HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA: Or, LOVES Masterpiece. Being the Ninth, and Tenth Part of that so much Admired ROMANCE, ENTITLED CLEOPATRA.  
Written Originally in French, and now Rendered into English, By J. D.  EVAND. Quid magis optaret Cleopatra, parentibus orta Conspicuis, comiti quam placuisse thori? 
LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moseley at the Prince's Arms in St. Paul's Churchyard, and for John Crook at the Ship in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1659.   

TO THE Most Excellently Accomplished Lady, THE LADY KATHERINE PHILIPS.  
MADAM,  
WHen I consider you a person so much above your Sex, in the command of those Languages, wherein things of this nature have ordinarily their first birth, and consequently, that what is intended for the entertainment of others proves your trouble; a Translation being no less to one that hath read the Original: When I reflect on your curiosity to look into these things before they have hardly taken English air, as it were to prevent the earliest applications of those who labour in this kind: When, in fine, it runs into my thoughts, that what I now bring your Ladyship will happily have the fate to be cast by, with, I have long ●in●e read it in the Original, 'tis but poorly done into English; I must confess myself guilty of a strange suspense of resolution, whether I should venture on this Address or no.  
You see then, Madam, with what deliberation I presume to interrupt your divertisement, when, after all this foreseen and acknowledged, I offer you what is likely to prove your importunity; but I hope you think this confidence the effect of something more than the assistances of my own courage. For, reflecting on your great affection and respects for the excellent CLEOPATRA, your particular inquiries after her welfare and adventures, and the tenderness which makes you wish the misfortunes of so great a Princess were at a period, I can think it but just, that the person, from whom she had, unknown, received those great Civilities, should accordingly be returned the particular acknowledgements thereof. These, Madam, I thought motives strong enough to remove all suspense, and to vindicate the Present I make you proper for your acceptance; but heightened by a reflection on the particular favours I have received from your Ladyship, it may happily have forced me to some excess, as whence it might be inferred this confidence proceeded from a secret encouragement, happily somewhat of esteem you are pleased to have for,  
Madam, Your most humble and most devoted servant JOHN DAVIES.   


HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART IX. LIB. I.  
ARGUMENT.  
THe two Princesses, Cleopatra and Artemisa, compare their Misfortunes, and compassionate and comfort one another. Artemisa, out of her Love to Alexander, and the Desire she had to be acquainted with her future Relations, entreats Cleopatra to give her an account of her Brothers and Sisters. Cleopatra relates the History of Julius Antonius, Antonia and young Ptolemy. Julius Antonius, riding a hunting one day, is thrown by his Horse, and relieved by an unknown Lady, whom he falls passionately in love with. Lucius Scipio is in love with Emilia, the Daughter of Statilius Scaurus. Being a friend of Antonius', he carries him to see his Mistress, where, by a fatal chance, he meets with the unknown Lady, who proves to be Tullia, the Daughter of Cicero. She abhors Antonius, as being the Son of Anthony and Fulvia, who had put Cicero to an ignominious and cruel death. Tullia is courted by Cecinna, with the approbation of her brother Quintus Cicero, who bringing her one day to the Amphitheatre, to see the combats of certain beasts, Antonius hath another sight of her, but is much troubled at her kindness to Cecinna. 〈◊〉 shows him a box; wherein was her own picture, which he going to return her, it slips out of his hands into the Area, where the beasts fought. Antonius, perceaving how much Tullia was troubled at it, out of an extravagance of passion, leaps down into the Area among the beasts, and takes it up: but bringing it to her, out of a confidence she would take that expression of his love with civility, if not with kindness, she, out of the horrid aversion she had for him, would not receive it: whereupon he keeps it, protesting he would never restore it to any hands but her own. Cecinna, meeting him afterwards alone, demands the box of him, which Antonius refusing to deliver him, it begat a duel, wherein Cecinna is killed. Upon which accident, as also at the request of Tullia, that he would not appear in her sight again, Antonius leaves Rome, and is never after heard of.  
CLEOPATRA. The Ninth Part.  
BOOK I.  
THe slumber of the two fair Princesses could not be long, not only because the night was far spent before they fell asleep, but also because the importunate resentment of their misfortune would not permit a rest of any great continuance. They had hardly opened their bright eyes to receive in the light, but they opened them withal to let out tears: and it could hardly be discerned whether came out of their mouths first, or certain broken fighes, or some mournful expressions. The dawning must needs be full of affliction, that was to be delivered of a day so fatal to these two desolate Princesses: for neither could the great courage of Cleopatra, nor the resignation of Artemisa fortify them, so as to entertain with constancy, the first idea that presented itself to their imaginations, of the misery they were to expect. Artemisa, having been awake some few minutes, and bestowed her first reflections on the memory of her Alexander, turns to the Princess Cleopatra, and putting forth her arm to embrace her, she felt her give a little start, and turning from her to the other side with a certain action, wherein she observed no small disturbance; Thinking herself obliged to be as tender of the concernment of that dear Sister of hers, as of her own: she hastily asked her the reason of it; and the fair Daughter of Anthony, ushering in her answer with certain sighs, Sister, said she to her, the affliction I am in does not only disturb my reason, but it is as unmerciful to my senses, and my deluded imagination; having while I slept entertained me with the idea of Coriolanu●, hath brought into my ears, the sound of his very voice, and caused me to hear certain words, which I should be confident could proceed from no other mouth then his: were I not now satisfied, to my confusion, that it is only to my imagination, that I must attribute these deplorable effects of my affliction. Inexorable, and yet unfortunate Princess, (says that known voice) I must then be content to lose you for ever. These few words are all I heard, or, to say better, thought I heard, but the sound, I have some time been so well acquainted with, hath made such an impression in my hearing, that, with all the assistance of my reason, I can hardly be persuaded, that I have not heard the very voice of Coriolanus. 'Twas with that reflection that I started as you felt, and turning to you that I looked wish'dly about me through that remainder of the impression, which my error had left in my thoughts.  
Such was the discourse of Cleopatra, and Artemisa approved her opinion: but it was not long ere she fell into another imagination which might have added very much to her affliction, had she fastened her thoughts on it: for she imagined for some minutes, that Coriolanus, killed in the combat wherein she had left him engaged; it might haply be that his spirit, wand'ring about that which he had some time dearly loved, had entertained her with those passionate words. This reflection found at first some little entertainment in her mind, and might have done abundance of mischief there, had she afforded it any long entertainment: but that being such in her, as was not capable of ordinary weakness, that extravagance was soon dispelled by the light of her reason, and communicated to Artemisa, who gave it more credit than she had done. For the Armenian Princess was easily drawn in, to think the opinion very probable, and soon persuaded, that if it were true, that Cleopatra had heard certain words pronounced by a voice, like that of Coriolanus, 'twas, questionless, the spirit of that unfortunate Prince, dead in the combat, wherein they had left him with little assurance of his safety, that spoke them to the Princess he had so dearly loved while he lived, and whom haply he still loved, even after his death. From the opinion she had conceived of the death of Coriolanus, she derived all the affliction her virtue could give her for a Prince, whose extraordinary endowment deserved a better fate, and the friendship she had for Cleopatra, for a man, who (how angry soever she might seem to be, and how highly soever she might disguise her sentiments) was much dearer to her, than her life. Certain it is, that what sense soever she might have of her own misfortunes, it abated nothing of what she conceived for so great a loss, so that to the tears she shed for her own unhappiness, she added some for the death of Juba's son. But when, reflecting on her fortune, she passed from one consideration to another, and was satisfied that she might mind her own interest with those of others, without any breach either of friendship or generosity, she thought, that, if Coriolanus were, for certain, dead, (an accident she neither could nor would conceive, without an extraordinary affliction) it might occasion no inconsiderable alteration in Cleopatra's condition and her own, and that, it being not impossible, Cleopatra's inclinations might change, when the object of her affections were in the grave, if she could consider the love of the King her Brother, with other eyes than she had done before, and be persuaded by time and necessity to marry him, that Prince, how exasperated soever he might be against Artemisa sand Alexander, would not only pardon them for Cleopatra's sake, but would, no doubt, confirm their marriage, and suffer them to enjoy in quiet what they had sought with so much trouble and danger. To this happiness would be added also that of having Cleopatra, for whom she had a passionate affection, her Sister two several ways: insomuch, that this reflection flattered her into a hope that was not unpleasant. True it is, that she could not raise it to that height, as to reflect on the death of Coriolanus without grief, but rather that she was content to seek out some comfort in her misfortunes, without entrenching so much as to the least wish, upon what she ought the virtue and friendship of Cleopatra. Yet durst she not communicate this reflection to the desolate daughter of Anthony, conceiving, not without reason, that such a Discourse would not be delightful to her: but she felt her resolution growing stronger and stronger by that glimpse of hope, betrayed in her countenance, more settledness and less sorrow, than she had done the day, nay indeed, for some minutes, before.  
This little alteration happened in her thoughts, at the same time that those of Cleopatra met with such another; for that fair Princess, out of motives quite contrary to those of Artemisa, had just then fastened on resolutions worthy the Cleopatra's. She had hardly well fixed on them, but, not able to disguise them either by her countenance or her discourse, she embraced Artemisa, with a gesture less sad than all the precedent; and letting her rend in her eyes part of what passed in her soul, Sister, said she to her, Let us not weep any longer, but rather hope, from the assistance of the Gods and our own Courage, the remedy of our misfortunes; it may be our unhappiness will not be so great as we were afraid it may; and if our hard fates reserve us for what we fear us most insupportable, we shall not want the assistance of our virtue, either to overcome, or to entertain it as we ought. For your part, Sister, I hope it will be no hard matter to pacify the King your Brother, and I think it not impossible, you and Alexander may come togethers and for me, I can easily contemn whatever may happen to me, when I do life itself. Ever since the cruel confidence I have had of the infidelity of Coriolanus, I value it so little that I should not be much troubled to lose it, when ever it shall please my ill fortune to put 〈◊〉 into any such exigency; and if the King your Brother violates the respect due to me, or do any thing that shall make my captivity insufferable to me, I shall free myself by the same courses the Queen my mother took to avoid it; and I have that example so much before my eyes that I were unworthy the name I bear, should I seek for assistance any where else while I have that of my own courage. This resolution once taken, I no longer fear the King of Armenia, and since I hope no more of Coriolanus whether dead or unfaithful, I look on whatever may happen to me in a manner with indifference, and shall entertain it haply with a constancy whereof the very example mayadde much to yours.  
No doubt but Artemisa found some comfort in this discourse of Cleopatra, not that she approved that hope, which the daughter of Anthony grounded only on a contempt of life, but was glad to see her in a quieter posture than she had been in before: and though she had not the confidence to discover to her the reflection that had found her the entertainment of some few minutes, yet was she of a belief that time might so dispose of her as to endure such a discourse, and that in the mean time she might admit a conversation less afflictive than that wherein they had already passed away so many cruel hours. Accordingly, no sooner were these two Princesses resolved to submit to what the uncertainty of fortune might cast upon them, but they seemed to be quite changed from what they were; the current of their tears was dried up, and by degrees they passed to some discourse different from that of their present misfortune. Yet could not Artemisa give over disputing in favour of Coriolanus, and would maintain against Cleopatra, that after the last expressions he had given her of his affection, in his forsaking of his kingdom, the trouble it was to him to wander up and down the earth to find her out, and the late combat he was engaged in before their eyes, against those that would have ravished them, she could not be persuaded he was unfaithful to her. Cleopatra, who would gladly have been induced to believe Coriolanus innocent, opposed what she said with the reasons before alleged, yet so as that through her arguments, might be perceaved part of what Artemisa represented in his favour. But at last this discourse of a person, of whose life there was much uncertainty, adding to her grief, she would needs change it, and put Artemisa upon some other.  
The love which that Princess had for Alexander, made her desirous to know, and willing to hearken to any thing that related to his family, as if she had some concernment therein; and that consisting of divers illustrious persons of both sexes, Artemisa, who had seen only Alexander and Cleopatra, and young Ptolomey, while yet a child, had the curiosity to desire some account of the Sisters and Brothers of her beloved Prince. She had not the time to understand the particularities of their lives and fortunes, (for what she had heard from Alexander, related to the time while they were yet very young, and not what had happened to them since his departure from Rome) but though she would gladly have been informed of all, yet had she a more particular inclination for the Princess Antonia, whom Cleopatra had mentioned very much to her advantage in her own History, and young, Ptolemy, of whom she had heard such beginnings, as gave many occasion to conceive very great hopes of him. Cleopatra satisfied her as to all she desired; but afterwards observing her design was to have a more particular knowledge of them, and thinking it cruelty not to comply with the affection she expressed towards her house: Sister, said she to her, I perceive you are not satisfied with the account I have given you of our house, and if we were in some other place, I had already entertained you with the discourse, you would put me upon, of the fortunes of our nearest relations: but, Sister, the likelihood I am in to engage in a long relation much disconsonant to our present conduit; on, and such as would require such a freedom of spirit as I now have not as to narration, nor you to attention, deters me.  
Ah Sister, says Artemisa, for my part, what misfortune soever I am persecuted with, I cannot want the attention I ought to have for the fortunes of our Brethren; and if you can as well without inconvenience give me a particular account of their lives and affairs, as I should bear it with passion, you would make no difficulty to undertake a relation, that may prove the greatest ease to my afflictions, that haply they are capable of. Not, Sister, that I dare, without blushing, put you to that trouble, and if you thing it ●t that Camilla, or any other of your Women, who haply can satis●e me as to what I would know, supply your place, I should mike le●● difficulty to abuse her patience than yours, and should never ●●elesse receive the satisfaction I desire, Sister, replies Cleopatra, no doubt but Camilla is able to acquaint you with part of what you desire, and would entertain you with adventures, such as must needs be known to the persons that were about us: but she cannot possibly give you an account of some particularities, that haply went no farther than my knowledge, since it was to me more than any one else, that the persons now to be spoken of, communicated their most secret sentiments, and that it was in a manner in my presence, that the greatest part of the things happened. The relation will haply be somewhat long, (though it may not contain any great variety of adventures, and that in all likelihood I shall not be able to leave off when I would) but since I made a shift yesterday to continue that which I had begun, of the History of my own misfortunes, I hope I shall be as able to go through with this, and I shall endeavour all that lies in my power not to omit any thing that may any way satisfy your curiosity. Whereupon Cleopatra, preparing herself for the narration, the two Princesses thought it their best course to lie still a-bed, because it was very betimes in the morning, and bid those that waited on them, to prevent, as much as they could, any from coming to disturb them. Camilla took that charge upon her, and so not long after, the fair Cleopatra having bestowed some few minutes to recall into her memory the things she had to say, began her discourse in these terms.  

THE HISTORY OF JULIUS ANTONIUS, ANTONIA and PTOLOMEY.  
BEfore I give you the account you desire of the adventures of Ptolomey and Antonia, it will not be amiss, Sister, to make mention of an Elder Brother we have had, and whom haply we have yet, though I said little of him in my own History, in regard it is so long time since we have either seen or heard of him, that we have acted hitherto as if there were no such person in the World. His beginning discovered him not to be unworthy the blood of Anthony, and all things in him were great enough to rescue him from the oblivion of his nearest relations. But before I acquaint you with the first beginnings of his life, and the strange accident whereby we lost him, I shall tell you what condition the unfortunate Antony left his family in when he died, though I doubt not but you have heard something of it from Alexander. I am easily persuaded, Sister, you are not to learn how that Anthony left seven children by three wives, by Fulvia, who was the first, Antillus, and Julius Antonius, by Octavia, Caesar's Sister, the two Princesses, Agrippina and Antonia; and by Queen Cleopatra, Alexander, Ptolomey, and myself. For the two daughters by Octavia, and for us, the issue of Cleopatra, we all had our education together, in the house of that Virtuous Princess, with all the civilities and kindnesses that could be expected from a most affectionate mother; and as to the two children of Fulvia, Antillus was killed not long after the death of our Father, by Caesar's Soldiers, (his fate having proved not unlike that of our Brother Caesarion, whose first eruptions, and the great inclinations he discovered, raised some jealousy of him in Augustus, who for that reason took away his life) and Julius Antonius was provided for as we were by the indulgent Octavia, and not long after possessed of the house of Fulvia, and all the estate belonging thereto, with an addition of somewhat out of Anthony's. To be short, his condition was such, that he needed not envy the fortunes of any Roman whatsoever, and though he had not those Kingdoms at his disposal, which had been at his Fathers, yet did he keep up our house in the greatest lustre it ever was in before the death of Julius Caesar, and before Anthony and Augustus made themselves Masters of the Empire. He was elder than Alexander and myself by seven or eight years, insomuch, that within a short time after our misfortune, and while we were yet brought up as children by Octavia, he was numbered among the young Princes that pretended to employments and opportunities of acquiring fame. He was certainly born to all the noblest and greatest endowments, and though he were not so fair as Alexander, yet had he a high and majestic look, was of a proper stature, and wanted not any of those advantages, either of body or mind, which could rationally be wished in him. With this, his inclinations were absolutely noble, he was wholly disposed to the acquisition of virtue, and an earnest suitor to those opportunities which lead a man to glory. We cannot indeed complain, but that he expressed as great affection towards us, as we could expect from a Brother, and him a virtuous one: but in regard we were of several ventures, lived in several houses, nay, that ours was in some sort divided between him and us, and that even among the kindred of Fulvia, there was no small aversion for the name of Cleopatra; certain it is, that our familiarity was so much the less with him, and that he concerned himself less in our Affairs, then if our family had not been disunited, which is the reason that you have had so little mention made of him in the first beginnings of the life of Alexander and mine. Whence yet I would not have it thought, as I told you, that we can reproach Julius Antonius with any backwardness to do all the civilities and good offices we could expect from his friendship; but that when any great emergencies intervened, he was no longer among us; and it is upon that account that I have been destitute of his assistances in all those occasions which the love of Coriolanus hath furnished me with, to make use of them, & of which I have already made you a relation.  
You have, I question not, understood, from Alexander, as also from me, all the particularities of our younger years; but to give you an account of Julius Antonius, I am to tell you, that after he had attained perfection in all those exercises, that are proper to persons of his birth, he was no sooner arrived to an age fit to bear arms, but he sought out the wars with much earnestness, and engaging himself in the armies of Dalmatia, Pannonia, as also that which Marcus Crassus conducted against the Basternae, and having gone through all employments and charges suitable to his age, with all the good success imaginable, he acquired a noble fame, and gave the World ground to conceive as glorious hopes of him as of any other whatsoever. Being, after several years spent in travel, returned to Rome, he settled there, and was honoured by all, nay wanted not from Caesar himself more than ordinary expressions of esteem and affection. He was at first established at the Court among persons of the highest rank, so far, that only Marcellus, and the children of Livia, particularly favoured by Caesar, seemed, by reason of the advantage of their fortune, to aim at higher pretences. His expense was noble and magnificent, his disposition inclined to do civilities and to oblige, and his whole deportment, such as all the World approved, and were satisfied with. Accordingly, he soon got him a great number of friends, and, those only excepted, whom the divisions of Rome, and the distractions of the Triumvirate had made irreconcilable enemies to our house, there were very few of the Roman Nobility, who had not a particular esteem for him, and courted not his friendship. When he went to Augustus' Palace, he was attended by a gallant retinue of young Gentlemen. In all public shows, and all Assemblies that met either at the Empresses, or at the young Princess Julia's, he always had the general acclamations, and it was already the ordinary talk in Rome, that, if Fortune were any thing favourable to him, he would raise the house of Anthony to the height of lustre it had been in some few years before. But it was not the pleasure of the gods, he should continue long in that condition, and the quiet that he himself lost after a very strange manner, proved the occasion of our losing of him, to our no small grief. Now, Sister, shall you hear something which you will haply be astonished at, as to the parallel you will find there is between the fate of Alexander and that of Antonius; whence you will haply imagine, that Fortune treating them as Brothers, would needs have some conformity between their adventures.  
Among those exercises of the body he was most addicted to, Antonius was the greatest lover of hunting, and used it very often. To that end being gone a day's journey from Rome on the Tusculum side, where the Country is very pleasant, and very fit for that kind of divertisement, he passed away certain days there, with abundance of satisfaction. The last of those he intended, to bestow on that exercise, being, as he was hunting a Stag, forced to cross certain woods in the pursuit, he came into a very pleasant valley, where putting on his Horse very negligently down a little descent, and along the slippery grass, he stumbled, but so of a sudden, that he could not get his feet out of the stirrups, nor prevent the horse from falling upon him so violently, that having knocked his head against the root of a tree, he was not only senseless for the time, but received also a very considerable wound. A further misfortune was, that none of his fellow-huntsmen being mounted comparably to him, or having taken other ways, there was not any one of his people near him, to afford him any assistance in that condition, so that he lay grovelling on the ground, senseless, losing blood; and being much in need of help, when certain persons that passed by in a Chariot, in a way not far off, drew nearer, and came out of the Chariot to relieve him. They were in number three, and they women, without any man with them, but he that drove the Chariot, and certain slaves that followed it. She of the women that seemed to be of the greatest quality, perceaving my Brother to be in the sad condition I told you of, was extremely troubled for him, and concluding otherwise by his countenance, and the sumptuousness of his clothes, (though he had only a riding-suit on) that he was of no mean condition, she seemed very much inclined to do him all the good she could. She first looked on the wound in his head, which she found not to be very dangerous, yet did she not think it amiss to put some linen to it, which she tore off the clothes of her maids.  
While she was thus employed, Antonius, whose greatest hurt proceeded from the senselessenesse he had been in, comes to himself, and opening his eyes, saw that he was under the hands of those fair and officious Surgeonnesses. He was not a little astonished at the adventure, and though he were in some doubt of the truth, nay, remembered that he had seen the Chariot as he came into the Valley, yet could he neither forbear being surprised at the first, nor afterwards divert the amazement with the sight of so beautiful a person, as she that stood by him, put him into. He cast his eyes upon her, yet without speaking, and viewed her all over several times, in such a manner, as easily betrayed his admiration. He had indeed some reason to look on her with a particular attention, for there was both in her countenance and her person, what might very well fasten the eye, and fetter the imagination. Her stature was of the noblest, and her deportment discovered a certain grace that was wholly particular. All the features of her face were regularly well drawn, her mouth extremely handsome, her hair of the fairest slaxen that could be, and her eyes were animated by something so sparkling, and with all so passionate, that, among the greatest Beauties the earth affords, there is not haply any one so fit to produce a sudden effect, and to imprint something of passion in a soul capable thereof. In fine, whether she were truly such, or that the inclinations of Antonius represented her as such, she seemed to him a very Admirable Person, and he looked on her a long time with a certain astonishment, without so much as being able to open his mouth to acknowledge the good office she had done him. But at last he absolutely recovers himself as well of his surprise, as the senselessenesse occasioned by his fall; and conceaving himself to be in a very undecent posture, before a person he thought worthy all possible respects, he would needs rise up, but he could not do it without some difficulty, as having his leg a little crushed by the horse that had fallen upon it; insomuch, that when he was got up, being not well able to stand, he was forced to lean against a tree, where, minding not so much the pain he felt, as the noble adventure he had met with, he at last broke forth, and looking on that fair Lady, with an action that already spoke something that argued abundance of passion, I know not, said he to her, fair, or rather, divine, Lady, what acknowledgements I ought to return your Goodness, for words will be but weak expressions thereof, if you do me not an absolute favour, by affording me some occasion to return you part of what I owe you. The assistance you have received from me, replies that excellent person, with such an accent as discovered something full of charm, is no more than what we are obliged to do to all those that stand so much in need thereof as you did, and particularly to those, who, as you, carry about them what distinguishes them from the ordinary rate of men. Your present condition is not, as far as I can judge, very good, and therefore if you please to make use of my Chariot, I will bring you to a place, where you may receive the helps you stand in need of, better than you can here. These words came from her (as Antonius hath related since) with so much kindness, insinuation and majesty, that he was infinitely taken with it, and felt at that instant, the sudden quickening of a passion, which till then could never get entrance into his soul; insomuch that he began to consider her again with a gesture that expressed part of what he felt, and thinking it a dishonour not to return some answer to so obliging a Proffer. I have not been able, said he to her, to resist the effects of your goodness, nor prevent your hands from taking the pains they have, because I was in a condition that allowed me not the knowledge of your favours; but how precious soever I ought to account them, I shall not presume so far upon you as to abuse them, but be content to preserve, till death deprive me of it, the glorious remembrance of those I have received, without desiring any other of you, which, being troublesome to you, might too much betray my incivility.  
Thus did he endeavour to put off the civility of the Unknown Lady, wherewith yet he was at last willing to comply, out of the violent inclination he had to follow her: but just upon this comes in some of his people, and seeming to be not a little frighted at that adventure, they came about their Master, viewing him all over with much earnestness, and holding him up under the arms to help him to walk. Antonius began to feel within him a wound, which took up his thoughts more than the hurt of his body, and so was desirous, with the assistance of his men, to get near that fair Lady, who was gone some few paces form him: but at the same time one of her Maids, having before spoken to one of Antonius his men, comes to her, and whispers something in her ear. She had no sooner heard what she said, but her colour changed. She seemed to be extremely at a loss; insomuch, that turning her back on the Prince, after she had called her slaves to her, she went to her Chariot, got into it, commanded it should be made fast, and to make all haste thence. Antonius, more surprised at this accident than he had been at the former, it raised in him a certain vexation and astonishment, so that being still between his people, he lift up his voice, the better to be heard by that fair Lady: How, Madam, said he to her, do you forsake me ere you afford me the time to return you my thanks? I forgive them you, replied she a little smartly, and you stand no longer in need of my assistance. The Prince was not able to master himself in the agitations, which so unexpected a separation caused in him, insomuch, that his impatience was such that he spoke then what he would not haply have the confidence to speak in a long time, had he been in another condition. Ah Madam, cried he, the pain I endure, is much greater than you imagine, and the wound you have seen is very slight in comparison of that which you have given me. Alas, continued he, seeing her departing, and following her with his eyes, while she made all the hast she could away, must I lose you so suddenly, and with so much cruelty, without knowing either the cause of your departure, or my unhappiness? What have I done? What have I attempted? Or what have I so much as thought, that should in a moment work a change in those officious inclinations? Have you perceaved in my heart the creation of your own eyes there? Or have you discovered therein any thing so injurious to yourself, as to arm, in an instant, with so much disdain, a mind wherein I had found so much goodness, and so much humanity? These words he scattered into the air, while the Chariot drove on with all speed, till that, not long after getting into a Wood, he quite lost the sight of it.  
Antonius, over-pressed with affliction, sat him down on the grass, whereupon reflecting on his adventure, he found so much matter to grieve at, that it was with much ado that he admitted any the least mitigation thereof. He was ignorant what motive could induce a person so officious, and one that had made proffers to him so full of obligation, after she had assisted him with her own hands, to exchange so much indulgence into so much disain; nay, he was to seek who that fair, good-natured, and scornful person was, from whom he had received so much good, and so much hurt; and what completed his affliction, was, that he could not inform himself from any of his own people, who ingeniously confessed they had not the curiosity to inquire, though one of her Maids had come to them and learned his name, which it seems they made no difficulty to tell her. Antonius' blamed them a hundred times for their stupidity, though they alleged by way of excuse, that the disturbance which his fall had put them into, so took up their thoughts, that they could reflect on nothing else. Being therefore desirous to do all that lay in his power to learn out the name of a person, whose idea was but too well engraven in his heart, he commanded one of his men to get on horseback immediately, and ride after the tracks of the Chariot, and without fail to find out some means or other to know the truth, and to come and give him an account of it at a house of Servilius', which he named to him, that lay about two hours riding from that place, and upon the way to Rome. Having given him this order, he, with the assistance of those that were about him, got on horseback, and though it was with some difficultity that he sat, yet he made a shift to ride on easily towards Cervilius' house.  
It were a hard task for me to represent to you the different reflections that exercised his thoughts all the way he road; but certain it is, as he hath himself acknowledged since, that though he felt no small pain in his body, yet he never so much as minded it; and that he had so deeply graven in his heart the idea of a person, one while kind and obliging, and another, cruel and disdainful, and yet both in her mildness, and in her scorn ever fair, and ever full of charm, that he was not one minute without it. What a fantastic adventure is this of mine? said he, and what arms does Fortune intend to take up against me? Ought I to see that accomplished person in a condition, wherein her good offices had begun, what her fair eyes have completed? or could my soul, prevented by the obligation, be insensible as to beauty? But when I had seen her, when I was obliged to her for her assistance, when her beauty had inflamed me with love, must I lose her after so strange a manner, contrary to all probability, contrary to all rational order? and, what I think yet much more insupportable, see her depart disdainful, incensed and exasperated, from a place, where some few minutes before she had appeared with so much goodness? By what action have I incurred her displeasure? or what could she discover in my person, which should oblige her so of a sudden, to exchange her first sentiments, for such as were absolutely opposite thereto? Or is it possible she may have truly read in my eyes the love which I already feel for her, or could she look on that unexpected influence of her beauty, as an injury worthy her indignation, and this deportment of hers towards me?  
Having thus for some time spent his thoughts on that part of his adventure, and passing to the other; But is it possible, added he, I should commend, or be dissatisfyed with any one, and not know whom I either commend, or am dissatisfied with, and shall I be long ignorant whom I ought to return my thanks to, for the assistance I have received, or whom I ought to complain of, for the wound hath been given me? For in fine, I feel, and that not without some confusion, that I am really in love. 'tis from the blood of Mark-Anthony, who lived and died the most amorous of mankind, that I derive these ambrous inclinations, for had I not been born of him, the charms of that Unknown Beauty had not produced so unexpected an effect.  
Amidst these reflections he comes to the house of Servilius, who chanced at that time to be there himself, and who having understood the accident had happened to him, caused him to be put into a bed, and to be attended with as much care and affection as might be. The hurt he had gotten by his fall was not so considerable, insomuch, that before he left Servilius' house, which was about two or three days after, he had very well recovered himself: but that which troubled him most, was, that he could not learn any thing of what he desired from the person he had fent after the Chariot, who had brought him no other account, then that having lost the tract of it in the sand, he had never been able to recover it again; and that, notwithstanding all the enquiry he had made up and down the Villages thereabouts, yet could he not meet with any tidings of it. So that my Brother, being still as ignorant as he had been before, after he had described the place as well as he could to Servilius, and given him all the marks whereby he might possibly know it, could not meet with any satisfaction at all, though Servilius, the more to humour him, had sent for several other persons, and had very diligently enquired of all the Ladies that might have any habitation near the place where the accident had happened.  
Antonius having taken a great deal of pains in this business to no purpose, returns to Rome with as much melancholy, and haply with as much love as ever man could be capable of. He dissembled the cause of his affliction, as thinking it not fit to discover it, but to some few persons, that were his very intimate friends, who were not a little astonished at the adventure, and assisted him what lay in their power, to find out the name of the person, whose image he had so deeply imprinted in his heart. Agrippa, to whom he had made a relation of this story, and who was his very particular friend, had some discourse with him of it, when ever they met together, and assisted him what he could, (though as ineffectually as others) in the inquisition he was so much bend upon. His melancholy was remarkable, and obvious to all the World: insomuch that those who knew him to be naturally of a cheerful disposition, could not conceive upon what grounds his humour was so changed of a sudden. It being about six or seven years since what I relate to you happened, Alexander and I were too young to be admitted of his Privy Council, so that it is since that I came to the knowledge of these particularities.  
In the mean time Antonius, as to point of magnificence, lived much after the rate he was wont to do. He went daily to the Emperor's Court, who had a very great esteem and affection for him; and whereas the generous Octavia, his Sister, with whom we were; notwithstanding the ill treatment she might have received from our Father, had nevertheless very great respects for his memory, she was as earnest for the advancement of those children that he had had by his other Wives, as she could have been for that of her own, and that merely out of the excess of virtue that was in her. Thence was it that she had a design to marry Antonius to one of the Daughters she had had by Marcellus her former Husband, and who were brought up with us, without any distinction, as if we had been really Sisters: as conceaving that she could not better dispose of her Daughters then to bestow them on the Sons of her Husband, or rather, that she could not do any thing more contributory to the advantage of the Son of Anthony then, by making him her Son in law, to make him Caesar's Nephew, who was able to raise his fortunes to the highest pitch of greatness. It was indeed an admirable expression of the indulgence of Octavia, in regard that by way of addition to the merit of their person, which yet is extraordinary, her Daughters, whether we consider their birth or their fortunes, were such as there were no men in the World, who would not have been proud to serve them, upon the least appearance of any such pretention; nay, it might haply be affirmed, that Julia only excepted, they were the best Matches in the World.  
You may well imagine that Antonius being acquainted with that goodness of Octavia towards him, entertained it with all manner of acknowledgement and respect; but by reason of the misfortune whereby he was a little disordered, he received it not with any great joy, but found it no small difficulty to disguise his resentments as he was obliged to do. His love was not haply raised to that violence which it might have arrived to, by a further knowledge of the person beloved; yet was it strong enough to maintain the Garrison of his soul against the assaults and eruptions of another passion, and to satisfy him, though not without an extraordinary affliction, that, of necessity, he must either prove ungrateful towards Octavia, and oppose the advantages were intended him, or resolve to do a thing, which, how advantageous soever it were, could not appear to be such, nay, not indeed supportable to his prepossessed imagination. But it being withal certain, that he was a person of very great endowments, and a noble education, he neglected not to do what he thought requisite, to express his acknowledgements to Augustus' Sister, and forced his inclinations so far, as to do all those devoirs and civilities, which he thought might be expected from him by the Princess Marcelia, so was called the elder of the Daughters of Octavia by Marcellus her former Husband. 'twas indeed with abundance of prudence and discretion, that he overcame the violence he did himself in that particular; but it was withal easy to observe, that he made it not his business to assure himself of that good fortune so much as in all appearance he should have done; or rather that he suffered those that were employed about it, to bestir themselves, he doing little or nothing contributory thereto. Those who made this observation were very much astonished at the dis-activity he expressed in an affair of such concernment to him, and instead of imagining the true cause, were persuaded that his indifference or backwardness proceeded from the little inclination he naturally had to marriage in general, against which he had been often heard to speak, and for which it was known he really had some aversion.  
But when he had done all he thought himself obliged to by way of sacrisice to that violence he had done his inclinations, and had some hours freely to dispose of, his discourse ran upon his misfortune, and his entertainment was of the strange posture of his spirit, and the odd effects of his adventure. He did indeed endeavour all he could, to force out of his thoughts the inevitable Idea which would have a place there, whether he would or no, and was so prejudicial to his quiet and his establishment. Nay I know he did all that lay in his power, to get it thence, and it may be his endeavours had, with the assistance of time and his reason, proved effectual, if he had not afterwards met with something, that instead of contributing to his recovery, confirmed him in his passion.  
Among those friends whom he accounted his most intimate and familiar, Lucius Scipio, of the illustrious house of the famous Scipio's, whose glory hath filled the universe, was the chiefest. He was a person not unworthy the name he bore, as being one, that while he was yet very young, the hope generally conceived of him, was, that he would not degenerate from his Ancestors. He had a violent passion for Emilia, the Daughter of Statilius Scaurus, and, being very free and open to Antonius, he had given him a faithful account of the progress of his love, and had carried him along with him to Emilia. But this affection of his being of no long standing; Antonius' acquaintance at that house was not very great, besides that it was haply the less, by reason it had been contrary to our Father's party; nay I think he had accompanied Scipio but once thither. It is situated upon the Tiber, and the Garden, which is one of the fairest about Rome, reaching down to the River side, which is kept off by a Terrace with Pilasters, very magnificent, and very commodious for walking. It being the fairest season of the year, Emilia came●down thither everynight to take the fresh-air, and Scipio, out of a certain piece of gallantery, very ordinary in Rome, taking a little boat, and driving along the River to Scaurus' Garden, had often seen Emilia upon the Terrace, and, without quitting the boat, had had in that manner several conversations with her. And whereas the design he had upon the Lady, was approved by his friends, no body took any offence at, or censured his so doing; for since the house was always open to him, the conversation of the Garden was not forbidden him.  
