthest end of it; at sight whereof he was surprised with a sudden fit of horror, which lessening by degrees, (as all terrible objects are greatest, at first glance of the eye upon them) his curiosity soon got the upper hand of his fear, and carrieth him nearer and nearer, till at length by the help of that glimmering Taper, which yet had not wholly overcome the gloomy darkness of that dismal place, he could perceive something resembling a Woman, in a mournful dress, but with a countenance far more mournful, sitting on the ground, with arms enfolded in the posture of extreme sorrow, and her head carelessly drooping, as if it were desirous and ready to fall upon the Coffin placed at her feet. Having a while stood wondering at this strange and doleful spectacle, and considering with himself, that it could not be a mere Apparition; all those stories of Ghosts, Spectres, and Devils in humane shape, being but the politic Fictions of Rulers and Priests, to keep the vulgar honest in the dark, and by fear to deter such from vice, who would not pursue virtue merely▪ for love of it: he banisheth all apprehensions of terror, and boldly advanceth to the Taper. The impediment of distance, which before permitted him but an obscure and imperfect sight of what his wonder had directed him unto, now removed; the soldier takes a full view of the distressed Lady, and soon finds his Sense had not been deluded by a phantasm, and that she was a real woman, as at first glance he had apprehended her to be. Nor could the Eclipse of her sorrow and dejection hinder, but he might easily discern a certain charming lustre irradiating the rare features of her face, together with an awful and majestic sweetness, such as is wont to strike respect and secret adoration into the hearts of the beholders; and being the separable adjunct of singular beauty, cannot be concealed by the most altering disguise of the extremest passion. Here the Divinity of her form surprising his Soul, on one side; and the prodigious equipage he saw her in distracting it, on the other: the man was overwhelmed with amazement, and wanted not much of becoming a statue. But, the light of his reason by little and little breaking through those clouds, and dispersing them, he resumes his courage and resolves to speak to her. Which as he was about to do, it chanced, that lifting up her wearied head, and opening the curtains of her eyes, (which till then had remained let down) to give them some ease by change of posture, she percived a Man or Ghost (for as yet she could not distinguish) standing before her.  
For her sorrow, and holy thought  
Made her that, she heard him nought.  
For she had well-nigh most her mind,  
Though Pan, that men clepeth god of kind,  
Were for her sorrows never so wroth.  
But at the last, to said right sooth,  
She was ware of him, how he ●●ood,  
Before her, and did of his hood,  
And had ygret her, as best he coude,  
Debonairely, and nothing loud.  As Reverend Chaucer in his Dream: 
She startled a little at the unexpected sight, but being wholly intent upon her sorrow, and strongly possessed with a conceit, that the worst of evils that her nature was capable of, had already befallen her; that if he were a Ghost, he could have no other errand to her, but to ●nvite and hasten her to the place, whither her dearest Mate was gone before; and if a Man, he could not be so void of humanity, as to disturb the quiet of her innocent grief. These reflections (I say) quickly recomposed her, so that she was able to demand an account of him of his being there. Which she did in this manner.  
Friend▪ said she, (and certainly, whatsoever you are, you can be no other to me▪ who can have no enemy but life) would you any thing with me? If so, pray speak it freely; I am not afraid to hear the worst tidings you can bring. Fate hath shot the most bloody and mortal of all its Arrows into me already, and all that are to follow will be but favours. My misery, though great, hath yet this comfort▪ annexed to it▪ that it cannot possibly be greater. Lo, here, (pointing to the Coffin) here lies my Heart, dead and cold as marble; and if I ●eem ●o be alive, it is only because the soul of sorrow annimates me a while, till I have prepared myself to descend a fitting Shade, to attend his, who by this time expects me. But if on●y Chance hath brought you hither, why do you not be gone? What wrong have I ever done you, that should make you thus envy me the peace of this solitary room, a place sacred, and pecular only to the dead? And (you know) that for any, but Mourners, to intrude into their Dormitories, is a profanation not e●●●ly expiated. Pray therefore, before you become further guilty, depart, and leave me to accomplish that sacrifice, my Fidelity and Vow oblige me to offer in this place.  
To this (delivered with something of anger, and as much vehemence, as the weakness of her half-starved body would permit) the Soldier modestly returns: That no design at least, concerning her, but mere adventure, had led him into that place, where he conceived nothing but horror and unwholesome damps had resided; That the sight of a woman there, at that dead time of the night, alone, and in that strange posture too, was sufficient to excuse his admiration▪ and that to excuse his curiosity, for the satisfaction of which he had approached her. That if therein he had, contrary to his intent, been an occasion of disturbance to her, in the performance of those dismal Rites, her afflicted imagination had caused her to please herself withal, (what they were, he knew not) he was ready to ask her pardon for that his misfortune. And as for any offence to the Manes of those, whose bodies were there deposited, he conceived himself wholly innocent, as coming thither with no such black purpose, as to dislodge their Relics, or violate their Sepulchers. Lastly, that if his presence were ungrateful to her, (to whom he hearty wished a serenity of mind, equal to the sweetness of her person) he was ready to departed, notwithstanding the tenderness of his disposition made him have some sympathy in her afflictions, and urged him to offer her that succour, which he was able to afford. Which yet, he confessed, could not be great, considering the vast disparity betwixt the meanness of his condition, and rudeness of education, on his part; and the wise counsel, and consolatory arguments he found requisite, on hers. However, if his diligence, yea, if his life, might be an● way serviceable to her, she should freely command him. And having said thus, he remained silent.  

