ELISE, OR Innocence Guilty.  
A NEW ROMANCE, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY JO: JENNINGS, Gent.  
DUM PR●MOR ●T●O●●O  
LONDON, Printed by T. Newcomb for Humphrey Moseley and are to be sold at his Shop at the Sign of the Prince's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1655.   

TO THE Right Honourable, and truly Noble and most Virtuous Lady, FRANCES COUNTESS of DORSET.  
MADAM,  
HAving by a strange fortune lighted on this Book, which to me appeared so pleasing, and fit for your entertainment, in that your retired solitary life; I think it cannot be displeasing to any, being raised with the glory of your Name: that is, this History of Elise. In which, Madam, you shall find Virtue suffering under the weight of afflictions, that end it; and an innocence made guilty more by the inadvertency of the Parties, than the malice of the Judges.  
Yet it may be esteemed a Tragic history not so fit for your persent disposition, to whom nothing ought to be presented but of pleasure and content. But to judge so, is to be ignorant of your worth, which like the Dolphin is most pleased in the roughest waters. And as nothing gives more content to those that have passed dangers, then to speak of the perils they have been in both by sea and land; who can better judge than you, that have found by experience the truth of this saying of a grave Writer, That it is very hard amongst so much malignity as hath infected the world, to live under the support of innocence. But when posterity shall read your history, which deserves the writing of the most able and curious pen, they will then hold for a vanity that of the Romans, which is a truth in your history, that hath showed us a virtue without second, in the first and most glorious from of our days; One may see a patience without example, a mildness unbelievable, a fidelity inviolable, a chastity invincible, and lastly a constancy founded on eminent piety, that can know nothing greater than itself.  
All this, Madam, is exempt from flattery; since as many places as the Sun shines on, are as many Echoes of your praises. But what echoes or what voice can worthily show your merits, being raised to that height, that they can no way be presented but imperfectly; none can undertake without express boldness, were they never so eloquent in language, to praise them but imperfectly. But as our eyes have a natural sympathy with the elements of fire and water, which proceeds from their composition, and make us willingly contemplate the bright liveliness of the one, and the crystal running of the other: Even so I hope, be it that your eyes descend to the reading of this Piece, or that your ears may but hear it recited, your thoughts may meet with consolation; seeing in the misfortunes of others a feeble Idea of these disasters, whose blackness will raise the height of your glories, as the obscurity of the Night sets off the brightness of the Moon, whose roundness is accomplished. It is for weak spirits to faint at sight of one let blood; Generous hearts laugh at the attaints of fortune; and how can they look pale at the reading of calamities, that have so far surmounted the greatest? And then, Madam, the honour you have gained in bringing to the world so many Males for the maintaining of the Honourable and Noble house of the Sa●kviles, will inspire you with a new strength to pass over without apprehension the sad and tragic events of this Deduction. Which hath no other end but to bring you some divertisement and consolation, and to let you see the lively affection I have ever had to honour and esteem, according to my power, so many Virtues as crown you, and tie me, Madam, to be ever  
Your most humble and obedient Servant, JO. JENNINGS.   

To the Reader.  
THe little time I lived in France, and the small skill I attained in the language, should have diverted me from the undertaking of a Transtation: but the content I took in the reading of this Tragic History of Eliza, made me rather venture the censure of Detractors, than not to publish a Story of so much pity and example. In which thou shalt see, that suffering is not always for the offenders, as for the unfortunate; and that want of Consideration is many times cause of as great accidents as Malice. It will teach thee to fear God, and to think of thy ways, that is, to govern thy actions with wisdom and circumspection.  
Love and Death are the two principal Actors in this Scene, and as in an Emblem they change their from. Thou wilt see strange effects of both the one and the other: For certainly it is very hard in this lamentable Age in which we live, as in that of the Prophet; and it may be said after him, That Murder and Adultery make a prodigious inundation over the face of the earth and that blood craves blood Who hath ever heard that true Love was inconsistent with piety? For truly, the profane and the virtuous cannot be joined with devotion, as those that be governed by wisdom and discretion. As the contrary I know by its opposite; even so how can I make known the beauty of the one, if I set not forth the deformity of the other? and yet in so pleasing a manner, as may not cause in the weakest Judgements any dangerous thoughts or strange elusions. But as it is certain, that they are the wicked that give scandals by raising false reports of others; so they are but the weak that apprehend them. I will not touch the particularities contained in this following History, not to take from thee the pleasure of the reading, desiring it may satisfy thy expectation. And will rest thine in all love to serve thee,  
JO. JENNINGS.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty.  