But meeting one evening with Antonius at Octavia's, he invited him to that divertisement, and that he did the more freely, in regard he did not conceal any thing from him of his amorous adventures. The melancholy Antonius was content to accompany his friend to that walk, and being gotten into the boat with him, they went down the River towards Emilia's Garden. Antonius, out of a confidence not inferior to that of Scipio towards him, had discovered his mind to him, and had fully acquainted him with that fatal adventure, whereby he came to fall in love with that Unknown Beauty, and which had changed his natural cheerfulness into so much cloudynesse and melancholy. Scipio had taken abundance of pains to get him the acquaintance of that Excellent Person, but his endeavours had proved as fruitless as those of other people. Now this consideration being the ordinary employment of Antonius' thoughts, it proved also the subject of his discourse with Scipio in the boat, and they talked of the consequences of that accident, till they came in sight of the place where Emilia was wont to walk. It being as fair and pleasant an evening as could be wished, Emilia failed not to be walking upon the Terrace; where Scipio and Antonius had no sooner discovered her, but they could perceive another Lady walking with her. The Waves of the Tiber did continually wash the wall of the Terrace, so that Scipio could cause the boat to be brought as near it as he pleased, and the Terrace being of no great height, he could discourse with Emilia, and not speak any louder than ordinary, and discern all objects with ease, at a certain distance, which was not very great. As they drew near, Scipio, who knew not the Lady that was with Emilia, would have asked Antonius whether he had any acquaintance with her: and Antonius, whose thoughts were otherwise taken up, and had not so much as looked towards her, thought to have a fuller sight of her when the boat was come so near as that he might easily discern her. But, at the same instant, she, not desirous it seems to be known, le's fall her vail over her face, and deprived them of the sight of it; yet not so suddenly, but that the prepossessed Antonius could perceive some few rays of the same Beauty which he had so well engraven in his memory. This confused and imperfect glimpse put him into such a disturbance, that he was no further concerned in the first interview between Scipio and Emilia, than a submissive salute to Emilia and her Companion amounted to, on the latter whereof his eyes were so much the more fastened, out of that suspicion that raised no small tempest in his heart. At last he dispersed that cloud which he thought his mind overspread with so unseasonably, and with so little ground, and engaging himself in the conversation that was between Emilia and her Friend, he confirmed her by his discourse, in the good opinion she had conceived of him. Emilia's Companion seemed not at all concerned in their discourse, though she were still in place, and it being her design not to discover herself, she accordingly was resolved not to speak at all. But Scipio having a particular curiosity to be acquainted with his Mistresses' Friends of her own Sex, addressing his speech to her: Since you are a Friend of Emilia's, said he to her, can you have so much cruelty as to conceal yourself any longer from those persons, who, of all the World, have the greatest honour that may be for whatever is dear to Emilia? The Lady, who thought herself obliged not to be altogether wanting in point of civility towards a person of so much worth as Scipio, especially one she knew to be much in the affections of her friend; or rather out of an imagination, that the accent of her voice would not be discovered by a person, with whom she had not exchanged above three or four words in her life, would needs put herself to the hazard of making him some answer. Seeing him therefore in a great expectation of it; Though I am a friend of Emilia's, said she to him, yet am I not any of those you have seen about her before, and, for my face, it is so little known in Rome, that you would be never the more satisfied, though you had your full sight of it.  
Those few words were all they could get from her, but there needed no more to discover her to my Brother, and the accent of that voice came so full into his memory, that at the first syllables she uttered, he knew her again as perfectly as if he had spent his whole life with her, and to the knowledge of her voice, adding the great trouble she was in to conceal herself, and the little glimpse he had had of her face when she covered, he was absolutely satisfied she was the same person, that, in so few minutes, had raised such a combustion in his soul. Whence it came that he was at such a loss at the rencontre, that he continued in suspense for some minutes, between astonishment and joy; but at last, not able to master his first resentments, which absolutely betrayed him to the mercy of his passion, and crying out with an action full of transportation; Ah Madam, said he to her, though, you are unknown to Scipio, you are not to Antonius, and the fatal assistance you once afforded him, hath left an impression of you too deeply graven in his heart ever to mistake you; however you may be pleased to conceal yourself from him. 'tis you that a grateful inclination, and a soul overflown with the tenderest passion seeks every where; and it is you alone for whose sake I contemn all the Roman Beauties, nay, whatever the earth affords besides.  
He had said more, his passion it seems suggesting such words as he could not forbear uttering, when that cruel Beauty desirous to avoid all further discourse with him, whispered something to Emilia, and taking her by the arm, drew her along with her, hardly affording her the leisure of a few words to excuse herself to Antonius and Scipio, so that she was forced to leave them, to conduct her friend, who pretended to be indisposed. If Antonius was surprised at this unexpected meeting with his Unknown Mistress, he was no less at her hasty departure; and if the one had raised a certain joy in him, the other caused in him an equal affliction, as being not able, without an excessive grief, to imagine that that very person, to whose service he had devoted himself with so violent a passion, should have conceived, for him, an aversion great as the love he had for her. He would have run after her, had it been in a place where he might have done it, but that satisfaction being not allowed him, he pursued her with his eyes as long as he could, and being in the boat he held his arms across, the ordinary posture of a man in a confusion; or, to say better, at an absolute loss. O ye gods, cried he at last, after he continued some time in that condition, what fortune do you intent me, and with what new kind of misfortune is Heaven resolved to persecute me! This he seconded with a many other exclamations, which it were hard for me, and withal to no purpose, to repeat to you: but at last having fixed on some resolution, he turned to his friend, who was in a manner as much astonished at this adventure as himself, and looking on him with an action absolutely passionate; Dear Friend, said he to him, you are sensible of my present condition, and, I doubt not, are much at a loss to see the strangeness of my fate. ay, by an unexpected accident, light upon what I seek I know not where, and what I love, though it be unknown to me, and yet from this rencontre I derive no other knowledge then that of my own inevitable misfortune, since I cannot but apprehend, to my confusion, that I am no less hated than I am myself amorous, and that this cruel Unknown Beauty abhors me so far, that to avoid me, she forgets all Courtship and ordinary civility: It must needs be, that Nature hath put something that is odious in my person, that should cause so sudden and so strange an antipathy between us, since I am confident it cannot proceed from any of my actions.  
Hereupon he sat still for some minutes, while Scipio, no less surprised than he, could not find any thing to say to him upon that adventure: so that reassuming the discourse: If you have any affection or respects for me, said he to him, as I ought not to question but you have, you may do me a good office which I should gladly return you in such an emergency. My cruel Unknown Mistress is now at Emilia's, she may not haply stay there an hour; and if I let slip this opportunity of knowing her, I shall not haply recover it while I live again, it being not to be doubted but that, when she leaves Emilia, she will oblige her to conceal from me what she would have me ignorant of. When Emilia left us to follow her, she forbade us not to come to her house, and consequently without any fear of displeasing her, you may bring me to that part of the house where she lodges, where you have free admittance, and where we shall find her yet, provided we afford her not the time to be gone: so I shall see her through your means, I shall make acquaintance with her if I can, and shall endeavour to learn the cause of this violent aversion. As you respect the gods, Friend, deny me not this assistance, which you may not haply have the opportunity to afford me while you live again, in an exigency wherein my quiet is so much concerned.  
He would have added other entreaties, when Scipio, who had abundance of affection for him, not suffering him to proceed: There is no necessity, said he to him, to use so much solicitation to work out a quiet which is as dear to me as my own, let us go to Emilia's , since you desire it; and let us hope, that, in case she take any displeasure at this action, she may pardon it out of a consideration of our friendship. Having taken this resolution, they caused the boat to put off, and being brought as near as they could come to the street, wherein was the great gate of Scaurus' house, they went about, and soon got thither. Scipio being much acquainted in the house, went strait to that part where Emilia had her lodgings, where those of the house were wont to see him almost every day; and, as fortune would have it, they were no sooner come into her Chamber, but they presently perceaved Emilia and her Companion; who, standing near a window, with their backs turned to it, were fallen, as they inferred from their gesture, into a very serious discourse. Antonius immediately knew the beloved countenance of the cruel one that so much avoided him, and the fresh flames, which at that moment found a passage quite into his heart, heightened the fatal fire that was already kindled in his soul. He went towards her very amazedly; but she immediately perceaving it, to avoid him, as one would do, that they think most abominable, hastily leaves Emilia, and runs into a closet, that lay hard by whereof the door was open. It happened, that either by accident, or by reason of the fright she was put into, she forgot to shut it; so that Antonius, whom the sudden transport of his passion had deprived of part of his discretion, and smothered the respect he ought Emila, followed her into the closet, and seeing her sat on a chair, runs to her with such precipitation, that he was at her feet, and held her fast by the knees, in a manner before she had had the time to perceive what he did. This beautiful enemy of Antonius, being neither able to get away from him, nor yet to endure his presence, whose importunate pursuit very much inflamed her indignation, spent some few minutes in considering what resolution she should take, discovering in her countenance the marks of an extraordinary agitation. At last she thought fit to speak first, and endeavouring to force my Brother from her knees, with an action, which though it expressed her sufficiently incensed against him, yet made her not seem the less amiable. Upon what account is it, said she to him, that thou darest thus violate the respect due to my sex and my birth, and by what action is it that I have deserved to be exposed to thy unmerciful persecution? Is it not enough that thou hast received from me an assistance which I was not obliged to afford my enemy? Or wilt thou in requital force me once more to quit Rome to avoid what is to me, of all the earth contains, most abominable? These words pronounced with a shrill voice, and after a manner absolutely imperious, struck Antonius like a Thunderclap, and put him for a while to such a loss of spirits, that he knew not what to say. At last, rallying all the courage and resolution he had about him to stand out this encounter. Adorable enemy, said he to her, whom I do adore, though, I do not know, and to whom I am odious, yet am to learn the reason why, mistake not for a persecution, or any want of respect for your Divine Beauties, those effects that proceed from a cause absolutely contrary. No, these are the expressions of my gratitude, and a passion full of veneration and respect, which I fatally conceived for you, at the very moment I became obliged to you for your assistance. Then it was that I became yours, much out of a consideration of the assistance you afforded me, but infinitely more through the violent impression which your celestial beauties made of a sudden in my heart, which thereupon absolutely yielded to be yours without the least resistance. I have tenderly, nay indeed but too too tenderly for my own quiet, preserved the memory of the obligation you put upon me, and the glorious wound I received; and therefore you ought to be the less offended, if I am at some pains to find out the opportunities both to acknowledge your goodness, and to see again those fair eyes that had hurt me. If my eyes have done you any hurt, replies the Unknown Beauty somewhat angrily, they have done me such an injury as I shall never be able to pardon them: and if what you say be true, you will find yourself very unfortunate in your address to a person, who cannot, otherwise then by hatred and aversion, make any return to your affection. I am indeed easily persuaded, replies the amazed Antonius, that I deserve this cruel aversion by reason of some defects in my person, since I am confident I could never have merited it by any action, or thought I have ever been guilty of. I see then, replied she much displeased with him, that I am still unknown to you, and, were you not ignorant whom you speak to, I am confident you would not speak to me at all. Certain it is, said he to her, with a very submissive gesture, that I am to learn whom I speak to, and whom I have bestowed myself on, unless there be no more requisite to know you, then to have well observed the divine qualities of your admirable person: all the endeavours I have used to gain a more particular knowledge of you, have proved ineffectual, so that I am now at a loss what I ought to learn, or what I ought to desire, since the knowledge of your person is of no less concernment to me then that of your aversion. You shall know both together, replies the Unknown Beauty, and you will be no longer to seek why I eat you, when I have told you that I am Daughter to Cicero, and you remember, that you are Son to Anthony and Fulvia, his Executioners. With these words she goes out of the Closet into Emilia's Chamber, and out of that into another, where she locked up herself for fear of further pursuit.  
But indeed there was no necessity she should take all that pains, for he, whose pursuit she was so much afraid of, was at such a loss, and so surprised at the discovery she had made to him of her self, that he hardly knew where he was. Not that, from his understanding that she whom he loved was Cicero's Daughter, he felt any diminution in his love, nor yet that being his Daughter, she appeared less amiable; but that all the hopes he might have conceived vanished away in an instant. And when it came into his mind, not only that Anthony had caused Cicero to be put to death, but also that Fulvia, his Mother, had caused his head and his hands to be fastened to the Rostra, where he used to make his Orations, and had committed a thousand cruel indignities on the relics of that great person, whose memory was so precious among the Romans, he had no more to say for himself, and could not blame his Daughter for the horror she had conceived against the Son of Anthony and Fulvia. For, though indeed divers persons had lost their lives, during the proscriptions of the Triumvirate, which yet occasioned not eternal enmities between families, yet it is certain that in the death of Cicero, there had been some circumstances so cruel, and Fulvia, naturally inclined to blood, had used him with so much inhumanity, even after death, that my Brother, whose memory was of a sudden burdened with all those things, and whose inclinations were absolutely virtuous, could not think on them without horror, Woe is me, cried he at last, rising up from the place where he had continued all this while, and turning to Scipio and Emilia, who had been witnesses of all that was passed, the Daughter of Cicero, hath indeed reason to avoid the Son of Fulvia; but the son of Fulvia hath not his own destiny at his disposal, and cannot forbear loving, whiles he lives, the Daughter of Cicero.  
With these words he, at the entreaty of Emilia, sat down, and lay under such a dark cloud of affliction, that for a good while he was not fit for any conversation. During that time, he understood from Emilia, without any desire of his to be informed, that Tullia was a near Kinswoman of hers, and that her Mother Terentia was of the family of the Scauruses, that the beauty and excellent endowments of that young Lady had made no great noise in Rome, and that her person had not been known there so much as in all probability it ought to have been; by reason that while she was yet very young, and that during the time the house lay under disgrace, her Mother had carried her to a Countryhouse near Tusculum, where she had spent her life in solitude, without ever returning to Rome; and that haply she had not come thither so soon, if, upon occasion of her Mother's death, which happened not long before, her Brother Quintus Cicero, who lived at Rome after a very noble and high rate, and had been nominated Proconsul in some part of afric, had not some few days since sent for her. Emilia further acquainted Antonius and Scipio, that Tullia, besides the perfections of her body, had a many admirable endowments, that she had cultivated an excellent disposition with an excellent education, and that, during the time of her solitude, being addicted to the study of the nobler kind of Sciences, she was grown perfect therein; that she discovered abundance of courage and virtue, that she was not subject to the weakness of our Sex; and that she was of a conversation infinitely pleasant, when she was among persons to whom she was pleased to communicate herself.  
To these Emilia added a many other things in commendation of Tullia, whereof the effect was, that they made the wound of the unfortunate Antonius wider than it was, and disarmed him of all the forces he had to oppose a passion, wherein he expected not to find any satisfaction. Scipio was extremely troubled at it, through those sentiments which friendship inspired him with; and Emilia, who had that esteem for his virtue, as all others had that were acquainted with it, had an extraordinary compassion for his misfortune, and would have been very glad to find out any means to comfort and assist him. But knowing Tullia to be a person constant and unchangeable in her resolution, especially in those, wherein she thought her honour concerned, and that from what she already knew, she foresaw that the passionate Antonius would find but little satisfaction in his love, she endeavoured to divert his thoughts from it, with the best arguments she could make against it, and forbore not to tell him whatever she imagined might put him into some doubt of the success, and fear of her friend's humour. My Brother heard her with abundance of patience, and great expression of the resentment he had of her goodness in concerning herself so much in his misfortune: but when all was done, he protested to her, that it was impossible for him to make any advantage of her good advice, and that that unfortunate passion was grown so predominant in his soul, that he was out of all hopes ever to see himself free from it, what course soever he might take. Scipio added his remonstrances to those of Emilia, and knowing, that, besides the difficulties, which his friend might well fear in respect of Tullia, he was in the ready way, by a fruitless love, to ruin his fortunes which seemed absolutely to court him in the design which Augustus had to marry him to one of his Nieces, he represented to him whatever his friendship could suggest that were most rational, and most likely to prevail with him in that emergency: but he took pains to as little purpose as Emilia, and that poor lover, too too violently prepossessed, made them both such answers, as raised in them more compassion to see him so resolute, then hope to see him of any other mind. I am not to learn, said he to them at last, that in Tullia ' s aversion I have a terrible enemy to engage with, nay am further satisfied that the hatred she hath for our Family is so justifiable, that I should find it a hard matter to find any pretence to condemn her for it. As to the design which Caesar and Octavia have upon me, I know it amounts to those advantages, to which, the posture of my Fortune considered, I could not raise my hopes: nor am I ignorant, that by my importunate addresses to a person that shuns me, and will haply shun me while she lives, I run the hazard of turning the Emperors 's good inclinations towards me into just resentments against me. But there is something withal I know much better than I do all this, that is, that I am not able to hear any reason in the wretched condition to which I am reduced; and that whatever the most enforcing arguments might produce where there is freedom of spirit, will have no effect at all upon a mind fatally and unfortunately prepossessed. I am absolutely persuaded, added he a while after, that this misfortune is an effect of the wrath of the gods against the memory of Anthony and Fulvia, and that they could not revenge that of the unfortunate Cicero, against his murderers, otherwise then by sacrificing their Son to the Daughter of him whom they sacrificed to their rage and ambition. O Anthony, O Fulvia! concluded he with a sigh, I refuse not to be the victim that must appease the incensed Deities; and I cheerfully offer myself up to the fair Tullia, to expiate the blood you have unjustly spilt. These were all the words Emilia and Scipio could get of him; and a while after, out of a fear to displease Emilia, by depriving her of the conversation of her friend, he took his leave of her in so sad a manner, that it raised in her an extraordinary compassion for him, and went out of the house with Scipio, who would not by any means leave him; but it was in such a posture, and with a countenance so disturbed, that it was no easy matter to know him.  
From that day he grew more and more melancholy and affected solitude much more than he had done; and if, while he knew not who was the object of his passion, the desire to be acquainted with it, was his perpetual torment, the knowledge he had of it troubled him also after a strange manner; and the less disturbed and moved he was at it, the more he seemed to be afflicted and cast down. He was seldom seen at the Emperors, at Octavia's, or at the Princess Julias, or in any of the noblest companies of Rome, and if any of his friends came to him, where he ever entertained them with abundance of civility, they found him so changed and different from what he was wont to be, that they had not the patience to see him in that condition, without concerning themselves in his affliction, though they knew not the cause of it. All his thoughts, all his designs, aimed at nothing so much as to find out an opportunity to speak once more to Tullia, out of an imagination, that, if he could but east himself at her feet, and entertain her with the discourse which his mind perpetually ran upon, though her soul were made of iron, he should soften it. In this imagination he made a hundred passionate speeches, and his love inspired him with the tenderest things any mind could be capable of: but when he had sufficiently ruminated on what he would have said to her; he still was to seek for the opportunity to speak with her.  
Tullia had been in Rome but some few days, and her abode was at her Brother's, Quint us Cicero, who lived after the rate of a Consular house, suitably to the condition his Father had left him in; but there was no likelihood Antonius should ever give her a visit at that house. The Son of Cicero had for the family of Anthony a resentment which none could blame him for; and though, by reason of Caefars authority, the factions of the Triumvirate had been reconciled, and that the families among which the difference of parties had produced very fatal effects, were content to be quiet, and forbore openly to endeavour the revenge of past injuries, yet had not that reconciliation, which had put a Period to the civil wars, so far reunited their hearts, as to establish friendship, and secure the freedom of visits: nay, though this had been effected among those whose enmities were grounded on more inconsiderable injuries, yet those between the children of Cicero and those of Anthony and Fulvia, amounted to some thing more bloody, then to admit of any correspondence between them: Besides, young Cicero was a person of a nature much different from that of his Father, he was stupid, brutish and malicious, and though he smothered his resentments out of a fear to discover them against a house of a far greater fortune than his own; yet is it certain, that, if he could▪ have done us a mischief without any hazard to himself, he would have embraced the opportunity to do it, and therefore it was impossible Antonius should attempt the seeing of Tullia at her Brother's house, without putting his life into manifest danger. Yet was it not this fear that hindered him, for that of displeasing Tullia had a far greater influence upon his spirit, then that of hazarding a life that could not be of much value to him, considered with the misfortune that attended it: Nay, he would have cheerfully ventured into that house, though his enemies, without any reflection on the danger that might ensue, had he observed in Tullia any sentiments different from those of her Brother: but it was his unhappiness, that after he had subdued the enemies he contemned, he should meet with one that was terrible, against whom yet he had no arms to defend himself. A hundred times did he cast himself at Emilia's feet, and made use of the interest Scipio had in her, to obtain of Tullia the permission to see her but once more in his life: in answer to which Em●lia, who had a great esteem for Antonius, as also upon the intercession of his friend, did all that lay in her power to persuade her Kinswoman to afford him that satisfaction. But Tullia was not only inexorable as to that request, but fearing further that in her visits to Emilia, she might meet with Antonius at her house either by accident, or out of design, she entreated her not to take it amiss if she came not to her any more, till she were confident that Antonius had quitted all inclinations for her; insomuch that having earnestly entreated her pardon for that resolution, she persisted in it so far, that she made no more visits to her, or, if she saw her sometimes, it was at such hours that she was in no fear of finding my Brother there.  
This cruel obstinacy of hers to avoid Antonius had almost put him into despair, and yet such was his unhappiness, that what would have recovered any other out of an affection so much slighted, made his cure the more desperate. All the discoveries of Tullia's cruelty signified, in his apprehension, so many expressions of her virtue, and the respect she had for the memory of her Father; and so bewailing his own misfortune, he thought he could not justly charge her with any thing. He constantly visited all the places she was wont to frequent: but she, being as careful to avoid him, as he was diligent to find her out, forbore going thither as soon as she perceaved that he had discovered so much: yet could not all her caution hinder, but that he saw her sometimes in the Temple, but she either let fall her veil as soon as she perceaved him, or took up such places, and kept still such company that he could not come to her. But one day above the rest, she having not been so careful as at other times, and being gone to the Temple of Ceres, with the Maids that ordinarily waited on her, while she was at her devotion, in a remote corner, and at such a time as there were hardly any people in the Temple, my Brother, who had caused her to be watched where ever she went, having had notice of the place where she was, failed not to come thither, and to speak to her, but with a countenance that sufficiently discovered the fear he was in to displease her. Tullia had no sooner perceaved him coming towards her, but she le's fall her veil, and by that action had almost put the sad Antonius so far out of countenance, that he hardly had the courage to speak to her. However, he made a shift to recover himself, and when he was got near her, making a halt as if he stayed for some body, and having looked towards the door of the Temple, he at last turned his face to Tullia, whom, though she looked another way, addressing his speech to her; Is it possible, Madam, said he to her, you should hope for any favour from the gods you adore, when you yourself are inexorable towards those men that adore you? Tullia was silent a while out of a resolution not to make Antonius any answer at all; but at last conceaving that what she should make him would be such, as she might haply be rid of him for ever after: It is not for the Son of Fulvia, said she to him, to hope for any favour from the Daughter of Cicero; and if Cicero ' s Daughter may expect any from Anthony ' s Son, it shall be no other than that he would never either see or think on her again. You cannot without injustice, replies Antonius, charge me with the crime of Mark-Anthony and Fulvia; nay I am confident you are satisfied of my innocence; I am so, replied she, and therefore I have not the least thought of revenge for you● but, if I am not mistaken, I can be charged with no injustice, if I abjure all conversation with their son, who were the implacable murderers of my Father. Ah unmerciful woman! replied the afflicted Prince, you pretend reason not to be revenged of a person that is innocent, and in the mean time know very well, that, if you should thrust a dagger into my breast, there were much less cruelty in your revenge, than there is in your shunning me as you do. I shall shun you while I live, replied she very angrily, and, if you get not from me, I shall not only quit this Temple, but shall leave Rome and Italy, in case you do not forbear persecuting me. With these words she would have risen out of the place where she was, but Antonius, thinking he could not any further press her without incivility, prevented her departure; and having made her a low reverence, he went from her, so clouded with affliction, that for that whole day he was not capable of any conversation.  
Though Antonius found it a great difficulty to conceal from those who were acquainted with his natural cheerfulness, the change which that unfortunate passion had wrought in him, yet were they ignorant of the cause, and for a good space of time only Scipio knew the mystery of it. But, at last, it came to the knowledge of divers persons by several discoveries sufficiently extraordinary, but particularly by one which, because it was public and withal very rare, made no small noise in Rome. The Emperor, Livia, Julia, Octavia, and all the Illustrious Persons about Rome were one day assembled in the Cirque, where they were to be entertained with the combats of savage beasts, by Agrippa, who had brought them out of afric to that purpose, as you know it is an ordinary thing at Rome, as also that those who would have the reputation of being magnificent, do often entertain the people with such sports. Though Tullia went very seldom into great companies, as well by reason of the mourning she was still in for her Mother, as out of a fear of meeting Antonius, yet this day she thought herself obliged to go, not only upon the account of Agrippa, who was at the charge of the divertisement, but also because it was her Brothers will she should go, and accordingly he brought her thither with divers other Persons of their Family and Alliance. Antonius, who was very much in hope she would be there, and expected, with much impatience, to see her, observed, very much to his satisfaction, the place where she sat, which was near enough to her Brother, and some of her Kinswomen: but found withal to his grief, that Lucius Cecinna, a young man, of an Illustrious House, and one that had the reputation of courting her, having waited upon her thither, sat down by her. This sight made Antonius blush, and inflamed him with indignation and jealousy; yet durst he not seat himself near Tullia, out of a fear she would take it unkindly, and a confidence that she would admit no conversation with him; but he got into a place, which, being not very far from her, and at one of the Angles of the Amphitheatre, joining to that where she was, gave him the advantage of seeing her better than any other part where he could have placed himself. The seats of persons of quality are in the lowest Stage, and nearest the Area, which is the place where the combats are fought, whether they be between Beasts or Gladiators: so that those of that rank may lean against certain Pilasters, whereby the Cirque is compassed about, and which is raised up to such a height, as to secure them from the fury of the Lions and Tigers, that are the creatures of greatest agility: the seats behind that, being raised, and standing at a greater distance, are for the people, who are ordinarily admitted to these sights, to their very great delight and entertainment. I went thither myself that day with the Princess Julia, though we were both of us at that time but in the thirteenth year of our age, and consequently I can give you a more particular account of this action, then of some others at which I was not present.  
Antonius had his eyes continually fastened on Tullia's face, who never was guilty of so much as one look towards him. This amorous Prince looked upon that freedom of conversation which was between her and Cecinua, with a very jealous eye, and with no small disturbance of mind: and if any one had concerned himself so far as to mind his actions, he might easily have observed in his countenance the agitations of his soul. There had past divers combats of several beasts, which found the Spectators abundance of sport and entertainment, and they were going to open the door to let in a Tiger and a Bear of a prodigious bulk, to set them a fight together, when Antonius, who had his eyes still fixed on Tullia, saw, that amidst the conversation she had with Cecinna, and certain Ladies that sat about her, she took out a little box, set with divers rich Diamonds, wherein was her own picture, which her Mother had caused to be taken about a year before, and which she had given her at her death. She had shown it to those Ladies, and Cecinna had it in his hands a good space: but at last going to restore it to Tullia, the box, through negligence, slipped out of his hands, and she leaning on the rail, it fell down into the Area, just when the two furious beasts were coming into it with looks so full of terror, that they put the Spectators into some fear. Tullia, being extremely troubled at the fall of the box, she respected so much, into a place, whence in all likelihood there would not be any so desperate as to fetch it again, gave a great outcry, and by her countenance and all her actions expressed an extraordinary disturbance at that accident. The Emperor, and all that were present, soon came to understand it, but there was no possibility to recover it while the beasts were within the Cirque. Cecinna, who was partly the occasion of the falling of the box, endeavoured to persuade Tullia to patience, by telling her, that, after the combat of the beasts, he would go and find it for her: but she giving too much way to her indignation upon so slight an occasion, answered him very roundly, that had she been a man, she would have ventured her life to fetch her picture. She had no sooner delivered these words, but young Antonius, whom his passion had at that time absolutely devested of all reason, distracted as to all matter of consideration, not only of the hazard whereto he exposed himself without any necessity, but also of the noise which that action must needs make, contrary to the design he had to keep his love secret, turning towards that side where Tullia was; Fair Tullia, said he, loud enough to be heard by her, you shall find there is a man who dares hazard his life to do you this inconsider able service; and thereupon, leaning upon the rail, he vaulted over it into the Cirque. I was ever of opinion, that Antonius, a person naturally discreet, would never have been guilty of an action so extravagant, had he not been transported by an overviolent passion. But I imagined withal, as divers others did, that to do Tullia that service, whereof the consequence deserved not he should expose his life to so great a danger, he had been encouraged partly by a belief he was of, that he might not haply, while he lived, meet with so noble an occasion to express his love to her, and partly by a desire he had to let her know the difference there was between him and Cecinna, whom she preferred, and favoured even in his presence. However it were, this action raised a many outcries among the Spectators, even to the Emperor himself, who had a great love and esteem to my Brother. My Sister and I were almost out of ourselves to see it, Octavia was not a little troubled at the accident, nay there was hardly any one in that great Assembly, that was not troubled at it, only Antonius seemed to be the person that had any confidence, and though he were a little startled at his alighting, by reason of the height of the place whence he had leapt down, yet immediately recovering himself, he drew his sword, and went with an undaunted courage towards that side where the box lay sparkling among the sand. He was so happy as to take it up without any hindrance, and so indiscreet as to open it in the same place, and to have the patience to look on the beautiful picture of Tullia that was enclosed within it. Yet was it not with so little caution, but he stood sufficiently on his guard, to defend himself if the beasts came to fasten on him: but as he went towards the door at which he was to go out, he made no more haste than ordinary, and retreated so as if he had not been in the least fear of the two beasts that were within the Cirque. The Bear stirred not from the place she was in, but the Tiger came up to my Brother with his sparkling eyes, and in such a posture, as put all that were present into a fright. Antonius might have gained the door before the Tiger could have fastened on him, if he would have run for it, but such a flight he thought unworthy his courage; and therefore seeing this terrible enemy coming towards him, he stood and expected him, and presented the point of his sword to him with an admirable constancy. You may well imagine, that all those to whom Antonius' life was any way dear, were not a little troubled at the accident, but it was the pleasure of the gods, that when the furious beast saw the glistering of the sword, it made a halt, and seemed uncertain what resolution to take: when the Emperor having called out to those of his guard that were about him, immediately to kill it, it was shot with above twenty arrows, and fell down dead at Antonius' feet. He seemed to be somewhat troubled at the death of the beast, saying he was very sorry he had deprived the Emperor and the Spectators of part of their entertainment, and when he thought he might retire without dishonour, (for the Bear had not stirred from the place) he came to the door which they kept open for him, and by the stairs joining thereto, came up into the Amphitheatre. As all that were present had a secret admiration for what he had done, so did all gladly make way for him, it being perceaved that it was his intention to restore Tullia her picture; and accordingly having without much trouble gotten up to the place where she was, he comes to her with a submissive action, and presenting her with the box: Were I not odious in your sight, Madam, said he to her, I would entreat you to entertain the inconsiderable service I have done you without aversion: and if I am so unhappy as that I cannot be otherwise, I beseech your acceptance and acknowledgement of that I would have done you by exposing my life which you so much detest.  
Now the enmity which is between the Children of Cicero, and the House of Anthony, being known to all the World, no body took any exceptions at those words of Antonius; but there were many who thought that that action should have obliged Tullia to some kindness, or at least to receive that service with a seeming civility. But her deportment was quite otherwise, and instead of making any acknowledgement of the service he had done her, she turned her face another way, and vouchsafed not so much as either to make him any answer, or receive out of his hands the picture he presented to her. This action, which displeased all that were present, struck Antonius to the very heart; but having fortified himself with an extraordinary courage, and done an action so full of gallantry, that he thought himself obliged to press it home: Madam, said he to her, not without some violence done himself, to smother his grief in so great an Assembly, I must confess my unhappiness such, that I deserve to be treated as I am, but do not haply, the precious treasure you are pleased to leave me, as such as I durst not have detained, had you thought good to receive it.  
These words ●cartled young Cicero a little, who sat near his Sister, and was as much displeased at my Brother's action as she, but withal would have been much troubled to see him keep his Sister picture. But he whom they had greatest influence on, was the amorous Cecinna, who being passionately in love with Tullia, could not, without much disturbance within himself, see her picture in the hands of a man, whom he looked on as his Rival, and withal a powerful one: so that he would undertake to Antonius, to persuade Tullia to receive the picture, and while he desired it, Cicero reached forth his hand to receive it from him. But Antonius looking on them both with a certain contempt, and with a disdainful smile; 'tis not thee, Cicero, said he to them, and much less to thee, Cecinna, that I intent to restore it; And since Tullia is content it should remain in my hands, I shall keep it no otherwise then I would do my life. If thou wouldst have had it, added he, looking on Cecinna, thou shouldst have gone for it to the place where it fell through thy negligence; and if thou art so desirous of it, thou must force it out of a place, whence there will haply be as much difficulty to get it, as from among Bears and Tigers. However it be, I hear protest before the gods, that I shall never part with it willingly, till Tullia desire it of me herself, and that I will never put it into other hands than hers.  
With these words he left Tullia, and, without any more ado, immediately quitted the Amphitheatre, out of a fear that Tullia might change her mind, and call for her picture. She was upon the point to do it, as being desirous it should not remain in his hands, nay indeed would not have been well satisfied to leave it with any man, how great an affection soever she might have for him: but thinking there were other ways to retrieve it, she thought it better to have patience for some days, then to remit any thing of her disdain, and stoop so low as to desire it, after what, had passed before so many great and Illustrious Persons.  
This action raised no small noise in Rome, and found all people matter of discourse. Several judgements passed upon it, there were a many that attributed it to the true cause, others made it only a piece of gallantry, and the effect of a violent desire of glory, a thing not inconsistent with the fiery humour of a young man: Nay, some pitching upon an opinion probable enough according to the intention of Antonius, and the discourse he made of it, which was, that, having discovered Tullia in that great Assembly to be the Lady from whom he had received such assistance when his horse fell under him, whom till then he had not known, and had sought out so much, though he knew not who she was, imagined that he had resolved to express by some service, the resentment he still had for the kindness she had done him, and that just than an opportunity offering itself, he thought he could not, without basenesle, that is, without being accounted either an ungrateful person, or a man of little courage, let it slip. With this discourse did my Brother satisfy the Emperor, who blamed him very much for exposing his life to so great a danger without any necessity; but that account of the business being probable enough, Augustus, who could not disapprove those actions that argued courage, had a greater esteem for Antonius than he had before. Octavia, who was as tender of all the children of Anthony, as she was of her own, especially of him she intended to make her Son in Law, entertained this discourse as the Emperor did, and attributed to gratitude, excellency of nature, and the courage of Antonius: what was merely a demonstration of his passion. And yet what had passed at the closure of the business, concerning Tullia's picture, which he had refused to restore either to Cicero, or Cecinna, with words passionate enough, might cause a little suspicion; but it might also be attributed to pure gallantry, which might produce that effect in a person of the age my Brother was then of, and that, after the doing of so noble an action. In fine, every one censured it according to his inclination; and Antonius, whatever might be said to him, could not repent him of it, though he was extremely troubled at Tullia's deportment towards him, and that the vexation he conceived thereat, put him sometimes into a resolution, to do what lay in his power, to free himself of that cruel slavery.  
Some days after, having entreated Scipio to bring my Brother with him to her house, he failed not to come; and having told her that he should think himself extremely happy, if she would be pleased to lay any commands upon him, she told him before Scipio, who was present, that she was desirous to have some discourse with him upon the entreaty of Tullia, who had charged her to demand her picture of him, and had desired her to employ all the interest she had in him to get it, upon the confidence she had that my Brother would not deny that satisfaction to a person, for whom he seemed & professed to have a very great esteem. Antonius entertained this discourse of Emilia's with abundance of respect, and when she had given over speaking, Madam, said he to her, it is not without reason your friend is persuaded that you have an absolute power over me, and accordingly I did not much doubt but that she would make this request to you, when ever she should be content to have her picture again: and I further engage myself, that I will return it as soon as she shall be pleased to receive it, and that I have no intention to keep it against her will, though I haply better deserve that favour than others, whom she may confer it upon. Tullia is more discreet, replies Emilia, then to bestow her picture on any one: and I can assure you she hath no such intention, and that it is only for herself that she hath entreated me to get it ou● of your hands. Ah Madam! replied my Brother, you know what I am obliged to by my oath, an oath I took in the most Illustrious Assembly in the World. I cannot return the picture till Tullia desire it, nor put it into any other hands than her own. I conceive myself disengaged as to the one half of it, and I receive the demand you make of it, as from Tullia's own mouth: but for the other part of my oath, whereby I am obliged to restore it only to herself, it cannot admit any explication. And if you will give me leave to add to the justice of my cause the confidence I have in your goodness, and to speak sincerely to you, as to a person whose protection I cast myself under, I shall tell you, that for the favour of one visit from Tullia, she shall receive her picture. 'tis the least she can do, if she have any desire to have it again: and if she deny me so poor a request, you are to imagine it is her pleasure I should keep it: all I desire is to put it into her own hands in your presence, and you shall be privy to our conversation. And, to acquaint you with what is most secret to my thoughts, since you see I have but this only means left me to procure one visit more of Tullia while I live, methinks you cannot without cruelty take it away from me. Emilia found a great deal of reason in my Brother's discourse, and Scipio adding his persuasions to the others to prevail with her, they brought her to this at last, that she promised to use all the interest she could with Tullia to oblige her to see Antonius once more, and to receive her picture from his own hands, according as he was engaged by his oath.  