Lo how goodly spoke this Knight,  
As if it had be another wight,  
And made it neither tough ne quaint.   
Here the Lady somewhat touched with the great humanity and gentleness of the M●n, whom by his Arms she perceived to be a Soldier, and so had admitted some apprehensions of a return more rough and agreeable to the manners of those of his profession and rank, was offering to rise up, and dismiss him with thanks due to his civility; when her macerated and languishing body, and her exhausted spirits failing to be obedient to her soul▪ she sunk down ●n a swoon, and lay speechless and enervated, cross her Husband's Coffin.  
Which the honest Fellow perceiving, and fearing she had expired her very soul▪ in that last great sigh that ●rake from her breast, at the instant of her fall; he was not a little astonished: but yet he had so much reason left, as hastened him to endeavour her recovery, by taking her up in his arms, gently reclining her he●d, and pouring a little Win● into her mouth, from a Bottle he had brought with him, wherewith to fortify himself against the cold and moistness of the weather. This so repaired her defect of spirits, that her heart and arteries renewing their intermitted pulses, she soon came to herself again; but so imperfectly, that though her vital Organs seemed to perform their offices aright, yet those of voluntary motion wholly failed in theirs. Which the Soldier observing, and concluding with himself, that the virtue of that cordial, which infused into her in a small quantity, had so happily begun his cure, if administered in a greater dose, would not fail to finish it; he set the bottle a second time to her mouth and forced her to take in a large draught. The Wine, by reason of its sublety, soon dispersing through her whole body▪ and recruiting her spirits, (consumed by immoderate grief, and long abstinence) wrought so powerfully upon her, that she now feels herself not only revived, but in some measure also comforted within her, (O! who can sufficiently admire the excellency of this divine Liquor?) and her faculty of moving herself restored; so that, erecting herself upon her legs, she turned to her Physician, and disposing her eyes and countenance into such an aspect of gentleness and sweetness, as intimated to him, she had no ill resentments of the good offices his charity had done her; without other expression of thankfulness, she sat down to repose herself upon the Coffin, the unfrequented place affording no other seat.  
The Man encouraged by the happy success of his assistance, and discreetly taking the opportunity of that calm, which he discerned the Wine had brought upon both her mind & spirits, began with gentle reasons (for Rhetorical arguments he had none) to make her sensible of the extreme need she was in of some speedy corporal refection: And not being so ceremonious, as to stay and expect her answer, he instantly opens his Knapsack, and produceth such cold and homely Viands, as he, in cleanly manner had laid therein, for his own provision: These he tenders to her, in the most humble and decent posture, the incommodities of the time and place would admit of; entreating her, in commiseration of herself, to second the good effect of the Wine, with a bit or two of solid meat; and to dispense with the coorseness both of his diet and service, her safety depending chief upon a speedy refreshment, and at the present he was destitute of better accommodation.  
Now, whether we ought to ascribe it to the sole hand of Fate, which laughs at the vanity of men's resolutions, and by turning our hearts like rivers of water, delights to convince us, How little that power is, we arrogant Mortals think we have over ourselves. Or, to the benign and sweetening efficacy of the Wine, which (doubtless) is the most sovereign and present Antidote in Nature against excess of sorrow: Or, to the force of the Soldier's Persuasions, which, though not delivered with the advantage of smooth and courtly language, appear to have been strong and prevalent: Or, to the secret strokes of Love, (as Philosophers call them) which being observed always to wound deepest upon the sudden, and as often in the depth of adversary, as in the height of ease and prosperity, might (for aught we know) be, by the wanton god, inflicted upon the lady's heart, and so wonderfully recompose all the confusions and disorders of her soul, as at that very instant to tune all her faculties once more to the key of the most sweet and harmonious of all our affection's. I say, to which of all these probable causes, (or to the conspiracy of them all together) the Miracle is to be imputed, I confess, I cannot determine; and therefore willingly resign that nice enquiry to those Sages, who pretend to understand the secrets of Woman's hearts. But, so it fell out, that our Matron being now able to command a Truce to her sorrow, cheerfully addressed herself to the victuals set before her, and did eat moderately thereof: in the quiet and pleasantness of her looks, sweetly betraying that inward agreableness and delight Nature became sensible of, in that supply which had been too long denied her.  
This our Man of War, (who, it seems by the story, was no fool) perceiving, and understanding withal, that some seasonable relief from reason and wise counsel was as requisite, to the re-composure of her disordered mind, as his me●t and drink had been, to the instauration of her enfeebled body; he bethought himself what to say, that might conduce to the mitigation of her violent sorrow. And, though he were no Philosopher, nor Orator, his head not being altogether so well furnished with arguments of consolation, as his Scrip and Bottle had been with Provision; yet he had so competent a share of the light of Nature, (which, as many wise men hold, shineth always clearest in the darkness of necessity, and sudden occasions) as directed him bluntly to tell her, That albeit moderate humiliation of the body, and contristation of spirit, upon the decease of dear friends and relations, were not to be disallowed, as being the effects of that love and ●espect we bore them in our lives and pregnant testimonies of natural affection, without which, Man degenerateth into the savageness of beasts: yet an intemperate sorrow, and afflicting ourselves beyond measure, was not only unreasonable, but also unnatural; unreasonable, in that it doth as little avail to the good or benefit of the dead, as to the recalling them to life again; they being in a state, which admits of no commerce with, or concernment for the survivors. Unnatural, in that it impaireth the health of the body, and beclouds the brightness of the understanding, both which are the chiefest treasures of our lives, and every man is bound by the Law of Nature, to endeavour their preservation, as much as in him lies. He added, That if she had suffered her passion to transport her to any such extravagance, as an intent to destroy ●er self, (as she had seemed to intimate, both by her expressions and deportment in that place, which of itself appeared a fit Scene whereon to act such a Tragedy) she ought with the soon to retract it. For the greatest crime man could commit, was Murder; and of all Murders, the most detestable was self-Homicide, which the Creator did so abominate, as that he Had engraven upon our very Nature, the Law of self-preservation, as if on purpose to prevent it. And should Heaven be so merciful, as to forgive it, (which was dangerous to presume) yet certainly the Ghost of her Husband would not; since, if he loved her while alive, he could not be pleased with any violence she should offer to herself, but would rather abhor the society of so great a Criminal, among the Shades; at least, if Souls departed hence have any sense or cognizance of the actions of Mortals upon Earth.  
The pious Matron hearing this, could not refrain from interrupting her counsellor, but replied; That she must acknowledge the truth and weight of his discourses; but yet, (and then she sighed) she had lost such a Jewel of a Husband, as never woman lost. And therefore, if her grief were violent and invincible, she deserved rather pity and excuse, than reprehension and condemnation, both from gods and men. And more she would have said, but that a fresh flood of tears running down her cheeks, rob her lips of the freedom of their motion.  
The Soldier seeing this, and fearing a relapse, had immediate recourse to the Antidote of the Bottle, of whose cordial juice he had so admirable experience: and without more ado, he holds up her head with one hand, while with the other he drencheth her with a round dose of the remaning liquor: And she had no sooner felt the warmth and vigour of it in her stomach, but the fountains of her tears were instantly sealed up, her forehead smoothed, and all her face reduced to its native sweetness: Nay more, this last draught wrought so divinely, that her mind also seemed perfectly restored to its ancient mildness and tranquillity▪ and she became the most affable, compleasant, and cheerful creature in the world, indeed as if a new Soul had been infused into her. This great change considered, who can but fall into a rapture, in thinking of the virtue of Wine, or forbear to repeat father Sancho's prayer, that Providence would never suffer him to want good store of that celestial Nectar. But, our argument is yet sad, and it imports us to be more serious. For,  
Here some witty Disciple of Epicurus (arresting us in the middle of our Narration) may take advantage to disparage the excellency and immortality of that noble essence, the reasonable Soul of man; and from the example of the sovereign operation of the Wine upon this deplorable Lady, thus argue against it.  
If our inclinations and wills be so nearly dependent upon the humours and temperament of our bodies, as to be, in a manner, the pure and natural consequents or results from them; and that our humours and temperament be so easily and soon variable, according to the various qualities of meats and drinks received into our stomaches; both which seem verified in the instance of this Ephesian Woman, who by the generous quality of the Wine, and nutritive juice of the Meat, was, as it were, in a moment altered in her whole frame; of a highly discontented and desperate wretch, becoming a quiet, tractable, and good humoured creature, quitting her morosity and contumacy in a murderous resolution, for frank affability, yieldingness, and alacrity; Why should not men believe, with his Master Epicurus, that the Soul is nothing else but a certain composition or contexture of subtle Atoms, in such manner figured and disposed, and natively endowed with such activity, as to animate the body, and actuate all the members and organs of it; or, with Galen, that the Soul is but the Harmony of Elements, concurring in the composition of the body, at first, and in the same tenor continued afterward during life, by supplies of the most subtle and refined parts of our nourishment? Especially, if they reflect upon the admirable effects of Wine, which hath the power to alter, not only the temperament of the body, but even that of the mind also; subduing the most refractory and unbridled of all our passions, and raising up others as violent in their room; in a word, so forcibly turning the needle of our affections and inclinations from one extreme to another, and hurrying them from point to point round the whole Compass, as if it were itself a soul; at least, as it if had the sovereignty over the best of souls.  
Now if any such weak and prevaricating Epicurean shall cast this stumbling-block in our way; though we are loath to leave the Lady, now she is in so go●d a humour, yet the honour we own to that divine substance, which he endeavours thus vilely to abase, obligeth us to digress a while, and vouchsafe him a short refutation.  
Let him know therefore, that every individual man hath two distinct Souls, the one Rational, or Intellectual, and Incorruptible, as being of divine Original, the breath of the Creator: The other only Sensitive, produced from the wombs of Elements; common also to brute Animals, and therefore capable of dissolution. This latter Soul, (or, more properly, Spirit) is the common Vinculum, Cement, or Tie, betwixt the celestial and incorporeal nature, of the reasonable Soul, and the terrestrial and corporeal nature of the Body: It is also the immediate organ or instrument, by which the nobler Soul informeth and acteth in the organs of the Body. Now, though we deny not, but the rational Soul, in respect of this her alliance with the Body, is in some degree subject to the Laws of Matter; and consequently, that the humours and temperament of the Body, have some influence or power to alter and work upon the mind, especially in weak-minded persons, who make no use of the arms of their reason, to encounter and subdue the insurrections and assaults of sensual appetites: Yet cannot we grant, that the impressions which the body makes upon the mind are such, as suffice to question either the Immortality, or derogate from the Sovereignty of the Soul over the Body.  
Not the Immortality of it; because, as an Infant in the Mother's womb, though sympathising with the Mother in all distempers, accidents, and symptoms that befall her, during the time of the Child's connexion to her body; is yet capable of being, in his due season, separated from her, and emancipated from his first state of compatibility into another of single subsistence: So the Rational Soul, though, during its connexion to the Body, subject to all affections and sufferings thereof, is yet nevertheless capable of being separated, in due season, from the Body, and surviving it to eternity, in a state of simplicity and incompatibility.  
Nor the Sovereignty of it over the Body; because, as a Monarch, notwithstanding he hath sovereign and absolute power over his Subjects, may sometimes be inclined by the sway of his servants; and yet without either subjection of his Person, or diminution of his power: So the Soul, though sometimes the affections of its subject, the Body, may incline or dispose it to assent and compliance: yet doth not that detract from either the excellency of its nature, or the absoluteness of its dominion over the Body.  
Besides, all those mutations of the affections, that arise from the variety of humours, and temperament of the Body, whether caused by Diet, Wine, or otherwise, are most unduely imputed to the Mind, or reasonable Soul itself, whose essence being simple, severeth it from all essential mutations; and indeed, extend no farther, than the Sensitive or the Brain, which is its principal organ: So that as it doth not derogate from the skill and ability of an excellent Musician, that he cannot make good Music upon an ill and untuneable Instrument; so likewise doth it not from the dignity of the Soul, that it cannot maintain the harmony of its Government, where the Brain is out of tune. And this we think sufficient to evince that the mutual league or alliance betwixt the Body and Mind is not so inseparable, but the Mind may both continue its Sovereignty, while that league continueth; and also continue its Being, after the same league is dissolved by death.  
But if the Adversary shall further urge us to inform him, What kind of substance we then conceive the Soul to be, we shall ingeniously confess, We do not understand it. Nor are we ashamed of that ignorance, forasmuch as the knowledge thereof is to be fetched, not from Reason or Philosophy, but from Revelation Divine. For, seeing the substance of the Soul was not deduced or extracted in its creation, from Matter, or Elements, as is manifest even from the transcendency of its functions and operations: certainly it follows, that the Laws of Matter or Elements, can in no wise comprehend its nature, or lead to the knowledge of its substance: but leaving Philosophy to its proper objects, we must expect it from the inspiration of the same Divinity, from whence the substance of it was originally derived. But inspirations Divine being very rare, our best way will be to suspend such subtle and Metaphysical Inquiries, till death; which will soon satisfy them, and all other difficulties of that nature. In the mean time, we beg excuse for thus long digressing into so grave and unsuitable a Speculation, (which yet we could not well avoid) from our Story, and for holding you upon the rack of suspense, while your good nature makes you impatient till you are assu●ed of the lady's perfect recovery.  
Returning to our Matron, I find myself surprised with more of wonder and amazement, than the Soldier was when he first beheld her. Methinks I perceive certain symptoms in her, which signify not only a change of humour, but even a perfect metamorphosis of her person also; and so strangely is she altered, that did not the continuance of her mourning habit (and yet she hath dropped her Veil) together with the circumstances of time and place, assure me to the contrary; seriously I should not easily be persuaded that she is the same woman. She appears now to have so little of the sorrowful Widow in her, that if I might have the liberty Physiognomists take, of divining by outward signs, I should take her for the most pleased and happy Bride in the world. Her forehead seems not only smoothed, but dilated also to a more graceful largeness, and overcast with a delicate sanguine Dye. Her eyes sparkling again with lustre, yet little more than half open, with their amiable whites turned somewhat upward, unsteady, bedewed with a Ruby moisture, & by stealth casting certain languishing glances (such as are observed only in persons dying, and Lovers in the ecstasy of delight) upon the Soldier. Her lips swelling with a delicious vermilion tincture, and gently trembling; yet still preserving the decorum and sweetness of her mouth. Her cheeks over●lowing with pleasing blushes. Her head a little declining, as when Modesty hath a secret conflict with Desire. She is in ● kind of gentle disquiet, such as accompanieth the impatience of the soul, when it is eager and restless in pursu●● of the object, whereon it hath fixed it● chief felicity. A temperate and Balmy sweat, extilling from the pores of her snow-white skin, helps to increase the kindly warmth of it, arising, doubtless, from a great agitation of her spirits within, and an effusion of them upon the outward parts, together with ●he vapours of her purest blood. In a word, I discern in her a concourse of all ●hose signs, which, as natural and inseparable characters, are proper to great joy and pleasure.  
What therefore should I think? To imagine that she, a woman of exemplary constancy, of chastity more cold and severe than the Goddess herself, who i● said to be guardian of it; of sorrow (as yourself can witness) almost unparallelled and invincible; whose tears are yet scarcely dry, still fitting in a damp and horrid Charnel-house, at the dead time of the night, and upon the Coffin of her Dearest All: To imagine (I say) that this Woman should be so soon ingulphed in the delightful transports of a new Love, and that with a Fellow so much a Stranger, so much her Inferior: This certainly is not only highly improbable, but unpardonably scandalous; and he, doubtless, would have no easy task to secure himself, from being torn in pieces by those of her Sex, who should dare to entertain a thought so much conducing to their disparagement.  
On the other side, the causes of suspicion are strong and manifest; for, if it be true, (as certainly it is) that Nature, not contented only to have given Man a tongue, wherewith to express his thoughts, hath also imprinted on hi● countenance the images of his most secret passions and intentions; and that upon this ground Philosophers have built that most excellent of all Arts, the Art of Knowing-Man, (the principal part of civil prudence) which teacheth how to dive into the most secret recesses, and hidden conceptions of the mind, only by observing the Figures and Characters that her inward motions draw upon the forehead, eyes and other parts of the face: I say, if this be true, we have good reason to suspect▪ that our Matron hath newly felt the power of Love's inevitable Dart, and she now burns as extremely in the flames of amorous desires of the Soldier, as she was lately frozen in the ice of so●●ow for her Husband. Her looks and gestures betray her, and all the Airs of high Content and Pleasure appearing in her face, will no longer permit me to doubt, but she hath lately tasted, and more than tasted, of that delight, which Lovers are sensible of in the act of Fruition; and which being itself a kind of Ecstasy, cannot be described, so as to be understood by any but such as feel it, nor those, but when they feel it.  
Nor need you longer remain in suspense: for, behold, she now throws herself into the Soldiers Arms, she embraceth him, she kisseth him, and with that violence, that greediness, as if she were unsatisfied with the bare touches of his lips, and longed to leave the impression of hers upon them. Nay, she takes no care to shut them, as if that negligent posture were more natural to the freedom of her kindness; or, as if she were in more readiness to receive that soul, she would have him breath into her. Nor doth any thing make her take off her mouth from his, but the impatience to have her eyes so long empty of the images of his form; and when she hath feasted that sense, with giving and receiving some fixed amorous looks, (for now they are no longer obliqne glances) she instantly returns again to her banquet of kisses, as if the pleasures of her Eye, though high and ravishing among mutual Lovers, were yet inferior to those of the Touch; or, as if the pleasures which each of these excellent senses doth affect the soul with, in such cases, were so great and violent, as that she is not capable of being intent upon both at once, but is forced to apply herself one while to one alone, another while to another, lest being distracted betwixt them, she might lose any whit of what her passion tells her, is requisite to consummate the fruition she aims at. In a word, (for we are fallen upon a Subject, whose nature is not to admit of much discourse) there is nothing of liberty, nothing of dalliance, nothing of caresses and indearment, which this sportful Lady doth not use, both to make herself grateful and charming to her new Gallant, and to enkindle fresh ardours in him. So that if what we see be not Venus herself, sporting with her beloved Mars; yet, doubtless, it is one of her own daughters, in the height of solace with one of his sons. But, here Modesty commands us to turn our backs upon this pleasant couple; for, I perceive, he hath not yet exhausted all his Ammunition, and that, grown more sensible of the Magic of her wanton incitements, he is arming himself for a second encounter, and stands ready to do that Ac●, which, though the most pleasant and entrancing of all others, cannot yet be, with good manners, named, much less looked upon in the doing, by strangers. And you, as well as myself, know, how implacably angry the Cyprian goddess useth to be, with such immodest curiosities, as dar● to pry into the Mysteries of her sacrifices, which she hath therefore commanded to be offered in the dark, and only by Couples. Let us, therefore, seasonably avert our yet innocent Eyes, and leave these her new Votaries quietly to finish those Cytherean Rites they are going about: especially since their Zeal is so servant, as not to scruple at the nicety of making the Dead Husband's Coffin, the Altar, whereon to kindle and exhale the incense they have brought. And while they are busy at their silent devotions, let us have recourse to the Oracle of Reason, and there consult about the powerful Cause of this great and admirable Change in our Matron, who (you see) is no longer either Mourner, or Widow. ¶▪  
To charge this sudden and prodigious Metamorphosis, upon the inherent Mutability and Levity of Woman's Nature; though it may have somewhat of Philosophy in it, yet cannot have much of wisdom; as importing more Reason, than Safety. For, albeit, it be well known, that the softness and tenderness of their Constitution is such, as renders them like wax, capable of any impressions, and especially such as correspond with those their inclinations, that Nature hath implanted in them as goads to drive them on toward that principal End, for which it hath made them: yet, who is so rashly prodigal of his life, as to incense that Revengeful sex, by calling in question that Constancy in affection, which every Woman so much boasteth of, and is ready to defend even with her blood, and whereof every day produceth so many notable Examples? For my part, truly, notwithstanding I was never so happy, as to be much in the Favour of Ladies; yet will not the honour I bear them, permit me willingly to incur their displeasure, especially by asserting so scandalous an Heresy: nor will I omit any opportunity to demonstrate, that the services I desire to do them, are such as hold exact proportion with the strongest of their Inclinations, and the highest of their Perfections. There is not an Attribute their Excellencies challenge even in their own opinion, (which all allow to be favourable enough,) but I am ready to give it them: nor can I doubt the verity and weight of any thing they say, but admire and believe them as Oracles. My Ears cannot so soon drink in their promises, as my Faith swallows them down, for Sacramental and inviolable obligations. If I hear any Lady but say, (though she use no protestations) that she either hath been, or will be constant and firm to her Servant; I am ready instantly to believe and swear, the Heavens themselves even in their substance are more subject to Alteration, that Nature herself can sooner change her Course, her Laws, and run into the confusion of her primitive Chaos; than she be removed from the Object, upon which she hath placed her Love. When any Widow sighs and weeps at the funeral of her Husband; I compassionate the Reality and Profoundness of her Grief, am afraid she should despair, and destroy herself; and I sooner expect to see her Husband revived, than her to entertain any the least thought of admitting another into her bed. If I but hear the sad story of some young Virgin deprived of her first Love; I cannot forbear to beat my breast, and cry out, Ah! what pity it is, so fair a Flower should be lost to all Mankind, and whither for want of a hand to gather it? For, certainly, she poor Soul, devoting the disconsolate remainder of her days to solitude and Fidelity, will never be brought to listen after another for a Bridegroom; no, without doubt she will live and die a pure Virgin, and all the hopes she hath, are to contemplate the honours reserved in the Eliz●um, for such Maids as continue true to their depared Sweethearts; Nor are your Venetian-locks half so good security of her Chastity, as the memory of the vows she made to the Person, to whom she once gave her Heart. Moreover, when I read those witty and elegant Writers, who have exercised their Pens in illustrating Female Glories, in erecting Galleries of Heroical Women, and collecting Examples of their Constancy, Conjugal Love, and other Virtues; O! how am I delighted, how am I inflamed with Emulation of that honour and esteem those Authors have purchased to themselves thereby! And, had my Stars been so propitious and bountiful to my Nativity, as to have inspired me with a competent portion of Wit, I should not have conceived any Argument either so worthy in itself, or so agreeable to my Genius, as the Commendation of Ladies. And I shall not stick to confess to you, as my Friend, that once I had a design in my head, to have compiled a History of the Lives of Constant Wives and Mistresses: nor did any thing hinder my proceeding in that work, but the discouragement I received from the vast Multitude of them; I foresaw my whole Life would be too short but only to enumerate them, much more to give each one her due praises. So that you may well perceive, how irreconcilable an Antipathy I have to any such opinion, as derogates from the Honour due to the Immutability of that delicate and sweet Sex, which the kindness of Nature made for our Comfort, solace, and delight, and without the assistance of which we should fall short of doing that most excellent Act, wh●ch witnesseth the perfection of our Being, which makes us immortal in spite of Death, and brings us to some resemblance of the Divine original of all things. Let us, therefore, search for some other Cause (besides the Levity of Woman's nature) to salve the adventure that hath befallen our Ephesian Matron.  
To impute it to the force of the Wine the Soldier gave her, is to pass-by the Grand and Principal Agent, and rest in what was but an Accessary at most; to lay the whole weight of the wonder upon what seems to have had no more than a finger in it. For, first the Quantity she drank, though sufficient to renovate her spirits, cherish her vital warmth, and quicken the motion of her well-nigh congealed blood; was yet too little to intoxicate her brain, and inflame her to the height of desires so inconsistent, so repugnant to the frigid temper and low condition it found her in. And, as to the Quality of it; though good Wine be the Milk of Venus, and as subtle and powerful a betrayer of Chastity, as a Nurse or Midwife, as Night, as Opportunity, yea as Gold itself, (which the Ancients intimated in placing the Chapel of Venus behind the Temple of Bacchus; and Aristotle, in that speaking of Wine and Drunkenness in his third Problem, he toucheth upon Venery in his fourth: And is a chief reason why the Rhenish-wine Houses are so much frequented by our Gallants.) Yet doth it seldom work that effect, but where it meets with bodies predisposed to admit and concur with its sprightly and heightening influence. For, as all Natural Agents have their power and energy limited by the capacity of the Patients, upon which they operate; so in particular, Wine is not so universal an inspirer of Amorous and hot inclinations, as not sometimes to meet with resistance and suppression, in persons of cold Temperaments, or chaste Resolutions. And, therefore, whensoever it heateth and irritateth to Courtship, it doth not more than add some sparks to that inward Fire, which, however cunningly raked up in the ashes of apparent Modesty, was yet scorching before, and wanted not much of breaking forth into a furious Flame. So that our Matron having not enlarged her draughts beyond the bounds of temperance and sobriety; and being by her long fasting, sorrow, and remaining in the cold, (all which are professed and irreconcilable Enemies to Venus,) so debilitated, that we ought not to believe she had much of that fuel in her veins, which the spirits of Wine enkindle, when it produceth that burning Appetite we are speaking of: It cannot consist with reason to aggravate her facility, by transferring it wholly upon the innocent means of her refreshment and recovery.  
To what then may this extrraordina●y accident be referred? Why, in my judgement, to nothing so favourably and probably, as to the Author of so many wonderful adventures, Love. For, though I will not undertake to explain the mysterious nature of th●s Passion, which all are subject to, and none clearly understand; and think it as well defined by him, who said, It is I know not what, which came in I know not whence, and went away I know not how; as by Socrates, who called it the Desire of Beauty; or, even by St. Thomas himself, who affirmed it to be, A complacency of the Appetite in th● thing which is lovely: Yet thus much I have learned from dear experience, that it is an imperious Passion, which, once entered upon the borde●s of the mind, instantly becomes a Tyrant, overrunning all the faculties, subverting the Laws and government of Reason, and demolishing all the Fortresses, that either Wisdom or Modesty can raise against it▪ It is a kind of Magic, against which Nature hath given us no power of resistance; for, insinuating insensibly into the Soul, like a masked enemy, it suddenly surpriseth and ta●es possession of all the strengths of it, and like a subtle poison, discovers not its entrance, till it be secure of conquest. It proclaims war, and triumphs at once. It betrayeth us with secret complacency, and then hurrieth us toward ruin, which is the more inevitable, because we admit and suffer it with delight. Like the venomous Spiders of Calabria▪ it destroys us with tickling, and making us dance. While we take it for a sweet and charming harmony, it seduceth us to great and dangerous disorders. It sco●neth the prevention of Prudence, and slighteth the prepossession of Grief. It grows more violent by opposition; Counsels do but heighten its fury, and dangers and difficulties, like water poured upon wildfire, increase the flames of it; and prohibition provokes it. Being once in love, we believe our desires cannot be noble, until they are extreme; nor generous, unless they be rash. The greatest, the wise●t, the most resolved spirits, have felt the force of it; nor is Ambition itself (esteemed Lord Paramount of all the Passions) able to contest with it, for absolute dominion over the soul. For an example of Wisdom, reflect on Solomon, who laid-b● all his divine Precepts, and gave himself over to dotage upon Pharaoh's fair daughter: and upon Appius Claudius, Decemvir of Rome, a Lawgiver, and most austere man, who yet was transported to a mad degree of love. For one of Ambition, we have Marcus Antonius, half-partner of the great Empire, who in the Zenith of all his power and greatness, found the power of Cleopatra's beauty strong enough to make him her willing captive. And for Resolution, we have the memorable confession of Lais, That she had more Philosophers, and those Stoics too, her servants, than men of any other sort. Divine Plato (you may remember) confesses himself so passionately in love with his Archianassa, that forgetting his doctrine of Ideas, he knew none but that of her face: and the grave Stagirite sacrificed to his Herpelis, as to Ceres. But what need we these examples, to assure the tyranny of Love over even Heroical Minds, when the frequency of it hath given occasion to men to call it the Heroical Passion: And when the ancient Poets meant no other thing, by their fictions of the Amours of jupiter and other Deities, but this, that Love mastereth the greatest and wisest men in the world. This considered, what wonder is it, if our Matron, a weak and frail Creature, being shot at by the winged Archer (whose Arrows have this Faculty, that they cure the Ulcers of sorrow in a moment) and pierced to the quick, soon yielded up herself to be led captive among those many millions that attend his triumphant Chariot? So that if this new Affection of hers be a Fault, certainly it is such a one as was not in her power to avoid; and all who understand the force of such secret flames, as we may believe she felt, will easily excuse.  
Nor ought you to blame her for the Haste she made in the payment of that Homage, which all women own, and first or last must pay to the Inspirer of such desires; since you know not what strong and pressing Arguments, and Motives the adventurous Soldier used to induce her to that dispatch:  

For the Soldier hath ikneled so  
And told her all his love, and all his woe,  
And sworn so deep to her to be true,  
For well or woe, and change for no new;  
And as a false Lover so well can plain,  
The silly Matron rued on his pain;  
And took him for husband, and became his wife  
For evermore, while that hem last life.   
and s●nce the wisest Women commonly esteem those servants most valiant and worthy their favours, who are quickest in obtaining them: qui timidè rogat, docet negare. I am not ignorant, there are a sort of Heretics in Love, whose prize no pleasures that come easily; and think it below their Courage to engarrison that Fort▪ whose Gates are thrown open at first summons: as if Delight were the more grateful and transcendent for being difficult and tedious in acquisition. But, our Matron was none of these. She was too Wise, too Masculine, to insist upon the nicety of a long Courtship, and thought not the way to oblige, was by delay. No, finding her defences weak, and the Besieger strong; she conceived she might make the better conditions, by how much the sooner she surrendered. Besides, Fortune had fai●ly given her an opportunity; and Prudence would not permit her to neglect it. There have been many memorable adventures in the World, in which, Time itself hath had a principal hand: and there are certain Fortunate and Critical Minutes wherein many things are to be effected, that ever after are impossible. Why then should this Woman be accused of extreme Levity, only for taking occasion by the Foretop, and, at siest Encontre, making sure of what, perhaps, she otherways might have lost. When you are Hungry, and have good Meat before you; will you account it kindness in your Host, to detain you from eating, with tedious Ceremonies, and long impertinent discourses, till the dishes are grown cold and unsavoury? What reason is there, then, that any one should think it so heinous an offence against the modesty of Womanhood, that our Matron addressed herself to the satisfaction of an appetite as Natural, (and many times as impatient of delay) as Hunger, as soon as fortune had proffered her the means wherewithal to do it? For my part, seriously (think others what they please) though I will not justify the Act she did, yet I do not judge it to be the worse, because done so soon.  
But, you (perhaps) may think, that I have clothed the deformity of this Woman's fact, in too favourable and plausible a dress of Phrase; making king that Noble and Heroic passion, Love, to be the Cause of her so easy prostitution, which was, indeed, the mere and proper effect of a Carnal Appetite, or base and unbrideled Lust.  
To this, therefore, I say; that notwithstanding the nice distinction, which Flattery hath imagined, betwixt Love and Lust; as if one were the genuine offspring of the Mind alone; the other the spurious issue of the Body, which never intruded herself into the society of her Sister, without debauching and dishonouring her Virgin and immaculate Nature: yet those unprejudicate Enquirers, who have searched deep enough into the Origine and essence of that desire of Conjunction in persons of different Sexes, or the Appetite of Male and Female each to other, which is generally understood to be Love, (for, we are not now upon the consideration of Amity, or Friendship) will not be easily persuaded, that there is any so great dissimilitude or Disparity betwixt them, as that they may not be deduced from one and the same principle, at least, that they can be divided. This, I presume, will be somewhat distasteful to the pure and refined Disciples of the Platonique sect, who profess to be ennamoured only on the beauties of the Soul, wholly rejecting all respects of flesh and blood, and entirely devoting their Courtship to contemplate, and entrance themselves in admiration of the lovely Ideas of Virtue: nor will the Ladies (made, doubtless of a mould much finer and less sulphureous, than other courser Mortals are,) be well pleased to hear their sweet and cleanly Flames should be aspersed with the mixture of gross and sooty Exhalations, such as arise from ardours of the Body. And, therefore, Truth itself, (which I prefer to all other interests) engageth me to assert this my opinion, and make it appear, that though it be a Paradox, yet it is highly Reasonable. Which that I may do, I ask leave to present you a Picture of Love in little, not copied from the descriptions of other men's Fancies, but drawn to the life from the very original of Nature, and (if I am not much mistaken) so full of true resemblances, that who so shall attentively contemplate the same, will, I doubt not, esteem it as a piece, not altogether unworthy to be preserved in the Cabinet of their Memory.  