IN the beginning of the reign of that famous Henry, whose merits brought from France, and seated in the throne of Poland, before a legitimate succession placed the royal Diadem of St. Lewis on his head, it appeared the Golden age, which is but a vanity bo●● in the brains of Poets, yet seemed like a truth in France. For Peace coming with golden wings, after the furious torments it had suffered during the reign of generous Charles his predecessor brought the vessel of this Estate within two fingers of her utter loss and destruction, but now returned in all abundance of joy and tranquillity, contentment and all the pleasures which are to be imagined. And truly this world can no way be pleasing but in variety, nor harmonious according to the imaginations of the Platonicians: As for example, we must yield that the darkness of the night makes us think the day more fair; and as sad colours set off the light with greater lustre, and as the blacks and sullied colours contribute to the sweetness and whiteness of the lily, and as the thorns serve for an ornament to the roses, as a calm appears never so pleasing as after a fearful tempest, as wines are never so sweet as when the taste hath somewhat of bitterness, or as hunger and thirst makes one find those meats delicious of least savour; so peace is never in its true lustre but after a long and hard war, even such was before the return of this bright Star; war had even rend this Monarchy in pieces with dissensions uncivilly civil, that it appeared our Nation was become a manicle, and took pleasure in opening her own entrails and to unrip herself, more hungry than Saturn after the flesh of his own children. 
Nought was but slaughter seen, whole fields being spread  
With mangled trunks, and bodies of the dead.  Then appeared this Henry, which returning from one end of the world, leaving a Country and Kingdom where he was adored, to give himself to this where his birth and inclination called him, was welcomed like another Saint Elm, or if you will, as a Neptune ferming the winds of seditions in their gale; and calming with the Trident of his valour, prudence, and goodness, the mutinous ●lotes which beat the flanks of this great Bark, who quickly knew him for her Pilot, and received him for her legitimate Prince: the sword was now no more shaken over the heads of the Citizens; experience now had taught, that fire and sword were needless threaten to strike off the heads of the Hydra, which was cause of all these mischiefs; the earth had drank the blood and wiped away all remembrance from men, all tears dried, all displeasures forgot, peace and quietness published this great Prince. 
Raising from war the Olive, which imparts  
Trophies to Sciences, and the liberal Arts.  And then as the bitterness of gall makes us prove the sweetness of honey, so contentment and peace unexpected ravished so the enjoyers, as it took away the means to express their happiness. You would have said, it was a Solomon peaceably succeeding a bloody David; that greatness whereof France is the Mine, hiding in her own breast all her treasures, which now she set forth to show to the face of the earth: The Court shined like the heavens, strewed with as many stars as there were Princes and Lords; the King appeared like a Sun, not only by his sovereignty which spread the beams of all his other greatness, but also the merits of his person; for in his counsels he was wisest, at his exercises the readiest, in arms the most valiant, amongst the gallants of the best grace, in company the quickest-witted, amongst the braves the most agreeable, amongst the well-spoken the most eloquent, with the devout the most religious, among the rich and pompous the most magnificent; and wheresoever he was, he could never be mistaken, nor take Alexander for Ephestion; for he held his Majesty with so grave a sweetness, a face worthy of the Empire, as if appeared, shown as if it had been written on his forehead and carriage, Behold the King. Yet all these truths are so far from flattery, that one ought to have had but eyes to see and swear that all came short that could be said of his heroic parts. True it is, I may with more boldness proceed to set forth his praises by the permission of the wisest of Kings: but in a time in the which one cannot imagine any pretention of acknowledgement, being there remains none of his race; for what recompense should one expect of a Prince, that after the having possessed two great Sceptres, hath lain many years upon the earth deprived of his last honour, his Sepulchre, remaining as the Poet sung of his time his and his creature, 
Whose thunder-shattered carcase looked like just  
Confused atoms, or an heap of dust.  And as to the sole image of his virtues it is that I give this due memory, there was nevertheless this gracious difference between the Sun and this Prince; that in the midst of his Court, that is, that in place of swallowing the brightness of the smaller Planets, this great King on the contrary gave such a lustre to those that environed him, that without so sing any of his pre-eminence, he gave them of his brightness; that made him respected of many, and envied of others, for all birds bea● not equally the brightness of his favour. Verily one may say of the magnificence of this Prince, the same as the Queen of Mid● said of Solomon, That happy were his servants; for besides his liberality to them, he was very courteous in the beginning of his reign; he practised many great things, and there passed so many wonders at Court, that as there is no face without some blemish, so they were in greater pain to hinder the profuse expenses of this great Monarch, then to praise his liberality. Living thus happy, adored of his subjects, beloved of his neighbours, feared of strangers, esteemed of all the world; when the heavens jealous to see so much prosperity on earth, sowed emulation and jealousies among the great ones, that have risen to those rays which we can no way express but with silence, being it makes nothing to the History that I have now to write, the which tragical misfortune happened during these great prosperities which I intent to paint forth. Methinks it should be a presage without ills, this public happiness: but as it happens at sea ordinarily, that certain white birds coming to sup at the water, or sit on the ship, is a certain sign of the storm; so Innocence made guilty and punished as a delinquent, as it shall appear in this following story, was an augure, being born and fed as a canker in the fairest roses, aught by miserable arts to cover this great Prince from 〈◊〉 many black calumnies, that his religion should be taken for impiety, and his piety for irreligion, by those which ought to have been the trumpets of his glory, and to be persecuted by those that should have been arches and tables of his authority and of his Empire. But not to draw any harder this knot too delicate for my rude hand, I will only content myself with this saying to come to my end, That the heart of this good King was very open to all worthiness; many favourites he had. Let us repeat again this little word of liberty, as I said, Favourites, and in great numbers; and as it is impossible in a multitude there will not multiply diversity of humours and passions, according to the diversity of judgements, and as they are interessed, It happened that a Lord of great birth and quality that had place in the King's house, fell not altogether in disgrace, but in disesteem with the Prince, by the artificious industries of a Favourite that loved him not; and because it doth concern me to conceal the names and qualities of the persons in this history, by reason of the tragical events that shows in the line of this deduction, we will hid them with so much art, imitating the thunder that bruises the bones without hurting the skin, melts swords and silver without hurting the seab●ard or the purses; being very needful to gain profit by an example to know the particular circumstances of the places of the persons and their titles, provided that that which is treated of be truly, neatly, and clearly set down. We will do then as we behold the Bee, who draws the honey from flowers without any impression, she is content to drink of the rose, and to draw the sweetness and the essence, leaving it as if she had never touched it; so we hope to conduct the nib of our pen with so much prudence and circumspection, upon the flowers bitterly-sweet of this field, now white with innocence, now red with murders; and without offending the families, or interessing the parties, we will discover the ray of this truth, learning from a great Historian, that it is very dangerous amongst so many humane errors, and amongst so many obscurities that darken the course of this mortal life, to live only upon the support of his proper innocence. For as the sun, as bright and splendent as it is, may be darkened with the clouds, or shut up by the appearing of the moon, that his light is stolen away to our thinking; even so the greatest purity may be soiled by a false accusation, and the greatest whiteness blacked by calumnious tongues. This Lord then, the which we are to speak of, and whose name we will shadow under that of Timoleon, seeing himself deprived of that ancient grace and favour which he had been accustomed to gather every morning like a sweet Manna on the visage of his Prince, was sad and melancholy, because he could not know wh●● malicious tongue had caused all this woe. And doubting ●●at the inveterate hatred which was betwixt his house 〈…〉 his of this new Haman's of whom he had no looks but 〈◊〉 one side, procured him these good favours towards his 〈◊〉; he essayed, but in vain, by means of an excellent Est●● that then reigned, to make known to his Sovereign his faith 〈◊〉 services: What shall I say? he employed the credit of a Barshe●● to this great Solomon, that the● had an ascendant power over his judgement, without being able to find the calm now changed by the winds of preoccupations of a favour that put him in disfavour. This is the sport at Court; a perpetual putting our all jacob's supplanters; on Ocean that hath his 〈◊〉 and flows continually, their rise and f●llings 〈◊〉 Sea of glass shining, but brittle; and by how much the 〈◊〉 it shines the brighter. He sees the edifice of his fortune; that looks like an old building sustained with his own proper weight; he sees his ruin threatened by a secret Mine that promised nothing but to reduce him to powder, if he should think to countermine. Favour is a torrent that overthrows all that opposeth against his strength; he must give way, make the place large, it were folly to think to stay his course; it's a brawl that comes from a superior power, as speaking of the makers of laws; an inferior authority cannot withstand those that fortune conducts to that point, and makes them masters and possessors of the hearts and ears of Sovereigns. These are the Heroes that have I know not what of half between the condition, and those of personages redoubtable, that the Ancients called Demigods. In vain our Timoleon wrestles against this spirit, no greater than his, but far stronger; he must yield and become lame, without having had any victory, like Jacob. The houses of this old Mordecai, and this young Haman, were not only of one Province, but also very near: And as it happens ordinarily, that friendship or enmities are in extremes between neighbours, hatred rather than friendship had continued as an inheritance betwixt these two families, although much unequal; for this of our Timoleon in the country held another sort of rank, carriage and good fashion then this other, which it is needless here to name, unless for a simple opinion. But since such are the variable changes of humane States, that as the Proverb says, the servant hath outrun the master, and is arrived in the ●ists of happiness: For this same leaving behind him an obse●●● posterity, that dares no more appear before this other than a small star of the lower heavens to a great Planet; such are the changes of this world, and thus God holds the balance in the hand of his justice, by ways unknown to us raising one and throwing down another, making of the same clay like a judicious Potter now vessels of honour, and then vessels of ignominy.  
Thus our Timoleon was forced to yield under weight of his disgrace; and as great courages are nourished with favours of their Prince, could not endure to see they should be grown cold in their affection; nor suffer the rising of this new star whose brightness seemed as the sun to dim the small morning-stars, to affront and darken this bright light which had shined so clear, at least with a jealous envy which did torment him pitifully. So that without staying for a shameful leave, prevented his disgrace, pretending to retire, desired leave to sell his place. The King being good, although cold towards him, as having his thoughts occupied with opinions unworthy of his worth and true services, and on the other side being a wise Prince, would not give him the discontent, put him off disgracefully, was very glad that this demand came of himself; Timoleon having read in his face, that his absence would be as pleasing to him, as his presence unpleasing. But to enter the synagogue honourably, after having thanked him for his services showed to him and to his Ancestors in his office, which appertained to the conservation of their persons, having been executed by him and his family to the Kings his predecessors with all loyalty that Sovereigns could desire of faithful subjects; his Majesty, commended his resolution, which was to retire from the unquietness of the Court, to enjoy towards the end of his days in his house a quiet tranquillity, which could not be tasted in the affairs of the world. And because the King desired this office should fall into the hands of a Lord, kinsman to the same we have described, and one who had followed him in his journey to Poland, he made it known to Timoleon it would please him to have it conferred on him; and for a recompense, he should receive such as he should hold himself very well satisfied, making a show to be very sorry that his son was not of years to execute it, who was brought up in Court with other Nobleman's sons; promising to acknowledge it when it should be time, with some dignity or place that should not be less in value. There was enough said, and wisely spoken for a Prince, that aught to hold it for a maxim inviolable, not to let any one leave him ill-satisfied. But it is ill done to jest with his Master; for the ears of Kings ought not to be employed but with things that are pleasant, and with sweetness and humility. Timoleon having ill practised these rules, will have much le●sure to repent him; for being of a high courage, and according to the name we give him, Heart of a Lion▪ when he felt his honour touched, let himself be carried with passion, passing the terms of respect which he ought to have used to his Sovereign; and being in a humour common to most of that Nation of his Province, to vaunt and brag of his birth, and to es●ee●● his services and those of his Ancestors, without considering that good deeds reproached take the quality of injuries: And speaking further, it seemed he taxed his Majesty the libe●allest Prince that could be of ingratitude towards him; nay more, of violence to force him to render his place to one of the creatures of his enemy, being he had a design to leave the exercises of it to one of his own kinsmen, to have yielded to his son when he should come to years to execute it. Upon which there slipped from him many strange words, that the King's patience too much urged changed into such extreme choler, (anger of Kings the wise man compares to the fierceness of a Lion, that makes all tremble that hear them) that he commanded him to void the Court within three days, and to take his son with him, giving him his own country for banishment, and his house for his prison, with an express command never to present himself before his face. He would have answered, having suddenly repent; but the King retiring, left him there like a man struck with a thunderbolt, before having seen the lightning. Truly these indiscretions are insupportable; for as we ought not to write against those we know can return it again, so we ought never to contend with those that with a look are able to confound us. Behold Goliath, behold the Colossuses of Nabuchadnezar broken with one blow of thunder, and a blow of one stone: here is a fortune overthrown for want of consideration; and Timoleon reduced even to the terms of despair, employs both young and old to obtain that at first so courteously was granted: but all his means and those of his friends were in vain; for the King being full of rage and ill opinions against him, accusing him of Rodomontades and insolence, would show him he was the Master; and thus imitating God, whereof he was the Image, he knew how to raise the humble, and cast down the proud.  
His Enemy which lost no time, believing that his expulsion from Court would give a greater freedom to his fortunes, and that the lessening of this house would be a means to raise his own, obtained his office for his kinsman; which to satisfy the murmurs and whispers, Timoleon was but too happy to receive a sad recompense far off from that he might have had, if retiring in appearance with the favour of his Prince, and with hopes of better for his son. Here are dear brave; this last makes all the sweetness of the Court bitter: yet having been accustomed, he leaves it unwillingly and with grief; as slaves accustomed to servitude, their liberty seems wearisome; the air of the Country that is so sweet to every one, to him is unpleasing, because he comes to be commanded by his exile; his house which he ought naturally 〈◊〉 love, being become his prison, to fulfil the proverb, appears to him dark and loathsome, although it were fair and large; the which being seated upon one of the fairest Rivers in France, which hath the view of two of the principal Cities of this Kingdom, we will take the liberty to call it Bellerive; and that which made this place seem less pleasing, besides the remembrance in what manner he left the Court, which made him a subject for the discourse of all tongues, which are ever ready on these occasions to the ordinary humour of men to desire that which is forbidden, and to hate that which is commanded. This is the solitude of a sad widowhood, the which he finds he is reduced to in age so advanced, that if he should attempt a second shipwreck, would be laid open to the laughter of all the world: And although that at this time he had need more than at any other of a wife to have care of his person, and to have comforted him in the government of his estate, a thing of Courtiers but very ill understood for the most part. And certainly it seems that which God in the beginning of the world said of the first man, we may now say to the worldly man, That it is not good for him to be alone: for why? in the paradise of delights where Adam was created, he gave him a companion full of sweetness and beauty, to the end that nothing should be wanting that he could desire in this happy estate of innocence. Although the house of Timoleon were the fairest of the world, yet coming from the most excellent conversations, with which the Court was as then both famous and in its lustre; this sudden change much astonished him, principally when in this wearisome sharp solitude his many businesses which his long absence had made very troublesome, began now to be shut from all parts, having seen himself at Court much made of by his Master, cherished by the greatest, honoured by his equals, obliging the meanest at his pleasure, in a place of great esteem; at a blow here environed with the meanest of Nobility, which with the appearance to honour him come with hope to devour him. All this displeases him strangely; all his comfort is in his son, a complete Gentleman, and of so good a fashion, as that the most curious and sumptuous King of the world had chosen him to be of his chamber. But as of one side this fair presence gave him content, seeing himself to live again in this young branch; on the other side the heat of the wounds coming from the same place of his joy, in considering how by his own folly he had ruined the fortune of this child, having frozen him in his flower and root; this put him in an extreme melancholy, that cannot be expressed but by those whose passions are only for the advancement of their posterity. But what, is there no remedy? it is a bone of a horse broken, which there is no means to set again. Now all his thoughts are to marry his son, yet thinks he is too young to put him to the yoke, and yet too old to be reprehended; he considered it would be very necessary to have a fair and good daughter in law, which would be a great comfort to him in his age, easing him of those houshold-cares and businesses, which to a noble courage are far more troublesome than affairs of greater import; even as Flies are more troublesome than beasts of greater stature which are more hurtful, by reason of their continual importunity. Many times he would say to himself that which the most ingenious of Poets said of the Father of Daphne, desiring infinitely that this maid should leave the company and delights of Diana, and put herself under the laws of Hymen. 
Daughter, bring me a son, if thou wouldst have  
My name immortal, and survive the grave.  And many times our Timoleon would suddenly say to his son, 
Bring me a daughter, that I may resign  
The house to her, who must keep me and mine.  But this young Lord, which we will call Philippin, without much disguising the name he received at his birth, very near that of the famous Apostle which converted the Eunuch of the Queen of Candace, applying himself to games and pastimes conformable to his humour and his years, gave little attention to these fatherly admonitions; for what can one engrave upon a Mercury not fixed, or upon a running water which is never firm? Hunting is the principal exercise of this Adonis; for to what could this generous and noble spirit addict himself better, then to this occupation which is in peace the lively image of war. Timoleon goes sometimes, but rarely, and sometimes to those which had more strength; for the benefit, or if you will, the ill effect of years began now to make him unable for these exercises; he loves his stable better than the following hounds, or the prey, then to hunt it: On the contrary, Philippin delighteth rather in the pursuit, then to see it in the dish. The young Gentlemen thereabouts came often to this young Lord, he is much made of, honoured and respected of all; as it is the custom of Courtiers to adore rather the sun rising then the going down. Whilst the Father feasts it with the aged, Philippin spits the woods in company of the youth: like that young Ascanio near the Prince of the Poets of the Romans, full of strength and valour, he asks no more but even to encounter some huge Boar or furious Wolf, or some old Stag, to show his strength by the greatness of his prize. But after so many preys, he becomes a prey; after so many prizes he himself is taken, and all his strength thrown to the ground, not by the teeth of a cruel Boar, nor by the horns of a Stag, nor by a ravenous Wolf, but by the glance of an eye worse than that of Basilisk; for this glance is his death, and which is worse, a miserable death.  
There was in a fair valley very near to Bellerive, a little house belonging to a Gentleman that was Tenant to Timoleon, the situation of which shall be the occasion to call it Vaupre, by reason it was environed with delicate meadows and pleasant brooks, which made the seat very delightful and pleasing; you would have said, having seen it, though little, but very well composed and trussed together, that it shown like a nosegay in the midst of a garden of sweet flowers. It was possessed by a Master, in goods of fortune poor, but of a brave and resolute courage, which will be well known in this our history under the name of Pyrrhe, without altering his own but in one letter. This same had of children a son and a daughter, sprung from a mother generous in all her actions, which we will name Valentine. So that as Eagles do not engender Doves, these Children were nothing but courage and generosity: The daughter which we must call Isabel, brought into this condition by her brother, which shall be known under the name of Harman, leaving in her most tender years the occupations ordinary to her sex, gave herself to exercises of arms and hunting with such strength and address, that she was much admired of all the neighbourhood, and esteemed another Amazon. Her Father liking this humour in her, was well pleased to see her ride a horse like man, to run at the ring, and to vault, to fence, and handle a harquebuzer, and to these contributed his own help and industry. The mother was not displeased, as judging there was no point of honour lost, of which she was very jealous. So now as things strange and new are most esteemed, so these qualities extraordinary gave such a fame to this maid, that all the valleys did resound of nothing but her praises; and the echoes gave an envy to the hearers, to see this wonder to all those that heard of her.  
There was no assembly of hunting where she was not yet always accompanied with either her father or brother: And as she was alone in her fashions, so she shown with so much the more advantage, and always accompanied with so much modesty, as her presence unaccustomed filled the hearts and eyes of the beholders with admiration and astonishment: For she had been very well brought up, very ready in any thing she undertook; she spoke with great discretion; her actions were composed, and at pleasure detained, and although she gave some what a lively natural liking to these exercises so far from her condition, yet nevertheless it was with so much simplicity and so little vanity, as if malice itself should have striven to have bit, she made herself not only irreprehensible, but commendable. And would to God that she had either continued in these terms, or that she had been retained within the bounds of those exercises fitting her sex; we should not then see her defamed as she will be, nor the only instrument of these tragic businesses, the which bloodies the course of this History. The reputation of this Diana was not long before it came to the ears of Philippin; the which more for curiosity then for any affection he had ever experimented, desired to see her a horseback, and made this request to her father, whom he saw often, who would not deny so small a courtesy to his Landlord's son, and the which should one day be his chief jewel. There is a match made for hunting the Stag; Pyrrhe and Herman bring Isabel to the sport; who without any other design then that which all those of her sex have, to seem pleasing to the eyes of those which did with curiosity consider her, put herself in such order, as her natural graces not being small, were much heightened with art, that it was very easy for her to draw upon her the eyes of all that troop. I will not trouble myself with the description of her form, nor of the habit: For although the picture of her fashion might much set forth and beautify this discourse, being dressed; yet nevertheless to show the beauty of virtue and deformity of vice, rather than to present corporal perfections, it shall suffice me to show the cause by the effect, in saying that fire takes not hold so soon of the Naptha of Babylon, or of the herb called Aproxis, as this of Love seized on the heart of this young Philippin at the presence of this object, which appeared to him the fairest that ever he had seen: The sight of his person was so ravished in this contemplation, carrying such a dimness into that of his understanding, that he lost both his liberty and the knowledge of himself; so as may be said of him these words of an ancient Poet, 
His optick-nerves, when this star shined,  
Were Planet-smitten, and turned blind.  This great blow struck him in such; sort, as he remained pensive and astonished, all the time of the hunting; he did nothing but rub over again his new wound, being more devoured in his thoughts than Actaeon was with his hounds: His heart was of soft wax for the impression of this seal; and this excellent form finding a soul as innocent as the whitest paper, drew a line so strong that death itself defaced the character. Isabel employed in the pursuit of the Stag, thought least of this new prize, not esteeming him coming newly from a Court as full of rare objects as there are stars in the skies shining in the night, would cast his eyes so low as on her rusticity, nor being so presumptuous to raise hers so high as his with any design to make him her captive, to whom she owed all sort of obedience. So that the heart of Philippin, was a broken Looking-glass to receive the beams of this new light, and hers a Glass embossed which threw beams of deep impression. Oh how happy had she been still to have done so▪ an eternal blame would not then have covered her memory.  
The issue of the hunting had such success as one would desire; and when Isabel had given good testimony of her skill in riding, and of her understanding in this exercise, Philippin is returned to Belerive, carrying to his father the head of a great Stag, the which had given them great pain in the taking; not without recounting the wonders of this Amazon with terms of that advantage, that it was easily judged he had considered her with very much attention; and yet he spoke not the half of what he thought, and yet enough to make Timoleon desire to see this Damosel, that knew by skill to manage a horse with as much skill as any Gentleman in these quarters. There is a new assembly made for hunting, where Timoleon sees and admires her, wondering to see so much strength and vigour in one of her sex, which usually have weakness and debility for their part, & considering that all which is extraordinary hath a kind of excellence. I say nothing of her beauty, because I neither understand truly to consider it, nor how to write of it; yet they say she past all mediocrity, and being accompanied with so much grace and good fashion, that the setting surpassed the richness of the stone, and the fashion surpassed the stuff. So that Philippin is not only touched, but transported; for to him all was admirable in her. This is not sure that huntsman which lately had nothing in his head but woods and hounds; his imagination is so transported and filled with this new passion, that there is hardly left place in himself for himself; for reason, that is quite banished; this deity fills all his senses; he is become sad and melancholy; and he that heretofore could not understand other passion than an earnest desire to be riding and running, is now become grave and reserved, much unbefitting his years; and losing no occasion of hunting where he thinks he may be so happy as to meet her, who hath thus taken him; on the contrary 'tis that which he seeks, and with so much curiosity, that he seems rather to fly then go; more lover than hunter in place of her, whose thoughts are more of her game then any way touched with love. Thus he sees often Isabel, but speaks of nothing less than of his passion, covering it with the excess of his gravity, as there appears not so much as a spark in appearance. 
Wasting the precious day and night, I move  
In vain those motions of a fruitless love.  This Io is kept by two Arguses, which have their eyes as sharp as those of Linx; this garden of golden apples is kept by two Dragons always waking for their preservation. So that Philippin sees before his eyes 
The paradise, whose wretched pleasure is  
An hell of virtue, or a black abyss.   
But who can carry fire in his breast long, says the wise man, without showing some flame, or at least smoke? The continual praises of this Virgin, that like lively flames came from the mouth of this young Lover from the furnace of his heart, were testimonies enough to Timoleon, whom years had taught the excess of this furious passion, and that the gentle fashion and beauty of this Maid were fixed in the eyes of his son: For as Physicians will give strong and great opinions of the indispositions of men by the sight of their tongues, even so our own speech will betray our interior thoughts to persons of quick understanding; and who knows not that the birds, and other beasts of the earth, by their continual cries and stuttering make known to those that understand them the heat which moves them when they are touched with the thing we call Love?  
At the first the good man disdained to give a remedy, esteeming it was but a flame flying light, and might be extinguished with the blast of his word. But his wisdom found himself deceived: for not having well practised this precept, That in ills of this kind we must at the beginning give remedies, Antidotes late and out of season being improper to take away these inveterate impressions. The whilst this little Butterfly burns inconsiderately the wings of his desire about this torch, which will be his end. Here is nothing but visits to Vaupre, and matches for hunting; which he cares not much for, but as Dido loved it for to see her Aeneas, without his Diana it is to no purpose: Isabel is the star that lightens the darkest obscurities of the woods. When they are returned, he cannot speak without protesting, that as she is the honour of the Forests, so she is the fortune of their prize; he should say his misfortune, as she will be one day the dishonour of his house. So that even as that cunning Anne, sister to the Queen of Carthage, found that Dido was touched with the perfections of her new guest whom the tempests had forced to land in her ports, by the excessive praises which she raised of his merits, esteeming him a man descended of the race of gods: even so this young bird began to discover his note without shadowing his passion to the public knowledge of men, and boasts of it. He is ordinarily at Vaupre, drawn by the invisible chains of his affections; and when he is at Bellerive, he is there in his thoughts: for why? the soul is more in the object beloved then in its own body that keeps it. But because he cannot accost this beauty without being acquainted with her mother Valentine, and her father and brother, he so subtilises his passion, which is the mother of inventions, to win these threes affections, which are very proud of these visits; and when they perceived what he sought, they esteemed themselves as much honoured, as the Match would be advantageous for them. Already Pyrrhe, and Valentine feed themselves with smoke of this great alliance; and Isabel, which was not made of brass, seeing herself so religiously served and honoured by this young Lord, foresaw things to her highest hopes, let herself be carried away with a reciprocal liking; in the which neither the one nor the other could have any blame; for almost their affections had one end by that great Sacrament which our Lord Jesus Christ instituted in his Church.  
It is neither my humour nor my design to set down here what passed in their wooing: for besides that I must either fain or divine; and although I should know the truth, I esteem it not fit with such small entertainments to stay my pen any longer, pretending rather to write of tragic actions then of affected speeches. Well, our Philippin is very welcome, well received according to his merit, and the quality of his person obliged his vassals of which he desired alliance; all were content, as they say, without their Host. For Timoleon perceiving clearly at length, that this affection took too great root in the heart of his son; having once showed and admonished him that he should do better to keep company with his equals, and not to be continually with his inferiors; and that his too much frequenting of Vaupre going and coming, were not pleasing to him. This was rather to augment his passion, than any way to dissuade him from it: For in place of facility, the difficulty made him more desirous and eager in this pursuit. Even as the fire in the forge is made more violent rather then quenched by the often sprinkling of water; so this Father of his being terrible severe, the least word of his being like a flash of lightning which made his son tremble, he is become now more reserved in his visits. But as fire shut up in a furnace is much more hot than when it is free and in the air, so it is in the heart of this young Philippin. Letters, which make absence present, are not spared: Isabel having permission of her friends to entertain this match, is no niggard of her answers. And even as in those Nations bordering upon France, where the women are kept in a continual prison, and in so slavish a servitude as is impossible to be conceived, the least action serves for a grant to those that seek them; it was so here; for at these stolen visits, by a thousand arts which affection teaches, the protestations of fidelity were so strong and vehement which Philippin made, vowing and protesting that he could never be any others but Isabella's: This maid assured for her part to this Lord, that she would never receive other affection but his. Yet those interviews being kept close from Timoleon, were nevertheless always in presence of her mother or father, or at least her brother, as those stampers in the golden mines; so that her honour could not receive the least blemish, no, not so much as a thought.  
Timoleon, which had his watchful spies upon the actions of his son, hath some notice of these secret meetings: which makes him raise his voice, and check his son more bitterly for his disobedience, and with such threats which much astonished the heart of this young youth, yet no way removed his love; but on the contrary, like those rubies of Ethiopia, which being put in vinegar redouble their lustre, became more stubborn for these reproofs full of sharp bitterness: And that which gave the most lively touch of his cruelty, was the forbidding of Herman the conversation of his son, which was brother to Isabel; for in the absence of the sister, Philippin took such delight in the presence of her brother, that he could not be without him, and had as it were taken him to be about him. This was a kind of an affront to Herman, and which offended Pyrrhe; who, although the meanest Gentleman, yet had a courage such as could not suffer of his Landlord, nor of a Prince the least word or action which should not only hurt, but touch his honour. So that being touched with a kind of revenge, after having made known his complaints to his neighbours of this usage of Timoleon, he thought with himself to forbid Philippin his house, which was to use as his equal his superior. Here is Herman, Philippin, and Isabel in all the troubles of the world. Timoleon puts a man to his son, which should have charge to look to all his actions, with an express command never to leave him, or to be so much as a foot from him; leaving anything else to his pleasure and free liberty, what he could desire. On the other side, Isabel is kept up very strictly by her mother, nor ever gets leave to stir out of the house, which is an impenetrable goal. Philippin gets no more access: Timoleon laughs at Pyrrhe for having forbidden him, being the greatest favour he could have done him. There rests nothing but only their Pens, the which we give the name of certain Birds, because they fly and enter every where. By this means they make known their griefs; and this Danae complains of the cruelty of Acrise, which augments the desire in him that seeks her to find the invention of Jupin. But notwithstanding all this, his active heat which like thunder pierces and enters all sorts of obstacles, in spite of all the watches of one side and the other, shows them means to see and speak together. The extreme love and affection that was between Herman and Philippin, the which had some resemblance of that of David and Jonathan, brought forth this commodity. They meet at the hunting: And as Philippin made his complaint to him whom already he esteemed as his brother, of the extreme cruelty of Timoleon and of Pyrrhe, which in despite of their worst nothing should alter him from the design he had to marry his sister; Herman, who much pitied this young Youth whom he saw in so sensible grief, gave him counsel to have patience, and to remit it to time, which might change and give some ease to his griefs; and excusing his father who had forbid him his house, that it was not for any malice to him, whom he extremely loved and honoured for the worthy seeking his alliance, but to let Timoleon know that he ought not to use a Gentleman in that fashion, or to slight him so.  
All this did not heal Philippin, who could no way admit of this long absence; and in the impatience of his displeasure protested to die a languishing death, if there were no means for him to show to her which possessed him the assured testimonies of his faith, either by verbal promises, or by writing, that might tie him so to her, as it should be impossible to disengage them, in despite of the cruel usage of their pa●●n●ts; and rather submitting themselves to all sorts of misfortunes, then to fail in the least point of their resolution, even where passion should go to the greatest excess of cruelty against their youth. Herman, who passionately desired this alliance for his proper a advancement, was easily persuaded to find commodity for this interview, which was very easy for him to find, his sister not being otherwise kept but within the closure of the walls of Vaupre. He returns again to Philippin, and after having conferred with his sister, told him he should come in the night, and promised him to speak with his sister Isabel at a window in her house, provided that it might be in his presence. The which Philippin, who had no ill intent, yielded to very voluntarily. There is preparation for hunting the Boar: Herman is there in company of a Gentleman of the Country, a neighbour which was invited by Timoleon and Philippin. There are toils pitched in divers places where they think the horrible beast should pass; the word is given between Herman, and Philippin for to retire themselves; they are trusted through many woods; at last their hunting is ended, without ever once getting the prey into their tolls. At their return Philippin is not to be found; they hold him lost in the woods; but this cunning old man doubting of the cause of his absence, was very angry with this old Gentleman whom he had commanded not to let him go out of his sight, commanding him to go & watch all night at Vaupre, to see if he were not gone thither: for if he were lost in the woods, it was an accident which often happens to Huntsmen; but if he were in the place he had forbidden him, he had prepared a rude reprehension.  
He was but too good a Diviner: For Scipion (so was this Gentleman called which had this charge of him) failed not to meet with the encounter: For coming to Vaupre just at midnight, where the neighing of a horse gave him sufficiently to understand there were Sentinels which watched without, he left his horse tied to a tree far enough from being seen, and came himself stealing softly near the place, and had the pastime to hear the discourse of this young couple, which cut their own throats with their own knives. But he was most troubled to hear the verbal contracts of marriage which passed between them in the presence of Herman, taking God and the heavens to witness of their constant resolutions; adding to that by the hands of her brother he received promises reciprocally in writing, to the end that the reproach of Infidelity might rest upon the foreheads of those that should upon any occasion be the breakers; protesting solemnly, that neither the violence of their parents, nor any other humane power should ever break this knot, but it should be inviolably kept and maintained just unto death: And after some rings given and received in sign of this alliance, they parted with much joy of that which they had promised and sworn, and with grief to break off this sweet company. A hundred times Scipion was just at the point to discover himself to have broken this business, which infinitely displeased him; but for fear to put this young Gentleman into a despair, he durst not; for if he had found himself discovered, his love would have kindled such a choler in him, as he would have killed this Spy in the field, who rather chose to serve himself with the Fox's skin then the Lions, esteeming that wisdom would find easier ways to remedy these follies than force; certainly follies, by the fashion of their carriage, which were neither unlawful nor dishonourable in their affections, all that was being in the unequality of their conditions.  
Timoleon is advertised of all this business by Scipion and falls into such a fury, as he was very cholcrick; that there wanted not much, without saying any thing else to his son, to have shut him up in a prison for a long time, intending to use him so severely, as he would make him repent of his youthful inconsiderateness. Besides, knowing that these secret promises are not to be esteemed by divine nor humane laws, so as he jested at this, promising to break them as chains of glass: but he means to teach this Gallant to play him no more of these tricks in this kind. He comes home the next morning to Bellerive, feigning to have been lost in the woods, and to have been all night on horseback; and in that he spoke but truth.  
But cunning Timoleon bridled his anger at his first sight, to the end to make his correction more penetrating, being done in cold blood; and withal thinking by deferring his displeasure, to get into his hands those writings which had passed between them, which should have been returned of Herman, the which Scipion had advertised him of. He corrupts all his sons Footmen, to the end to discover this business, but in vain, for the business was already done: For at break of day, Herman coming out of Vaupre, and having brought to Philippin that of his sister, and receiving of Philippin his, which he would have signed with his blood (an ordinary ferventness in young men in the like occasions) if Herman had not hindered him.  
In vain did Timoleon hope to surprise that which was already received. But understanding by the treason of a Lackey, that Herman and Philippin did meet in many places, but with such artificious subtlety, as the eyes of Scipon were still deceived: At this Timoleon lost all sort of patience; and taking his son aside, after having dimmed his eyes with flashes of his own full of anger, made him understand, and should feel the thunder of his threats, if he left not the conversation of Herman, and the foolish love to his sister, so far unfit for his quality. At which this young Courage was like to have fallen down at this so sudden fright: For searching excuses the best coloured he could, he found himself so taken, that the more he sought to cover, the more he dishonoured his passion; and the more he spoke, the less made himself understood.  
Timoleon judging by the often changing of his colour, and alteration of his discourse so far from purpose, the confusion of his thoughts and the apprehension of his soul, yet redoubled this perplexity of relating the particularities of these meetings with Herman, he found certainly, he was betrayed. But more following this discourse, by discovering of his speech with Isabel and Herman near the walls of Vaupre, the night he feigned to be lost, with the same words and promises, and those also in writing which should be put into the hands of his pretended brother-in-law; this frighted him in such sort, as thinking for certain it had been his Father which had heard this Comedy, he fell down at his feet, craving a thousand pardons, beseeching him to attribute this to the excess of his passion, which may well bring Youth to these strange, courses, being Age itself when it is touched, is subject to commit many the like follies.  
Timoleon made tender by these submissions, and believing he had applied the iron to the fire of this ulcer in such manner as it was healed; promised him to forget what was passed, so that hereafter he would carry himself, with obedience to his commands and discretion in his actions, so that he might believe certainly that arrow was out of his flanks, and this vain affection quite removed from his heart.  
But as youth is like soft wax, that receives all forts of impressions, and keeps not one; so Philippin promises what one would have him, being resolved not to maintain any thing that the apprehension of fear makes him say, his love being far stronger than his fear. When retired from his father's sight, like a Criminal from the Tribunal of his Judge, it was then he blamed himself of weakness and want of courage; and giving himself a thousand injurious names, accusing his fearfulness, and protesting a new loyalty and service to this Idol which swum in his fancy, he rubbed his sore, and invenomed his wound by this constraint, disanuling all he had said in prejudice of his promise; he renews his meetings and secret practices with Herman. But being sold by his Lacquays in whom he trusted most, who for handsel of their treachery put many of his letters and those of Isabella's into the hands of Timoleon, by which he understood that reciprocal promises had been given on both sides; which made him enter into such an extreme choler, as he had never had the like, sometime threatening to ruin Pyrrhe and all his house, and then to be revenged on his son for this disobedience, as also to publish the shame of Isabel. Being transported to these extremities by his choler, he calls his son the second time; and after having reviled him with all the outrageous speeches that could be imagined, esteemed this relapse worse than his first fault.  
This young Lion having taken courage for the shame of his last flight, like him which said of himself, If I fled at the first encounter, it was to return the second time to fight with more resolution; setting aside those invective speeches of his father, which his duty bound him to endure; after some holy protestations of the honour and reverence which he would always give him, he told him plainly, and in a fashion of that height more than the spirit of Timoleon could endure, that he would lose a thousand lives rather than to fail in the least point of his love; that his honour was engaged by word and by writing, and that his soul should never receive other impression but that of Isabella's; the which was a Gentlewoman, and of that birth, as she could receive no reproach for her Nobility, having no other wants but the goods of fortune; esteeming rather to choose a wife which had virtues and perfections in abundance, than one with great wealth, which should have nothing more unpleasing than herself; and that this affection of his was led rather by reason then passion, honour and marriage having been the end of his pretensions; and if there Were any thing worthy reprehension; it was his carriage, not any thing in Isabel or Herman; and for himself, he was resolved never to leave their friendships for all the violence could be used on him, choosing rather to suffer the extremity of cruelty, and the worst of indignities, which should be like flames to purify his fidelity to the proof: And (as God lives) answered Timoleon, we will see whose head is best, yours or mine: How now, Gallant! what, scarce born, and are you at your defiance with me? I'll make thee as supple as glove, and to bend to my will, and break that stubborn will of yours, though it cost me my life and goods, and yours too; I will teach you the duty of a son, and the authority of a father, said he. And so turning from him, he commanded to put Philippin in a chamber which served for a prison, to the end to teach this young bird to sing another tune. Philippin goes very joyfully contented, to give a testimony of his firmness and constancy of his flames. But that which put him in an extreme agony, was to hear that his father having searched his chamber, and his secret Cabinet wherein were his sweetest ties, amongst a thousand Letters seized of the Promise of Isabel, at which he made a trophy of mockery and laughter, and would have made a sacrifice of it and of his choler to the fire. For now as being transported, what says he not against his father and his ill fortune, and against heaven? Truly those things, which ought not to be repeated, but throughly blamed. Yet nevertheless comforting himself upon the word of his Mistress, which he esteemed beyond all the writings in the world, he resolves upon the common remedy of all the ills of the world, Patience: Not but that the wearisomeness of a prison was extremely sensible to this stirring spirit, active and full of heat; yet in this extreme youth, which is nothing but fire and life, the tediousness is redoubled by being deprived of news, which served at least in this his constraint of liberty to diminish his flame. Before he hoped all, and feared nothing; now fears all, and hath no hope But in the faith of the brother and sister. He fears that those Letters should come to the hand of Pyrrhe and Valentine, they would not take occasion to ease their children's ill, His thoughts are so troubled, as when he rests in this prison he thinks he is environed with a thousand thorns; he suspects all which come near him, as he had reason, being made so many spies by Timoleon's means: He wants wherewith to corrupt them; this metal which changes courages, fails him; and his servants, whom his father had made his, dare not yield to pity this young Lord. He thinks to entertain them with discourse; yet seeing pity dead in some, and affection in others, refused all, to entertain himself with his own private thoughts, the only recreation that accompanied him; which in stead of diverting him, nourished his displeasures. 'Tis Music which hath that property, to make them merry which are content, and those which are sad more melancholy: He plays reasonable well on the Lute, and sings well enough for a young Cavalier, who was more given to violent exercises then to these sweet and peaceable. One day, for to expel the grief he felt, in these words expressing 
Hopeless and helpless in my sad distress,  
I sink, my griefs admitting no redress.  Thus the imprisoned Philippin comforted himself the best it was possible: But at last being not able to bear this weak and melancholy life, nor having any with whom he might freely converse, his thoughts giving way to the vehemency of his desires, he was constrained to yield himself to the mercy of a sickness, which brought him so low as within a foot of his grave; had it not been for his youth, good temper, and strong disposition, with the help of the Physicians and good means applied, he was even at the last point to lose his life; and that most affected the sad father, to see at point of death his only son. Knowing the cause which brought him to this pitiful estate, he repent a thousand times the cruelties he had used; an hundred times he promised him, but with words far from the thoughts of heart, to give him Isabel to wife. At which name this poor dying man seemed to enjoy new life; of such, strength is the empire of Love in the most violent pangs of death. His soul took strength at this feeble hope to encourage his body, and by little and little the hopes of life came again, but yet so leisurely he recovered, as rather languishing then living, they knew not what to do to restore him. Timoleon having many houses, had him conveyed from one to another, to try if the change of air would give him health: but it comes as heavy as lead, although his sickness came post; certainly it is easy to descend, says the Poet, but very hard to get up. The farther he went from Bellerive, the worse he was, because he was further off Vaupre, where was the only remedy of his long, and the only air that could recover him.  
The end of the first Book.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty. The Second Book.  
NOt far from the Pyrene Mountains, amongst many very pleasant habitations, there is a little Hill, that for the beauty and fertility of it, the inhabitants call Goldmount. Here Timoleon hath a Castle, that hath two properties which lightly are not found together, being both strong and fair, environed with a pleasant country, and accommodated with all the delights one can desire in a Countryhouse. He commands Philippin to be removed thither, and accompanies him himself. But by reason they separated him from the Centre of his affections, all these sweet delights of this pleasant Country were to him bitter and unpleasing: they are constrained to bring him back again to Bellarive; where when as he began by little and little to get strength, helped by the hope he had not to be any more crossed in his love; Timoleon having made Scipion tell him, that now he thought no more of those promises which he had made him, that he did it but to cousin his disease; he fell suddenly into such a terrible frenzy, that whereas in his first sickness they thought only of the loss of his life, this second they thought to take away his wits; for this troubled him so strangely, and produced such unformed actions and fearful words, as none had ever heard tell of the like raving. Here is Timoleon more afflicted then ever; and the Physicians much troubled to find the cause of this new disease of body, not any way considering the troubles of his mind, but only by conjectures drawn from the sympathy of the two principal parts which compose our being, they imagine that having been bred at Paris and at Court, the air of the Country is not so natural as that of the Town for him, and that his sadness causes these strange humours in his spirit. Timoleon is persuaded the same, and resolves to bring him to a place where the frequenting of company might divert him from these melancholy fits. Billerive is but a day's journey from one of the principal Cities in France, where he may go without passing the bounds of his exile, which was not limited but within his own Province. There are more store of Physicians and remedies at hand, and spiritual Comforters in greater number. His rank and quality noted in the Country, made him at first coming visited by many of the chiefest persons of remark. Time, which is the great Physician of the affliction of the spirit, having drawn away the clouds which suffocated the reason of Philippin, renders him now more fit for consolation than he had been before; and this house in Town seeming more like the life and air of the Court his first element, gives him some ease of his many sufferings. Here of a sudden he is returned to his senses and perfect health; yet nevertheless always his heart returns towards Vaupre, as loving that side of the North. Many visits he hath every day, as much for the respect of his father, as for the sweetness of his own conversation. Though not quite healed of his wound, nothing is so pleasing to him as to steal by himself sometimes, to contemplate his thoughts in the object he could not see but with the eyes of his understanding. As many men as attend him, are as so many Watches; so that he might say as the holy Scripture saith, So many domestics, as many enemies.  
Timoleon, which saw this fire was covered with ashes, not quite out; pressed in part with desire to divert his son from this affection prejudicial to the greatness of his house, and partly with desire to see him married, which of necessity must be done; sometimes consulting if he should send him into Italy, or to travel into Spain, or to employ him in the Town in those exercises which young Noblemen ordinarily use. His friends counselled him not to send him into those strange Countries so suddenly after his sickness; it is his only son, the light of his eyes, the staff of his age; this changing of Country will not change his affection, as marriage would. All conclude, that marriage was a tye that would settle him in peace, and bring him comfort, and assure his house, withdrawing him from all these youthful passions. Timoleon makes choice of this, forced to it by his domestic necessities; for his so long having been a Courtier, living at a great height of expense, had brought him much behindhand and in great debts, having been constrained to mortgage a good part of his estate. A good portion would clear all this. This deliberation made known, there would not need much time to find a fit Match for him, as being of so noble a house; the best in that Town would be very proud of his alliance, to match their daughter so honourably. A Magistrate of a sovereign Company, wonderful rich, having but two Daughters, the eldest being married to one of the Officers of this Estate, the second we will call Elise for two reasons; for truly she bore the name of the famous Cousin visited by the Mother of our blessed Saviour, when she was with child of the Forerunner of Messiah; and because methinks she hath something in her innocence found fit to be compared to the Queen of Carthage, whom the Prince of the Roman Poets, that pleasing lyre, hath taxed with having committed a fault with Aeneas, of which she is revenged by those which have written the true history of her chaste carriage.  
This younger was a Maid, although but indifferently endowed with the gifts of nature in what concerns the face, in so much as she was judged better for a Wife then for a Mistress; but on the other side she was so endowed with virtue, and with that which most esteem, riches, that this abundance of gold was able to make any one to think deformity itself fair. Timoleon sees this Maid for his Son, and like him which more considered her wealth then her form, finds that this great portion would quite clear all his affairs, and disengage all his house. He speaks with Scevole (thus we will name this Magistrate, father of this Gentlewoman) who is not slow in opening his eyes on this great alliance, and promises to set all his rest, and to make Elise his absolute heir universal, so it may be accomplished. To ask & obtain, is all one thing. She is something elder than the Youth; but that is no matter, that's the least, Timoleon cares not for that; he shall have crowns in abundance, and which is more, an Officer which will maintain and govern all the businesses of his house. He concludes it absolutely with Scevole, who doubts nothing of the obedience of his daughter, though Timoleon cannot assure himself of his sons. Yet resolved to employ his force where love could get no place, one day having called him, makes a speech to him with all the sweetness he could borrow of his pride and greatness of his spirit: He shown him the debts and necessities of his house, of which the fall and ruin was at hand, if it were not restored by some rich Match, and therefore counselled him to think seriously on it, forgetting his unworthy thoughts of that Isabel which had almost lost him his life and wits too, and to bestow his love upon some Lady of the City, without thinking longer of this Country-wench. Doth not he play the father of Samson, seeking to turn his son from the marriage of Dalilah?  
His son finding himself used with all sort of sweetness, having heretofore found nothing but rough carriage, found himself touched in the tenderest of his affections. But as it is impossible that a new Vessel should lose the smell and colour of the liquor with which it hath been first filled; he was in great pain how to answer his father according to his desire: And yet not willing to set him abroad to no purpose, he esteemed it better to direct his speech with that government, as might not seem altogether to oppose him. He began to consider the necessities of his house, yet not esteeming them other but that his father might repair them with good husbandry. But when he was urged by his father to seek a Match in the Town, after having excused himself of his tenderness of years unapt for that; Timoleon having taken him at that word, told him he ought not then to do it with Isabel. Sir, I believe it, replied he, that marriages are made in heaven, and practised on earth; and it is hard to resist the influence of this cause, being concluded above to that point. And therefore he besought him to pardon him, having received of God freewill, and not of him: Although the respect he ought him might hinder him from marrying, yet his authority should not be so tyrannous as to make him take a wife against his will: For hot being possible to have both, he could never be others then hers, whom the heavens and his consent had first given him. Scarce had Timoleon patience to hear his last word with a dying liberty, when putting himself into his accustomed threats and revile, yet withholding himself in the midst of this torrent as impetuous as impious, for fear to put this young Lord into those extremities which his violent cruelty had heretofore reduced him to. So constraining his nature, he cast himself on rebellion and disobedience, and ingratitude of children; saying they were accompanied with the pride of liberty, that without any wisdom or experience they will make laws to their fathers, and by their sottish love and particular fancies bring desolation to their house. With this his choler made him utter many frivolous threats; as, That if he did not marry, he would disinherit him, and give him his curse if he should ever marry with his Vassal, reproaching him of baseness and poorness of spirit; withal speaking many invective words against this Gentlewoman, by reason of her skill in so many exercises, the rock and wheel being fit for her. To all which Philippin answered with silence; excusing himself, that having given his word and promise in writing given and received, he could not before God nor men take other wife but Isabel, without deceiving her. Hereupon Timoleon consulted with Scevole; yet hiding most part of his displeasure, and these denials of Philippin: This foolish Boy (says he) being abroad one day, falls in love with a Tenant's daughter of mine, a Gentleman here by, and so far as he hath promised marriage; Can this promise bind him? To which Scevole answered, no; but that all these private contracts, secret practices and flying oaths, promises by word or by writing, were as air or running water. Timoleon joyed as if Scevole had given him life, goes and consults with the Theologians, which teach him the same doctrine, the last Council of Oecumenie declaring null all marriages clandestine.  
He returns to his son, of whom he promised himself an assured victory: For having demanded of him if he would submit himself to his obedience, if he did show him that all his oaths and signings were worth nothing; now this youth esteeming them in full strength, yielded to give him all honour and respect: He brings a company of Lawyers and Divines to decide this difficulty before him; but he esteeming it a trick, would not believe them. He gives him liberty to go to any of the Town, to inquire himself; where having found conformity in all, he was much astonished, finding himself taken by the nose, to the prejudice of his affection. He must doubt no more. Whilst he strives to hinder these baits, and to kick against the pricks, the more he fills his way, and puts himself into blame and ill opinion of all, and encourages his father to use his authority, who hath no watch but on his goods. He is reprehended of rebellion and disobedience: here is heaven and earth against him, stoned with the reasons of all those which have no feeling or sense of his love. One day seeing himself vanquished by his father's propositions, which like a cunning Fencer pressed him still further; after having put the shame in his face, and turned all the fault on him; Sir, answered he, they which will ask a reason for Love, may as well seek fresh water in the sea, or birds in the floods, and fishes in the air: For the reason of Love is Love it , whose empire is so strong, as it maintains itself good against ourselves, forcing us to do that we would not, and making us do that we ought not. 'Tis true, these promises by words or writing are nothing in right, but yet in deed, for the one and the other are in being: That which I received of Isabel, is in your power; but that which I writ and sealed, is in her hands. I know not how to resolve myself of this shameful denial, as long as these are in being firm; for they will serve for an eternal reproach of my infidelity, which will be to my perpetual shame.  
Is this the cause, quoth Timoleon, that withholds you from showing your duty in obeying my commands? Why, whether Pyrrhe will or no, it shall be very easy for me to break and make it of no effect. He suddenly dispatches Scipion to Vaupre with the Promise of Isabel, to deliver into into the hands of her father, and to demand that of his son; who was much astonished to hear this news by the mouth of Scipion, with letters of credit from Timoleon: For as all this business was practised without his knowledge, he was much displeased that his daughter durst proceed so far without his consent, fearing some further business: but understanding of Scipion that had been an eye-witness of that night's meeting, that all their discourse was performed according to laws of honour, and in presence of Harman, who had received the promises in writing on the one part and the other; he had reason to say the same which the despiteful Juno said against the Goddess of Cypress, in the greatest of Poets: 
Thou hast acquired victory, whose fame  
Shall add eternal trophies to thy name.  
Fair Venus and thy Son, whose powers all do  
Invoke with honour, and with reverence too:  
If powerful Gods with subtleties do subdue  
A woman in those arts she never knew.  For how was it possible that poor Isabel should not yield at the persuasions of a brother, proposing the greatness of a Marriage, on which (said he) depends the happiness of our house; besides, being pressed by his ardent affection to Philippin, which in his person wanted not perfections to deserve the love and service of all. Now Pyrrhe, although poor in the goods of fortune, was nevertheless so rich in honour, that he would not by any unlawful means have come to a better. Having then promised Scipion to give Timoleon all contentment, and to employ his uttermost power for to return the Promise of Philippin; he called aside his son and daughter in the presence of their mother, and chid them sharply for their proceed; telling them how he had discovered from point to point (as he had heard from Scipion though not naming him) their nights-meeting, their discourse, and promises given in writing.  
You never saw any so astonished as Harman and Isabel were; who threw herself at her father's feet, ask pardon, excusing herself by the permission she had to entertain this seeking of Philippin. But Harman more courageous, taking all the fault on him, besought his father to excuse the innocence of his sister, for whom he thought to procure a fortune very advantageous, nothing having past in all their affections which might any way alter the reputation of their family. But where is this Promise of Philippin's? quoth Pyrrhe. The which Isabel, who carried it ordinarily in her bosom, gave freely into her father's hands to dispose of as he thought fit. They consuited with themselves, if they should deliver it to the hands of Scipion, taking that which he brought, or if Pyrrhe should go himself and deliver it to Timoleon? but found inconveniences in both these propositions; yet the most assured was that they resolved: For in the first there was bounty and generosity, and in the second more certainty of reconciliation between the Lord and his Vassal, betwixt whom there was no small hatred; and yet to trust Scipion in a business of that importance, under a simple writing, was not fit. That Pyrrhe should go speak himself with Timoleon, there was some danger to be feared, being both of a stout courage, and of a Nation whose heads are very hot; falling to words, might produce some dangerous effect. Harman is appointed to go with Scipion, to return this promise to Philippin, and to bring back that of Isabel. But the brother and sister retired into secret counsel, intending other proceed; for Harman resolved to carry the promise to Philippin to summon him to the effecting of it, which was not according to the intention of his father. See but into what a labyrinth disobedient youth thrusts itself. He returns with Scipion to the City, leaving his sister to the mercy of a mother which torments and uses her cruelly: For Valentine finding this action odious and dishonourable, had almost with her extreme chiding brought her to despair.  
But let us leave her between the anvil and the hammer, between these assaults fatherly and motherly, refining the temper of her patience; to understand the good operations of Harman; who being arrived, instead of exchanging Promises, citys Philippin before the Justice, to acknowledge his Deed and Seal. Philippin received this assault strangely; for he would have been very glad not to have denied his hand, yet this form of proceeding a little altered him. As for Timoleon, he was so enraged, that if he had met with Harman, he had torn him in as many pieces as a furious Lion would a Goat. Scipion said, this was not the command of Pyrrhe; but that he should render the Promise of the son, and receive that of his daughter. Harman stood obstinately not to give it up, desiring the advancement of his sister against the will of his father. The displeasure betwixt Philippin and Harman came by reason of the strict watch Timoleon kept of his son, so near, as he took away all means of communication, or writing. This signification was made by Harman so suddenly, as it was done without any consultation of Lawyer or other council; for having laid the business on the Table before the grave and wise Judges, they told him it was a simple part of him to undertake a business of that contestation. Scevole is advertised of it, who assures Timoleon to break all this like a glass. Yet Harman having spoken with Philippin, pursues his cause by the advice he had of him; having received assurance, if it came to judgement, he would not detract either from his word or writing. In the mean time Timoleon dispatches another Letter to Pyrrhe, in which he tells him, That the Gentleman he had sent the other times had brought other testimonies of his worth then his son made now show of; and that if he were a man of his word, he should make Harman forbear these proceed, the success whereof would but turn to his confusion; desiring him to come himself, or to send a testimony of his express will and pleasure, that by that he might judge of his intentions; and that he would still have him for his friend, if he would deal in that sort, that his daughter might not pretend any alliance with his son.  
At this news Pyrrhe fell into extreme choler against Harman; and getting on horseback, comes presently to Town: where no sooner arrived, but Harman retires for fear of his displeasure. Pyrrhe desires to see the writings of the Process, and takes forth Philippin's Promise, and with the same speed carries it to Timoleon, and in the delivery gives braving words and rodomontadoes usual with those of that Country. The subtle old man puts him off with fair words, without any other answer, but only that Pyrrhe had just reason to be angry with his son Harman, which had passed the command he gave him; and had reason like an honourable Gentleman to disprove the proceeding of his daughter, who would have seduced Philippin. At which word (seduce) Pyrrhe enters into a new fury, which made him speak wonders. But Timoleon was so glad to have gotten into his hands the Paper which so angered him, that he thought (as they say) to have the Wolf by the ears: so that giving way to the passion of Pyrrhe to gather scum at his pleasure, he was content only to answer him thus coldly, That he was content to have him for his Vassal, but not for his Companion, and that he knew the means how to humble him at his pleasure as time should serve; that for the present he was content to return him the Promise of his daughter, counselling him if he esteemed the honour of his house, to deal with her in that sort, as that she should not be so liberal of her promises and writings, otherwise he would hardly find her a husband. These words spoken with somewhat a satirical tone, bitten outrageously cruel our Pyrrhe, never answering but with taunts and bravadoes, making himself laughed at by those which heard him; for although a Gentleman, he was nevertheless so inferior to Timoleon, as they were not to measure their swords together.  
The Promises rendered, there was no more cause of pleading: Pyrrhe gave a disavow of what his daughter had done, and Timoleon the same for his son; friends of both sides seek to make peace with the vassal and his Lord. Timoleon for his part seems not unwilling: Pyrrhe, who knows of what importance it is to him to be reconciled, lets himself be easily drawn: words of precipitation are given in choler, they part friends. Here are all the strings of Philippin's bow broken; what shall he do? he is like the bird tied by the leg, the more it flutters, the more it is pinched, and more it strives, the more strangled. Pyrrhe arrives, and keeps such a life against his son and daughter, such as one may judge of a proud man having lost his pretensions, and being returned with having engaged a piece of his honour. Whereas Timoleon triumphs on his side, and tells of his intention to match his son with Elise; she was both virtuous and rich, which are two qualities which both the world and reason esteem more than beauty. He knew not how to withstand his father by contradiction; his youth told him this was another Lea that they would put upon him instead of his fair Rachel; for truly this Maid had not so much of beauty as to be esteemed fair, and yet enough to warrant her from the title of being ill-favoured, although she was so in the opinion of Philippin, not being fair; his thoughts are continually occupied in the idea of Isabel, whose only name spoke beauty itself, and was able to make the brightest star appear to him deformed. What shall he do? for this grief is incident to all: He feigns to be touched in conscience with many scruples; not contented with the restitutions of their Promises, he will have an act of Justice for his justification. Timoleon demands it of Scevole, who obtains it incontinently by his credit, and by reason and justice. This is not enough, he says; it was their parents which have made restitution of the Contracts, but he held not himself disengaged, if first he saw not a writing of Isabel, by which she acquitted him of his promise by words; esteeming that a man or worth is as much bound to preserve his word as his writ; the writing being nothing but a visible testimony of faith given. Said this young Lord to himself, Isabel will never sign to such a disavow, and if she should, he might have just occasion to complain of her, and to accuse her of inconstancy and aptness to change: Timoleon, who saw that this was the last rampire of his son's obstination, having promised his father to think of Elise, if this Disavow were but obtained; anew solicits Pyrrhe, desiring him to oblige him so much as to procure him a declaration from his daughter, importing the return of his son's word given her, although it were no way necessary but to satisfy the scruples of the conscience of Philippin; promising to acknowledge this courtesy by those good offices, which should bind him to believe their reconciliation was not feigned. Pyrrhe, which saw himself sought to by his Lord, and in a thing wherein he believed to return that which he thought he had engaged his reputation in at their last meeting; promised to Scipion incontinently, who was employed in this business, to give him that which Timoleon demanded. But he counted without his Host, forasmuch as he found more resistance in Isabel in this, than he had ever done before: For judging well by this (as she was wise) that Philippin sought all possible means to defer the marriage with Elise, of which she had already had news, being now common in City and Country, she plainly shown her unwillingness, saying that was unnecessary, and that she would not give a writing which might prove prejudicial to her honour. But in the end Pyrrhe and Valentine her mother threatened her so much, that having drawn from her many Letters which gave testimony enough of her constrained writing to that effect, at last contented themselves with this, where she seemed to open herself with more freedom and liberty, addressing herself to Timoleon thus:  
My Lord,  
MY duty ties me to the obedience of my parents; I writ to you by their commands, to free my Lord your son of those scruples of conscience whereby he might any way be touched for those Promises with which it pleased his affection to overtake my credulity. My Lord, both he and I are so much theirs who have brought us into the world, that it seems not only our lives, but also our fortunes, our, wills and words depend absolutely on their authority. Methought it had been enough to have rendered the promises in writing, without pressing me any further to renounce by letter his protestations to me; the which I do for your satisfaction and his, and to content my father who commanded me. This is not to complain, but rather to give a testimony of joy that I receive in the news of the marriage which I understand you, intent to embark him in: I wish to God it may prove as happy to him as I desire it. If I were free, and that my presence might not bring any hindrance to your joy, I would be one in that assembly, to raise by the shadow of my defects the brightness of this chain of gold you'll put about his neck. I believe the feast will be great, and will not pass without those exercises, of which I promise myself I should give a testimony of my skill and courage, which would raise me far beyond those of my condition. But because this cannot be without troubling your content and his conscience, I will give you a testimony of it by the freedom of this disavow; That although I am not rich enough to be your daughter-in-law, I have yet courage to disdain the quality, in leaving the possession to another, and suffer without grief what myself hath lost. Do not misunderstand me, that I accuse you of rigour or cruelty, or my father of constraint, being you both do me a great favour in breaking my bands and setting me in my first liberty; it is a grace for which I ought rather to thank you, then to complain as of injustice. All that anger's me, (you will be pleased I may use the prtviledge of my sex, my Lord, to speak freely to you) is a true report which hath been delivered me of some certain disgraceful words have slipped from your judgement, prejudicial to my reputation: My Lord, you know my exercises, and that I carry something else by my side then a Spindle to be revenged, and to prove liars all those who would offend that which is dearer to me then life. I desire no other testimony than your sons against you; of whom I did not entertain the love, but by permission of my friends; as I now renounce, to show my obedience. It may be some detractor hath deceived you, making you believe otherwise of me than you ought; wherein, when you please, you may confess your error. I must give thanks to her whom you have made choice of for your daughter, to enter into your alliance, having made me retire; for I would not have a father-in-law that should esteem me other then what I am: If she be more noble in riches, I may highly say I am richer in nobility; and if she be above me in rank, I am before her in blood: Jealousy I have none for looks, being I esteem not the greatness of persons but by their virtues and worth; it is not in a hin of gold that true merit is measured; I care as little to yield to her in that, as I esteem to be above her; that if you love her better for your son then I, I love her as well for you as for your son. I wish you more happiness and content in this alliance, than you have hoped for of mine; returning you by the commandment of my parents all those Promises that I might have pretended of my Lord your son, from whom I expect the same return, and in the same form as hath fallen from my pen. And for satisfaction of all these wrongs, I will but make a solemn protestation to remain for ever your Servant, expecting a more happy condition takes me from the quality of  
Your Vassal.  
This long Letter; conformable to the humour of Pyrrhe, and the generosity of the Amazon, was delivered to Scipion: which he having given to Timoleon, brought more subject of laughter then of choler. For boasting is so ordinary with this Nation, as being their common discourse, joined with the quality of the person, took away all occasion of having any feeling of this. It is showed to Philippin; who knowing the hand, yet noting many places procured by constraint, is nevertheless pressed by Timoleon to take this return for sufficient, with command to pay her in her own money, which was in this manner to Pyrrhe.  
Sir,  
I Have seen that which by your commandment your Amazon hath written to my father; worthy truly of her humour and courage, and all tissued with a high stile, and feathered bravely, as if she spoke a horseback to an old man who is resolved not to vanquish her but by courtesy. Of me she ought to expect nothing but all service, and no oppositions against her pleasures: And would to God she were as free, as she is in speaking; and that the duty which I own to those whom I own all, did not force me to send back the gauges of her Promises solemnly sworn. But since the unhappy influence of our stars hath separated us, I am very glad she hath first cut the knot, which I esteemed the only knife of death to have served Alexander. I will not answer to her high words but with humilities; since not having changed heart, I cannot change my discourse. If I send back her Promises which she made me, it is not for disdain of having received mine, but because she ask that which is hers, I cannot detain them without injustice. I would not complain for the respect I own her, and for that which I own to my own modesty. Of all these changes I neither accuse her courage no● yours, as I must entreat you neither to tax nor touch mine. I can complain of nothing but my ill fortune, which permits me not to enjoy that I desire, but carries me to that I fly, with a destiny inevitable. 'Tis in vain to withstand a torrent; 'tis prudence to yield to a misfortune which we cannot withstand; 'tis wisdom to render our arms when we cannot vanquish. She which returns my word in calling her own, teaches me by wise obedience what empery Reason should have of Passion, and what an ascendant power Duty hath of a supple spirit. Having never seen but perfections in all her carriages, I will from henceforth believe that Change is a virtue, since she puts it in practice. Her action being then my rule, her example shall serve for my reason. Heaven witness with me, it is to please her that I return that she will have, and which I cannot keep against her will. Knowing well how much I ever honoured her, I could not better make show how I esteem her virtues, but in imitating them; that if I be accused of inconstancy, shall I not have reason to call this accusation unjust, that disproves in others that which they authorize in themselves? I confess to you, Sir, that I have used all possible means to preserve inviolable my bonds: but since they have broken my chains, I cannot hinder them to tie me in another place, since my fortune and birth have made me fit for servitude. It is not that I should not have honoured your alliance, and that I shall not try by all sort of services to give your house proofs of my love: But since I must follow the course that first enchained me, I let myself be carried by a stream of water which promiseth me nothing but a sea of bitterness. I go then to put my will under those commands of my father; God grant that my obedience make this sacrifice more happy than my augur tells me, and bless you with as many prosperities as you desire.  
He which shall be your servant, as long as he hath life.  
Timoleon found many things in this Letter contrary to his humour; nevertheless was glad to draw what he could from this ill pair; and did not desire altogether to displease this young man, in constraining him to write another more conformable to his own fancy, being that in effect he had what he desired, with the return of the word of Isabel; who had no sooner had communication of this writing that Pyrrhe let her see, but left almost to live with having ended the Letter. To tell you the raving and assault that this wrought in her spirit, cannot be expressed but by silence: Yet nevertheless being wise and discreet, at first, and before her father she strongly dissembled the grief which pinched her very heart, showing so constant in appearance, that you would have said this action of Philippin's was in different to her. But when she was retired into her private Cabinet, and this retreat, without testimonies, gave her liberty to recall her passion; saying those words, and using those actions, which she ought neither to have done nor said, if she had had but any reason left; there wanted not much that her soul had not stolen from her in her abundance of tears, and that the sobs and sighs had not stopped her breath. I will not with a lazy pen fill the pages of this book with reciting the inutility of her complaints; we must leave them to the divining of those souls outraged by feeling the like disgrace. How many different projects rolled in her thoughts? Sometime she would, in a suit of her brothers, go find out this perfidious Lord, to grapple with him like a Fury revengetrix, and to cover him with reproaches of his weakness and inconstancy. But as she was of a great spirit, the consideration of her honour held her within the bounds of modesty, knowing well that such a habit would wrap her in an everlasting infamy. But then shall she die an obscure death, not only deprived of enjoying her legitimate pretensions, but also of revenge? I assure you, that between these two extremities her understanding was thrown into strange convulsions. In this outrage she became environed with so strong a melancholy, that she would neither see any, nor be seen of any; if she could have separated herself from herself, she would willingly have done it. So she fell into a profound slumber, forced by a thousand griefs, nor thinking of aught but of displeasures which continually pelled her patience. 