She made it her business that very day, but to no purpose, so that Antonius understood by her, the next, that all the entreaties she could make to her, could not induce that heard-hearted Beauty to condescend thereto, and that, at last, she had with a strange constancy protested, that she had rather lose her picture, by an accident whence it might not be inferred that she had any design to favour Antonius, then resolve to see him, and to speak, with her will, to a man, whose name those of her family could not hear without horror. My Brother was extremely cast down at this obstinacy of Tullia, and entertained Emilia with divers discourses, which moved her to much compassion for him: but he also continued firm to the resolution he had made not to deliver the picture, not that he could do Tullia this displeasure without some repugnance, but that, besides the comfort he received from the sight of that dear image, he thought he could not with honour restore it, after the protestation he had made not to do it before Cecinna and Cicero, who pretended to be so much concerned in it. What confirmed him further in this resolution, was, that, some days after, he understood that Cicero, purposely to spite him, had bestowed his Sister on Cecinna; and it was conceived that within a few days he was to marry her, and indeed it was certain that he had promised her to him, and though Tullia had not till th●● any particular affection for Cecinna, yet being discreet and virtuous, she submitted to her Brother's will, and without any contradiction entertained the Husband he was pleased she should have. This news put my Brother into such violent transports of grief, as you may easily imagine, if you consider well what I have told you concerning those of his Love; nay, it is almost a miracle that he did not discover it by some action suitable to the passion he was hurried by. At first all his thoughts ran upon some thing that was violent and fatal; and when he imagined to himself that his Rival was happier than he, did not only deprive him of what he loved, but might haply be the cause of all Tullia's rigour towards him, had prevented him by an affection, that made her insensible of all the expressions he made to her of his, and exasperated her against him more than any consideration of the death of Cicero, he could not oppose the torrent of his resentments, nor think of any thing but the death of his Rival. How, said he, walking in a furious manner, it was then the love of Cecinna that made Tullia's heart impenetrable as to all compassion; and it is Cecinna that robs me of this unmerciful Beauty, and, with her, of all the satisfaction and desire of life● I wonder not, added he, at his backwardness to recover her picture, and the confidence he had soon to be possessed of the person, hath made him take it the more indifferently to see her fair image in the hands of an unfortunate Rival. 'tis the knowledge he had of my misfortune made him neglect what haply both his interest and his honour had obliged him to do, and I am satisfied he had courage enough to take the advice of his reputation in that emergency, if the hope of a greater happiness had not made him less earnest for what was of less consequence. Whereupon he walked for a good while, without speaking at all, then breaking forth into his ordinary transports, Think not, Cecinna, said he, that I resign Tullia to thee; as thou hast done her picture to me; it shall cost thee the purest of thy blood to dispute whose she shall be, and since I have hazarded my life for her picture, it is but just thou shouldst venture something for the person.  
This was the resolution he took; but when he thought himself fully confirmed in it, he met with such difficulties in that design, which he was not a little startled at. He had reason to fear he might displease Caesar, who, upon what had passed in his presence fearing the consequence, had forbidden them very severely to attempt any thing one against another. Nay, there was yet something more in it, as to what resentment the Emperor might have of it; for when he considered that he could not quarrel with Cecinna upon the account of any interest in Tullia, without declaring openly, and discovering at the same time the little regard he had for the advantageous design which the Emperor and Octavia had for him, and that in a conjuncture on which his absolute fortune depended, he knew not what course he should take to overcome that difficulty. And yet this was not considerable to him, in comparison of the fear he was in of Tullia's indignation, as putting it out of all doubt that he must needs force her to the extremities of enmity towards him, by putting himself in a posture to take away that man's life whom she accepted for her Husband. To be short, this consideration prevailed so far upon him, that he hardly minded the rest, and how far soever he might be from deserving the cruel treatments he received from that incensed Beauty, yet was his soul guilty of such extraordinary respects towards her, that he would have looked death in the face with less disturbance, than the occasion of offending her.  
These contradictions kept his thoughts in an aequilibrium in so strange a perplexity; so that finding it a hard matter to fix on any thing, he continued some days without fastening on any resolution. During that time he delighted altogether in solitude, avoiding the company even of his Friend Scipio, and retiring into the most solitary places, where he would not admit any of his own people to be about him. Without the gate called Porta Capena, there is a little Wood near the fair Gardens of Metellus, where the shadynesse and solitude of the place afford very pleasant walking, for such as avoid company. Antonius going out of Metellus' Garden, was directed thither by his own cruel thoughts, or rather by some genius, who would determine his irresolutions. He walked there a long time alone, (having left those servants that he brought with him from home, which he could not dismiss, at the Garden door of Metellus) and had endeavoured to find out, though with no success, what might prevent the happiness of Cecinna, without any violation of the respect he ought Tullia, or incurring the displeasure, (if it were possible) of the generous Octavia and the Emperor, when coming to a crosse-walk, he spies a man coming all alone towards the place where he was, and having looked on him very attentively, when he was come somewhat near, he found him to be Cecinna. The sight of him inflamed Antonius with indignation and jealousy; and though he suspected what design brought Cecinna towards him, yet did he mistrust his own thoughts of mistake, and was in some fear he should not have so much power over himself as to reflect, in that emergency, upon those considerations whereby his hands were as yet tied up. In this uncertainty he expected him as ready to fight, and in such a posture as put Cecinna into some disturbance.  
Now my Brother being a person of higher quality in Rome than he was, and his interest consequently, with those that managed the supreme power, much greater, he was more cautious and circumspect in what he undertook, than he had haply been with another person, whose fortunes had been meaner; and accordingly coming very civilly towards him, It hath been my business for some days to find you out, said he to him, and should have spoken to you soo●●r, could I have done it with the same liberty as I now do. I should have given you all you could have expected, answered Antonius, if I had had but the least notice of your desires, and since you now have as much freedom as you could have wished; neglect not this opportunity to acquatnt me with what you think sit to let me know. I doubt not, replied Cecinna, but you know that sufficiently well already, and if you but remember that Tullia's picture is still in your hands, you are at the same time satisfied of the great concernment I have to entreat you to return it to me. I have not desired it of you while I was of opinion it might be gotten out of your hands without my interposition. But now that the interest of Tullia, and that of her friends hath proved ineffectual, you will not think it strange, if, as things now stand between us, I endeavour to obtain that from you which you had denied them.  
Antonius looking on him with a scornful smile, There is indeed but very little likelihood, said he to him, I should grant Cecinna what I had denied Emilia: besides, I am of opinion, that if you had been so desirous of Tullia's picture, you would have gone for it to the place whence I took it. Though I was much less obliged to do it than you, it were unjust I should, with the hazard of my life, procure a thing you had slighted, to bestow it on you with so much ease, and you may haply find yourself very much mistaken, if you imagine there may be less danger to get it out of my hands, then to recover it out of the Area of the Amphitheatre. Had there been any necessity for that action, replied Cecinna, I should have done it as well as you: And if there had been any justice, interrupted Antonius very roundly, to restore what I had so well gotten, I had restored it to Emilia, and not to you. However it be, Cecinna, you ought not to expect it, as being the last of all men for whom I should have that compliance. I thought indeed, replied Cecinna, I should be forced to those extremities with you, which the Emperor hath forbidden us: and it is with that design that I sought you out, resolved to take away either your life, or Tullia's picture. This is it I expected from thee, replied Antonius fiercely, and which I thought I had so sufficiently obliged thee to, as to make thee contemn all other considerations.  
With these words they both laid hands on their swords, and drew at the same time, there being not any body near to hinder them. They exchanged a many blows, with much more fury than circumspection. Cecinna fought with abundance of courage, but with little good fortune; and being overrash and inconsiderate, he received two mortal wounds in the body, upon which he fell down at my Brother's feet, with very little remainder of life. Antonius had no doubt wished the death of Cecinna, and had behaved himself in that duel with abundance of indignation and animosity against him; but being a person of a great and noble soul, seeing him fall with all the mortal signs, his anger vanished, and compassion took place in his heart, into which the passions whereby it was then moved, were not against its admittance. He came to Cecinna, to do him all the good he could, and endeavouring to stop his blood, persuaded him to take courage, by all the words which might express the regret and sorrow he conceived at his misfortune.  
But while he was employed in this compassionate office, there comes, by an accident, you cannot but be astonished at, a Chariot, full of Ladies, to take the pleasure of a solitary walk in the Wood, to the place where they were: and the Ladies, who intended to take a walk, being got out of the Chariot, came on easily without any jealousy of what had happened, to the very place where the unfortunate Cecinna was expiring his last, in my Brother's arms. You may well imagine what astonishment this sad spectacle raised in the Ladies; but it will be hard for you to conceive that of my Brother, when with Emilia and some other Ladies of his acquaintance, he saw the cruel Tullia, that very Tullia whom he had so well engraven in his soul. I leave it to you to supply the difficulty of expression I meet with in this strange rencontre, so hard is it for me to give you an account of the agitations of these two souls in so unexpected an adventure. If Antonius was surprised to see that Tullia whom he adored, that Tullia, who shunned him with all the cruelty imaginable; nay, the same Tullia, whose Lover, that was to be within a few days her Husband, he had killed; you may well think that Tullia, on the other side, was not less astonished to meet with that Antonius, whom she avoided, standing over the expiring Cecinna, and soiled with the blood of a man she was to be married to. She had not had, 'tis true, any violent affection for him, yet it is withal certain she had no dis-inclination towards him; and since she had been acquainted with the design her Brother had to make her his Wife, she had entertained in her heart all the love she thought herself obliged to have, for a person that was shortly to be her Husband: so that she could not see him weltering in his blood, and expiring at his enemy's feet, without feeling an extraordinary affliction, and whatever her soul was capable of, upon an accident of that nature. She at first sight gave a great outcry, and was ready to swoon in Emilia's arms, who made a shift to hold her up, and, a little after, casting her eyes on both Antonius and Cecinna, on the one, with all the demonstrations of compassion, and on the other with all those of indignation, shedding tears for Cecinna, and darting forth her wrathful looks on Antonius, she continued for some minutes in an uncertainty as to what resolution she should take, whether to avoid what she hated, or to succour what she was obliged to love. And whereas she seemed to be rather carried away by the aversion she had for my Brother, or at least inclined rather to the motives she conceived she had to avoid him, then to the affection she had for Cecinna, her first reflections seemed to engage her to avoid the face of an enemy, especially he being such a one as confirmed himself to be such, by the action he had then done. But afterwards, upon second thoughts, she, being a Lady that chose rather to be guided by her duty then her passions, and conceived herself obliged to relieve Cecinna dying upon her account, rather than to avoid Antonius, comes to him, with her face bathed in tears, and by certain broken words entreated him to take heart, and to further all he could the design she had for the preservation of his life. The expiring Cecinna met with this satisfaction in his misfortune, that he breathed out his last in the arms of Tullia, and mustering up all the strength he had left him, to turn his eyes towards her, and to take her by the hand, she reached forth to him, while one of her Maids held up his head in her lap; Madam, said he to her, I lose my life by the hands of Antonius, but it was through my own fault and seeking; and therefore I beseech you to forgive him my death as heart●ly as I do myself. The compassion, he takes at my misfortune, deserves yours; and I die happy and glorious, since I die at your feet, for your sake, and in a condition that forces those fair showers from your eyes.  
With much difficulty was he delivered of these words, but with them he lost his speech, and, some few minutes after, breathed out his last, leaving in Tullia's soul such violent characters of passion, that she hardly knew where she was, or what she did. My Brother, to give her way, retired some few paces when she came near Cecinna; and being extremely moved with pity for his misfortune, the affliction he perceaved it was to Tullia heightened his own so much and so violently, that he had much ado to keep off from despair. He, at first, thought himself obliged to avoid the eyes of that incensed Beauty; nay, though he was infinitely desirous to have a sight of her, yet must he needs imagine, that, as things than stood, he could not without inhumanity importune her with his. Out of this consideration had he already retired some few paces; but his passion growing too strong for him, would needs oblige him to speak to her, and to make some reparation for the injury he had done her. This resolution grew so strong upon him, that he could not resist it, and so slighting all those reflections that were incompatible with the violence of his love, he came some paces nearer, he looked on that desolate Beauty, with all the agitations that a soul that hath lost all command of itself can be capable of. He had not hardly had the confidence to open his mouth, had he not been encouraged by the presence of Emilia, whom he knew to be favourable to him, and from whom he expected some relief. But at last, having rallyed all the courage he had, he sets one knee on the ground, and looking on Tullia in a trembling posture; I should not presume to importune you with my sight, Madam, said he to her, if I thought not myself obliged to make you some satisfaction for the injury I have done you; and though Cecinna hath in some sort justified me, by telling you that I only stood in a defensive posture against him, yet the displeasure I have done you is greater than to be passed over with such a reparation. There was no need of this last misfortune to heighten the aversion you have ever had for the unfortunate person that now adores you; and this sight of you, which I so earnestly begged before, should not have been granted me, together with that of an accident which can raise in you nothing but horror for this so unhappy a wretch. But since it is the disposal of Heaven, it is but just that both Heaven's anger and yours should be appeased: and since I am already so well acquainted with your heart, as to believe I shall find in you all the resolution requisite to revenge yourself, and to do right to the Manes of Cecinna, here take the sword, (continued he, drawing it, and presenting her with the hilt) take the sword that hath taken away the life of Cecinna, thrust it into this breast which lies open to you, and spare not, after the injury I have done you, a life, which, even in a condition of innocence hath ever been odious to you.  
At these words Tullia, who all the while would not so much as look towards him, but turned her face another way, gave him such a sudden and furious look, that haply upon the first sallies of the violent passions she was then absolutely subject to, she might have granted the desolate Antonius the death he so much desired, and that accordingly she would have taken the sword he presented to her, and whereof the very sight very much inflamed her indignation, when she perceaved upon it certain drops of Cecinna's blood. But the prudent Emilia fastening immediately upon it, got it, without much difficulty, from Antonius; and this she did, as well in regard of the uncertainty she was in as to Tullia's intention, as to prevent that desperate Prince, from making use of it against himself, as he might have done, in the distraction his grief had then put him into.  
Tullia continued for some time without so much as opening her mouth, expressing the agitations of her soul by her looks and silence more effectually than she could haply have done by her words. But at last, not able to master the impetuosity thereof, and looking on the prostrate Antonius with eyes, wherein, through the tears that fell from them, the fire of her indignation discovered itself but too apparently; Unmerciful disturber of my quiet, said she to him, thou who being the issue of my Father's Executioners, art resolved not to degenerate from their cruelty; Is it possible that thy inhumanity cannot be satisfied either with the blood of Cicero, spilt by thy Friends, nor with that of Cecinna, which thou hast shed thyself, but thou must persecute to the death an Unfortunate Maid, who hath not without reason avoided thee, and who never yet gave thee the least offence? Dost thou hope, stained with the blood of him that was to be her Husband, that she can regard that odious passion, which hath proved the cause of all her unhappiness? Or dost thou imagine she can look otherwise on thee than a Monster, and the foulest object of detestation and horror? Go Barbarian, go Son of Fulvia, and disturb no longer the Daughter of the Unfortunate Cicero, for whom thy cruelty hath opened a source of tears, which no passion could ever have made her shed.  
As she uttered these words, which came from her, attended with a deluge of tears, she rested her face on Emelia's arm, when Scipio, who was then in quest of either his Mistress or his Friend, came into the place, directed thither haply by the gods, to prevent my Brother's despair. He was in few words made acquainted with all that past; and though compassion had that effect which it could not but produce in him, yet he made a shift to smother it, the better to serve his Friend, and so joined with Emilia to oppose those sentiments of hatred and indignation which Tullia had conceived against my Brother. But, notwithstanding all their arguments, entreaties and remonstrances, she was still as inflexible as ever, and the suppliant posture wherein Antonius had continued all this while, nor the abundance of tears he shed after her example, could not raise in her the least touch of compassion, nor any way moderate her exasperation.  
When he saw that the mediation of Emilia and his Friend proved altogether ineffectual, rising up from the place where he was, and looking very dreadfully on Tullia, I now see Tullia, said he to her, that nothing but my death can satisfy you, and I were very much to blame, if, being near the dead body of Cecinna, I should hope to find that pity from you, which in the greatest innocence of my life, and amidst the most prevalent expressions of my love I could never obtain: nor indeed was it to your compassion that I addressed myself, but I defied the implacable aversion you have for me to put a period to that life, for which you have so much horror. I must confess, I should have embraced death more kindly from your hands then my own, as conceaving your revenge would be the more absolute, when you took it yourself. But since Emilia hath deprived you of that satisfaction which yet had been but proportionable to the grief I have innocently caused you, I shall make it my own business to sacrifice to you the remainder of this life, which hath been so unfortunately preserved, and is so cruelly abhorred.  
With these words he pretended as if he would go away with an action not far from extravagance; but Scipio, who, during his discourse, was gotten near him, stayed him, and Tullia, implacable as she was, yet having abundance of virtue about her, would not leave in the persons that heard her, the sentiments which her distraction might have raised in them, so that endeavouring once more to express herself to Antonius, yet without looking on him: I come not out of a cruel race, such as this is, said she to him, nor do I desire any bloody reparations for the injury thou hast done me. I neither wish thy death nor thy life, and leave thee Master of a Fate wherein I never intent to be any ways engaged: but if the horrid outrages which my family and myself have received front thee and thine, may give me leave to hope any satisfaction from thee, I entreat, as thou dost respect Heaven, or what ever else may be dear to thee, that thou never appear before me again, and that thou free me for ever henceforward of a sight which neither is nor aught to be any way supportable to me. This thou canst not refuse me, if thou hast any spark of virtue left in thee: and if thou grant it me, I engage myself never to desire either of the gods or men any revenge against thee, and that I shall not be guilty of so much as a wish that may contribute any thing to the disturbance of thy life. 'Tis but just, Madam, said Antonius to her, who was already resolved what to do; I shall give you the satisfaction you desire of me, though it be more insufferable than what I had offered you myself, and I protest to you, that you shall never while you live see again that unfortunate person whom you thus condemn to eternal banishment. With which words he went away along with Scipio, who would not by any means leave him, out of a fear of some effect of his despair; and not long after Emilia, and the other Ladies, having caused the body of Cecinna to be brought away, returned into the City in the confused condition which it is not hard for you to imagine to yourself.  
I shall not trouble you, Sister, either with the grief of Cecinna's Friends and Cicero's, or with the displeasure of the Emperor at that action, wherein yet he could not much blame my Brother, after he had understood the circumstances of it. But I must needs tell you, that Antonius, having spent the night with Scipio, who would by no means leave him till he were a little recovered, vanished the next morning, and hath not been seen since in any part of the earth that ever we could hear of, though he hath been sought out every where. He went away with a very small retinue, purposely to avoid being discovered in the places through which he passed, and where he intended to spend his life, only he left a letter for Scipio, wherein he entreated him to make his excuses to all those to whom he was obliged to make any, either out of respects of birth, or any other considerations, further desiring him, not to inquire after the place of his retirement, protesting to him that he knew it not himself, and that he was resolved to wander up and down the World, till he were quite recovered of Tullia's love, and then he promised to return to Rome, and not before. Scipio and all his Friends sent some after him for certain days, but they returned to Rome very much troubled that they could meet with no tidings of him. Tullia extremely cast down, and in a manner distracted at this unhappy adventure left Rome some few days after, and returned to her solitude, where she continued for many years. And thus, by a passion fatally inflamed, Have we lost a Brother? a great and excellent person. It is six or seven years since this loss happened, which yet I was sensible of, before it could be thought one of my age could be sensible of any such thing, and in regard that it is since that time that all the remarkable accidents of my life are happened, my Brother could not be any way concerned in them. And thence it came, that I made no mention of him in the relation of all the misfortunes which the love of Coriolanus hath engaged me in. I shall now proceed to the adventures of the rest of our Family, which having happened long since the other, I have accordingly fresh in my memory.  
Here the fair Cleopatra made a stop to take her breath a little, and Artemisa, who had heard her with very much attention, without ever interrupting her all the time, seeing her come to that place, Good Heaven, Sister, said she to her, what an extraordinary oligation have you put upon me by this discourse of yours? and what regret have you raised in me for the sad fortune of that Brother of yours, who in all probability, would have lost nothing of the lustre of your noble house? How angry have I been with that inflexible Tullia, who made so little distinction between the innocent and the guilty, and how different have our sentiments been, though we have met with equal occasions to express them? I could not absolutely disapprove the carriage of Tullia, replies Cleopatra, though it were somewhat too violent at the latter end. At so bloody a spectacle as that of the death of Cecinna, she could not be less troubled than she seemed to be, and in the beginning, though Antonius were innocent, yet was he Son to those who had put her Father to a death notorious for the cruelty of its circumstances. And if there were no reason she should be desirous to be revenged upon him, so was there not on the other side any that should engage her to admit his conversation, much less the expressions of his affection. In your fortune things are very much different; your friendship took its first rise from your infancy, and from that time you have been accustomed to endure the presence of Alexander, not as that of their Son who had put Artabasus to death, but as that of a Prince that adored you, and for whom ever from that time you had no aversion. The two fair Princesses had some farther discourse upon that subject, which ended, Artemisa having entreated Cleopatra to go on with her discourse, she proceeded thus.  
The end of the First Book.    

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART IX. LIB. II.  
ARGUMENT.  
CLeopatra, pursuing the History of Antonia and young Ptolomey, entertains Artemisa with a descriptton of Augustus' Court, and gives her an account of all the most considerable Persons about Rome, in point of Love and Courtship. Augustus entertains Terentia, the Wife of Maecenas, in the Gardens of Lucullus, where Mithridates walking with Antonia, discovers his passion to her, and is slighted by her. Vndressing herself that night, she finds, in one of her sleeves, a letter from an Unknown Servant. Tullia, meeting with young Ptolomey at Sabina's, is taken with him, but he reflecting on her inflexibility towards his Brother Julius Antonius, slights her. Antonia going to the Empresses, where all the great persons about the Court were met, is surprised by her Unknown Lover with another Letter, which she finds in her handkerchief. A show upon the Tiber, wherein the Unknown Lover surprises her in a Galley, which for the invention and magnificeuce proved the miracle of the divertisement. That night Antonia, undressing herself, finds another Letter, at the reading of which she gives Cleopatra another which she found in one of her Gloves. Archelaus and Mithridates, Suitors to Antonia, conspire against their Unknown known Rival, watch him one night, but are both worsted by him, whereupon he sends them a letter. Tullia and Emilia walk into the Gardens of Lucullus, and, for more privacy, go into an Arbour, where Tullia acquaints her with her love to Ptolomey, and is overheard by him and Lentulus, who thereupon falls desperately in love with her. The solemnity of Augustus' Birthday, the several exercises and divertisements of it described, wherein the Unknown Lover of Antonia being declared Conqueror, receaves accordingly the Prizes, which he presents at the feet of Antonia, and she, upon the command of Octavia, accepts. Having so done, he conveys himself out of the Lists, yet not so, but that being perceaved by Mithridates, he is by him pursued and overtaken in a Wood, where they engage, and Mithridates is overthrown. Archelaus perceaving Mithridates departed, out of the same motive of jealousy, follows him, to discover the Unknown Lover, and comes up to them just as he had worsted Mirhridates. Archelaus, seconding Mithridates, engages with the Unknown, who after a little fight, perceaving some coming from the City, unhorses him; yet not so, but that the other laying hold of his cask, the chin-pieces broke, and his head being by that means unarmed, he is discovered and known to be Drusus, the Son of Livia, and Brother to Tiberius. Marcellus and Ptolomey, coming in upon this, he makes his apologue to them, and is by them carried away immediately to be presented to Antonia, who, upon the mediation of Augustus, Livia, Octavia, Marcellus, Ptolomey, and others, entertains him as her Servant. Archelaus goes into the wars against the Parthians, Mithridates is made, by the Emperor, King of Comagenes, Polemon of Pontus, and Ptolomey continues his devotions to Marcia.  
'tIS since the loss of our Brother Julius Antonius, as I told you, that so many memorable accidents have happened in our Family, such as no doubt but he would have concerned himself in, as he ought to have done, had he not been absent, nay, it may be, absolutely lost. It was much about the time of his departure that Coriolanus made the first addresses of his love to me, or it was then at least that I was come to an age, wherein I seriously began to take notice of them. I have already acquainted you with all that hath befallen me since, even to the most inconsiderable circumstances, so that I am dispensed withal as to any relation that concerns myself, though what hath happened to me be of greater consequence than any thing else that hath befallen our Family. For what relates to Alexander, you have been acquainted with the adventures of his first years to his departure from Rome; and for what hath happened to him since, I have learned it from yourself, who must needs have been the best acquainted of any with his adventures, as having been the only occasion thereof. All then that now lies on my hands to do, is, to give you an account of young Ptolomey, of the Children of Anthony and Cleopatra, and, of those of Anthony and Octavia, of my two Sisters, Agrippina and young Antonia, whom you have so particular an affection for. For Ptolomey he is yet of an age wherein it cannot be expected he should meet with many adventures, though the World hath, from several particular actions of his, conceived very miraculous hopes of him, and for my Sisters, I shall punctually acquaint you with all you desire to know concerning them.  
These two Princesses, born, no doubt, to all the perfections of nature, have extremely improved and heightened them by an excellent education, for I need say no more to you then that they have been brought up by their Mother Octavia, to let you understand what advantages they might derive from that. Agrippina is certainly a very rare and exquisite Beauty, hath a great command of understanding, and is of an exemplary virtue; nay, it will happily be found that the World is but poorlie stored with persons whose accomplishments and perfections may come into the balance with those of this Princess. Yet is it as certain that Antonia surpasses her in all things, and though Heaven hath bestowed on her a Beauty of the first magnitude among those terrestrial constellations, whose influences the earth adores and is guided by, yet is this Beauty of her person much below that of her mind, and that of her inclinations. Never was there any one of her sex that had a mind fixed with so much solidity, refined by so much purity, and heightened by so great a disengagement from things that are inconsiderable and beneath her. It discovers such a consonancy of sweetness and severity, as amounts to a just moderation, and all her actions are guided by so certain a rule, that they defy whatever the most irreconcilable malice durst object against them. I could tell you much more of her, Sister, and yet be in some fear I might not speak enough, since it is undeniable, that, taking her in all things, there cannot be any thing more accomplished than Antonia, and it is generally acknowledged in Rome, that Octavia, the honour and ornament of her Time, could not have furnished the World with any thing else that were more worthy herself, or more like her Mother in all her great and excellent perfections.  
It is not many years, since Domitius Aenobarbus, a man Illustrious enough by his extraction, but much more for his great employments, and the noble actions he did, addressed his affections to Agrippina, and afterwards became an earnest and constant Servant of hers. And in regard his engagement in this design was not without the approbation of the Emperor, Octavia, and, in a word, of all those persons whose countenance he stood in need of, Agrippina, out of pure compliance with Octavia, entertained his addresses with the esteem and acknowledgement she was obliged to, and, without any repugnance or violence of passion, was resolved to submit to the disposal of those persons to whom she ought an obedience. But, on the contrary, Antonia, having a dis-inclination to love, and an aversion for whatever had but the least appearance of gallantry, had spent all the years of her life to this very last, not only without loving, but even without so much as enduring any discourse, or indeed the least discovery of any such thing, though her extraordinary Beauty, and the amiable excellencies of her person had raised her no small number of servants among those of greatest quality upon earth.  
Among the most eminent of those that had any thoughts for her, Archelaus, King of Cappadocia, a young Prince, of great valour, and abundance of virtue, was one of the first that declared himself a servant of hers: and certainly, if an excess of merit heightened by services, full of passion and respect, might have had any influence on the heart of Antonia, it was not improbable they should fail of their effection it, on the behalf of that Prince. His alliance with Caesar, or rather his dependence on the Empire, to which his dominions were tributary, (as were those of most Kings upon earth) obliged him to be very much resident at Rome, where all other Kings as well as he were forced to make their constant addresses to the Emperor.  
'twas in one of these voyages that he became a sacrifice to the fair eyes of Antonia, and upon that account stayed longer in Rome then he had resolved to do. Whole years passed away ere he durst make his case known, or any way discover himself to her, who was the occasion of all his sufferings. And though that during this time he traveled very much up and down, either within his own Kingdom, or into those of his next neighbours, whither the war often drew him, yet was his love his perpetual attendant, and upon the least occasion brought him still to Rome, where he had left the fair object of his passion. When ever he felt in himself any inclination to discover to Antonia what he suffered for her sake, her severity, and that modest fierceness she was subject to put him to immediate silence: and whereas upon all other occasions he was never known to be wanting as to courage, yet all that great confidence he was naturally master of, proved, as to this design, absolutely unserviceable, and that out of no other consideration then that he was not ignorant of the inflexible humour of Antonia. But at last he ventured to break forth into speech, after he had ushered in the discourse by thousands of actions which might have signified no less than what he spoke; but this first overture of his proved so little to his satisfaction, that for a long time after he could never reflect on it without a certain regret, which must needs be the greater, in that Antonia, who till then had suffered his conversation as she would do that of a Prince, eminent for his virtue, and high in the esteem of all the World, could not endure to hear from his own mouth, the first declaration of a passion which she had a natural aversion for, and entertained it with such a resentment, as easily put her upon a resolution to avoid all occasions of discourse with him. However, after some time she was persuaded to endure it, but not so much out of any remorse of her inclinations, as by the mediation of Octavia, who would not have her treat, with disdain and incivility, a King of extraordinary merit, as also upon the advice of her Brother Marcellus, whom she had very great respects for, and who highly esteemed Archelaus. But after all, the greatest advantage he made of this forbearance amounted not to so much as to make his condition any whit the better; and if Antonia gave him sometimes leave to wait on her, and to fall into discourse with her, yet could he never either from his addresses or conversation infer the least hope they might ever prove effectual, or derive any other comfort from them, save that of being assured, that his Rivals, (who no doubt were not a few, and those very considerable) were not treated any thing more favourably than himself.  
Besides Archelaus, there was a great number of other Princes at Rome, and there daily came some from all parts, as I told you, to do homage, and make their acknowledgements to the Lord of the greatest part of the Universe. Among the most accomplished were Mithridates and Polemon, persons whom their excellent endowments made accordingly considerable, it being indeed upon the account of their virtue, (which added a great lustre and advantage to their birth) that they had not long before received Crowns from the liberality of Augustus; Polemou that of Pontus, and Mithridates that of Comagenes. Mithridates, a person naturally confident and daring, and of high and aspiring thoughts; captivated by the perfections of Julia, and flattered into some hopes through her easiness, in admitting addresses and adorations, made no great secret for some time of the inclinations he had for her: but at length, seized with a fear of displeasing Marcellus, whom all the World very much respected as well for his reputation as his virtue, and to incense the Emperor himself, who would not have taken it kindly that his Daughter should be cajolled into any other affection then that of Marcellus, on whom he had resolved to bestow her, he was forced to smother his first inclinations, and after he had continued for some considerable time in an uncertainty, without being able to fasten on any choice, he at last ran the same fate with a many others, and became an admirer of the excellencies of Antonia, and accordingly put himself into the same predicament with Archelaus, Polemon, on the other side, continued Master of Liberty for a long time, but at last was forced to sacrifice it to Marcelia, Daughter to Octavia, by her former Husband, and Sister, both by Father and Mother, to Prince Marcellus: but his engagement into that affection was with very little hope, or rather very little likelihood of any good success; not but that his great worth and high birth were very considerable, but, it was the general belief that the Emperor had long before designed his Niece the Princess Marcelia for Wife to the great Agrippa, a person so considerable in point of reputation and interest, as not to be pararelled by Polemon, or indeed by any other person in the Empire, unless it were by Prince Marcellus himself. His younger Sister by the same marriage, named Martia, a Princess of an excellent Beauty, an admirable wit, and a disposition full of sweetness and complaisance, had also a great number of Suitors; and you are not to imagine but that Princesses of such worth, extractions and interests were more likely to raise desires than hopes in the hearts of such persons as were the most eminent.  
I have purposely given you this small account that you may thence infer what a noble and great Court there must needs be at Octavia's, where we were no less than five Princesses, who, next to Julia, might, not without reason, pretend to the first rank among all those of the Empire, and that had had the honour to be brought up by the conduct of a person, whose virtue is a thousand times more considerable than all the advantages she might have derived from either her Birth or her Fortune.  
Besides those that I have named to you, that were particularly related to the Imperial House, or were otherwise of Royal extraction, there was at Rome a great number of those Illustrious Families, which are no way inferior to those of Kings, as also of those Consular Houses, whereof the chiefs have so often led Kings in Triumph, and disposed of Kingdoms as if they had been their own private estates. The admirable Sulpicia, Daughter to Lucius Metellus, the Beautiful Hortensia, Daughter to Caius Lentulus, Servilia, Daughter to Servilius Hala, Flavia, of the Noble Blood of the Fabii, Sabina, of that of the famous Scipio's, and the discreet Virginia, the Daughter of Catulus, were, as I may say, in respect of us of the second magnitude. In like manner, among the men, the very same Families, and others of that quality had produced no small number of such, as, in all probability should not degenerate from the glory of their Ancestors; and as to matter of magnificence and gallantry, next to Marcellus, the Sons of Livia, and the Princes I have already mentioned to you, young Crassus, Son to those of that name, who died among the Parthians, a person already arrived to the fame of divers Noble Victories, young Catulus, Albinus, Ciuna, Lentulus, Flavianus the Son of Scaurus, Aemilianus, of the race of the Scipio's, and Cornelianus descended of that of the Cato's, were the most Eminent and Remarkable in Rome, as well for their excellent endowments, as their Pomp and Magnificence. All these persons, or at least the greatest part of them, came every day to the Empresse's Court, or to the Princess Julia's, or to us, or to Scribonia's, or to Terentia's, the Wife of Maecenas, and it may be well affirmed, that there never was any thing of ostentation, and magnificence, comparable to what was seen in the public shows, and divertisements, that these Illustrious Persons daily entertained us with, and that with such prodigality and profusions, as it were impossible to meet with in any other place, than a City that is Lady of the Universe, and surfeited with the spoils of so many Kingdoms.  
I need not tell you, Sister, that I have all this while digressed from what I had first undertaken, purposely to give you a slight description of Augustus' Court, and that out of a confidence you would not take it amiss to be acquainted with the names of those persons that are the most considerable in the Universe. I shall therefore now return to our own Family, and give you a punctual account of all that you desire to know concerning it, omitting, out of design, what happened long since, the more to hasten to a relation of what hath happened within these late years, as well because it is of greatest consequence, as that it is freshest in my memory, and most within my knowledge.  
That you may therefore be the better informed as to what concerns the affairs of our Family, you are to know, That Julius Antonius, as I have already told you, had been lost for some five or six years; That I was at Rome exposed to the cruel persecution of Tiberius; That Alexander was, not long before, gone from Rome into the Army in Pannonia, whence it was that he came to you; That Ptolomey was brought up in Caesar's Court, all the World conceaving miraculous hopes of him; That for our two Sisters, that were born of Octavia, Agrippina was courted by Domitius Aenobarbus, and the younger, Antonia by Archelaus, King of Cappadocia, and divers other Illustrious Persons, as well among the Romans, as among those Princes that had their education in Augustus' Court, and that for the two Princesses, the Daughters of Octavia and Marcellus, and whom we still looked on as our Sisters; Marcelia was courted by Crassus and Polemon, but according to the general opinion, designed by the Emperor for the great Agrippa; and the young and fair Martia, besides a many other Suitors and Adorers, whom her excellent perfections magnetically drew after her, was most earnestly courted by Aemilianus, one of the house of the Scipio's, and young Catulus, both persons extremely considerable as well upon the score of their virtues, as extraordinary worth and parts. The other Ladies, whom I have named to you, were also courted by the most Illustrious Persons about Rome, of Roman extraction, insomuch that Rome was, in point of gallantry and magnificence, much beyond what I am able to represent to you. The Emperor, who, as you know, is yet in the flower of his age, and is naturally very much inclined to whatever sounds any thing of gallantry, gave himself the example as to what tended that way, through the engagement and inclinations he then had, and still hath for Terentia, Mecoenas' Wife, a Woman of great Beauty, and a vast-wit and understanding, but with this disadvantage as to her reputation, that the frequent addresses and familiarity of the Emperor did her some injury, as being one, that, having been Wife to a man whose virtue the whole Empire had a particular honour and veneration for, should have carried herself with that reservedness as might have been proof against those reports, which but too too often blast the most circumspect behaviours.  