Of Love in general.  
MOst certain and manifest it is, that the proper object of all Appetites, is Good, either Real, or only Apparent; and the Reason is, because the Object, in which this Good is perceived or apprehended, is conducible to the perfection of that thing, whose the Appetite is, or which desireth it. For, Appetite or desire always presupposeth in the thing desiring, a want or Need of the thing desired; and what is in want cannot be perfect, without receiving what it doth want So that the Agreeableness, or Profitableness, or Good, which is betwixt the Nature of the thing wanted, or desired, and the perfection requisite in the Nature of the thing wanting or desiring; is the Cause why it is desired, or loved; and also the ground of that Pleasure or Delight, which is perceived in the obtaining or Fruition of it. And this, certainly, is the Foundation of all the Inclinations, that are to be found in Nature; and of the Love we have for all that is truly, or seemingly Good for us. I say, Good for us; because there is no such thing in the World, as Good Absolute; nor do we account any thing Good, but with Respect to ourselves.  
Now, forasmuch as the agreeableness in the object, to the nature of the thing desiring it, is the cause both of the Appetite's being particularly determined to it, as that which serveth to its perfection (which consisteth only in the advancement of its Power into Act,) and also of that Pleasure which attends the attainment of it: it cannot be denied, but the Appetite is accompanied or rather ushered by a Faculty of Knowing or discerning that Agreeableness, wheresoever it meeteth with it among objects, and that directeth the Appetite thereunto; since, what is not known to be Agreeable, cannot be desired. And since those inward Motions, which men call Love and Pleasure, are but the results of such Conceptions, as are form in the Imagination and Understanding, after the Appetite hath been excited by the Good or Convenience of the thing proposed to it; There must be therefore a faculty of knowing what is Convenient, what not. And since to know a thing, is to have a Conception, or Notion of it, correspondent to its Nature, which declareth or manifesteth its self only by its Qualities and Proprieties: those Qualities are the Signs or Marks, by which the Faculty Cognitive is enabled to judge of its Good, or Evil, and accordingly represent it to the Appetite, to be embraced or rejected. And this, as it is the reason why Nature furnished all Animals with senses, and Man, with both sense and Reason, by which, the Marks or Signs of Convenience in objects, may be perceived, and so the Nature of the thing, in which they appear, be made known to the Faculty, whose Function it is to judge of them: So is it likewise of this, that whatsoever the senses (the observers of the marks of Good and Evil) represent to the Imagination (which formeth Conceptions of them accordingly) for Good, Profitable, or Agreeable, is accounted Good, or Fair, or Beautiful, and afterward desired or pursued by the Appetite. This considered, the rule of pure Consequence teacheth, that the reason why Corporal Beauty so delighteth the senses, and rav●sheth the so●l, is only because it is a Mark or Sign of that interior power or agreeableness, which is in the subject to which it adhereth, and which our Appetite wanteth, in order to its attainment of that perfection, which is required to its nature. So that, in this Sense, we cannot much find fault with his definition of Beauty, who called it the splendour of Goodness; nor condemn his of Love, who termed it Need, or want. And this we conceive sufficient to adumbrate the Nature of Love in General.   

Of Love betwixt Male and Female.  
TO come up closer to our Argument, therefore; I must put you in mind, that all the Powers or Faculties, which together with their respective Appetites, complete the Nature of Man, were conferred upon him for one of these two ends; either for the well-being and conservation of him in his single and Individual person; or for the conservation of him in specie, or in his kind. Those which conduce to the well-being and conservation of him in his Person, are the Faculties of Understanding or Reasoning of Imagination, of Memory, of Voluntary Motion, of Life, and of Nutrition▪ And that which continueth him in his Kind, is the Faculty of Generation, or Procreation, by which he begets his like.  
Now this Power-Generative, (for the rest belong not to our present Theme) being not wholly in the Male, nor wholly in the Female, but divided betwixt them, the Active part being the propriety of the Male, and the Passive of the Female; so that the Conjunction of both Sexes is necessary to the perfection of this Power, which consisteth in the actual production of their like: it is not to be doubted, but the Appetite belonging to this Power, and by which both Male and Female are solicited, and as it were, impelled to the Act of Generation, to which this Faculty tendeth, is accompanied with a certain Knowledge of the Goodness or Fitness in the object, upon which it is to operate, in order to the attainment of its perfection. And this Goodness or Fitness, being not otherwise to be known but by the outward Marks, or signs of it appearing in Male and Female, is no sooner discovered to the senses and Imagination, but the Appetite attending that knowledge, is excited and set on work to Love and pursue that object, in which that Fitness doth appear. To speak more plainly; the Goodness or Fitness to Generation in the Male, being nothing but the due Constitution of him in all those Organs or Instruments, which Nature hath ordained for the performance of that Function, on his part; and likewise the Fitness in the Female, being the due Constitution, of the Instruments, provided by Nature for the execution of that passive power, which is on he●s; and the Marks, by which that Fitness makes itself known, being the shape and form of the body, and all its parts peculiar to each sex: hence it unavoidably follows, that the Male-Beauty is only the mark of the good Constitution for the Active power in Generation; as the Female-Beauty is only the mark of the Passive; and that the Desire or Appetite, which ariseth upon the discovery of those signs, and soliciteth either Male or Female to the Act of Conjunction, in order to the performance of the Function proper to the power Generative, is that passion we call Love of a different sex. For, that de●ire, which carrieth toward the end, must be introduced by a knowledge of the Fitness of the means tending thereto; and that Fitness consisting in the due Constitution of all parts or organs requisite to the attainment of the end, and discovering itself only by the outward Pulchritude of the body, peculiar to each sex: it cannot be denied, but that Fitness is the only Motive to the Appetite; nor that the Desire arising upon the Knowledge of that Fitness, is the Love, and the only Love that can be betwixt Male and Female, as Male and Female.   

Of Love determined.  
BUt beside this General Love of a different sex, which is no more but the Appetite of Procreation Indefinite, there is yet another Love, in which the same Appetite, though respecting diversity of sex, is yet determined to some one particular Person; and such as are in this Passion, are properly said to be in Love. Now the Question doth concern, not the General Love betwixt Male and Female, but this Particular or Determined Love: since this seems to be that, which Ladies mean, when they distinguish Love from Lust.  
Concerning this Personal Love, therefore, I say; that forasmuch as it cannot be without diversity of Sex, and tendeth as violently, (if not more) to the same end, as the general or indefinite Love doth, viz. to the Act of Procreation; and in both those respects doth participate of that sensual pleasure, which accompanieth the indifferent Love: it follows, that Love of the Sex, and Love of some one person of that Sex▪ make but one and the same affection or Passion in Nature. Nor is there indeed, any other cause that makes this Love quit its indifferency to all of that divers Sex, and fix only upon some one single pe●son, but only this; that the per●on Loving, (or rather in Love) apprehending that the Marks or Signs of the power Generative are more conspicuous in the person loved, than in any other of that Sex; thereupon imagineth, that the Fruition of that pe●son, (that is, the doing that Act, whi●● is necessary to continuation of the kind, with that person) will better conduce to the satisfaction of the Appetite to Generation, than the doing of it with any other. So that this Opinion or Imagination in the person loving, is the cause why the person loved, is courted and pursued with that violence of desire, which always agitateth and disquieteth those that are in Love.  
And hence it comes, that comely and proper men (as they call them) such as are of good complexions, and well proportioned bodies, are generally in great reputation with Women: and f●ir and Beautiful Women, in as high esteem and honour with Men. For, it being a certain rule in Nature, t●at all inward pours are more or less perfect, according ●o the more or less exact temperament and structure of the parts of the body, upon which they depend; and that the exact shape and constitution of the body and all its parts, are marks of the perfection of the same pours: where the senses discover the Marks in a more eminent measure, there the soul concludeth to find the Powers themselves also in as eminent a degree; and thereupon loves and pursues with proportionate ardency, the person in whom they appear to be▪ For particular instance; Comeliness and Strength of body in a Man, being signs of the goodness of the power Generative; Women no sooner perceive those signs, but well understanding what they signify, they cannot choose but have a greater liking, esteem and inclination for such men, in whom they appear, than for others, in whom they do not appear, at least so conspicuously. On the other side, sweetness of complexon, justness of stature, and all that is comprised in the word Beauty, being the Character which Nature hath imprinted upon a Woman, by which we may judge of the Goodness of the passive power in Generation, in such a Woman; no sooner is this Character discerned by the eyes of men, but they instantly know what it imports, and thereupon honour and love those Women, in whom that Mark is seen more than others, in whom it doth not show itself, in so full a measure.  
To confirm the Tru●h of this, besides, the Natural Reasons here alleged, we have also the suffrage of Experience. For, what woman was ever in love with an Eunuch, though otherwise exceedingly handsome? Nay, what Woman is there, that doth not secretly despise any man, of whose insufficiency (whether Native, or by Misfortune) in the power of Generation, she hath had any the least notice? on the otherside, what Man hath ever continued his passion for a Woman, after he hath been once convinced of her impotency to club with him in the Act of procreation▪ though she were, in all other things, the most beautiful of her Sex? Which considered; I confess, I find myself a little inclined to suspect, that few wives who have no Children by their Husbands, love them half so well as they pretend: and that as few Husbands abstain from breach of wedlock, who have reason to complain of the Barrenness of their Wives. For, though Discretion may make them secret and ●lose in their amorous stealths, yet (without the restraint of great virtue) desire of Issue, and experiment of their Abilities, will go near to make them affect change.  
Now, after all this, I hope it will be no longer a Paradox, that the indefinite desire of different Sex (which is generally called Lust) and desire of some one particular person of that different Sex (which is generally called Love,) are one and the same Appetite to the Act of Procreation.  
Nevertheless that I may not seem either ignorant of what hath given occasion to men to imagine a real difference betwixt them, or willing to innovate a vulgar phrase, by which they express their different sentiments; I shall not omit to observe, that when we Condemn this Appetite, we give it the disparageing name of Lust; and when we Approve it, we cloth it in the neater word, Love: so that Lust and Love, nevertheless, are no more but divers Terms, by which we express the divers Conceptions we have of one and the same Passion.  
Nor will it be a whit to my disadvantage, if I add also; that the desire of different Sex in general, is not accompanied with that Delight of the Mind, as the Determined or personal Love is; since, in the Former, men seek only to please themselves, whereas in th● Latter, they seek to please the Woman, whom they love, as much as, if not more than themselves; and by how much more they find themselves able to please their Mistresses, by so much the more are they Delighted themselves. For, this Delight is not sensual, as being that Pleasure or joy of the Mind, which consisteth in the opinion we have of our own Power or Ability to please another, especially, the Person whom we love; and therefore an effect rather of Charity (which is a Desire to assist another in obtaining what he wanteth, or is pleased with when he hath it) than of this Love betwixt Male and Female, of which I now discourse: and so hinders not, Love and Lust to be still one and the same thing, as I have proved it to be.   

Of Platonic Love.  
IT remains only, that we briefly examine the Purity of that Love▪ which such profess, who distinguish themselves from the herd of sensual Inamorato's, by the title of Platoniques: which that we may do impartially, it is requisite we inquire fi●st into the Original▪ and then the Truth o● the Opinion, (which they in profession at least) hold.  
Plato, in his Dialogue entitled Convi●ium, or, The Banquet (the Argument whereof is Honourable Love) bringeth in Socrates, a wise, grave, and continent Philosopher, taking high delight in the society of Alcibiades, a beautiful Youth; and loving him passionately, though virtuously, not for any sensual respect, but only to impregnate him with that Knowledge and those Vi●tues, with which his own Mind was pregnant, and which he perceived Alcibiades was capable of, and which he desired to infuse into him by continual instructions and example. And the sum of Plato's Opinion concerning this kind of Love, is this. That a Man, whose Mind is full of Wisdom and other Virtues, is naturally inclined to seek out, and dearly affect some beautiful person, of age and capacity to conceive, in whom he may by frequent instructions and familiar ways of insinuation, beget or produce the like Wisdom and Virtues: and that the delight he receives therein is very great, as the Motive to it is very honourable. And this is the Idea of true Platonic Love.  
Now, as for the Truth of this opinion; though it be honourable to instruct the ignorant, and sow the seeds of virtue in the minds of such as though fertile in capacity, were yet actually barren of them before; and though it be a high delight of the Mind to propagate knowledge, and make the wisdom of others derive itself from the bounty of ours: yet am I not convinced, either that there is any such strong natural inclination generally in wise and virtuous persons, to seek and court the ignorant and prone to vice, that they may instruct and make them like themselves; because Experience assureth that few Learned and Prudent men are so easily Communicative, as Plato represents Socrates to have been, at least, out of mere Natural inclination; or that they select none but beautiful and youthful persons to become their Scholars, since Beauty of the body is not always a certain mark of singular Capacity in the Mind to Science and Virtue; and there have been many eminent in both, who yet were not adorned with Corporal comeliness.  
In this particular, therefore, I am inclined to be of Lucian's belief, who, though a great admirer of generous Friendship as his excellent discourse, Entitled 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 sufficiently witnesseth; doth yet suspect the honesty of this Platonique Love, in his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, where he saith plainly, Animi amorem quendam cominiscuntur; & cum corporis pulchritudinem vereantur amare, virtutis sese vocant amatores.  
But, granting the opinion to be wholly true, as Plato delivers it; yet that Inclination, or Desire to eradicate Ignorance and Vice, and plant Wisdom and virtue in the Mind of another, is, indeed, nothing but Charity (which is a generous passion, by which we are willing and desirous to assist and advance others, as well as ourselves) and hath nothing in it of that Sexual Love, of which we have now discoursed. Again, if Socrates' honourable Love, be the same with our Charity (as evidently it is) why should it not be more honourable Love, or greater Charity, to endeavour to give perfections of the Mind, to such as are deficient in those of the body; than to give them to those, who seem so much the less to desire or value their inward beauties, by how much the more they possess of the outward; since Want is always the measure of Charity? Furthermore, though Socrates might be continent; it follows not, that therefore all were so, who afterward adhered to this opinion: witness the Pedagogue in Petronius Arbiter, and many others, whose stories Modesty will not suffer me to relate. Once more; Were all Plato ●s Disciples in this particular, Continent; yet it is not necessary their Love should be therefore Pure, or void of all sensual respects: because (as the greatest Philosopher of our age hath excellently observed) The Continent have the passion they contain, as much, and more than they that satiate the Appetite. But leaving Plato's opinion, let us see how the Love which our Modern Platoniques pretend to be justifiable thereby, do agree therewith.  
First, our Platoniques are generally of different sexes; whereas Socrates and his Darling, Alcibiades, were both Masculine. Secondly, ours are commonly both Young, and in the Canicular or scorching years of life: but Socrates was Ancient, and superannuated for the incitements of wanton desires. Thirdly, Ours are generally far short of that Wisdom and those Virtues, that are requisite to engender the like Excellencies in others. Again, Ours pretend to love, because they would Learn, not Teach, and the Male Platonique (forsooth) is ever admiring and extolling the content he takes in contemplating the Ideas of those rare Virtues, which he discovers daily in the Female while she (good modest Soul) is as much transported with those perfections of Mind, she discerns in Him: when indeed, those Virtues and Excellences are kept so close, that no person else can perceive any such in either of them. Lastly, Ours, (especially the Women) are for the most part Married to others, and so ought to propagate Virtue, (if they have so much as to spare) rather in their Husbands and children, than in Strangers: but, alas! those Relations are despised, in comparison of the Noble L●ver; who alone deserves to be made wiser and better. I could reckon up many other Differences more, but these are enough to let you see, what vast disparity is betwixt the Platonique Love of the Ancients, and that of Modern Puritan Lovers; and how little reason they have to usurp either the Example of Socrates, or authority of Plato, for thei● patronage▪ I hope, therefore, the wise and virtuous will not be offended, if I take leave (without prejudice to that noble Amity, called Friendship) to suspect that this Platonique Passion is but an honourable pretence to conceal a sensual Appetite, and is (in plain truth) Cousin German at least to that Love, which made our Ephesian Matron so gentle and obliging to the Soldier. To whom I think we may now return, without disturbing him in those pleasures, we saw him addressing himself to reap, in the bosom of his new Mistress, when we left them to their mutual solace. ¶.  
See the vicisitudes of contrary Passions, which keep their turns in agitating and perplexing the unsettled mind of Man! See the Unconstancy of Fortune, which now frowns and turns her back upon the same person, whom but an hour since she seemed to court, and indulge with the choicest of her favours! Or, see rather the method of Fate, which entertaineth us with such a mixture of Sweet and Bitter▪ as that no Pleasure is sincere; which (like Physicians) hath few Cordials without some Poison in them; and which seldom feasteth us, without obliging us to taste of some dish of the second Course, that makes us, with nauseousness and regrete, soon disgorge the delicious morsels of the first. For,  
Returning to the So●ldier, whom not many minutes since, we left in a condition of so much joy and pleasure, that Caesar himself, had he beheld him, could not have forborn to envy his felicity, and wish himself in his place; we find a greater change in him, than he had lately wrought in the despairing Matron; and perceive him striving more to destroy himself than he had before to preserve Her. Fear, Anger, Rage, and Despair, have conspired to distract him. One while he casteth up his eyes, that flame with fury; beats his breast; tears his hair; stampeth upon the ground; and useth all the gesture of a man transported to perfect madness with sudden and violent passion. Another while, he stands unmoved, silent, and with eyes fixed upon the earth; as if he were consulting the infernal spirits, what to do with himself. Then suddenly starting, he rolls about his sparkling eyes, lifts up his head, sighs as if he would crack the Fibres of his heart, and breaks fo●th into short and incoherent, but desperate ejaculations. He exclaims even against Heaven; he defies Fate to make him more miserable; he reproaches Fortune with her giddiness; he curses the malevolence of his Stars, and renounces Providence. Now he condemns himself for negligence; then he reflects upon the innocent Woman, as the unhappy occasion of his wretchedness; and thinking that then he had lighted upon the true and chief cause of his Calamity, he falls to imprecate all the plagues and dire mischiefs in nature upon the heads of her whole Sex and vomits out these blasphemies against them.  
Ah Woman, woman (saith he) why did Nature make you, unless, repenting the perfection she had given to Man, she found out you to lessen it again? For, Man who otherwise would be more than half- Divine; only by being obnoxious to the corrupt temptations of Woman, is made less than half- Human. What misery ever befell him, in which Woman had not a hand? What crime did he ever commit; to which she did not incite him? What Tragedy hath at any time been acted in the Theatre of the world, in which a Woman had not her part? What war, What desolation, What ruin hath not found its beginning in that mischievous Sex? How many mighty Nations▪ flourishing Kingdoms, prosperous Commonwealths, populous Cities, and noble Families, have owed their destruction▪ to either the Malice or P●ide, or Lust of Woman? What are you Women, but the poison of Man's Innocence and Peace, which Nature hath gilded over with a splendid outside, that we might swallow it down with the less suspicion? All your beauties, all your charms are but like the apples of Sodom, which have fair and inviting rinds, and yet within are nothing but stinking dust; you are the true Sirens, that enchant us with the melody of your voice, and then hold us captives in the chains of beastial slavery. You are the true Hiena's, that allure us with the fairness of your skins; and when folly hath brought us within your reach, you leap upon us and devour us. You are the traiters to Wisdom; the impediment to Industry; the obstacles to honour; the softners of conurage; the perturbers of tranquillity; the clogs to virtue, and goads that drive us to all Vice, Impiety and Ruin. You are the Fool's Paradise, the Wiseman's Plague, and the grand Error of Nature. What shall I say? I want words to express your pravity; as I did my Reason when I set my foot into this unlucky, this fatal place.  
Detestor omnes, horreo, fugeo, execror.  
Sit ratio, sit natura, sit dirus furor;  
Odisse placuit.  
Having thus belched out this invective against poor innocent Women (who deserved much better language at his hands) his wild imagination, (which catcheth at any thing) wheels about, and he thus vomits the remainder of his Choler upon himself.  
What damned Spirit was it that conducted me into this Charnel-house, and made me quit my duty? Where was the care and Vigilancy of my Good Angel, when he left me to be seduced into this dismal Vault? Would I had fallen into a den of Lions and Tigers, when I lighted upon this Woman here: then had I died innocent, and without dishonour; whereas now I have contracted a guilt, whose punishment is an infamous death, and that inevitable, unless I prevent the stroke of Justice, and become my own Executioner. Which being the only refuge my Disaster hath left me; why am I thus slow in addressing myself unto it? why do I waste that time, in weak and fruitless complaints, which I ought to employ in delivering myself from the extremity of my misfortune, that is yet to come? Dye I must by sentence of the Magistrate; why then should I defer to fall by my own hand? To vindicate one's self from extreme, and otherwise inevitable Calamity, by Sui-cide is not (certainly) a Crime, but an act of Heroic Fortitude. I am resolved therefore, my sword shall prevent the ignominy of the Gallows, and by forcing open the Gates of death, I will stop up the way to public shame.  
Caecus es● ignis stimulatus ira  
Nec Regicurat, patiturué fraenos:  
Ha●d timet mortem; cupit ire in ipsos obvius enses.  
Here▪ he puts a period to his desperate Harangue, and hasting to put one to his life also, he suddenly unsheath's his sword; and beginning to set the Hilt of it upon the ground, that he may cast himself upon the point, he is most seasonably prevented by the pious Matron. Who being all this while ignorant of the Cause of his Fury, had been wholly possessed with amazement at the extravagant effects of it; so that she minded not a word of all those bitter reproaches he had cast forth against her whole Sex; but quickly ●owsed out of the stupifying fit of wonder, wherewith she had been invaded, by seeing him draw his sword; she throws herself into his arms, and partly by grasping his hands, partly by the charms of her kisses, tea●s, and entreaties, she so far becalms his rage, as that he seems not unwilling to prorogue at least the execution of that self-assasination, he intended, until he had convinced her of the necessity of it. He tells her therefore, in sho●t, that the body of a certain notorious villain, which he had been appointed to guard, was taken down from the Gibbet, an● conveyed away; that the penalty of ●he like death, denounced by the Governor against him and his fellows (who had transferred the whole charge upon his care and vigilancy) was certain and inevitable, unless he killed himself, by way of prevention; that if she could have any sentiments of kindness for so unfortunate a wretch, as this sad Accident had made him; there was now no way left for her to express them, but by permitting him quietly to avert the infamy of a public Execution, by a private withdrawing himself into the other world; and that it was some content to him, in this his Agony, that he should leave his body to be dissolved into the same dust with that of her former Lover, of whose singular Worth, Fame hath diffused so honourable a report. And having thus hastily delivered to her the Cause of his desperate Resolution, he gins again to free his hands of the encumbrance of hers, that he may speedily effect it.  
But, good and tender hearted Creature! her Affection was too great, to suffer her to yield to any thing conducing to his death; and the more he strives to disengage her breast from his, the closer she clings to him; vowing withal, That if he wounded himself, it should be by forcing the sword first through her body. ●o which she added, that she would not live to be so miserable, as to lose so dear a person so soon, and in the same pl●ce, where she had been so happy to find him unexpectedly; that, very Gratitude forbade her to consent to the taking away his life, who had lately and miraculously preserved hers, and (as she had some reason to believe) infused a new life into her; that it would be less affliction to her, to die before him, than to survive and behold at once the dead bodies of Two persons, each of which she had loved infinitely above her own life; and that the death he so much dreaded from from the Hangman, was not so unavoidable, as his Fears had made him imagine, but there were other ways of evasion, besides self-murder, and would he but follow her advice, she doubted not to put him upon such a course, as should procure both his own security and her content. The Soldier, more effectually wrought upon by this last clause, than by all else she had said; and remembering the old saying, that Wom●n are always more subtle and ingenious at Evasions, in sudden Exigences, than men: he easily promiseth (as who would not in his case?) to listen to her Counsel, and pursue it also, if it appeared reasonable.  
Well then, saith this Good-Woman; since the body of the best and greatest of mortals, is but a lump of Clay, after the departure of the soul, which gave it life, sense, and motion; that all Relations are extinguished in Death, all Piety is determined in the Grave; and that it is but Charity to use the relics of the Dead, in case of necessity, to preserve the Living: why should not I dispense with the Formality of posthume Respects to the putrifying Corpse of my deceased Husband, and make use of it for the preservation of my living Friend, with whose life my own is inseparably bound up, and whose danger▪ therefore is equally mine? Come, therefore, my Dear, and let us take my Husband's body out of his Coffin and place it upon the Gibbet, in the room of the Malefactor, which you say hath been stolen away. Death (you know) doth so change & disfigure the Countenance, as to disguise it from the knowledge of even the most familiar Acquaintance. Who then can distinguish this his naked body f●om the other▪ Besides, we will besmear his face with blood and dirt, and rather than fail in any part of resemblance, break his Arms and L●gs, and make the same wounds in him, the Executioner did in the Rogue's: so that his nearest Relations sh●ll not be able to find a difference, much less shall strangers, who come to gaze upon such horrid spectacles, out of a savage Curiosity, and commonly stand aloof off.  
Here I cannot but cry out with Father, Chaucer, in his Ballad of the praise of Women.  
Lo what gentillesse these women have,  
If we could know it for our rudeness.  
How busy they be us to keep and save  
Both in heal, and also in sickness,  
And alway right sorry for our distress.  
In every manner thus she we they routh,  
Tthat in hem is all goodness and troth▪  
For of all creatures that ever were get and born,  
This wot ye well, a woman was the best.  
By her was recovered the bliss that we had lost▪  
And through the woman we shall come to rest,  
And been ●saved, if that ourselves jest.  
Wherefore me thinketh, if that we had grace,  
We oughten honour women in every place.  
The Soldier quickly approves the Woman's project, how to excuse him; and having no time (for, now day was approaching) to insist upon acknowledgement either of her great Love, or of the felicity of her Wit: he joins his strength with hers, and removes the Husband's Corpse out of the Vault to the Gibbet, whereon he placeth it▪ in the same posture, he had left the villains, omitting no part of those resemblances she had suggested, as requisite to delude the spectators. Which done, He and his incomparable Mistress secretly retire to his obscure lodging, there to consult further, not only of their present safety, but also how they might continue that mutual happiness, which Fortune had so unexpectedly begun betwixt them. And while they are there deliberating, give me leave to deliver myself of a certain Conceit I have in my head, which is, that the witty invention this Matron lighted upon, on the sudden, and in desperate extremity, was that which gave the first occasion to this Proverb, A Woman's wit is always best at a dead lift.   
FINIS.   