Sad spectres did her soul affright  
With the black horrors of the night,  
Which through the casements of her eyes  
Diffused a thousand jealousies:  
So that the light being gone, her sense did fail,  
Hope did expire, and her fear prevail.   

A thousand thoughts of things transacted,  
Of promises broke and kept, distracted  
Her spirits so perplexed with grief,  
Th'admitted not the least relief.  
Which like the alarum of a Watch did keep  
Her mind in motion, and debarred her sleep.   

These crimes which from the horror of a black  
And clouded conscience all the senses rack,  
Transcend those tortures which poor miscreants feel  
In setters chained, or broken on the wheel.  
Since crimes increase, and make affliction higher,  
Like heaped fuel on a flaming fire.   

Frighted with dismal dreams, she passeth over  
The solitary night, and doth deplore  
Her piteous state so, that her poor heart lies  
Floating half-drowned i'th' deluge of her eyes.  
The sum of all her joys being but to think  
Those joys are shipwrecked, and her soul must sink.    
Thus the unfortunate Amazon tormenting herself without comfort, nothing pleases her, being so displeased with herself: Nights are tedious to her, having lost her accustomed repose; and Day as unwelcome, because it makes her see too clearly her disaster. This is not that Atalanta that destroyed by her valour the number of Boars in this our Thessaly. The horror of the woods, which heretofore were so pleasing while the eye of day looked favourably on her, is now become most fearful: She troubles no more the dark solitary Forests, the assemblies of hunting are no more lightened with this star; and that which most of all displeases, is, that every one spends their judgements and makes discourses according to their fancies, of this her change of life and humour. 
She hates the public light, but silence loves  
And lonely shades of solitary groves.   
Her parents, which knew the cause of grief, yet having no remedy, were much affected; Valentine principally, which saw the flowers fade in the face of this Virgin whom she loved so dearly, was excessively tormented, cursing the hour that ever she knew Philippin. But Pyrrhe and Harman, who knew that this strange manner of life gave occasion of talk to many men, are touched with a more lively feeling. Poor men! if the thorns prick you being scarce shot forth, how will you endure them when they become more hard and less corrigible? she will be cause of your loss of life and honour.  
But let us leave her desolate in her melancholy, to see what is done in the City touching the marriage of Philippin: There he is embarked by the commandment of his father in the research of Elise: But how can we call it a research, which is already agreed on by their friends? Timoleon is agreed with Scevole, who offers him a blank, promising such a dowry as should quite disengage his house, making his daughter his universal heir, and putting her in possession of more than he could imagine. 
Oraculons I dol! who doth not adore  
Thy shrine, and reverence the refulgent Oar?   
He that said, Liberty is a blessing he would not sell for all the good in the world, is deceived in more than the half of the just price; because in the world there are as many and more chains of gold then of iron: For is it not gold which makes the servitude of idols, against which the Apostle cries so loud? Philippin goes to make experience, who marries more to satisfy the covetous eyes of his father, then for his own desires; marries rather coffers and wealth, than the person of a woman; nor doth he go to this alliance but with one wing, being there is nothing more displeasing then an affection ordained for interest and good of others; Will being of a quality so free, that commanded, it is to put it in a swound. 
Harsh law of that Authority which restrains,  
And binds our dearest Liberty in chains.  
What? can we not defend ourselves; but must  
Submit to Tyrant-Duty, though unjust.  
'Tis sad! yet teaches that we should obey,  
Where Rigour and Severity bear sway.   
So Timoleon judged it would very hard to draw such lively flames as the first, by the beauty of this second, makes Philippin take Elise as a sick man doth a medicine, and as Laban gave Leah to Jacob, without almost seeing her. Not that she was unworthy to be considered, not being so unpleasing but she might deserve the love of any: but truly, how she could be loved with the love of friendship, I will not say; but very hardly by that of love, by a heart already enjoyed, as was this of our young Courtiers. He nevertheless sees her, more satisfied with her virtue, then amorous of her person; and entertains her like a man whose affection is rather in his looks then in his heart: It is a simple thing to make love by commandment; in the end he enters like a fish into a net, even as forced, not having any will that the beginning should tie a knot of necessity which could not be broken but with the sharpness of death, and with all the repentings in the world could not be dissolved during life; for it is not in humane power to disjoin those which the divine hath joined.  
Elise, this innocent unfortunate creature, which is the principal person in this tragic Scene which we present, was a Gentlewoman well born, endowed with more chastity and virtues than beauty of face; for it appears in this our lamentable age wherein we live, that beauty and virtue are enemies. Her mother, wife of Scevole her father, shall be by us for her wisdom called Sophy: her birth was not so illustrious, as she was full of virtues; for, 
Who in rare manners hath her sex outgone?  
Next comes her daughter, and gives place to none.   
She had brought up these two Daughters, which were all the children she had, with much modesty and great fear of God; and as Elise had been longer under her discipline then her sister Elinor, so she surpassed her in humility and obedience. She was of more years than Philippin, but very few, being very discreet and judicious, that nothing was wanting in her to make her an accomplished mother of a family: Her virtue, sweetness, modesty, and the extreme affection she had to her husband, was so great, that in the end he was constrained by so many obligations of strong chains to love. You would have said that she brought into the house of Timoleon the same qualities that Raguel ordained in his daughter Sara in the house of Tobias. She was quiet and pleasing to her husband, respectful and serviceable to her Father-in-law, who became almost her idolater, he was so much ravished with the good offices she rendered him.  
Philippin, who is not altogether insensible, is constrained to yield to so much goodness; for there is no heart so hard, says an Ancient, which will not give love not being constrained, for the only price of love is love; the charm without witchcraft to make one beloved, is to love: And what appearance is there not to love her, which loved but him; who loved not day but to see him, nor breathed but to please him? He must be a rock that should not yield himself to so just, so holy and legitimate a flame. For although his thoughts refused, and his imagination filled with the consideration of another idea, not leaving any void to imprint this new impression; yet his reason vanquished by so much love, is constrained to acknowledge it by a mutual return of love. You would say that as Isaac tempered the grief he had for the death of his mother, by the coming of his wife; so our new Bridegroom forgetting altogether his first furies, to range himself within the bounds of duty and obedience, wrapping up these flying fires in the sacred and solid: marriage is a wise march, which we ought to conduct with much temperance and good government. That husband which expects so much seeking from his wife, is, as an Ancient says, no other but an adulterer; those who mingle so much niceness and curiosity in this venerable alliance, strengthening their valour and esteeming their dignity. This Sacrament ought rather to be practised by ripe and stayed judgements, then by heat and desire. Happy had Philippin been, had these considerations been weighed in the other scale of his carriage: but his years too tender did not as yet make him capable of these solid governments; but only necessity, the fear of his father, and the strong ascendant power the virtues of his new wife had gained in his judgement, held him within the bounds of duty, with much admiration of all those which saw it, who would never have thought so happy a beginning in marriage to have had so unfortunate an end, as this which I have almost with Honour writ. Thrice happy Elise, as the Poet says of his Did●, if on the borders of Carthage Aeneas had never arrived, than under a fain show of being free and noble, hid falsehood and disloyalty. Elise was but too happy, we may say of her, if her parents had not been blinded with the brightness of immoderate ambition, bringing her to so great and illustrious an alliance, for this height serves her but like that of the Tortoise, which is raised by the Eagle to be thrown upon the rocks and broken 〈◊〉 thousand pieces. If resemblance of dispositions is the cause of the firmness of friendship, equality is also the surest pillar of a good marriage: For disproportions in birth or in faculties, early or late, brings always distastes and riots; these are the seeds of divisions for the latter season. All this nevertheless appears no more in the beginning of the marriage, than seeds freely sowed in the earth: but such as you sow, such shall you reap.  
Timoleon bring his son and daughter to Bellerive, so full of joy and contentment to see himself freed of his debts, the business of his house in the hands of one both wise and of authority, his son delivered (as he thought) of his ancient passions, that there was not any of all those which visited him, to which he did not show in his face and in his discourse the excess of his joy. He was so carefully served, so religiously honoured by his daughter-in-law, that he esteemed by this fashion his life crowned with the happiest age imagineable; he thanks of nothing but making good chea●, and running smoothly the rest of his days. The care of his domestic businesses troubled him not; for Elise, instructed in the knowledge of these things by her mother sophy, in her tenderest years, takes all this charge; and with such care and good order, as nothing was wanting, all in abundance, every one content, and all the world blessed them. What doth not a virtuous and well given person, accompanied with piety, perform? she inspires all the house with devotion; it is a salt which seasons all things: she is Mary in her orisons, Martha in her solitude: you would say by her vigilance and affairs, that she had no time for prayer; and seeing her spiritual exercisc●, that she spent no time but in prayer; all sweetness in her exterior, all fervour in her interior; the perpetual visits of companies did no way divert her from the service of Godo It is wisdom in a woman to be watchful in great things, without neglecting the least. Humble, gracious, temperate, wise, advised, modest, pleasing, metry, the honour and glory of her her race, and of all that country. How is not Philippin's heart charmed with so much merits? he wanted nothing but a little more judgement to esteem so many obliging qualities.  
Among those which came to visit Timoleon and Philippin, to congratulate this haypy alliance, Pyrrhe and Harman failed not, to which their neighbourhood obliged, as also their vassalage, There is no speech of what's past: Timoleon keeps an open table; Philippin strives to oblige them a thousand ways. Our young son is married; he hath no more need of a Governor, having so good a Governess. The exercises of hunting are renewed, which the Citizen understands not so well as the Country wench: Elise understands nothing but what a woman ought to know; Isabel is a soldier of the long robe. She hears by the mouth of fame, not without jealousy, the income parable virtues of Elise; but when she knew the pre-eminence of beauty she herself had of her, this temperated this passion in her heart; she is resolved of a perpetual spining, and to spend her days in the violent exercises of hunting, so fit for the preservation of chastity. Was it despite, or a despair to reconquer Philippin, which had healed her? it is so as she hath ●ained her first air and fashion.  
The Gentlemen thereabouts, to honour this new marriage of Elise, make meeting at Bellerive, where many courses and tornies are practised, and where Isabel is in company of her father and brothers, and did perform wonders. She comes in company of her mother Valentine, to see Elise and her mother sophy, which came to help her in her houshold-government. This visit filled all the neighbourhood with joy and content, seeing this quarrel alogether extinguished. There Elise sees Isabel with the eyes of a Dove full of meekness, like Simplicity itself; using her with those courtesies so extremely obliging, that shown plainly the goodness of her heart. But the other more malicious, beheld her as one which did rob her of her treasure, dissembling nevertheless with much art the thoughts of her heart, although she felt much grief within, distilling from her lips a beam of enameled words. O how contrary were the thoughts of these two Rivals! the one full of virtue, admired and loved the graces which God had endued her with; the other with a jealous envy consulted often with her glass, to see what advantage her complexion had of that of her supplanter.  
Timoleon, who fears from the eyes of this Basilisk to his son a new wound worse the first, hath always an eye on the actions of Philippin; who trembling under the eyes of his father, like a scholar under the rod of his master, to hinder all suspicion, governs his looks and discourse in such a fashion, that he speaks but of ordinary things in the ears of all, nor beholds this object but as a thing indifferent, nor seems too much reserved, nor to appear artificious or constrained, but with a mediocrity of freedom makes them think him without a design; thus he deceives the eyes of this Argus that watcheth him. All this is but artificial within, although without he makes no show of any thing but simplicity. But even as the fire of thunder, the more it is enclosed in the clouds, the greater is the lightning it shoots forth; so the more there was constraint, the more dangerously he launched his looks on this Amazon, heretofore so passionately desired; yet nevertheless he felt great contention in himself betwixt reason and his desire: For when Reason was mistress, favoured by the absence of Isabel, and the sight of so many virtues which shined in all the parts of his Elise, he tried with a sponge to forget and deface the form of this Face, the idea of which tormented him. Sometime being alone, to strengthen him in this just war of Reason against Desire, animating himself to follow the part of virtue, by these fair words ensuing. 
Most vain and fruitless are my long desires,  
Fed and fomented by a world of fires  
Which burn my soul; the air in which I breath  
Rendering me like a sacrifice of death.  
Desires in troops assail poor me oppressed,  
And Viperlike seed on my tender breast.  
Inhuman thoughts possess my soul, the high  
And active flame of my great thoughts doth f●ie  
Beyond all fear, and through disdains wide gate  
Transport my sense above the reach of fate.  
Confirm that Object which you did first grace,  
Help to conduct and guide him to his place:  
And those disdains which with such joy abound,  
May happily be returned safe and sound.  
That with you that bright Shrine of her may go,  
To whom such homage I did lately show:  
Or let her stay, and be esteemed so foul  
And loathsome, that the faculties of my soul  
May abhor her best perfections, and contemn  
The quite forgotten thoughts of her or them.  Poor Philippin, thou speakest well, now that thy reasons are strengthened by the services of thy Elise, which kept thee master of thy desires: but when the law of sense rebels against that of thy understanding, sowing revolts, seditions and contradictions in the city of thy exterior, 'tis then that losing courage, thou returnest into thy first frenzies: yet fight thyself, and thou mayst become a reasonable vanquisher, vanquish thy passion.  
The whilst these active visits passed under colour of civility, being made more frequent than Timoleon could have desired; the hunting served often for a pretext, but another cause is the subject. The cunning old man intends to get before this misfortune, and not to fall from a fever to a hotter ill, cut off all new beginnings of loves. Although his son be not much advanced in years, yet marriage having given him more liberty, it would be unfit to exercise upon him the same commandments and rigorous cruelty which he used to him being a youth. Remedy there is none better than that Physicians practise in the cure of cathars and rheums, diverting them when they cannot dry them. We have said that Monte-gold is a very fair Castle, and of strength and importance, which was within three days journey of Bellerive, at the foot of the Pyrene mountains. Under pretext to show it to his daughter-in-law, he brings all his train, and, that of his sons. 'Twas Philippin who was disoriented, but more Isabel; who at this last sight had so increased her flames, whether it were by temptation or otherwise, that thus being deprived, it had almost cast her into her grave: she judged this remove was caused against her; she knew no remedy but to fly to patience. Philippin was somewhat astonished at first for this absence, and remains sad and pensive some time. But this light fire which began to burn about his heart, kindled by the sight of this object, this absence made his relenting less: For as one wins by the losing of others, so there is no doubt but absence revives, as presence kills. The holy and sincere love of Elise won him so strongly, that his reason was quite renewed; for if Virtue, as an Ancient saith, would ravish altogether the heart, if it were but visible, why should it not ravish his, showing so visibly in the person of the chaste Elise?  
Oh if he had made in this time a happy provision of wisdom, or if he had tasted seriously and solidly this butter and honey of discretion, which makes one distinguish good from evil, he might well have known the extreme difference which is between a virtuous affection just and holy, and a brutish passion unlawful and dishonest: For in stead of the precious balm of this, as the sweet smell of a flowery field pleasing both heaven and earth, God and men, giving to those which, savoured as they ought a taste of the pleasures of Paradise; the infamous exhalation of the other defames the proper authors, scandalises their neighbours, and makes them feel in its tyranny a forerunning of the unquietness and torments of hell. If Philippin could but have conceived to have received in effect this thought, we should not be in pain to find words pitiful enough to express the calamities which drive him in consequences of depraving insupportable. But not to make him unfortunate before his time, give us leisure to consider him in this good hap, too great for him, if he could but have known or comprehended it. For as if void, or at least exempt of the most lively points of his first love which tormented him, he thought of nothing more than pleasing his father, and full of desire to render himself reciprocal to the tender affections of his new Bride Elise; passing in this fashion the most quiet and tranquil life as may fall into humane thoughts, in ease, wealth, pastime, and abundance, without solitude; all honour and invite him, rejoice and are pleased with his fortune. Truly he enjoyed a happiness not common, and which cannot be easily conceived but by those which know the difference of a vicious frivolous love, and a constant and virtuous; for the glory of such delights cannot be comprehended by all sorts of understandings. The sun never shines on the earth, but it brings to these chaste Lovers some ray of new favour; Night shown not so many torches in the deepest of the heavens, as they kindled fires in their souls; their contentments not suffocated with their holy and legitimate usage, finding as in heaven desire in society, because that modesty held their sincere affections under the bridle of reason in such a fashion, that being possessors of their desires, they seemed yet to desire the possession, by a strange agreeing in hope of enjoying. It pleases me to paint thus fair and pure, though soft and delicate, these marriage-affections; because methinks one cannot set too high a price of that which is legitimate; For why? all that is good, all that is holy and chaste, all that favours well and which hath renown of worthy, ought it not to be raised by a Pen, which hath no other end in that he writes but to honour virtue, and detest vice? Must we always represent Antigonus with that side his eye was worst? shall we never show draughts with our pencil, that we may show that side which is most pleasing? Malicious pens will do wonders to set forth falsehoods with that art, that it is uneasy to read them without being filled with ill suggestions; and shall it not be permitted them which fight for chastity, to show the legitimate enclosures in this sacred bond, or according to the Apostle, that their bed is without stain, which is the true sign of Christianity? But alas, how fair weather keeps least constantly his clearness; and how few days clear, but are troubled with some clouds! Whilst Philippin makes heaven jealous of the felicities he enjoys on earth, this fair day hath his night; and as his subjection was his happiness, his liberty was his ruin.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty. The Third Book.  
THe Sun was now the third time in midst of the course of his twelve houses. Now the thoughts of his Idea Isabel was so weak in his soul, that he thought not of her but as a thing indifferent; he sees but by the eyes of his Elise, nor discerns nothing but by her judgement; so possessed by the object of so much virtue, that vice could have no place in his soul. This Golden Mountain was a hill of perfections; and for the temporal blessings and spiritual that God shown largely upon this house, one might have called it a Mountain of God; a mountain very fertile, a Mountain in which it pleased God to inhabit; God filled it with his blessings in favour of Elise, as he did heretofore the house of Laban in consideration of Jacob.  
Timoleon seeing his hopes and desires surmounted by his prosperities; says sometimes as Themistocles chased from Athens, That he had been lost if he had not been lost; and his following of the Court would have ruined his house, if his banishment from thence had not called him to its restoring. He sees himself newborn in the beginning of a posterity; for during this time Elise was brought to bed of a daughter, which Timoleon named by the name of his wife deceased, which was that of the famous Penitent, which we will express by that of Dalimene. He desires a son; there is great likelihood heaven will grant him this grace; for Elise had some feeling of a second birth, when all of a sudden a great outrage came and troubled these felicities, and to cover with thorns so many roses. It was the unexpected and sudden death of Timoleon, who going a hunting, fell from his horse coming down a steep place; and having much bruised his head, a hurt very dangerous to old men, he yet had some time to think of the health of his soul, and so yielded his breath to God; not having had leisure to exhort his son, not to dispose of any thing whatsoever. They carry home the body (for he died in the fields) in a blanket to Goldmount. Which poor Elise thinking had been the Stag which they had hunted, ran full of joy to meet her Father-in-law deceased: which when she saw, it touched her so lively, the passions of joy and melancholy meeting together in her heart, that fell into a swound; and being in the estate she was, brought her almost to keep company with her deceased father. But too happy, if this misfortune had but fallen on her; for then this bloody tragedy would have ended, which we intent to write; for after this, ill fortune never ceased to persecute her innocence, even to make her guilty of death, without having committed any crime at all. Injurious fortune, when wilt thou cease thus to persecute virtue? ill encountered Cranker, must thou have still the fairest Roses?  
Bellerive is the burial-place of the ancestors of Timoleon; the pleasure of Goldmount is turned into sadness by the accident of his death: This body must be conducted to the sepulchre of his fathers. O Philippin, whither goest thou? must thou, to show thy love and duty to the dead, give death to thy Love? or rather to light with those Funeral-torches the fearful brand of this Isabel, which will reduce thee and thine honour into dust? Oh if the lips of Timoleon could but speak, they would counsel thee from this journey: Oh if death would permit him to make an oration to thee, with what efficacy of words would he have dissuaded the meeting the first object of thy flames. Poor Butterfly, thou goest to burn the wings of thy desires in a torch which will undo thee. Love is that devil of the Evangel, which once returned into a house from whence it hath been banished, remains more strong than before, making those whom it possesses more furious than ever. We must not set those which are full of rage, in the presence of the beasts which bitten them, they will but redouble their torment; we must not approach a smoking torch with fire, if we will not have it lighted. The greatest secret the Apostle knows to prevent fornication, is to fly; those which love peril, will perish. Elise, why dost not thou by thy wisdom find some invention to prevent this disaster which thou goest to gather in this funeral-voyage? But when a misfortune will follow one, says a grave Ancient, it seems his wisdom is shadowed, and his judgement blinded, not being able to prevent his headlong ruin.  
Being come to Bellerive, all the Gentlemen thereabouts, but especially those which held of Timoleon as his vassals, came to render their last obedience to the sepulchre of their Lord. O dead ashes, is it possible that from the midst of this coldness should come forth so many coals as to burn the heart of thy miserable successor? The fair Amazon, now as free as a man, by the death of Valentine which was gone to God during this residence at Goldmount, being become unseparable company to her brother Harman and Pyrrhe her father, came with them to the funerals of Timoleon, which was her honour, and the happiness of Philippin; for the appeared clothed in a mourning habit, so advantageous to her natural graces, that one would have said, what she had done simply to honour the funeral pomp, and wearing the mourning for her mother, made with such art, seemed exceedingly to grace her. Mourning hath the property to make the fair appear more fair, and the unpleasing more deformed than they are. Under these black vail● Isabel launched forth looks more shining than the forerunner of thunder, lightning, sent from a dark black cloud: And for a pitiful encounter, Elise, which had no beauty but in her virtues, showed with an extreme disadvantage to her natural disposition under these mourning habits; withal being much affected for the loss of her father-in-law, whom she honoured infinitely, and loved with an incomparable affection. Nothing defaces so much the beauty of the face, as a true and sincere grief: For to appear fair and pleasing, she must have been content too, and happy. So that just as the bargain is half made with the second merchant, when we are displeased with the first; the desires of Philippin revolted against reason by this interview; of which the one rubbed with the wings of sadness, hath lost her ordinary effect to draw the iron of his heart; the other armed with a thousand drawing spirits, raised and transported him in a moment from his true being: Their looks, messengers of their intentions, made their hearts speak, which were reduced to ashes by these sparkles framed by this unhappy collection. The furious Lion roaring and watching without cease to devour us; that Dragon that seduces us by these artificious ideas, filling our thoughts with malicious illusions; that Spirit sworn against our salvation, which loses no time to endamage us, covering the eyes of Philippin with double deceit, made this illegitimate object appear far more pleasing than she was; and on the other side made her which he should and ought justly to have loved, appear hideous to him, that he conceived a secret horror against her, not being able to comprehend with himself how he had continued so long. And truly her grief, and the estate she was in, which we hold will make the most fair seem unpleasant, with this habit so little  to the mediocrity of the form of Elise, contributed to this dislike of Philippin. The other strangely insolent by the knowledge of her preeminences, like a Peacock, with her tail covering and crowning herself with pride, throws shame upon other birds; glorying in her victory, and loaden with trophies of her new conquest, retires home triumphing, leaving Philipin in the most strange unquietness that can be imagined. When we throw a stone into a still water, it multiplies the circles infinitely: This sight forms a thousand impressions in the soul of this young man, till now so peaceable and quiet. O Philippin, 'tis here thou shouldst resist this evil which fights against thee; 'tis here thou oughtest to take antidotes against this poison, which slides through thy veins, and will trouble the rest of thy bones and the health of thy flesh. If thou dissemblest, thy entrails will become rotten and old; and the spiritual gangrene giving death, grace is unavailable. But unfortunate, thou flatterest thy misfortunes, and anger'st thy ulcers with scratching. 
Prevent these shelves, and fly that fatal shore,  
Where nought hath less of life, or of death more.  He will do nothing: his sickness pleases him better than his health, he prefers a tempest before a calm, and death before life, the prison before liberty. This Siren hath sung him asleep in so deep a lethargy, as it quite transformed him; although a captived will, yet voluntarily he yields to this servitude, and holds it his greatest happiness. He foresaw many ills which threatened this change, but he shuts the eyes of his judgement not to take knowledge of them. 
What doth comport with conscience, or comply  
With honour, he disdains; whose thoughts grow high  
By contradiction, while he will gainsay  
That which he ought not, loathing what he may.   
Thus the huntsman always altered with a new prey, leaves that which he had already taken, to follow fiercely that he hath not. Here is this young Lord respected like a new star rising in the horizon of this Country: his Vassals come to give him homage, whilst he meditates how to make himself Companion to his Vassal. He appears free, and yet is more a slave then when he was under the jurisdiction of his father; A horse broke lose without either bit or bridle, a ship without a stern, a cloud full of black water; of blind passion blown by the wind of covetous ills. Already he receives the innocent embraces of Elise against his heart; and as sick men that loathe the meats which they have been greedy of during their healths, so that which was here to fore his contentment, is now become insuppportable. His eyes armed with scorn, never looked on her but to disdain her; her presence is odious, her prudence suspect, her care and good housewifery avaritiousness, her modesty a beastly defect. And as all we see through a coloured glass appears of the same colour as the midst that deceives our sight; even so not considering her virtues, but on the contrary judging by this secret change, which will shortly change into a formal hatred, she appears odious to him like vice it selves. 
Whose Beauty mocked his dreaming soul, like Lies  
Pourtraying Truth forth in a false disguise.  Already this Leah, although fruitful, is nothing to the imagination of possessing a fair Rachel; all the honey that he had heretofore gathered in the company of Elise, changed into bitter forgetfulness. Elise easily perceives this coldness; but as she was good and simply discreet, she threw the cause upon the death of Timoleon, which she thought affected Philippin, although her grief were far greater than his for that loss, whose boiling heat of passion in love was far from thought of sorrowing for the death of his father. The more she thinks to comfort him, the more he is displeased; the more she courts him, the more he seems to be importuned; and although she strives as much as may be to cover with a false joy a true sadness, yet could he not hinder but his face, his actions and words betrayed him, making it appear to those which had least of apprehension, that there was I know not what in his thoughts which tormented him. Elise sees this, and is in an agony inconceivable: She thought it was a wrong to her husband to esteem he had any ill opinion of her; she is too innocent to find in herself any subject of discontentment that she had ever given him, and there is nothing she thinks less on then the true cause of this alteration. Jealousy of Isabel she had none; for she believes that time hath healed Philippin of this old impression. But in the end the many matches made for hunting, made her plainly see they were not without design; and the other visits to Vaupre made her to know the fire by the smoke, the beast by the foot: but so late, that the evil was almost without remedy.  
On the other side Philippin was in extreme agonies; for the way of the perverse is sowed with a thousand thorns: All seemed contrary to his desires. The cunning Isabel which saw she had returned him into her net, and that she held him in her goal by means as full of subtlety, as Elise was full of simple innocence, who made as if she saw not that which she did but too well perceive. Isabel seems not to take notice of that which doth clearly appear; and by her flying and feigned retiredness adds desire in Philippin to see her. Industrious Galatee, that drawest in flying, and hidest in showing thyself! For coming to Bellerive to visit Elise, and then he seeing her at Vaupre, it was always in the presence of his wife, or of her father or brother, that he spoke to her, which was an extreme torment to this passionate. This damosel full of vanity, took pride tormenting him, without giving him any hope to quench the least spark of this great fire in his breast. Judge but the craft of this creature: Here is a Tantalus dead with drought in midst of waters; and like the Page of Alexander, he is constrained in silence to burn. It serves him not to speak with Eyes, language which she hath heretofore well understood; now feigns not to understand, by a deafness as great and greater than that by which she is beloved. The good of Philippin is his hurt: For this liberty to see that which he desired, redoubled his passion, and makes him perish with a death and languishing grief by the object which is the cause. All his study is to make known to this malicious creature the renewing of his ancient flames; but that in such a fashion, that neither Elise, Pyrrhe, nor Harman understood any thing; yet all see clearly like Eagles. The jealousy of a wife is not to be feared: The valour of Pyrrhe and Harman are not unknown to him; although his Vassals, they are noble, and Gentlemen full of honour, and that rather than abate the least point, would lose a thousand lives.  
Oh how true it is, that evil men travel by ways stubled and full of stops and difficulties, and attain much weariness in the end of their iniquities. If once his court be but perceived by so many eyes as watch him, all is lost, there will be nothing but tempests within, and shipwreck without. If he but consider the end of his unjust pretention, it is but an assured loss of his reputation, and may be of his life: For if Elise perceive it once, farewell friendship and peace; but that is the least he thinks of: If either her father or brother should suspect any thing, there's no more frequenting nor visits, no more duty nor acknowledgement; A quarrel that would set all the Gentlemen upon him thereabouts, and make him odious to Scevole and to all that knew the rare virtues of his wife. And to revenge himself, there is no hope. He is too far in the business; his passion holds his foot at his throat; he is fallen and lost, he is altogether undone. To dissemble his ill he cannot any longer, he cannot without death; and to die without daring to complain or make known who is the cause, he cannot resolve. Here is our Ixion on the wheel. It is most true that a disordered spirit is his own hangman; he gets much by ruling his actions and motions. He loses his countenance at the aspect of the Basilisco, whose sight kills him. This moving he cannot hinder, betrays. He speaks to her enough, but not enough; as much as becomes him, but not enough; for 'tis not that he would, or cannot, or dares not manifest to her. She see● him nevertheless, and seems ignorant. (Learn the cunning of women by this same.) So that our passionate Philippin dies of a sickness obscure and hidden, in midst of all these commodities and remedies that opportunity seems to present him. In the end the imposthume grows; That which he cannot entreat for with his tongue, he borrows with his pen, being an interpreter of his thoughts which cannot blush. That makes known to the artificious Amazon what she knew already; but as she loved her honour, and was jealous of her reputation, she struck against the rock of a chaste resolution these first points, making all these considerations recoil before the impenetrable buckler of a holy cruelty. The glory of having captived so great a courage, left not to flatter her; seconded with pride of a secret joy, that she had in her hands the means to be revenged of Philippin for the wrong she thought he had done her, in leaving her for one of meaner beauty. And as there needs to infernal Archimedes but one point out of the earth, for to raise all the earth; it was by this large gate of vengeance that he conveyed into the soul of this maiden the Trojan horse, the funeral-torch that put all her reputation in ashes. What dost thou, Isabel? in stead of sending back his Pacquets, thou receivest and concealest them, without giving any notice to thy father or brother. Ha! this is not the course of a wise Maiden, which like the Mother of Pearl ought not to open but to receive the dew of heaven; nor to receive other court but those of a legitimate marriage, with the permission of her parents. You will hid serpents in your breast, and then complain you are stung very ill; you let in the thiefs, and then complain of being rob; you put in fire, and then are astonished if it burn you. Where is your wisdom, Isabel? I well perceive you are of that unfortunate band, that are not wise but in doing ill; whilst you are parleyed with, you intent to yield, you betray yourself in capitulating with a Traitor, as if you were agreed with him to your own ruin. You help him to make to your parents invisible, that which he will not have visible but to you. Poor Rahab, thou hidest the Spies that will be cause of thy destruction and infamy. O daughters that have understanding, learn by the fault of this miserable one, since ill examples engender good manners; and refuse these little Letters, which are as so many chains to bring your hearts into servitude; and hunt these foxes which break down those enclosures that make you honoured and esteemed. The abuser Isabel becomes abused, and disadvisedly seduced; A just punishment of her craft and cunning. She lends her ears; and consents to the writings and discourse of this deceiver Philippin, and helps herself by her folly to wove the cord which draws her to shame. She hears this charmer, which flatters so well, as he awakes in her that which disdain had made but sleepy, not killed; covered, not quite put out. He colours his courting with a mask of honour, to make her by this golden outside better to swallow the pill of dishonour: Protests he esteems her his legitimate wife; says he will declare that marriage with Elise null, as having but too many proofs of the constraint of Timoleon, as to her that of Pyrrhe; that the declarations contrary to their first promises were forced from their pens, not from their hearts, and that violence was notorious. To these rays of apparent reason Isabel lights her first heats, putting (as in the time of Nehemiah) fire in the oven: 
Those Philter-charms of Love did reinspire  
Her breast inflamed with a vigorous fire.  Greatness flatters her courage, which is high; Honour, which she conceives by a just alliance, moves her strangely; and in the end Love wins her absolutely: For although she dissembled, a property common enough to all her sex, the impression of Philippin had never been quite defaced in her soul; neither for despite, her affection having still been stronger than the outrage, nor for another object; for after having failed of so high a design as the first, all other Matches were displeasant to her, and her universal disdain had lost her many fortunes; nor for absence, for amongst the diverting of her many exercises, always this Idea swum in her imaginations. So that it was easy for him to persuade her, her own inclination importing her belief. Painting cannot last long; the first sweeting, it falls off a face that hath been daubed with it. The feigned despite, the apparent cruelty, the artificious disdain, the affected scorn of this Damosel, cannot be maintained long; for that which is counterfeited hath no solid substance, 'tis as snow before the sun. After having kindled the fire of Philippin by a thousand reproaches, there flew up a sparkle from so many coals that lighted in her own heart, and burned herself. It happens ordinarily, that those which shoot artificious fire are burnt first; and desiring to endamage other, lose themselves. The Bee never stings, but leaves the sting in the wound; and in losing her sting, remains wounded to death. The fire of love is of that nature, that those which will give love are taken; it is a game, in which who will take, are taken. 
This place so full of danger, Lover's, fly;  
Under fair flowers the foulest serpents lie.  It is hard to give love, without receiving; 'tis so fine gold, as it remains always between the fingers of those which distribute it. men's hearts are as dry as kixes to take fire; and the greatest courages are soon cast down under this violence, which hath his greatest strength in his sweetness, and makes us find nothing so sweet as this strength. It was very easy for Philippin to deceive the eyes of his wife, Pyrrhe and Herman; having this intelligence with Isabel, he thought himself above the clouds, being plunged into a foul quagmire. This proud Maid loved honour, and would never yield but with the hope of a future marriage. He importunes her, forced by the vehemency of his infamous desires: But on the other side she earnestly pressed him to break with Elise, otherwise he should not hope any thing of her but cruelty and disdain. Here is Philippin in strange convulsions: How shall he break this sacred knot, to satisfy his unbridled appetite, and the tyranny of this imperious Mistress? This Mine must play by a prodigious clap. He yields extraordinary submission to her, and seems an Idolater; for all that she comes no forwarder: He swears, protests and promises; but the second oaths are refused by the example of the first. He passes to promises in writing; Isabel receives them, but for all that he gets no forwarder in the ground of her honour. What shall he do to this inflexible creature? He resolves to come to the worst of extremities, and to repudiate Elise, sending her shamefully from his house, breaking violently the laws of friendship, and brutally lets himself be carried by the torrent of a passion that will precipitate him blindly in a misfortune irremediable. He sees Isabel every day; and with so much cunning of this false female, that her parents see their discourses and meeting, without perceiving their practices, confounding by their artificious carriages this word of the Oracle of truth, That he which doth ill hates light; for in the face of the sun and sight of men they dissembled their ill do. But blind and cruel Philippin began to use with much inhumanity the innocent Elise, that his insolences and indignities are no more supportable by a woman of her worth and quality. She desires to know the subject of a usage so rude as this was; but the more she inquires, the more he hides it from her. All she can do to give him content, displeases him; her presence is so odious, that he can no longer suffer her. They say the Tigers, at the hearing of music, become more cruel. Philippin is of that humour; the sweet harmony of the virtues of his wife makes him more savage and cruel: He now makes her to understand that he acknowledges her for no wife of his, having been constrained by the violence of Timoleon to marry her: that he had nothing to do with her riches, she might take them and be gone, for his house was great enough without her help: He reproaches her with her birth unequal to his, the baseness of her parents, her ill fashion, he calls her Courtesies cosening. To be short, he nourishes her with gall, and gives her vinegar to drink. Upon these subjects of nothing, he puts himself into excessive choler, and threatens to kill her if she consent not to the divorce.  
Imagine you if Elise, as wise and discreet as she was, had patience to suffer so many affronts. She is his companion, and he uses her as his slave; she hath raised his house with her wealth, and is told she is the ruin of it. Her estate of being great with child, doth it not make you pity her? She endures nevertheless these taunts, these injuries, these threats, with a prodigious constancy, without answering so much as one word; not to throw oil on the fire by contesting, desiring rather to quench it by the water of silence. Nor doth this appease this barbarous man, (for how would you have me call this obdurate Philippin?) He torments her horribly, being like a domestic Fury tied to the neck of this Innocent. In the end affliction, that gives intelligence to the deafest ears, and like a biting powder or strong water breaks open the strongest lets that stop its passage, opens the secret of this mystery to her, and makes her penetrate into the chest of darkness and into the counsel of perverse hearts, the cause of her misfortune. She enters into herself, visiting her interior Jerusalem with a lamp, that is, a serious Examen; and not finding herself guilty of any thing, she sees this change of Philippin is cause of all her trouble; but considers not till it be too late the practices of Isabel. She complains to Scevole and sophy of the usage of her husband, that could not longer be suffered; she advertises Pyrrhe and Harman underhand to look to the carriage of this Maiden. Pyrrhe declares this advice freely to Philippin; who knowing from whence it came, laughed and mocked at it before her father, saying that was the jealousy of his wife, that every shadow frighted. But he conceived such a hatred, and was in such a fury, as finding here a thing unworthy of a Lord of his quality, that he basely struck her, after having vomited all the outrageous speeches his passion could suggest against her. Which so seized this poor Lady with grief, as she thought presently to have died there. Too happy if it had so happened, she had not then been reserved sor an end more tragic and shameful.  
In the mean time Isabel triumphs over all these debates, these being combats which promised her the victory. Miserable she, that sow's seeds of discord in this loyal marriage, troubling the highest serenity can be imagined. One thing troubles him, which is, the advertisement Elise gave to Pyrrhe and Herman; which makes them more attentive on the carriage of Isabel, whereby she suffers strangely, they watching her so nearly, fearing she mould escape them, as seeing her equipages too knightly for a maiden, intent to send her far enough from Vaupre, to one of her Aunts, a woman much more severe than Valentine, where she should not have that liberty she had in her father's house. This makes her hasten the end of her design; and press the divorcing of Elise; to which Philippin by her persuasions is absolutely resolved. Why do I spin so long this mournful cord? let us hasten to this ill step. She advertises Philippin that they will remove her far from him; a journey which she esteems the tomb of her contentment, and the ruin of her pretensions. He conjures her to come to Bellerive, for her coming to him would be the expulsion of Elise, whom he will send to her friends with a bill of divorce; so that declaring his marriage null, he will never have other wife but her. This damosel opens her ears to these persuasions; and banishing reason from her without shame, and making bankrupt her honour, she thinks of nothing but to triumph on the ruins of Elise, upon the exile of whom she pretends to erect the trophy of her contentments.  
That which is feigned by the greatest of Roman Poets touching the hunting in which the Queen of Carthage consummated hymeneal rights of marriage with the fair Trojan, is true in this our History: For there is a match for hunting the Stag, where Philippin took a prey, letting himself be taken Stag and Slave of his foul desires. This is the plot: Isabel loses herself in the woods, and doubly lost both body and honour. But Philippin finds both the one and the other, and are lost both in finding. 
This day first put the preface to their sad  
Mishaps, and period to those joys they had.   
Herman who had the conduct of the assembly, troubled with this, judges it cannot be for any good. At their return she is chidden: But she more fool than ever in the love of Philippin, being so far engaged as she must either die in this pain, or end the marriage, without declaring to her brother her fault, tells him openly her intentions she had to marry with Philippin, after he had broke his marriage with Elise. Herman shown her it was a simple folly to think of that, all the ceremonies required for a legitimate marriage having been observed, and which is more, consummated, so as Elise hath a daughter, and is great with another. He conjured her to put these thoughts out of her head, but it was too late; for this sister of his stopping her ears at this wise counsel, like an asp, vows she must either die, or end it.  
Herman seeing her so wilful, fearing somewhat else might happen, presses his father to send away his sister to his aunt, without telling him why, but rather casting this advice upon the too frequent visits of Philippin, which could not be hindered by reason of his quality, and would make the world talk. Pyrrhe resolves, and commands his daughter to prepare her for the journey, alleging some other slight considerations. But she goes to make another: For one night being got on horseback, she got to a place where Philippin stayed for her, who conducted her like a triumph to Bellerive, putting her in the same possession of his house that she had of his heart. In the morning Pyrrhe went to her chamber to dispose of her parting, Herman being destined to conduct her, having all things in readiness. There was much to do when they found her not; they know not what is become of her; Harman doubting, told his father freely, he thought she was gone with Philippin. What alarms were there in this house! what an assault to the heart of her father! He tore his beard, and called himself unhappy to have put such a daughter into the world, esteeming them happy which are not charged with these merchandises so difficult and hard to be kept. He will not be comforted in his grief for his loss; for he fears to find her without honour, rather than without life.  
This conjecture of Herman proves but too true; Isabel is at Bellerive in the hands of Philippin. It is the abominable custom in France, and in all this Province of which I speak, for the least wrong in the world that happens between Gentlemen, to call one another to the field. Without being otherwise informed of the particulars of this business, Pyrrhe sent by Herman a challenge to Philippin, to meet him in the field with his sword in his hand, to do him right for having stolen his daughter, and to bring his second, he having his son. Philippin for the first Present of his new marriage receives this bloody Paper; his courage commanded him to go, but his conscience which gnaws him gives him fear. The Amazon hath the news, who offers (impudent and unnatural as she is) to second Philippin against her own father and brother, if there be occasion; So true it is, that one forgetfulness brings on a hundred. But Philippin more reserved than she forgetful, being touched with a secret horror of this proposition, answers Herman, That he pretends not to keep Isabel in his house as a Concubine, but as his legitimate wife, being resolved to send away Elise, and to declare his marriage null with her; beseeching Pyrrhe to appease his choler, and consider that that which he esteemed a dishonour to his house, was the greatest and the highest advantage he could hope for his family; and that he would not upon a sudden ligntness bloody his hands in the blood of him which honoured him already as his father-in-law: And embracing Herman in quality of his brother, so flatters him, as he returns him to Pyrrhe with these protestations. Who, furious like a Tiger that hath lost her whelps, could not at first taste these excuses; demands his daughter, promising to give him her when the divorce of Elise was authorised by Justice, and his marriage declared illegitimate and forced. Herman returns to Bellerive: but Isabel will not hear of this return, so that the fault was all in her; her father and brother are forced to mitigate their discontentment against Philippin, the rape having been voluntary on his daughter's part.  
But whilst they temporise with their Lord, what becomes of poor Elise? Without attending to be more outrageously commanded, she intends to departed. For as one cannot serve two masters, much less can a man have two wives. The Angel and the Dragon cannot endure together: The adulterer and the legitimate cannot be associates in the kingdom of the voluptuous.  
Here is the contrary of Jacob and Esau: The reproved supplants the razed; darkness overcomes light, and vice triumphs proudly over innocence; Sarah and Isaac are banished his house by insolent Hagar. At last Elise by an unheard of cruelty, without having leave to give her last farewell to her dear Philippin, s; awe herself with her daughter Dalimene shamefully sent from Bellerive, and conducted roughly by the Officers, executors of her husband's passions, into the place of her birth, where full of grief she flies into the arms of her parents. Here we see fulfilled that verse in the Psalm, Whilst the proud exalt themselves, the poor are in affliction: whilst innocence is on the rack, the guilty are in their pride; and whilst the Dove suffers, the Eagle ravished skips in the air of her vanity. Isabel (as the Queen of Carthage) being returned from hunting, goes no more meditating with Philippin for their stolen meetings; making defence of her confusion, she calls this ilformed practice Marriage, entituling with the honourable name of Wedding the miserable torch of her impurity. Philippin himself would have it so, and calls her his wife. 
Marriage, that last left refuge, justified,  
And former failings did obscure and hid.  And to accomplish the measure of his insolence, and to load with calamities the innocent Elise, he strives to cover his do with a cloak of equity. He publishes every where how he was constrained to marry her, and by consequence the nullity of the marriage: For if will be forced, it is n●● free will; and if free consent ties this knot of marriage, who knows not, or who sees not that which seemed marriage, and is not? These are the apparent reasons with which this young Lord flatters himself, injured by this new passion that governs him. He employs Herman's testimony of his first Promises, to break the second. In which the brother of Isabel seems very careful, who looks not so much to the advantage of the match, as to the conservation of the honour of his house; for his sister had inconsiderately laid open the way to her shame, and permitted that which was neither lawful nor honest, but when a marriage is solemnly contracted in the face of the Church.  
But the wise Scevole, who hath all prudence and right in his thoughts, and is for his sufficiency of much esteem and great authority in his company, understands well how to undo this web, in sustaining the honour of his daughter and his house; making it appear both by the spiritual and temporal Justice, that the first Promises of Philippin and Isabel were unlawful and of no effect, their Restitutions valuable, their renouncings authentical, and the marriage of Elise and Philippin validly contracted, and also the little Dalimene, with that she went with, legitimate heirs of the one and the other. By these sentences irrevocable, by these decrees of heaven and earth, Herman remains confused in this pursuit; Philippin deceived of his unjust pretensions; Isabel mocked and become the fable of all the Country. Pyrrhe seeing that by this lightness of his daughter, his house heretofore, although not rich in goods of fortune, yet rich in pride, was now all covered with shame and ignominy, not being able to contain his choler by his patience, resolves to take out this shameful spot which dishonours him, in the blood of the Complices; and calls Philippin the second time to fight, but sees himself disdained as his vassal, and his quality of Gentleman rejected with an affront altogether insupportable to a great heart as his was. The affronted Isabel made hard by impenitence, defends her fault, and rejoices in her evil, imputing the cause of the loss of her cause not to the justice of Elise, but to the favour and authority of Scevole. She makes herself be called by the title of the house of Philippin, who commands his subjects to esteem and honour her as his wife. Thus is verified the word of Truth itself, that the impious being arrived at the depth of his malice, disdains both honour and laws. Pyrrhe outraged cruelly for the disdain of Philippin, and for the insolence of his daughter, and scorn and mockery of all their neighbours, not being able to digest all these indignities, falls into a terrible rage, and determines rather to lose his life, then to draw it out with shame and ignominy. Philippin stands upon his guards; and being much assisted according to his eminent quality, laughs at these poor Gentlemen, who do nothing but watch near about his house to do him some mischief; as a great mastiff disdains the barking of little dogs about him. But being advised by some of his friends to beware of a surprise, or of some treason, that being master of the life of the greatest Monarch in the world, who will disdain his own; not willing to live any longer amongst these thorns and agonies, resolves to change the air, and to carry Isabel to Goldmount. It is a sure hold, a seat far off; he thinks to s; penned his days with more tranquillity. But as those that are sick at sea, it avails them little to go from one ship to another; or he that hath the fever in his veins, changes beds to no purpose; even so an ill conscience carries always terror about him, fear and defiance follows him like the shadow the body. The guilty may well be in places of security, says a wise Ancient, but not in assurance; for they always see the knife of vengeance divine or humane hanging and shaken over their heads; their sleeps are troubled with a thousand fearful visions, as if they had drunk the juice of the herb called Ophinsa. Their own thoughts serve them for a hangman, to torment them with horror of their faults, that they enjoy no quiet, but it passes suddenly from them. This far remove hath not appeased the rage of Pyrrhe and Herman, seconded in all his designs by him, which would not be appeased; these are the importunate stingings which shout threats and invective speeches in the ears of Philippin, These angry elves which promise nothing less to themselves, prick him to death, esteeming they had reason to take the life of him that had ravished their honour; they make about Goldmount a thousand secret meetings, accompanied with strangers, resolving to spend the remnant of their fortunes in this quarrel. To the greatest the least enemies are redoubtable; there needs but a little Viper to pluck down a great Bull. If they would but have retired, he would very willingly have made them a bridge of gold; but they cruelly desirous of his bloo● would not be satisfied but with his life, which he is not reso●●● to abandon. O how great are the multitude of evils which environ the tabernacle of the sinner! This miserable man sees himself possessed within with a domestic devil, so much the more dangerous, that he esteems her an Angel of light, adoring his prison and his shackles; and besieged without by these furious revenges, which are as sowed to his choler, of whom he thinks to have always their knife in his throat. See what it is to serve strange gods, and to abandon himself to unlawful passions, which make continual wars without truce, and give no rest night nor day. O how pitiful and bitter a thing it is to forsake the way of virtue; and how assured he is of shipwreck, that loses the Tramontane of the grace of God. 