This excellent woman did the Emperor one day take occasion to entertain with a Comedy, Music, and walking, in the fair and famous Gardens of Lucullus, and all the persons I have named to you, with divers others, whom I have not mentioned, were admitted into the noble meeting. The first divertisement they were entertained with, while they expected the other, (which were not to be had, but by torchlight) was that of Walking, so that the Company being gotten into those pleasant walks, they took their turns about, and saw all the rarities of the Garden, which certainly are admirable, and not below the report that is spread over the World of it, and the charge, which the most sumptuous of mankind had been at about it. The Empress, whose thoughts have ever been more taken up with what related to her ambition and State-Affairs, then with any thing else, pretending to be ignorant of the Emperor's inclinations, and seeming not the least troubled thereat, would needs make one of that Assembly; and while they walked, was led by Agrippa, though she had no great respects for him, and looked on the interest he had with Augustus, with some jealousy. Maecenas waited on the Princess Octavia, and after her the Emperor himself led Terentia; after them came Julia, led by Marcellus, and after her myself, led by Tiberius. Domitius had Agrippina by the arm, and King Archelaus the fair Antonia. Marcelia was conducted by Prince Polemon, Martia by the gallant Crassus; Sulpicia, by Lentulus, Hortensia, by Flavianus; Sabina, by Cinna, Servilia, by Emilianus, Flavia, by Albinus, Virginia by Cornelianus, and the excellent Cipassis, (who for her own worth, and the friendship which Julia had for her, was numbered among the most considerable) by Ovid. Besides all these, Drusus, Ptolemy, Mithridates, and Horace, whom they had brought with them, and whom all the World respected, and was in love with, for his admirable wit, having not any Ladies to wait on, or being unwilling to engage themselves any where against their inclinations, very pleasantly desired leave to dispose of themselves where they might meet with any hands free; which Livia having, in the name of the whole company, granted them, Drusus came and took me by the hand, out of a confidence his Brother, who had me by the other, would not take it amiss. Ptolemey addressed himself to the beautiful Martia, who was led by Crassus; the daring Mithridates confidently fastened on Antonia, who was led by Archelaus; and Horace, after he had recollected himself a little after a very pleasant manner, laid hold of Cipassis, who was led by Ovid, and reaching him her hand, said very wittily, that for an unfortunate stranger, she was not the worst waited on in the Company, having those two men about her.  
This Noble Assembly, the noblest happily that the whole Universe could have afforded, went all together into a spacious walk, covered in a manner with trees of an extraordinary height, and abutted, as all the rest did, upon a large Basin of Water, which is in the midst of the Garden, having in it one principal figure which may be seen from all the extremities, and that is a Neptune, placed in the midst of the water, seated in his Chariot, drawn by Tritons, and holding in the right hand his Trident, which at the three points of it, cast forth water to a greater height than the highest trees of the Garden. He is compassed about by a hundred Nereids of Alabaster, disposed about the extremities of the Basin, in a hundred several postures; and placed at equal distances within a row of Pilasters of white marble, by which it is encompassed. From this place, by the means of twelve spacious walks, which abutt there, may be seen all the extremities of the Garden, and the end of every walk is remarkable for some object that does a certain pleasant violence on the sight, and surpasses the Spectator in twelve different manners. That particular walk into which we were gotten, entertained our eyes only with the gate of the Garden, and a prospect of Rome; but all the rest end either with perspectives, made with so much art, that they deceive the sight, even to the extremity thereof; or with grotts, admirable as well for the variety of shells, and the Nacre whereof they are built, as for the diversity of the springs and sigures, whereby they are adorned, or with Arbours miraculous for their structure, or lastly with descents of water, ordered with such extraordinary artifice, as that falling from an excessive height upon a many several steps, it makes a confused, but withal, a pleasant noise, and so runs into a number of little channels, which border the Walks in divers places, cross them in divers others, so that people are forced to go over them upon Bridges, having on both sides Pilasters of Marble.  
The twelve principal walks are crossed up and down by an infinite number of others, wherein it is not hard for one to lose himself; but with this advantage, by way of recompense, that wheresoever chance, or your own, inclination disposes of you, the objects you are entertained with, are every where very delightful and very surprising. There are thousands of rarities in this Garden, which I do not trouble you with an account of, and for what I have told, it hath only been by the way, and somewhat besides my purpose.  
When the whole Company had taken several turns about the Basin, it divided itself into several parties according to the different inclinations of the persons, Julia having made a proposition to that purpose, and represented that walking wanted that freedom and divertisement when there were a many together, which it had when there is more privacy. For my part I was resolved not to leave Octavia, who began to direct her course towards one of the principal Walks, and my Sister Antonia was as resolved to keep me company. It was, I must confess, no small satisfaction to me, that Drusus came and joined with Tiberius, to lead me, as well upon the account of the many excellent qualities I observed in his person, as also that I thought it much better, being between the Brothers, then alone with Tiberius; besides that I cannot deny, but that I found something in Drusus' discourse, which in some measure took off the tediousness I met with in that of his Brother, and consequently was satisfied as to the good opinion which all the World had of him. He was in very good terms with Marcellus, as to the difference there had been between them concerning their loves to Julia; insomuch, that he not only forbore all visits to the Princess, but it was visible in all his actions, that he had given over all thoughts of her, and sought nothing with so much earnestness as the friendship of Marcellus. Besides, though he sided as much as he could with his Brother, as in point of honour he was obliged to do, yet did he not press his interest very much to me, and knowing the aversion I had for his Brother's addresses, and the respects I had for those of Coriolanus, he said very little to me of his Brother, and spoke nothing to the disadvantage of his Rival. 'Twas this day that he entertained me with abundance of things that were infinitely pleasant, and his Brother maliciously putting him upon some discourse concerning Julia, he spoke of her with so much modesty and reservedness, but withal with so much wit, that I had from that time a greater esteem for him then I had had before.  
After us came Antonia, led by Archelaus and Mithridates, but the Emperor having sent for Archelaus, as having some business to communicate to him, Mithridates stayed alone with Antonia, to his unconceaveable satisfaction. This was it he had sought out of a long time, and what he could never find before; and accordingly being a person infinitely confident, he would needs make his advantage of it, attributing the silence he had for some time observed to want of opportunity. And yet all his confidence, though summoned together upon this occasion, stuck not so close to him, but that for some minutes he was at a loss what to do as to the design he had to discover his thoughts, and Antonia on the other side was so terrible upon any occasions of that nature, that she was able to make the most assured of their strength to tremble. However he took heart in his resolution, and falling into discourse about the departure of Archelaus; I never made it any question, Madam, said he to her, but that Archelaus entertains whatever orders come from Caesar, with all the respect and compliance that may be; but for this last, I believe it hath been received by him, with a disturbance equal to the satisfaction it hath bred in me. I cannot apprehend, replies Antonia, the cause of either his discontent or your joy, nor see in this accident any occasion of either the one or the other. For Archelaus, replies Mithridates, you cannot certainly but know how unkindly he takes it to be absent from you, since you are not to be now acquainted with the passion he hath for you: and for Mithridates, you may well imagine what joy it is to him to have the honour to wait on you alone, when I have once told you that he is involved in the same chains with Archelaus.  
These words of Mithridates made Antonia blush for very indignation, though from some circumstances she was satisfied as to some part of that truth; but she would needs pretend that she understood not his meaning, and so seem the less incensed against him, whereupon reassuming the discourse with an action full of disdain, I know not, said she to him, what you mean either by the chains or passions of Archelaus, but am satisfied, that were he conscious of any thing which I should take amiss at his hands, the respects he hath for me are so great, that he would keep it from my knowledge. Ah Madam, replied he, is it possible, that you who pretend so much to a real sincerity, can so peremptorily affirm that the King of Cappadocia hath never entertained you with the affection he hath for you? If ever he did speak to me of it, replies the Princess, it matters not, I gave no credit to what he said, and that for me to do so, was the greatest advantage he could ever hope from such discourse; for after all, when he had done what he could to persuade me that he had an affection for me, I should possibly have persuaded him in my turn, that I should be subject to a quite contrary passion for persons, whose affections make them forget the respect they ought to observe. For matter of respect, replies the Prince of Comagenes, I must acknowledge, it ought to be had for you while life lasts, and that the least violation thereof deserves the severest punishment; but for a man to be so far from being wanting in point of respect, as that he only presumes to discover a love, which for the greatest part consists in respect itself; does he deserve those lightnings and thunderbolts which you cast at the guilty? and must a man needs be exposed to your indignation for telling you, that he hath an adoration for you, equal to what he hath for the gods, as he should be to that of another person, whom he had done some affront to? The case is the very same, replies the Princess very roundly, and in my opinion, there should be no distinction made between such adorations and affronts. How Madam, cries out Mithridates, it seems you allow no difference between the effects of Love, and those of Hatred? When those of Love are importunate and troublesome, answers Antonia, I think them more insupportable than those of Hatred, and, such is my humour, I should sooner pardon an affect of Hatred in my enemies, than an expression of Love in those that call themselves my Friends. Ah Madam, replies the Prince with an action full of earnestness, if it be so, I shall advise the unfortunate Mithridates not to tell you till at the last gasp, that he dies for you, and I shall beseech you for the future to read in his eyes what you forbid him to declare with his tongue.  
Mithridates had no sooner pronounced these words, with a submissive look on the ground, but Antonia casting her eyes on him, with an action full of fierceness; Mithridates, said she to him, I am now satisfied that you take me for ... at which word making a sudden stop, haply to correct what the hastiness of her thoughts had almost forced into her mouth. No, no, said the Prince, interrupting her, no Madam, I do not take you for Julia, for it was of her that you were going to speak, and the gods are my witnesses, that though truth itself, and the passion I have had for that Princess, might well oblige me to speak advantageously of her, yet must I acknowledge that I find no resemblance between you. It was from my intention, replies Antonia, to say any thing of Julia, I conceive it an honour to be any way like her, and am persuaded she gives as little entertainment as I do, to such discourses as that, you have entertained me with: but whether that be so or not, if I have deserved this unhappy adventure for the pains I have taken to make you some answer on an unbeseeming subject, merely to avoid the like for the future, since I cannot take down your confidence, I shall deprive you of the occasions, and you shall talk to me in another stile, or never see me again.  
Mithridates at these words, notwithstanding his great confidence was somewhat at a loss, and knew not what answer to make her, when the incensed Antonia having pronounced them; and walking a little faster to overtake us, Sister, Sister, said she to me, stay for us, and give us leave to be of your company, and participate of your discourse.  
These words falling from her somewhat disorderedly, were enough for me to guess at the truth; so that when she was come up to us, I could not forbear looking on her with a certain smile, as if I understood by her countenance that she was really angry. Coming to our side, Drusus, who was next her, very respectfully presented her with the hand he had at liberty, and Antonia having with as much civility received it, we walked all five abrest, after Octavia and Maecenas, who were some few paces before us, and often engaged in our discourse. Tiberius and Drusus talked in a manner all the time, and though Mithridates was a person sufficiently inclined to discourse and mirth, yet came there not many words from him all the day after. I could not forbear smiling when ever I looked on Antonia, who was extremely troubled at it. But what was most pleasant of all, was, when we were gotten out of the spacious walk to go into others that were narrower, which lie next to the little Rivuletts, and wherein there cannot walk above three abrest; for Drusus being in the middle of the five, and just between my Sister and me, we were both desirous to keep him; Antonia, to be exempted from the discourse she was so willing to avoid, and I, because I would not be alone with Tiberius, and accordingly upon these several considerations we both drew Drusus with us at the same time, and to make him the more sure to us, wrung him hard by the hand.  
That action surprised him a little at first, as not being wont to be so treated by us, but a while after, being a person infinitely ingenious, he apprehended our meaning, and could not forbear laughing at it. He was a while in suspense which side to take, telling us that he wished himself the fate of Aristocles, with abundance of other things, very witty and pleasant; but at last, he decided the controversy, somewhat to my disadvantage, for he left me, because he would be alone with Antonia, but telling me withal very wittily, that he was a better Brother then for to deprive Tiberius any longer of my discourse, and that he would wait upon Antonia, who had not the same engagements to Mithridates, as I had to his Brother. Mithridates' blushed at this discourse, and was forced, though with much discontent, to accept of Drusus' company: but not long after, being come to a place where several walks crossed one the other, we met Julia, Agrippina, and Marcia, with Marcellus, Domitius, Crassus, and young Ptolomey our Brother, and saw coming on the other side, the Emperor with Terentia, the Empress, Marcelia and divers others, so that Caesar having given order that all the Company should rally, all met together at the end of one of the walks in a spacious vaulted Arbour, open on three sides, and having at the three openings, three springs casting up water higher than the roof of the Arbour. There it was that the Music expected us, and that the most excellent voices that Rome could afford, joined to all the instruments requisite to make a noble consort, gave us a very delightful divertisement. After the Music, which lasted not above an hour, all went a walking again, and walked till night; but this second time, every one endeavoured to avoid being of their Company whom they could not affect, so that Mithridates being deprived of the company of Antonia, who did all she could to shun him, stayed with Drusus, Crassus, young Ptolomey, and others, who came not near the Ladies for all that day.  
When the day began to dis-lodge, and resign its place to darkness, we were all brought into a spacious Bower, so covered over with the boughs of trees whereof it was made that the violent rays of the Meridian Sun could hardly find any passage into it, but that night it had such an excess of light, that it might be said it never knew a greater day, that is, that of a thousand torches fastened to a hundred sumptuous branches sparkling with gold and precious stones, which hanging down from the boughs of the Bower, produced the noblest effect in the World, and enlightened a magnificent Theatre that had been set up at one end of it, and upon which the successors of the famous Roscius entertained the Company for two hours.  
The Comedy being ended, we went into another Bower, not far from the former, and enlightened after the same manner, where we were entertained with a magnificent collation; and that also over, the rest of the night was spent in dancing. Archelaus danced with Antonia, whom Mithridates durst not come near all the night. Polemon danced with Marcelia, and had a long discourse with her, and our Brother Ptolomey, with the fair Martia; but after a manner much different from that of the other. For Polemon having an extraordinary passion for Marcelia, who for her part was not any way moved thereat, and did not much mind the expressions of Polemon's affection, and Ptolomey naturally averse from love, unless it were that of his liberty, was little moved at the beauty of Martia, though she were so well furnished that way as to make an impression on souls that were most insensible, and had naturally no aversion for Ptolemey, but lived with him by the directions of Octavia, as if they had been Brother and Sister. For Domitius and Agrippina, their conversation was full of freedom, and whereas the pretensions of Domitius were generally countenanced and encouraged, and Agrippina a person of a disposition easily satisfied, her affection accordingly met with few traverses of fortune, and so her mind had little to struggle withal. Marcellus and Julia were in the height of familiarity, in regard no man disputed her with him, and that he himself had made his peace with her, as to the difference they had had together about the love of Drusus; and for my part, I had my hands full of Tiberius, who made all the advantage he could of the absence of Coriolanus, but the most pleasant part of the story was a dispute raised by Cypassis, between Ovid and Horace, who had waited on her all that day, and who, upon a very nice and ticklish question, said things worthy the admiration of all the World. The greatest part of the night being thus spent, it was thought time to retire, whereupon the whole Company being disposed into Chariots, every one went to, what was then most desirable, rest.  
I know Sister I have not done well thus to digress, or at least there was no necessity I should give you such a particular description of that days walking and entertainments, and it is not unlikely you expected to hear of some extraordinary accident some way relating to this History. But this short relation of the divertisements of that day, (whereof I have given as brief an account as I could) may be thus far advantageous to you, as to make you better acquainted, as well with the persons, as the little intrigues that then were in the Court of Augustus, and I have been so much the larger out of this consideration, that it was this day that gave birth to some things which have since come to pass of very great consequence. My Sister Antonia and I had lain together for some few days before, and were extraordinary kind one to another, as being engaged in a friendship that allowed as little separation as could possibly be. As we were undressing ourselves that night, I fell into discourse about what had happened between her and Mithridates, and though she was extremely loath to make me acquainted with it, yet at last not able to stand out against my persecutions of her, she gave me a punctual account of all the discourse she had had with him, as I have related it to you already, and discovered so much indignation in the recital thereof, that notwithstanding the sadness which then lay heavy on my heart, I could not forbear laughing at it, and to torment her with discourse about it. But the occasion I laid hold of to do so, was yet more handsome, when, as she put off her clothes, there fell, out of one of her sleeves, a letter that had been hidden there, and which was no sooner fallen to the ground, but I took it up, and having with a great curiosity looked on the superscription, I found written in a hand that was unknown to me. (To the fair Antonia.) I had no sooner eyed that superscription, but presenting it to her, and obliging her to read it, she was extremely at a loss, and perceaving her amazement to be so great as hindered her from speaking, Sister, said I to her, you have not dealt freely with me, since that having acquainted me with the particularities of Mithridates ' s affection, you conceal from me that of another more forunate Servant of yours, from whom you receive letters. These words put her into a sudden blush; but having soon after recovered herself, Sister, replied she very soberly, I shall not vindicate myself to you, and I think you know me better than to believe that I receive letters from any one. And yet you see, replied I, that this is very truly directed to you, and that he that writ it, hath been so much afraid it should miscarry, that he would needs put your name in the superscription in very fair Characters. For that, replies Antonia, be it on the account of his discretion; but that he hath been so fortunate in his design, as that it should be known it was directed to me, is all the satisfaction it will bring him, and assure yourself, I am satisfied with the bare superscription, and have no desire to see any more of it. Not but that I am persuaded it comes from Mithridates himself, who will needs accomplish what he so confidently began, It being not so likely that Archelaus should have any hand in it, since he talked with me all the evening, and that I cannot believe every day should produce persons guilty of such an excess of confidence. However it may be, said I to her, if you are not resolved to conceal it from me, you will give me leave to read it. You may as well let it alone, replies Antonia, but it would argue in me a distrust of my own strength, should I forbid you to do it if you are so resolved. I therefore opened the letter, and began to read aloud these words.  
Since that in your judgement there is no distinction to be made between adorations and affronts, and that you think the effects of hatred more supportable than those of love.  
Now, Sister, says Antonia, interrupting me, was I not in the right, when I told you it came from Mithridates, and are they not his own words in the discourse that past between us? So far, said I to her, I agree with you that Mithridates is the Author of it; but let us see what follows, and comfort yourself so far, as that there is no new affront offered you in this letter, since it acquaints you with nothing but what you knew before. Antonia being of the same opinion, heard me with much more quietness of thought then before, so that I began it again, and found it in these words.  
SInce that in your judgement there is no distinction to be made between adorations and affronts, and that you think the effects of Hatred more supportable than those of Love, those who are destined to affront you, since they are only such as are born to adore you, ought either to conceal the offence from you, or keep the offender out of your knowledge. For my part, fairest Antonia, I am the greatest of your Enemies, since that I am of all mankind the person that hath the greatest affection for you, and I tell you that confidently, which I should not without trembling, were I not unknown to you. You have seen and known the person, while yet you were ignorant of his passion; but now that the passion is discovered, it is but fit the person should be concealed, that only his Love may be exposed to your indignation. And since it is only Love that you hate, and not the persons that are inclined to love you, if it be possible to engage the aversion you have for it, with such good success as that you may be entreated to be more favourable to it, those who are guilty of no other crime, will appear before you in a less odious posture, when their crime is pardoned, or at least connived at by your indulgence. The most guilty of all those that commit any offences of this nature against you, seeing himself reduced by your inflexible maxims, to a cruel necessity of either holding his peace, or concealing himself, stands in suspense at the choice he is to make, which though it be, in appearance, fantastic, yet is in its consequences rational enough, nay haply generous enough, since that he cannot be charged with any consideration of his person, but only of his love, and that it is to induce you to bear with his Love, that he addresses himself to you, and not to engage you to any affection towards his person, which he conceals from you, and which he shall conceal, haply, as long as believes. Pardon him this innocent surprise, which he intends your rigour, and let only your Beauty engage against him, in a case wherein, to punish the rashness of his attempt, it wants not the assistance of your cruelty.  
As soon as I had given over reading, I looked on Antonia, who at the same time cast her eyes on my face, with certain discoveries of astonishment, not inferior to what I was in myself. In a word, we were both equally surprised, and whereas we inferred from the first words of the Letter, that it came from Mithridates, we concluded from the sequel, not only the quite contrary, but were persuaded withal, that the person who had writ it, had never made any expression of his love to Antonia, and that in that Letter he took occasion to make the first discoveries of it. 'Tis true we were somewhat distrustful as to that opinion, when we reflected on the first words, which were the same she had said to Mithridates, and could not apprehend how they could come by chance so pat into the imagination of the Unknown Lover; but for all the rest, it had so little relation or consistency either with the humour, former proceeding of Mithridates, or the terms wherein he was with Antonia, that we were satisfied it must needs be some other, and that one that either out of curiosity or concernment in the business, might have gotten behind the trees that were on both sides the walk, wherein the discourse had passed, and listening attentively to what was said, had heard some part of it.  
Being agreed in this opinion as the most probable, we fell into discourse upon the adventure; so far, that Antonia thought there was some thing in it so full of surprise, and so extraordinary, that she could not be angry at it, as she had been before at the confidence of Mithridates. We searched among all the men I have named to you the person we could with any likelihood suspect; but though it was out of all question that it was one of those that had passed the day with us, yet after we had examined them all one after another, we could not fasten on any one whom we could charge with it. Divers of them had come near Antonia, as well during the Comedy, as while they danced, and at the Collation; but of all those that she could remember had had any discourse with her, there was not any whom we knew not to be otherwise engaged as to matter of affection, or to be much wanting in point of ingenuity, to carry on such a piece of gallantry. When we had discovered almost to weariness about it; Who it may be, it matters not, says Antonia, he puts himself to a great deal of trouble to no purpose, and if he deprive me of the object of my indignation, by concealing his person from me, he also deprives himself, continued she laughing, of the acknowledgement I should return his affection by not discovering himself. Ah Sister, said I to her, how well is this man acquainted with you, and how true is it, that if you were as ready to make acknowledgements, as to be transported with indignation, he would have taken a course quite contrary to what he hath; but, be he what he will, I do not only think him extremely ingenious, but I believe he may carry on his design very successfully, and dare pass my word that you have a less aversion for him then for Mithridates and others, who have been so confident as to discover their passions to you. I acknowledge no less, replies Antonia, and am of your mind, that if I never know him while I live, I shall never while I live know whom I ought to hate. However it may be, replied I, 'tis out of all doubt, this man hath Understanding, and in that understanding something that is great, and signifies very visibly that he is a person of eminent quality, we shall know him when he shall think it fit. ... And, I hope, added Antonia, interrupting me, that, if he be a man of his word, we shall never know him. In troth, replied I, my mind gives me, I should be extremely troubled at it, and must confess this untrodden way of proceeding hath raised in me a more than ordinary curiosity. We should have had abundance of other discourse upon this adventure, but it was so late, or rather so near day, that we were loath to sit up any longer, so that going to bed a little after, we soon fell asleep.  
For some days ensuing, (though it might well be thought, that the misfortunes of my own life, being at that time such as found matter of discontent enough, should have left me but little curiosity) I made it my earnest business to find out whom that Letter should come from, nay seemed to be much more concerned in the business than Antonia herself, who looked on all these things with the greatest indifference imaginable. And what much heightened my inquisition, was, that me thought the adventure argued somewhat so far beyond the ordinary way of proceeding, that, contrary to my natural inclination, I was extremely desirous to see the issue of it. But all the little inquiries I made, proved ineffectual, for I never could come to the least discovery of any thing; with so great circumspection had that person managed all things in order to the design he had to continue still unknown, though he omitted not any that might demonstrate the earnestness of his passion for Antonia.  
In the mean time, Ptolomey our Brother, (the only Brother Fortune had left us after the loss of Alexander, who was gone to find you out in Armenia, and of whom we had not the least account in the World) lived in Augustus' Court, after such a rate as gave all that knew him occasion to conceive very great hopes of him: but as to matter of inclinations, the greatest he seemed to have, were those of his Liberty, nay, though he daily waited on the fairest Ladies about Rome, and was extremely well entertained by them, yet could it not be inferred from any action of his, that he had a particular devotion for any. He was a great Lover of Arms, Horses, and all Exercises of the Body, and had a singular dexterity therein; but, to sigh or pine for a Beauty, was a thing inconsistent with his humour, as being a person naturally inclined to be free and cheerful, and avoided as much as could be all distraction of thought. The virtuous Octavia, who still persisted in the generous design she had taken to make the best provision she could for the children of Anthony, and imagined she could not do it any way better than by bringing them into the family and alliance of Caesar, being now out of all hopes to effect her desires first in the person of Julius Antonius, and not long since in that of Alexander, who was looked on as lost as well as our Elder Brother, conceived it might be brought to something in Pt●lomey, and wished his inclination directed to Martia, a Lady courted by the greatest persons among the Romans, and, to speak modestly of her, one that had very excellent parts. Ptolomey made no difficulty, to entertain that Princess with all the civilities she might expect from him, nay, discovered somewhat of particular affection for her, suitably to the good intentions of Octavia: but indeed his flames were come to no great height, though Martia were a person infinitely lovely, for having a freedom of access to her every day, his deportment was accordingly full of chieerfulness and indifference. It was much otherwise with Martia, and though she were of an exemplary virtue and modesty, yet must it withal be acknowledged, that she is subject to much tenderness of mind, and having been brought up with Ptolomey, as with a person on whom her mother had cast her eyes with a design to make him her Husband, and lived familiarly with him as with Marcellus, that fraternal friendship, which, with the names of Brother and Sister, Octavia would needs have continued among us, had made a greater impression in her mind, than well stood with the serenity and quiet thereof, so far as that she was no longer able to withstand the lovely qualities of that Prince, which out of all doubt had wrought much more upon her inclinations, than hers had upon those of Ptolomey. I had, not without much dis-satisfaction, taken notice of it myself, and several times chid my Brother for his backwardness in his acknowledgements of the sincere affection of Martia: but the young man, of an uncontrolled humour, would make some shift to put me off, telling me that he loved and honoured Martia, as he was obliged to do, and that he should be well content to give her the greatest assureances she could expect of the devotion he had for her; but for melancholy, disturbances of mind, and reservedness, he looked on them as the destroyers of his happiness, and making good what he said in his actions, he was indeed very punctual in doing her all manner of civilities, and acknowledgements, nay so far as to express a more particular affection for her, then for any other. Yet was it observable withal, that it was done with a certain discovery of much freedom of mind, which argued in him such a mediocrity of inclinations, as that he would not, to wait on her, abate any thing of his enjoyments, nor let slip any occasion that offered itself to be among the Ladies, whose company could afford him aught of diversion. Martia, who is of a very mild disposition, endured this indifferent manner of behaviour a long time, without the least discovery of any discontent thereat: but at last, looking on it as an evident expression of his coldness and negligence, she began to be troubled, insomuch that the grief she conceived thereat, wrought some alteration both in her humour and countenance. All the World took notice of her sadness; but the motive thereof was absolutely unknown, and Martia, who made it her business to conceal it what she could, had haply smothered it to this day, if I had not casually made the first discovery thereof.  
During the time that her melancholy grew more and more prevalent upon her, taking occasion to give her a visit, and finding her alone, I entreated her of all love to acquaint me with the cause of her sadness, which troubled not only all that knew her, but myself more particularly, who (as I was for many considerations obliged to do) had a more than ordinary affection for her. My caresses were answered by Martia; after an indifferent and evasive manner, yet such as betrayed much grief and resentment. Very loathe she seemed to be go give me any satisfactory answer, and would say no more than that she knew not any cause whence her sadness should proceed, and that it must be derived from her temperament or some indisposition of Body. But I, not satisfied with this answer, reproached her with a want of sincerity, and was pressing her to discover her mind more freely to a person whom she might trust with any thing, when Ptolomey comes into the Chamber. His first appearance wrought such an alteration in her, that her colour changed several times of a sudden; and having casually cast my eyes on her countenance, I could not but immediately take notice of the alteration which my Brothers coming in had wrought therein. From this discovery I might well guess at some part of the business, and was in a manner persuaded that Ptolomey had contributed much to the change of that Princess' disposition.  
This reflection made me take more particular notice of her deportment than I had done before, and I observed, that while Ptolomey stayed with us, she was at such a loss, that she found it some difficulty to speak. His visit was indeed but very short, for having stayed about a quarter of an hour with us, he told us, we were too sad for his company, and that he would go to Sabina's, where Virginia, Hortensia, Telavia, and several other Ladies were met, and where he hoped to find more diversion. Whereupon going out of the room, he left Martia so much troubled, both at his words, and manner of departure, that the most dis-observant person in the World might have perceaved the disturbance of her thoughts, by the trouble it raised in her countenance. I must confess I was myself much surprised at Ptolomey's deportment, and angry with him for it, and having withal observed Martia's affliction thereat, I was so much the more earnest to look further into the business, out of the desires I had to serve and oblige her, if it lay in my power. To which effect reiterating the caresses and entreaties I had made to her some few minutes before, I conjured her by all the friendship that was between us, not to conceal from me any longer what her heart was so much burdened with, assuring her that that curiosity in me proceeded not from any thing but the desires I had to serve her in that conjuncture, proportionably to the affection I had for her. But I could not get a word from her, & instead of some answer, there fell from her eyes some few tears which she could not possibly keep in any longer, and which she would have concealed from me by turning her head to the other side. That discovery raised in me all the compassion I could conceive at such an accident, and thereupon putting my cheek to hers, with an action that argued the tenderness I had for her, What Sister, said I to her, can you be so cruel as to conceal from me the cause of a grief wherein I concern myself so much; or have I so poorly deserved your affection, that you have so little confidence of mine? I durst trust my life in your hands, replies Martia, nay any thing else that I thought more precious; But why will you engage me into a discourse, whence you will infer nothing but my foudnesse and extravagance? Or if you have any opinion of my prudence, why will you not rather advise me to do all that lies in my power to preserve it? I am so well satisfied as to that particular, replied I, that I shall never conceive otherwise of you; and that is the reason I am so importunate with you, as knowing, that I shall not understand any thing from you, which must not confirm me in the confidence I have thereof. It argues the greatness of my obligations to you, replied the Princess, but be what will the issue of it, I cannot have the courage to acquaint you with my weakness, and I think I satisfy the duty of our mutual friendship when I promise you to acknowledge it, if you guess the cause thereof. Since you afford me that freedom, said I to her, and consequently give me some ground to believe you will approve that of my discourse, may I not ask you, whether the young Prince, who now left the room, be not in some measure the occasion of your melancholy, and whether his being wanting in the service he owes you may be some cause of your being dissatisfied with him?  
Upon these words, Martia, being not any longer able to smother the confusion she was in, nor the blushes that spread through her countenance, leaned herself against my shoulder, and wring one of my hands between both her own, with the greatest discovery of passion that could be, Sister, said she to me, with much difficulty, I am not worthy the services of Ptolomey; nay it is not unlikely he conceives it so, and by his deportment towards me, you may easily judge, that I am not to statter myself with any great hopes of him. I must confess that, having entertained the first addresses of his affection, by the commands of those who have the disposal of my inclinations, and that having possibly been too implicitly dutiful to Octavia, I cannot quit the hopes I had conceived thereof, without some affliction; and this is the confusion, this is the fondness, which I neither durst, nor aught to have discovered, but the reliance I have on your friendship persuades me, that you will not let it go any further, nay, that you will conceal it even from Ptolomey himself, who obliges me not to this tenderness for him, while he hath so little for me.  
These words, falling from her with that mildness which is absolutely natural in her, gave my heart a more than ordinary assault, whereupon embracing her with a certain excess of affection; Sister, said I to her, Ptolomey is happy, in●iinitely beyond his deserts, if I may measure his happiness by these discoveries of your affection towards him; nay I am confident, that had be but the knowledge thereof, he would cast himself at your feet, begging your pardon for all the faults, which through the inconsiderate sallies of youth, he may have committed against you. He were unworthy all countenance of fortune, if he entertain not this as the greatest which Heaven could favour him with; but I am to assure you, as I have had it thousands of times from his own mouth, and see it in his heart, that he hath for you the greatest sentiments of passion and respect he can have, and if that be wanting in the demonstrations he ought to give you thereof, it is to be attributed to the impetuosity of his greener years, which time will so settle, as that you will be the only object of his devotions for all the rest of his life. I shall not acquaint him with any thing of what you have discovered to me, but as from myself make him sensible of his omissions of duty, and I dare promise you to bring him at your feet, as penitent, and as reform in matter of inclination as he ought to be, and your virtue deserves. With these words, and what else I said to her, I appeased Martia, and further representing to her, that Ptolomey deserved not so great expressions of her good will, and that it was but oitting he should not be acquainted therewith, lest it made him too insolent, I by degrees so laid that mild nature, that I brought her to a resolution of not grieving any longer after that manner, and that she would reassume her former freedom and pleasantness of conversation.  
In the mean time, give me leave to acquaint you with the adventure, which the same day happened to Ptolomey, and prepare yourself to hear a very strange accident. He went to Sabina's, as he told us he would, where a great many Ladies met, and among others, besides those he had named to us, Helvidia, Sulpicia, Emilia, (whom I made mention of in the adventures of Julius Antonius, & who was some years since married to Scipio) and with her that inexorable Tullia, who had been the cause of the loss of our Elder Brother. After the death of Caecinna, and the deplorable accident I have already related to you, she retired to Tusculum, where she continued six years, without ever coming once to Rome; during which time Cicero, her Brother, had made his abode in afric, where he was Proconsul; but being not long before returned to Rome, he had brought his Sister with him, which to effect he had used all the authority he had over her, otherwise she had still continued her solitude. 'Twas not above three days before that she came to Rome, where she was thought as beautiful as when she left it, though she were then about three or four and twenty years of age, and had a sufficient measure of affliction to cause some alteration in her beauty. Her dress was not after the exactness of the mode, yet neat, and there was in her countenance such a conjunction of sweetness and majesty, that Ptolomey, who had never seen her before, immediately took notice of her more than of any of the rest. At his coming in, the company was gotten into a long Gallery, where they were looking on the pieces that were hanged about it, yet so as they were divided into parties, according to the difference of pictures more or less inviting them. Ptolomey was not expected in this company, and if Sabina had had any notice of his coming, she would not have had Tullia there, though she were of her most intimate acquaintances: but he being of a quality that won him a welcome reception every where, and that the excellencies of his person recommended him no less than the rank he was of, he was very kindly entertained, so far as that some part of the company came about him at his entrance into the room. Being a person of a majestic look, a noble carriage of body, and a deportment infinitely taking, Tullia immediately observed him, not without surprise, and she viewed him with such a look as discovered, that, notwithstanding his being Anthony's Son, he seemed such to her, as could not raise her aversion. Now she being the only person in the company to whom he was unknown, she asked one that stood next her, what his name was; which she had no sooner heard, but there rise such a tempest in her countenance, that the alteration happened therein was observed by all those that looked on her. She was once in a thought to leave the company, whereupon coming up to Emilia, and whispering her in the ear with some disturbance, What, said she to her, can the World afford me no place of refuge against the Children of Anthony? Emilia, who was troubled at the accident, made her no immediate answer; but Sabina, as Lady of the House, coming near her to make excuses for what was happened, and to let her know that she was as much surprised at Ptolomey's arrival, as she was, told her withal, that he was a person of such quality, as not to be forced out of the house. Whereupon Emilia, having somewhat recovered herself, entreated her not to make any disturbance in the company, and to remember herself, that the two public discoveries she had made of her aversion for the children of Anthony had produced effects but too too deplorable; that she might stay in the room, yet not engage herself into any particular conversation with Ptolomey, and from that day avoid all opportunities of meeting with him; that she would undertake, that Ptolomey should not endeavour any acquaintance with her, and that she knew so much of his humour, as raised in her a confidence that he would not be guilty of those importunities towards her, which his Brother had been. Sabina added her entreaties to those of Emilia, and both together prevailed so far with Tullia, that they persuaded her to stay with them as long as the rest did.  