THE Cimmerian MATRON, To which is added, THE MYSTERIES And MIRACLES OF LOVE. By P. M. Gent.  
Qui cavet, ne decipiatur; vix cavet, etiam cum cavet:  
Etiam cum cavisse ratus est, is cautor captus est.  Plautus. 
In the SAVOY: Printed for Henry Herringman at the Sign of the Anchor in the Lower-walk of the New-Exchange. 1668.   

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE Ephesian Matron.  
My dearest Friend,  
YOu can be, I perceive, both highly obliging, and no less severe to one and the same Person, in one and the same act. When you were pleased last Summer, to send me your EPHESIAN MATRON, with strict Command, that I should entertain her, as jealous Italians do their Mistresses, mew her up in my Cabinet, from sight of the whole world: You sent a Present (I acknowledge) than which nothing could have been more grateful; but you conjoined therewith a Restriction, than which none could have been more rigorous. You gave me good Wine, and then gelded it with Water; as the Spanish saying is of such, who destroy their own benefits. Like an imperious Lord, you would have had the Lady my Tenent at your will: and after you had made me a free Grant, you inserted a Proviso to render it void. In a word, your Injunction to me, to restrain her from the conversation of all others, was not only tyrannical and inhuman in itself (for, as our great Moralist, and beloved Author, Chaucer, in the Wise of Bath's Prologue. 
He is to great a Diggarde, that will werne  
A man, to light a candle at his Lantern;)  but also inconsistent with both the goodness of her nature, and the freedom of my enjoying the pleasures thereof. For,  
First, the love of Liberty is no less natural to the soft and delicate Sex, than to our harder and martial one: nor doth our Magna Charta contain more Privileges and Franchises, than theirs. Nay, their Beauty, as being the Offspring of light (for Plato defined it to be the lustre of the Soul resplendent in the body) justifies their abhorrence of confinement. Henc● no Lawgivers have ever been so unreasonable, so unhuman, as to abridge Women of their native privilege of a free and open conversation with Men. And we should live but uncomfortably at best, if we denied them, especially while they are young, handsome, and well dressed, to show themselves abroad in company, and appear in frequent assemblies. Besides, as the same Wife of bath speaks in the name of her whole sex, 
We love no man, that taketh keep or charge  
Where that we go; we wool be at our large.  Nor is it less difficult to put restraint upon a Lady of her sprightly and debonair humour, than to imprison the Sunbeams, catch the winds in a net▪ or impound an Eagle (as the Aldermen of Gotham did a Cuckoo) within a hedge: and he who is so well conceited of his vigilancy, or power, as to attempt it; is capable of being persuaded also, that he can make Glass malleable, square the Circle, prevent the decay of beauty by Time, or repair it by the oil of Talk. Novelty is a Loadstone to us all, especially to Women, who naturally are so much given to Curiosity, that some Divines have held, our Great Grandmother Eve had never longed for the forbidden fruit, had it not been forbidden. Hence that Proverb, where Jealousy is Jailor, most break prison, which was literally verified in the Wife of the Gaoler, in Aristenatus; who though strictly watched and locked up by the jealous Coxcomb her Husband, yet found an opportunity to be lose, while she was in strong hold. 
Quisquis vectibus & seris  
Custodit uxorem, cum sibi sapiens videatur Stultus est.   
Again, you were not ignorant, that I am of so Charitable and Communicative a Genius, that I hate to eat my morsels alone, though they be never so sweet and delicious. One of my Maxims is, quo communius, eo suavius; the more delectable I find any thing to myself, the more desirous I am to impart the same to my Friends and Acquaintance: it being not the least of my pleasures, to accommodate and please others.  
Knowing, therefore, on one part, that the Ephesian was amiable, tempting and witty; and on the other, that I am no Monopoliser of such Commodities, but of a public spirit and freehearted: You ought either not to have put her into my hands, or not to have expected I should restrain her from showing herself to the world. Nor am I to be so much blamed, for permitting her to go to London, and appear openly in the New Exchange: as you are for imagining, that so fair and polite a Creature deserved such harsh usage, as to be always confined with me in an obscure Country Village among Fanatic Weavers and Clothworkers.  
But, you'll say (I presume) as poor Malbecco said in excuse of his jealousy; that you grounded your command of Secrecy, not upon distrust of the Matron's virtue, but upon fear of having your judgement and honour brought into question, if the censorious World should once come to know, who it was, that brought her from Rome, and furnished her with so handsome an English dress. And this seems a good Caution; but was it a prudent one? What cause had you for it? More than one. Well then, I guess at your thoughts. You feared, lest some men might be of so severe a brow, as to think you had forgotten the Gravity required in a Philosopher, and one of your ripe years, while you indulged your Pen, the liberty of touching upon an Amorous Argument, though without violation of Modesty, and only for divertisement. You feared, lest others, less acquainted with Books, might mistake the History for a Fiction; and you for the Author: and thereupon take occasion to discredit both. You feared again, lest others might pervert the sense of your Text by a false Comment, interpret what you intended only for an innocent and facete Exercise of your Wit, to be a design of Malice, a studied satire against Women. These are all the Reasons I can imagine you could allege against my exposing to public view that good-natured Stranger.  
To let you see, then, how much you were deceived in the weight of these Objections, suggested to you by your fear of Detraction and Scandal; and withal briefly to Apologise for my own transgression of your Command, in transmitting the Ephesian to the Press (for, that I own to my act:) I find myself obliged to perpend them one by one in the balance of Equity.  
In the First place, you had no reason to think Love to be so juvenile and sooty an Argument, that you could not handle it without contracting stains upon your Reputation. For, that Erotic passion is allowed by all learned men to be a species of Melancholy, and in that name your very Profession gave you a just title to inquire into the origine, nature, causes, signs, symptoms, etc. thereof. Again, you have the authority of no less man than Marsilius Ficinus (in praefat. ad Convivium Platonis) omnem Amorem honestum esse, & bonum, omnesque amore dignos, qui bene dicunt de amore; that all Love is honest and good, and all those worthy to be loved, who speak well of it. Nor need you seek long for Precedents in the case. Among Ancient Philosophers, you have Plato (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) Xenophon (sympos.) Theophrastus (if we may believe Athenaeus, lib. 13. cap. 9) Plutarch, Plotinus, Maximus Tyrius, Cadmus Milesius (who, as Langius, in lib. 1. Epist. 24. observes out of Suidas, wrote no less than 14. Books of Love) and Avicenna. Among the Moderns, Picus Mirandula, Marius' Aequicola, both in Italian; Kornmannus de linea Amoris lib. 3. Petrus Godefridus, in as many; and P. Haedus. Of Physicians, you have Arnoldus de villa nova, Valleriola, Aelian Montaltus, in their Treatises of Melancholy; Valescus de Taranta, Gordonius, Hercules de Saxonia, Savanarola, Langius, Sennertus, Tulpius: some of whom have written express Tractates of the nature and extent of Love-melancholly; and others rare observations of the strange and prodigious Effects of the same. Yea, of Divines themselves you have Examples not a few; of which I shall put you in mind only of two, as most memorable. One is that of Heliodorus, a reverend Bishop, who penned the famous Love-story of Theagines and Chariclea: and when some sour Cato's of that time reprehended him for it, chose rather (saith Nicephorus, Histor. lib. 12. cap. 34.) to leave his Bishopric, than disavow his Book. The other is of Aeneas Silvius, an ancient Theologue; who after the 40. year of his age, as himself confesseth (in praefat. lib. 1.) composed that wanton Roman of Euryalus and Lucretia. To these I could have added other two eminent Divines of our own time and Nation, Mr Burton, who wrote copiously and learnedly of Love-melancholy; and Dr. Tailer, who thought it no diminution of his Gravity, to recount (if I remember well, in his Art of living and dying virtuously) the very same story of the Ephesian Matron, as an instance of Human Frail●y. Nay, I might allege the Loves of Jacob and Rachel, of Sichem and Dinah, Juda and Thamar, Samson and Dalilah, David and Bersheba, Ammon and his Sister, Solomon and Pharaoh's Daughter, etc. all mentioned in Sacred Writ. But I have been already too prolix in an Argument so common and obvious. To conclude this first part, therefore, of your justification; if it were no dishonour to these grave Authors to have treated of Love; why should you, a Natural Philosopher, and yet no old man, apprehend it so dangerous a thing to your good name, to let the world know, you had bestowed a few vacant hours, for your divertisement, upon the same Subject? Had you been at that time twice as old as you are now, I, for my part, should have liked your Characters of Love so much the be●ter: because (as the Lord John answered the Queen in that I●alian Guazzo, lib. 4. de civili conversatione) a grave and discreet Person is fittest to discourse of Amorous adventures, as having more experience, and more stayed judgement, to make wholesome and useful remarks thereupon, for the advice and caution of greener heads.  
As for your Second imaginary Objection, viz. that the Ephesian might be thought the Minerva of your Brain, your natural Daughter, when indeed she was only your adopted one: certainly, my dear Friend, you had laid aside your considering-cap, when you suffered so light a conceit to make any the least impression upon your skull. For, every Scholar very well knows, that the Lady being the Daughter of Petronius Arbiter, in his Satyricon, cannot therefore be less than sixteen hundred years elder than you. Whether she was a True, or a Romantique one; the Author having kept that in his breast, I am not able, after so long an interval of time, to determine. But thus much I can assure those, who doubt of her Reality; that Flavianus, apud Salisberiensem, affirms that the Story is a true one, and that the Woman suffered death for her parricidal wichedness and adultery, as he (in my judgement too severely) styles her fault. This Parenthesis begets a Digression.  
I say, too severely; because her Husband being newly dead of some violent sickness, and she then a Widow, when she so graciously obliged the Soldier: where was either her Parricide, or her Adultery? I should think, that either the Ephesian Laws against removing the dead out of their Sepulchers, were inhumanely strict; if her judges were thereby obliged to account that fact in her equivalent to Parricide: or that Flavianus had been misinformed in that part of the Story. For, as to the other part of her Charge, her so facile and sudden giving herself up to the Soldier's embraces; had the Laws of the place made it capital (which I believe they did not, because I never read of any Laws so extremely rigorous, in any of the Cities of Greece) yet she had wit enough to evade them, by pretending Marriage to her new Lover. Here I have an opportunity to observe to you, that though that excellent Divine, newly quoted, Dr. Tailor, was pleased so to sweeten and extenuate the Levity of the Woman, as to tell his Readers, that she married the Soldier in the Vault, yet I cannot assent to him in that particular. The words of Petronius, indeed, are these; Jacuerunt, (or, as the best Critics read, latuerunt) una, non tantum illa nocte, qua nuptias fecerunt, sed postero etiam ac tertio die, etc. But all who are conversant in the Latin tongue, well understand, that nubere & nuptias facere, is by a modest Metalepsis used, by the ancient Romans, pro 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; as Plautus used it, Pseud. act. 1. scen. 3. and as Voscius (in Etymologic.) judiciously holds Petronius to have used it in this place. Which I occasionally touched upon, not as a defect of judgement, but an excess of Charity in that learned and pious Divine; who was willing to honest the poor woman's lapse, by an interpretation to her most favourable, and to her Sex least offensive.  
To return to my tracing of the Story itself. Jan. Dousa, in his Notes upon this Chapter of Petronius, tells us, that the very same Novel was put into elegant Latin verse by one Romulus, an antique Grammarian; that long after that it was copiously wri●ten in the Germane language, and thence translated again into Latin, by Fr. Modius, a Civilian, who changed the persons, new-mold●d the Story, and published it under this Title: Ludus septem sapientum de Astrei, regii adolescentis, educatione, periculis, etc. and that about the year of Christ ci●. cc. it was rendered in French Rithm by Hebertus, a Clerk. To these I could have added others also, through whose hands our Matron passed, had I not wanted the latest Edition of Petronius by Gabbema, who has been diligent in deriving her pedigree; and to whom I am compelled to refer you. Mean while it is well known even to the vulgar of our Nation, that she hath found a place in the Book of the Seven Wise Masters; and is the chief Person in the Comedy called the Widows Tears. Now it being thus credible, that the Ephesian was no Roman, no Fairy or Child of Fancy, but a very Woman of flesh and blood, and notoriously manifest, that she ●ath been Favourite to many learned and grave Men, who have handed her down (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) from Nation to Nation, from age to age, keeping the torch of her beauty unextinct, and giving her a perpetual Youth by the Nepenthe of their immortal Penns: whoever shall take her for Your Daughter (I do not say Mistress) will discover ignorance enough to render him the subject of scorn and derision; nor will he more easily find belief among the sober and judicious, than if he should report you to be the Soldier, who cured her of her Grief, by easing himself of his Love.  
As for the Last Objection, your fear to fall into the displeasure of the Ladies, who being naturally jealous of the honour of their sex, possibly might suspect the Book to be at best but a well-disguised satire against them: I conceive that to be already sufficiently prevented, partly by what you have, in many places of the Book itself, said in honour of their Virtues; partly by my precedent solutions of your two former Objections. For, since I have made it apparent, that you are not the first Philosopher who hath exercised his wit and pen in consideration of their admirable power of Love, nor Author of Story of that Amorous Adventure of the Ephesian, which Ladies are most likely to condemn: I see no reason, why any Woman should take offence, for that you have in chaste and unblameable language illustrated the nature of the Former, by observing the wonderful Accidents of the Later. All causes are best known by their effects: and in all Arguments, simple Discourses, without Examples, are flat and unpersuasive. To me, therefore, it seems rather a virtue, than a fault in you, that having designed to examine the forces of that Universal Tyrann, Love; You made choice of a short and memorable Story, in which the same were clearly Exemplified. Besides this, I can allege in your defence, what the learned Mycillus, being reprehended for translating some of the profaner Dialogues of Lucian, pleaded in his own; Operi suscepto serviendum fuit, you were obliged to comply with your Province, and to prosecute the work you had taken in hand.  
If it be farther urged, that you bring in the Soldier most bitterly railing upon, and blaspheming the whole Sex, I answer, that you could not with decency avoid it. Because you were bound in your Narration to introduce him in that distemper of Passion, into which his misfortune and danger had transported him. Otherwise you could not conserve the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Aristotle properly calls it) the Decorum of either his Person, or his passion, or the Occasion of it. For, he is delivered to have been no accomplished and polite Courtier, nor unpassionate Stoic, but a blunt and Choleric Fellow, a Common Soldier: and being enraged at the stealing away of the Malefactor's Carcase from the Gibbet, and reflecting upon the obliging Lady (who, as you well observe, deserved more respect and gratitude at his hands) as the chief cause of his negligence: it is highly probable, that he broke forth into dire imprecations & reproaches, such perhaps as those, in which you imagine him to have vented his furious resentments. In Poets, all acknowledge it an Excellency, to accommodate every person whom they introduce, with language and action agreeable to his Character & Passion: why then should the same be a Vice in you, where you were obliged to represent a person almost distracted with a syndrome of Remorse▪ Fear, Anger and Despair; the least of which was violent enough to make him forget his late obligations to his Mistress, and the civility due to her Sex? So that it may with more justice be said, that the Soldier put that invective Harangue into your Pen; than it can, that you put it into his mouth. In fine, I dare be so far your Compurgator in the case, as to swear, that it went against your very soul to be necessitated, by the condition of your Theme, to say any thing that tended to the disparagement of the beautiful and delicate Sex: and however you may suffer by the prejudice of some Ladies, to whom your People and Conversation are ●nknown; there are others, I am sure, who will vindicate you from the infamy of a Woman-hater.  
Now, my dearest Friend, if what you have heard me say here, in way of a short Remonstrance of the Innocency and Candour of your Ephesian, be judged by you sufficient to reconcile the Ladies to her, and myself to you, after my offence committed against both, in exposing her to public censure: truly I shall think myself no less happy in being instrumental to your vindication, than I have thought myself unhappy in being so to your Scandal. If not, there is no way left for me to expiate my fault, but by involving myself also in the same danger, to which my excess of good-nature hath made you obnoxious. Having in sport thrown you into the river, and finding you unable to bear up against the impetuous torrent of Feminine prejudice, that is violent ●nough to overset a Navy: I am resolved to leap in after, and either save you from sinking, or perish with you. Well then, to le● you see how far I dare to hazard my own fame, to preserve yours; behold a Second Matron, whose Amorous Adventure very nearly resembles that of the kind Ephesian. She in like manner falls into an Intrigue (as they now adays call it) with a Soldier, and at first sight too: and encountering no small difficulty in the pursuit of her love, is witty enough both to surmount that, and conceal her stolen pleasures, by a trick that passed for no less than a Miracle. Having found the Novel in the Comus sive Phagesiposia Cimmeria of that witty and erudite Noble Italian, Erycius Puteanus; and out of his elegant Latin translated into plain English; I now bring it as a Handmaid to wait upon the Ephesian, at least, if you think it worthy of that honour. And because I would have this Cimmerian come as near to the Ephesian in Habit and Equipage, as she doth in Manners and Fortune; I have taken a little pains to dress her, as you did the other, li●e the Mistress of a Philosopher. Finding it very undecent to interlace the Narration with Philosophical Speculations, as you have done the former; because her adventure admits no pauses or intervals, wherein the Reader ought to be diverted for Modesty sake: I have been constrained, therefore, to put all her Garniture in one place, at the end, where you will meet with it under the title of The Mysteries and Miracles of Love. ¶  
Here endeth the Squires Prologue, and here after followeth his Tale.   