His case is desperately forlorn,  
Who laws of GOD and Church doth scorn,  
And to his own will doth confine  
The laws both moral and divine.  
Vast seas of trouble do surround  
His soul, whose joy in grief is drowned.   

Though outwardly he surfeiteth in bliss,  
Within, the Chaos of a black abyss  
And blacker Conscience worm-like gnaws and bites,  
Embittering all his pleasures and delights.   

Conscious of odious crimes, he dares not stare  
On the bright Sun, p'erclouded with despair;  
Which racks his soul so hourly, that each breath  
Presents pale horror, and eternal death.   

Nor pomp nor power, nor prowess can withstand  
The stroke of vengeance, or the dreadful hand  
Of Heaven: where 'tis his pleasure to decree,  
Or doom us damned, who can pronounce us free?  
Where conscience doth accuse, our Crimes there do  
Appear both Judge, and Executioner too.    
What can one hope for but disasters? Would you not say, that the mercy of God shining upon the lines of his justice calls him by these perplexities in which he now finds himself? But this Pharoah ●●dned by all these wonders, is not converted; but persevering in this abominable train, he dies in his sin, precipitated into the red sea of a bloody trespass. Yet nevertheless he obtains some respite to accomplish the measure of his pain, by the excess of his fault: For, after hiving besought the Justices of those places to deliver him from the pursuits of the father and son, which had conjured his ruin; by the same arms he would have employed for his defence, he feared to have been taken; forasmuch as Scevole seemed to favour the party of Pyrrhe, counselling him to declare he had no intent against Philippin as for his Concubine, which he would retire as being his daughter, to take away the scandal and shame of his house.  
Thus Philippin saw himself in midst of his enemies, and that justice on his shoulders which he had besought for his defence. Who sees not in this a just judgement of God? only this blind Lover takes no knowledge of it; so strong are the enchantments which which Isabel charmed him, that besides the despite to see herself pursued and so shamefully qualified by her father, losing all respect and natural love both to father and brother, counsels Philippin to make an assembly of his vassals and friends, and to cut all his enemies in pieces. But as an ancient Consul said to an Emperor, It is more easy to commit a murder of an adultery, then to defend it: These crimes are not so easily justified, as they are practised; there are few friends that will venture their lives, goods and honours, in hazard of so vile a business; when it comes in question to set upon the justice of the Prince, they will think thrice: Other crimes being more particular, are more easy to obtain pardon; but that which is public and lesae majestatic, according to the rules of the best Politics, aught to be irremissible; 'tis a baseness which it were impiety to pardon or to pity, those who commit it ought to perish for an example: Nor is there one of the neighbours of Philippin that will second him in an enterprise so unreasonable, so dangerous, and full of ruin. On the contrary they complain of his cruelty, and lament the misery of Elise; detesting Isabel as a monster, cause of all the misfortunes of this young Lord, and the ruin of his house. By the impossibility to revenge himself and withstand, he shrinketh; and doubting that this quarrel being in the heat, Scevole should take occasion to persecute him, he sees himself brought to a shameful capitulation, coming again to ●●●ers and submission to Pyrrhe, promising that he would di●●ndamage him of all his pretended wrongs; having been bea●●n, and forced to pay for his amendment, and to procure the advancement of Herman: protesting to appeal to Rome the sentence which had confirmed his marriage with Elise, and to employ his uttermost means to break it; swearing never to have other wise but Isabel, whom he esteemed his legitimate Bride, ordaining his subjects to hold and esteem her by that quality. He sees Herman in secret, upon whom he hath same kind of power, helped by the tears and supplications of his sister; he wins him so, as he brings his father to this agreement; who upon hope to cover his honour somewhat by this promise, returns to Vaupre, leaving Philippin in peace at Goldmount. But we shall find in the end it was but a peace dissembled, according to the speech of the wise man which says, Peace, peace, where there is no peace.  
The whiles this miserable Lord respires, if a man troubled with a thousand fears within can have any repose, although freed of outward combats. We will take this time to go to the Town, to see what Elise doth; also the long ceremonious formality of the Ecclesiastical justice in these appeals, by reason of the distance of places, doth give us leisure. She living retired with her father, under the wings of her mother Sophy, with as much will and obedience, as when she was a Maid. Oh if she had not tempered the rage of her father's anger against Philippin, what would he not have done to have brought this deboist son-in-law to his duty and obedience? See but what a good disposition she is of, to procure all good to him which had used her so cruelly, and so shamefully sent her away! But it may be her goodness was not commendable in this, for hindering the course of justice, which reduces sometime to good the most desperate, for fear of punishment. So that being patiented, and hoping that this foolish love would be passed over quickly out of the fancy of this cruel man, whom though lost as he was, she loved as her life; she inspires patience into Scevole, although he had much ado to suffer these outrages.  
We have told you how she was great with child; and because she did not nourish the fruit in her body but with bread of grief and ●ink of tears, we must not wonder if brought to bed before 〈◊〉 time, a son came into the world without life, for grief had stifled it in his mother's womb, Philippin being both its father and deathsman. This pitiful creature thought to carry with herself that she had brought forth, into the sepulchre. Too happy Elise, if dying thus thou hadst not been reserved to a trespass unworthy thy fair life! I will leave take to speak of her excellent virtues which she practised during this horrible travel, which she thought should have put her in her grave: what holy and Christian thoughts sustained her courage during these assaults? She receives all the Sacraments of the Church, with that devotion, that edified all those which saw these actions; they thought their hearts would have cleft with pity. She asks a thousand pardons of her parents, filled with grief to see her in this estate: Committing to her sister Leonore the pardon she demanded of Philippin, whose cruelties she even honoured in this extreme agony. She lost so much blood, as she thought verily to have rendered up her soul by this flux, the Physicians believing no less. But as this languishing death is rather tedious then violent, leaving their judgements, with a great clearness and understanding, she had leisure to write this Letter in her extremities, which she would have subscribed with her blood, to touch with pity the insensible heart of her well-beloved Adversary; We will report it thus.  
NOw that this soul of mine is ready to leave the miserable body that could never find grace before your eyes, and being now at point to fly into the arms of the well-beloved, heavenly Bridegroom: Permit, thrice beloved and most lovely Philippin! to this wretched Elise to open her heart unto thee, which hath always been entirely and invariably thine; that in taking of you and of the world my last leave, I may present before you for my farewell these dying words; since after so many sweet testimonies of friendship we must part, the remembrance of which is death in the most cruel death itself, that I should prove change in a courage which had promised me never should be capable of infidelity. It is long since I would have left my life, if the laws of God had not forbid my passage, which I go to free with as little grief, as life (being deprived of your favour) is pleasing to me. Alas, must I, for having honoured ●●u so religiously, endure that usage more fit for an infidel? I will not contest with you, if it be with reason that I have f●● the effects so contrary to their cause: For your will being my rule and my reason, makes me against my judgement believe, that all you have done to me rigorously, I feel is full of equity and justice. So that examining my conscience upon the duties I was bound to give you, and finding myself not guilty of any thing, I think that for a punishment of my other sins God hath permitted you to take my respects for wrongs, and my humilities for outrages. Had I been treated in the form of offenders, I should have understood the cause of my punishment, before undergone: But I was struck with thunder before the lightning appeared, and sooner condemned then heard. The which I say not to complain, for fear to turn this complaint into an offence, to hurt you in thinking to s; atisfie you; humbly ask pardon for all I have failed in to your service. For although my duty and condition bound me to give you all sort of obedience and fidelity, it is true, I was more carried by my love then for any other consideration of civil respect, I think (without vanity) being the creature in the world which hath best loved you, and which thinks not to have given other subject to offend you, but the excess of her ardent affection.  
But almost the perfection of love is in excess: who sees not but this fault carries its excuse in its accusation, and if blamed is commendable. It may be if she had not been so fervent in affection, you had esteemed her more; but her extremity made you less accept it; so that you have no way heretofore comprehended it, but like a weak vapour dispersed as soon as risen, since in a moment it is dead in your remembrance. Alas, what is become of that happy time, in which not having other care but to please you, you seemed to study nothing but to content me, in yielding me love for love, in which consisted the feast of our felicities! Whither are those fair days gone, in which you received no contentment but by my me, nor did any thing but by my counsel; as I lived not but for you, nor breathed not but to please you! Times and days too happy, and whereof the sweet enjoying is converted for a fault to my memory. Alas! must I for having been invariable, be so lightly changed! and a fading beauty, with so little consideration, be preferred before a solid goodness! But why do I lose myself in this complaint, having had a des; ign to s●●ther it in my soul, for fear to offend you? All I fear is, that this Letter should trouble, by pity, the repose my ashes desire to contribute to your new flames. Happy beyond my merit, if I may do you service by my death, by making the unjust legitimate. Of all my ills I accuse my ill fortune, not attributing them to any but to my own faults; not deserving of you but that just hatred with which you have pursued my indignities. That which comforts me in the griefs that bury me, is, that the cause of my sufferings lightens my grief. I apprehend only that this paper soils not with some shadow of reproach, and with some touch of ingratitude, so many perfection as I have always loved and honoured in your person, for which the least supportable rigours have seemed not only tolerable, but sweet, my affection sweetening their bitterness.  
I will not represent the pains I now endure, being they sever the miseries of my soul and body: but I assure you they seem far lighter to me then those I felt, when by your command I was separated from you; and then I had more understanding to feel it, than now to express it. It Would be to offend their extremities, to think to speak them: And if they might be resisted, I would not; for that being of a nature communicable, their contagion might pass into your soul by conpassion; and I desire that my death may be a subject of rejoicing to you. Permit me only to qualify all the injuries the world esteems you have done me, with the title of good; renouncing the reward due to all the services I have rendered you; so that satisfying my passion in serving you, I have contented myself: it lies not in me that you lose not the remembrance; if it troubles never so little your joy, if my humilities are of any consideration before you, methinks they will deserve the credit to be forgot. So much I fear (as nothing more) that the image of my imperfections should again trouble your fancy: For I believe, if there rests any feeling in bones laid in the tomb, the tranquillity of mine will be troubled, if I thought that pity might find place in your heart, which I have experimented so void of love; what a pain would it be to me, if I believed only that you would grieve for having killed me? For although I ought not to desire a fairer monument than the thoughts of your soul, yet acknowledging my unworthiness, I dare not apprehend so stately an enclosure, because I know I should not rest without causing your unquietness. I'll content myself with the glory that I die for you, if I dare say for you; for since that I lived but, for you, is it not giving you that which I own, that I render you my life? Nor is this death presented to tax you, or to change into wrong to you, that which to me is a high degree of honour; only I show you with all kind of humility, that if in honouring you I have been so unhappy to displease you, I have not been so miserable to offend you. Your opinion shall be such as you please; but it shall be permitted me to believe, that as I could not address my avows to a more accomplished subject, perhaps hereafter you may more acknowledge: And although this effect hath not seconded my intention, my intention hath had nevertheless its effect, which had no other design but to testify my fidelity. I know well, that in all I have done but what I ought: but as I think not to have failed, so it must be confessed, that giving all I ought to whom I ought all, is no little proof of zeal. Happy if I had showed by the loss of my life, that of the holy affections which you have sworn before God and his Angels. Be happy at least in my disaster, to have endured without desert that you would have me suffer. Live from henceforth free by my death; leaving me this contentment in my misery, to believe that it brings you comfort. I will endure it, in honouring you: All that comes from your hands, cannot but be received by me. I adore the hand of God, which corrects me by yours; which mingles gall with that too much honey I tasted in possessing of you, and severs me from all delights of the world, to make me aspire to the eternal. At least, dear Philippin, acknowledge my fidelity in this sincere testimony that I render you, To honour even your cruelty to the last period of my life, and to cherish your disdain in the midst of the pangs of death.  
I ought to do it, since I confess I did not deserve so great an alliance as you, I was not worthy but of your refuse. I had consented to my repudiation, if the Christian laws in this case were not inviolable, espousing a Monastery to leave you at liberty in your desires; but honour and justice have withstood it, nor could I obtain of my father to give you this contentment to the prejudice of me and my fame. If I did presume in taking that great honour to be your Companion, not deserving the title of the meanest of your servants, think but with yourself what command my friends might have of me a Maiden, since your father (the memory of whom is a blessing to me) had so absolute a power on your will. This is to the end you may excuse not so much my presumption, as my obedience; and amongst the illustrious dignities which honour you, and of which I participated, you know I never did forget myself, nor have thought to be but what I was. From henceforth I quit this place too great for me, to that happy Creature which possesses you. I am not to acknowledge her merits, yet esteem your judgement in your election; not only excusing your change, but approving it: For although I yield to her all the preeminencies of grace and beauty; as long as I live, I will never yield either to her, or to any person in the world, that of affection; that if she be better beloved of you than I was, you shall never be by her, as you have been and are still by me, now that death breaks our first bonds, rendering the second as I desire them more pleasing; the splendour of this fair day will shine brighter, after the obscurity of my night. My will would have procured you this marriage during my life, to have pleased you, and have been a purchaser of my own ruin, by soliciting it against myself. But it is in vain for us to wrestle against the laws of God.  
All that tears sighs from me, and troubles the clearness of my constancy in these extremes, is the loss of this poor Infant; which as fruit disgraced, is fallen by the wind of your anger from the arch which bore it; seeing it could not ripen under the rays of your favour, it hath seen the night of death before the day of life, being deprived of the light of the star, which only could have illustrated his darkness. But that most afflicts me, is this little innocent Dalimene, which I leave on the earth the subject of your disdains. For God's love, dear Philippin! let not the indignity of the Mother prejudice the fortune of this poor creature; since heaven would, to show you how strongly your idea was graven in my heart, that she bears in her forehead the lively image of those graces that nature hath stamped on yours, not having any sign of those defects which have deprived me of the happiness of your love. Let her childish voice move you to pity; and since she is blood of your blood, in her have compassion, not of her, nor me, but of yourself.  
And lastly I conjure you by all that is most holy in heaven and earth, to have at least as a Christian some feeling of chari●y for my soul; praying that the mercy of God may open heaven to it, and that earth may be light on my ashes. Cruel, and yet well-beloved Philippin! at least love me being dead; since that sacrificing to you my life, I give you the most pleasing service that I have ever given you. I am wearier of life then of writing. O my dear Lord and husband! my soul is going, content, if thou permit it to draw with its last ascent this free sigh:  