In the mean time, Ptolomey, who, upon the first sight, had taken notice of Tullia's beauty, and had further observed some part of the trouble which his presence had raised in her, and some thing of what had passed in that part of the Gallery where she had retired, being in some impatience to know the name of that beautiful person, asked it of Albinus, who, making no difficulty, to give him an account of her, filled him with astonishment. He retreated some few paces, as somewhat amazed, and looking on her more attentively than before; What, said he, is this the same inexorable Tullia, that terrible Beauty, by whose means we have lost our Brother? At these words he stopped, running over in his mind thousands of things which presented themselves confusedly to his imagination. The relation had been made of the insupportable treatments which our Brother had received from her, and the sad effects they had produced, raised in him such bitter resentments against her, as made him abhor her as an over-cruel enemy; And though he were not ignorant of the reason she had to defy all communication with our house, yet was it his judgement, as well as of a many others, that she was excessively violent against a Prince, that had given her so great assurances of his love, and who, as to his person, was very amiable and much respected. He had often wished a meeting with her, to see, as he would say himself, what making that terrible person was of, and to try, whether his soul were so immalleable, and consequently not able to resist the influences of her beauty better than that of Julius Antonius did. But Tullia being not returned to Rome, and that there was no expectation of her coming thither, he had quitted all hopes of it, nay, lost all remembrance of her. At last, having recovered himself out of the first astonishment he had conceived at the rencontre, he fortified his heart with more fierceness then ordinary, summoning all his indignation, to avoid a fate like that of his Brothers. But he stood not in any need of that assistance, for, whether it proceeded from the prejudice he had against her, or from a certain Antipathy: he was not guilty of the least inclination for her, and accordingly looking on her with a scornful smile; Arm thyself, said he to himself, with all the charms of imperious beauty, thou shalt not treat me as thou didst my Brother. He was at first in a mind to be gone, as being unwilling that his presence should cause any distraction in a company whereto he had not any invitation; but not long after perceaving, that all were satisfied with his being there, and that Sabina herself was not troubled at it, he resolved to stay, as thinking it no discretion to deprive himself of his enjoyments, to do the enemy of our house a pleasure, and being not much troubled at the spite he thought he did her by his stay.  
Being a person infinitely master of himself, he immediately reassumed his ordinary pleasantness, and while the conversation lasted, there fell from him the most ingenious things he had said in his life, and that with such a grace, that all the company admired him. Even Tullia herself was as attentive as any, could not forbear looking on him, and found, to her grief, that her indignation was not so violent, as she had wished it might have been. They spent the time in several recreations, they danced, they had a collation; and as Ptolomey was the most sportive, the most pleasant, and, out of all doubt, the handsomest person in the company, so did he accordingly, in the dancing, and all the other entertainments, draw the eyes and ears of the presence after him. He sung, he danced with abundance of grace, nay, he would needs that day make the greatest ostentation he could of himself, purposely to put his enemy out of countenance, and to let her know that the children of Anthony, were not so contemptible as she would by her example have persuaded the World. His intention as to some part proved effectual, as to the rest, it produced effects much different from those which he expected it should. He spoke to all the Ladies that were present, several times, Tullia only excepted, whom yet he treated not with any incivility, or did any action that might disoblige her, as well out of a respect for her sex, as upon Sabina's account, thinking it enough to be at some distance from her, as it were to make show of respect, and the fear he was in to displease her. He looked on her often, and he observed her eyes were in a manner always fastened on his countenance. He at first conceived her looks to be such as proceeded from indignation, but afterwards he was satisfied there was nothing of hostility in them, and that her eyes darted no more rigour on him, than any other of the company. That observation made him the more self-conceited▪ insomuch, that having that day resolved to be confident even to a degree of insolence, whispering Lentulus, who stood by him, in the ear, yet without turning his eyes towards Tullia, whom he would by no means offend; Pray give me your opinion, said he to him, with a pleasant kind of presumption, do not you perceive, that that cruel enemy of ours, who treated our elder Brother with such rigour, honours us with her looks? I have taken notice of it, as well as yourself, says Lentulus to him, and you would think it very strange, if, instead of the aversion she hath for your house, she should have a contrary passion for you. I should indeed be extremely astonished at it, replies Ptolomey, but if it should be the pleasure of the gods that such a thing should come to pass, I protest to you I should revenge my Brother. How, added Lentulus, taking him to the window, that they might not be heard, you would behave yourself barbarously and inflexibly towards a Beauty that had an affection for you, and would act the part of Tullia towards her, if she acted towards you that of Julius Antonius? I have not hitherto, replied my Brother, been any ways in a condition to exercise my cruelty, and when things shall come to the pass that you speak of, I shall not be guilty of those scorns and incivilities towards Tullia, which she was towards my Brother, because it is impossible I should ever be exempted from that respect which I owe her Sex. But I would have her to know, that that destiny, rather than his own reason, which forced my Brother into the extremities of blindness and extravagance, hath not the same influence on me, and that there can but little love be expected from me for a person guilty of so much aversion for an innocent Prince, and one so eminent as Julius Antonius was.  
While Ptolomey broke forth into these expressions, and chafed himself into exasperation by the sight of that female enemy of his, there passed things of a quite different nature in the soul of Tullia; insomuch that though that Beauty did all she could to heighten her detestation against Ptolomey, yet that passion, disarmed of its main strength, was so far from contributing any thing thereto, that it seemed of no force at all, and whether it were that she saw in the person of Ptolomey, (son to Cleopatra, and not to Fulvia, who had been Cicero's implacable enemy, and much more the occasion of his death than Anthony) but one half of its object, or that she submitted to some unknown power, she refused to obey in that emergency, and felt herself disposed of all that before had kept up her spirit with so much constancy. In a word, to speak of her modesty, Fulvia could not hate Ptolomey, though possibly she was not free from a desire to do it, she harkened to him, and looked on him as favourably as on others that were present, she was one of the last that withdrew; and when the Company was dissolved, she did not express the least dissatisfaction at that meeting, nor betrayed by any action or look, the least aversion for the person of Ptolomey.  
In the mean time, I, having left Martia, retired into my own Chamber, where I was no sooner got, but Antonia comes in, and coming to me with a countenance divided between a desire of laughing, and some inclination to be angry; Sister, said she to me, I have somewhat to make you merry withal, and since you find so much diversion in an adventure I take but little pleasure in, I love you too well to conceal any circumstance from you, which may add any thing to your satisfaction. I have spent this whole day at the Empresse's, where were all the most eminent about the Court, five or six only excepted that were at Sabina's, and this evening as I came away, I found a Letter in my handkerchief, and cannot imagine by what means it should come thither without my knowledge; and since I think it out of all question that it comes from the same unknown person you wot of, I thought sit to bring it away with me, that you might have the full satisfaction of it. Having with these words put it into my hands, I took it without making her any reply, and having opened it, found therein these words.  

To the Fair ANTONIA.  
I Have seen you this day, and found you brighter and more beautiful than the star from which we derive our light, and have participated of the excellencies of your conversation. You have seen me, you have looked on me favourably, nay, such was your goodness, you have given me leave to entertain you with as much freedom as any of those that were present, nay, what is yet more, there were some not so well treated as myself, and whose condition I have been far from envying, as to any thing hath happened this day. Hence you may see, fairest Antonia, what advantages I make of the resolution I have taken to conceal from you the name of your enemy. Had you known me to be that criminel that durst presume to adore you, and sticks not to tell you so, I should have been thrust away with as much contempt as Mithridates, and have been as discontented as Archelaus, whose fortune hath not been much better. But in regard you could not either in my countenance or yet in my designs perceive the least discovery of what I have in my heart, you have looked on me, and treated me as an innocent person, though I really were the most guilty of all the company. See then, incomparable Princess, whether I am any ways to be blamed, for putting this trick upon you, and pardon it me, since that, of all those that ever were done, it is the most innocent.  
No question Sister but it is, said I, having read out the letter, and delivering it to her; he deserves to be pardoned, for there never was any thing of surprise or circumvention more excusable than this. That then it your judgement, replies Antonia, but for my part, I am not absolutely of the same, and there is haply in this artifice much more malice and design than you imagine. I cannot conceive, replied I, what malice you can suspect there may be in it; I can see nothing but abundance of respect and care to avoid the occasions of displeasing you. But Sister, added I, can you not suspect any one of all those you have seen to day? The number was so great, replies Antonia, that I know not on whom particularly to fix my thoughts, for there were present Agrippa, Maecenas, Marcellus, Domitius, Tiberius, Drusus, Crassus, Aemilianus, Cinna, Cepio, Pollio, Flavianus, Servilius, Polemon, Archelaus, Mithridates, Varus; and, besides these, all of the most eminent quality in Augustus' Court, so that among so many, it were impossible for me to make any certain judgement.  
Our discourse had been longer upon this subject, had not Ptolomey come into the room, and put us from what we were then upon, with what he had to say of another accident had happened to him. For he had no sooner set his foot in the Chamber, but crying out to me, as it were in a transport of joy, I have seen her, Sister, said he to me, I have seen that terrible one, I have seen that inexorable Beauty, and thanks be to the gods, she hath done me no hurt. These words, uttered by him with a certain precipitation, gave me not any light to guess at the adventure had happened to him, nor was it likely I should have imagined any thing near it; but Antonia having asked him what it might be, he related to us how he had met with the cruel Tullia, at Sabina's, how he had passed away the whole day with her, and in a word, gave us a particular account of that meeting, even to the last circumstances. I was extremely troubled at the relation, to see that inflexible beauty, as it were newly reviving, by whose means we had lost our Brother, and was afraid some unfortunate accident would have been the effect of her return, which I had no sooner discovered to Ptolomey, but he made thousands of protestations to me, accompanied with oaths, that there was not any woman in the World which he should not affect rather than Tullia, though he could not deny but that he thought her very handsome, and was persuaded she had abundance of worth in her. I was overjoyed at those assurances, as well because I could not by any means affect Tullia, after the loss of a Brother, such as she had forced away from us, as because I was desirous that Ptolomey should have been at the service of Martia, not only for the extraordinary perfections of that Princess, the affection she had for him, and the respects I had for her, but also out of a consideration of the advantages of Fortune which must needs have followed upon that alliance, such as he had all the reason in the World to embrace. From that day I took occasion to discover my thoughts more and more to him, and to represent to him what obligations he had to Martia, Octavia, and herself; and, seconded by Antonia, I made him so sensible of all things, that, though he was not much subject to make over-serious reflections on things, yet he promised us to devote himself absolutely to Martia, for whom he had an infinite esteem and affection, and whom he would never give any occasion to distrust his constancy; insomuch, that giving her a visit that very night, he made thousands of protestations of his fidelity to her, and that with circumstances so full of ardour and obligation, that show was extremely satisfied therewith.  
The very same night, the unknown servant of Antonia entertained her with a Serenade, consisting of certain instruments, and the best voices in the World. But, we two lying together, Antonia said it might be as well intended for me as for her, and that among the voices she knew some to be of the Emperor's Music, whom none but Tiberius could employ; but it was long since Tiberius and I had expressed ourselves one to another by Serenades, so that Antonia was at last persuaded to the contrary, when, after a Dialogue which was sung in several parts, the whole Music joined together to sing these words which we heard distinctly, and which I could not but remember, as having been sung three or four times over.  
T' express his Love, the Lover is  
Unknown, t' appease an angry Fair,  
Can you not pardon him that dies  
A crime of Love for to repair?  
There needed but these words to take away all contestation between Antonia and myself, insomuch, that since it was out of her power to remedy it, she resolved, though not without much trouble, to endure the persecution. I could not forbear laughing at the disturbance she was in, and no question but I might have found a great pleasure in the adventure, had my thoughts been subject to a certain innocent mischievousness, wherein persons of our age find themselves no small diversion, But, besides that I have a natural dis-inclination to any such thing, the misfortunes of my life have abated very much of my cheerful disposition; and if it might be thought that I had at that time some favourable intervals upon the news which came to Rome of the great successes of Coriolanus, who with his sword opened himself a way to reascend the throne of his Ancestors, I became on the other side more and more suspected at the Court, and it was already threatened I should be secured, as indeed I was, not long after, as I have related to you already.  
There were already five or six days passed since there was a general expectation in Rome of a divertisement which the Emperor was to have upon the Tiber in one of the fairest nights of the Summer, to express the love he bore Terentia, as it was reported, where by the means of certain artificial fires of the invention of the Greeks there was made, in above a hundred several figures, a new day upon the Tiber, wherein, because it is not of itself broad enough for such a kind of divertisement, the Emperor hath caused a new channel to be made below the City, which is six times broader and deeper than the ordinary current: so that with that light multiplied by that of a thousand torches, disposed along the banks on both sides, there was seen a little sea-sight, wherein a great number of small boats, made after the manner of men of war, and all covered over with artificial fires, crossing and engaging one the other, according to the order agreed on before, entertained the Spectators with one of the most delightful sights in the World. The pleasure of the eye was seconded by that which was provided for the ear by the sound of thousands of war instruments, which raised an echo from the banks of the River for above a hundred Stadia about, and which instead of a confused noise, made an harmonious sound with much art, which, smiting the ear, inspired the most vigilant with a certain joy, and raised up the spirits of the most dull. And whereas the boats that are up and down the Tiber are very little, especially in the ordinary channel, and that there was requisite a vast number of them to receive those persons that would participate of the divertisement, people were forced to divide themselves into small parties, and for the most part there went but five or six persons in every boat. This was it that gave occasion and birth to a thousand designs of gallantry, and obliged the young Romans to prepare boats for the Ladies they were servants to, the most sumptuous could be made for the time. Tiberius had provided for me a very magnificent one, and Archelaus another for Antonia, with abundance of entreaties that she would vouchsafe to accept of it; but we, having no inclination to engage ourselves into the company of such persons, had resolved-before hand to take a boat for Antonia, Martia, and some others of our own sex, under the conduct of Ptolomey, who had taken that charge upon him, and should have waited upon us.  
But while we were hot upon this resolution, comes a person of a goodly presence to speak with Antonia, and to acquaint her that the Empress had provided a boat for her, and such of her Friends as she should be pleased to take along with her, and had sent him to conduct them to it, and to take care for all things requisite, during the time of that night's divertisement. Thought Antonia knew not that Officer of the Empresse's, yet thought she that she could not with civility refuse what was proffered, and knowing her to be naturally imperious, she was the more afraid it might displease her, if she made any difficulty to accept of it. Whereupon turning towards me, as it were, to ask my advice, and perceiving my comply ance with her intentions, she returned the man an answer, to this effect, That the Empress did her too great an honour, but that since it was her pleasure so to dispose of her, she received that favour with the same respects which she ought to have for all those that proceeded from her goodness; at which words Martia and Ptolomey coming into the room, and having confirmed her in that resolution, desired to be of our company, and we took also along Sulpicia and Hortensia, who were come to give us a visit. All the rest of the house had disposed of themselves as they thought fit; Marcellus had prepared a boat for Julia, and waited on her; Domitius had done the like for Agrippina, and Agrippa for Marcelia. Octavia stirred not out of her Chamber, where I would have gladly kept her company, had she given me leave to do it. We went along with that Officer down to the river side through the Garden, and at the door the boat waited for us, which we got into without being able to take notice of the suptuousnesse of it, by reason of the obscurity of the place, which was not yet enlightened. But we were scarce got in, ere the torches were all lighted of an insant, insomuch that we were not a little surprised as well at the suddenness of the light, as the objects that presented themselves to our sight, which certainly were the most delightful that can be imagined.  
The boat was in the form of a little Galley compassed about by a row of Pilasters, which seemed to be of gold, but was indeed of wood guilt; without which hung out a hundred arms guilt as the row of Pilasters, which sustained a hundred great torches of virgin wax, whereby the darkness of the night was removed to the distance of many stadia. The oars seemed to be of gold proportionably to all the rest, and the Rowers were twelve little Cupids winged, armed with arrows and quiver, and covered with cloth of gold in those parts of their bodies where it was not requisite they should be naked. At the extremity of the stern grew up a golden tree, of the height of an ordinary mast, having at the top the form of a Scuttle, compassed about by a row of golden Pilasters and twelve arms proportionable to those be low, wherein were tw, lve torches, and in the midst of all that sight was a Heart hanging down, which seemed to be all on fire, and out of which, by some strange artifice there visibly issued flames ascending up towards the stars, and made more light than all the torches. In the distances which were between the torches were hung up twelve Streamers, which were tossed up and down by the flames, and the smoke a thousand several ways, and in which by reason of the greatness of the light, there might be distinctly seen double A. A's, with other Characters, expressing several ways the word ANTONIA. The same Letters, and the same Characters were disposed up and down all over the boat, as also upon the Pilasters, the oars and the mast, and it was so lightsome every where, that the least things could not be more distinctly discerned than they were at that time.  
But if we were so much surprised by what we were entertained with, on the outside of the boat, we could not but be so much the more, when we were brought into the chamber that was within it, where we had no sooner set foot, but our sight was dazzled with the lustre of the gold and other embellishments, wherewith it sparkled again. Where ever there was any gold to be bestowed, it was with the greatest profusion imaginable; and where there was any necessity to heighten the richness of the matter, by the perfection of art, all was done with admirable dexterity, but with this every where observable, that the Characters of ANTONIA were scattered up and down all places. The ground work and the ceiling had the same, and the hangings, the chairs and the cushions were of sky-coloured Velvet, intermingled with flames of gold in embroidery, as also burning Hearts, Characters of Antonia, and the first letters of her name. This little Chamber was admirably enlightened, and perfumed with the most delightful scents that Arabia could afford: and what was yet a greater convenience, (which was, that we might without stirring out of the Chamber, participate of that night's divertisement, and might be seen by all those that were upon the Tiber) that part of it which was covered by the hangings, was only of glass, so that as soon as those, which were made curtain-wise for that purpose, were drawn, the river lay open to our sights of all sides, the Chamber itself was visible to all that were in the other boats, and the light that was scattered by so vast a number of torches as were disposed about our Galley, and which enlightened the Chamber falling upon the glass, as well without as within, made such a fire on the river, as found light for all the other boats, and seized with astonishment all those that saw it.  
You are not I believe, Sister, much in doubt whether we were much surprised or not, when we found ourselves in that little enchanted vessel, and you would be soon persuaded that we had been deceived, and that it was not to the Empress that we were obliged for that magnificent lodging. Antonia looked on me, not knowing what to think of those things, and I could easily perceive in her countenance that she was to seek as to all resolution, and that she was vexed to the heart at the trick had been put upon her. She looked all about for that Officer of Livia, but he was vanished as soon they were gotten into the boat, so that there was only the Cupids that rowed, left for her to wreak her indignation upon.  
In the mean time, which way soever she looked, she met with her own Characters and the Letters of her name scattered up and down amongst the burning hearts, and what she was most of all troubled at, was, that the very same Characters were exposed in the streamers at the topmast, fluttering as it were amidst the flames of that burning Heart, and, by reason of the great light whereby they were encompassed, were visible to all that were upon the River. The vexation it was to her to see herself engaged with that passion which she had so much aversion for, had put her out of all patience, if Ptolomey, Martia, and myself had not laughed her into a good humour, and told her, that if the same thing had happened to us, we had entertained the adventure with abundance of enjoyment. By this means did we make a shift to dispel the clouds of her melancholy, and disturbance, and considered at leisure all those rarities which we could not have discerned at first sight.  
But this was not our employment alone, for this great fire, and that admirable object which it discovered, had hardly appeared on the waves of Tiber, but all the boats left the places they had taken up, to come nearer to that which they wondered at so much at a distance. The Torches, the Heart, the Streamers which were, from the top of the mast, remarkable on all sides, immediately drew all the World to it; insomuch that the Emperor himself, surprised at this sight as well as others, caused his own boat to approach it, At first the report went from one to another that it was Antonia's Galley, so that all coming as near as they could to Antonia's Galley, there could hardly be any thing else heard on the water, but Antonia's Galley, and the greatest part were resolved only to follow it, not minding much the other divertisements, for which they were assembled. The Emperor, Livia, Marcellus, Julia, Agrippa, and all the most considerable persons having compassed it about not without astonishment, Augustus asked who had bestowed that magnificent Galley on Antonia? To which the Princess not knowing what to imagine could only say that she had received it from the liberality of the Empress. Livia began to deny that she had made her any such present, which the Emperor hearing, told her she needed not take such pains to vindicate herself, and that it was apparent from all signs and circumstances that that excess of gallantry & magnificence proceeded from the invention and prodigality of some Lover. But while all these eminent persons were assembled about the Galley, six of the Cupids, who were the Rowers, coming into the Chamber, drew the hangings, and discovering through the transparent walls thereof what was within the Chamber, filled all that were present with a new astonishment, and all the places about with a new light, which both near and at a distance was the most delightful thing that could be seen.  
I shall not trouble you with any further particulars of that night's entertainment, the description I have already made thereof having been haply too long, and therefore shall only tell you, that, when all had sufficiently admired Antonia's Galley, and had spent a long time in talking of it, had almost tired themselves in guessing at the Author of so sumptuous an invention, and had celebrated this sight beyond those that were to succeed it, they all advanced towards the place where they were to be entertained with the sea-sight, and the artificial fires, doing our Galley the honour to follow it, as it it had been the Leader of them, the lights of all the others being as much darkened by ours, as the smaller stars are by the rays of that bright torch whence we derive our day. I shall not give you any description of that night's divertisements, which it must be confessed were not unworthy Caesar's magnificence; but shall only tell you, that when all was over, and that it was thought time for all to retire, Julia coming into our Galley, together with Marcellus, Agrippina, Domitius, Marcelia, and Agrippa, (for Tiberius, seeing that I had refused the boat he had prepared for me, thought fit upon point of resentment to continue still in Caesar's, and accordingly never came near us) and having seated themselves about the Chamber upon chairs, the floor or planks that were under them immediately opened, and we frighted at it, began to cry out, for fear the boat should sink, when there rises up from below a table covered with as magnificent a collation as ever could have been served among the Romans, not excepting the sumptuous entertainments of Lucullus; nay, such it was, that Agrippa and Marcellus, who were not wont to wonder at great things, were astonished at the magnificence and the neatness of it. In a word, what ever came to Rome from foreign and remote Nations that were most rare and exquisite was there, and that heightened admirably by art, but, what most troubled Antonia, was, that what modes or forms soever the services were of, or what figure soever they were disposed into, (wherein there had been more than ordinary care taken) the Characters of Antonia were scattered up and down amongst the burning Hearts, after the same manner as they had been all about the vessel. This stirred up their curiosity afresh, to find out who this servant of Antonia might be, insomuch that Marcellus having acquainted Agrippa with what he had received from us, they sought and guessed a long time, but after all could not fix on any person whom they could with any probability affirm to be the man. But I shall trouble you with no more as to that, we made an end of our Collation, we went away with the rest of the Company, and retired with matter enough for discourse as to to that adventure, but what was most pleasant of all, was, that, abating the trouble which Antonia conceived thereat, as we undressed ourselves, she found another Letter in one of her sleeves, though she thought she had made sufficient provision against any such thing. I was hasty enough to read it, and found the words of it to be the these.   

To the Princess ANTONIA.  
YOu see then, fairest Princess, how much I am obliged to artifice, and how I effect that by stratagem, which I should never compass by open hostility. You have granted the Unknown Lover, what you had denied Kings that were professed Lovers; and though he be obliged for this good Fortune to the name of Livia, for which you have had so much respect, yet is he much more engaged for it to his own industry, and the confidence he had to effect his design. You will pardon me that I have entertained you in so poor a place, since I acknowledge I cannot conceive any noble enough to receive you, and cannot wish you any other than that Heart which you saw burning this day in the public sacrifice I have made thereof to you. In a word, my Fortune, whatever it may be, hath been envied this day by all that is great and eminent in the Empire, whence I derive a certain hope that it will one day be envied by all that shall think themselves the most fortunate in the World.  
I cannot, said I, having made an end of reading the letter, but acknowledge, that this man, what ever he may be, is an extraordinary Gallant, a great wit, and inexpressibly magnificent. I grant you all that, replied Antonia, but you must anknowledge withal, that there is a certain spice of extravagance in his design, and that all the pains he takes will amount to nothing. That I cannot tell you, replied I, nay methinks I already perceive he hath effected some part of his intentions, for in that he hath declared to you at the beginning, that there is no other reason of his recourse to this artifice, then to induce you to endure the name of Love, and to reconcile you to that passion, which you avoid as a Monster, because you are not acquainted with it, you must needs acknowledge that he hath already prevailed with you, to endure, not only the discourse, but all the expressions of it, much beyond what you had suffered in all your life before, and, in a word, that you have held a greater correspondence with love, since you first entertained the addresses of this one Unknown Servant than you did upon those of all the rest put together. Ah Sister, replies Antonia very roundly, what inclinations do I derive from what you say to hate him the more, and yet how true is that which you have observed, and I must with shame acknowledge it to be such! But if it be possible, I will remedy it one way or other. What remedy can you think of, said I to her, while you are kept in this ignorance? This man is haply of such a nature, that he will not discover himself while he lives, and though we may very well from the transcendency of his thoughts and attempts, infer the greatness of his birth, yet may it not possibly be such, as may furnish him with confidence enough to declare himself. Since we are fallen into this discourse, Sister, says Antonia, I am to acquaint you, that not many days since I found, in one of my Gloves, another Letter which I purposely forbore to show you by reason of some discontent that you were in that day concerning Tiberius; but kept it nevertheless, that it might be communicated to you, for you know that I mind them only in order to your diversion. No, said I to her smiling, 'tis because you would have me no further acquainted with your secrets; at which words perceaving she had found the Letter, I took it from her, and read out of it these words.   

To the Princess ANTONIA.  
THough my name ought to be concealed from my Princess, till such time as she hath pardoned me the injury I have done her, to prevent all suspicions that may be conceived against an unknown person, yet is it lawful for me to let her know (and I ought to do it in order to my justification, though it may be with some prejudice to my modesty and reservedness) that my person is not disliked by those whom I have addred myself to, that I am not without some esteem, or without some name in the World, and that my birth and fortune are such, as whence I may well derive an encouragement to serve her. In fine, my love is that which she might most disapprove in me, after the protestations she hath made herself, that the person was not hateful; and from this defect it is that I hope for greater advantages than I can expect from either birth or fortunes.  
This letter furnished us with more matter of discourse and imagination than all the rest; but at last, having done all we could, we resolved not to trouble ourselves any further, and to expect with patience what might be the consequences of that adventure. Ptolomey, to whom I had given one of the letters, had made it his business to inquire all about, whether there were any such hand among those persons of. quality, and never could meet with any that came near it, Marcellus had done the like, but to as little purpose. All that passed before had made no great noise, but the Galley occasioned abundance of discourse, insomuch that for many days after, the talk of all Companies was of the magnificent Galley of Antonia. The King of Cappadocia taking occasion to make a modest complaint to her upon her refusal of the boat which he had provided for her, told her she had very much reason to slight that, when she expected another that was so magnificent. But Antonia satisfied him as much as lay in her power, telling him that it was not for its sumptuousness that she had preferred that Galley before his boat, nor yet out of any other consideration, then that it had been proffered her in the Empresse's name, from whom she neither could nor ought to have refused it. Archelaus, a Prince of a disposition easy to be pleased, was satisfied with that answer; but could do no less withal then conceive abundance of jealousy against that Unknown Lover, whose presents were preferred before his, and resolved to do all that lay in his power to discover him. Mithridates was as earnest in the same design as the other, and though he had been slighted by Antonia in such manner, that, notwithstanding his great confidence, he durst hardly open his lips before her, to entertain her with any thing of his love, after the discovery he had once made to her thereof; yet was not his passion quite smothered, nor his jealousy inferior to that of Archelaus. Being therefore both unfortunate, and their loves encouraged by little hope, jealousy had not produced in them its ordinary effect amongst Rivals, and had left in them friendship enough to visit one the other, and to communicate part of what they thought one to another; so that having mutually acquainted one another with the desires they had to discover who that Unknown Lover might be, who had made such signal demonstrations of his gallantry towards Antonia, they resolved to join their endeavours to that purpose, and not to leave any thing unattempted to find out the truth.  
Many days passed ere any one came wherein they could discover any thing, though they had their spies in all places, and oftentimes took occasion to walk themselves in the night about Octavia's Palace, out of some hopes they might meet with him, not doubting but that he might have some haunt thereabouts, especially at the time that he was wont to entertain her with serenades, which he had done several times. At last, after abundance of fruitless enquiry, fortune would needs have it, that, one of those nights wherein they were both together on horseback, without any other company than that of certain slaves, who were afoot, coming into the street into which our Chamber looked, they heard the sound of certain instruments and voices, making an excellent consort almost under our window. They made no question but they had met with what they sought after, as knowing that Tiberius had given over entertaining me with serenades, that since the departure of Coriolanus, there was not any person in Rome that had discovered any inclinations for me, and that the lodgings of Agrippina, Marcelia and Martia, were in another part of the Palace at a good distance from that; besides that they also knew that the Unknown Lover had given divers others before, and that, having not the liberty to express himself as others did, he took occasion to discover his intentions by demonstrations of gallantry of that nature.  
The two amorous Princes, not doubting but that they were in the right, resolved not to let slip the opportunity they now had to be informed of what they were so desirous to know, and to attempt any thing rather than not to effect their design. They caused no torches to be brought with them, not only out of a desire to avoid being discovered, but indeed that it was but too light for their design, and that the Moon being then in her full, anything in the streets was easily discernible. Being thus light, they were no sooner come into our stree●, but they perceive a man on horseback, who leaving the place where he was as soon as they came in sight, went to the music, and bid them give over and disperse themselves as soon as they could. From this action the two Princes immediately inferred that it must infallibly be the Unknown Lover; and being absolutely resolved to make all the advantages they could of that accident, they came on further into the street, and passed under our windows, where they could neither hear nor find any body. They made a little halt to listen, and, whereas the man they had seen on horseback could not conceal himself as they could that were a foot, and that the horse must needs make a great noise going upon the stones, they could easily both hear and see him at a certain distance before, endeavouring what he could to get away. They on the other side as carefully pursued him, and passed through many streets, following him still by the noise, and seeing him before them. The Unknown, perceaving their resolution to follow him, put on somewhat faster, and made towards the most solitary streets, so to get out of their sight: but that stood him in no stead, for they followed him every where, with so much obstinacy, that they gave him at last some ground to imagine, that it would be a hard matter for him to get off. At length, having forced him into a street, at the other end whereof he saw several torches and Chariots that might hinder his further passage, he made a stand, and, turning toward those that pursued him, took one side of the street, as it were to give them the way. But they rid up to him, and Mithridates, opposing the design he had to make an escape, Do not hope, said he to him, to get hence, or to avoid us, if thou dost not discover thyself; and therefore tell us who thou art, if thou wouldst have the passage free to be gone.  
The Unknown person retreated some few paces at this action of Mithridates, and having reflected a little on what he had to do, he set spurs to his horse, and quick as lighting fell in between the two Princes, who were very near one the other, and rushing on Mithridates, who was on his left hand, with all the violence he could both of himself and his horse, (which was one of the best in the World) and at the same time as he passed by, laying hold with his right hand on Archelaus' bridle, he, with the shock of his horse, overthrew Mithridates' horse and man to the ground, and with that he gave Archelaus' at the same time, made him stand upright, in such manner, that the Prince falling backwards, and holding still fast by the bridle, overturned the horse upon himself.  
Their fall proved shrewd enough, and their condition such, that they found it no small difficulty to get up again, especially seeing that they were not attended by any, and that the slaves they had brought with them, being afoot, had lost them in the several turnings they had made. At last, they made a shift to rise, not a little bruised, and, going with some difficulty, approached one another with no small confusion. For, all considered, they were not so much troubled at the fall they had received, or the hurt occasioned thereby, as that they had been so treated by a single person, and one they had forced to that action by their own unsatisfied pursuit. They stood a while looking one upon the other, as not being able to find out terms fit to express what their hearts were burdened with; but at length, Mithridates, as being the most eager and impatient, was the first that spoke, and expressed the resentment he had of that adventure in words full of fire, and visible demonstrations of his fury. Archelaus endured that unfortunate encounter with more moderation, and told Mithridates that there was no more happened to them then what they had deserved, and that ordinarily there was no other satisfaction to be given to curiosities that were so near a kin to indiscretion.  
At last they with much ado got up on horseback, and returned to their lodgings, where having gotten into their beds, they were forced to keep them for some days. Mithridates, for his part, extremely troubled at the adventure, was desirous to conceal it; but Archelaus, being a person more inclined to sincerity and freedom, and whose proceedings, in the affection he bore to Antonia, were more clear, made no difficulty to acquaint all those that came to visit him with the truth of the business, so that the very next day, it was generally known, and was become the subject of all men's talk. We soon understood it from Tiberius and Ptolomey, and the perpetual discourses, which all entertained Antonia with about it, added very much to the disquiet she was in before. But what troubled Mithridates more than all the rest, was a Letter that was brought to Archelaus, and which Archelaus sent him, as soon as he had perused it himself, as having been directed to both, whereof the words were these.   

TO KING ARCHELAUS AND PRINCE MITHRIDATES.  
I Am much troubled at the small misfortune that hath befallen you, though, out of a desire of your own satisfaction you were yourselves the occasions of it; and since I am no enemy of yours, though I have done some hurt, I should have wished your curiosity a slighter punishment, had you left it to my choice. You may hence learn to beware how you hereafter pursue, with so much violence, those that would avoid you, and remember that you are to make a bridge of gold for a retreating enemy. If you are chargeable with no crime but curiosity, disburden yourselves of it, as being a vice whereof you will find the inconveniences to be far greater than the advantages; but if you are withal guilty of jealousy, learn, that jealousy is a self-disturbing passion, whereof the effects are ever dangerous, and elude the expectation. Besides it is not much for your reputation to be jealous of a person that's unknown to you; and did you know me, you would haply find, that I am too much below you to do you any prejudice. In a word, whatever I may be, assure yourselves I wish you no other hurt then that you may see me more fortunate than yourselves in the service of ANTONIA, and this declaration of mine considered, I shall entreat you not to take it amiss, if you see me among those that come to visit you.  
This Letter had been delivered to one of Archelaus' Officers, by a man that as soon as he had done, was vanished, and could not be seen after, as having gone his ways without being observed by any one, so that the two Princes were still in the same ignorance they were in before. They were both very much nettled at it, though in a different measure, according to their several dispositions, and if Archelaus was more moderate than Mithridates, yet was he not less moved at the satirical stile of his Rival. The last words of the Letter were those that troubled them most, and they thought that fantastic circumstance of their adventure the most indigestible of any, that among their Friends that came daily to give them their visits, they were to expect him that had put them into the condition they were in, and who haply might prove him, they thought the most endeared, and could the least suspect. This reflection made them look on all that came to see them with a certain distrust, and taking it for granted that their Rival was of that number, they sought him among them without any distinction, and that possibly sometimes where they were the most unlikely to find him. They fell into discourse with all those that came to them upon that accident, and observed their countenances while they talked to see what inferences they might draw thence, but all proved ineffectual. For Archelaus and Mithridates being persons that for their rank, their virtue, and the respects which the Emperor had for them, were very considerable among the Romans, there were few among the Families that were most Illustrious that came not to visit then, so that amidst so great a number, they made fruitless inquisitions for that which in a lesser they might possibly have discovered. Archelaus hath told me since that he was never at such a loss in all his life, and that, fearing he might see the face of his Rival in all those that came near him, his thoughts were in such a distraction, that for some minutes he could not make any return to their civilities: and for Mithridates, he looked on all as enemies, though his resentment was directed to one single indeterminate person. A few days recovered them of the hu●t they had by the fall, and with the pain, they forgot part of the affliction they had conceived thereat, their thoughts being now taken up, (as were those of all the most considerable persons about Rome) with preparations for the solemnity which was celebrated every year on the day of Augustus' birth, on which the people were divertised by all sorts of exercises and shows, and at which time, the more to honour the Emperor, the Romans outvyed one another in point of gallantry and magnificence towards 〈◊〉 Ladies.  
〈◊〉 the mean time Ptolomey, whose inclinations for Martia were not so violent as to deprive him of the divertisements he was addicted to, among other designs of pleasure, wherein he was every day engaged, went one day with a many other persons to walk in the same Garden of Lucullus', whereof I have given you so large an account already. Having slipped away from his Company, to enjoy more privately that of young Lentulus, whose humour, of all his friends, he found the most consonant to his own, and desirous to discourse with him about divers things which they mutually communicated one to another, they sought out the most solitary walks, as being resolved not to join their company for some time. As they passed through one of the most remote from all company, they perceaved, at a good distance from them, two women, who seemed to them to be of a very goodly presence, and though they were alone, yet the sumptuousness of their habit, which they could perceive glittering, easily argued them to be persons of quality, who seeking solitude as they did, had left their attendants in some other part of the garden. These women were coming towards them, but as soon as they had eyed them at such a distance as it was impossible for them to know one another, they turned aside into another walk, and continued their solitude. These two young men, having a more than ordinary curiosity, and whose thoughts were employed in their pleasures wherever they were to be had, were suddenly possessed with certain desires to know who those two women might be, and their shunning of them adding to their inquisitive, they resolved to follow them, and, if possible, to know who they were. To that end they went into the same walk where they were, and had soon overtaken them, if the Ladies, having perceaved them, had not avoided meeting with them, by turning aside, and passing over one of the Bridges, to get into some of the little Isles that are made such by the Rivulets, and wherein there are in several places green Arbours, made of the boughs of trees twisted together so thick, that when the Sun darts down his most perpendicular rays, they can hardly find a passage through them.  