THE CIMMERIAN MATRON.  
ON the Confines of Cimmeria, there, not long since lived a certain Gentlewoman, of shape more exact than a Statue form by all the rules of Leon Battista Alberti; of features and complexion more sweet and delicate than those of Venus herself; of reputation as clear and immaculate as Diana. Wife she was to one, whom Usury had made Rich, and Riches eminent; with whom she enjoyed all the pleasures of conjugal Love and Fidelity; not so much as dreaming of any content but in his indulgence and embraces.  
But, ah! how mutable are humane Affections! how many fa●lts doth time discover, which were before concealed! This Woman had but newly acquired the Fame of a chaste and obsequious Wife, when Lust s●cceeding into the place of honesty, wrought so unhappy a change in her, that now she began to nauseate the wholesome viands of the Marriage bed, and long for strange and forbidden delicates; insomuch, that her former humour of complacency and fondness by degrees degenerated into a perfect abhorrence of the Person and Company of her most uxorious Husband.  
For, having by accident cast her eyes upon a young Soldier, naked, and bathing himself; Love entered into them together with the image of the tempting object. [nudus membra Pyra●mon—  
She saw the man, that he was like a Knight,  
And suffissant of person and of might,  
And like to been a very Gentleman▪  
And well his words he beset can,  
And had a noble visage for the no●es,  
And form well of brawn and of bones;  
And after Venus had such faireness,  
That no man might be half so fair I guess:  
And well a Lord he seemed ●or to be.  
And for h● was a stranger, some what she  
Liked him the bet; as God do boat,  
To some folk often new thing is sote.]  
Yet be not too severe in condemning the passion of a frail Woman, You, who know how strong and quick assaults Cupid often makes upon Forts so weakly man'd, and with what unresistable Artillery he is provided. Her Husband observing a change in her, at first admired what should be the cause of her discontent, and coldness toward him; using in the mean time all imaginable caresses and endearments to sweeten her melancholy, and dispel those gloomy clouds that had overcast her joys▪ After all his Courtship and Arts of Kindness proving unsuccessful, he grew suspicious (what was indeed too true) that she had removed her Affection from him, and fixed it upon some other person. For, though she carefully concealed from him her flame, and often endeavoured to suppress it, even with showers of tears, especially when 'twas newly kindled: yet that, like wildfire, raging the more by opposition, and breaking forth in flashes of discontent, she was not able so to hid it, but that he perceived her heart was scorched: Her melancholy had quite altered the graceful and charming Air of her face, consumed her spirits, destroyed the Roses in her chee●s, bedimmed the lustre of her sparkling eyes, and reduced her to a dejected and languishing condition. ●o these symptoms you may add restless nights, broken discourses, love of solitude, sudden start, unwilling sighs, and all other signs, by which a wounded heart is forced to betray itself. No wonder then, if the vigilant Usurer soon became confirmed in his jealousy; which yet he used as much cunning to obscure from her, as she had to conceal her passion from him. But Love is no less difficult to be resisted, than to be disguised: and now our impatient Matron can no longer live without the help of her Gallant.  
Having therefore some knowledge of a certain wise Woman of the same Town one of the Granddaughters of Pandarus, such as the French call Messageurs d' Amour, a Bawd of Quality, she addresses to her, and without much difficulty engages her to go Ambassadress to the Man of Arms, and negotiate wi●h him about a fi●m League of Love, and a private interview upon the fi●st fair opportunity. In this Treaty, there needed not much of Rhetoric on the part of this Oratrix, the Soldier, (who was indeed so handsome and proper a Fellow, that Diana herself might without any disparagement to her judgement, have preferred him to Endymion; and wanted not wit enough to se●ve himself of so advantageous an occasion) accepting and assenting to the conditions proposed with all alacrity and gratitude imaginable. So that now nothing was wanting to the mutual ratification o● the amorous Ligue, but an opportunity for the two Princes (for, such their hopes had made them) interchangeably to sign and Seal, which the watchfulness of the jealous Husband made extremely difficult: he making it his main business to observe, not only all the motions of her feet, and whither she went at any time, but those also of her eyes; so that you would have thought the beauteous Io once again committed to the custody of Argus.  
Among a thousand other plots and stratagems his troubled Imagination suggested to him, towards the discovery of what he equally feared and desired to know, he at last fixes upon this, as most hopeful, to pretend a journey from home, and by an unexpected return to surprise his wife; confident, by this artifice, he ●hould at length arrive at the certain knowledge both of the nature and cause of her disease. According to this politic resolution, he prepares for a long journey, and dissembling a sad valediction to his dear Fidessa (who, you may believe, as truly counterfeited sorrow as himself, and moistened her parting kisses with artificial tears) sets forth early in the morning, in an hour long wished for on both sides, nor unlucky to either.  
No sooner was the Husband gone, than the glad Wife thinking that now the propitious time drew near, when her desires should be crowned with solid pleasures, and her imaginary embraces exchanged for real ones; soon gave Commission to her Emissary, who was the very buckle and thong of Venery, instantly to advertise her Paramour, that the Festival of Love was come, and that the Husband's departure had opened the door to their meeting with freedom and security. This welcome message was as speedily delivered as received, and an Assignation made, that immediately after the wearied Sun had refigned his Empire in the upper Hemisphere to Night, and mortals ●egan to supply his absence with an artificial day of Candle-light; our valiant and well provided Lover should come to the back door of his Saint's Chapel, by which he should be introduced and conducted into the Chancel, and thence to the Altar, upon which he was to offer up his Sacrifice and pay his vows; and that done, return to his quarters, without the least suspicion of the Neighbours. In the mean time, lest the Incense he b●ought with him might not be sufficient to maintain the flame of love the whole night, and his zeal cool through too much fervency at first; the provident Matron made ready a Collation of generous Wines, Conserves, and other restorative quelques C●oses, to help carry on the work; and set them in order upon a little Table in her bedchamber. She contrived also her affair so circumspectly, as to send her Chambermaid, who was indeed the Husband's principal spy over her, to the wedding of a Neighbour's Daughter, not without reason, presuming that the wench's curiosity to pry into the pleasant rites of the Bridal night, and her ambition to be most lucky in the superstitious sport throwing the Bride's stocking, would long enough divert her from her charge at home. And thus far all things went on according to their wishes, nor did any thoughts disquiet the calmer breasts of our pair of Lovers, but such as usually arise from vehement expectation; the Soldier dreaming of nothing but Victory, Triumph, and Spoils; and the Lady of high content in having her Fort new man'd, and making the Assailant her Captive. But, Oh, the capriciousness of Fortune! or rather the vigilance of jealousy! ¶  
The appointed hour being at length come, the punctual Soldier making haste to enter upon his Duty, to guard the fair Matron from Spectres and Goblins, in the absence of her Husband; advanceth to the postern door of her house, as he had been directed, but finding it shut, and hearing no noise within, he made a halt, and very discreetly forbearing to knock, fell to posture of a diligent Sentinel, softly walking to and fro in the narrow Alley that led to the house from the Street, where while he was exercising his patience, it most unluckily happened, that the no less vigilant and impatient Husband (who had concealed himself at a Friends in the Neighbourhood) returned by the same Alley, and stealing along as softly and warily as a Thief to commit Burglary, takes good notice of the nightwalker, whom he immediately concluded within himself to be the Mars, on whom his Venus was so furiously ennamoured; whereupon, entering his house, and locking the door behind him, with as little noise as a Pick-lock; he finds his wife in a dress of neat and rich night linen, like a Bride going to bed, which adding more Fuel to his suspicion and exasperating the sense of his wrong; he puts on the countenance of rage and terror, with inflamed and threatening eyes staring, as Caesar's Ghost upon Brutus, upon his poor surprised wife, who stood as still, by reason of her astonishment, as if she had been congealed by lightning, or transformed into a Statue. For shame upon the unexpected frustration of an evil design, doth ususually produce confusion. Her soul, conscious of infidelity hitherto only in imagination and design, began to presage more evils, than it could have deserved, had her design succeeded into Act● the violence of her passion being favourably considered. But, could she so soon have recollected her disordered spirits, and recovered the use of her tongue; her Husband's fury would have restrained her, and he yet could only breathe revenge, not utter it in words. After a little pause, going into her bedchamber, he there encounters with fresh causes of suspicion; the dressing-Table by the bedside richly furnished with provoking delicates, clean sheets, perfumed pillows, and above all, his spy, the Chambermaid, conjured out of the way; confirmed in his jealousy by these convincing signs, he now meditates upon nothing but Revenge, and how to effect it with the more security and appearance of justice. Resolved, therefore, by cruelty to extort a Confession, and so make her her own accuser; without speaking a word, he strips her to her snow-white skin, and carrying her down into the Porch, there, binds her delicate Arms to one of the Pillars: had you been so happy to have beheld her in that deplorable posture, doubtless you would have thought you had seen the beautiful Andromede a second time chained naked to a Rock, and one, though perhaps not quite so chaste as she, yet, if Beauty had its due, 
She could not merit any bonds, beside  
Those, with which Lovers mutualy are tied;  and well worthy another Perseus to deliver, love and enjoy her. The hard-hearted Usurer, fancying to himself some satisfaction in this first Act of the Tragedy he intended; retires to his bed (though likely to have but a melancholy night of it, without his Consort) hoping by sleep to recompose his troubled mind.  
In the mean time, our Man of War, who had promised to himself the height of all enjoyments, lay (Soldier like) perdue in the open Air; and when he had, till almost midnight in vain watched his Mistress' door, which still continued as fast shut, as the Temple of janus in time of peace, he returns back to the house of his She-Officer the Bawd, whom he found half naked, and prepared to keep one of Venus' Vigils with a Client of hers (for her Clients were often forced to gratify her, for soliciting their Love-causes, with such Fees) whom at that very hour she expected. Ho, Mother, says he, with what tedious hope do I purchase from the Lady the pleasure promised me? I have already consumed a whole hour (longer indeed than a whole winter's night) in fruitless expectation; while she, who sought my Love, and made the Assignation, hath not vouchsafed to open the door. 'Tis very strange, methinks, unless having forgot both herself and her appointment, she hath buried her amour in sleep. Go thy ways, dear Mother, and inquire the cause of my disappointment, and what commands the Lady hath for me; if to readvance, lo, I am ready for the combat; if to retreat, I am as ready to march off with flying Colours, and defer the encounter till another night. Scarcely were these last words out of his mouth, when the Bawd, incited partly by the sense of her honour (for, those of her Trade must be punctual in their assignations) and partly by commiseration of his impatience, hastily casting a Mantle, (a most useful garment in such cases) over her shoulders, catches the Soldier by the hand, and conducts him back to the door; which she opens with a Key given her by the Matron some while before, for her private access upon occasion, and entreating him to stand close and silent for a few minutes without, she passes on through the Woodyard and a little Garden, till she arrived at the walk under the Porch, where groping along, she had almost run her head against ●he living Statue there bound to a Pillar; which she no sooner discerned, but surprised with horror, as at sight of a Ghost or Apparition, she stood still and gazed with affrighted eyes. The milky whiteness of the Matron's skin to some degree, overcame the darkness of the moonless night; nor would it suffer her to be longer unperceived; so that the Bawd soon recovering herself out of her first consternation, boldly approaches to the Lady; and, omitting to inquire into the cause of her being in that strange and lamentable condition, delivers in few words the Soldiers message, even at that time not ungrateful to the receiver; for, the Lady finding the chains of Love more intolerable, than those of her barbarous Husband; and endowed with a Wit no whit inferior to her Beauty; soon apprehended, that now she had an opportunity to convert this her misfortune into a benefit, and that she ought not to despond, nor despair of reaping the delights, which the jealousy of her Husband had hitherto prevented. Thus reanimated with fresh hope, she gins to wheadle the Engineer of Lust, and pouring the oil of good language and endearing expressions into her ears, My dearest Mother, says she, my good Angel, I can bear this my affliction with patience, becoming the undaunted resolution of a Lover; yea more, I can change it into a complete Felicity, if you will but vouchsafe me your assistance; I know no way to revenge my Husband's cruelty, but to deserve it by acting what he so much fears. Help me then to meet and embrace my Lover, that he who hath so kindly entertained my invitation, so justly observed our appointment, may either accuse me of breach of faith, nor want the reward due to his Fidelity. Let your courteous hands untie the knots that hamper mine, and for a few minutes free me from these bonds, that I may really deserve them. These charms soon wrought upon the good nature of the Bawd, who was the very Renet of Concupiscence; so that she readily disengaged her Daughter from the cold embraces of the Pillar.  
Who being thus happily at liberty, assumes more Courage and Wit from her adventure; and falls to persuade her deliverer to su●fer herself to be bound with the same Cord, and to supply her room only while she hasted to her Gallant, to give him an assurance of her constancy; she told her, there could be no hazard in the enterprise, since her Husband was in his bed and fast asleep, and all the world but themselves at quiet, and within two minutes she would return and relieve her: Hereto she added such golden promises, as might have overcome a mind much more obstinate and doubtful than the Bawds, who boggled at no danger to oblige a friend; but accordingly shifting her Mantle (some will have it to be only a Blanket) from her own shoulders to the Matrons, readily yielded herself to be bound to the Pillar, in the same manner as she had found her Predecessor. This certainly was a most pleasant Scene, well worthy a Theatre, and might make a good plot for a Tragicomedy. The Matron leaving her Deputy thus bound and naked, yet without impeachment of her modesty; and mounting on the wings of love, fled in an instant to her Paramour: 'Twas a bold and adventurous Act this, for a Woman so lately surprised, so cruelly treated, so miraculously delivered; nay, not yet delivered from danger of greater torments▪ and perhaps of death; thus to throw herself into the Arms of her Adulterer, to force, even destiny itself to give way to the satisfaction of her desires. But Love inspires Audacity and Contempt of all perils into the Weakest and most timorous hearts.  
Hardly had the greedy Matron with silence expressed her j●y, and tasted the first dish of Love's Banquet, Kisses, a dish that doth at once satisfy and provoke the Appetite; when the Soldier, deceived by the Mantle she had borrowed, and mistaking her for the true owner thereof, began to put her from him, as scorning to use his Arms against so base and impudent an Enemy; but she soon guessing at the cause of his aversion, by her harmonious voice, which yet she durst not raise above a whisper, convinced him of his error, and restored him to a due assurance, that he had the person he looked for, and no Changeling: Whereupon, omitting all further ceremonies, he did his devoir to verify the good opinion she had at first sight, w●en he was bathing himself, conceived of his good parts; and she, on the other side (if at least there were now any distinction of sides) did hers, to fix him in a confidence, that her Love was true and unfeigned. ¶  
Wh●le th●se our zealous votaries to the Goddess of Pleasures, are at their silent devotions; the silly Cuckold, (now I think we may call him so) her Husband, who is an example of that Sentence in Seneca, that many times, by seeking to avoid dangers we run headlong ●nto the midst of them, was in a slumber, wherein his perturbed imagination presented to him dismal and infaust visions: he dreamt that he saw his wife sacrificing her honour, and doing that odious Act, that drew an indelible stain and reproach upon him and his whole Family; having broken her bonds asunder, and mixing herself with her armed Adulterer in closest embraces; that himself, while he was labouring to revenge the contumelious injury, was transformed into a satire: The horror of this ominous dream interrupting his slumber, and his Fancy retaining a deep impression of those dire Phantasms, he gins to believe his transformation to be real, and feels his Nose, if it were not grown crooked like a Satyr's; his Forehead, if it were not armed with Antlers; his Thighs, if they were clothed with shaggy hair; his feet, if they were not cloven, and his Toes turned into hoofs; then still credulous of the first part of his vision, he leaps out of his bed, throws open the window, and calls aloud upon his wife, who was now either out of hearing, or not at leisure to give answer to his curses and reproaches; But alas! the Reverend Bail, her Confid●nt, heard and trembled; she now, though too late, found the error of her kindness, and saw no way to safety but by obstinate silence, which she with more resolution and constancy kept, than one of Pythagoras' Scholars during his novitiate, in spite of the ingeminated exclamations of the ●nraged Malbecco, who exasperated by that Contempt (for so he understood it) and fancying some Divine suggestions to revenge from the Genius of the Marriagebed, snatches up a Razor that lay in the Window, runs down the Stairs in the dark, and flying most furiously at the very face of his wife's Deputy, catches her fast by her Nos●, and with one well-guided slash cuts it quite off, then flinging the same in her face; Thou worst of Women, saith he, worthy of a greater brand of infamy, there, take that token of my hate, and send it for a present to thy Adulterer; who perhaps will either grow more enamoured upon this change of thy form, this new-modelled face; or confess thee to have a better Title to his love by thy sufferings for his sake. Thus insulting over the miserable wretch, and triumphing in his revenge, he returns to his thorny bed, there with sleep to ease his head, now in truth much heavier than before: What shall I say of the poor mangled and noseless Bawd? only this; that her fear of a worse accident, if she were known to her Tormentor, made her undergo her pains and loss with more than a Spartan patience: Unhappy friendship! sad Exchange! it was her lot to be drenched with the Gall of Love, while the Matron sucked the Honey of it: her evil destiny to be besmeared with her own blood, while the more guilty wife was anointed with the Butter of Joy. Thus in Duels, we see, often the seconds are wounded, while the Principals remain unhurt.  
The Schismatical Nose was scarcely grown cold, when our Faustina, having finished her first trial o● skill with her Gladiator, and with a thousand parting kisses dismissed him to recruit his spirits lost in the conflict, returns with the joys of a double victory to her Post. But▪ how short-lived a thing is sensual delight! how evanid are all our triumphs! when she understood the sufferings of her Martyr, the Sun-shin of her content was i● a moment darkened with clouds of grief and dreadful apprehensions, and all her exulting smiles exchanged for tears and dejection of Mind. But Grief and Fear, are almost as bad Counsellors as Love, which our witty Matron well understanding, and remembering withal, that Nature had furnished her whole Sex with a faculty of quick invention, how to evade approaching danger, and to conceal faults; re-assures herself, and sets her brain on work how to palliate this wound, which was past her cure. She hath recourse, therefore, to the Art of Consolation, and endeavours to mitigate the Bawds dolours ●ith an Anodyne of kind and commiserating language. She b●ds her not to be cast down with her misfortune, which, carried with bravery and discretion, might turn to her advantage, and prove a noble experiment of her Fidelity among all the Cimmerians; that the segment of her Nose would be to Venus an offering as grateful and propitiatory, as locks of hair to other Deities; that if i● a Soldier, wounds in the face were honourable witnesses of his courage and bravery; why should not those received in the service of Venus be likewise accounted marks of Gallantry and a daring spirit? that though the now mortified Nose could not be set on again (for Tagliacotius lived a grea● way off Cimmeria) yet the wound would be easily cured; and at wo●st if she were so foolish to resolve not to live without one (a thing many a person of greater quality had done before her) she would cause a new one to be made for her of much more value, and better metal than the first. This last promise mollified more than all the consolatory reason's precedent, and the Bawd (who had a Soul so abject and Mercenary, that she would for Money have sold her eyes, and ears too into the bargain) becomes pacified and comforted therewith; then being loosed from the Pillar, and binding th● Matron (who desired it) to the same; she gropes out the piece of her Nose, wraps it up in a corner of her Mantle, and away she ●rudges in quest of a Chirurgeon; locking the back door very carefully after her, and reflecting upon the ill success of her obligation. ¶.  
King Solomon reckoning Coneys among the four sorts of Animals, that being little, are yet exceeding wise; saith of them, that being a generation not strong, they make holes for themselves among the Rocks. The same may be said of Women, who wanting strength to assert their faults, yet have cunning enough to hid them; they make burrows of excuses, and run into them, when in danger to be taken: Like Statesmen, who have for their Impress a Glass Beehive, with this Motto, Nulli patet opus; they do their business in the dark, or, (as a witty Italian expresseth it) desmienten lo transparente con un vanno de cera, they smear over their Hives with wax, so that no eye can pry into the secrets of their workings, or be able to trace them in their amorous stealths; if you doubt of this, you shall see it verified in the fourth Act of this our Tragicomedy, which we are now arrived at.  
The Bawd being handsomely conjured away, the coast clear, and all the world at rest; our subtle Matron, after a short meditation, hath found out a way, if it succeed, not only to dissemble her joyful Treason, but to appear still innocent and faithful to her Husband; yea, yet farther, to invert the guilt upon him, and bring him at last to confess himself to have been in an error. This, you'll say, is somewhat difficult: but, remember she is a woman and in Love; and than you'll conceive it to be facile. Having form the design, she delays not to put it in execution; Counterfeiting therefore, an appeal to the Moon (than newly risen above the verge of the Horizon) with a voice raised by degrees from a low whi●per to a pitch high enough to reach the poor Cuckold's ears, she invocates her help and protection, in such verses as these.  