‛ Since my vowed Faith here cannot make the least  
‛ Impression on thy unrelenting breast;  
‛ Lo, I my Soul do cheerfully resign  
To Death, who hath more charity than thine.    
She thought to have le●t her life, ending her long Letter: For grief and love, two strong passions, with the extreme pain which affected her body, made such an impression as she thought verily to have lost her senses with her blood. But by her youth and good constitution, the care of her parents help of physicians, and perfections of remedies, the great Conductor of the world which reserved her for a more sad spectacle, preserved her for this time.  
The End of the Third Book.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty. The Fourth Book.  
WHen this writing, subscribed with the blood of this languishing creature, came to the hands of Philippin, he felt in his soul strange convulsions; as what Tiger had not been moved at so much sweetness and humility? For comparing in his memory the paradise of tranquillity passed, with the h●ll of unquietness present, he grieves for her being dead, whom he had afflicted living. But these touches were like the weak bushes of those which wake out of a sound sleep; but being drowsy, fall incontinently down upon their pillow, from which they cannot raise themselves but with great pain. His heart was so glued to his present voluptuousness, that he had almost forgot the remembrance of his past happiness; the clouds hindered him from knowledge of the brightness of this virtue, that like a torch casts greater flames, by how much the more it draws near the end. Even as an Ancient said, 
We slight a present good; so Virtue most  
in sight is hated, but adored when lost.  
If she court us, we fly; and grown more coy,  
Disdain those pleasures which we most enjoy.   
These characters imprinted some kind of pity in this courage, before deaf to all that could be said, and drew some tears from his eyes: but those small drops falling on his hard heart, did no more penetrate then rain falling on rocks; on the contrary this water, like the flood of the Sycionians that dries the wood, seemed to redouble his obstinacy, and to produce the same effects as the small showers that the vehement heat of the sun draws from the clouds in the hottest of summer, which rather burns the leaves of plants, than any way refreshes them. For fearing his compassion should give jealousy to Isabel, or shadow her with some doubt of his affection, he is angry with his pity, holding cruelty for a great virtue.  
Proud Isabel, at the report of the piteous news of Elise's death which the messenger assured her, thought she should have swooned with extreme joy and contentment, esteeming that this obstacle being removed, nothing could hinder Philippin from healing the shame of her love by marriage. She gives thanks to heaven, as if it had been guilty of her fault, and bound to repair it by so bloody a means; by which you may note the humours of these creatures, that are many times so impudent to mingle divinity with their misdeeds. Pyrrhe is presently advertised at Vaupre, who much rejoices for the ensuing wedding of his daughter; and the house of Philippin in stead of wearing blacks for the decease of their Mistress, are employed in feasting and joy of a nuptial pomp, to honour a marriage with small honour consummated.  
Philippin receives a double joy by this death, seeing himself delivered of her, which he could not have been but by it; and in possession of her, which he could not make his legitimate wife as long as Elise had lived. He saw himself possessed with great wealth by Scevole, by the means of Dalimene; which if he should have restituted or been deprived of, would have been his utter ruin. He imagines to be gotten above all his pretensions: And as the loadstone hath no force to draw to it that iron that is rubbed with garlic, even so his heart environed with the stinking garlic of dishonest voluptuousness, cannot be moved to any pity towards poor Elise, whose love trains her to death. 
Accursed be the flames and plots of those  
Projectors, who so fruitlessly expose  
Themselves to plots so abortive and forlorn,  
They die before they are begot or born.   
For as they were preparing for these nuptial feasts with great diligence, news came to them of the recovery of Elise, which turned all their joy into smoke, and buried all their designs. Oh how vain and light is humane understanding! Philippin hates the life of her, whom he lamented being dead: Isabel is in despair, Pyrrhe in fury, and Herman afflicted, all deceived, because prevented of their hopes and pretensions. Certainly God would have it so, and reserve Elise for misfortunes more cruel, to make his glory shine on the depth of an apparent ignominy.  
But the rage of Philippin rests not there: For being pressed by Pyrrhe to keep his word with him, having removed his Appeal to Rome to make that sentence void which had confirmed his marriage with Elise; he imploies his uttermost means to remove all lets and hindrances to prove it of no effect, not forgetting any diligence or earnestness in the pursuit thereof. But if he were a violent undertaker, he hath to do with a better defendant: For Scevole being upheld by the most equitable right in the world, knew better how to handle these Process-weapons than himself. This hinders not nevertheless but this labyrinth of contestations engenders a marvellous long proceeding, during which years slide away. Philippin is always in possession of Isabel, by whom he had some children, which were brought up as legitimate. The whilst he is lost in his debauches, and by these ill proceed offends again with new outrages the goodness of the chaste Elise; which cruel persecution carries him to an action more inconsiderate than malicious, and which will cost him his life.  
You must understand, that Elise being a Maid had been sought in marriage by a Gentleman well qualified, and of a reasonable good estate; whom we will call Andronico, for some reasons which make this name proper to him, of which this is the principal, that among his qualities he had one which drew his title from the Apostle who was brother to S. Peter; with this being very valiant, having had many encounters in which he was still victorious; this name methinks agrees well, to make all these things darkly understood. This young Andronico, after a long pursuit, because of a secret dislike Scevole had of men of the sword, not willing to give his daughter but to a son of his own gown, as he had done before his eldest; being now at the point to obtain his desire, the dispositions of the parents of Elise gave him hope of a happy success, his virtue and perseverance having won them. Now Timoleon coming on these terms, and offering to Scevole Philippin his son, an alliance so great and high, this of Andronico vanished like a star before the sun. Andronico digested this bitterness with a patience which may be better praised then expressed: He makes great complaints, which the wind blows away. Challenge Philippin he cannot; for why, the greatness and authority of Timoleon threw too much dust and powder before his eyes, and it would have been to set a Wren against an Eagle. An honourable retreat seems more advantageous than a needless contestation. Well, he retires to his house, not without leaving Elise in some kind of sorrow, which under the permission of a just research, was far advanced in her favour, and could not be left without grief. Yet Andronico having at first sought her for the respect of wealth, had now by long frequentation observed in her many virtues, and lodged them deeply in his heart, letting her gain much in his best affection. I will not spread myself too far in the patticularities of their mutual loves, not to take from this History its brevity. So it is, Andronico yields where he could not dispute with the greatness of his Competitor; and Elise instructed by her mother to have no other will but that of her parents, yields to the marriage of Philippin, rather for obedience then any inclination; and Scevole imitating the dog in the fable, leaves a small body for a great shadow, losing both the one and the other; so weak and feeble is our humane wisdom.  
Elise being Philippins, giving him her body, and with it her heart absolutely to love him, as an honest wife ought to do a husband, blotting from her thoughts all the impressions she had of Andronico; and he having lost all hope to enjoy her, lost also the design of pursuing any further. But as a man sleeping is not dead, nor a fire out that is covered with ashes; even so this love rejoiced to awake and lighten in these young hearts, which a holy amity had heretofore tied in a mutual bond. Elise being thus separated from Philippin (as you have seen) and returned to her parents; Andronico, who was ordinarily in the town, expecting some good match, sees her at her fathers, where his own worth gave him free access; at which sight he feels some sparks of his first flame. At first it was without design, and rather for a kind of civility then otherwise; yet he after continues his visits by inclination and pleasure that he takes in the conversation of this creature; of whose pitiful misfortunes he conceives as much compassion, as he had heretofore been passionate for her. And because love enters not into the soul by any gate so wide as that of condolence, the extreme misfortunes of poor Elise made and ample breach in the heart of this young Gentleman, who doubtless loved her truly, yet with all the honour and respect that might be desired of a man which made profession of virtue. But this entertainment went so far, that Elise lets herself be carried to yield to the entertainments of Andronico, being also much pleased in his conversation, which was full of discretion and modesty, example of his ends and pretensions, that renders rather marcenarie then true these worldy friendships. They lived like brother and sister, enjoying a pure and perfect union. And as there is nothing so precious in a great affliction, as to find a confident friend, in whose breast one may impose their griefs, and which partakes of our ills by an unfeigned charity; Elise esteems it her happiness to have met with Andronico, to whom she communicates her griefs with a holy and innocent confidence; and he on the other side took such part, that Elise receives a marvellous consolation; for by his words and reasons he tempered the sharp points which augmented the smart of this disaster, withal having a certain grace in his speech that made his counsels and consolations very commendable. If Elise complain of the rigorous usage of Philippin, his fierceness and cruelty; Andronico blames this fierce cruelty, and judges him unworthy to enjoy so great a goodness as hers; saying that the love of Elise was too sincere for a subject so full of ingratitude; and that if she had not yielded to him so much, he would have more respected her, and not given her this ill usage.  
I shall never have done, if I should undertake to represent their discourse and entertainments, which made them esteem the hours as short as minutes, in which they were present one with the other; and a moment of absence seemed infinite ages. Thus by little and little the sympathy of their dispositions made them find themselves tied in knot indissoluble, without ever passing in this their frequentation (which was always in the presence of either Sophy or Scevole) any action, word or thought, directly or indirectly contrary to purity and honesty. Their eyes were of doves, washed in the milk of innocence and whiteness; their lips bound with a scarlet ribbon, so full of purity was their discourse; with hands full of myrrh (preservative against corruption) were exempt of impurity; their hearts and bodies breathed nothing but modest. How often both Scevole and sophy, seeing this commendable amity, grieved they had not joined them in marriage according to their first intent! But repentance came too late, the dice are thrown. 
We must with patience, more or less,  
Sustain those wrongs we can't redress:  
Impatience is afflictions son,  
And breeds a thousand plagues alone.   
The whilst these unadvised parents considered not they threw oil on the fire that their youths kindled, though she covers it with a vail of chaste modesty; this gave liberty to Elise to desire Andronico, if she had been free from the slavish tyranny of Philippin: she reproves often the ambition of her parents, who had been cause of her fall by an ascent too high; how much more sweet appears a mediocrit fortune, than those so eminent, which like the fate of huge rocks are sooner struck thunder then the humble valleys; considering 
What trouble and distraction's there, where Power  
With Love's Corrival and Competitor.   
Andronico gathers these plants as pearls from roses, for he was not without tears, making ruddy the plants of his desires, and cursing his ill fortune, which made them acceptable now out of season, and were refused when receivable. Till when, says he, O confounder of virtue, and my sworn enemy! wilt thou persecute me? 
Remorseless Fate then merciless will move  
In opposition to impede my Love.  But then coming to himself, and seeing that under these fantastical names of fortune and destiny he taxed the divine providence, under whom slides the thread of out days, and which holds our being in his hands; resolves to adore rather than to outrage; and full of confidence, flatters himself with some airy hope by these words: 
If Heaven on my forsaken head  
The influence of his Grace shall shed,  
In melting showers, and once more shine  
Upon this drooping soul of mine:  
From grey I shall grow green; each night shall bring  
The morn, and turn my winter into spring.  But why do I delay so long to let you see the rock of precipitation, the end of scandal, and shelf of shipwreck of these souls, in effect innocents', yet in appearance will become horrible guilty. Alas! the bird which produces the feather is taken; and the Eagle oftentimes furnishes the feather which makes the arrow that wounds her to death. After they had long fighed in one another's ears their griefs, and cursed their miserable condition which had hindered their being one another's; after having many times desired that Philippin had been Isabella's, and Andronico Elise's; the laws, which are not always conformable to the desires of Lovers, were found to contradict these alliances; for the knot which God ties, cannot be cut but by the axe of death. After many reciprocal words of good will, followed with a thousand protestations to enjoy one another in marriage, if death in punishing the perfidies of Philippin would give way to their loves; after many Letters which contained the same language, coming so forward, falling by little and little into pits, which in stead of snaring drew them out at length to strangle them; that they made reciprocal promises one to the other, which could have no other ground but the death of Philippin; which neither the one nor the other had any thought to procure by any way, but to attend it by the hand of God.  
Here is all their fault: And certainly 'tis true, virtuous Elise, that by a vain assurance of fidelity, which will be as strongly tied to your heart as to the paper, you put in great hazard both your honour and life. This was the highest degree and end of Andronico's designs; for he knew too well the humour of Elise, to pretend of her any thing which was not honourable; nothing passing between them of that which this honest wife ought to her legitimate, although barbarous husband; for she had her purity in such a recommendation, that modesty ruled not only her actions and words, but also her thoughts. O must she, to prevent the title of ingratitude, which could not have been given but by the mouth of Andronico, fall into such an imprudence, which will make her die in the sight of all the world in quality of an infamous adulterer and bloody homicide of her own husband, although in effect or in will she was no ways guilty.  
Thus a sparkle sometime blown far, increases to a great fire; and a small hurt neglected, becomes an incurable ulcer; a little spring increasing to a flood, runs with a large compass into the salt sea. But how shall this Promise be discovered, which should not see the day, but when the sun should leave to see Philippin on earth? Yet you will understand it by a means, that will force you to cry with the great Apostle, O height of riches of the wisdom of God, whose judgements are incomprehensible, and his ways unsearchable! The whilst Philippin is at Goldmount, in Possession of the body of Isabel, with whom he consumes his days in abominable and unlawful delights, gild his evils with the fair name of marriage, and by a false malicious conscience esteeming her his wife: Andronico is in the town in possession of the heart of Elise, who laments no more the absence of Philippin, by enjoying the presence of Andronico; their conversations all pure and spiritual, have nothing that the most severe censurers can justly blame; and living under the eye and discipline of a Sophy, who trusted not so much her daughter, as that she had not always an eye on her conversation.  
Thus whilst the Process of Philippin for dissolving his marriage is drawn out still longer, ('tis a web cannot be untangled) Pyrrhe enraged by these dalays, murmurs and threatens to kill Philippin, if he pursues it not to an issue, as he had promised him. So that the solicitation of this business calls Philippin to town, having many points in his cause which could not be decided but in his presence, besides that he could have no better Solicitor than himself. Being thus employed, in all companies wheresoever he came, he was still speaking invective words against Scevole and his daughter, which made him odious to all that heard him: For, wronging her whom all held his wife, was it not to gather filth to cover his head, and to throw hot burning coals in his own face? He was then doubly blamed and mocked of those which knew the integrity of the father, and worth of the mother of virtuous Elise; who attributed all these words to the lightness of his understanding, nourished in vice, and rotten in his debauches. But when many times his wisest friend would reproach him with his inconstancy, presenting to him the ill opinion which was spread in the world of this vile life he lived with Isabel; in stead of taking these admonitions with the right hand, he receives them with the left, is displeased with these truths, or turns them to laughter, rejoicing in his misfortune and vice, and glorying in his ills. For many time in the company of Ladies, where he was for this most persecuted, in a vain humour he describes the graces of his Diana, and deciphers (what shall I say?) rends the ill form of poor Elise. He makes them see that all the precepts of the art of well-speaking, have nothing that gives greater eloquence than passion: For as love made him fruitful in one subject, hatred makes him as wild in the other; having a voice equally strong to praise and blame, excessive in both.  
Andronico frequents, as well as he, these companies, welcomed wheresoever, for being full of worthy parts that made him commendable; which he accompanied with as much wisdom and staidness, as Philippin shown lightness. He hears sometimes recited the indiscreet discourse of this Lord, who spoke without punishment what he pleased: And being pricked in the tenderest part of his affection, knowing the virtues of Elise, could not suffer they should be so cruelly defamed by the tongue of Philippin. But as then fearing to discover his love in sustaining this innocence, finds himself reduced into strange agonies: Nevertheless at the assault of these reports, which took him sometimes on the sudden, he could not contain himself from replying as sharp and biting words against Philippin, as he received sweet from Elise: sometime accusing him of backbiting and indiscretion, and often of falsehood, saying that Scevole wanted not friends to sustain the contrary of that he so unworthily sought to advance; sometimes affirming it was a shame for a Cavalier to have to do with one of the Gown, and more to tail against a Woman, who had no other arms but her tears; many times for mirth makes Satyrs of Isabel not only to his nose, but also with the pen: He Writ certain verses against her, and long ones; but because they were too biting, I would not black this paper with then. Often in defending Elise, he publishes her worth and patience, saying that Philippin abused her goodness, was not worthy of such a wife; for in following the dissolution of his marriage, he sought his own ruin and shame: His ruin, for without the wealth of Scevole his house remains engaged without hope of recovery; his shame, in having married one he covers with infamy and dishonour. And for the insupportable disdain that pride drew from the spirit of Philippin against the family of Scevole, he said that the inequality in condition made him not less noble; Justice being during peace, that which Military art is during wars: That if Nobility were drawn from its first and most just measure, which is Virtue, it would be found greater of the father's side then of the son-in-law's: That according to the course of the world, a new Nobility accompanied with great riches, aught to be in as great esteem as an ancient boasting under miserable poverty. As the wind carries often a small sparkle here and there, which at length is cause of great flames; so there want not in the world reporters, which like Smith's bellows serve to light and kindle cholers, and to put fire into men's courages. The speeches of Andronico come by these means to the proud ears of Philippin, who at first began to carry himself with threats, appearing as a cowardly dog that barks more than bites. It was true, that for antiquity and greatness of descent, Andronico was much the inferior; yet was he a Gentleman, and of a descent too good to endure any thing unworthy. When Philippin spoke of a cudgel, he replied he would answer him with a blade of steel; and being born a Gentleman, might measure his sword with any man that wore iron at his side.  
By an ill encounter they met in a company; where at the first sight, after the lightning of looks, succeeds the thunder of words, and had come to the hail of blows, if they had not been by the multitude of their friends parted. Andronico not having lost any thing in this encounter, retains himself within modesty; but furious Philippin foaming with rage, challenges him with as much noise, as small effect: For it was never in their powers to meet; the Justice having set guards on them, and the Governor desirous to agree them, had straight forbidden them fight. The whilst Philippin, besides the spite to see himself braved by a man he thought not worthy to be his servant, redoubling his injuries not only against Scevole and Elise, but also against Andronico; obliges his patience to return sharp replies. Philippin inquires from whence this humour of Andronicoes should proceed, to sustain so ardently the cause of Elise: And having learned his ordinary frequenting the house of Scevole, with some addition by the calumnious reporter, as it is ordinary, adding something to flatter his passion; we need not ask if he added to the letter. As those which are ill, think all are like themselves, he accuses her of dishonour, who was as innocent as he guilty; calling ordinarily Andronico, in mockery, the Squire of Elise; a word in appearance simple, but furred with black malice, and to be understood as sharp as it appeared subtle.  
The courteous Andronico turning to laughter these mockeries, said, his madness made him spit at heaven, and his own filth returned on his head. Which was true: for if Elise had been such as Philippin had described her, and his marriage with her not yet declared null; who sees not that that which he said to dishonour her, returned infamy on himself? But in that he shot his arrow at a rock, which returns to hurt him that shot it. And Andronico, to show he wanted not wit nor spirit to defend himself with a tongue, more than the other that assailed him; would say, that if he had lived in the time of the ancient Palatines, which made profession to revenge the wrongs done by the strongest to the weakest, as also to defend the afflicted innocent, and principally to vindicate the honour of Ladies, he would easily have been drawn to the field as Elise's Knight, to make known by a victory the justice of this Lady, so unjustly accused and unworthily used by her barbarous husband.  
But since they were so strictly watched that they could not join, and the use of those ancient Combats abolished; accommodating themselves according to the time, bear patiently the yoke the laws had imposed, and observing the customs of the place they live in, all these contestations of words seemed like storms and thunder, which after much lightning in dark mists of rain and noise, leave no sign of their passage but only darkness: For after these reports and bitings, all these bravadoes end in air, which filled with filth the authors themselves, as snails which soil themselves in their own scum. But at last as lightning is ordinarily followed with thunderclaps, even so choler passes ordinarily from the tongue to the hand.  
A Gentleman of Philippin's, whom we will call Valfran, mad to see his Master could not be revenged of a meaner than himself, resolves on a base and unworthy act, which was to shoot a pistol at the head of Andronico. He takes his time, and as day was shut in, (for these shameful actions require darkness) having learned he was in a company where he passed his time in hearing a pleasing Consort of music; he sent to him by one of his Lacquays, saying he was to speak with him from the Lord Philippin, and would attend him at the chamber door. The Lackey tells his Master secretly; who full of the furious courage of our French Nation, that esteems most valour in single Combats, although it be nothing but brutality; and dead with envy to see this Rodomonts' sword in his hand, hoping to abate his pride, and make his day by his death to the promise of Elise, steals subtly from his company, as if he would but go into another chamber; and stepping to the door, he no sooner appeared, but the traitorous murderer which attended him with his foot firm, without saying any word, presents his pistol to his head. Andronico slips quickly aside, and so happily, that the blow given with a noise (such as you may judge) against the door, burst it like thunder. Hereat all the house and neighbourhood is in alarms; the Consort ceases, and yields to this hellish music. The murderer would have drawn his sword; but Andronico throwing himself resolutely upon him, rolls him down the stairs. Above and below were many blows given; the Lacquays cry murder; all run to the rescue of Andronico; but the place was so straight, that the sword of Valfran was of no use. Andronico is altogether unarmed; who perceiving the murderer sought his poniard to offend him, having more strength gets it, and holding it to his throat, says, Remember thou missed me, but I will not fail thee; and strikes it twice or thrice into his body. The murderer cries out fearfully: He would have ended him; but desirous to know from whence this should come, he leaves him yet with some part of life. Andronico's friends came with their swords in their hands, and thinking this enterprise was followed, run up and down the streets to find out the Complices of Valfran: but finding none, the Justice is sent for, into whose hands the Traitor is remitted; who confessed in the place, that he was incited to this base act (unworthy a Gentleman as he was) because he saw his Master could not meet Andronico to end their quarrel; and that he could not endure that a meaner than his master should resist him so strongly.  
Philippin advertised of this accident, loving Valfran as much as he hated Andronico, knows not of which side to range himself: For if he sustain the traitor, he covers himself with shame and infamy, and although he protest, will be thought partaker in the treason; and to renounce him, would be to embrace the cause of his enemy, and abandon his friend. But honour bears him above friendship; and blaming this way as altogether shameful and illbecoming a generous courage, he disavows Valfran, yet beseeches the Justice to content themselves with his wounds, without putting him to a shameful death. But they were found such, as they prevented the punishment of justice; for three days after he died: God, by a secret pity, giving him that time to acknowledge his faults, which he did, demanding a thousand pardons of Andronico for his attempt; and understanding the disavow of Philippin, which had left him in the point of his greatest necessity, cries, O how great is the ingratitude of worlings! how frail their strength, whose amity is enmity to that of God's!  
This death shown the justice of God, which leaves no evil unpunished, increased justice in men, satisfied Andronico, purged Philippin; and by this example teaches us the truth of the celestial oracle spoken by the mouth of King David in his Psalm, 

Lean not on th'arm of Princes, nor rely  
On sons of men, or humane policy:  
From whom no succours can arrive or come,  
Which can anticipate, or divert thy doom.   