Having observed the way they intended to take, and satisfied of the design they had to avoid all company, they bethought them that without an excess of indiscretion, they could not be so troublesome as to follow them any longer. But they on the other side having resolved, out of a curiosity natural to young people, to have a sight of them, and that the goodliness of their persons had very much advanced their desires of it, took notice of the way they took, with a design to meet them by other turnings, which they were not unacquainted with, which yet they might have done without any bodies perceaving what game they were in chase of. Accordingly, having traced them through divers trees that lay between both, they at last saw them go in to one of the little Isles, and made no question but they would go and rest themselves in one of the Arbours. They thought it their be● course to give them the time to do so, and so having taken a good walk, they made towards the Isle by other ways, and passed over another bridge then that by which the women had gone in. They were no sooner got in, but coming behind one of the Arbours, on a certain side at which they could not be discovered, they heard the voice of a woman singing in the Arbour, and, making a halt, to give her the greater attention, they found her admirable, not only as to the voice, but also as to the skill whereby it was not a little heightened. They at first heard her at some distance, out of a fear of making any noise to interrupt her; but afterwards perceaving that they had much ado to hear the words, and confident withal, that if the noise did not discover them, they might go quite to the Arbour, without any danger of being seen, by reason of the thickness of the branches and leaves which admitted not any passage for the sight, they went as softly as possibly they could, and came to the Arbour time enough to hear these words, which were the last that were sung.  
He's now (alus?) o'ercome that would not own,  
But still defied Love's charms and power;  
O may my eyes my hearts dear loss bemoan,  
And let their tears its shame devour,  
That slave-like yields to passion.  
The Lady concluded her song with a deep sigh, and her companion, who had harkened to her with great attention, had no sooner perceaved that she had made an end, but addressing herself to her, and speaking loud enough to be distinctly heard by the two Eavesdroppers that were without the Arbour; But is it possible, said she to her, and must I believe it, my dearest Tullia, that, that god, who, as, 'tis generally conceived, directs and disposes of the amorous passion, should take such extraordinary vengeance on you, and that, to punish you for the cruelty which you sometimes exercised, not without unjustice, upon a Prince that adored you, he should infuse into you a kindness, nay, if I may presume to say it, inspire you with a love for a Prince that does not so much as think on you, and one, that, though born of the same blood, yet, hath not any thing of those inclinations towards you which his Brother had?  
These words were no sooner heard by Ptolomey and Lentulus, but they withal perceaved, by the voice, that it was Emilia that spoke them, and could not be ignorant, having heard her name pronounced, that they were addressed to Tullia. They were both equally surprised thereat, and Lentulus looking on my Brother with eyes, wherein were visible not only his astonishment, but all that he would have said upon so unexpected an adventure, had they been in a place where they might have discoursed without any fear of being discovered, grasped him by the arm, as if by that action, and other gestures, he conjured him from making any noise, and to hear attentively as well as himself, a discourse, wherein, if he were not mistaken, he thought himself very much concerned. Ptolomey was willing enough to comply with his desires, so that, continuing in the same pusture they were in before, they heard Emilia reassuming the discourse; Speak, my dearest Tullia, said she, and since I am the only person in the World whom you think fit to entrust with a secret that is so near your heart, ease your spirits as much as you can, by acquainting me with what you would conceal from all but Emilia. We are now where all things favour our design, so far, that the Sun itself, did he shine, could not participate of the secret that is between us, and all things promote the solitude we seek. Do yourself therefore no further violence, my dearest friend, and open to me that heart, which being heretofore hard and impenetrable to all love and compassion, does now submit to the same passion against which it was armed with so much rigour.  
While Emilia was speaking in this manner, Lentulus had found a way, by turning the leaves aside, to make a little passage for his sight, and as good fortune would have it, he could through that little place direct it just upon Tullia's face. By this happy means had he the opportunity to see the face of that Beauty, leaning on the shoulder of Emilia, bathed with certain tears, which issuing out of her fair eyes, ran down along her cheeks, and dropped into her bosom. With one of her arms she embraced Emilia, in the other hand she held a handkerchief, wherewith she wiped the tears which she could not forbears hedding. Her hair was in a loose and negligent posture, and all her gestures spoke a certain remissness, but all that negligence, all that languishing did but heighten her ordinary beauty, insomuch that there seemed to Lentulus to be much more lustre and divinity in it then he had ever observed before.  
He further perceived that after she had with some difficulty prevailed with herself to comply with the solicitations of Emilia, assuming the discourse with an action wherein were easily remarkable all the expressions of sadness and confusion: Why will you oblige me, said she to her, to repeat to you what my eyes, what my heart, what my mouth have already acquainted you with? Are you so much in love with my grief, as to be delighted with the unhappy demonstrations I give you of it? Or would you have me, out of a reflection upon so many acknowledgements as I have made of my unhappiness, weakness and cowardice, to die for shame and confusion before you? If it must be so, my dearest Emilia, I am content, and since you are, and ever shall be, while I have a minute to breath, the only person to whom I shall discover my misfortune, I am willing my most secret imaginations should pass out of my heart into yours, and wish you may be moved with pity for the misery which my inflexible destiny hath forced me into. I say, my destiny, Emilia, for it is that only that I can justly charge with all the misfortunes I am fallen into. Do not imagine it any effect of the celestial vengeance upon me for the rigour I expressed towards Julius Antonius. Though I have contributed very much to his absence, and am charged as the occasion of it, yet have I not been troubled with the least remorse for any deportment of mine towards him. Being Cicero's Daughter, I could not upon the first addresses of his affection to me, be obliged to entertain any such thing from him; and reflecting on the death of Cecinna, whom, being to be my Husband within three days, he killed in my sight, upon my account, I was certainly dispensed from whatever the expressions of his love might require of me in his favour. And yet, the powers of heaven are my witnesses that I never hated him, that I never wished him any ill fortune, that I have acknowledged his great worth, and that I do at this day confess, notwithstanding my present sentiments, that he is as great as to point of merit, and as amiable as to his person as Ptolomey is himself. So that there is no ground to imagine that the gods should inflict all this as a punishment of my cruelty; but that it proceeds merely from my destiny which in this emergency acts against me, as it hath done through all the misfortunes that have happened to our house.  
But, my dearest Tullia, replied Emilia, since you would not be flattered in your passion, may it not be represented to you, that the same reasons which you alleged against the love and merits of Julius Antonius, before he became an impardonable criminal by the death of Cecinna, might with much more ground be urged against the affection which you have conceived for his Brother; since that not being obliged to him for any the least demonstration of love, you cannot but look on him as the Son of Anthony, which he is, you know, no less than his Brother? I am, no question, replied Tullia, obliged by the same reasons to do the one as the other, at least in some part, (for I might tell you, did I stand upon my justification; that Ptolomey is not by his birth such a criminal to us as his brother was, since that he is Son to Queen Cleopatra, who contributed nothing to the death of Cicero, and not to Fulvia, who alone engaged Anthony in that design, and exercised her cruelty upon the body of my Father, even after death, by a many abominable indignities) but such was my misfortune, that I could not make use of them, and I need not tell you, that in those of this nature, the assistances of reason are not always infallible. You may further argue, that I have hardly seen Ptolomey above once, that he is a Prince younger than myself by five or six years, and a person that neither does, nor haply will love me while he lives. All the answer I have to make to these objections, is, That my misfortunes are so much the more to be bemoaned, and that the rather, out of a consideration that I have not contributed any thing thereto myself, and have endured this violence to tyrannize over my heart, without the least compliance of my will. Pity me then, if you please, Emilia, and charge me not with an offence which I see no reason I should take upon me. 'tis not in the power of either Virtue, or the Study of Philosophy to make us uncapable of passions, but only teach us how to struggle with them; and if they have not been able to make good the little garrison of my heart against the assaults of that which now disturbs my quiet, they will so weaken it, as that it shall not produce therein any effects that may slain my reputation at the present, or my memory hereafter. I have been able to look on the Son of Anthony, but it seems under an unhappy constellation which made me indeed but too sensible of what I thought amiable in his person: I have been able to preserve the remembrance of it too dearly for my own quiet; I cannot think of him without tenderness, I can speak of him with delight, I can communicate my sufferings to you, I can sigh, and as you see, weep and bewail, this sad exchange of my condition. But this, Emilia, is all that this destructive passion can work in my soul, so that all the tempests it is able to raise there, shall not eclipse those lights of wisdom, which it is not in the power of any blindness to extinguish. I can pine away, yet conceal from all the World, Emilia only excepted, the reason why I do so; and if I must endure, even to death itself, I can easily do it, not only rather than open my lips, but rather than become guilty of a wish that should any way slain my reputation, or cast a blemish on the former part of my life.  
But, when all is done, replies Emilia, to speak sincerely, could you not wish that Ptolomey loved you, or can you, with all your Wisdom and Philosophy, oppose such a wish? To this Tullia could not for some minutes make any positive answer; but having a little after shaken off that suspense, and reassuming the discourse with a certain blush, wherewith Lentulus could perceive her face all covered. The desire of being loved, said she, by that which one loves, is a thing so natural in us, that I durst not tell you, that I did not wish myself loved by Ptolomey; but you are withal to assure yourself, that this wish is so innocent as not to injure my virtue: nay I must add thus much, that though it should prove effectual, yet would not my condition be any thing the more fortunate, and that Ptolomey himself, though he should love me, should not know while he lived, that I ever had any affection for him. I should avoid him as an enemy, though he were dearer to me than my own life, nay though it should cost me this very life, I should keep, to the last gasp from the knowledge of all the earth, those sentiments which have broke forth to that of all the Romans.  
But what is then your meaning, replied Emilia, what course do you intent to take, in order to your own quiet? To die, answered the Daughter of Cicero, to die my dearest Emilia, if occasion require, and I am very much unknown to you, if you imagine, that I think my life so considerable as not to sacrifice it to preserve my reputation. But I shall do what lies in my power to struggle with this enemy that hath possessed himself of my heart, and if the strength and assistances of heaven, which I daily implore, prove such as that I may not gain the victory, you shall find, Emilia, whether I have not learned to die, rather than be guilty of faults which might make you blush for my sake. I have acquainted you with the secret of my heart, because there hath not been any transaction there which you have not known; but did I imagine it should come to the knowledge of any other person in the World besides yourself, I should think one hour a long time to survive the shame I should conceive thereat, and you should bestow on my death those tears, which compassion obliges you to shed, to accompany those which my unhappiness forces from me.  
As she made an end of these words, she could keep in no longer those showers of tears which fell down from her eyes in abundance, which yet hindered not, but that Lentulus, who looked on her with attention, or rather with transportation, thought her so beautiful in that condition, and was so much moved at her discourses, the grace wherewith she delivered them, and the fortune that obliged her thereto, that pity; which had by degrees taken place in his heart, was of a sudden changed into a violent passion. For though he had seen Tullia several times before, yet did it not raise in him any inclinations for her, other than what her merit might raise in all that knew her; but now in this little interval, wherein grief appeared so amiable in her countenance, he became her absolutely devoted vassal, and in love with her after such a manner, that he had not the least strength to oppose it, and was not able to hear the reason which should have dissuaded him from loving a person whose affections were otherwise disposed of, and one from whom, either upon occasion of that discovery, or out of any consideration of her own humour, he was in all probability never to expect any thing. In a word, love here knew no degrees, but as soon as he could be said to love, he might be said to do it violently, insomuch, that sympathising with her in the affection wherein he saw her involved, he participated thereof so far, that, when he turned toward Ptolomey, my Brother perceived his eyes were red and big with tears. For his part, he had not been at all moved, either at Tullia's words, or the discoveries of her affection, whether it proceeded from the resentment he had in heart against that Lady, or that naturally he had a soul not over-susceptible of love, or that all the affection it was capable of, was already devoted to Marcia, a Princess of excellent beauty, and one to whom he ought abundance of obligations. He was already desirous to remove from that place, when Lentulus, fearing they might be surprised, and perceaving by the discourse of Tullia, that it would trouble her infinitely if she should discover that Ptolomey had heard her, took him by the arm and carried him away. They went thence as softly as they had come thither, and made so little noise, that they were not perceaved or heard. They went out of the little Isle, and walked a good while ere they spoke one to another. Ptolomey knew not what to say of that adventure, so much was he surprised at the strangeness of it; and Lentulus, whose soul was wounded by what he had seen, and whose spirits were in some disorder, by reason of his newly-conceived passion, could not think of words whereby to express himself, and was content only to look on Ptolomey, in whom he could not perceive the least alteration upon that accident, and knew not, whether he should, out of considerations of compassion, advise him to love Tullia, or out of those of his own love and interest, entertain him with the sentiments he had for her himself. At last, having taken some few turns; they were just falling into some discourse, when coming to the end of a walk, that abutted upon that wherein they were, they met full but with the two Ladies, who had left the Arbour in a manner as soon as they had, and without the least fear that they had been overheard by any one, had reassumed their walk. They were all very much surprised at that meeting, and particularly Tullia, as being the least prepared for it, and the most concerned in it. Her eyes were still red with weeping, which Lentulus perceiving, and consequently the condition she was in, could not look on her without a certain trouble and disturbance. They were so near one another, that it was impossible to pass by without salutes, and Lentulus, submitting to the ascendent which now began to govern him, could not follow Ptolomey, who after a salute full of respect turned aside. Emilia, who took notice of his carriage, not consulting at this time so much decorum, as minding the friendship she had for Tullia, called him, and having obliged him to turn back; What now, Ptolomey, said she to him, do you shun the Ladies? No Madam, replied he, but it is not fit that the Son of Anthony should come near the daughter of Cicero, Enmities, replied Emilia, should not be eternal, and I shall not be friends with Tullia, if she make no distinction between the children of Cleopatra, and those of Fulvia, who alone wrought all the unhappiness of their house. Both the one and the other are equally guilty by their birth, replies Ptolomey, nay though they were innocent enough to deserve that Tullia should wish them no hurt, they cannot be so far such as to hope for any of her conversation.  
This fierce young man not guilty of that tenderness he was, in civility, obliged to, would needs, out of an affected malice, repeat the same words to Tullia, which she had sometimes said to his Brother, as he had heard it related; so that after this last compliment he went away, and would have no further discourse with Emilia. In the mean time Tullia had not spoken at all, though Lentulus had come to her, but had fastened her eyes on the ground, as being in some doubt whether she should approve the proceeding of Emilia, whose intention seemed good to her, but her action indiscreet enough. So that her courage, and the affection she had for my Brother, raised no small distraction within her; but when she heard those last words, and saw him go away with so much disdain, her face was of a sudden deprived of all colour, and grief and vexation pressed upon her heart in such manner, that after she had, with some precipitation, said to Emilia, that she was not well, and was not able to stand, she fell into a swound in her arms. Lentulus, whose eye was but too much upon her, ran to her; and though her misfortune touched him to the very heart, yet was it some joy to him to have her in his arms, while Emilia sat down on the grass, and with the assistance of Lentulus, laid Tullia by her, and took her head upon her lap. Ptolomey, who had not had the time to go far thence, turned about at the cry which Emilia gave, and seeing, though confusedly, what they were doing, he suspected what the business might be, though, it is possible, he might not think himself absolutely the cause of that accident. However, though he was not subject to much love, yet would he not be wanting in point of civility, and consequently as to that assistance which he thought due to her sex; so that when, being come near, he saw her in a swound. Emilia loosening her garments and Lentulus in such amazement, that he knew not what to do; he ran to the next rivulet, and, having taken up some water in both his hands, he brought it, and cast it on Tullia's face. Whereupon she immediately opened her eyes, and that, time enough to see the action of Ptolomey, and to perceive that it was from him that she received that assistance. I know not whether the joy or the confusion she conceived thereat were the greater; but being well furnished, both as to courage and reservedness, she betrayed not her thoughts of it, and giving my Brother a look suitable to the different passions she was then engaged with; I receive this kindness from you, said she to him, in requital for what I did your Brother in the like condition; but it is enough for an enemy, and you are too too tender of the concernments of your house to do me any more.  
With these words she turned gently towards Emilia, and spoke to her softly, to entreat them to depart: to which end Emilia making signs to them, they went their ways, but, after several manners; Ptolomey with such indifference, as if he had not been any way concerned in the adventure, and Lentulus so moved, and so distracted in his thoughts, that he hardly knew what he did. Being come some paces thence, they met with the women that belonged to Emilia and Tullia, whom their Mistresses had left behind, that they might walk alone, and having acquainted them with the accident that had happened, they obliged them to go to their Mistresses.  
When they were gotten a good distance from that place, Ptolomey, who walked after his ordinary posture of freedom and cheerfulness, observing the disturbance Lentulus was in, as well by his silence as by the several expressions thereof that were visible in his countenance; Is it possible, said he to him, that you are so much troubled at this adventure as you seem to be? But is it possible, replies Lentulus, that you can be so little as your face and actions discover you to be? I assure you for my part, says Ptolomey, that I am not troubled a jot at it, and that I look on this adventure as if it had happened to any other body. How, continued Lentulus, hath neither what you have heard from the mouth of Tullia, of the love she hath for you, nor yet what you have seen of the effects of your disdain on her spirit, raised no trouble or alteration in you? Not a jot, replies Ptolomey, and besides the aversion I had for that Lady, I am not much taken with what is bestowed on me upon such occasions, if it hath not cost me something before, so that I shall not make any advantage of this adventure; and all that I shall do for Tullia that speaks any thing of obligation, is, that I shall not divulge it, and that I do upon the account of discretion and her sex. So that it seems, says Lentulus, you do not love her, nor feel any inclination to do it? I do not only not love her now, answers Ptolomey, but I protest to you, I never shall love her. If it be so, replies Lentulus, I am some what less unhappy than I thought myself, that I am fallen into a passion which I should have wrestled with while I lived, had it been any way prejudicial to our friendship. And since you are the dearest of my Friends, I shall make no difficulty to tell you, that being along with you into this garden, as free as yourself from any love I had for Tullia, I am now fallen infinitely in love with her, to so high a degree, that it is impossible your brother could be more.  
These words made Ptolomey look on Lentulus somewhat amazedly, as if he could hardly imagine his discourse to be serious: How, said he, is it possible, Lentulus, that in so short a time, and by so strange an accident, you should fall in love with Tullia's So deeply, replies Lentulus, that all the words I can use are not able to express it, and I thought Tullia so beautiful in her grief, and so amiable in her singing and discourse; that my soul is bestowed on her without ever consulting my will; I say bestowed, and that in such a manner, that I am not in the least hope ever to retrieve it out of her power. I know I put myself to strange extremities, and that attempting to serve a Lady, prevented by a strong passion for you, and that one that hath studied constancy and resolution, such as Tullia is, I embark for a voyage wherein I am sure to meet with many storms; but when all is done, it is the pleasure of my destiny it should be so, and it is not in my power to oppose it.  
Lentulus went on with abundance of discourse to the same effect, which the length of this relation obliges me to forbear repeating to you, though it put Ptolomey into such an astonishment at the fantastic adventure, that he could hardly imagine it to be real. He entreated him, since he was not resolved to affect that Lady, never to speak ill of her, nor let the World know what he did concerning her passion, which haply the little account and acknowledgement he made thereof, might in time oblige her to forget. My Brother promised never to speak of it while he lived to any one but to me, from whom he was not able to conceal any thing, and engaged for me that I should not suffer that secret to take any further air. Accordingly, he failed not to come that very night, to give me an account of all that happened to him, conjuring me to secrecy, and I could not but be amazed as well at his relation of the love of Tullia, as that of Lentulus, whose misfortune I much bemoaned, because he was a person of a most illustrious birth, and very recommendable among the Romans for his many excellent endowments. I had also some compassion for Tullia, though I had no reason to love her, and I blamed Ptolomey for the inflexibility of his heart; but having great respects for Martia, and looking on that alliance as most advantageous for my Brother and all our house, I was very glad not to see him engaged in any other affections that might have diverted him from her. He on the other side visited her oftener than he had done before, continuing and adding to the demonstrations of his affection; but with this remark, that he did all things with greater indifference and freedom of spirit than she could have desired, and in such manner, that his love hindered him not from minding his ordinary divertisements, or discovering the aversion he had for marriage. However, he provided against the day of Augustus' his birth, to do for her what all the other young Romans did for the Ladies they served, and would come into the exercises, with the Livery, & all other demonstrations of the engagement he lay under to serve her. Lentulus did the like for Tullia, but he understood that she was not well, and was not likely to be present at the Solemnity. You may some other time have an account of what hath passed in the loves of Lentulus and Tullia, possibly not unworthy your attention; but besides that there is not much come to my knowledge, they are not the subject of my present discourse, and my relation is so long without it, that I doubt not but you will excuse me, if I say not any thing thereof.  
At length, the day destined for the celebration of the Solemnity, and the honour of Augustus' birth being come the whole Court, all the Nobility, and the people ran to the Sights. I shall say nothing to you of the duels fought by the Gladiators, and the fight of savage beasts, which were the divertisements of the people for the morning. The rest of the day was spent in things of greater magnificence, such as wherein the Roman Nobility discovered their greatest pomp and gallantry; and yet I shall give you but a short description of it, and that out of a necessity that lies upon me to make mention thereof in my relation. There was no place within Rome able to contain the vast number of people that were to be present at the shows, and that of the persons that were to celebrate them. The Emperor therefore, had, without the gates of the City, in a fair Plain upon the Tiber side, caused a vast tract of ground to be railed in, having left two sides free for the people, which were bordered with an Amphitheatre of several steps, on which an infinite number of people might be disposed. He had caused to be raised over against the entrance certain Scaffolds covered over with rich tapestry, for the Ladies, the Senate, and such other persons as were destined for those places. On the fourth side were disposed part of the Emperor's Guard, whose employment it was to open the rails at the entrance of the Chariots the horses and people that were to come in, and all that side was wholly taken up by such as were requisite for that office, to avoid all confusion and disturbance. The place was spacious enough for the longest races of either horse or Chariots, and of such an extent, as it was said, that it was sufficient for the encamping of an army.  
The first sight was to be that of the Chariots, which was followed by horseraces, and after that was a combat on horseback, between two parties with edgelesse weapons, which the Romans call Troy, and they say was invented by Ascanius, the Son of Aeneas, at his arrival into Italy. All the Chariots passed one after another, took divers turns about the place along the rails, and after they had been seen by the Emperor, the Ladies, and the people, when the signal of the races was given, they were all disposed according to the order they had observed in coming in, at that end of the place which was opposite to our Scaffold, in expectation of the last signal at which they were to set forward. They had all four horses abreast, open before, with one only place behind, for the Master of the Chariot, wherein he sat armed all over, having on, a head-piece, the visor down, with a Buckler on his left arm, and two Javelins in his right hand; and the Chariots, the slaves that followed them, the clothes that covered the horses, and all the Equipage wore the Livery of the Ladies, as far as they were known. Upon these occasions was it particularly that the young Romans outvy'd one another to discover their inclinations; at least those who had no design to keep them secret, and to that end was there a great distance between the Chariots as they passed by, that people might the better observe the attendance of every Chariot in particular, and that without any confusion.  
The first that appeared was that of Marcellus, all glittering with gold and magnificent workmanship; his attendance was noble and full of pomp, and about his person, and in all his Equipage he wore the Livery of Julia. That of Tiberius came next, not inferior in point of magnificence to that of Marcellus, with my characters and colours. That of Domitius followed him, with those demonstrations which argued the affection he had for Agrippina. After that came Archelaus with the colours of Antonia. Next came young Ptolomey, very neat and gallant in his Equipage, wearing the colours of Martia. Prince Polemon followed him with those of Marcelia; and Mithridates, who came after him, made no difficulty to have also those of Antonia. The next was Crassus, with a Livery which none could guess whom it was for, and whence it was to be inferred, that his intention was not to have it known. Then came Lentulus with that of Tullia, and then Albinus, Aemilianus, Cinna, Cepio, and a many others of the most Illustrious Roman, to the number of fifty, it being the Emperor's pleasure there should be no more to avoid the confusion that might have ensued. Though Agrippa was not of an age that made him incapable of these exercises, yet would not the Emperor have him engaged therein, but took him and Mecaen●s for company's sake, to judge of the races, and to order the distribution of the prizes. And though all the Masters of Chariots had the visours of their head-pieces down, and were in such a posture▪ as if they had been ready to fight, yet were they known as they passed by, as well by the persons that were of their attendance, as by divers other marks, so that it was in us to judge of the magnificence and graceful carriage of them, which we did, and gave our opinions thereof very freely.  
This great number of Chariots, (which certainly was the noblest sight in the World) had gone round about the place, and it was thought there would not come any more, when the Lists being opened again, the place echoed with the noise of twelve Trumpets which appeared at the entrance, and began to match a good distance after the last of the Chariots that had passed before. They were mounted on twelve excellent horses, and their long coats were of a sky-coloured stuff, which was the colour of Antonia, all covered over with inflamed hearts, and the characters of Antonia, in embroidery of gold; but the noblest and most sumptuous embroidery that ever had been seen at Rome. The flags which hung at their Trumpets were full of the same characters. After the Trumpets, came one after another twenty horses, led every one by two slaves, who held them in on both sides by two scarves of the colour and embroidery afore mentioned. The horses were of the best kind of Gennets, and the proudest in their paces that ever were seen; they had in their heads, which they lifted up with a certain pride, great pennaches of the aforesaid colour, and their manes and tails tied up with ribbons of gold and sky colour. The bits of their bridles were enamell'd with gold, and embellished with precious stones, and they were covered with sky coloured clothes hanging down to the ground, and enriched with the same embroidery of gold, and the same characters of Antonia. The clothes of the slaves were of the same stuff, and had the same trimming. After these came fifty others clothed after the same manner, without any difference, and went on both sides the chariot which immediately followed the twenty horses.  
The Chariot had in it four horses white as the very snow, done with ribbons, and harnessed as the former. It seemed to be all of gold, mixed with skye-colour at certain distances, with double A. A's, burning hearts, darts, chains, and other emblems of love and servitude. The two sides had the form of two Lions, that seemed to have sumitted to the yoke, upheld the seat, and served for a leaning place on both sides. And behind there was a Cupid made of the height of a man, whereof the figure was somewhat greater than ordinary, which resting only on one foot behind, stretched himself out as it were to fly, and, having the wings spread, covered therewith the person that was in the seat, and seemed to have been put there purposely against the injuries of the weather, and as it were a covering for the Chariot. The sculpture of that Cupid was admirable, his face as handsome as the best Gravers could have made it, and his wings glittering with gold and precious stones, which shined in several places. In one hand he carried a heart upon the top of one of his arrows, and in the other a little flag of sky-coloured silk, wherein between two chains, and other marks of slavery, might be seen these verses written in letters of gold: 
I like a captive pine and sigh;  
Yet place a glory in my woes,  
I'd rather own this slavery  
Then of the universe dispose.   
All the rest of the Chariot was open, so that it was easy to see how the person was accommodated that was within it. He had on a cuirats and a head-piece of gold, enamell'd with skye-colour, and enriched, in several places with stones of a great value. The head-piece was covered over with a many plumes of blue feathers, which both backwards and on both sides hung down to his Shoulders. But in the enamel, as well of the head-piece as the cuirats, might be observed every where the characters of Antonia; and the sleeves and the lower part of his under-garment, which came down somewhat below his knee, being interwomen with gold and blue silk, were full of the same characters, with an excellent embroidery of gold, and his buskins interlaced with gold and blue, adorned with rich buckles and precious stones. Nor was there any want of them, about the sword he had by his side. He had in his right hand two Javelins, with the points guilt with gold, and in the left, a Buckler of the same metal, with the edges enameled suitably to the rest of his Arms, and enriched in the middle with the picture of the fair Antonia, done so like her, that it was immediately concluded to be the work of the most excellent Painters of Italy.  
I thought it not amiss to give you this short description of him, for that indeed we spent more time in looking upon him, than we had done on all else that was to be seen, though it must needs be acknowledged there was no want of state or magnificence any where. But in regard that all the rest were known, and that there was no means to discover this last, either by the persons of his attendance, or by any other mark, he drew after him, not only the astonishment and acclamations of the people, but also the curiosity of all others. And yet though it was impossible to know either his face or name, yet from some other circumstances, that were public and remarkable enough, it was generally concluded that it could be no other than the unknown servant of Antonia, who some days before had bestowed on her the magnificent Galley, who had overthrown Archelaus and Mithridates, and of whom, under the name of the Unknown Lover there were such strange reports spread up and down Rome and elsewhere. It immediately ran from mouth to mouth among the Spectators, and all the discourse was concerning Antonia's servant, insomuch that Archelaus and Mithridates perceaving it, conceived not a little trouble and envy thereat, and could not for a certain time recover themselves out of that disturbance of thoughts which that sight had caused in them.  
Antonia and myself were not far from the Emperor, so that, overhearing all the discourse which fell not only from Caesar, but all those that were about him, upon occasion of this accident, there spread such a redness over Antonia's face, as could not be gotten off for almost all that day. And though I was not thereupon thrifty of my discourse to her, and earnestly entreated her to communicate her thoughts to me upon that emergency, yet was it a long time ere she would as much as open her mouth to make me any answer. Sister, said I to her, was it not shrewaly guessed of me some days since, that your unknown servant was a person admirable as to point of invention and magnificence, and do you not find that in whatever he undertakes, he eclipses all that is done by others? In troth, I cannot forbear speaking for him, and to tell you, that I have conceived an extraordinary good opinion of him. Antonia was in some uncertainty, whether she should discover her displeasure at the adventure, or make her diversion of it as others did: but what thoughts soever her disturbance might inspire her with, yet could she not but entertain in her soul a certain joy at the advantages of a person that loved her, though he did it contrary to her intentions, and the reputation he acquired, whether she would or no, for his gallantry and magnificence.  
But not long after, she had much more reason, for in fine, Sister, (not to tire you with a relation of all that passed that day, which it were impossible to relate to you fully) I shall think it enough to tell you, that this unknown person having provided all things for that day, with all the care and prudence imaginable, and furnished himself with the best and fleetest horses that could be had, carried away all the prizes, as well for the horseraces as the Chariots, leaving behind him at a distance all that ran with him, and in that combat on horseback called Troy, he behaved himself with so much address and vigour, and did all things with such an admirable grace, that he alone drew after him the general acclamations of the Spectators. In fine, he was by the Emperor himself declared Conqueror, how partial soever he might be for Marcellus, and received the prizes, which he came and laid at the feet of Antonia, bending the knee, and bowing to her with a submission that spoke him her slave. Antonia blushing for shame and vexation, though haply she was not much dissatisfied at the adventure, did, by the commandment of Octavia, receive them, and immediately after, the Unknown Lover mounting one of the best of his horses, rid him before us with such a grace, and seemed to us to be of such a noble presence, and so well to become the bow of the saddle, that we could not forbear admiring him. A while after, he went in among the rest, and, taking his time, and making his advantage of the disorder and confusion they were in, he went out of the Lists, and got away with as much speed as could be. His Chariot, and Equipage were gone long before, for he had given order, that as soon as the Chariot-races were over, all should withdraw, while the people were taken up with the other exercises, wherein he was to make use of no more than the horse he road on.  
By this precaution had he taken a course, that those who were not concerned in his affairs, should not follow the persons that were of his attendance in order to discover him, as it might have been the design of divers. But as he retired himself, how circumspect soever he might be, he could not escape the eyes of the jealous Mithridates, who fully satisfied it could be no other than the same Rival that had cast him to the ground, took a resolution to follow him to the world's end, and never to leave him till he had discovered who he was, or that the other had made him satisfaction for the injury he had received from him. He went out of the lists soon after him, and perceiving he made all the speed he could away, he followed him at a distance towards certain houses, whither he saw he intended, and are distant from the City about fifty or sixty stadia. Archelaus, perceiving that Mithridatts was gone, presently imagined the occasion of his departure, and it being no less his concernment then the others to be acquainted with his Rival, would needs follow him, and took his course that way which he was told he had taken.  
In the mean time Mithridates was gotten far enough before, and having observed that his unknown Rival turned towards a little Wood on the left hand, he made after him with all the speed he could, and reached it in a manner as soon as the other. It was with no small difficulty that he overtook him, nor indeed had he done it, had his Rival suspected any thing of his design; but ere he perceived any such thing, he was gotten so near him, that all he could do was to pull down the visor of his head-piece, which he had raised up to take a little more air, and he did it time enough to prevent Mithridates from knowing him. Having so done, he would have kept on his way, but Mithridates made a shift to get before him through the trees, and opposing his passage; Hope not, said he to him, to get away this time again, till I have known thee, and possibly till thou hast made me satisfaction for the many injuries thou hast done me. The Unknown Lover, troubled at this renconter, was in suspense for some minutes what answer to make him; but at last, perceiving what extremity he was reduced to, and thinking that, besides the care he should take to disguise his voice, the head-piece would contribute so much thereto, as to make him undiscernible by the other. Mithridates, said he to him, thou hast little reason to be so obstinate in pursuing a man that is not thy enemy, but may become such through thy importunate persecution of him. If thou art my friend, replies Mithridates, thou shouldst not conceal thyself from me, and if thou art not, I little fear thy displeasure, after the disgraces I am fallen into by thy means.  
As he uttered these words, he opposed his passage more than before, and held up against him the point of a Javeline he had in his hand. The Unknown Lover would have avoided fight without discovering himself, but perceaving it impossible to do it; Thou wilt haply have occasion to remember, said he to him, what violence thou dost force me to, and if thou receive any inconvenience thereby, thou hast no body to blame but thyself. With these words they charged one another at the same time, and having broken their Javelins on their Bucklers upon which they received them, they drew their swords, and many blows were dealt on both sides. But my little experience in matter of Combats, permits me not to give you all the particulars, and therefore shall only tell you, that the Unknown Lover finding in one pass, Mithridates' horse in somewhat an unsettled posture, ran his own abreast upon him, and so overturned both him and his master to the ground.  
The Unknown Lover thought himself freed by the fall of Mithridates, and would accordingly have kept on his way, when there coming before him Archelaus; Stay, cried he to him, having seen Mithridates' fall, thou hast done but half thy work, unless thou conceive me less concerned to know thee then Mithridates. This second stoppage put the Unknown Lover out of all patience, though he very much esteemed the person of Archelaus, and seeing divers others coming from the City, he conceived he had but little time to lose, and accordingly without any further consultation, he fell upon Archelaus, who answered him with blows as to weight, not much inferior to those he dealt himself. They fought for a good while on equal terms; but at last, the Unknown Lover perceiving the persons, he had seen before, coming nearer and nearer, runs to Archelaus, and laying hold of him, he put on his horse, which was one of the best in the World, to force him out of the saddle, and so free himself by his fall, as he had done before by that of Mithridates. And certainly, he put so much strength to it, that he did what he desired in some part, and drew Archelaus out of the saddle upon the crupper, whence he slipped down to the ground: but Archelaus, having, as he fell, gotten hold of the other by the head-piece, held him with such force, that he broke the chin-pieces of it, and taking it with him, his enemy's head was naked and disarmed. Upon which Marcellus, Ptolomey, Crassus, and divers others being come into the place, ran to the two Combatants, and in the sight of all those persons, as also of Archelaus and Mithridates, who were gotten up, the face of the unknown Lover was seen, and known to be that of Drusus, the Son of Livia, and Brother to Tiberius.  
The astonishment of the two Princes that had been worsted by him, of Marcellus, Ptolomey and the rest, was not ordinary, when they found Drusus to be the Unknown Lover of Antonia, who had served her, without discovering himself, with so much gallantry and goodliking, and if Archelaus and Mithridates were troubled that they had met with so powerful a Rival; they were in some measure comforted as to their disgrace, because it happened by the hands of a Prince, whose valour was known to all the World. Drusus was in a little trouble and disorder to see himself discovered, as thinking he had not come to that point he should have done ere he had been known; but perceiving the misfortune to be incapable of any remedy, he generously resolved to endure it, and turning towards Prence Marcellus and Ptolomey, who stood near him: Most Illustrious Princes, said he to them, I crave your pardon for the surprise and stratagems I have used towards the Princess your Sister, and the offence I have committed against you by serving her without your knowledge. Had I thought myself worthy that glory, I should not have had any recourse to artifice; but how mean soever I may be as to point of merit, I cannot but hope from the goodness of Prince Marcellus, for whose sake I cheerfully quitted all the pretensions I had for Julia, that he will grant me, out of an excess of favour, that which I durst not presume to desire of him, before I had in some sort obliged him to love me, by the services it was in my thoughts to do him. And from Prince Ptolomey, a person I have ever infinitely esteemed, I do expect, he should not oppose me in the design I have absolutely to sacrifice my whole life to the service of the Princess his Sister.  