Sister of Jove, Queen Regent of the night,  
From whom the meaner Stars derive their light▪  
Or wouldst be worshipped by great Juno's name,  
Jove's Wife, or Sister, thou art still the same.  
That sovereign Dame, who art the Deity  
Of wedlock rites and female Chastity.  
Why with auspicious Omens did I pay  
My Nuptial vows upon my Marriage day?  
If with an unconcerned and even face  
Thou dost behold the Mischiefs of this place.  
And you bright Planets, Heaven's unerring eyes,  
With which by night, he things on earth descries;  
You witnesses of my pure innocence,  
(Who yet, as judges, my hard fate dispense)  
Don't you grow dim with horror, thus to see  
A jealous Husbands causeless cruelty?  
See, naked, bound, and mangled here I groan,  
And expiate offences not my own.  
If then the virtuous you can thus torment,  
For these rewards, who would be innocent?  
Methinks, I now seem but my own pale Ghost;  
Beauty and Fame (a Woman's soul) are lost.  
Though pure from Thought, or Act, yet wretched I,  
Must wear a face, that gives my heart the lie.  
Why live I thus? why does this mangled shape  
Confine that soul, which would so fain escape?  
To die is better, and one blow to give,  
Than robbed of Honour, nay and Beauty, live.  
To die is best indeed; but, oh, the hands,  
That should perform my freer Wills commands,  
Alas, are fettered!—  
For death, when courted, from us then to fly,  
Forcing to live, 'tis then he makes us die.   

Ah, cruel Man! here thou hast torments found  
Beyond these bonds, beyond this horrid wound.  
Happy Lucre●ia, since thou couldst attest  
Thy innocence, by piercing of thy breast;  
Whilst thus expiring in thy Husband's arms,  
Even in thy death couldst gain more powerful charms.  
Thou chaste art called, because thou couldst but die,  
Whilst death to me doth that relief deny.   

Thou Goddess wert severe unto thy Jove,  
And Heaven couldst purge from his unlawful love:  
If to bad Women thou so just art known,  
Wilt thou not vindicate one honest one?  
Behold with pity, and do not despise  
Tears mixed with blood, which flow from mournful eyes.  
Punish the jealous Man, and make him feel  
The sad effects of his own cruel steel;  
Show him his crime, and what 'tis let him know,  
T'offend a Woman, and a Goddess too.  
At least be just, and my late form restore  
With my lost fame, or let me be no more.   
Having breathed forth this supplication in a languishing tone, and made it seem more pathetical by interposing now and then a profound sigh or two (and indeed of all our Passions none are more easily counterfeited then Zeal and Sorrow) on a sudden changing the key of her voice into a confused murmur, and then to that of a civil conference, she dissembled a familiar Dialogue with the Deity, whose aid she had newly implored: and in fine, as if her prayer had been heard, and her petition miraculously granted, with an elevated voice she makes an Apostrophe to her Husband, exclaiming against his improsperous tyranny in these words. 
Ho, thou most barbarous of men, thou Fury in human shape; thy bloody rage against thy chastest wife hath proved thy own undoing. The mercy of the Celestial Powers hath overcome thy Cruelty, lest my virtue might suffer by thy undeserved and base suspicions. Now shalt thou be forced to confess, what thy impiety made thee doubt of, that I am innocent, and that There is a God who sees and notes our deeds.  
I am convinced, I am convinced; it is none but Juno, Protectress of conjugal Chastity, who compassionating my sufferings, hath by Miracle restored that amiable form of mine, which thou, distracted with jealousy, hadst destroyed. Go then, desperate Villain, and sheathe that bloody knife of thine in thy own inhuman bowels; that so unworthy a wretch may no longer enjoy the happiness of so faithful and spotless a Wife. Having obtained so signal a favour from the immortal Gods, well may I contemn and bid defiance to the anger of a Mortal Man, especially one so wicked, so degraded by his crimes.— O night! more illustrious than the brightest day. O hour! more fortunate than that of my birth.— Now flow on, flow on officious Tears, but from a different passion. But, thou, execrable Hangman, sacrilegious Thief, hasten hither to be convinced of my purity, and thy crime; make haste, I say, that, if it be possible, thou mayst make atonement for the innocent blood thou hast spilt, and for the sacrilege thou hast committed, and so in time appease the wrath of an offended Goddess. ¶   
This triumphant Harangue arriving at the ears of the poor Cornuto, her Husband (whom disquiet of mind kept from sleep) it alarmd all his Faculties, and put him into so great a confusion, that giving but little credit to his sense, he lay a good while considering the probability of what he heard. At first he thought it an Illusion (since to Nature it is much easier to make ● man dream impossibilities, than to effect them) and began therefore to feel if his Eyes were open, that he might thereby be certified, whether he were awake, or not. Then finding it to be no dream, and hearing his Wife continue her Speech, and denouncing a deluge of dire Judgements against him; his rage and jealousy began at once to give place to as vehement Fear and Remorse. Rising therefore hastily from his bed, and lighting a candle, down ●e goes, resolved to make his eyes judges of the truth of what he durst not believe upon the single testimony of his ears. Arrived at the fatal Pillar, the scene of such prodigious accidents, and beholding his Wife's face attentively, he found it perfect, and without the least sign of hu●t, nay not so much as stained with a drop of blood; and her hands still tied as he had at first left them. Whereat astonished, and persuaded in himself, that so supernatural an event, as the restauration ●f a Nose cut off, could not come to pass but by power Divine; he sunk down into an abhorrence of his wicked fact, and of the no less abominable motive thereof, his jealousy; dreading withal some dire punishment from the just anger of the Gods. Then casting himself upon the pavement, in token of his sorrow and contrition, he washes out the bloody stains thereof with penitential tears. Which done, he knelt in adoration of so manifest a Miracle, and in humble but fervent prayers, begs pardon first of Heaven, then of his Wife (too wise to be inexorable) for the horrid effect of his outrageous Passion. Which when she, good Soul, had graciously promised upon a solemn vow of reformation of Manners on his part, transported with joy, he unties the cord, sets her at liberty, kisses her all over, and leads her to bed, there to seal his reconciliation to her, now a rare Example of unspotted Chastity. Thus, blessed be the God of Love! Our witty Matron, hath at once recovered three most precious things, her Nose, her Honour, and her Husbands Love.  
Not long after this happy conclusion or Catastrophe, the Bawd, well rewarded with a purse of money for her loss and secrecy, and hoping to mend her fortunes by removing to a place of better trading; packs up her baggage, and marches away to the Court of Comus, King of the Cimmerians: where she now lives no small Favourite, and exercising her talon every day, in laying new designs, and managing the close intrigues of Love betwixt Ladies and their Gallants. Wherein long practice hath made her so excellent, that if any Woman in that Court, be she Maid, Wife, or Widow, please you; and if you commit the matter to her contrivement and intercession: you need not doubt the success.  
As for the Soldier, though my Author says no more of him, but what I have recounted; yet, considering that he was a man of honour, a Son of Mars, it is not to be doubted, but that he continued secret and faithful to his Venus. Nor is it less probable that She, a gracious and obliging Mistress, continued to love him better, than she did her Usurer, notwithstanding her remission of his cruel usage, and readmission of him to her grace and favour. Whereupon I cannot at any time reflect, without acknowledging the goodness of Proserpina, in keeping her promise made to the Lady May in Chaucer; which was this, in her answer to Pluto, who would fain restore to january, her Husband, his sight, that he might see his Esquire, Damian, making him Cuckold in a Pear-tree.  
You shall (quoth Proserpina) and well ye so?  
Now by my Mother's Soul, Sir, I swear,  
That I shall yeven her sufficient answer,  
And all women after for her sake;  
That though they been in any guilt itake,  
With face bold, they shullen hemselve excuse.  
And bear him down, that would him accuse.  
For lack of answer, non of hem fhull dien.  
All had he say a thing with both his eyes:  
Yet should we women so visage it hardly,  
And weep, and swear, and chide subtle;  
That men shall been as lewd as Geese.  
What recketh me of your authorities, etc.  
Explicit Historia, & sequ●utur M●steria Amoris.   

THE Mysteries and Miracles OF LOVE.  

SECT. I.  
LOVE is a Guest sooner entertained, than perceived; and yet sooner perceived than known, and much easier known than understood; better understood, than defined or described. As if it challenged only the Heart for its proper apartment, and disdained any remove up into the Brain: as if it took delight to be felt not shown: as if being possessed the recesses of the heart, it feared to be ejected thence, if it once came near the Tongue. Like Holy Writ, it admits of no Interpreter but itself: nor do we come to know it by either precepts or examples; but by Infusion. You may affirm safely, that Cupid is not only blind, but also dumb: making all parts of the body vocal, except the tongue. Hence it is, that Lovers are more eloquent in their sighs than in their words, as if no messengers were so fit to convey their sentiments, as their vital breath: and like Paphian Doves, they groan forth living Epistles. Nay, they discourse together silently by the rhetoric of their fingers, and wove dialogues in Chaplets. By affable nods, and darted smiles, the vocal Ambassadors of desire, they treat about their union; and read each others Soul in glances. Their Colloquies, like those of Angels, are made by intuition: and they express themselves also, like them, not by the Intellect, but the Will. 
Obliqne intuens inde nutibus—  
Nutibus mutuis inducens in errorem  
mentem puellae:  
Et illa contra nutibus mutuis juvenis  
Leandri, quod amorem non renuit, etc.  is Musaeus his description of the Eyeparly between Leander and Hero. Sometimes fixing their wand'ring countenances, as upon strangers, while they openly decline and renounce acquaintance, they become secretly familiar. Sometimes their contracted brows threaten displeasure; but at the same time they contract them with such sweetness, that they rather invite than discourage; and their very frowns are obliging. Sometimes their Souls interchangeably sally forth at their Eyes, and steal kisses at a distance; and then return home again triumphing in their invisible thefts. Thus both sides gain, yet neither loses; both lose and both gain. Their chief aim is, to be surprised: and yet their chief pleasure and glory is, not to be perceived. Thus that which is so often brought into the Theatre, flies all spectators, and acts in its own person. These Divine Confabulators, as if placed above the laws of sense, by most certain Auguries divine each others wishes, and search each others heart without dissecting the breast. They are a kind of Seers, that behold the desires of their Correspondent, as it were spectres; which like Catoptrical Images, are not perceived but by the same art, that created them: or, like the Deities of old issuing from their Statues, they inspire the person, to whom they speak; as if two Minds met to animate one Body, and conversed together with no less silence, than one uses to converse with itself alone. Of all our affections, this alone knows not to be expressed; and the sacred rites thereof (as those of the most ancient Gods of the Heathen) are performed in the dark. Though the passion be of itself innocent, yet it is always conjoined with secret shame: and the same blushes that betray our flame, strive to hid it. 
Alterno facies sibi dat responfa rubore,  
Et tener affectum prodit utrique pudor;  as that merry-conceited Arnulphus, Episcopus Lexoviensis, hath well expressed in a facete Epigram of his. Every Love hath its Flammeum, as well as Hymen: and at the Elusinean sacrifices both sexes are veiled. All the Votaries of Venus, as well as her darling Aeneas, walk surrounded with clouds; and they frequent even public Theatres invisibly. Nay Cupid himself, not contented with a single Veil, contrives also Ambushes for more secrecy: a●d oftener takes in Hearts by stratagem and surprise, than by storm. Thus He that composed an● maintains the World in order, left himself in confusion; dwelling in a retreat of the ancient darkness, and primitive Chaos. ¶.   