When the contracted breath doth upwards draw  
And like some exhalation fly away,  
The body suddenly returns to earth  
To take her burial, where she took her birth:  
Leaving all empty projects far behind,  
Like atoms scattered in the fleeting wind.    
All that Philippin could protest against Valfran notwithstanding, in the opinion of the world this shameful stain rests in his forehead, that he was not only cause, but also consenting to this abominable act, for the fault of the servant is often thrown on the master. This raised marvellously the estimation of Andronico; who was quitted for stabbing of Valfran. Oh how much did Elise find herself bound to him for all this! how much love did she protest to him, and to keep in her memory an eternal acknowledgement! For Andronico was not content to employ his tongue in the defence of her honour in all companies, but vowed he would expose his life a thousand times for her protection. She must have been insensible to have neglected so many obligations.  
Philippin pursues still his first point, to be disengaged in marriage from Elise; persevering in his ordinary mockeries, and calling Andronico his Rival, (for so he had been, when he first knew Elise, being then a Maid) and wondering he should contradict him in this separation, which he esteemed aught to have been sought by Andronico, if he had any design to marry her. Thus into what strange speeches was he not transsported! saying, he should but be too happy being refused; and was very glad to yield him a good, as he was sorry to take from him: And full of many other nipping taunts, which I will leave to the conjecture of a good judgement, rather than to soil the whiteness of these pages.  
Amongst all these small riots there was great hatred, and almost all the Town took part with the one or the other side. Those which held with Philippin, trumpeted every where the violence Timoleon had used on his will to make him yield to this marriage: And Scevole being rich, wanted not enviers, which rejoiced to see these troubles in his family. But this party was least: For the insupportable insolence and pride of Philippin, in his words and actions, made him odious to those which had no interest in his cause. So that justice and virtue fight for Elise, made the side of Andronico much more strong and puissant. His modesty and discretion contributed not a little to the good will that was borne him by many: There was not any that esteemed not Elise to have been happier being his, than Philippin's; for contentment having been preferred before wealth and riches, it is not to be doubted she should have enjoyed as much in the company of this mean Gentleman, as this great Lord, which uses her with so much cruelty and disdain.  
As things were in this estate, there happens to be a marriage not far from Philippins lodging, which are common friends to both our Opposites. They are both invited to the feast; but besought with all affection not to quarrel there, for not hindering a Company that was assembled to be only merry and make good cheer. Which they both solemnly promise to those that invite them, in so free a planner, that their inviters hoped I know not what of reconciliation. But here is a strange web made. For you shall know that Pyrrhe weary to live so long, without seeing the issue of his daughter's process; and not able to support seeing himself the shameful proverb and object to all his neighbours, by a secret suggestion of the devil (as it's to to be believed) lets himself be led by the spirit of vengeance, esteeming Philippin dealt underhand with his adversary, to abuse his patience and the honour of his daughter, holding his reputation in suspense during the length of this pursuit. He could not come to his ends of Philippin at Bellerive, nor at Goldmount, because in the Country he always went so well accompanied in time of his defiance, that he had no means to approach him. He imagines, that walking the streets without suspect, it would be easy to surprise him, and take the life of him that had made him lose his honour, stealing it traitorously as he had ravished and stole his daughter.  
Ill designs are as soon taken as thought on, and pernicious counsels as soon followed as proposed. For at first discovery he made to his son Herman, he offers to execute this enterprise; and Pyrrhe himself would be of the party; but Herman conjures him to keep his house for the conservation of his goods, to the end that if it should come to be discovered after the blow, he might (having passed the Alps, or crossed the seas) be assisted by his means in Italy or in Spain, Pyrrhe, though with much pain yields to this advice to: And having, acquainted an ancient Servant whom, they trusted, stout of his hands, whom we will call R●boaldo, he's ready to assist Herman in this enterprise. They come to the town well mounted, with arms necessary to execute it; and being hid in the day, not going out but by night, hoping to entrap Philippin returning from some company, the occasion of this Wedding-supper seems fit to b●ing to pass their vengeance. Whilst Philippin and Andronico are in feasting, dancing, mirth and joy, with pleasant jests and gallantries, their looks are always at'on'side, not speaking but with eyes whose sparkles in stead of love threaten death; yet do they contain themselves, to maintain their promise. Not but that they said what they pleased; for in those corners separated it was impossible to join, not holding themselves to have power to speak without being moved, and once moved, to strike; it was very hard to discourse, and not betray their passions.  
Here are wars made at Philippin upon the subject of his Amazon: but he raises her merits with such art, as his eloquence blinds the judgements of all those that hear him; and those who accused him in the beginning, excuse him in the end. At another corner, Andronico being persecuted in jest and sport as Elise's Knight; what says he not in the praise of this virtuous woman? And that he says in honour of her, could not but turn to the disadvantage of him that used her with so much in justice. And as he was founded in a truth, he he sustains it with so good terms, that there was not any of those which heard him that had not their eyes fixed on his good fashion, and ears on his tongue. Many times he unfortunately happened to say, That if Philippin were dead, which might shortly be expected by the justice of heaven, he would esteem himself much honoured to marry Elise, as widow to a Knight, and one of the honestest women on earth. But Isabel could not say so much: For if Philippin lived, she was dishonoured; He being dead, she durst not appear in the eyes of the world.  
From thence his passion carried him to say, that Elise deserved better fortune than Philippin; who (in truth) without the express commandment of her parents would never have married him. And after this falls to other particularities, which had not fallen to the ground, though they had not been gathered up by the ears of Philippin. Many times those which heard them speak so disgracefully one of the other, would fain have broken off this discourse: But as there is nothing that tickles the ears more than detraction, by a natural malice which inclines us to ill, all give way to their discourse. And that which at last lost Andronico, was a word that slipped from him unawares, as reproaching Philippin of the assassination of Valfran, although he were innocent by the oath of the delinquent. It might have been easy, and it may be permitted (says he) by the course of the world, to return a treason by another; but I hate too much such base unworthiness. Andronico, this will cost you very dear.  
It is now time to conduct the new married pair to bed; where being arrived, all this fair company are separated. In the great number of Caroches and horses which waited at the gates, it was easy for Herman and Roboald to stand in the darkness of the night amongst this press; from the midst of which comes Philippin slightly accompanied, and on foot, by reason of the nearness of his lodging. As he drew near Roboald, who struck down the Page that carried the torch, Herman on horseback comes upon Philippin like thunder, presenting the mouth of his pistol to his forehead with a steel-bullet, which strikes out his brains on the stones. Philippin seeing him come, believed it was Andronico; and cried, O Traitor! O Elise! thou makest me be murdered! And so died. After this blow, Herman and Roboald retire by favour of the night to their lodgings, from whence they went next morning by break of day; arriving at Vaupre with an assurance as if they had done nothing, for they were certain not to have been perceived.  
But let's return to the City, where in an instant all was in rumour and alarm: Many fled; others more valiant, went to behold this tragic spectacle of Philippin spread stark dead on the pavement. Andronico, who was no way guilty, comes on horseback with others. He laments, as Caesar did Pompey, the death of his enemy; nevertheless with a certain fashion mingled with joy, which gives an entrance to suspicion if it were not himself, that after so detestable a deed comes to counterfeit the innocent. Many circumstances seem to accuse him; as the discourse he had held in the Wedding-hall, and 'twas a man on horseback that killed Philippin. Many said aloud, that if he did it not, he had made it to be done; which he denies with as much constancy, as truth. There were other testimonies of some that had seen him take horse at the very time that Philippin was shot, giving assurance that he could not have committed an action so base; but that he was of the plot there was place for suspicion, leaving all these groundless reports. He raising his head, strengthened with his own innocence, retires confidently to his house, believing already to be in possession of his Elise. Who had no sooner understood the bloody murder of her husband, with this miserable circumstance of Andronico's being suspected; but changing the love she had for Philippin into pity, and the good will so worthy which she had born Andronico into a mortal hatred, she takes this conjecture for a truth, and upon this first impression no way doubts it; whether it was to have her in possession according to the promise she had given him, or to be revenged for the attempt of Valfran, he had done this base act himself, or made it be done. And even as that friendship which is grounded on virtue, swoons before its contrary; the same doth charity in the soul, encountering vice; like the stone called Prassu●, that loses its lustre at the approach of any poison. Here is she for the loss of Philippin filled with grief not to be comforted; her affection is redoubled by this cruel and dangerous trespass; and so void of good will for Andronico, that she hath his name in horror, and the thought of him is an abomination insupportable.  
Philippin is conveyed to Bellerive to the sepulchre of his fathers, whither courageous Elise had the strength to accompany him. Her mourning and tears, as sincere as her love was true, moved more pity in those that saw her thus living, then for her dead husband. For all saw by the misgovernment of this young Lord a just punishment from heaven; the hand of God lay heavy on his head that had been dashed in pieces: according to that word of David, A perfidious man given to flesh and blood, never sees the days of half the course his life. Scevole, a man of great understanding, accompanies his daughter, as Dowager to the house of Philippin, to these funeral rights; with his Grandchild Dalimene, as she that was now universal heir by the declaration of the validity of the marriage of Elise and Philippin, whose rightful succession none could withstand.  
But this is not all in question to dislodge the Amazon out of Goldmount. For, not to speak of the complaints of this desperate Lover, and the furies that seized her at the receipt of the news of his death, then when she hoped to have come to Town to have married him; who being the corrupter of her integrity, aught to be the repairer of her renown. There wanted not much, being filled with a rage full of blindness, that she had not killed two miserable children which she had by Philippin the time they had been together; and for to have kept them company, have pierced herself with the same blade that had murdered them. But the inspiration of her good Angel was stronger in this assault then the suggestion of the ill; who raises for a time the impious above the cedars of Libanus, for to throw them in the end into the deep pit of despair. At length she resolves on an enterprise as foolish as hardy; (but on what doth one not think in extremities?) which was, To make herself Mistress of the Castle of Goldmount, and to keep it by force of arms, to which her courage and ordinary exercises had incited her. For to return to her father was a thing she could not hear of, doubting the ill usage and indignation of Pyrrhe, and after so much greatness and magnificences that she had tasted in the house of Philippin; could not reduce herself to the poverty of the paternal, that she knew for the subject of her ill life was become altogether incommodate.  
But Scevole having had the wind of this design, goes straight to Goldmount; and authorised by the Justice of the Country, assembles by the Provost all the Commons, and begirts this Warrior in her Castle; who having made more provision of men than victuals, was delivered by those that aught to have defended her, into the hands of Scevole, who was pleased to remit her into those of her fathers, that feigns to be ignorant of the death of Philippin; he receives her alone, refusing to meddle with her children, which Scevole takes charge of as descended of his son-in-law, though illegitimate. When Isabel saw herself in Vaupre shut up in a dark prison, it was then she had occasion to curse her faults passed, and to acknowledge that these tribulations were the least that she deserved. We will leave her to suffer under the hardness of her irons, and such barbarous usage that I abhor to write of, to come to Scevole, who returns to the City triumphing in the execution of this justice mingled with so much mercy, for he might have used a more exemplary punishment on this criminal rebellion. He again confirms the marriage of Elise with Philippin, and anew declares Dalimene heir, and her Mother dowager and governess. Elise shows in her face the signs a widowhood full of grief and bitterness; her voice is like the turtles, nothing but solitude is pleasing to her.  
Andronico; which could not think the ill usage of Philippin could have begot so strange a mourning, believes some art, where there is nothing but simplicity. He intends to visit this desolate Lady, to contribute, at least for compliment, some image of consolation to this grief that he esteems ●ained. But finding her so much changed in herself, and for him, that she was to be misknown in face, and more in her understanding; At first aboard he esteems that the goodness of her nature had renewed her ancient love by the pity of so mournful an accident, which was cause of all this wildness. And desirous, pressed by his own affections, to give her some comfort; as he thought to have drawn her aside, she prevents his design by her sudden retiring, which gave him no means of speech but before Sophy, his discourse being no other but that is accustomed in the like occasions. But at last sophy being called into another place, left Elise (as formerly) in conversation of Andronico. But she turning her back to him, as if she had seen a serpent or fearful dragon, follows her mother, and leaves him not only as an indifferent person, but as a detested; which was greater in the heart of Andronico then either spittle or shame; for such an outrage in the lightning of her eyes threatened a horrible tempest.  
The troublesome confusion to see himself left, now when he thought to be most favourably received of this woman, having given her so many testimonies of his love, and honoured her so respectfully; puts more colours in her face then we see in the Rainbow that proclaims a storm. And truly, being this man is innocent, let it be permitted us to say this word in his defence: O Elise, you will have time to repent you, to have condemned one before hearing him, and to have so soon given belief to a light conjecture. There is nothing ordinarily more false than the reports of the Town; for fame increases not but for the most part with lies; the divers reports and conjectures are but dreams of men waking. You will ruin your own happiness; and for a slight disdain you make this generous heart feel, it will cost you your life; you wrong yourself more than him, and lay a foundation of dislike which will be your common loss. Who is not astonished at your inconstancy? to see her which in her greatest adversities shown more strength than a man, for a vain shadow show weaker than a woman; like a Rose-tree that bends with the smallest wind? who can justify your ingratitude, or uphold your forgetfulness, in but thinking of the good offices this young Gentleman did you, when exposing himself to so many quarrels and hazards to maintain your honour, and the validity of your marriage, against himself and his own contentment? You permitted him to love you, when there was no hope to see the fruits of the flowers of his affections; and now that the day of hope gins to appear, you cover him with a night of despair, not only forbidding him to love or seek you (the lawful gate being open) but also to see or speak to you. As great a heart as a woman shows in the most fearful accidents, she returns always to her own nature, and many times in the smallest encounters makes known her great weakness; like the captive King that wept not seeing his son slain, and yet shed tears at the death of his slave. I have much ado, Elise, that I accuse you not of lightness, and esteem you worthy of the pains you go to suffer, forgetting the grief I felt in reciting what you have suffered. For is it not like the Prince of Israel; to hate so unworthily those that love you, and love unjustly those that hate you? I see you are like the sick, that have their taste so changed, that those meats they held delicate being well, go against their stomaches in their indisposition: For this sincere affection which you have had to this Gentleman, is converted into hatred. This change cannot but be extreme, the effect being ordinarily compared to its cause. She is like the fi●s of the Prophet, either perfectly good, or extreme ill; and like delicate bodies which turn sooner to corruption, by how much they have been tenderly nourished.  
Andronico retires by this blow, with a thousand divers thoughts that troubled his very soul. Not able to rest all night, being so afflicted with different passions, he doth nothing but search in himself, and plunge into the secret corners of his soul, to find in what he had failed in duty to his Love, to be used in this sort: And after having turned often in this labyrinth, from whence he still came forth by the gate of innocence, thought it was for the small assistance he had given to Scevole and Elise in their journey to Bellerive and Goldmount, where he thought he should have testified the fidelity of his courage. Sometime he was persuaded, that Elise much grieved, consolation displeased her; being there is nothing that displeases more in tears then music, though in itself most pleasing: But to think that she grieved for the death of a man that had so wronged her during his life, and of whom she had complained a thousand times to himself; it was a thing he could dot admit into his belief.  
What shall he do amongst these perplexities? He writes; but his Letters heretofore so well received, are rejected with a fashion that testified a discontentment, and no small one. This affront seems very sensible to his honour: Many times despite counsels him to raze it, as not to the purpose to suffer this indignity, if he were to live with her, as he desires and hopes. He hopes it; for his love, of more strength than this outrage, makes him wave all these punctual considerations: He desires it, because this Match will be extremely advantageous to him. And esteeming it sure, being founded on her strong promises; not able to resist the fierce assaults of his passion, nor the disdain received, nor to forget his pursuit, or resolve on patience, (that so sovereign herb in all the troubles of our thoughts) he is resolved, on what price soever, to accost Elise, with opportunity, or by importunity. For to live longer in this incertitude of the cause of his disgrace, is impossible; and impossible it was for him to find the occasion; for what prayers soever he make, this favour is denied him, without other reason but a furious indignation. He prevails so much with Sophy to whom he addresses himself, that he obtains permission to speak with Elise, but in her presence; yet nevertheless apart, and in that fashion, as she might not heat any thing of importance which he had to communicate to her. sophy according to her promise commands Elise to hear Andronico; wondering much from whence this sudden change should proceed towards this Gentleman, that had given her so many testimonies of his love, and done her those obliging services, the conversation of whom had heretofore been so pleasing to her. For although this soul report came to her ears of the suspicion for the death of Philippin, nevertheless she was a woman so wise and so advised, that without harkening to these Town-reports, she chose rather to believe her eyes, which made her see many virtues in this honest man, then to incline too lightly to a flying murmur that entered her ears. She had much ado to make Elise yield to this interview; and demanding the reasons of this difficulty she made, thinking it had been some one of those gentile repulses or amiable riots that engender ordinarily between those that love dearest. Elise besought her not to press any further on that subject, which was dangerous, and would draw blood of the nose of her child with often blowing. Yet nevertheless as she was humble and submissive, putting her will under the obedience of the commandment of her mother, she consents to this meeting: but being in presence one of the other, their contrary passions were so vehement, that the words they had purposed to say, die in the utterance, resting a long space without preferring one word; An evident sign of the troubles of their thoughts. But oh how different were they! For Elise's were of hatred and disdain, and those of Andronico of love and grief. 'Tis true, a mean grief may be told; but an extreme, astonishing the understanding, surmounts the power to express it. At last, as the fear of the death of Croesus' untied the tongue of his son being born dumb; even so the fear to lose this fair occasion that he had purchased with so much pain, drew from the mouth of Andronico, rather dead then living, these words drawn from the essence of the same displeasure:  
Madam, My grief is such, that if it would but give me the means to present it, I should diminish the infinity of it, as I advance in terms that will rather offend the greatness; then any way decipher the least part thereof; it would be too weak, if it gave not leave to the sighing of my complaint. All that comforts me in this mortal distress, is, that I suffer for your occasion; so that the excellency of the cause eases the rigour of the effect: For it is so much honour for me to suffer for you, that for so worthy a subject, there is no sort of torment, which, in stead of offence, is not held by me for a recompense.  
At these doubtful words, Elise suddenly judged he was guilty of the death of her husband; but the biting of his conscience made him fearful, and therefore strove to cover it with these artificious words; searching excuses to make him, if not pardonable, less odious. Which made her return him this sharp answer: Content yourself with my silence, Andronico, and convert not my patience into fury, for fear my forbearing lightens not from the just feeling of my wrong. Content you to have reduced me, by your execrable vileness, to the highest period of grief that a soul can feel, that loses the half of herself in the loss of her husband.  
Madam, replied Andronico, I easily pardon the grief your good nature feels for the death of him, to whom the law of marriage had tied you in a straight bond; for I know how strongly you loved him, notwithstanding the ill usage by which he violated your constancy: but I cannot conceive what grief should make you call me vile and execrable; accents so far different from so many other sweet names that I have heretofore seen you choose to favour me; titles so far from those that your courtesy not long since did oblige, not my desert, but my fidelity; that I am forced to tell you, that as the be which makes the honey, is that which stings the most sensibly; and as honey so sweet in the mouth, is most sharp to wounds; and as there is nothing more scalding then oil, when it is hot; so these outrages coming from your mouth are so much more grievous, by how much I have received consolation and gratification. Must I be so unhappy to see the fire of my wounds come from the place from whence I expected my healing? Is it possible after such a metamorphosis, that you retain the name of that Elise that professed so much love to me then, when it was less lawful to love me? of that Elise which I so devoutly honoured, and against all these contradictions I cherish yet more than my proper life? I cannot tell more how to name you, nor know not what term to find expressing enough in any idiom, that can set forth as it ought such an inconstancy. At least, Madam, let me know the reason that hath caused so long time your pity to be deaf at my prayers; and after this knowledge, let hea●en cut my life by the knife of your cruelty, when it pleases him. This is the smallest favour I may hope of you, seeing I can draw so much from cruelty itself; there is nothing more just then to make known to an offender the cause of his suffering, nor any thing more unjust then to conceal it from him.  
If a small cloud can take from our eyes the sight of the sun that is so great, replied Elise, it is easy with a small fault to shadow out one of a greater importance. But that God that sees all, and which knows the secrets of hearts, and dives into the dark corners of our reins, that is served with things of smaller appearance to make known the most covered, and which can draw the light of the truth from midst of the thickest obscurities of falsehoods; will also be served with my goodness, and the consideration of that love which I have heretofore born thee, for to give thee means to shun a shameful punishment, and to withdraw thee quickly from this place, where 'tis wonder that thou caus● have so much assurance, having committed so great a fact; my silence and thy retreat will be more safe, than my discourse and thy stay. I would to God you had not done that which I dare not tell you, because I have not forehead enough to blush for the loss of thine. Content yourself, that my honour being ti●d to your life, not to lose the one, I will conserve the other; although the one is as precious to me, as the other is detestable.  
In all this there was much said, yet nothing of what should have been said: And what is he that would not wonder at these delays, and at the length of these circumlocutions? For since Passion is a labyrinth, it is no marvel if it have many turn. Andronico having had some feeling of the reports which ran to his disadvantage upon the death of Philippin, doubts it might be about this accusation; comforts himself in the hope to see an end of this Mine, that threatened a great descent after it had taken wing; being founded on the truth of his innocence. So that for fear to anger this woman, knowing there is nothing more fierce than a Bee when it is moved, which puts her life in the wound she makes, and never stings that she rests not wounded to death, he feigns to be ignorant of the end of this her fury, in saying to her, That when one endures a pain deserved, it is made so much the more tolerable; that one believes to extinguish a sin, is to suffer without desert; it would be hard, but more insupportable to suffer innocently, and again in being ignorant of the cause of his sufferance. And then kneeling down at the feet of Elise, with a voice something higher than before, or then the place where he was, and the presence of Sophy, although not near, seemed to permit him. Madam, says he, I will die here, or learn from your mouth what can be the cause that puts me into so fierce a disgrace; nor will I ever leave you till you give me this satisfaction, to let me know of what death I shall die; for I take heaven to witness, I find not myself guilty of any thing that may be prejudicial to you. I beseech you not to give way to calumnies and reports, to the prejudice of my sincerity.  
Elise surprised to see him in this estate, and before her mother, did not know on what side to turn her: wherefore entreating him to rise, which he refused to do, she says to him softly, Content yourself, that I cannot speak without offending mine honour, and your life: And that in the midst of the hatred with which I detest your vileness, I reserve this spark of my ancient affection for the conservation of them both; to which I found myself bound, not so much for any good I wish you, but for the respect I own my modesty. Madam, replied the unfortunate Andronico, this is not to give me light, but to plunge me into a new obscurity: I beseech you discover these riddles, and not to tell me again in other terms the same thing you have already told me; for what can he fear, that doubts not death? but on the contrary, if I lose your favour, I desire it to free me of a life which will be more troublesome than it, being deprived of your love. All that astonishes me, is your honour, which you say is engaged to my conservation; and in that it may be you have said better than you think: For when the purity of my intentions shall be known, the greatness of my affections, the sincerity of my soul, and how many dangers I have run to give you proof of my service, and that you have recompensed me with despair that will take my life; it will be hard for you to remove this stain of ingratitude, which like an eternal infamy will remain on the pureness of your understanding. If ever it happen, not that I attempt, but only think any thing that might never so little prejudice your honour, for the conservation whereof I'll spend a thousand lives, I desire that the heavens never pardon me any fault. 
May I be raised by fortune, or cast down  
By fate, being object of thy smile or frown:  
Though the disastrous destinies should combine  
To annihilate and ruin me and mine,  
Nought can divorce my affection, or divert  
Th'unfeigned devotion of a faithful heart.  It will be easy for me to resolve to die, after being deprived of that I held dearer than life. What do I say? Truly it will be harder to me to resolve to live, or rather to outlive such a loss; yet to lose my life without knowing the cause for which I die, this is that I cannot resolve on, if I do not bury myself with the quality of the maddest of all humane creatures. Wherefore I entreat you to permit me to press you with all sort of importunity, to declare to me the ground of my condemnation; otherwise I shall believe that the words you have given me, and those promises you have made me, even by writing, as I can easily testify, proceeded not but from a changeable humour, incident to your f●x, and of which I ought to expect nothing but pure inconstancy.  
At this Elise was touched to the quick, and (as they say) in the ball of the eye: Who cutting off suddenly this long discourse, all inflamed with spite, and red with choler, answers him, What do you upbraid me with my words, and tax me with promises, to draw me into your crime, and to match with the murderer of my husband God will not punish my disloyalty, although thy falsehood. Go traitor! and the most soiled with infidelity that earth ever bore! Dost thou in this sort wrong my easy belief and simplicity, to make me guilty, although innocent of the bloody falsehood that you wrought in your thoughts? Go crocodile, that weeps before me to devour me, and to ravish mine honour with my life. It was not on the miseries that I suffered then, that thou contributedst thy tears, but on the ill fortunes thou preparest for me. Oh, I will never trust on the faith and words of any man; or let heaven punish me with all griefs that are to be imagined, if it happen to me again to let myself be cozened.  
At these words, uttered in a fashion that testified that the excess of indignation had made her beside herself, Andronico knew clearly the truth of her distaste. Of which much joyful in himself, because the testimony of his conscience made him unblameable; in stead of excusing this invective with sharp words, being wronged, smiling as it were, and sweetly blotting out this error which seemed pleasing; well, Madam, replied he, if I should have committed this crime of which you accuse me, what had I done but rendered Philippin that he would have given me by the attempt of Valfran? But I have not so base a courage to give such commission to others, nor so traitorous to execute them myself. I often desired to see him with his sword in his hand, without other advantage but my courage, and the justice of your cause; but we were hindered in this design by our friends. But when I should have thrown him where his misfortune has cast him, what had I done in it but the office of the divine justice, which vanquished by his unworthiness was forced to extermine him off the face of the earth, where he led so infamous and shameful a life. And to you, Madam, what service should I have done you in breaking the bands of your slavery, and of the hardest tyranny that was ever proved? But as I do quit the thanks you should owe me, if I had done you that good office; so you ought not to accuse me of a fact I have not committed, but (to confess to you ingeniously) many times thought. For why should I not desire the death of him that had conspired against my life? and of him that in possessing of you, ravished me barbarously of the dearest pretention I had in the world?  
By these words Elise believes assuredly Andronico had at least caused this murder to be committed; which made her thunder in these words full of fury and indignation; Ah disloyal thou art not contented to confess thy fault, but to glory in it too, esteeming it not only worthy of thanks, but of praise; not willing to sin with imputation, but with reason; and for to embark me in the vessel of thy shame, and to carry me with thee into the certain shipwreck of thy honour, thou wouldst cover me with thy infamy. But know, cruel, that although Philippin was severe to me, he never had a soul so base and traitorous as thou. But this shall not rest so: for in the place where thou wouldst offer mine honour to thy passion, thy own life shall be offered.  
She uttered this discourse so loud, as she made sophy run to her; for with it she cried out, as if Andronico had pressed her with some unjust matter. To whom she said, Look you, dear mother, to what you have reduced me by your commandment, to entertain the murderer of my husband! Should you have tormented me so much, to make me hearken to this Brutal; who not satisfied with the blood of Philippin, will also by a certain art, as abominable as malicious, ravish the honour of his poor wife! And judge if I had not reason to shun with all care this rock so dangerous: Not only he confesses his crime, but boasts of it; and what is the end of his vileness, but only to entangle innocence in guilt with him? He thinks by the help of a certain Paper which his artificial importunities have torn from my simplicity, to make me consenting to this homicide: Of which if ever I thought, I desire the justice of heaven nor of men may ever favour me.  
If sophy were not amazed heading this language, I leave it to you to judge. And during the astonishment that seized her, Andronico had time to say to Elise, Madam, you have many other ways to be rid of my life, if you had but employed that of your cruelty, without casting also mine honour into the depth of shame, which is unsupportable to me; that is also to break violently the laws of friendship, as barbarously as those of courtesy. But I would have you know, that as I have loved you honourably and virtuously, these two props failing, my love goes to ruin. I honour love when it hath virtue for its principle; but I love honour by a singular preferance it hath before life, and all things. Those that touch mine honour, touch the sight of mine eyes; for that was the only thing I could prefer to your love. But since that love will become ruinous to mine honour, I must protest I hold it for enmity, and mortal enmity; for never any of what quality or condition soever shall attempt on mine honour, whose life I will not take. Pardon me in losing the duty I own to love, being you are grown bankrupt of fidelity. And truly, if I say that it's false I confessed to be guilty of the murder of Philippin, of which I detest the author and the action as much as you can do with all the cunning of your ceremonious mourning; 'tis certainly not for the loss of that man that hated me, but that I have in abomination a murder so detestable. You might have contented you with your falsehood, and to have broken your oaths, and the writings of your promises, without seeking this odious pretext by which you conspire the loss of him that hath offered his blood for the sustent of your honour. But as God lives in heaven that reveals the secrets of all hearts, and the seals most dark, I will turn these evils on your own head. And to the end you may know it was love, and not interest which made me seek you as long as I esteemed you virtuous; from henceforth renouncing the words you gave me, and writings I have of yours, I will make it appear in the face of Justice and of all the world, that I am innocent of the crime you would impose on me, and that you are guilty of the most noted perfidy that was ever acted.  
With these words Andronico goes out, leaving the mother in extreme perplexities; and the daughter in an anger that cannot be conceived but by a woman outraged with the like affront, by a man that had always honoured her with all respects.  
The End of the Fourth Book.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty. The Fifth Book.  
MEan while Elise tells her mother, this business is of that consequence, as she thinks it fit to make it known in the presence of her father. They go to the chamber of Scevole; to whom Elise, accompanied with Sophy, recites all that had passed between her and Andronico during the life of Philippin, the promises they had made both by word and writing; upon which she lays a strong conjecture, that Andronico had murdered her husband, which himself came to avow, but in such doubtful and covered terms, that although he did not expressly confess the crime, nevertheless it was easy to judge he was consenting: For herself making those promises, she had never thought of other death to Philippin then natural, having never had any design against his life by any bloody means, nor poison. Wherefore she besought her father to help her in the pursuit she intended against Andronico, being there was nothing more just for an honest wife, then to seek by justice revenge for the murder of her husband.  
Scevole was much surprised to understand all this; and as he was wise and judicious, judged this business was very doubtful. He takes his daughter aside, promising her all assistance; but conjured her not to embark herself in so dangerous a navigation, without a firm biscot of innocence and patience; prays her to tell him freely, as to her father that would hid her faults with his cloak, and save her life as by his own, if she had never had any words with Andronico against the life of Philippin, for that the quarrels they had gave some shadows thereof? Elise assures him that there had never been any; and if she did not find herself entirely exempt of guilt, she would not attempt so dangerous a design.  
Upon this Scevole made her see her great indiscretion in the promise she had made in writing, during the life of Philippin; saying that it was the rock on which Andronico had made shipwreck; and although she were innocent in effect, nevertheless the world would esteem her the cause: So that if Andronico had killed him with the sword, she had killed him with the pen, forasmuch as it appeared she had given the cause of the execution. So that one may sing of her that which the most ingenious of Poets engraved on the tomb of the Elise of Carthage: 
By her own hand unfortunate Elize  
Expired, and fell a fatal sacrifice;  
Though there Aenaea's rigour did exceed,  
And was th'occasion of so dire a deed.  I'll tell you, daughter, it is lawful for a wife during her marriage to promise to Jesus Christ to take him for husband, if she outlive her husband. It was a council that the ancient Origen gives to married women, which make a particular profession to embrace piety; and 'twas that vow that the jealous Ter●nllian desired so earnestly of his wife. But to promise marriage to another man during the life of her first husband, it is an action not only forbidden by the laws, but which gives an evident conjecture of adultery and murder: And as the concealer and the thief are subject to the same punishment, even so those that in consequence of the like promises give occasion to those that seek them to execute so villainous a deed. Daughter, here is in this more difficulty than you think on; and though your innocence be justified by justice, your honour will always rest with some flaws in the opinion of men, and especially by those that are jealous to see wealth and dignity in our house, who will esteem that my credit and authority hath rather saved you then your innocence. If you will take my counsel, I would have you hold on the defensive, without undertaking to accuse Andronico, except you had stronger proofs; for God in time will bring to light the truth, not leaving unpunished so vile a fault.  
To which Elise replied; But (father) would one have a more evident proof than his own proper confession? I am assured that if he were called in question, his conscience would constrain him to fly, and would make guilt appear to the day; for his denial before my mother is a great sign of accusation, being there is nothing that one denies with so much ardour, as a fault one finds themselves guilty of, seeing there is none will publicly open his own dishonour: And is it possible that the common report hath not made you know there are great suspicions against Andronico, which will become clear convictions by the least examination of Justice? Daughter, replies Scevole, I am of the trade; and you must know that that which we think many times the most notable, grows so doubtful by the proceed, that it's like a spring clear where it rises, but becomes troubled and muddy in its course; many time's innocence suffers for the guilty, and those are lost that maliciously plead to lose another.  
O Elise, if thou hadst received these paternal words as oracles, thou shouldst not then for thine own feminine wilfulness have been precipitated in the misery whereinto thou goest to plunge thyself, in answering him thus. Sir, I own you my life, but I own myself the conservation of mine honour. I am a widow, and enjoying my rights; it is not that I would take myself from the submission I own you, nor draw myself from your obedience; but I humbly beseech you to permit to my just grief, that in revenging the death of my husband, I make lie and give death to this Traitor; who not content to have deprived him of life, would also rend mine honour from me. I hope to make it appear that he is only guilty both of his death and my surprise.  
She goes out from her father, and resolves to accuse Andronico. But ●●son had no sooner returned the day, but she sees herself prevented 〈◊〉 her adversary in this enterprise; for he cited her to appear before the Official Court, to acknowledge her promise of marriage, and to bring his own. This citation is told to Scevole, who goes quicker to work; for he causes Andronico to be cast into the bottom of a prison, acousing him in the name of Elise for the murder of Philippin. Andronico hath kindred in the Town, as also in the body of the Justice, where Scevole holds a principal rank. They go as suddenly to visit him in prison: where he having protested to them his innocence, saying it was an artificial trick of Elise's to deny her promise by this false accusation; Look you, says he, how she cuts her throat with her own knife! For if I had done this act, which can never be proved nor found by me, it must be by her persuasions, and by the instigation of her promises. Upon this, the friends of Andronico present a request against Elise, obtaining of the Justice that she might be in prison to justify herself of the same crime. Scevole, who is confident of the innocence of his daughter, and the strength of his authority, and being just and a man of conscience; although he feels a contradiction in this action that appears not very honourable; nevertheless pressed by Elise herself, who runs voluntarily to yield herself prisoner, so much she is encouraged to be revenged of Andronico, whose ruin she holds assured, he contents to this imprisonment.  
Here are our Lovers enemies in separated places, running with the bridle on their necks to their loss, by the way of a reciprocal hatred. Andronico sees himself accused of a murder he never so much as thought; and pursued by her of whom he hoped the greatest felicities of life: And Elise sees herself accused as consenting to this death, buy him that she thought certainly had procured it. At last their innocence is eclipsed in the shadow of these dark dungeons, where they learned to their cost, that prisons are like quagmires, which one gets not out of so easily as they slip in. Andronico being examined, denies absolutely to have done, or caused this murder. But having to do with so able a person as Scevole, who knew so exactly to gather all these particularities that might make him guilty, at last all the world seemed to conjure his death: For all the words, his threats, his quarrels with Philippin are examined; his frequenting the house of Scevole with Elise; this Promise, which she acknowledges to have been forced from her simplicity; showing reciprocally that of Andronicoes which he had forced her to receive, signed with his blood, the presage of his hellish enterprise. And not to make here a procedure of a process in law; all the circumstances and conjestures of the time of the assassination of Philippin, with his last words at his death, that seemed to accuse Elise to have made him be killed by the hands of Andronico, whom he called t●rritor. All this makes him guilty in that sort, that the Judges following that which was produced and proved, in the end the opinion of all being changed by the producing of this Promise of marriage, went all for death; there rested nothing but to confront him with Elise. Now as there are many forms of contrary qualities in a cloud, that produce the thunder that breaks all to powder the places where it falls: Even so in this interview, after a thousand flashes of lightning, sparkling no more of love, but of hatred that fl●w from their eyes; the thunder of their words was understood, that broke in a thousand pieces both their reputations and lives. For Andronico having heard, that after this confrontation he must lose his head; carried by despair, resolves to draw into his condemnation her that accused him with so much injustice, and turning his ancient affection into a mortal hatred, it resolved to have for company in death, her that he could no more hope for in life.  
So that being in presence one of the other, as Elise did represent to him what he had said to her at her fathers, where it seemed he accused himself in terms obscure. It is true, answered Andronico, with a tone furious, and a look on one side, that I did desire the death of Philippin, and I have sought it; and it doth not anger me to have done it, so that it were according to the rules of honour that are observed amongst Gentlemen. It displeases me, that being dead as he is, I am charged to have killed him thus; but if that were, it had not been but by thy persuasion, ungrateful Elise! For who knows not but it was for thee that I had quarrels with him; that it was to deliver thee from tyranny, that I have exposed my life to hazards? How often hast thou sighed in mine ears the grief of thy ●●r●●●ude? and wherefore, but only to inflame mine anger by the pity of thy disaster, and to b●ing me to this shipwreck by 〈◊〉 ●eceiving song, O disloyal Siren! My Lords, says he to the judges, full of despair; if you find me guilty, behold the ca●●● of my evil, showing Elise; for if I killed, or made Philippin be killed, it was this Fury made me do it.  
Elise finding herself innocent, laughs at this accusation; but the judges told her there was rather occasion to weep; for the strongest proof that was against Andronico, being founded on the promise that he had drawn from her to marry him after the death of Philippin, was not the same presumption as great against her, that had received from the hands of Andrinico a writing of the same effect? They find these accusations so connext, that they cannot condemn nor absolve the one without the other. Elise may weep and protest her innocence; Andronico hath struck a stroke that will bring them both to death. As much as Scevole understands in this science, he finds himself swallowed in this business; his credit nor his authority cannot stay this torrent, that will overwhelm the honour of his house. His prophecies prove true, to the great grief of Elise, who reputes (although too late) to have preferred the violence of her unjust anger before the wholesome counsel of her father.  
To end quickly this troublesome passage, she finds herself innocent to be condemned as an infamous adulteress, and as a cruel murderer of her own husband, to lose her head with Andronico, as complice of his dishonesty, and murder of Philippin. It is a sovereign decree, that excepts no appeal; being pronounced in the morning, 'tis executed at night; where these unfortunate Lovers serve for a tragic spectacle to all the Town. Scevole not able to drink of the bitterness of this chalice, nor support the indignity of this affront, absents himself; his wife sophy took such grief to the heart, as in three days death lays her in her tomb. Elise abandoned of the world, hath no more recourse but to heaven. She's now come into the high sea of grief, where a tempest promises her an assured shipwreck. She hears her sentence, which brought thunder with lightning; and struck with an assault so little looked for, and so suddenly her understanding, that she swoons with the horror, and thought to have died for fear of death. Happy in her pitiful misfortunes, if this death had anticipated her shame! Returning from this swoon, her face painted with the colours of death, her eyes sunk and heavy, her lips pale, and with a voice trembling and mingled with a thousand sighs, she breathed forth her sad complaints. Who hath done this impittiable duty, to recall my soul into this miserable body, to make it retire by a second separation more hard and cruel than this first, as more ingenious and less infamous! Who hath ravished the peace I felt in this sweet languishing, for to draw me an innocent offering to the war of a sacrifice as bloody as unjust! O Elise, must thou be the scandal of thy blood, the dishonour of ancestors! What is become of thy pomps, thy greatness, and honours? O my dearest Philippin! was it not enough that I lost thee, without seeing myself not only accused as the cause of thy loss, but condemned as guilty of thy death? Ha' cruel Andronico! that the honest respects thou hast heretofore offered me, are become now hurtful; and that thy conversation heretofore so sweet, is changed into cruel bitterness! O how dearly do I pay the interest of my simplicity and inconsideration! Ah barbarous, thou knowest well the contrary of thy accusation: But thou wast not satisfied with the life of the husband, if thou dost not quench thy enraged thirst with the blood of his wife. Yet if thou hadst done to me as to my husband, thou mightst make me lose my life, without tearing mine honour from me, but thou must needs add this to the measure of thy insatiable cruelty. Ah Judges! why can you not see into my innocence? One day, but it will be too late, the just heavens that see the outrage your injustice doth to me, breaking the vail of a false accusation, will let you see it; and than you will render to my ashes the honour that you now ravish from me.  
We would pursue further the end of these complaints, yet more pitttifull than they can be imagined, if we did not fear to beget pity in these dungeons where inflexible cruelty makes its eternal residence. The presence of a Dominican, (for the religious of this order, as they are in great esteem every where, so principally in this City where this sad adventure happened) tempering by his words the extreme grief of her who complains thus without comfort, brought her in small time to acknowledge that this disaster was not happened to her without some secret providence of God, which could not turn but to her greater good; so that she did not take that on the left, which should be on the right; nor seized not the brand there where it burned most. Good Father (quoth she) it is not death that I fear; knowing that is the end of all humane miseries: On the contrary, I have desired it heretofore with no less impatience against the outrages of my ill fortunes; and if the laws of God did not forbid to have recourse to a voluntary trespass; I should have fled it it as to a safe port. But that this death makes me run a double infamy, crimes of which I am accused, although I be exempt both of the one and the other stain. This is it that makes my griefs unconsolable, and hinders me to frame in my soul a good resolution. And that which is hardest to me, is, that the shame of this stain reflects on so many persons of quality to whom I have the honour to appertain in this place. For to speak truth, the grief of the death of my body is nothing comparable with this bitterness that assails at once all my understanding.  
Madam, replied the religious man, If it be the cause that makes the martyr, and not the pain; if you are innocent of that that is imposed on you, you ought not to fear the loss of your honour, nor any shame; for he that draws light from darkness, knows well a time that his providence hath determined to make known your justification to those very same that have condemned you. The disciples of an ancient Philosopher grieving to see him condemned innocently, Alas my friends, said he, would you have me die guilty! That which you esteem a high point of desolation, aught to be according to my judgement the strength of your consolation. If you but cast your eyes upon the Example of Christians, the Saviour crucified, is there anything comparable to Innocence, that defies all the most mortal enemies to reprehend it with any fault? And can there be any grief equal to his suffering? What his adversaries had procured to obscure his glory, proves the height of his greatness; and the gibber of the Cross before so ignominious, is now the most precious ornament of crowns and diadems. The judgement of men should not trouble you; it is God that judges you, and them and their judgements too: They are ordinarily false in their balances; but the time will come that the hidden secrets of the dark shall be revealed, and the thoughts of all hearts manifested; and then every one shall be praised or blamed according as they have truly deserved. Mean while, Madam, employ this little time that remains to you of life, not in inutile complaints for the cutting off your days, not in protesting your innocence, nor in exclaiming against your ill fortune, nor in reprehending the sincerity of your Judges that have condemned you according to their laws, that make the rule of their consciences; since the Lord, before whose tribunal you are going to appear, will that we be at peace and accord with our enemies whilst we are in the way of this life; otherwise he will not be pleased with the sacrifice you go to offer him of your heart and body. Take heed you harden not your heart to day, when you hear the voice of the heavenly Bridegroom that knocks at your ears by my tongue; for it is written, that those that have their hearts hardened will make an ill end.  
This discourse was preferred with so much devotion by this good Friar, whom we give the name of Symphorian, that the courage of Elise strengthened on the one part against the assaults of death and ignominy, was also sweetened on the other towards Andronico, ready to pardon him her death, without considering that she was more cause of the loss of this Gentleman's life, than he had been of hers. After having discharged her conscience in the ears of this good Father, and protested before God and that tribunal of penitence, where it is a fault inexpiable to lie unto the Holy Ghost, that she was not any way consenting to the murder of Philippin; yet nevertheless adores the will of God, to whom she submitted herself with all her heart, as to the rule of all justice. She embraces the cross of him, that would die on the tree dishonourably for her salvation.  
The whilst Elise is thus disposing herself, Andronico is brought to the same point of resignation and reconciliation by a venerable Priest, whom we will name Cyrille; who having seen that this Patient drew no other consolation of his death, but the pleasure to be revenged of his enemy; after having plucked from his heart this malicious humour, with which if he should have died, it had endangered his loss eternally. Why but, Father, do I ill to rejoice to see that this unworthy Elise is fallen into the pit she had prepared for me, and that herself is brought into the precipice where she had plunged my innocence? To which this worthy Churchman answered, That it was the work of a good and true Christian not to render evil for evil, but good for evil; by the example of him that being cursed, cursed not again; but being unjustly persecuted, presented his che●k to blows, his face to be spit on, and his body to the murderers, without making more noise than a tender lamb whose throat is cut. And that he must be more spa●ing of the time that was left him to acknowledge his faults. That it was question of a minute, whereon eternity did depend: That it would be less judiciously done to los● a Kingdom that hath no end, for a moment of ransom; that it was better to swallow this draught of bitterness as a man of courage, and not with cowardly fear; and that it was the greatest of all baseness of the heart, not to pardon an injury; that revenge was the mark of a faint heart, and effeminate; a dangerous ulcer which invenomed his soul, and made him bring forth a mortal canker.  
Having now won thus much on the great courage of Andronico, to pardon her his death that was the unjust cause of it; it was easy for him to purge this soul: which free, noble and open of his own nature, gives free passage to penitence, which made an operation of a marvellous conversion, a true change unto the right of God. He confesses his sins with great compunction, discovering all his heart with an extreme freedom; adoring the hand of God laid heavy on his head, and humbly kissed the rod that chastised him, to the end it might serve him for a rod of direction to bring him to the kingdom of God. This worthy man pressed him hard to award this fault before that tribunal, where falsehood is a sacrilege; and not lose himself in the way of C●in, that denied the murder of his brother. For as S. Peter said to Ananias, one may easily deceive men by falsehood, but not God.  
Yet still he firmly denies to have given any advice, or had any design on the life of Philippin. This at first aboard astonished Cyrille: who carried by the vulgar opinion, and violence of the conjecture, doubts that an attempt so dishonest had hardened his heart by a foolish shame. He gives him many examples on this subject. But seeing on the one side his extreme earnestness in the accusation of the rest of his faults, and a strong perseverance in the denial of the same, he began to be persuaded he had not committed it. Having then purged sufficiently his thoughts of his offence by a good absolution, and having made him perform divers acts of contrition, humility, resignation, and of renouncement of the world, and submission to the will of God; of patience, hope, faith and confidence in the goodness and mercies of God; he raises him thus by little and little into the air of divine love. Even as the heat of the fire loosens the flesh from the bones; even so death that heretofore appeared so terrible to him, seems now a sure and pleasing port, where he may enjoy the eternity of peace which passes all understanding.  
When these two hear to thus dissposed came to meet in the Chapel of the Prison, whither these poor Patients were brought attending the hour of their suffering; we must not marvel if their ancient loves were renewed, being they were not only prepared for pardon, but also to charity, which is no other thing but the ●ame dilection all cordial and sincere. The Confessors, after they had reconciled them to God, reconciled them one unto the other with great facility. For as the iron flies unto the loadstone as soon as the garlic is removed; the presence of the diamond is taken away, that gives it liberty to carry itself to that straw that draws it to it: Even so those souls being delivered of the stinking garlic of hatred, and the hard diamond of obstination, were easily drawn to these acts of humility; that without the assistance of grace, one might rather desire, then have hoped this condescension; and to see their tears mingled, whose blood must shortly be mingled upon a shameful scaffold. Here Elise confessed aloud, that she had no other proof against Andronico for the death of Philippin, but the common report, and conjecture that the promise she had given in writing had brought him to that attempt to enjoy her in marriage. There Andronico professed openly, that as he had never so much as thought of that murder, nor had ever been incited to it by Elise; but only his despair had forced him to avouch this crime, seeing he could not shun his punishment: so by the same despair he had accused Elise to be guilty, to make her perish for his revenge.  
Some of the beholders esteemed these excuses as feigned, as they were most true. And the Judges, those inflexible Radamanthes, mocked at these denials out of season: The irrevocable sentence is pronounced by their mouths; they have given it according to their consciences, and conformable to the law: Their ears are so accustomed to hear these excuses of offenders, that they are to them as unnecessary songs; for it is the custom of men to say they are innocent, considering only their witnesses, not their own consciences. They imagine that this miserable pair being resolved to lose their lives, intended to preserve some vain shadow of honour, in saying they were innocent of so odious a crime; but that being on the scaffold at the last hour of their death, which is the rack of racks, they would then declare all to the discharge of those that had judged and condemned them.  
I will not here present the griefs of these two spirits, being I think they cannot be comprehended, nor express their complaints; seeing their innocence was made guilty more by their inconsideration, then by their malice: Nor can describe their displeasure, finding they were cause of one another's loss. You may judge that their griefs, their complaints and displeasures were as pitiful, as their affections were now sincere; for in these extremities there is no more dissimulation, no feigning nor art, and less colour; it is no more but a plain simplicity. Elise desires many times to take her last farewell of her parents: But having heard that the news of her condemnation had caused her father to retire into the Country, not being able to support the sight of so tragic a fortune, of which there was no remedy; And that the grief of this had given such an assault to the heart of Sohpie her mother, that she was in bed sick unto death; she obtains permission to write to them, to make known unto them in these last words the feeling she had of their sorrows, which was more incomparably than what she had of her own.  
SIR,  
I Complain not to see myself abandoned by you in an instant, where the only hope consists in not expecting any. I not only approve your retreat, but should have counselled it, if my advice had been demanded; since that the vail of absence is altogether necessary to a Father, that knows his daughter is sacrificed innocently. I say innocently, Sir; and in this word I beseech you to take part of the only consolation that accompanies me in the loss of my life. It is now time to speak truth, or never; seeing I am going before the tribunal of him that will condemn all those that prefer falsehood before truth, and who will not acknowledge for legitimate children those that do not fix their eyes upon the light of truth. God, under whose providence run all the moments of this mortal life, permitting that at this present my innocence shall appear guilty, yet will make known in another season this imaginary guilt to be apparently innocent. And I conjure you by the agonies of any death, to prolong your life until that happy time; by which the honour of your house that appears now to suffer some stain, shall flourish more than ever.  
I must confess, that after the death of my husband, from whence all my calamities have drawn their original, nothing hath so much afflicted me as the pain I have seen you suffer for my occasion. For since death had made me widow of the most noble Alliance I could have hoped for in the world, I intended to have died to the world, and to all the pomps thereof, and to have confined myself to a Cloister, there to have ended my days. But since it hath pleased the divine wisdom to dispose otherwise, be it that I live, or die, so I appertain to him for ever, I pass not; be it for ignominy or for reputation, so I attain unto the celestial glory, it is indifferent to me. I believe now that Andronico is innocent of the crime which I accused him of, more by suspicion then any firm ground I had; and it may be God permitted I should be wrapped in the same condemnation, to punish my disloyalty, tha● broke the right of a friendship as holy as it was virtuous; for I desire not heaven to pardon me, if even there passed between us other but that was worthy and honest or if in the writing that my facility drew from my hand, I ever thought to prejudice Philippin in his honour or life. The secret judgements of God are marvellous, which sounds the depths of all secrets, and by the greatness and majesty of him you will know in the end how the murder was done; for God is too just to let this deed go unpunished. For myself, I repent me to have accused Andronico, of whom I beseech you to love the memory as mine own, and not to bear any hatred against his parents: I am as much and more cause of his death, than he of mine. We have demanded pardon one of the other, and pray all the world to pardon us: We remit our honour, as out lives, into the hands of God; sacrificing both to his greatest glory. I beseech you, Sir, to implore his misericordia on our souls by your prayers; and to ●ake care of little; Dalimene, since blood and nature require it of your fatherly goodness. Farewell my dear Father! Oh refuse not your holy benediction to this miserable creature that demands it at the last minute of her death; being she is innocent of the cause of her condemnation, which for the love of God she goes freely to suffer.  
With the same hand and heart she drew these other lines for Sophy.  
MADAM,  
MUst; my deplorable misfortunes bring death into the breast of her that gave me life! Must I, like a Viper, open the bosom of her that gave me my being! And must fortune, insatiable of my miseries, direct the stroke of my trespasses on the body of her, that is as innocent of my faults, as I am of that which causes my death by a secret judgement of God, which I adore, although ignorant of. Madam, the sharp cutting sword that is to sever my head from my body, and my body from my soul, will not be so sensible to me, as the feeling of the grief that hath laid you in your bed for the sorrow of my loss and shame: The compassion I have of your heart, is more incomparably grievous than the pains I am to suffer. If I might die often, to deliver you from the torments and pains wherein your own goodness throws you; if I should measure the grief you have to lose me, by the dear affections you have always shown me, I see nothing so extreme as your unconsolable displeasures. For knowing how tenderly you have brought up this wretched creature, and how highly you esteem your honour, I know not how to express nor conceive with what air you can support the loss of both.  
Just Heaven! which permittest crimes, and hind'rest them: if thou sufferest that I die without being able to justify myself of these two false infamies, Adultery, and cruel murder of my husband; at least yet, Thou that declarest things that are most dark! make for the consolation of my dear mother, that from the midst of my ashes may arise the light of my innocence; without suffering that truth should not only be detained prisoner by injustice, but also stifled with falsehood.  
Madam, I desire not you should take pity of my suffering; but to cast your eyes on my innocence. I have no other justification than my protestations; which I make in a point, where falsehood trains after it an eternal ruin. You will not be so cruel and severe to me, as my Judges: And although an Adulteress and a Murderer cannot be purged by oaths, yet I think you have had so long knowledge of my soul by my carriage, to believe me in this truth which I profess with a dying voice: I die innocent of the crime that is imposed on me, as God shall love and save me. Live, Madam, even till that day that he makes it appear in evidence from the midst of the clouds that hinder this clearness. I have no more to add, but to demand your motherly blessing; which I ask with joined hands for the last favour from you; and ask it by your entrails that bore me, and by the mercies of that good God in whom I put all my hopes. Farewell my dearest Mother! And remember in your prayers this poor Elise, that will have no period to her trespass of more sweet imagination then the memory of Sophy, as of the best mother in the world.  
Time with an insensible course advanced with great paces the hour of execution of this Innocence guilty. Our Lovers are brought to the place with as much joy and gladness, as if it had been to their wedding. When they appeared on the bloody Theatre, they were beheld with many eyes, yet very different: For many had compassion of their miseries, by a natural feeling that touches the hardest hearts; Others had them in horror, not so much for their faults, (for to sin is a thing humane) but because they published so loud their innocence, this displeased them, like Bats to whom light is unpleasing. Strange quality of confession, that makes the innocent guilty.! The resistance that our Patients made in not avowing that which truly they had not committed, made them odious in the eyes of the malicious world, that esteemed them so much the more guilty. Neither their youth, quality, blood, freedom and courage, nor the other testimonies of piety that they shown in this action, was capable to draw any sorrow from the spectators; but all gave blessings on the Justice that purged the world of such plagues. The Confessors employ their utmost endeavours to draw this thorn from their hearts, by their mouths; and used the most pressing and earnest reasons they could from divine inspiration. But how could that come from their mouths, that was not entered into their thoughts? They died praising God, that was pleased to draw them to him by so rough and hard a way. The whilst the world enemy to heaven, and father of rash judgements, curses them, God blesses them in giving them an invincible courage, and fearless in this inevitable danger. Elise pardons all the world; and ask a thousand pardons of Andronico as cause of his suffering, her head flew off in uttering these words, Jesus be with me, Lord Jesus! And Andronico incontinently after, with these words that his Confessor put in his mouth, My God, I remit my spirit into thy hand.  
The opinions upon this Execution were very different: The Judges themselves, whilst the world praised their equity, were not well satisfied in their souls, although their hearts felt nothing. So much force hath truth, that those that see it not, are nevertheless constrained by a secret virtue to have a feeling of it. But as the Seed-corn thrown into the earth, that one would think should rot, is nourished, & taking root raises his head loaden and crowned with fruit out of the earth; even so this innocence for some time hidden and lost by death, having gotten the victory by suffering, shall appear like a Palm so much the more straight and high, by how much it had been overcharged; it will come from the midst of hot burning coals, as pure as gold from a furnace.  
But Sophy, in stead or being comforted by the Letter of her daughter, finds herself so full of grief, that not being able to support the greatness of her sorrow, she was constrained to yield to her tomb that which all flesh owes it; which she did three days after the death of her daughter; for to outlive such a disgrace, was a thing impossible to her: Scevole being in the Country, assailed with this new grief for the death of his wife, experimented the proverb that says, One misfortune goes always accompanied with another. The Town gins to be odious to him as a prison, or rather the sepulchre of his honour and glory. This solitude appears a paradise to him of sweet repose; How late (said he) have I known thee! The sweetness of this tranquil life gins to flatter his thoughts, and to resolve him to quit the inseparable unquietness of affairs and businesses; which are so annexed to great dignities, that it is not without reason they are called Charges; under which lies many times the rack, and makes the strongest judgements suffer. He will deliver himself from the torment of Ambition, and make himself invisible to the eyes of Envy, that doth nothing but murmur at his great wealth. And what shall he do in a place where all present him with the infamy of his house by the death of his daughter, and its desolation by the loss of his wife? He goes meditating of the Country-solitude of the ancient Courtier called Similis; who of an hundred years of life having passed fo●● in the Country, made it to be written on his ●omb, That he had lived but time happily that he had been delivered from the troubles of Court.  
The Muses came to receive Scevole, and to sweeten this solitary residence. S●udy is all his entertainment: Those Verses that Socrates loved even to his death, recreate him, and much please him to recite thus. 
Scevole, thou must shortly 〈◊〉 the Stage  
Of humane frailty, since encroaching Age  
Insensibly appears t'eccli●se thy light,  
And mask thy ●ay up in ●ie●nal 〈◊〉.  
Hast thou not see on this vast Se●●'●h ' world,  
How Life's poor Bark to 〈◊〉 est-●ost and hurled?  
O gu●de her steady then, if thou 〈◊〉 steer  
By J●ys true Compass, and cast anchor there.  
Frail is the bliss of Fort●●●, which still s●ands  
On slippery ●ills, like house's buil● on 〈◊〉;  
Their height procures their greater ruine● tall  
And ●owring Cedars have the sadder fall.  
Great Fortunes are unsafe; proud Palaces find  
A dangerous fate; and the l●nd blustering wind  
Confronts high hills, whilst valleys safely stand  
Free from the fury both of sea and land.  
Most blessed is he that can blot out the story  
And shorthand character of all humane glory:  
That can retire from the tumultuous crowd  
Of business, and in a calm air uncloud  
His earth-ecclipsed mind, and thence dispose  
His soul to th' solace of a sweet Repose.  
He like to some Recluse will strive to bless  
His soul with silence of an home-recess,  
Having 〈◊〉 long a follower been of those  
Vain empty G●gas, which so discompose  
And mock our sense to which they appear, like Ape's  
Dr●st and disguised in their ●●tick so apes.  
What Ptots are Envy proof which undermines  
The low'st foundation of the highest designs:  
And as the smoke, so flits Earth's proudest Power.  
The hottest Sun shine's subject to a shower;  
And those fair Springs the Gardener's hopes confute,  
Which pay him blossoms, where they promised fruit.  
Sweet Innocence! which from the least degree  
Of popular greatness is secure and free.  
Vales, Rivers, Rocks, with the blessed shades appear,  
And whisper solitude in my slumbering ear.  
You that have seen my Affliction, come and raise  
Yourselves as witness of my better days.   
Whilst Scevole goes tempering his afflictions by these sweet entertainments, and conforming himself to the examples of so many great and grave Personages that crowned a fair course of life by a sweet and happy retreat; seeing the Emperors, Dioclesian among the Pagans, and Charles the Fifth among the Christians, retired and did prefer a Rustic life to their Crowns Kingdoms; and so many more of all sorts of eminent qualities had so followed this happy trace, as much for that they were out of all necessity, as not to commit any thing willingly, in an age so advanced as his; He pretends to leave his Office, although he was solicited from divers places. Happy in leaving this trouble, if he had with full sails arrived at the Port of peace now met withal, in saying with an Ancient, 
Fortune adieu! All worldly hopes surcease,  
I'm anchored now i'th' harbour of true Peace.   
But it will take him as the Mariners, that are accustomed with the tossing of the sea and breaking of the waves, and to long navigations; yet in horrible tempests they commend the firmness of the earth, and tranquillity of the port; but no sooner arrived, but it is tedious to them to stay in this place of assurance. The whilst he thus goes temporizing, he was called to end his days in troublesome affairs, as you shall hear.  
After than Elise and Andronico, more unfortunate than malicious, had been punished for a fault they had not committed, as the Psalmist says, 
Paying with great extortion and rack-use,  
What they ne'er truly borrowed with abuse.   
Pyrrhe and Herman esteemed that the death of these innocents' would be a satisfaction, and covering to their fault; lived, though not with interior assurance, (for an ill conscience serves for a Judge and Hangman to itself) yet at least with an exterior safety that promised them an apparent nonpunishment: For they were not only exempt of the accusation of this matter, but also of suspicion to have attempted any thing against Philippin. Pyrrhe repairs in part his honour by the ill usage wherewith he treated the miserable Isabel, making it appear by it that her ill life had been extremely unpleasing to to him.  
And this Maid being fallen from this high fate of prosperity where she had seen herself in the company of Philippin, and now reduced to a prison, in which besides the deprivation of liberty she experimented excessive cruelty; not knowing where to find more patience to sustain the force of so cruel a persecution: I will not fill these leaves with the multitude of her complaints with which she filled her dark , that less deaf to her complaints then the ears of her father, seemed to suffer at her pains by its echo and ●ound. And I believe if Pyrrhe had heard them, he must have been of marble, or have had pity to have produced in the world a creature so miserably unfortunate. But not content to stop his ears at her dolorous griefs, and to the protestations she made to live better hereafter, and to give him as much cause to love her in her repentance, as she had given him to hate her for her dissolute life. Nor would he that his eyes should see the pitiful estate she was reduced to, for fear to have had some compassion on her.  
An hundred times he had murdered her with his own hands, if nature had not strongly resisted against such a crime, and if the force of blood had not withstood so bloody a design. But he believed that this perpetual imprisonment, and the barbarous usage he exercised on this miserable Caitiff, would in a short time deliver him of her, whose life was as odious, as her death desired. And it may be God, who hates hearts that are hardened and unpittifull, already displeased with the murder of Philipin, throws on the heads of Pyrrhe and Herman a judgement without mercy, because they had been without mercy. Although the Israelites among the Egyptians committed great sins, and were carried to detestable idolatry, for which the yoke, of a cruel slavery fell on their heads; yet in the midst of their wickedness calling on the mercy of God, his eternal goodness hears their cries, and hasted to their deliverance. Achab and Manasse were evil Princes; but their prayers drawn from their hearts by the strength of their tribulations, made incontinently their peace with God, which inclined their aid.  
It is true, that Isabel cannot be excused in having stained the honour of her family by her ill carriage: But it may be that being converted to God in midst of her fighs, he heard favourably her complaints, and resolved to pluck her from this chain; to the end that being delivered from the hands of this tyrant, she might give herself to his service in the quality of a Nun, to serve in holiness and justice at the foot of his Altars even to the last hour of her life. Now I desire that we should remark, admire, and adore this divine Conductor, who brings her to this end by marvellous turn, and sweetness incomparable.  
We have seen in the course of this history, how Herman was induced by Pyrrhe to the murder of Philippin, and how he was assisted by Roboald, an ancient servant of their house, in this homicide; and it was by this Roboald, that love made trai●o● to himself, that this crime is discovered, which forgetfulness seemed to have wrapped up in a perpetual silence. But how enters love into this heart? it was by the gate of pity; false gate, that deceivest ordinarily the most wise! Pyrrhe discharges on him the keeping of Isabel; O it is an ill charge for a man, a fair Maid! Yet in the beginning he executes with fidelity the commandment of his master, which was, To shut her up straight, to feed her poorly; in brief, to exercise on her all kind of cruelties. But in the end the water of the tears of Isabel pursue this heart of stone; and the Lover with the beauties of her face draws this breast of iron to a yielding condescension. Such strength hath a pleasing form, of which all the force is in the sweetness, but as much loved as it is pleasing. Beauty hath an ascendant power, and invitable on the fiercest courages; the most cruel Tigers may be tamed and made familiar by an amirable conversation.  
Isabel, in the beginning of her imprisonment, by a high and arrogant humour, contributed much to the ill usage that Roboald made her feel: For there is nothing more odious and less insupportable to God and men, than pride and cruelty.  
But when experience, Mistress of the least advised, had taught her, that as a bird taken in a snare, the more it strives, the more it fastens the knot; and the more she desired to be free, the stricter she was kept; and that her despite drew on her a more severe punishment; she gins to change her battery, and to spin fine, and to sow the skin of the Fox to that of the Lyon. Her vain threats had served her to nothing; it may be her smiles, and the charms of her conversation would get her more advantage. Of an angry and disdainful, she becomes plaintiff, and a suppliant: So that changing the fashion of her carriage, she makes tender by little and little this savage courage, that gins to use her with more sweetness, from that to hearken to her, then to behold her. At last, as a Man that cannot be always a Wolf to another Man, but hath a secret advocate in his humanity that persuades him to mildness, lets himself be taken by the ears, and sees his heart ravished by the eyes.  
For both pity and beauty gave such assaults into the thoughts of Roboald, that forgetting the faith he had sworn to his Master, he esteems it would be impiety to obey him any longer in so savage and unnatural a commission, to the prejudice of so many graces that appeared in the face of this fair Prisoner. And certainly the advantages that affections of Love have of those of Friendship, are such, that those that are touched with the one make more difficulty to prejudice the other; even till their faults seem not only pardonable, but commendable, and rather worthy of glory then of blame.  
Roboald flatters himself with these vain hopes, and resolves to oblige this Maiden to love him by all kind of good offices; and to deceive in that the intention of his Master, that had put her into his keeping, but to use her with all hardness and cruelty.  
The End of the Fifth Book.   