To this effect was the discourse of Drusus, which when he had done, he expected the answer of the two Princes with that confidence, which he might well derive from the friendship they had expressed towards him for some time before. 'tis true, Drusus was a Prince of so great merit, that he was infinitely esteemed by all that were of his acquaintance; and from the time that Marcellus was reconciled with him after the duel they had fought for Julia, having discovered his excellent endowments, as well in his conversation, as the earnestness he observed in Drusus to purchase his affection, he had conceived more respects & friendship towards him than any other among the Romans, & preferred no man before him in his inclinations, but only Coriolanus. On the other side, Drusus' Fortunes were so considerable by reason of the authority of Livia, and the interest his own worth had justly gained him with Caesar, that neither Marcellus, nor Ptolomey, nor any of the other Friends of Antonia could wish her a match that were more advantageous. They accordingly studied not long for the answer they were to make him, and Marcellus speaking for both, out of a confidence that what he said should be confirmed: Prince, said he to Drusus, we have some reason to be displeased with you; but it is only for the little reliance you have had in our friendship, and the esteem we have for you. But that you shall hear more of another time; and therefore in the interim, since you have thought Antonia worthy your affections, I shall tell you that I think her happy, and very much honoured in the inclinations you have for her; that I question not but that Caesar, Octavia, Alexander, wherever he may be, and Ptolomey are of the same mind, and that, for my part, if in the design you have upon her, you need the assistances of a Brother that hath some power with her, I proffer you all you can desire or expect from me, as being one that endeavours nothing so much as the acquisition of your friendship, and next to that, the continuance of it while he lives.  
What Ptolomey said to Drusus, was to the same effect, whereat this Prince was so much satisfied, that he could not express his joy without a certain confusion. After he had discovered his resentments thereof to both, as much as he possibly could, he comes to Archelaus and Mithridates, and made his excuses to them, as to what was past, in the most obliging manner that could be. These two Princes felt so much grief within, that they could not think of any consolation, but not so much for the disgrace of their falls, as for that their ill fortune had raised them so dreadful a Rival, and the words they had heard from Marcellus and Ptolomey, from which, together with the confidence they were in that Augustus and Octavia would declare for Drusus, they could not but infer that the little hope which they had conceived in the course of their affections, would come to nothing. But, however they were burdened with grief, they received the civilities of Drusus as they ought, and on their side craved his pardon for their indiscretion, and whatever they attempted against him, while they knew him not.  
I see, Sister, you are desirous I should contract this relation, since it is indeed of an excessive length, and therefore, I shall only tell you, without insisting too much on particulars, that, notwithstanding all the resistance that Drusus made thereto, Marcellus and Ptolomey would needs have him, immediately, and in that very posture presented to Antonia, and that Drusus having opposed it for some time out of the fear he was in to displease her, at last was prevailed with to come along with them, and followed them to the City, and so to the Emperor's Court, where all the most eminent persons about it were assembled, and discoursing of the Unknown Lover of Antonia. They were yet speaking of him when Marcellus comes into the room, leading in Drusus by the hand; and it was before this Illustrious Assembly, that Marcellus, having presented him to the Emperor, and Octavia, brought him to Antonia, and, having discovered him to her for the Unknown Lover, who had given her such gallant-like expressions of his love, and that in so extraordinary a manner, entreated her to entertain him, as a Prince that had devoted himself to her service, and whose inclinations for her were an honour to all their house. The whole Assembly was nothing but applauses and acclamations at the sight and discovery of Drusus; and being a person generally beloved, all were glad to hear that it was he who had done such noble things for Antonia, and cried out they were worthy one another, and that it was a couple the best matched of any in the World. The Emperor conceived an extraordinary joy at it, Livia was well pleased with the good choice her son had made, and the Emperor and she together, joining with Marcellus, (having performed the first civility to Octavia) addressed themselves to Antonia, entreating her to entertain Drusus into her service, and give him leave, by open hostility, to take in that heart which he would have surprised by stratagem.  
Antonia, some what troubled at the adventure, found it some difficulty to recover herself out of the disorder she was in; and though it be certain that it was some joy to her to see the unknown Lover changed into Drusus, who was the person of all the Romans, into whom she had most reason to wish him changed, yet was she still vexed at the artifice he had used toward her, and could not of a sudden overcome the resentment which was risen thereof in her mind. However she had a command over her ordinary moderation, and, having raised Drusus, who was on his knees before her, she only told him that there was a consonancy between her will and those of the persons to whom her birth had made her subject; and that, (I mean her moderation) she made use of not only for that day, but was the same for a many that followed; insomuch that Drusus hath found it true, that all the demonstrations of love that may be have no influence on her spirit, and amount to no more than the compliance she had for the disposal of Octavia. He was at last received into her service with the joy and acclamations of all, insomuch, that Antonia, having since had a greater acquaintance with his excellent endowments (if she were incapable of Love) hath at least submitted to the commands laid on her by Octavia and Caesar in his behalf, and hath satisfied him, by expressions worthy her solid virtue, of the esteem she hath for him. And so it hath continued ever since, by the happy meeting of these two compliant dispositions, who are not subject to any trouble, because not to the weakness of a many others, so that it is out of all question that the Emperor will have them married at the same time that the nuptials of Marcellus and Julia shall be solemnised.  
Drusus hath told us since how that he had heard from Mithridates' own mouth, the discourse that had passed between him and Antonia, when they walked together, upon which he grounded his first letter, as also what course he had taken to conceal himself from all the World, as well that day that he bestowed on her the magnificent Galley, as that of the public shows, before which, some few days he had pretended affairs of consequence in the Country, because there should be no notice taken of his absence, at an Assembly, wherein he should in all likelihood be one of the first. Some few days after, Archelaus, overcome with grief, went to ease himself of it in the war, whither he was called to assist the King of the Medes, his kinsman, against the Parthians, and wherein, as they say, he hath gained abundance of reputation. Mithridates was in the same posture, u●●aple of any consolation, though his love had not made so much noise as the others: but to satisfy him in some sort, the Emperor having the Crowns of Pontus and Comagenes, where there had happened very great revolutions, to dispose of, bestowed that of Pontus on Polemon, and that of Comagenes on Mithridates, and sent them to take possession thereof.  
Ptolomey, according to his ordinary way of courtship, continued his addresses to Marcia, that is, with little earnestness, and much esteem and respect, but discovering little inclination to marriage. He never minded Tullia, who in requital was very violently courted by Lentulus, but I shall not give you any account of their loves, because they relate not much to the subject of my discourse, though they may be said to be some consequences thereof. I have already given you an account of all that happened to myself at that time, as well as to the news I received of the infidelity of Coriolanus, the departure of Marcellus and Tiberius, and the Emperor's voyage, wherein we accompanied him; so that you are fully acquainted with the affairs of our house; and the better to satisfy and entertain you therewith, I think, and that truly, that I have spoken more in three days, than I had done all my life before.  
Thus did the fair Princess Cleopatra put a Period to her long relation, which to do, she had done a more than ordinary violence to her disposition, and Artemisa had heard her with an attention, which had suspended in her mind the memory of her misfortunes.  
The end of the Second Book.    

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART IX. LIB. III.  
ARGUMENT.  
MEgacles discourses with the unknown person, whose life he had saved, about the constancy and inconstancy of Fortune; Cleopatra and Artemisa, of the fidelity and infidelity of Coriolanus. The King of Armenia visits Cleopatra with a great deal of Courtship and Personated Affection. She, abhorring him for his cruelties, and having resolved to be Coriolanus', slights him, and looks on his addresses as the pure effects of insinuation and sycophancy. However he forbears force, because far from his own Kingdom, whither he would make all the hast he could, but is prevented by contrary winds. Zenodorus the Pirate entertains Artaxus with the History of his Life. He marries Elisena, a beautiful Lady of Armenia, and not long after grows jealous of her, through the means of one Cleontes, a young man, with whom she was over-familiar. His jealousy still increasing, Cleontes is by Elisena desired to depart the Court, The day before his departure, he and Elisena taking their last leaves, in an Arbour, are surprised by Zenodorus, who transported with rage and jealousy, immediately kills Elisena in the midst of their embraces. Cleontes gets away, but afterwards hearing of the death of Elisena, 〈◊〉 himself to Artoxus sword, who 〈◊〉 him through. As 〈◊〉 dying 〈◊〉 discovery, his neck and breast, and is found to be a Woman, 〈…〉 to Phraates King of the Parthians, to avoid whose addresses she had disguised herself. Phrates, to revenge her death, comes with an Army, and drives Zenodorus out of his Tetrarchy, which is afterward begged of Augustus by Herod. Zenodorus having lost all, seizeth some few ships, and turns Pirate. He follews Piracy with great success for ten years at last takes Candace, Queen of Aethiopia, whom he falls in loves with; but she, firing his ships, and casting herself overboard, escapes. Losing her, he takes Elisa, sole Heiress of the King of Parthia, but going ashore to seek out Candace, he loses both Elisa and all his ships, hath most of his men killed, and is himself wounded. He is met with in a Countryman's house, under the Surgeon's hands, by Aristus, and by him brought, along with the men he had left, to the King of Armenia.  
WHile the two Princesses were thus engaged in discourse, Megacles. whole ear was equally divided, between that of having them in safe custody, to obey the commands laid upon him by his Master, and that of affording him the best attendance he could, to satisfy in some sort his own inclinations, which were ever directed to virtue, omitted nothing of what he thought might be expected from him in order to either of these obligations. And whereas on the one side it was some dissatisfaction to him to be employed to secure them, out of the fear he was in to incense a Prince who was not wont to pardon any thing, so on the other, he with no less joy laid hold on those occasions which presented themselves, to discover unto them the repugnance which he struggled with to displease them. Being therefore obliged not to part from the ship, he had sent Aristus betimes in the morning to see what news he could learn of the King of Armenia, and this man being returned, had brought him word, that the King would infallibly come aboard the vessel that very day: and that though he were in such a posture as topoint of health, that he could not well undertake such a voyage without some danger, yet had he absolutely resolved to venture it, out of the great desire he had to see Cleopatra, and the fear he was in of losing so noble a prize.  
Megacles, having received this intelligence for certain, began to dispose all things in the vessel in order to his entertainment; and having understood that the Princesses were desirous to be alone, he, out of the great respect he had for them, would not so much as come near their Chamber, and was content only to give notice to one of the women that belonged to Cleopatra, that he desired that notice might be sent him, when the Princesses were pleased that he should wait upon them, and when they would have any thing brought to dinner. That done, calling to mind the Unknown Person, whom the day before he had rescued from the devouring waves, and of whom he had conceived a marvelous good opinion, he would needs give him a visit, and being come into the chamber, where he had left him a bed, he found that he made a shift to get on his clothes; but that afterwards, being much troubled with the great quantity of salt water he had drunk, he had been forced to cast himself again on the bed they had assigned him, Megacles, as soon as he came in, caused a little window to be see open to give a little more light to the chamber, and having by that advantage of light made fresh observations of the good countenance and hundsomeness of the Unknown, he was now much more surprised at him then the day before, and could not look on him, but with a certain admiration. The other, who with much ado knew him again, and reflected on the assistance he had received from him, as also on the conversation they had had together, and the more than ordinary pains and earnestness he had expressed in the saving of his life, entertained him with abundance of kindness, and gave him some occasion to see through the clouds of his melancholy, that though he had little love for the good office had been done him, yet had he abundance of acknowledgement for his good intentions. Add to that, that all his behaviour, all his gesture, nay indeed all things seemed to be so great, as if there had been in him a conjunction of sweetness and modesty with a noble and majestic air, that, notwithstanding all his ill fortune, Megacles felt in, himself abundance of inclinations to respect him, as he would do the person of Artax●s himself. After he had sat down by him, that he had felt his pulse, and had desired of him some account of his health, the unknown person assuming the discourse with a sigh, which by its depth seemed to have come from the bottom of his heart; My health, said he to him, is but in too good a posture compared to that of my Fortune; but whatever it may be, you see that I do not any way oppose the return of it, and that I have kept the promise I had made you not to attempt any thing against my life, while I shall be in your power. And for that very reason, replies Megacles, you shall continue in it as long as I can possibly keep you, and I should find it no small difficulty to suffer you to leave us, if I had the least imagination that you forsook us, to go and seek out death. When I consider what posture my life is reduced to, replied the Unknown, I think death to be the only happiness I either can or ought to hope, and yet since I have had that of seeing you, having made some reflections on the things you told me yesterday, on the strange manner whereby I was delivered out of the very jaws of death, contrary to all probability, and other circumstances of my misfortunes, I concluded, that I ought not to put a Period to my own life, before I had done all that lay in my power to serve a person on whom I had bestowed it; since that in all likelihood she stands in need of it, and that it is not impossible but that by some one of those extraordinary accidents that happen to me, but she may yet receive it. Out of this consideration, and upon the account of this obligation, rather than out of any hope, or remainder of love that I have for my life, had I taken my clothes, and would have begged your leave to be gone; but, to deal truly with you, the body was not able to follow the motions of the spirit, and perceiving that all the strength I could muster was hardly able to bear me up, and consequently far from putting that in execution which I had intended, I was forced to lie down again, till such time as I shall have recovered it a little better, as I possibly may ere this day be quite passed. The Gods have the praise of this good resolution, replied Megacles, and I shall think myself obliged to give them thanks while I live for the opportunity they have furnished me with to prevent the effects of your despair, since that by this very demur we have made to it, we may haply have absolutely diverted and dismissed it. Alas, alas, replied the afflicted person, with a sigh, how little acquaintance have you with my Fortune! And how far would you be from that opinion, had you but once an account of my misfortunes! I shall know them when you shall think good, replied Megacles; but I shall not desire it of you, till such time as your own inclination shall inspire you to give it me: for, the little time I have known you consiered, I have conceived such a respect for you, as permits me not to deal with you as I haply should with ordinary persons. That compassionate sentiment, which you have for the miserable, replied the Unknown, you rather derive from your own virtue, than any thing you might have observed in my person, which is only the mark of Heaven's indignation, and a ball continually tossed and bandied by the inconstancies of Fortune. And therefore assure yourself, that the opinion I have conceived, and the resentment I have, of this compassion you express towards me, should, no doubt, prevail with me to make a discovery of myself to you rather than to any other person, if I might thereby convince you of the esteem I have for you, and were I not obliged to secrecy out of other considerations then what concern myself. You may judge of the truth I now tell you, by the posture wherein you have seen me, and I doubt not but you are satisfied that he who contemns his life, as I have done, hath nothing to fear, as to himself, that might hinder him to discover himself. Till such time then that I am at that liberty, I shall only tell you, that whatever incensed heaven, and the indeprecable destinies may have ever executed that were most insupportable, on a great number of miserable persons, is fallen in such manner on me alone, that neither the times of our Fathers, nor yet our own could ever afford such another example. And whereas you have seen divers persons become unfortunate through the loss of dignities, friends, estates, the affection, nay and the persons too of all that they could love in this World; you have in me a draugt of all these, but I draught, a thousand times greater than your imagition can represent it to you.  
I have ever been of opinion, replied Megacles, that your misfortunes were indeed extraordinary, and your soul hath appeared to me so great in the expressions I have seen thereof, that I immediately inferred it impassable as to ordinary ones. And yet I shall presume to tell you that in the course of the World there have been seen revolutions strange enough to raise up and encourage the most crushed hopes, and that several persons out of the most dreadful abysses of misfortunes, have as it were in an instant flown up to the highest pitch of happininess and glory. Who could have promised Marius in the midst of his miseries that glorious change that happened in his condition? and who could have put him into such a hope, as that out of the fen where he had hid himself for the safety of his life, and out of the dungeon, wherein he had been exposed to the mercy of those that were sent to murder him, he should, within a few days after, enter Rome in triumph, and be raised up to the same height of greatness whence he had before been cast down?  
You find it no small difficulty, replied the Unknown person, to meet in all our ages but with this one example, to prove the possibility of man's return from misfortune to lost felicities; but you may easily find an infinite number to demonstrate how easy it is to fall from thrones into chains, and from fame and happiness into shame and misery. So many Kings in Rome, drawn after Chariots, loaden with chains, and disposed into prisons, and among the Romans themselves, the great Pompey, and the deplorable Anthony, furnish us with examples of it sufficiently dreadful. A man may endeavour to struggle with Fortune by the assistance of virtue and a great courage, but not expect the return of her favours, when she hath once withdrawn them by her inconstancy: for this envious goddess is much more inclined, and subject to pull down what she had once built up, then to raise up what she had once brought to ruin. Besides, there are some happinesses, & some misfortunes in our lives that have no dependence on fortune, and wherein she is very little concerned: and whereas she hath no power over men's inclinations, it were in vain for those, whose greatest unhappiness should consist in the loss of an affection, which they thought extremely precious, to expect the return of it from Fortune, and it were fruitless for them, any way to rely on her assistance. Sylla, who seemed to have made an alliance with her, and who might well attribute more to her indulgence than he could have done to his own virtue, enjoyed the continuance of her favours to the end with a more than ordinary constancy; and that Greek Captain, whom she in his dreams, presented with Cities besieged in nets, acknowledged her ever for an assistant goddess. But neither of these two great examples ever sought any other happiness, or feared any other misfortunes than those which are deriveable from her Empire, and she might well be their principal divinity, since she disposed of all those things that could raise in them either fears or desires, and consequently could make them either fortunate or unfortunate: but for my part, who, with all she could take from me, have lost what she cannot restore me to, alas, to what god can I address myself? Or where shall I find either assistance or compassion, when both heaven and earth have conspired against me?  
These words fell from him with such an expression of sadness, and yet he had uttered them with such a grace, and in so obliging a manner, that Megacles had not only all the pity that could be for him, but also all the admiration. He therefore omitted nothing of what he could say to him, that he thought might give him any comfort, and having, before he would stir out of the place, caused victuals to be brought in, he would not leave him till he had eaten something. Which done, out of a fear he might be troublesome to him, and a considerantion that rest would do him much good, he left him, and went about those things which his charge obliged him to look after, and particularly to take order for the bringing of victuals and other necessaries from Alexandria, in order to their voyage, wherein he was to be so circumspect as that the vessel might not come thereby into any danger of being discovered. In these employments and some other which he had had, the morning and better part of the day was spent; so that at last perceiving it was very late, and that the Princesses had not called for any thing, he went to their chamber door, and sent to entreat them that they would be pleased something might be brought them to dinner. It was much about the time that the fair Cleopatra had made an end of her long relation; insomuch, that upon the solicitation of Megacles and their Women, they gave way that somewhat should be brought them in, and took a little nourishment.  
About the end of their repast, the Princess Cleopatra, who seemed to have slumbered herself into a deep recollection, gave a sudden start, and was as it were in a great trouble and disturbance; but a little after recovering herself, and fetching a sigh from the bottom of her heart; Good God, Sister, said she to Artemisa, how true is that which I told you this morning concerning the force of our imagination, and how certain is it that the remembrance which I still have in my soul of the unfaithful and unfortunate Son of Juba, hath imprinted such strong ideas of him in my mind, that if his countenance appears not to my eyes, his voice I am sure smites my ears! Even at that very moment that you might have observed some alteration in my countenance, I thought I had heard him distinctly very near me, and several times this day, during the time of the discourse I have entertained you with, this same deluded imagination of mine brought that sound to my ears, and had almost put me out in my relation. I could not have believed that for an unfaithful person there should have remained such strong impressions in my mind: but alas, how unconstant soever he may have been, he is haply dead for my sake, and by the blood he hath shed by defending us against the Barbarians, he hath haply expiated part of the offence he hath committed against.  
In troth, Sister, replied Artemisa, whether he hath lost his life in our cause and assistance, or that it hath been the pleasure of the gods to preserve him, as it is not impossible but it may be so, I cannot, for my part, imagine he should be unconstant: and what hath appeared to me in order to his justification, hath had such an influence over my belief, that I am still of the same mind, and cannot forbear telling you, that I think him very innocent. Might it please the gods he were such, replied the afflicted Princess, and were it the pleasure of the same Gods that I had purchased the innocence you attribute to him, with the best part of my blood. But having paused a while, O vainest of wishes, continued she, the pure effect of the tenderness of my own heart! What advantage can I derive to myself from his innocence? If he were destined to die, should it not be some satisfaction to me that his infidelity hath happened before his death, that so I might be capable of a comfort which I should never have harkened unto, had he died constant? And if on the other side he be living, when I consider the wretchedness of my misfortune, and the captivity I now am in, which haply will never suffer me to see him again, am I not much less unfortunate in that I have only my own miseries to bewail, then if, it being supposed he were constant to me, I should be obliged to have a resentment of his as much as if they were my own? And yet all this notwithstanding, concluded she with a sigh, (proceeding either from weakness, or that she had some reason for it) I cannot repent me of my wish, and I should be glad, though haply it might cost me my life, he were not unconstant to me.  
I am very much of your mind as to that point, replied Artemisa, and accordingly make it out of all question, that of all the miseries which it is in the power of Fortune to force upon us, there are not any but are more supportable to a heart sensible of a tender affection, than those that proceed from that very affection, as being such as are all directly leveled against the same heart that is wounded by them. There are in our souls several degrees of tenderness, for they are not equally sensible of the happinesses and unhappinesses of this nature as of those that proceed from other causes; nay I dare affirm, that while they have this impression, they have no other consideration of these later, than that they were assistances or obstacles to those which we look on as purely real and essential. Which granted, I can without any difficulty believe, that amidst all the misfortunes which the just indignation of heaven may send upon us, the unconstancy and infidelity of the person beloved, is the most indigestible, and most grievous and insupportable, and, by a certain violence of assault, storms that strength of mind which might possibly hold out against all other unhappinesses. And you must on the contrary acknowledge, that amidst all the miseries through which our inexorable destinies will needs force us, the faith and constancy of the person we love, raises up our spirits into such a height of consolation and enjoyment of ourselves, that during such time as we make a strong reflection thereupon, we are almost in an apathy as to all the rest, all our sensibility being taken up by the other.  
Ah, Sister, replies Cleopatra, fixing her eyes on Artemisa, with a languishiag, but withal an amiable look, how true is all you have said, and consequently how have you fully convinced me, that I am the most unfortunate person in the World, and that you are not unhappy at all, since that being exposed to all those misfortunes, which you have mentioned, and particularly to that which you acknowledge to be most insupportable. I am deprived of that dear consolation which might in some sort alleviate them, and which the gods have been pleased to leave you. I must indeed confess, replied Artemisa, that I shall never think myself absolutely miserable while my Alexander is constant to me: but I hope you are in the same degree of happiness, and cannot forbear telling you over and over, that I find more reason and probability in the circumstances that make for Coriolanus, then in those that make against him, And you ought to give me so much the more credit, Sister, for that I speak on the behalf of truth contrary to my own interest, and against my own quiet. Your interest, Sister, says Cleopatra to her, and what interest have you I pray in the fidelity of Coriolanus, other then what our friendship obliges you to have? I am so much concerned in it, replies Artemisa, that Coriolanus is not much more himself, And this you might easily have imagined, though I have not spoken any thing to you thereof, since it is apparent enough, that, if, according to the presumption you have of the inconstancy of Coriolanus, you should once banish him your heart, the King my Brother, whose prisoners we are, and who loves you well enough as you have had sufficient try all, might conceive a little more hope from your neglect and oblivion of Coriolanus, then if you still afforded him a place in your affections. And if that alteration should once happen, what fortune were comparably to mine, since I might hope to be two several ways your Sister, and to possess my Alexander without any danger, and that with my Brother's consent? And yet you see, Sister, that this interest could not prevail with me to speak contrary to what seemed to me to be truth, and the innocency of Coriolanus; and all the fortune might happen to me should it be otherwise; could not force me to disguise my thoughts or betray the affection I have for you.  
Your deportment in this business, replies the Daughter of Anthony, speaks you a Princess nobly born, full of goodness and virtue, and I conceive myself obliged to you for this particular demonstration of your friendship, much more than for all the others you might have given me. But since you have thought fit to make this overture to me of yourself, give me leave, Sister, to entreat you, by whatever is dearest to your thoughts, to persevere in that good intention, and I beseech you, by all the good inclinations you have for me, never to aggravate the miseries of my captivity by such discourses as haply the King your Brother will oblige you to entertain me with on his behalf. I shall not tell you, that, by his horrid cruelties as well towards my Brother as yourself, he hath rendered himself unworthy, both of the affection he expects from me, and the assistance which he hopes you may afford him. Nor shall I add to that, as I very well might, how that by the same cruelty, whereof I have been acquainted with the abominable circumstances, both from the relations of Alexander and your own, he hath raised in my heart the greatest horror that may be for him, whence it comes that I look on him rather as a Tiger than a great King. But I shall not stick to tell you plainly, that, though his life were not stained with any base or reproachable action, though his manners and disposition wanted not that mildness and affability I should require, though his person were more than ordinary amiable, and that to his single Crown he could add the Roman Empire, he should never have any part in this heart, which I have once bestowed, and never can do a second time. Coriolanus hath had the first spoils of it, and shall carry them with him to the grave; whether he be living or dead, constant or inconstant, he only shall have that advantage. And if, by his infidelity, I am dispensed from the affection which I ought to have continued to the very last gasp, had he persevered in his; or am, by his death, disengaged, as to him, of a friendship, which it is needless to observe towards the shades, there is nothing can disengage me from myself, that is, from what I imposed upon myself, when I first submitted to that innocent affection, and consequently, nothing can set my soul at liberty in order to a second choice, or into a condition to entertain any new impression of love. 'tis enough that the great Cleopatra hath once given way to love and been taken with the great perfections of the most amiable among men; but the justification which I might find for my former weaknesses, would not haply be accepted for the latter. Expect not therefore from me, my dearest Sister, what I could not obtain of myself, for myself, though I should pretend a greater interest it should be so, then that which you represent, and imagine that there cannot be any selicity hoped from an affection contracted by such extraordinary ways. To do you what service I can with the King your Brother, and to oblige him to treat you more civility, I shall conceal part of my resentments, and the aversion I have for him; and therefore you ought to be satisfied with me, when you shall see me do that for you which I should never endure to do one minute formy self, and consider the violence I do myself for your sake, as no slight demonstration of my Friendship.  
Artemisa gave Cleopatra many thanks for the promise she had made her to force her inclinations upon her account, and begged her pardon for what she had said concerning her own concernments, and, in requital, made a protestation to her, that she would never speak to her more on the behalf of the King her Brother, and that she had two great an esteem for those resolutions of fidelity and constancy which she had taken, ever to be guilty of any design to oppose them.  
Thus were they engaged in discourse, when of a sudden they heard a very great noise in the ship, and not long after, that it was upon occasion of the Kings coming into it. What lectures soever they might have read one to another of constancy, they both grew pale, and were a little startled at this news, and looking one upon the other without speaking, they were at a loss as to all resolution; yet so as that there might be some difference in their thoughts, and if the soul of Cleopatra was burdened with a more lively grief, that of Artemisa was subject to more fear. At last, Cleopatra, whose courage was greater than that of Artemisa, was the first that broke forth into any resolution, and looking on Artemisa with a countenance that spoke something of more confidence, Sister, said she to her, let us rely on the assistance of Heaven in our misfortune, and in the mean time summon together all our virtue, and let us not forget the resolution we have taken.  
Artemisa had not the power to make her any answer, nor indeed had she time, for immediately thereupon their chamber-door being opened, the first thing they saw was the dreadful countenance of the King of Armenia. He was somewhat of a pale complexion, and leaned, as he came along, upon one of his men; but his paleness was dispelled at the sight of that object by which he was inflamed, and he made a shift to forget all his weakness to get near Cleopatra, who at his first coming in was risen from the place where she sat. Artaxus saluted her with abundance of respect, and Cleopatra, who was glad to continue him in that humour, and laoth to force him to those extremities, which she might justly fear from a man so violent, returned him, though with a sad and serious countenance, what was due to his quality from a Princess of hers. Before he spoke to Cleopatra, he cast his eyes on Artemisa, who trembling for fear, had her eyes fixed on the ground, not having the confidence to look him in the face. The fear and confusion he perceived her to be in, added not a little to his joy; but however, he thought fit to speak to Cleopatra, before he addressed himself to the other, and looking on her with a countenance wherein he endeavoured to moderate some part of his natural fierceness, and to take off somewhat of that which was most dreadful in him; Madam, said he to her, my love forces me to wait on you, though the justice of the gods hath made you mine to be disposed as I please; even in the late accident you might have taken notice of so much, and you ought to forget your own resentments of it, out of a consideration of the blood I have lost to preserve you. I shall never believe, answered Cleopatra, that it is to be attributed to the justice of the gods, that a free person, and one of my birth, should become your prisoner, without any war, and contrary to the Laws of all Nations. You might have observed no less yourself in this very adventure, wherein it hath cost you so much blood, and it is impossible they should approve the unjust violence you do me, if they are, as it is believed, the assertors and patrons of Justice and innocence. What violence, replies Artaxus, can he be said to do you who casts himself at your feet? Or wherein does he violate the Law of Nations, when he gives you a full right and absolute power over both his heart and his crown? Do you in agine that this injustice is of the same kind with those which the gods punish, and are you not afraid to incense them yourself, by entertaining so much aversion and animosity against a King that adores you, and is ready to die at your feet?  
Having said these words, he turned towards Artemisa, and looking on her with a little more mildness than ordinary, by reason of the presence of Cleopatra, whom he knew to have a horror for his cruelties: Well, Artemisa, said he to her, you see after what manner Heaven hath prospered your designs, and how it hath approved that the Daughter of Artabasus should forsake her Brother and her King, to run away with the Son of Anthony. My Lord, replies Artemisa, endeavouring to recover herself a little, though my affection was, I must confess, very great towards Alexander, yet was it not such as should have obliged me to forsake you to follow him, could I have taken any other course to have saved his life, which you would have taken from him, and he should have lost for my sake. This makes nothing for your justification, replies Artaxus; but you do not stand much in need of any, having found such a sanctuary in the Princess Cleopatra. The power she hath over me disarms the indignation I have against you, and I have no hatred for Alexander since I adore Cleopatra. In a word, your destiny is in her hands, and I shall not only pardon you the offence you have committed against me, but I shall furrher consent to your marriage with Alexander, if Cleopatra will be but mine.  
It is not impossible, replies Cleopatra, not staying for any answer from Artemisa, but that we may find other means to get out of your power; and if they fail us, we will follow those resolutions which the gods and our own courage shall inspire us with. In the mean time, be not flattered with so fond a hope, as that Caesar should tamely suffer you, in his own dominions, and almost in his arms, to carry away a Princess that is one of his house, and under his protection; but on the contrary, assure yourself, that by such a contempt of his authority you may stir up such a fire as may set your kingdom all into a flame.  
Caesar, I question not, replies Artaxus, will remember, that my Father hath always served him, and died in his cause, through the cruelty of your Father, who was his implacable enemy. I myself, in my younger years, have drawn my sword of his side against Anthony, and if the children of his enemies are not more considerable to him then those of his Friends and Allies, he will not think there is more injustice in the carrying away of Cleopatra, then in that of Artemisa. Artemisa hath not been carried away, replies Cleopatra, she hath only fled away from your wrath, after she had saved my Brother's life. It was her obligation to preserve it, because it was for her sake that he had exposed it to that ignominious death, which you had intended he should suffer. And so after she had thus acquitted herself towards a Prince who was not unworthy of her, she was content to follow him and participate of his fortune in order to the safety of her life, which she could not hope to have secure with you after those examples of cruelty which she had so fresh in her memory.  
Well, Madam, replied the King of Armenia, whether Alexander carried away Artemisa, or Artemisa carried away Alexander, it matters not; this is certain, that I received the affront, in the very heart of my dominions; and that a Prince of the quality of Alexander had no ground in the World to go and remain incognito in the Court of a King, whom he knew to be his enemy, whether it were to gain the affections of his Sister, or out of any other design which he might have had; and that there is not any Prince in the World, by whom he had not been ill trated upon such an account. But though this reason, and the others I have already alleged of the interests and the services of our house, should amount to nothing with Caesar, I am now to appeal to another power than his, and since I have submitted myself to yours, I stand in greater fear of your indignation than Augustus'.  
This he seconded with some other discourse, after which, he desired leave of her to sit down, by reason of his wounds which had weakened him very much, and were not a little troublesome to him. Cleopatra laughed in her sleeve at this pretended respect, and yet was not a little pleased to keep him in that humour, out of a fear he might break forth into disorder, and accordingly not much care what violences he put in execution. Nor indeed was the design of Artaxus any other; it being impossible that his fierce and cruel nature should spend itself long in fruitless compliances! But he thought it his best course to dissemble, while he was yet in a condition to fear all things, and out of that consideration would not make use of his power, till such time as he were come into his own Kingdom. In the interim, he had resolved to do all that lay in his power to humour Cleopatra, and omitted no humble services or submissions, to make her forget, if possible, the aversion she had conceived against him. He would needs have the ship to hoist up sail at that very instant, though his Chirurgeon had made it appear to him, that the sea was prejudicial to his wounds, and indeed he had on the other side some reason to fear he might be surprised upon that coast, by those that were sent out in quest of Cleopatra. He conceived, and that not without probability, that he had not escaped so long, had it not been for the little likelihood there was that those who had carried away Cleopatra, should stay so near Alexandria. And indeed it was out of that very consideration that those who went in their pursuit, as well by sea as by land, had gone the farther from the place where the fact was done. Besides the vessel was so hidden by a rock, which in a manner covered it, that on the land side it could not any way be seen; and to prevent all suspicion from the sea of its being that vessel wherein were the Princesses, order had been taken, that neither they nor any belonging to them, should at any time appear upon the deck.  
With this precaution, and these favourable circumstances, Artaxus, not conceiving himself secure, would needs have been gone thence at that instant, when a wind, contrary to his designs, and consonant to the wishes of the Princesses rises at the same time; but a wind so contrary to the course they were to take, that it was thought impossible to get out of the river, while it blew with the same violence it had begun, nay there was some fear, that if they went out of the place where they were, wherever they had cast anchor, it could not be so private as the other. The King of Armenia, exasperated at this, ●ailed at the gods and fortune for this misfortune, but after he had tormented himself for some time to no purpose, he was forced to give way, and to suffer the remainder of the day and the night following to pass away in expectation of a change. In the mean time he was retired into a little chamber which they made a shift to dress him up in the vessel, where he thought fit to take his rest for some time and have his wounds dressed.  
The two Princesses had soon notice of this favourable change of the wind, by Camilla, who had heard it from Megacles, and this wench, who was indeed very much esteemed by her Mistress as well for her virtue, as her many excellent qualities, after she had told them the news with a countenance full of joy and cheerfulness, Madam, said she to her, let us not despair of Heaven's assistance, and since it begins to declare itself for us, let us believe that its assistance will prove abselute and effectual, and that it will never forsake such great and virtuous Princesses in such a misfortune as you are in. I am very much inclined to hope it, my dear wench, replies the Princess, and we ought to join our prayers together, to beseech the gods to direct those to the place where we are, who in all probability run up and down to our rescue. There is no doubt to be made, added the fair Artemisa, but that Alexander will search the World over in our pursuit; but he goes far enough to find us while we are so near the place where he lost us; 'tis so much the more our unhappinesses, and it will never be believed that those who carried us away should make a stay at the gates of Alexandria. I am of your mind, replies Cleopatra, but these reflections avail us nothing, and all that lies upon us to do, is, to expect with patience what it shall please the sovereign disposers of our destinies to do with us.  
While they were discoursing thus in their Chamber, Artaxas kept silence in his, unless it were when that from his bed he gave orders for his voyage. Megacles gave him an account of that admirable unknown person whom he had relieved, and had disposed into his bed, and spoke of him in such manner as raised in the King a desire to see him, upon the extraordinary relation which the other had made concerning him. But in regard that Megacles told him, that he was too weak and too much cast down to be brought before him, in a time that he shunned the light, and hated life itself, he resolved to give him a visit in the place where he was, after he had taken an hour's rest on his bed.  
Thus was he employed, when he sees coming in to him, Aristus, and with him seven or eight men sufficiently well armed, with fierce and savage countenances, and, in the head of them, he who seemed to be their chief, and had as little kindness in his looks as any of them, though he were very pale, and seemed to have lain in lately of some great sickness. The King at first sight could not call the man to mind, not only by reason of the alteration wrought in him by his sickness, as the change which ten or twelve years had made in his countenance, it being so long since he had seen him. But Aristus, assuming the discourse, and presenting him to the King, This my Lord, said he to him, is the famous Zenodorus, whom you have sometimes seen in your own Count and in your Armies, before the accidents that have happened to him, had obliged him to coast up and down the sea, where he hath made himself so dreadful. I have met him, and known him again by a very strange chance, and in regard that I knew your Majesty hath had a great esteem for him, and conceiving that his services and those of the men that accompany him, (persons much better acquainted with these seas than any of your subjects) might prove advantageous to you in the condition you are now in, I thought sit to bring him along with me, out of a confidence that your Majesty would take it well at my hands.  