SECT. II.  
HIs Mother too avoids the light ever since he was born; as being as much ashamed of his childish treacheries, as offended with the Sun, for discovering her in the arms of Mars. She obscures herself in a Labyrinth, and admits no Eye to pry into her closet: nay, in her chiefest solaces she uses to shut her own eyes, as being jealous lest they should discover too much of her divinity. She is the true Sphinx, that subdues and destroys by a Riddle: more, she makes every man a Riddle to himself, while being by contrary passions agitated, and hurried up and down by the flux and reflux of his own violent thoughts, he at once finds himself a Captive, and strives to be a Conqueror. And this the capricious Lad, her Son, assists her to effect; that we poor Mortals may believe, she was begotten betwixt the winds and waves in a Tempest. No wonder then, if Love seem Enigmatical and full of contradictions. It is not easily intelligible, how the same person can at the same time both serve and be free; have all his Faculties devoted to the pleasure of another, and yet preserve the command of his own Will; make an absolute resignation of himself, and yet pretend not only to Liberty, but to Dominion: and yet Love doth soon reconcile these repugnances; and bring his Subjects to govern by obedience, teaching them, like the Freedmen of some Roman Emperors, obsequii titulo Dominis imperare, to rule their Sovereign's will by observance of it, and alter their counsels by obsequiousness and complacency.  
Nor is it less difficult to conceive, that one can die, and instantly revive again; yea, be alive and dead at once; or, like the Phoenix, build his own both funeral and vital fire, out of which he reassumes a more vigorous and Youthful Being, than what the flames consumed. Yet nothing is more frequent among Lovers; whom the miraculous Chemistry of Love, by a most pleasant Palin-genesis, restores from their ashes to their primitive state and form.  
A man would think at first, that no two things in Nature are more incompatible, more inconsistent, more reciprocally destructive, than those two contrary Passions, Love and Hate; the former causing sweet and agreeable motions in the spirits, and blood, and fibres of the Heart; the later, unequal, harsh and offensive ones: the one tending to Complacency and Union; the other to Abhorrence and Flight: the one aiming at the Felicity, the other at the Destruction of its Object: but upon a second and more serious consideration of the matter, he shall find, that in the breast of even the most ardent and refined Inamourato these two so professed Enemies are become not reconciled, but Twins, and those too not such as Castor and Pollux, rising and setting alternately, but like Lazarus and his Brother, growing together, so that one is not only an individual Companion, but also an Appendix, or rather an integrant part of his fellow. For, the Servant always wishes his Mistress less Happy than she is, that so his affection may appear more pure, more sincere, and determined upon her Person alone. Is she wise and discreet; He presently reproaches the Stars, that favoured her with so strong a defence; a● conceiving, that if her Brain were less sound, her Heart would be more tender, and that if she had less wit, himself would be less subject to her Contempt. Is she in Health, He secretly invocates jove to afflict her with Sickness, that he may have that occasion to demonstrate his grief, his tenderness, his sympathy. Is she Rich, He cannot forbear to wi●h her in Want, that he might endow her with his Fortune. Is she at Liberty, He longs to see her a Captive, that he may merit her favour by hazarding all in her redemption. Is her Fame clear and immaculate; how glad would he be some licentious tongue would defile her Honour, that he might wash away the stains, though with his blood. Is her Birth and Quality n●ble; he would fain degrade her, that she might derive all her Dignity from the Generosity of his Love. In a word, in some sort or other He wishes her Miserable, that he may have the glory to relieve her, and that her own Necessity may draw, rather than his Courtship and Observance invite her to his embraces. He had rather be her Sanctuary, than her Conqueror. Now is not here a certain Malignity mixed with Benevolence; Zeal tempered with Hate; Inhumanity proceeding from excess of Kindness; Cruelty conjoined with the greatest Charity? Yet such is the Constitution of Love. Cupid has no darts headed with pure Gold. What God soever made and tippd his Shafts, served him as the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (as Rivaltus calls him) the treacherous Artist did Hiero, King of Syracuse in casting his Crown, put in a great deal of Copper among the Gold. Which is perhaps one reason why the wounds of Lovers are so painful and apt to fester; it being the nature of Brass ●o ulcerate and breed Cancers. I think it therefore no blasphemy against the so much adored Divinity of Love, to affirm, that it always hath some alloy of that Devil, Malice: and that no Man love's without Indignation. Especially when I reflect upon this, that the torments he suffers cannot but force him even against his will to execrate his fair Tormentor; to be angry with the Thief, that robbed him of himself; to wish that bright flame obscured or extinct, that burns his wings, though, like the foolish Butterfly, he at the same time ceases not to flutter about it, and (as a Modern Wit finely expresses it) beato frui necis autore, to enjoy his Murderer. Nor is it the poor neglected and despised Lover, that alone hath reason to complain of, and reproach his Mistress; even the most prosperous and triumphant feels disquiet and anguish enough to cause Regret, which is a kind of Anger. 
— Dolour, querelae,  
Lamentatio, lachrymae perennes,  
Languor, anxietas, amaritudo,  
Aut si triste magis potest quid esse,  
Hos tu das comites Naeera vitae;  was the complaint of a Lover in Plautus, even after victory: and Poets themselves, none of the severest censurers of this Heroic passion, call it suavem amariciem, dolentiam delectabilem, hilare tormentum. Nay, old Plautus so far condemned it, as he could not hold from crying out, Credo ego, ad homini● carnificinam Amorem inventum esse. If Love then be so full of gall and anxiety, who can suffer it without secret detestation? who without reflecting upon the Author of his perturbations with displeasure and offence. Certainly the most gentle, the most patiented, the sweetest temper, when u●ged and provoked by these inward gripes and pangs, will hardly be able to refrain from exclaiming, with Phaedria in Terence 
— O Thais, Thais! utinam esset mihi.  
Pars aequa amoris tecum; ac pariter fieret,  
Vt a●t hoc tibi doleret itidem, ut mihi dolet,  
Aut ego istuc abs te factum nihili penderem.   
What's more common among Lovers, than thus to wish their torments transplanted from their own into their Mistress' breast? and is not that to curse them? which the most savage nature would not do without indignation. It was not without good reason then, that Aristotle (2 Rhetor.) placed Love in the Irassible part of the Soul; nor is it out of affectation of being Paradoxical, but Zeal to Truth, that I have here asserted, That no man can Love without indignation, which will appear somewhat more perspicuous, if we consider, that indignation is always accompanied with either Commiseration or Irrision. For, to do evil, is in some sort to suffer evil; and therefore some men, when they observe any one to do evil, join to their indignation against, a Commiseration for the doer, while others on the same occasion, mix Irrision with their Indignation; according as they stand well or ill affected to the person doing amiss; so that the laughter of Democritus, and the weeping of Heraclitus might proceed from one and the same cause; and Commiseration, which is a degree of Love, may go hand in hand with Indignation.   

SECT. III.  
ANother of Loves, Problems is this; that the most happy Lovers find their very enjoyments unsatisfactory, their joys insincere. To them it is difficult, to love; not to love, more difficult; most difficult to be possessed of what they love. Be the Saint never so propitious, never so obliging; still the votary continues his supplications, his importunity, and not contented with all she can grant, or he receive, he seeks for more. The miserable Mind is afflicted no less with the success, than with the vehemence of its desires; and like the Misers, continues poor in the midst of Wealth; after a feast it riseth empty, retaining that sweet torment, suspirare & cupere. As i● they had as little use of their Memory, as of their Reason and Will, forgetting the shortness, the emptiness of past enjoyments, they furiously hunt after mor●. Memoriae minimum tribuit, quisquis spei plurimum. Every one puts a higher value upon his Hopes, than upon his Attainments. As their desires so afflict, that they at the same time please and delight, so their joys are infested with such calamities, that they excruciate. Here (if you please) let us stand a minute or two, and consider how this can be. The passion of joy (you know) always follows upon a tickling of the senses by some agreeable object; and its contrary Grief, upon the offence and grating of them: and yet Grief may sometimes be sustained with joy; and there are, on the other side, some certain titillations that offend. But the true reason why Joy ariseth for the most part from titillation, I conceive to be this; that the pleasure of all sensation consisteth in the Objects causing in the Nerves and Brain some motion, which might violate and hurt them, in case they were not firm and tense enough to resist it; This resistance makes upon the centre of the brain an impression, which being instituted by Nature, to signify and attest the good constitution and strength of the Nerves, represents th● same to the Soul as a Good pertaining to her, so far forth at least, as she is conjoined to the Body; and by that means excites joy in her; the same reason serves also to explain, why naturally it is pleasant to every man, to feel himself commoved to all sorts of Passions, yea even to sadness and hatred, when those Affections arise only from the various events represented in Theatres, or other the like subjects, wherein he is not concerned. Which, because they can no way harm us, seem to tickle the soul by touching her. And Pain ordinarily produceth Grief, because that offence of the sense, which is called Pain, ariseth from some Action so violent, as to hurt the Nerves: of which the soul instantly becoming sensible, looks upon it as an Evil extending to her also, and thereupon is affected with Grief; unless in some such cases, where she is strongly diverted by expectation of a greater Good from that Evil. As Martyrs have exulted in their torments, not that they were insensible of them, but because their souls were possessed with a confident hope that those short pains would produce eternal pleasures.  
Upon this consideration perhaps, or some other not much different from it, it was, that Seneca thus expostulates with his dear Lucilius, about his immoderate sorrow for the death of their common Friend, Flaccus (Epist. 63.) Quae●is unde lamentationes, unde immodici fletus? per lachrymas argumenta desiderij quaerimus: & dolorem non sequimur, sed oftendimus▪ nemo tristis sibi est. est aliqua & doloris ambitio. The sum whereof is this, that we find a certain pleasure in Grieving; and that that pleasure is grounded upon Ambition (which is nearly allied to Love) to make it known to others, how well we loved that for which we grieve. To bring all this our present argument. You see then, that Joy and Grief are no 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, no incompatible Passions, no such Enemies but that sometimes at least they may dwell together in one breast. If so▪ why may not the Joys of Lovers be commixed with Grief? why may not their Fruitions be unsatisfactory? I could fill a whole Page with the names of such, whose flames raged more by extinction, and whose love was so far from languishing, that it grew more strong and violent by the possession of its object. Cupid is the son of Venus, you know: and nursed by his Mother's Milk; and our friend Chaucer therefore wisely fixes the Epoch of Aeneas and Dido's love on the jubilee they celebrated in the Cave, whither the tempest of Thunder and Lightning had forced them to retreat.  
And shortly from the Tempest her to save▪  
This noble Queen fled into a Cave.  
And with her went this Aeneas also;  
I wots not, with them if there went any more.  
The Author maketh of it no mention.  
And here began the deep affection  
Betwixt him two. this was the first morrow  
Of her gladness, and gi●ning of her sorrow▪  
The Reason is, that the Lover, apprehending no fruition total, no possession entire, supposeth some further good in the object, than what his former enjoyment made him acquainted withal: nor doth he propose to himself merely a Continuation of the Good he hath enjoyed; because whoever wisheth the continuation of a Good, considers it not as a thing present, but to come, and consequently as a thing which yet he doth not know; for no man can know what is not. So that the wandering Love, which hunts after variety, and the Constant, that is determined and fixed upon one individual object, are twins of the same birth, and have one and the same original: the latter affecting Novelty no less than the former. Here's all the difference; one pursues Novelty in a single person: the other in a multitude: but both are equally insatiate. O infelicem stultitiam! O insaniam voluntariam! what strange infelicity is this, voti compotem voto non posse frui, to have, and at the same time to want? The Covetous man's curse, is to possess and not enjoy: the Lovers greater to enjoy and not enjoy; utpote cui majora, quám quae tota simul indulgeri fas sit, gaudia quaeruntur. The wise man (Ecclesiasticus 30. and 20.) describing the misery of the one, compares it to the other: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the Septuagint. he beholds his treasure with greedy eyes, and sighs, as an Eunuch embraceth a Virgin and sighs, sighs most bitterly. So our Lover sighs, and enjoys, and still sighs. And to speak strictly, in this sense Hercules himself, who deflowered fifty Virgins in a night, was but an Eunuch for all that, so we are all, and our Lady's Virgins; we embrace and sigh; still unsatisfied, still coveting, quod nec assequi, nec scire datur, more than the nature of the thing can afford.  
Notwithstanding this imperfection of our chiefest solace, I am so far from accusing Nature of improvidence or unkindness, in making Love of this composition; that on the contrary, I judge it to be an argument of her Wisdom and Indulgence. Because our pleasure is endeared by its being incomplete; and our appetite would soon be turned into loathing, if once satiated. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; is a Maxim of the Indian Gymnosophist, in his speech to Alexander the Great, recorded by Palladius de Bragmanibus, not long since set forth by the learned Knight Sir Edward Bisse, Clarenciux King at Arms. To this purpose it was most elegantly said by a modern Wit, writing upon the same subject; huic affectui soll●citè, prospexit Namen, dum gaudio immiscuit tremorem & sollicitudinem, ut delicatior exiret voluptas. All desire indeed, is grounded upon want, and want implies imperfection: yet the desire whereof we are now speaking, being mostly an effect of fullness, hath such a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, such a complacentia annexed to it, that few complain of it as an imperfection. Nor are there many of Plato's mind in this particular, who (as Marsilius Ficinus in his life) thought it enough only once to sacrifice to Nature. Most are as much pleased to possess this desire, as to satisfy it: yea, to speak freely, the desi●e is itself some satisfaction; aequali voluptate afficiunt, & quod adest jam, & quod futurum speratur; nam dulcis desiderii dens interim mordet, & dum periculum facis, speras; was the merry Lucian's saying to his Th●omnestes in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 And I am apt to believe, it was upon this ve●y motive, that Luther openly professed, that without the consolati●ncula creaturulae he could not live contented.   

SECT. iv  
YEt more Aenigmata, more perplexing Difficulties in Love. This Affection, which composeth all other commotions of the soul, which reconciles Men, wild Beasts, and Philosophers, is yet at variance with itself; being founded upon a discordant connexion of unlike and asymbolical natures, it maintains its power by a civil War; and, like some pictures, varies its representations according to the different positions of the eye that speculates it, on one hand it carries the aspect of Fear; on the other, of Magnanimity: in one posture it appears Blind; in another, sharp-sighted; here a Fool; there Wise, etc. so that its picture cannot be drawn in one Image: and the spectator may easily be mistaken in its lines and features. To be particular.  
When you see a languishing Lover, whose arms seem so tender and delicate, that you think them fit only for embraces; who exhales nothing but odours or sighs; who is struck down with the contraction of a brow, and wounded to the heart with the disdainful glance of an eye: take heed notwithstanding, how you reproach him as a soft, effeminate and pusillanimous person. For, realy he is hardy, daring and adventurous; he repines not at the tediousness or cold of nightly vigils; he inures himself to difficulties; like Caesar posting from Rome into Germany, he despises the obstacles of the Alps, of frost and snow and overflowing rivers; he exercises his fortitude with submissively undergoing accumulated injuries; he defies dangers, nay, makes it a pleasure to create them in his imagination, and is gratified with the encounter of adverse accidents, as favours to his zeal●▪ and arguments of his devotion, he neglects not only dress, but health; and, like Candidates for St. Peter▪ chair, or the Dukedom of Venice, thinks it advantageous to look faint, pale and meager.  
Nor ought you to accuse him of Stupidity, though you observe him to suffer Contempts and Affronts from his proud Stratonice, without just resentment. For, he (be you well assured) is wholly transmigrated into soul, become all spirit, retreated into that Aetherial particle of Fire, which is impassable, and can not be touched. If this seem less credible, be pleased to consider, it is the Religion of Love to overcome evil with good, to extinguish the fire of malice by the brighter flame of Charity; the Philosophy of this endearing Passion, to subdue hatred by submission and obsequiousness. Besides, our good-natured Gallant entertains, neglects & scorn, not with insensibility, but discretion: as well understanding, that injuries as they fade and die of themselves, when bravely despised; so they pass into Benefits, when received with gentleness and humanity. A flint is broken on a featherbed.  
Will you charge him with Blindness, because he discerns not the defects, the spots of his Mistress; but takes these for stars, and those for ornaments; and by a most 〈…〉 gilds over her faults with the title of the nearest virtues? Herein certainly you are no equal Arbiter. You require a Censor, not a Lover; and in the place of true affection, you expect a severe judgement. It is a sign of ill-nature in you, thus to envy him the pleasure of an error, wherein he thinks himself more happy. Is it not lawful for him to impose upon himself by such innocent fraud? to form in his mind a more august image of her, whom he is resolved to contemplate and adore· we account it an excellency in a Painter, to make his pieces fairer than the Originals; and among the many praises deservedly ascribed to our incomparable Mr. Lely, this is not the least, that his curious pencil can at pleasure not only follow the finest lines of Nature, butsweeten them; at once both imitate and excel the life. Why then do you condemn the same in a Lover? it is indeed an excess in both; of Art in one; of Affection in the other: and, in my opinion, equally commendable. Imagination is unconfined even by Nature: and the very Extravagances thereof in love have been approved by Venus herself, in that she infused warmth and life into Pygmalion's Eburnea. That, you'll say was a fiction: yet the Mythology may serve to justify our Inamorato. The life given to that Statue by the Goddess, was no other than the grace and beauty of the Figure, which Appelles, in his Pictures called the Venus; which made it live in the estimation of those times, and admiration of posterity. Luci●n's Panthea (in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) likewise, it is probable, was no other than ●n Imaginary or Romantique Lady, made up of all the rare ideas of Beauty, and admirable endowments of mind, whereof humane nature is capable; for, his best Interpreters are at a loss in their conjectures, what divine Princess that was, whose glorious perfections he designed to celebrate under the veil of that Name: yet even learned and grave men are so highly pleased with the description and Character, that they equally admire his Wit, and her accomplishments, and scarcely abstain from rivalling him in both. If such admiration then, and applause be due to Lucian's Fancy; why do you deride that of our Inamorato, who thereby endeavours to form to himself such another Panthea? If he deceive himself, 'tis to his own misfortune, not your prejudice; yet how can we call that a misfortune, which he (the best judge in the case) esteems a Felicity?  
But all this while the Dimness, seems to be in your Understanding, not in his sight. His eyes are not put out, but only covered with a thin vail, through which they see more securely, more clearly; as we behold the Sun b●st through a screen of clouds. You are to imagine them only contracted, as those to take aim, that they may discern more accutely and distinctly. Being fixed upon one object, and that a bright and charming one, they do not indeed so plainly perceive other things; yet not that they are weak, but because they loathe them, and will not endure to be diverted: which is not to be dim-sighted, but to see too much. Again, if to Philosophise, be nothing but to contemplate Ideas; then to love, is to be a Philosopher. Yea▪ if every man loves so much as he understands (which was Plato's opinion) than dotage in love is an argument of Science.  
You are too blame, therefore, if you think vehemency of desire to be a sort of Madness; or take our Lover for one Infatuated, only because his actions seem extravagant. Alas! what you call Follies in him, are the Mysteries of a D●vine Fury, or Enthusiasm. Love inspires into the Mind a new Faculty of acting by a more certain and compendious way, than that of Ratiocination: all his Reason, like that art by which spiders wove their curious nets, and Bees Govern their Commonwealth, is Instinct. His hand is not guided by the eye, when he shoots at human hearts; but by the Divinity of his Genius: and therefore, though he never takes aim, he never misses the mark. 
Impotens flammis simul & sagittis,  
Iste lascivus puer ac renidens  
Tela quam certo moderatur  
— arcu!  While we poor mortals regulate our affairs by Reason, which is a laborious faculty, and obnoxious to error; it is the privilege of his Divinity, to be carried on by a quick and most certain 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or force, to all his ends; and, like the Supreme Being, he is wise without deliberation or counsel. It is not then the prerogative of jove alone, sapere & simul amare, to be wise and to love at once. For if wisdom be, scire quid sit optimum, then certainly a Lover is also wise, because he knows what's best; aliud enim (as Senecca) amare praeter optimum, nefas est. If after all this you will not allow him to be in his wits, pray consider what subtle devices, ambushes, stratagems, and artifices he invents and makes use of, to take in that strong and by open force impregnable fortress of his Mistress' heart. Cast your eye upon those troops of Virgins, that are daily led Captives, as trophies of their Lover's wit and cunning: all which were of necessity to be deceived, before they could be taken, and by artificial violence to be drawn to their own desires. For, they love more, to be ingeniously beguiled, than to be loved; and the readiest way to bring them into the circle of your embraces, is first to circumvent them with pretty fallaces and amorous treacheries. Now he that can with neat address, unperceived snares, and harmless frauds bring this to pass; either he is no Fool, or I am one to think him otherwise, and so was Virgil when he said— quis fa●●ere possit amant●m? & Mantuan, when he said Namque dolos inspirat am●r, fraudesque ministrat. Nay, so far is this Passion from darkening the understanding, and casting a mist over the Eye of the Mind, that it rather illuminates and clears it. Witness that pleasant Story in Boccace (which he borrowed from the Greeks, and which Beroaldus hath translated into Latin, and Beblius turned into elegant verse) of Cymon and Ephigenia. This Cymon, the Son of a Governor of Cyprus, was naturally so very a Fool, so stupid an indocil an Ass, that his Father being ashamed of his rude and ideot-like behaviour, sent him to be kept at a remote and solitary Grange of his in the Country. Where he walking alone, as his custom was, by chance espied a beautiful young Gentlewom●n, Iphigenia, a Burgomaster's Daughter of Cyprus, as she lay fast asleep with her Maid, in the cool shade of a little Thicket, with no envious cover, but a clean transparent Smock, that rather betrayed than concealed her excellent shape and whiter skin. At this surprising vision poor simple Cymon was astonished; he stood leaning on his staff (for his legs were now unable alone to support his trembling body) gaping on this female Angel, unmoveable, and in a trance of wonder and amazement. Upon which Love immediately succeeding, and in a moment with its celestial rays dispelling all the fogs of his cold and phlegmatic brain, yea inspiring him as it were with a new and ingenious soul; he roused up himself; reflected upon the misery and dishonour of his late condition, and put on a sprightly resolution to pursue his Nymph with Courtship and Gallantry, worthy her admirable Form, and his own noble extraction. To this purpose he the next day followed his retreating Fairy to the City, put on a becoming habit, and with it a graceful and obliging Mine: and animated with hope, industriously employed himself in learning Music, dancing, fencing, and acquiring all other good qualities requisite in a Gentleman. So that in a very short time he was transformed from an Idiot, a BartholmewCokes, a Clown, to a Bon Esprit, a Virtuoso, a Truwitt, in a word, to the most accomplished Gallant of the times: nor was Iphigenia so invincible to such assaulting perfections, as not by marriage of him to appropriate to herself the fruits of the Miraculous Metamorphosis the vision of her Beauties had wrought in him. Such power hath the sight of a fair Lady naked to cause Love; such power hath Love to cure the Lethargy of the Soul, and awaken it into Wit and Gallantry, making a Heros of a Sot, in fewer minutes than the Writers of Romances can in years. I say, a Heros; because the same Cymon proved also famous at Arms, fought sundry combats, performed many heroical exploits, and always had Fortune for his Second: the same flame that enlightened his understanding, having heated his blood also, and kindled Courage and Magnanimity in his heart.  
At this you will the less wonder, if you remember what you have read in Cardan (lib. 2. de Sap.) who there occasionally recounting many of the admirable effects of Love, says thus. Ex vilibus generosos efficere solet, ex timidis andaces, ex avari● splendidos, ex agrestibus civiles, ex crudelibus mansuctos, ex impiis religiosos, ex sordidis nitidos & cultos, ex duris misericordes, ex mutis eloquentes, etc. If you contemn this authority, I hope you will not dispute the Example of Sir Walter Manny in Edward the thirds time, who being stuck full of Lady's favours, fought like a Dragon: nor that of Ferdinand King of Spain, who (as Castilio thinks) had never conquered Granado, had not Queen Isabel and her Ladies been present at the Siege, it cannot be expressed, says our Author, what courage the Spanish knights derived from the ra●es of the Lady's eyes; a handful of amorous Spaniards overcoming a multude of Moors. Every true Lover is wise, just, temperate and valiant, saith Agatho lib. 3. de Aulico) who doubts not therefore, but if a Prince had an Army of such Lovers, he might soon conquer the whole world; except he met with the like Army of Inamorato's to oppose it. Plato then had reason, when (5. de Legibus) he would have women follow the Camp, to be both Spectators and Encouragers of noble Actions: it being his opinion, (in convivio) that Mars himself borrowed most of his valour from his love of Venus.   