ELISE, OR Innocence guilty. The Sixth Book.  
ALready the cunning Isabel feels some sweet liberty that she hath gotten in ties of ●his new slave, and that her beauty hath penetrated his eyes. Upon this foundation she builds her hopes (and not without reason) of effecting her deliverance. She is cunning in the art of this Passion that enchants men, and makes them supple to the wiles of those they love. She blots out the ma●ks of despair settled in her face, and her f●esh colour returns with joy; she hides her strong griefs in the smoothness of her forehead.  
Why do I defer to tell you that Roboald is taken by his prisoner, that he is Captive to his Captive? (falsifying the proverb) He finds nothing so fair nor pleasing as his prison. He that heretofore beheld her with an envious eye, beholding her now with pity, gins to take part of her pains; and approving the complaints she made of the cruelty of her father, he repent to have been the executor. If she entreat him to be a means to make her peace with her father, or for some comfort in this her cruel usage, he promises it, but suddenly recants; for, says he, if he perceive that I lend an ear to your prayers, he will suspect me, and think that I plo● your liberty; and taking you from my keeping, it may be will put you into their hands that will be more rigorous to you. And this was, because being pricked by the interest of his passion, he feared that the deliverance of this Maid should take away the empire he had of her body, although she had a far greater on his heart. Nevertheless to give her some testimony of his good will, he makes her hope her delivery on what price soever, though with the loss of his life.  
Already crafty Isabel knew by the sighs and eyes of this new Lover, that he was in the toils she had pitched for him; he hath no pleasure but in her conversation, nor no contentment but when she speaks to him. But he speaks not to her of love, nor of any thing near it; for he knew the high courage of this Dame, that beheld him always as a servant; and as subject as she was to his government, used him nevertheless as an imperious Mistress: besides, to cast his eyes on the daughter of his Master, he cannot but expect punishment for so insolent an attempt; and a disgrace that will bring his fortune into a ruin irreparable.  
Isabel, that knew by this change of his face, and the variety of his discourse, the troubles of his heart and confusions of his thoughts; although she had in horror this presumption, and hated the authority of this Jailer, (for it is natural to hate those that tyrannize over our liberty) yet her cunning made her seem ignorant of that she was clearly certain of; and although she lightens love in this heart, she feigns to see nothing but pity: And demanding of him if he grieved not to see her reduced to so pitiful an estate? I would to God, Madam, (quoth he) that One had as much pity of my passion, as I have of compassion!  
It was enough said to an understanding so quick as that of Isabella's. Who knowing the greatness of this flame, and heat of this spark, and as much inflamed with despite to see how high the insolence of this Fellow was mounted, and being troubled that he had given too evident a testimony of his love; she mocks at this discourse by a subtle quickness: How now (said she) Roboald! you are then taken with this furious passion that hath caused me so many misfortunes: Truly I will from henceforth promise not only some comfort in my miseries, but also some excuse for my errors, if you are touched with this sickness that made me run so foolishly after the just promises of marriage, which only the death of Philippin hath annulled. For besides the natural inclination I had to love him, his carriage being accompanied with so many graces, augmented by so long conversation that made so pleasing his lawful seeking me in marriage; what Maid had not been conquered by so many charms of greatness and good fashion, accompanied with an intended wedding? I am astonished that my Father allows not something to the weakness of my sex, and the strength of my affection; seeing that in the beginning of this young Lords seeking me, he permitted me to love him, and to receive his service; it was himself that brought me into the folds, from whence after it was not in my power to return myself.  
Roboald approving these excuses, accuses afterwards the unreasonable cruelty of his Master; and finding himself taken by the beak, without denial that he loved her, he tries to hid at least the cause of his flame, although he had unwisely discovered the effect. This was to throw a little water on a great fire; and in flying, to make himself be followed; and to stir the curiosity of this Maid, by the protestation that he made to die, rather than to discover the object that held him in a trance. Crafty Isabel, that had had leisure enough in her prison to consult with her glass, to learn in this faithful glass the force the fire of her eyes had; being much pleased to torment this Jailer, and to make his fire so much the more scorching, as it was covered with the ashes of silence and modesty; this proud Captive intended to melt the wings of this new Icarus, hiding under a feigned appearance of sweetness a despiteful disdain, armed with indignation not to be matched against the insolence of this fellow, that had dared to raise his eyes to her, prepares in deceiving him to draw herself out of prison and slavery, and to leave him covered with scorn and shame. At one time her fierce and high heart was combated with two passions very different, of love and liberty, and of hatred to him that should be the author: For it seems that the succour she thought to receive of this man to get out of this misery, would be a kind of obligation to love him; and on the other side, she could not endure to let her thoughts fix on a servile object. She loves almost as much to remain a slave of body, and free of this obligation, as to see herself at liberty, and tied by the bonds of duty to a man she hated in her very soul. So that if she could have found any other means to draw her from misery, she would certainly have passed it, rather than to make herself beholding to Roboald. But necessity (that savage and cruel mistress) made her resolve, after having consulted some time in herself, to take this occasion by the lock, reserving after the recovering of her liberty the punishment of this madness, even with the sword, if there were occasion, and to purge him by this means of his error and folly. And as she was practised in the arts of love, knowing well how to counterfeit the person of a Maid that is easy to be won; Roboald imagines he may win her heart, and make himself (as well as Philippin) possessor of her body. He flatters her and speaks of love, but in such general terms, that he left always place to some exception, and made as if he sighed for an object absent; but she sees well that it was her presence that drew these sighs from his breast.  
Here are two cunning Gamesters that play who shall be cozened. Roboald protests he would not entertain her with so ill discourse as that of his affections, if they were not sincere and legitimate: But it being the greatest comfort one can have in their sorrows, to communicate them to a faithful friend; and he thinking she had felt for Philippin all the stings that this passion is accustomed to incite in their hearts that receive it. 
Thy counsel can assuage my swelling grief,  
And to my sufferings give me some relief.   
It is true, replied Isabel, that I might give some sort of remedy to your wound, if I knew the particularities: but there is nothing more needful to a singular evil, then general remedy; for according to the circumstances, it changes ordinarily the face of the business. Roboald besought her to excuse him that he could not declare to her the cause of his unquietness, for fear to be held too presumptuous; that would would plunge him rather into despair, than any way bring him consolation, esteeming it less worthy of healing then of blame.  
Isabel, whose eyes were so piercing as they saw into his darkest thoughts, and into this breast covered with the cloud of dissimulation, excused herself also to give remedy to an evil she was ignorant of; and complains on the other side, of the small confidence Roboald had in her; draws him insensibly to discover his design: just as when the birds are in love, it is then they are taken with more ease; for by the different notes they warble to one another, they make themselves fall into the nets and pits, finding the end of their lives where they thought to meet and enjoy their pleasures; it will take Roboald even so, who by an undiscreet love goes to twist a cord to strangle himself. It is not without reason that the Ancients have painted Love naked, by reason it can conceal not secret from the thing beloved. Who knows not how the perfidy of Dalilah, by the sweet violence of love, drew out the secret of the strength of generous Samson, whom she brought afterwards to his fall and ruin? You will understand in this history something like that; for Roboald, in imitation of Samson, after having given some feigned excuses to Isabel, desiring to make her believe that he loved the daughter of a Gentleman, a neighbour there by, without da●ing by any demonstration to make show of his thoughts, resolves rather to die an obscure death, then to make known a design so presumptuous. Isabel that saw well that her feigned neighbour was meant by herself, hiding a profound fury in the depth of her soul, comforted Roboald the best she could; as thus, that being all-inflamed for and object of merit, he should not be astonished if it rise high; that it was a mark of the goodness of his courage, in which he was more commendable for generosity, then  for presumption; and that although he were not born a Gentleman, it was a title that rather depended on fortune then desert, and that he was not the first of mean birth that had der●d to set his affections on a Gentlewoman; that true nobility was in valour, and in that he would not yield to whatsoever Gentleman; and that she knew well that there was not any business in which he would not be led by Pyrrhe with as much affection as Herman himself would be, for the ancient servants in a house held the quality of children: That the inequality of conditions should not disparage him; that since she had dared to lift her thoughts even to Philippin that was her Lord to whom she ought homage, he might well raise his to Gentlewoman; and that a faithful Lover ought to promise himself all things happy, since hope was the wings of love, and that love equalised Lovers; that Kings loving their subjects, have submitted their sceptres to their affections; that according to her judgement, there was not a more eminent greatness in love, then love itself; and the greatest amongst Lovers, he that loves most. Imagine if this discourse cast not oil into the fire of Roboald, in a Country where Cobblers make themselves Gentleman, and the Gentleman Princes, by an humour that Nation hath. But when she added, that if she knew that Gentlewoman, and had but liberty to speak to her, there was no sort of good offices she would not do for Roboald to favour his design; honouring his passion in another subject whereby she would esteem herself honoured. It was now that this saucy Jailer touched the stars with his forehead, promising to his presumption all that he had heretofore desired rather hoped. Methinks I see the picture of the feeling of this soul swelled with vanity of his own desires, well represented in the the rich Verses of one of the Mistresses of the Muses of our France. 