SECT. V  
HAving beheld this Proteus, Love, in some of those various shapes, wherein it usually appears; you are (I presume) thereupon inclined to think it may be no less unconstant to its Object, than it seems to be to itself. To obviate this scandalous mistake, therefore, I find myself obliged in the next place to evince, that the Judgements of Love are, like those of Fate, unalterable and perpetual; that it is constant and immutable. He who can cease to love whom he hath once loved, does but dream he loved. For the conjunction of true Lovers hearts, like solemn Matrimony, admits of no divorce. When the Virgin Zone is untied, a knot is in the same instant knit, that can never be dissolved; sometimes, indeed, as the Gordian, it may be cut asunder. Death may be the Alexander to discind, but cannot untie it. Love ceases not, though what is loved hath ceased to be▪ When your Turtle hath molted all her beautiful feathers, and is grown old; you shall not cease to think her still the same, still amiable and youthful: and what of her charming feature● time hath impaired, your affection will continually renew; the pleasing Form now lost to your eye, shall be perpetually found fresh and lively in your mind. The fidelity of Remembrance shall countervail the cruelty of Age: which may by a natural Metamorphosis render your Wife a stranger to her former self, but hath not the more tyrannical power to alienate her from you. Nay, when Fate shall have torn her from your arms, even than shall you still retain and enjoy her in your imagination; you shall think her not dead, but only absent▪ and as often as you mix embraces w●t● her kind Ghost, you shall deny her to have perished, Love shall make you triumph over Mortality; and in the ardour of your spiritual fruition, you shall bid defiance to Destiny, crying out, Though you have separated us, O Fatal Sisters! you have not divided us; yet we converse together, yet we are a pair, from others you have taken away the Woman, from me not so much as her shadow. While she lived, we used but one Soul; now but one Body. Her Spirit is received into my breast, and there remains fixed, as in its proper Asterism and Heaven.  
Thus Love seems to perform i●s course, as the Sun, in a Circle, always returning to the point whence it set forth: so ending in itself, as always to begin. For, no man loves, who can ever be able to love either, less, or not at all. Of love there can be no end, because no satiety. Like Heaven and a contemplative Mind, it is perpetually in motion, never at rest: yet that labour doth not weary, but refresh. Thus the end of one benefit, is a degree toward another: and the Soul provoked by a double ardour, cherishes first the person, and then its own obligations; ad amor is perennitatem sufficit amass.  
Notwithstanding Love be thus immortal, as being the proper affection of an immortal Soul, and devoted to an eternal Object, Good: yet can I not deny, but it is a kind of Death. For, who is ignorant that Lovers die as often as they kiss, or bid adieu: exhaling their Souls upon each othe●s lips. Like Apollo's Priests possessed with the spirit of Divination, they are transported out of themselves; their life is a perpetual Ecstasy; they divest themselves of their own Souls, that they may be more happily filled with others. I believe Pythagoras his Metempsychosis or Transmigration of his Soul, when he loved, not when he philosophised. At sight of a fair and well built house, our souls, like delicate and proud Ladies, grow weary of their own homely dwellings, and are unquiet until removed thither: because they were not born, they affect to live, yea to be born again therein▪ Longing for the Elysium of their Mistress breast, the only Paradise for Lovers Ghosts, they break the prison of their own, and anticipate the delivery of Death, and fly thither, as to the place of their eternal mansion. Whoever thou art, th●t darest to doubt of these excursions of amorous Souls; let me advise thee attentively to observe, how the Soul of a Lover almost visibly flies to that part of the body, which approaches nearest to his Panthea. If they join hands, you may perceive their souls to be palpably distributed into their fingers, mutually to take ho●d, and entwine each with other. If they stand side by side, their bowels yern, their hearts leap for joy, their spirits flow in crowds into their breasts, and raising strong palpitations, salute each other, as Clowns use to do, with thumps; as if they strove to dissolve the ligaments of life and intermix embraces. What kind of Magic is that, by which the blood is made to overflow the cheeks with crimson waves, at the presence of a dear friend; springing up out of the Arteries of the wounded Heart, as an index of its sufferings, no otherwise than the blood of a murdered man is said to flow forth afresh, to betray the Homicide? only with this difference, that the blood, in the case of Murder, flows, I know not by what instinct, ●or revenge: but in a Lover's blushes, for cure and remedy of his harm▪ See, how greedily his soul catcheth the sounds of her voice; and retired wholly into his ears, stands there watching every accent, nay is converted into the sense of Hearing, or rather into the very sounds it receives. In exchanging words, they exchange spirits: and immigrate into the wishes they utter. See, how their wand'ring souls in a continual efflux sally forth at their encontring eyes; and consuming themselves in greedy looks, leave their bodies faint and liveless, many times falling into swoons and Syncopes. To Lovers it is the same thing, to speak, and to expire; the same, to see, and to extramit themselves by the eye▪ to gaze, and to pass into the object. In them the Platonic opinion, that sight is performed by Extramission of rays holds true. Thus the whole Man hastening to get forth, crowds one while into the Ear, another into the Eye, sometimes into the Lips: suavia dans Agathoni, animam ipse in labra tenebam; was Plato's confession of himself; living only in that part, wherein he at present enjoys his Fellow, his other and better half. Thus Love epitomizeth Human nature; compelling Men to breath and live more contractedly; and (like some imperfect Animals) to be content with one sense alone. But thus to reduce him from a necessity of many Organs or Instruments of life, sense and motion, to a capacity of existing more delightfully by one single Organ; is not to maim Man, but render him more perfect and divine. We will therefore, if you please, conclude this Paragraph with a pertinent Stanza of that incomparable Critic in Love, old Chaucer: who in most lively and never-vading colours painting the surprise and astonishmen of Troilus, (till then a Woman-hater) at first sight of the fair Creseide, in her mourning habit, sparkling like a Diamond set in Jet; saith thus. 
Lo, he that iete him selven so cunning,  
And scorned him that loves pains drien,  
Was full unware that love had his dwelling  
Within the subtle streams of her eye;  
That suddenly him thought he felt drens,  
Right with her look, the spirit in his heart.  
Blessed be love, that thus can folk converte▪    

SECT. VI  
IN such spiritual efforts and sallies, the Body indeed suffers a manifest, though a grateful detriment; but (what's a wonder even for wise men) the soul acquires Augmentation. For, as if she were also definable by Extension, being by a certain expansion more diffused than before, she that was originally the Guest of one breast, becomes thenceforth the Governess of two. Confused betwixt two bodies, she scarcely knows for which she was first form: but as it were suspended betwixt both, she perfectly informs neither. By one Law of Nature she is confined to one body; by another Law of the same Nature, Love, she is carried forth to animate and possess another, which she strives to make equally her own: so that in this case you are obliged to acknowledge both a Diminution and an Increment of her Sovereignty. Every Individual in love, is thenceforth a Number; carrying always with him, as Antipheron did, another Himself: if at least he may properly be said to be a Number, whom one computes, whom one distinguishes, whom the word Homo alone expresses; an Hermaphrodite and yet no Monster. By a fruitful error, to men in Love, as well as to men in Drink, all objects appear double: yet no otherwise than the eyes themselves are double, which have one and the same motion, one and the same sight. Here you see a kind of penetration of Dimensions, two persons so closely embracing, as to fill up the same space, as to become one, as to destroy their embraces; for, embraces imply a difference. While, like ovid's Hermaphrodite, Salmacis, the person courting, and the person courted are one and the same; he knows not whether he love, or is beloved more truly; nor doth he enjoy, but is converted into his wish. Ah, Cupid, thy very bounty is mockery; thy favour, like that of Grandees in Court, hypocritical▪ while thou hidest within my breast, what I require to be in my arms. Thou art too propitious in making us one: rather divide us, that we may feel ourselves to be what we would be, different in sex, one in will and desire. Obstat cupienti, nimium frui. To have her made the same with myself, whom I covet only as a Partner of my joys, is to prevent them. This excess of kindness, this assimilation of another to myself, makes me think, I do not embrace my Friend, but a shadow; which always treads in my footsteps, and imitates all my motions. Stand farther from me, O my dearest, who art nearer to me than I am to myself; that I may enjoy that pleasure, which consisteth in the knowledge of a Distinction.  
But, alas! I forget myself, and wish a Contradiction. The same power that makes one of two, makes also two of one. The Arithmetic of Love is performed aswel by substraction, as by Multiplication: nor do we think that substraction a loss, but a Compendium; unless it be more advantage to have our strengths collected, than extended. Every thing (you know) is so much the more perfect, by how much the more simple. To be comprehended within no space or number, is the prerogative of the Deity: and what is Best and Highest, can be but one. Love, therefore, as it hath this Divine perfection of Unity; so hath it likewise that other of Self-communication. For, what is perfect, is uncapable of addition or increase otherwise than by Diffusion or Distribution of itself. The only Usury of Love, is to make others rich. This liberality of conferring one's self upon another, is the only good Mankind can justly call his own, and the first Donative of Heaven. Other things are the gifts of Fortune, which we can no more give, than the light of the Sun, or the common aer; nay, which we have scarcely right enough to appropriate to ourselves. Whoever loves, then, comes near to the Divine Nature; as placing his chief delight in doing good, in making another happy. Hence it is, that as Men of youthful and strong Bodies are naturally desirous to beget issue of their Loins: so those of great and vigorous abilities of Mind feel in themselves a certain noble ardour, that incites them to beget children of their understanding, a praegnancy of the Brain, and most chaste Lust of propagating virtue; which is commonly named Platonique Love. Wherefore, Love is, in this respect at least; so far from proceeding from want (as Mr. Hobbs derives it) that on the contrary it is the effect of wealth and abundance. Nor ought we longer to complain of Nature, as close-handed and niggardly in her Gifts to Mankind, since she hath been so indulgent and bountiful in instituting this ingenious commerce, whereby every one both communicates himself, and receives another (for, by Love we do not sell, but exchange ourselves) yea transfers into his own treasury whatever is excellent and divine in another; being adopted heir to another's riches, he becomes more accomplished by endowment, and in another supplies his own defects. This Munificence of Love in communicating whatever it thinks good and delectable, is evident even in the delight of sensual Fruition, which being a pleasure consisting in a conjunction not only of two Persons of different sexes, but also of two different Appetites in each Person; viz. to please, and to be pleased; and the former of these two Appetites being an Affection of the Mind consisting in the Imagination of power to please: it necessarily follows, that each p●rty becomes so much the more joyed or pleased in himself, by how much the more able he finds him to please or cause joy in the other. So that they rival each other in the Communication of delight. The same may be said also of Platonique Love, or generous Charity; the delight whereof consisting likewise in the exercise of ones power or ability to enrich the understanding of another, and impraegnate his Mind with the seeds of Virtue: the Socrates must be so much the more delighted in his own Mind, by how much the more he finds the Alcibiades bettered by his instructions▪ Here's all the difference, the delight of sensual Love depending partly upon the powers of the Body, is therefore furious, short of duration, and subject to decay: the Platonique depending solely upon the Mind, whose powers are perpetual, is therefore calm, of one equal tenor, and everlasting.  
Here finding my boat unexpectedly brought upon the blessed coast of the New Atlantis, or terrestrial Paradise, FRIENDSHIP, where the aer is perpetually clear and serene, the sea pacific, and the land spontaneously fertile; a place wherein nothing is found but Consolations, whose King, Altabin, is a wise man; whose peaceful inhabitants are rich in their contempt of all pecuniary Commerce within themselves; where the Tirzan, or true Father of the Vine, Love, composes all differences, and extinguish●● all animosities; and where the Sons and Daughters of Bensalem live in perfect amity and concord: being come, I say, to this happy Port, give me leave my dear Friend, here to cast anchor, and end my voyage. I had designed to sail farther, to discover what that wonderful something in Love is, which we observe to be more powerful than all Calamites, more august than Honour, more splendid than Riches, more delightful than Pleasures, more sovereign than Empire▪ more venerable than Authority, more charming than Beauty, more illustrious than Wisdom; that for which we contemn and trample upon all those glorious things, so much either feared, or adored by the world; yea, for which alone we do not contemn, but esteem and worship them: that, which so fully pleaseth alone, that even the vilest things please for the sake thereof; which enjoye's this privilege of Majesty, that nothing can turn to its dishonour; which is above the reach of Infamy, and can honest even vice itself. But, perceiving the Needle of my Cogitations, no less than that of my Affections, to fix itself on that point of the Compass, wherein you and I seek for Happiness in this life, our constant Friendship: I confess, my Mind is so entirely taken up with the ravishing Contemplation thereof, that I cannot at present divert it to prosecute what I intended to speak, concerning several other admirable and stupendious effects of this Heroic Passion; whereof I have here drawn no perfect Picture, but only a rude Scetch, or rather a few gross and confused lines, by way of supplement to Your more artificial Representation of it, in your Ephesian Matron. Let us, therefore, now (if you please) go ashore, and repose ourselves in the newly mentioned Island of Bensalem, (where though we be not advanced to the honour of being Fellows or Brethren of salomon's House; yet we may be well received into the House of strangers) reserving what remains untouched of our Argument for another divertisement; and in the mean time, with our dearly beloved Don Geffrey, 

Beseeching every Lady bright of hue,  
And every gentle woman, what she be,  
Albeit that our Matrons were untrue,  
That for that gílte ye be not wroth with me.  
Ye may in other Books their guilt se.  
And gladder I would write, if that ye least,  
Penelope's truth, and faith of good Alceste.  
Ne say I nat this all only for these men,  
But most for women that betrayed be  
Through falls folk (God yeve him sorrow,  
That with great wit and subtlety (amen)  
Betraien you; and this meveth me  
To speak, and in effect you all I pray,  
Bethe ware of men, and harkeneth what I say.  
But God forbidden, but a woman can  
Ben as true and loving as a man.  
For it is dainty to us men to ●inde.  
A man, that can in love be true and kind.   

Thus endeth now my tale, and God us send  
Taling enough unto our lives end. ¶     
FINIS.   

Some Books printed for Henry Herringman at the Anchor in the Lower walk of the New-Exchange.  

Folio's  
Dr. William Howel's History of the World.  
Pietro Della-Vals Travels.  
Astrea, a Romance; 1, 2, and 3 volume.  
Clelia, a Romance; 5th volume.  
Dom john de Castro.  
Grand Scipio a Romance.  
james Howels History of Venice.  
Bishop Andrews second volume of Sermons.  
Sir Robert Howard's four Plays.  
Wall-Flower, a Romance.  
Mrs. Phillip's Poems.  
Mr. Abraham Cowley's Works.  
Ben. Johnson's second volume.   

Quarto's.  
Charleton's Natural History.  
His Immortality of the soul.  
His History of Stonehenge.  
His Character of the King▪  
boil's Essays in Latin and English.  
Parthenissa, a Romance, in Five Tomes.  
Blunt's Art of making Devices.  
A Discourse of Schools and Schoolmasters.  
Fisher's Ironiodia Gratulatoria.  
Civil Right of Tithes.   

Octavos large.  
boil's style of Scripture. 

His Seraphic Love.  
His History of Colours.  
His Reflections.    
Bergerac's Le●ters.  
Humane Industry.  
Humane Soul.  
Sir Robert Howard's Poems.  
Sir Thomas higgon's Poems.  
Buscon, or the Witty-Spaniard.  
Rats Rhymed to death.  
Yelverton's Christian Religion▪  
Characters on the Passions  
All Horace in English.  
Carter's Heraldry.  
Grand difference between France and Spain.  
Sucklings Poems and Remains.  
Pastor fido; English.  
Sir Toby Mathews Letters.  
Court of Rome.  
De-Laines French Grammar  
Evelin of Employment  
Dryden's Annus Mirabilis.  
Quevedo's Visions.  
waller's Poems.  
denham's Poems.  
Donns' Poems.  
Crashaws' Poems.  
Judgements of God against Atheism and Profaneness.  
Fleckno's Loves Dominion.  
The Ephesian Matron.  
Cimmerian Matron, to which is added the Mysteries and Miracles of Love.   

Octavos small.  
Bishop King's Poems.  
Game at Chess-Play.  
Davenant's Declamations  
Flecknoes Diarum  
Honest Ghost.  
Horace, his Odes and Epodes.  
Kellison on the 51 Psalm.  
Method of Reason; des C●rtes.  
Musarum Deliti●.  
Pantagruel's Prognostication▪  
Heroic Education.  
Lo. Castlemains Account of Candi●.  
Carew's Poems.  
Sir Will. Davenant's Madagascar▪  
Sir. Will. D●venants Gondibert.   

Large Twelves.  
Raleigh's Ghost.  
Gregory Nazianzen's Orations in English.  
Bishop King's Psalms.  
Mazarines and Oliver Cromwel's Design to surprise Ostend.   

Small Twelves.  
Amourus Fantasme, a Play.  
Enchanted Lovers, a Play.  
Balsacs' Converson of the Roman.   

PLAYS, Folio and Quarto.  
Adventures of Five hours.  
Mustapha.  
Henry the Fifth▪  
Just Italian.  
Unfortunate Lovers.  
Love and Honour.  
Albovine King of the Lombard's.  
Cruel Brothe●s.  
Cruelty of the Spaniards in P●r●▪  
History of Sir Francis Drake.  
Siege of Rhodes, first and second Parts.  
Nuptial of Pelius and Thetis.  
The Widow, a Comedy.  
Love in a Tub.  
Rival Ladies, a Comedy.  
Indian Emperor.  
Amazon Queen.  
Pompey the Great.  
Maiden Queen.  
The Usurper, a Tragedy.  
Cutter of Colemanstreet.  
The Carnival, a Comedy.  
Mayor of Queenborough.  
Tarugoes Wiles, or the Coffee-house▪  
Duke of Lerma.  
Villain, a Tragedy.  
Dryden's Essay of Poesy▪  
Duel of the Staggs.