Knowing my flame is airy and divine,  
I can love nothing but what Gods incline:  
With courage I'll pursue my enterprise;  
And if I fall, from heaven shall be my rise.   

No more on Earth shall flourish my desires,  
I higher will enhance my love and fires;  
I'll Eaglelike rather by thunder die,  
Then from some ●ur receive my destiny.   

While I do soar so high, no rocks I fear,  
Nothing shall make me cowardly retire:  
That for a bridle which doth serve to some,  
Shall unto me a golden spur become.   

I love my aim, although by Fortune crossed;  
The harder is the task, the more I'll boast.  
Things easy to obtain, have small desert;  
Honours on hard designs use to revert.    
Although this man had presumption enough to dare to love a person more high than his duty could permit him, yet the same love that gave him courage to fix his affections so eminently for his condition, took from him the daring to discover it, retained by that respectful fear that ordinarily accompanies this passion; fear that proceeds of the apprehension of despairing of the object beloved. He seeks in the corners of his fancy some artificial invention, to tell her that he durst not utter, and to make her understand that he durst not speak.  
But the more he troubles himself to meet with it, the less he finds it; the confusion of his thoughts being a Labyrinth from whence he cannot get out; His desire is like quick silver, the more he presses, the less it is kept; the more he would gather, the more it disperses itself. All know the combat of the Wind and the Sun, who should despoil man; at last the sweet rays of the Sun did that the blustering blasts of the other could not. The more Isabel importunes Roboald to discover his affection with confidence, the more he hides it, and the more he enters into distrusts: yet when she presses him least, he burns with impatience to manifest it to her, not being able to die of a silent grief, being so near his remedy. Love, whose attempts are not so hard, but as quick as those of necessity, subtilsied his spirit, and gave divers means to make known to this Damosel that which she knew but too well already, but feigns to be ignorant of by an artificious countermine.  
It is reason that Verses, symbols of this passion that touches the heart, and Poesy, daughter of this affection, come to the relief of Roboald, He is acquainted with ●imer that would furnish him with Madrigals; which he lets often fall as by negligence, but with design, in the chamber of this prisoner. She reads them, and laughs; and to let him burn in a little fire, and take her vengeance in this love by a new industry, she makes no show to understand these Enigmas nor did they say any thing in particular. Such is the folly of this childish passion, which is not fed but with follies, nor employed but in thoughts as frivolous as the hunting of Butterflies. And to let you see the impertinencies of Roboald, behold his folly in these three scrolls, of which this is the first. 

'Tis harder not to love, then be denied  
By such a look, who being deified  
Doth with the wound it gives my panting heart  
Both joy and pleasure to my thoughts impart.   

When silent grief of sweetness is so full,  
I thousand deaths had rather on 〈◊〉 pull  
Thou not to yield to an attempt so fair,  
Where hope's to be preferred before despair.   

Happy is he can love, and hid his flame;  
Suppress affection, and conceal Her name:  
Who can in midst of anguish pleasure find,  
And hug his passions, though she prove unkind.    
Here is the second, that seems to cherish the folly of the first. Nor do I here present it in this place for any thing of worth, but to make known clearly how hard it is, yea impossible to be wise, and love, at once; and as shadows serve to pictures, even so the follies of some to raise the wisdom of others. From thence it comes that Cato said, that the wise learned more of fools, than fools did of the wise. But let us hearken to our Rhymer, 

What rigour is it for to be a Lover,  
And not to dare his passion to discover?  
So pale and dropping is my phisnomy,  
That every one, I am in love, may see.   

Now, if my soul be in such agonies,  
Who can obstruct or blame my plaints or cries?  
To be severely punished, is a grace,  
When one attempts an Angel to embrace.    
At last to throw the third scroll, was the accomplishment of his impertinence; for it is the end of presumption, always to rise. He says, 
Dear origin of all my fears and fires!  
Not knowing the extent of my desires,  
Must I thus perish, and yet dare not say  
'Tis you who doth my soul and passions sway?   
But why do I stay in reciting his idle thoughts, which would be better buried under silence, then raised upon this paper? But to imitate the fashion of Painters, that set off the features of a fair face by an extreme deformity; as also to throw confusion in the face of those that in their follies commit these extravagances. I follow expressly in this the imitation of Nathan, that threatened David to manifest to the light of the sun what he had committed in darkness, and to cast his shame on his face, if by a confession unfeigned and healthful penitence he had not prevented the publication. Even so the Saviour of the world threatened to make be preached in the public places the evils committed in the most private chambers, when the secrets of the dark should be manifested, and the counsel of hearts given to iniquity. And who knows not that shame and disgrace is the certain recompense of vile Love?  
Thus Roboald seeing that all these small lights gave none to Isabel, to make her know that herself was the idol to which he offers his thoughts; languishing with a silent grief so near his remedy, and such a remedy as seemed should yield to his mercy with much facility; yet durst not promise it himself, however resolves to attempt by an art, after which he thought that necessity would break for him, as to the son of Croesus' the obstacle that hindered his speech. One day as Isabel pressed him on this subject, which was their ordinary entertainment, (for from the mouth proceeds the abundance of the heart) you will not believe, said he, to what extremity hath brought me, shall I say my affection, or my folly? to an evil so extraordinary, having sought all the strangest remedies that humane thoughts can devise.  
The curious Maid conjures him not to hid his means, being they gave no knowledge of the cause. Roboald, that strove always to oblige her, and to make this obligation more precious, made himself to be prayed earnestly for a thing, of which he had more desire than his suppliant herself. And to cherish this in her, You press me (quoth he) to discover a means that you lead as by the hand in the sight of the subject of my passion; and then my secret will be no more a secret, nor my own; being disclosed not only to another, but to a woman, as capable to contain it under silence, as a sieve is to hold water. At which Isabel makes a thousand protestations of fidelity and silence; but they were oaths as light, as if they had been written on the sands, or drawn on the waves. At which Roboald feigned to yield, and to remit his life with his love into the hands of this gracious prisoner. If your oaths, quoth he, should not bind you with chains as strong as they seem holy, the interest you have yourself will bind you to conceal that I shall manifest unto you; for the part you have in heir whose face I will let you see, is such, that you will be constrained to confess to me when you have seen it, that you have not a better friend in the world.  
You must know then, that having been just to that point to consult with a Magician of this Country, who as yet hath promised nothing good of the issue of my design, but on the contrary threatens me that the hope of a Nuptial bed will be the grave of my desires; yet I have taken his prophecy as coming from the father of lies; so that as the ancient Oracles, I have believed one may better judge of his truth by the contrary. And indeed I have already known by some hopes, that if I persevere to love with fidelity, there is nothing comes sooner to its end then a constant love: For, 
Love useth to exalt the mind, and make  
The Lower lofty things to undertake.  
The Body from the Soul receives its flame,  
And Love's the Torch that doth the Soul inflame.   
Without then caring for these Funeral-predictions of this Sorcerer, I desired him to give me a glass like to that wherein he had showed me many wonders; and in which I see, when I please, her whom I honour, in the same fashion and place, and in the same conversation that she shall be when I would look to see her, as much to comfort myself by this false good of her image in absence, which is the most cruel torment that a soul can suffer that loves as mine doth, that is to say extremely; as also to learn by her carriage if my perseverance may one day find some favour before her eyes, though not obtained without much difficulty, and with a thousand oaths not to communicate this secret to any. You must therefore dispense with me, courteous Isabel, if I show you not this glass, for fear to be forsworn, or it may be to take away the effect which is so sweet to me, and the only consolation of my eyes, if they should be deprived of the object that is most pleating to them. For what do I know if the verity may not vanish at the same time that I should make another participant of this sight; or if this may be disclosed without some misfortune? or how shall I know that this Creature will have the belief that my extreme love hath given me for to see this face, that is not better presented in this glass then in the affections of thy heart. And then there are certain barbarous words written on the backside of it, which must be pronounced before one can enjoy the sight of this spectacle: And who can promise to a woman the courage to pronounce them without trembling and a secret horror?  
All this might plead my excuse to you and should persuade you not to attempt so bold an enterprise; Let me die by little and little secretly; I am to myself a theatre ample enough; it is glory enough to me to have aspired so high, and to see that in falling, it is from heaven I am precipitated. Fearfulness is incident to women; but we may say that their curiosity is far stronger than their apprehension; for to satisfy this desire, we know they renounce all fear. Such appears Isabel; for although a secret fear incited a panting of her heart, on the imagination that some devil should do her hurt in being curious to penetrate into this secret; yet shutting her eyes at these considerations, she left not importuning Roboald show her this glass, assuring him she had courage enough to look into it, and faith enough to pronounce the doubtful words.  
Now you must know that all this imaginary fortilage was but a pure invention of this man, to show to this Damosel the form of her proper face in this ordinary glass, desiring to let her know by that, that all the charms of his heart proceeded from the beauties of her form. Now after many conjurations, and so strong, that there was no more place of resistance without angering the spirit of (what shall I say?) curious, or furious Isabel; drawing out of his breast the glass, of which the lustre reflected on eyes of this impatient Maid; feigning that it would have no effect if she were not alone, and he to be retired. A certain terror seizes her, fearing to be without help in the company of Devils; the first which figures a thousand forms flying about her: which made her earnestly conjure Roboald to stay, or else to take again his glass; for already cold fear began to seize her.  
I doubted this, replies this man, that you would not have courage enough; and if you want confidence, how will you have belief enough? But here I dispensed with all by yourself, that aught to content you with the testimony of my good will.  
Isabel never saw herself in the like agony: For on the one side pressed with the vehemency of her desires, and on the other retained by an extreme fear, she sees herself like the Child in the Emblem, raised by one wing, and stayed by a stone. A relenting stays her in midst of her course of this she had so ardently pursued. Stay here a little, says she, O Roboald, to the end that I may regain my spirits, and have more assurance. I cannot stay, replied he, and give you the satisfaction you desire in this glass. Which he said to make her more eager, to affirm his assurance, and to escape; not esteeming he could obtain so much of his own courage, he shrinketh enough to sustain in her presence the discovery of his design. They capitulated, and agreed, that Roboald should stay in the next chamber, whilst Isabel pronounced the unknown words, and looked in the glass; and if any extraordinary terror seized her, Roboald, should come at her cry, and give her all sort of assistance.  
He goes out; she takes the glass with one hand trembling, where not seeing other but her face, she feared it was for want of not having pronounced the words written on the backside. With a faint voice she tries to utter them, and suddenly turns the glass; and seeing but herself, thinks she hath pronounced them imperfectly. Being now more courageous, she recites them neatly, and clearly distinguishes the syllables and letters. But yet she sees nothing but her face. She knows not what to thing; but then perceives some Verses written round about the chafing of it, that said thus: 
This Glass presents the shape of her Perfection,  
That is the Shrine of my most true affection.   
This doth not yet satisfy her, till she read on the circumference of the orb these same: 
Can she but see my heart as pure and faithful,  
(SY ABELLE)  
As she sees herself beautiful!   
For, this Anagram was the little key that opened to her all this secret; it was choler that unsealed her eyes to penetrate into the art of Roboald; for that the last writing in form of numbers described her name. But as there is no deafness worse than that is counterfeited, so there is no stupidity more gross than that that is feigned, not to understand that she knows very well. She calls Roboald, but with a tone and voice that had no feeling of haste or astonishment, and gives him his glass: Go, go, said she; all your Devils are liars, which give nothing but elusions for truth: I have spoken the barbarous words with as much attention as was possible; and yet I have seen nothing in this glass, but that I see in that comes next to my hands; and than you add belief to this sorcery.  
Madam, replied Roboald, and it may be it is want of belief that makes you fail of that you seek for; and you had without doubt perceived it, if you had as much faith as I have to see the fair effect of so fair a cause. Truly, replied Isabel, it is here I see that Lovers are not only fed with dreams in sleeping, but with falsehoods in waking; leaving solid contentment, to follow vain shadows. Go, go feed on these spirits and images as much as you please; methinks you wrong credit, and for a small matter. Verily if you were an Idolater, I would freely say, 
If Pagans with dead Statues were in love,  
Resembling Gods and Goddesses above;  
Who can blame me to love a living Saint,  
And her effigies in my heart to paint?  But being a Christian as you are, I am astonished to see you led after these superstitions so vain and ridiculous. But, Madam, replied Roboald, is it possible that fortune hath so blinded you, as it hath hindered you from seeing any thing in that Glass, after having uttered that fearful words? Those words that are to me as disdainful, as you esteem them venerable, answered Isabel, have no way sealed my eyes, nor have showed me in that Glass other then what I see ordinarily in my own, that is, my own face. And to let you see I have looked into it not fearfully, but attentively; it is true, it is one of the finest and clearest that I ever looked into.  
Yet said Roboald, you are some other thing than nothing; and you have not altogether lost your time, in that you have contem●plated yourself so well. I, but that is not all I sought, continued Isabel; for I have a glass of my own that doth me that office at my pleasure, without art or enchantment. Many times it happens by the strength of charms, replied Roboald, that we see that we thought not to see, and see not that we thought to have seen, that is, an elusion, and the strangest that can be told. For myself, every time I look into that Crystal, I cherish the object I bear stamped so profoundly in my soul; I feel my affections renewed and augmented, the excess of my passion redoubling the excess of my fever.  
If this glass be so hurtful to you, give me leave that I may break it, says this Lady; otherwise I shall think you are of intelligence with your enemies in the conjuration of your own ruin. I beseech you, said Roboald, not to commit such a sacrilege, to break that that hath received so noble an impression; for since it had but the honour to represent yourself, it deserves to be eternally preserved; and my ill is so precious to me, that that which other sick men do to be healed, I do for conservation of my sickness. But is it possible that this Glass, from whence comes the fire that consumes me, hath not inflamed you with love of yourself? Can it be, that your sight that gathers all splendour, hath not incited in your soul the effects of a burning glass? You are far from the fortune of Narcissus, that became taken with his own form presented in a Spring, that served him for a tomb: yet Love of itself is natural to fair Maids, witness the continual traffic they have with their Glasses. Roboald, said Isabel, you would by these jests flatter my miseries, and sweeten the rigour of my prison, in which it is as hard to find me fair, as merry; for nothing altars, nothing so much changes beauty, as sadness and melancholy. 
Which like some cruel tempest doth (alas!)  
Blast those fair stowry blossoms of the face.  
And as had kills the sprouting flowers, so grief  
Distorts my troubled breast without relief.   
It to not that I do not much love myself; for it is a thing so natural, as it is very hard to hinder, if one be in a high degree of perfection. But truly I am not yet arrived at this period of folly, to love myself in a Crystal, not to sigh for an object I carry with me, and is as much mine as I am mine own.  
But when Narcissus loved, replied Roboald, lie took his own Arm for that of another's; and in loving, thought of nothing less than to love himself: So that destroying by his own dilection with too much loving, he hates himself: And even like a torch that turned down, goes out With the same wax that gave it life; so this fabulous youth in seeing himself, though yet he saw not, was so possessed with his own raving, as he had no place in himself for himself. Let us leave these fables, said Isabel Yea, but fables, replied Roboald, hid many times under their shadows the clearest truths: And what truth can be drawn out of these rave? The strongest that ever mounted into the brains of Poets.  
If ever Roboald were pressed to cast off the vail of his fears, it was here: For Occasion shown him the lock of hair on his forehead; and he thinks if he let it slip by his negligence, her despite against his baseness would never show him so favourable a face again. Therefore searching in his thoughts the subtlest inventions that his passion could produce; and to imitate the nimble Galataea that the Poet speaks of, which threw Apples in flying, and would hid herself artificiously after having been discovered; He leads this Damosel by the clue of his tongue into a labyrinth of so many winding discourses, biased, covered, double and of divers senses, that now saying, and then unsaying, he enters, and goes out; he's enclosed, and again loosed; and still feigns not to say that he would say; with an eloquence, of which the art is not known but to those that love, and dare not discover their affection.  
Now if the Assailant were quick, the Defendant was not less cunning. For crafty Isabel seeing this beast taken, and struggling in her toils, this Spider wrapped up in its own web; feigning not to comprehend these dissemble, took an admirable pastime: for it was a pleasure incomparable, that she saw him now pale with fear to have manifested himself too much; now red with shame to unsay; anon inflamed with desire to pull off the mask of his discourse; and then to withhold himself by the apprehension he had to displease her; changing colour as often as a Chameleon, his forehead being ashamed of the variety of those that make the Aurora so appear agreeable.  
At last having pursued this Stag, and brought her to a stand, keeping the change notwithstanding all these hoverings, she pressed him in such sort by her questions, and the passion of this man brought him to that point, as he was forced to let fall the colour of his art, and to take off the vail of his dissimulation, confessing there was no other enchantment in his glass but that of art; that he served himself to make known to this Maid, to herself, and in herself, the subject of his bold affections. A Criminal that the torture hath made confess his irremissible crime, attends not with more certainty the sentence of his death, then lost Roboald that of the condemnation of his presumption. But the strong and cunning Amazon could not forbear blushing at this declaration; yet knows with so much art to colour her colours, that that which came with an inflammation of despite and shame to see herself beloved by a subject unworthy of her, was taken by this abused to promise him that he hopes by an inclination of good will.  
Thus he flatters his hopes by this cozening appearance. And although she were as full as a Bee that hath lost her sting, yet this Maid hides the tempest that invaded her soul under the calm of her eyes, which she had cleared on purpose to deceive this presumptuous fellow, making appear by this feigning some sort of joy in the midst of despair and shame that began to seize on the heart of Roboald; who made bold by this easy acceptance that hide disdain under a sweet countenance, gins to persuade himself, that since the water carries the stone, his perseverance and fidelity might soften this courage, and make her condescend where his quality and birth hindered him to hope.  
This conjecture became a certainty in his thoughts; when dissembling Isabel made show she held for an honour; that which in her soul she held for an affront and disgrace, to be so religiously and respectfully adored by a subject whose merits she esteemed; feigning to be angry to have been the cause of all his pains passed; excusing herself on the innocence of her ignorance, not being able to divine that which was unknown to her, yet what she had but too cunningly perceived almost from the beginning. Will you then trust the apparent simplicity of women, that under a seeming childishness deceives the subtlety of the most cunning?  
In following this point, to bring this Jailer yet more forward into the snares where he was already altogether engaged, and to draw the liberty of her body from the slavery of this heart, not only the testimonies to have his service agreeable, but also to hold for an advantage this Match, although she had it in horror. Raising his virtues above the defects of his birth; esteeming herself more happy to marry one ignoble, that loved and honoured her, than one noble, that after the life she had led with Philippin, could not have her but in disdain and outrage.  
Imagine you what Lover had not been easy to be deceived with these words so dissembled; and if the courage of Roboald were not disposed to belief of that that was so advantageous to him, and let himself transported by his passion; since his interior inclination had intelligence with the treason without, to lessen his ruin. All he can do, is to praise the bounty of Isabel, in raising her even to the heavens, where his forehead touched already by the hope to see his pretensions succeed, plunging into the centre of the earth by the words of submission and humility of a shadow, with which he vailed the arrogance of his design. But Isabel feigning to find so many difficulties in this enterprise, that it almost appeared impossible; it was now that he makes her to understand that there was nothing impossible to a Lover; that huge mountains became plains to a courage lightened with this passion, that made valiant the most fearful, and that all that opposed his desire would easily be surmounted by his valour or industry. Alas, said this cunning Amazon, I neither doubt of your understanding nor strength: but how will the inheriting pride of my friends suffer you to match with me, if they could not suffer to see me live with Philippin, who never possessed me but as his wife?  
At which Roboald proposes to her to fly on the other side the Alps, and into the Countries so far off, that neither Pyrrhe nor Herman should have either wind or mark of their retreat. Love, replied Isabel, ought not to have his eye so hard tied, as not to take heed to his course; otherwise he will be subject in this blindness to fall into great and horrible precipices. Do you not see that it were to ●ast ourselves in trust into calamities and miseries the most extreme that can enter into humane thoughts, and be lost in thinking to be safe. I appeal to your passion and judgement: The prison in which I am, of which your courtesy tempers now the rigorous cruelty, is more supportable than a calamitous liberty, full of infamy.  
To which Roboald answered, But (Madam) if I disclose the means that you may live the only Mistress of your goods and house, will you promise to honour me with the quality of your Husband, and not to pay with base ingratitude the service I shall do you. At these words a secret horror seized the heart of this Maid, esteeming that this barbarous Roboald would propose to her some parricide either by sword or poison: Oh, said she, what do you tell me here! I will rather rot and die in prison, then go forth with so abominable enlargement; I will not like a Viper draw my life by the death of those that have put me into the world.  
Madam, replied Roboald, you take on the left that which I intent on the right: I am not so unfortunate as you think, nor do I believe you so unnatural. It is a means that I know, by which not only your father and brother will give you liberty, but will have nothing in more horror than this house, nor any thing so dear as to seek their safety by their flight, and to leave it free to your enjoying. It is then by some trick, answered Isabel; but if it be as vain as that of your Glass, I perceive nothing of all this but laughter and misery; for if my father but perceives that you use me not with all the cruelty he commanded, I fear he should put me into their hands that are worse than yours, and put yourself in prison, or discharge you from his service, and so your assistance in the one and other fashion become inutile.  
Madam, quoth Roboald, there is no more enchantment in the secret I have to discover to you, then in my Glass; and yet the effect is as assured as that, where without sorcery you have seen that you desired to see. I have only to manifest a truth to you, by which you will remain Mistress of your house; and without chase or violating your Father, he shall depend on your mercy. I cannot comprehend these riddles, said Isabel. But then vile Roboald, to put her out of pain, puts himself up to the throat, as you shall see by the tragic history that follows. It was in manifesting the murder of Philippin committed by Herman, by the persuasion and following the commandment of Pyrrhe; denying expressly that he assisted Herman and was Complice of this attempt, saying he was only testimony of this treason, of which he feigned not to have been any way advertised.  
What became this woman when she heard this news? what hatred was not form in her heart against her Brother, and against her own Father? measuring it by the extreme love she bore to Philippin. Suddenly like a Fury she threatens their trespass, resolves to disclose it to the Justice, and to satisfy at once to her revenge, to the hands of her Lover, the innocence of Elise and unfortunate Andronico, and to render by this means the honour to Scevole, making him of an enemy her protector against the insolent solicitations of Roboald, to whom she feigns to be much bound for the revelation of this secret: She promises him that she means not to hold; knowing, that will being forced is no will; and that the oaths of Lovers and Prisoners do not serve but to deceive.  
Methinks I see in this History that of Samson renewed by the treachery of Dalilah; which had no sooner discovered the truth in what consisted the strength of this inconsiderate Amorous, but she advertises the Philistines his enemies, who came upon him and bound him, covering him with a thousand reproaches. For, feigning she would give an affright to her Father and brother, to the end that thinking of their flight, they might leave her at liberty and in full possession of their lands; she finds means by the diligence of Roboald, that like another Vriah carries the packet of his own death, to write to Scevole this Letter.  
GOD which draws the light of truth from the thickest darkness of calumny, and that employs things most dark to bring the most hidden to evidence; is served with the darkness of my dungeon, to make you know how much unjustly the honour of your house hath been engaged by a shameful suffering. And although innocence hardly appears in the deep blackness of a prison, yet it is so that that of your Elise shall come forth of mine, if you please to take the pains to environ this house by the authority and hand of Justice, where you will find (as in the depth of a Well) the light of a truth that will be as pleasing, as falsehood hath covered you with sadness. The recovering of your honour will be worth the pains you shall take in causing to be apprehended the true Murderers of Philippin; which will justify the innocence of Andronico and your Daughter, falsely made guilty. For recompense of this service I ask you but my liberty, and your protection, in quality of  
Your Servant.  
This writing found Scevole retired in his solitude, and plunged into the profoundest melancholy that he had ever felt. For on one side, the dishonours of the world made the sweetness of this life unpleasing; on the other, the tediousness began to take him; for there is nothing so sharp as idleness to him that had always spent his days in the managing of business. It seemed, when he saw these lines, that it was some Letter fallen from heaven for his consolation, and for the re-establishing of his fortune: And then returning into his memory the furious assaults and long pursuits of Pyrrhe and Herman against the life of Philippin; the pain he had to dissolve those clouds, and to defer their revenge; at last having long consulted with himself, he thinks it fit to receive then to neglect this advice, doubting that this smoke could not be without fire. He assembles the Provosts, and in a fair night environs the house of Vaupre.  
The Break of day, forerunner of the Sun, had no sooner discovered to the world the divers colours of his breast, when Pyrrhe and Herman saw themselves besieged and summoned to yield. They, whose consciences served for a thousand testimonies, and as many hangmen, believed themselves accused and condemned; and resolved rather to bury themselves under the ruins of their Castle, then to die shamefully on a Scaffold. At this their refusal Scevole conjectures them guilty; their rebellion accuses them, and makes them doubly Criminals, and as Murderers and revolted against the Justice of the Prince, a crime irremissible. This Castle is weak, and rather built for the pleasure of the eye, then for the shot of Cannon. They are charged on the sudden, unprovided of provisions defensive and offensive; the gates are broke open, and what shall two men do against so many? for Roboald and the rest of the servants were rather a hindrance then any assistance. In the end they are taken; Herman being sore hurt, and shot through the side with a bullet. Pyrrhe uses his sword with incredible valour; crying, So strong is the love of a father, that they should pardon his son being innocent, he only being guilty of the death of Philippin. Wounded in divers places, he is rather seized and oppressed by the multitude, then vanquished.  
Scevole having that he desired, makes their wounds be dressed, which were found not mortal. Pyrrhe tells freely all, excusing his son as much as it was possible for him. Roboald is accused as having been an actor, and sees himself bound with his masters, and conducted to the prison of the City. Isabel the Accusatrix is in full liberty: Scevole takes her with him, in taking on him her protection. The process was soon ended, for the guilty confessed their fault, without other rack but their consciences. Roboald, which saw clearly the act, and could not deny it, reputes too late to have trusted this secret to a woman: His marriage-hopes are loaden with a funeral-despair, and his love rewarded with a shameful death. For his two Masters being condemned to lose their heads, after having made an honourable amends publicly to the memory of miserable Andronico and unfortunate Elise; He was condemned to lose his life on the gibbet, seeing himself bound and drawn by the neck rather for a punishment of the folly of his tongue, than the execution of his hands; for he had not lent to Herman in the murder of Philippin more than his presence, being he was shot on the ground ere he had need to give any help to his Master. Thus God, admirable in his judgements, punishes this Traitor by the same treason he designed for his masters; and gives him his end under the ruins of a house of which he intended to be master: like Icarus and Phaeton in the fable, which made their fall more heavy, as their flight had been presumptuons.  
It is not my design to relate the particularities of this Execution, which may make all the world admire the height and depth of the judgements of God, which had permitted that Innocence made guilty suffered a death undeserved, by reasons unknown to humane understanding; and then that investigable truth had brought the guilty to the same place where innocence for their misdeeds had suffered the grief of a shameful pain. The honour of Scevole is seen entirely restituted, the memory of Elise honoured, as also that of Andronico. Scevole returns to the exercise of his charge. Pyrrhe and Herman amidst their sufferings testified so much of repentance and resignation, that all were edified at their end, and praised God, that can so wisely bring all unto their end, drawing from the evil of pain the health of him was hurt, as the theoric of the serpent.  
Isabel sees herself at liberty; but by the confiscation of their goods despoiled of all means to live, and reduced to an extreme misery. And here the piety and pity of Scevole shows itself, that with a courage worthy of his name and truly Christian, having already taken the Children she had by Philippin during the repudiation of Elise, takes also the Mother into his house, promising to use her not as an enemy and one that had been a flaw to his house, but as his own daughter, and to give her a portion as rich and more as her father could have done, in case any occasion did present itself suitable to her condition. Which made Scevole esteemed of all the world, and almost adored by Isabel; who coming to herself, and considering with how many murders she was soiled, her ill life having made void the earth not only of Philippin, but also of innocent Andronico and Elise; and which was more, her unnatural accusation had brought her own father and brother to an ignominious death, that made her, besides her own carriage, infamous for ever: Touched with a just grief and lively repentance, she renounces freely the world, wherein she had known so many miseries, experimented so many outrages, to retire to the tranquil port of Religion, which was into a Monastery of the Repentants, where she's confined; interring alive her beauties under a vail, consecrating her eyes to continual tears, her body to healthful mortifications, her breast to perpetual strokes, her mouth to sighs, her tongue to confession of her faults, and to ask pardon for them of God. There of a falling stone full of scandal, she becomes a stone of edification, making appear the abundance of grace where sin had abounded; there she spent the rest of her time religiously, there she died holily. The mercies of God are pleased to be magnified in the conversion of sinful souls, that fly for refuge to the haven of grace, and assured port of a healthful penitence.  
FINIS.