With these words Zenodorus continuing the discourse, made himself fully known to the King, and Artaxus, who had not only seen him many years before both in his own Court, and also in the King his Fathers, but had also a particular esteem for him, and, at his coming to the Crown, had assisted him in his marriage with one of the handsomest Ladies in all Armenia, called him to mind very well; and having entertained him with much kindness, he assured him of his joy to see him again, and of his assistances as far as he were able, upon what account soever he might desire them. Zenodorus returned him thanks with much respect, and proffered to serve him in his own person, and promised the services of those men that accompanied him with all fidelity. Artaxus, discovering his weakness by the paleness of his countenance, and having known him to be a person of a considerable rank, caused him to sit down, and after some words expressing the respects he had for him; Zenodorus, said he to him, if you are astonished to see me upon this coast, and in the posture wherein you find me, I am no less myself to meet you in that condition wherein you appear to me. About the time of your departure from Armenia, while yet I was but young I heard thousands of stories of you, and have understood since, that for these eight or ten years you have scoured the seas with several considerable ships of war, have taken many prizes, fought divers memorable fights, and grew dreadful beyond all the Pirates that found so much trouble to the Great Pompey.  
'tis very true, my Lord, replied the Pirate, that I have done part of what you say, and that I have been feared as well in the main sea, as in that where we now are. I was, not many days since, the richest of all the Pirates, and had gotten together riches enough, to forget all resentment for what had been taken away from me to bestow on Herod; but Fortune hath eased me of a great part of them. The late tempest, which lay so heavy on this sea, dispersed some part of my ships, the rest have been taken by the Praetor of Egypt, as I have received myself upon this coast, a thrust through the body, which left little hopes of life behind it, and yet I have with much ado recovered it, and by a miraculous assistance am brought into the condition wherein you now see me. What you tell me, replied the King of Armenia, I am not only astonished, but much troubled at, and if ever we come into Armenia again, I will furnish you with those supplies which you shall conceive necessary to restore your fortune to the posture it was in before. But in regard I have heard a many strange and wonderful things of you, and that without any order or dependence, I should be very glad to understand from yourself the accidents of your life, such as are of greatest consequence as may best suit with a short discourse, if it may be done without any inconvenience to you. I shall be no less satisfied, my Lord, replied Zenodorus, to give your Majesty that demonstration of my obedience and respects, and notwithstanding the paleness which is so visible in my face, and proceeds merely from the great quantity of blood which I have lost, I feel no inconvenience that shall hinder me from giving you a relation of my adventures, which were not haply worth your Majesty's attention, were it not for one accident, which, being very remarkable, hath accordingly made no small noise in the World. With these words he came somewhat nearer the bed, and sat in the place where the King had commanded him, and having caused his men to leave the room, Megacles received them, and lodged them with the others that were in the vessel; so that having, by a little rest, and some minutes of silence prepared himself for the discourse he was to make, he began it in these terms.  

THE HISTORY Of the Pirate ZENODORUS.  
I Shall not be so disingenuous as to deny, that in the life I have led for these eight or ten years, I have been forced to do many actions full of impiety, injustice, and cruelty; that I have violated all manner of laws, and committed all manner of crimes: nay, that by the constant practice of them, I have contracted such a habit of evil, as I shall haply find it no small difficulty to reform myself of. But I would withal, if possible, gladly persuade your Majesty, that a great part of the mischievous inclinations which are grown so powerful within me, are rather the consequences of my cross Fortune than the effects of my own nature, and that, if the misfortunes that have happened to me since my departure from Armenia had not exasperated my disposition, and corrupted my manners, I should, as I had been born with great inclinations to virtue, have continued in the same esteem and reputation that I was in when your Majesty was pleased to honour me with more than ordinary favours and kindnesses. I shall contract the discourse of my misfortunes as much as I can, as well because I am unwilling to abuse your attention, as that considering the condition your Majesty is in, it were very unseasonable for me to spin out any over-teadious relation.  
Your Majesty hath heretofore understood that I was born in the Frontieres of Judaea, where the Fortunes of my Father were such, that through the affluence thereof he had the means to purchase the estate of Lisanias, which was a small portion of that Country endued with sovereign power, and without appeal to any other Monarch than the Emperor. Lisanias' had possessed it as such for a long time; but at last, having, for certain weighty considerations, exchanged it for some other estate which my Father had, and some moneys he had gotten together in the several employments he had gone through in the wars, my Father became the peaceable Lord of it, and I by that means came into a rank which rendered me the more considerable among my neighbours. I spent the first sallies of my youth in the Armies, and through the natural inclination I ever had to the wars, I gained therein some reputation. I was in that of Anthony against the Parthians; and being merely a Soldier of Fortune, and not minding Factions, I followed the children of Pompey, against Augustus Caesar, and among other services. I was at that famous sea-fight that happened between Menas and Menecrates. That war receiving a Period by the ruin of young Pompey, I sought out new employments elsewhere, visited the Courts of divers Kings, and at last came to yours. You were then but about 15 or 16 years of age, and it was not long after the taking of the King your Father. He honoured me very much with his kindnesses; but he being shortly after taken by Anthony, I had, in those attempts which, young as you then were, you made to procure his liberty, and afterwards to revenge his death, the honour to follow you, in a very considerable employment in your Cavalry; and I was so happy as to have it from your own mouth, that you were satisfied with my services, and accordingly received those presents, and acknowledgement from your liberality which I have had reason to celebrate ever since.  
But besides the inclinations I immediately conceived for a valiant and a grateful Prince which engaged my stay in your Court longer than in all the rest, another thing that detained me there was the beauty of Elisena. I shall not need tell your Majesty, who remembers it well, as having seen her, that that Lady was one of the greatest ornaments of your Court, that by her birth she was one of the most considerable, and that in point of beauty and desert, there was none comparable to her. A man cannot well imagine any thing more amiable or more excellent than her face, but the advantages of her mind were no less admirable, and the reputation of her virtue was generally known through the whole Court of Armenia. Thousands of persons sighed for that beauty, of which number, I had no sooner seen her, but I became one. My love increased from day to day, till at last, that passion became as violent in my soul, as ever it had been in any, though the most possessed by it. I entertained her with all the demonstrations I could of it, with respect, earnestness and assiduity; but she seemed to be little moved thereat, and discovered very little resentment for all those expressions of love which she received from all the rest who made their addresses to her. She was endued with a virtue which nothing could shake, and was subject to a modest kind of severiry, which was proof against all passion. Her inflexibility at that time drew daily complaints from my mouth, and sighs from my breast; but if I was troubled at the small success of my own sufferings, I had still this comfort left me, that the Fortune of my Rivals was in no better a posture than my own, and that she seemed not to incline to any choice, other than that which she should be advised to by those to whom she ought her birth.  
But, to be short, my Lord, (why should I abuse your patience, by acquainting you with things that you know?) your Majesty was pleased to employ your authority on my behalf, you spoke yourself for me both to Elisena and her Friends. Insomuch, that about the same time, news being come that my Father was departed this life, and that I was absolute Lord of that little estate which he had died possessed of as a sovereign Prince, your Majesty was pleased to further my interests, made appear the advantage of my alliance, and, to the confusion of all my Rivals, though they were your own subjects, I carried away the fair Elisena and married her. The Nuptials were solemnly celebrated in Artaxata, and I had gotten into my possession that beauty for whom I had suffered so much, and in the possession whereof I found much more sweetness than I had imagined to myself. Alas! can I reflect on these things without dying, and, though my mind be grown brawny by reason of the accidents I have run through, and the barbarous employments wherein I have spent my life, Can I resist the resentment they should produce in me? I became possessor of Elisena, and with her of all the excellencies both of body and mind, that can be wished in one single person. Nay, what is contrary to what ordinarily happens, the possession increased my love, and through the more particular knowledge that I had of my Elisena, I discovered a many excellent qualities which I had not observed before in their full lustre. After I had made some stay in Armenia, I took leave of your Majesty, I departed, and carried away my dearest Elisena, that she might take possession with me of that little estate which my Father had left behind him. I was there received as their sovereign, and began to lead the most pleasant and delightful life that could be imagined. Thus far, my Lord, hath my life been known to you, thus far was it innocent.  
Now may your Majesty be pleased to understand what hath happened to me since, and to have so much goodness for me as to charge my adverse Fortune with some part of my crimes. In my little retirement with my Elisena, I knew not what meant the least disturbance from abroad, and enjoyed all imaginable felicity at home. My government, though of no great extent, was such as I was content with, and though it were envied by Herod, who was too powerful a neighbour for me, yet with the assistance and protection of some others, I could make a shift to maintain my own, the love I had for Elisena having had such an influeuce over me, that I had given over all thoughts of the wars, to which I had before sacrificed all my inclinations. My amiable Elisena, though she had married me purely out of the compliance she had for the commands of her Friends, yet had ever after so much accommodated her affections to her duty, that she had an extraordinary love for me, assoon as she was cenvinced that she ought to love me. Accordingly might it in a manner be said that we were inseparable, for that at all hours of the day, whether we stayed in the chamber, or went a walking, or a hunting, whither I carried her sometimes, and in all manner of divertisements, Zenodorus was never seen without his Elisena. Heaven itself, I fear me, envied our felicity: or, it may be, I was not born for that pleasant kind of life, and those who know me at this day, would find it no small difficulty to imagine, I could ever spend my time as I did then.  
The first year of our marriage was not yet run about, when, among those persons whereof our little Court consisted, I took notice of a young man lately come thither, for sanctuary, as he said himself, against certain enemies that were more powerful than himself, who had forced him to leave those places where he was born, and who, having been very courteously entertained among us, set up his staff there. He was called Cleontes, and this I may truly say of him, that of all the men I ever met with, I never saw a handsomer, or a more gentile person, in all his actions, nor a more amiable in all that appeared outwardly of him. Suitably to these good endowments, he immediately insinuated himself into the affections of all the World, in so much, that there was no divertisement appointed between persons of either sex, but the amiable Cleontes was invited thereto. All the World courted him, all the World spoke well of him, and all the World were extremely desirous to oblige him. He very pleasantly received those demonstrations of kindness and friendship which were rendered him: and though he seemed not to be above eighteen years of age, yet did he discover such prudence and conduct in his behaviour, as is seldom in persons of a far greater age. Yet was this particularly observed in him, that, slighting ordinary persons, nay indeed many Ladies, by whom he was not a little courted, he enjoyed himself in no other conversation, but that of Elisena, whom he accordingly honoured with his constant attendance. In so much that at last he got a haunt of visiting her so often, that he was in a manner perpetually in her company. And whereas it was none of the most inconsiderable perfections of Elisena, that she was admirable in matter of discourse, and that Cleontes was infinitely pleasant in that kind also, they passed the best part of their time away with abundance of mutual satisfaction. Among all the rest that perceived it, I took notice myself of the great kindness and familiarity that was between them, but at the first looked on it without the least disturbance, and out of the extraordinary opinion which I had of the virtue of Elisena, I not only harboured not the least suspicion of them, notwithstanding all the compliances, services, and constant addresses which Cleontes had for her, but also took notice, without the least worm of jealousy, that Elisena looked very favourably on him, and dissembled not the pleasure she took in his company beyond what she did in that of divers other person that came to see her.  
Several months were past and gone in this manner, before ever I conceived the least suspicion of the demonstrations of friendship that passed between them; and though I was indeed of opinion that their familiarity was greater than there ought to have been between a person of the quality of Elisena, and a man of the age and beauty of Cleontes, yet did I attribute their weaknesses to their youth, and the friendship which Elisena naturally had for persons of good pleasant wits. In a word, their manner of behaviour made greater impressions on other men's minds than it did on mine, and among the many persons that conceived an ill opinion thereat, there happened to be some indiscreet enough to act the part of the unlucky crow, and to bring me the tidings of my own unhappiness. One above all, a person I very much credited, egged on by an imprudent zeal, came to me on a day, and pumping, not without some difficulty, as I could perceive, for words wherein to dress his expressions the more modestly; My Lord, said he at last, is it possible your voluntary blindness should be such as must reduce your most faithful servants to a necessity of giving you those discoveries of their fidelity which they cannot do without regret and violence to themselves? Or are you resolved not to open your eyes to see what is done against you, while it is yet in your power to remedy things by mild and gentle courses, and that evils are not come to their extremities? Observe my Lord, after what manner Elisena and Cleontes live together, and spare me the confusion it will be to me to tell you what follows.  
This was the discourse of that indiscreet person, which yet had this effect upon me, that I could not have been more cast down, had I received a mortal wound. However I did what I could to smother the resentment I conceived at his words, and thought it enough to tell the men, that we ought not to pass our judgement so lightly of a thing that might be innocent; that I was confident of Elisena's virtue, and if, through the pardonable eruptions of youth, she had been too familiar with, and too liberal of her company to Cleontes, I could not thence safely infer it proceeded out of any unjustifiable design or intention. This I spoke to him with a countenance wherein yet he might have observed some part of the effect of his own discourse, and, having dismissed my intelligencer, I would be the more at liberty to make reflections on the knowledge he had given me of my own misfortune. It began to magnify in such manner to my apprehension, that my soul for some minutes was as it were in a tempest, and my mind overcast with such clouds as darkened all its former light, the better to dispose it to receive melancholy and fatal impressions. All that before had seemed so innocent to me, presented itself now to my thoughts under another form, and calling to mind all the occasions upon which I had observed too great familiarity between Elisena and Cleontes,: I was astonished at my own blindness or rather inadvertency, and upon that came to my memory a hundred circumstances which I condemned all as criminal. O ye gods, how did this fatal discovery eat into my heart, to make a place there for the greatest grief it could be capable of! And what deplorable effects did that self-tormenting passion immediately produce there? This black impression wrought a kind of Metamorphosis in me, insomuch that I was become quite another man than what I was some days before. Being thus convinced of my want of circumspection, and consequently of any misfortune, I railed at Fortune, I quarrelled with heaven, and I took any occasion to discover my affliction. Is it possible, said I, that one that is so dear to my heart, this great example of virtue and tonjugal love hath so soon turned bankrupt as to all virtuous inclinations, and lost all the affection she had promised me? Or if she never were virtuous, nor had any real affection for her Husband, is it possible she should be so well read in the art of dissimulation as to ●conceale it from a man's knowledge with so much artifice for so long time? How, can that Elisena, to whom I had absolutely sacrificed my heart, that Elisena, for whose sake only I love my life, prove unconstant to me, and it may be, dishonour me? O inexpressible cruelty of my destiny, against which it cannot be expected my courage should be able to rescue me! O Heaven! O Fortune, what resolutions would you have me to take? Shall I ever be able to hate what I have so affectionately loved; and from hatred can I proceed to revenge, against an object so dear to my heart, and that the only object of all my affections? But if I do not, I shall be insensible of the perfidiousnes of an ungrateful woman; and can I with an unparallelled baseness endure those extraordinary affronts which must needs blast my honour for ever? Hatred, Love, you that divide my heart between you, let either one or the other give place, and persecute not my soul with perpetual uncertainties and irresolutions.  
Many days did I spend in these reflections and discourses, while in the mean time my countenance began to change with my humour, and the alteration that happened, there, was so observable, that all the World took notice of it. Elisena was one of the first that observed it, and by all demonstrations and expressions of love took occasion to discover the grief she conceived thereat; but her carriage towards Cleontes was still after the old rate. And whereas my eyes were now● much more open than they were before, and discerned all things after another manner than I had done in times past, methought, I could perceive in all her actions, so much tenderness, and so much love for Cleontes, that I made it no more a question, but that I was as unfortunate as I had imagined myself. I saw the whole day in a manner was little enough for them to spend together; they had ever and anon some secret or other to communicate one to another, and when they were at too great a distance to speak one to another, they discoursed by their eyes, and cast looks at one another that were more eloquent than any thing of conversation, and this to the observation of all the World as well as myself.  
This alteration seemed very strange, insomuch that all those that had known Elisena a little before could not without an excess of astonishment, make any comparison between these sallies of lightness and liberty and her former reservedness and modesty. True it is nevertheless, that notwithstanding all those demonstrations of affection that past between her and Cleontes, her carriage towards me was as it had been ever before, and I could never porceive either from her discourse or her countenance, that there was any abatement or remission in her love towards me, or that she was less taken with my person then at the first hour of our marriage. Her caresses, and her insinuations were still the same, she spoke with the same sweetness, and acted with the same compliance, save that she did it not so constantly as in times past, that she left me often to go and discourse with Cleontes, and bestowed on his entertainment the best part of those hours which she had before only devoted to mine. At last, my grief was seconded and reinforced by my resentment of those things, and after I had been a long time sad and melancholy, I became at length exasperated, and studying how to be revenged of Cleontes, I began to discover to Elisena, how that her caresses had not over me that influence they were wont to have, that I looked on them as the pure effects of artifice and dissimulation, and that I felt my soul changed from the love I sometime had for her, to the passion that was most contrary thereto. I gave over looking kindly on her, I took a bed by myself, and by degrees forbore all discourse with her.  
She seemed to be as much troubled at this alteration as the most affectionate woman in the World could possibly be, and gave me all the demonstrations of a grief as violent as any soul can be able to endure. She used all the insinuation that could be, she melted into tears, and omitted nothing, which she could imagine might persuade me that she was really moved. In some intervals, I was extremely sensible of those expressions of her affliction, and those imperious remainders of love that were yet left in my soul did partly produce therein the effect she desired; but a little after, through the cruel prejudice that had taken root there, all was dashed out again, and I had no more regard to what she did then, as if it had been mere personation and sycophancy. At last, after a many day's silence, she would needs force me to speak, and having found me all alone in my chamber, whither I was often wont to retire since the change of my humour, she runs to me with her face bathed in tears, and grasping my both hands, with an action full of earnestness and passion; Ah, my dearest Husband, said she to me, shall I be any longer unhappy, and not know the cause of my unhappiness? And will you by so many several expressions make it appear to all the World that I am odious in your sight, and not acquaint me by what horrid misfortune I have lost your affection? Am I less worthy of it now then I have been formerly by reason of some defect which you have discovered in my person; or have I made myself unworthy of it by any offence I have committed against you?  
To these words she added a many others, no less earnest, and pressed upon me so far, that I could not forbear making her some answer. Madam, said I to her, methinks you take abundance of pains to express with your tongue that which hath no acquaintance with your heart, and if my quiet had been so dear to you as you would make be believe, you would not have utterly ruined it by your own cruel inconstancy. 'tis enough for me to be miserable, and not that you should aggravate my misery by your dissimulation, and you ought to be satisfied with what I have suffered hitherto, and not put my affection to greater trials.  
Elisena seemed to be extremely troubled at these words, as I could easily observe in her countenance; but mustering up all her strength together to recover herself; My Lord, said she to me, it is not any change in me that disturbs your quit, or may have been the occasion of that which is happened in yourself. The gods are my witnesses, that I am the same woman to you that ever I was, and that my life is innocent even to the least thoughts. It is very strange, replied I, that the thoughts should be innocent when the actions are criminal, and that when they appear such not only to the eyes of a Husband, but to those of a thousand other persons.  
These words were a little indigestible to Elisena, so that she took a little time to ruminate upon them without making me any answer, but with the countenance of a person recollecting and examining herself, to find out wherein she had offended. At last, looking on me with an action which spoke something of clearness and confidence, Can it be possible, said he to me, that the cause of my unhappiness must be no other than the demonstrations of kindness and friendship which have passed between me and Cleontes? And knowing me so well as you ought to know me, is there any possibility that you should persuade yourself, that in the good entertainment I make him, there can be any thing criminal or unhandsome? The demonstrations of your affection towards Cleontes, replied I, are so public and so remarkable, that you need not pretend so much astonishment, that, when all the World had taken notice of them, they should at last come to my knowledge; and you ought to be so much the less surprised at the effect they have wrought on my disposition, if you but reflect on the love I have had for you.  
This proved another bone for her to pick, so that she could not make any answer thereto till that she had been silent a good while, with an action that discovered her uncertainty, and loss of resolution. At length, lifting up her eyes, which she had all the time before fastened on the ground, and directing them on me with a countenance much more settled and serene than before: My Lord, said she to me, when I recollect myself, and call to mind things that are now past, I much acknowledge, that there hath been some want of prudence in my carriage, and if I have committed any fault, no question but it hath been out of the excess of confidence which I have had in your love. I cannot deny but I have entertained Cleontes with very great demonstrations of a particular esteem, nay, I confess that I have still abundance of respects for him, as well upon the account of his own worth, as for other reasons which oblige me thereto, and which I shall acquaint you with, when you shall give me leave to do it: but I call all the gods witnesses of my innocence, and desire them to send me some exemplary death before your face, if ever I have injured you as much as in the least thought, or ever discovered in Cleontes any design or intention that you might condemn. I freely give you leave to take away my life, if in process of time you find not my words true, and will accordingly be sorry for the injury you have done me. In the interim, I conjure you to restore me to your affection, the loss whereof is much more insupportable to me then would be that of my life. And since you have not taken it away from me but upon unfortunate apparences, which rather argue my imprudence than bad intentions, I shall make such provision against the like for the future, that you shall not have the least occasion to suspect me.  
This was the discourse of Elisena, but uttered with so much assurance and serenity, that I began to be persuaded she might be innocent; whereupon that love whereof there were still some remainders in my heart speaking to me on her behalf, with as much force as her words, dispelled by little and little some part of my suspicions, and if it could not absolutely clear them, and make it a bright day in my mind, it did at least put me into such a posture, as that I was willing to hearken to what it suggested to me for her advantage, and to expect her justification from time, in stead of condemning her from what was passed. I immediately acquainted her with all the transactions that past in my soul, promising, that in case I should find her as innocent as she would parswade me she was, I should love her with the same passion that I had ever had for her, and she entertained that promise and assurance with such demonstrations of joy, that I could not at that time suspect her guilty of any artifice.  
From that day she began to live after another rate with Cleontes, that is, with much more reservedness and distance than formerly; she forbore all secret meetings, and private discourses with him, and entertained him no otherwise than as civility required, that such a person as Cleontes should be. This alteration occasioned a change in my humour, and I began to recover the rest I had a long time wanted, and was convinced that Elisena, having been a little extravagant through the imprudent sallies of youth, had by the strength of her own virtue and good advice recovered herself. I also, for my part, carried myself towards her as I had done formerly, and expressed my love to her with the same earnestness as I had done before my mind became disordered by jealousy.  
This lasted for some months, during which time we lived together with as much delight as can be imagined: but not long after, the same person who had made the first discovery to me, came again to tell me of certain kind and amorous looks, and other circumstances whence he concluded there was a secret intelligence between Elisena and Cleontes. Now my disposition being before prepared for impressions of this nature, I entertained them much more easily then at the first time, and observing myself, that there was a certain violence in that reservedness of Elisena, I fell into my former humour, and that so violently, that I was likely enough to fasten on any desperate resolution.  
When Elisena was sensible of the alteration she soon took notice of in my countenance, and would know the reason of it, I answered her with nothing but bloody reproaches, and the passion I was then possessed with, furnished me with all the words I could desire upon such an occasion. Elisena heard them with much patience, and at last, when I had given over speaking, joining issue in the discourse with abundance of resolution, but a resolution full of modesty, and the demonstrations of that confidence which is ever the attendant of innocency: My Lord, said she to me, I thought I had reduced myself to such a behaviour towards Cleontes as you expected, and was of opinion, that I had entertained him no otherwise then I ought in pure civility to do. But since I have been so unhappy, either through my ill fortune, or my imprudence, there is now no dispute to be made of it, but the occasion must be removed, for the correspondence which is between Cleontes and me, is not of such consequence, as that we should thereby purchase the danger and inconveniences which are the effects thereof. I shall not therefore tell you that I will not see Cleontes any more, or that I will never speak to him again. No, this is not security enough for you, while Cleontes shall continue in your territories; no, he must not tread your ground; and though it speaks a certain barbarousness and inhumanity, to force away a person from the place where he had taken sanctuary against a malicious fortune, yet is not it considerable in comparison of the mischiefs which his abode here hath already, or hereafter, may occasion. I will therefore take it upon me to send him hence so as he shall never return again, and after the term that you shall appoint for his departure is expired, I promise you that neither you nor I shall ever see him more.  
These words of Elisena gave me some satisfaction, though I think she discovered some violence when she made that proposition to me, and so, resolved to grant it her. Well Madam, said I to her, if you expect that you and I should live together in any quiet, there is a necessity that Cleontes should be sent away. His longer abode here may haply involve us into some misfortunes which we shall do well to avoid, when it lies in our own power to do it; and therefore I shall entreat you to dispose him to leave us within eight days, that is the longest day I can afford him to provide for his departure, and to find out some other place for his refuge, and that time once expired, I beseech you let such order be taken that he may never be seen in our dominions again. I promise you to do it, replies Elisena, and I shall take occasion this very day to acquaint him therewith, and endeavour what I can to have things so carried, as not to raise among our neighbours any suspicion of the true cause of his departure. With those words she went away and left me, but as she took leave, she expressed so much affliction in her eyes, that it was easy for me to judge, through the constancy which she so much affected, that it was not without a sensible regret that she was induced to dispense with the company of Cleontes.  
The next day I saw them speaking together, and I perceived they were very earnest in their discourse, and, in their gestures and looks, discovered much sadness. But conceiving all to be in order to his departure, I bore with their conversation, at that time, as also what they had in my presence the day following, during which time Cleontes took leave of his friends, alleging certain reasons to them for his so sudden leaving of them. The seventh day, which was just that day before his departure, guided by some unfortunate genius, and my own malicious fortune together, I would needs take a walk in my Garden. And being desirous of solitude, and at that very time reflecting on the uncertainty I was in as to what I should believe of Elisena, finding appearances of all sides, as well to demonstrate her affection to me, as to satisfy me of her infidelity, I went aside from those that followed me, and leaving them some in one of the fairest knots of the Garden, and others in the more spacious walks, I went into those that were most private and solitary, and so continued my walk in the most remote parts of the Garden. At the furthest end of the Knot, before mentioned, there is a little handsome Grove, and in divers places of the Grove, Arbours made of the boughs of trees plashed together. Coming near that which lies at the greatest distance, I heard the noise of some people talking, and going forward still to come yet somewhat nearer, and listening with much attention, I could discern the voice of Elisena. The privacy of the place bred a little worm in my brain, and I immediately suspected there might be some unhandsome action committed; and not willing to let slip an opportunity; so favourable for the discovery of the truth, I crept softly between the trees, and coming near the Arbour with so little noise that I was not heard, I put my head close to the branches whereof it was made, and finding an easy passage for my sight, I presently perceived all that was done in the Arbour. O ye gods, what a spectacle, with what object were my eyes unhappily smitten with! I saw, my Lord, since I must rip up these doleful passages of my life, I saw Cleontes set upon a little table that stood in the middle of the Arbour, holding Elisena standing between his legs, compassing her with his arms, while he was as amorously embraced by those of Elisena, and at the same time both giving and receiving thousands of kisses from him. Sighs, tears, and bemoaning expressions were the burden of their caresses, and reciprocally wiping off one another's tears, they reiterated their kisses with so much love, that a person the least subject of any in the World to suspicion, could never have been persuaded but that there might be yet a further familiarity between persons so passionate. For my part, I made not the least question of it, and from that fatal spectacle, concluding my unhappiness undeniable, I gave way to the rage then gaining ground upon me, and stayed not a moment to consult upon the resolution I was to take to revenge my injured love, and to repair the loss of my honour. I seldom went any where without my sword, and as ill fortune would have it, I had it it then about me. I drew it, transported with fury, and running to one of the doors of the Arbour with so much haste, that those two amorous persons had hardly the time to break off their kissing; You must die, base perfidious wretches, cried I, you must die, and putting my fury in execution upon the first object that offered itself, it fell upon the first object that offered itself, it fell upon the unfortunate Elisena, whom running with my sword in at the breast, there needed not much strength to force it in up to the hilts. Cleontes had the time to get out at one of the doors of the Arbour, and had got away as soon as he saw me appear with all the speed he could make: but the unfortunate Elisena, who stood nearest to me, receiving the mortal wound, fell down at my feet in a torrent of blood; and as she fell, fastening on my knees, she held me so that I could not get off from her to run after Cleontes. In the mean time Elisena expiring, strove as much as she could to speak, and with abundance of difficulty made a shift to bring forth these words. Zenodorus, said she to me, thou hast spilt innocent blood, which will cry out for vengeance against thee; but far be it from me to desire it of the gods, and I forgive thee my death, which my own imprudence, and thy want of recollection hath brought me to: thou wilt find that I have not injured thee, and therefore content thyself that thou hast taken away my life, and meddle not with Cleontes, who is. ... She would have said somewhat else, but ere she could bring it out, both voice and life had taken their leaves of her.  
This spectacle, you may well imagine was deplorable enough to move me to some pity, and the love which I had formerly had for Elisena, whom I saw expiring at my feet, beautiful even in her paleness, and, amidst the very looks of death, as amiable as ever she had been in her life, must in all likelihood force me to some compassion. But rage and fury being grown predominant over my soul, and I looking on the loss of my honour as a thing infallibly certain, and from the last words of Elisena, when she recommended unto me the life of Cleontes, and seemed so indifferent as to her own, drawing no other conclusion then that of the excessive love she had for him, my fury derives new strength from that cruel confirmation, and leaving the body of Elisena in the hands of her Women, who were come in at the noise, out of a place where they waited hard by, I pursued Cleontes, with the sword all bloody in my hand, that way that I had seen him run away. He was gotten far enough from me, and I should have found it no small difficulty to overtake him, if at the same time a noise had not been spread about the Garden, that Elisena was dead. At this unhappy news, Cleontes stays, not desirous to save his life after the misfortune which he had been the occasion of, as I came into the Knot of the Garden, I saw him coming towards me, tearing his clothes, pulling his hair, and filling the place with his lamentations. Instead of avoiding my sword, he would run upon the point of it, and presenting his naked breast to me, he therein received the mortal thrust which ran him through and through. After he had gone two or three paces backward staggering, he fell down at the feet of a Diana of Alabaster, which stood at one of the corners of the Knot, and as he fell embraced it: Goddess of chastity, said he, receive this life which I offer up up to thee, and if I slain it with my blood, thou knowest it is pure and innocent.  
There was something in these words that seemed so mild, & withal so mournful, that the better part of my fury was thereby abated; and while a many persons were running to the place where I was, the expiring Cleontes, turning his eyes from the statue, and fastening them on me: Barbarous man, said he to me, hope not that the gods will pardon thee the death of the innocent Elisena, though I forgive thee mine, and since I have not life enough left me to convince thee of her innocence, acknowledge it upon the sight of what I had never shown any man, and which thou of all mankind art the most unworthy to see. With these words, contracting together all the strength he had left, he made a shift to open, or to tear that which covered his stomach, and by discovering to us a neck and breasts, whiter than the Alabaster which he embraced, easily satisfied us that he was a Woman.  
Artaxus interrupting Zenodorus at this passage; Heavens! Zenodorus, said he to him, what is this that you relate to me, and what an unfortunate adventure was this of yours? Till now, though there were things deplorable enough in your relation, yet had I not been moved to compassion at any, and I thought there was so much reason in all proceedings, that I could not bemoan the destiny of two persons whom I conceived worthy the chastisement they received at your hands. But these last words of your relation having, changed the whole scene of the adventure, and though there lies no more guilt on you then there would have done, had it been otherwise, yet I must confess your are so much the more to be pitied. You may very well think it, my Lord, replied Zenodorus, and with the same labour comprehend some part of what I was not then able to express. At that sight, that fatal sight, that fatal and too slow discovery, I was in a manner more like a dead carcase then those I had deprived of life; and not able to oppose all the passions which then made their several assaults on my soul with as much violence as can be well imagined, nor express them by words, I was almost grown immovable and senseless in the arms of those persons that were about me. I apprehended myself at the same to be the murderer of two Women, of two beautiful and amiable persons, and two innocent persons, whereof one had been my own Wife, whom I had loved as dearly as my own soul, and the other merely upon the account of compassion had already raised in me an affection towards her. This demonstration of the innocence and fidelity of Elisena, did at the first reflection on it stick a sword into my heart, much more cruel than that wherewith I had pierced her breast, and the sight of that unfortunate person, now no more Cleontes, but one of the handsomest Ladies in the World, wounded my soul with the most violent affliction that it was capable of: Certain it is, that some other person, endued with a greater tenderness of mind than I, who have ever been of a fierce and harsh disposition, had not survived so deplorable an accident, and yet, such as I was, I really felt in my heart whatever a lively and piercing grief can have in it of torment.  
After I had recollected myself for some time in the hands of those persons who had taken away my sword from me, as having gathered from the fury of my looks, that it was not unlikely I might do myself a mischief, I drew nearer to that expiring Lady, making signs to others to endeavour to help her, when perceiving my intention; Stand away, cruel man, said she to me, and come not near me. Thy assistance is more hateful to me then the death thou hast given me, and since the unfortunate Elisena, whose death I have unhappily been the occasion of, is no longer living, oppose not the last demonstrations of the friend ship I had for her, and suffer me to expire without any other regret than that of having sacrificed to my misfortune, a person so virtuous as she was. O Elisena, Elisena, since my last kisses proved so fatal to thee, learn among the dead, where I am coming to enjoy thee again, that I was unwilling to survive thee, and that I run after thee to continue among the shades that friendship which was so dear to us hear?  
As she uttered these words, she saw passing by the body of Elisena, which they were carrying out of the Garden, and at that sight, crying out louder than her weakness could bear, she withal sent out her last breath in the arms of those that were come about to relieve her. Among those that came immediately after, a young Gentlewoman that served her, and who after her example disguised her sex by man's clothes, casting herself upon the body as soon as she could get near it, made the air echo again with her cries and her lamentations, and did a many things worthy compassion, which I was not in a condition to take notice of, for that as the sight of the body of Elisena, which they had very indiscreetly caused to be carried close by me, I grew absolutely senseless and distracted, and was conveyed away and cast upon my bed, where I was carefully looked after, out of a fear I should have fallen into despair. When I had a little recovered myself, I ran to the place where they had laid the body of Elisena, and giving it thousands of kisses with an affection equal to that I had for her at the beginning of our unfortunate marriage, I did all that lay in my power to die near her, and have a thousand times since wondered, that my grief alone should not be strong enough to do that which no doubt I should have done with my sword, had I been left at liberty. Her innocency and her virtue being then but too too well known to me, I became a continual prey to that remorse, and those implacable furies which unmercifully torment the soul; and, looking on myself as a Dragon, or some horrid monster, I made against myself the most terrible imprecations, that a man could make against his most inveterate enemies.  
From the body of Elisena I went to that of the unfortunate companion and partaker of her death, and though I had not had any affection for her while she lived, yet had the unhappiness of her destiny such an influence upon me, and she had appeared to me so amiable, even in the last minutes of her life, and in the last words she spoke, that my soul was possessed by something greater than compassion, and I was no less liberal of my tears for her death, then for that of Elisena. When I was so far recovered, as that I could apprehend any thing was sad to me, I was very desirous to know who she was, and the Gentlewoman that had waited on her, and who after her death had no reason to conceal what she had kept secret while she lived, being brought before me, though she could not look on me without horror and detestation, and being informed what my desires were, gave me this account of her; Since you are so desirous to know, said she to me, who this unfortunate woman, whom you have put to death, was; I shall soon satisfy you to your sorrow, for with that you shall know what enemies you have raised yourself by your cruelty. She was born among the Parthians, of an extraction that is equally noble with any of the subjects of Phraates, and was allied on both sides to the Illustrious Family of the Arsacides. Her name was Artesia, and her beauty such, when it appeared in its meridian lustre, under clothes suitable to her sex, that the World can afford but few comparable to her. She hath neglected it very much ever since, and indeed hath had no great reason to be much in love with it, because it hath proved the occasion of all the misfortunes that have happened to her. Being brought up about the Queen, as a Princess that could claim some kindred to her, and having in a short time discovered to the whole Court, as well the beauty of her countenance, as that of her understanding, she was there generally beloved; but indeed much more than she desired to be, insomuch, that the amiableness of her person having inflamed Phraates with an affection towards her, she became accordingly the object of his cruel persecution. She endured the torment of it for some time with an admirable virtue, and endeavoured to smother the extravagant inclinations of the King, by all those ways which in any other soul might have produced that effect. But her modesty and resistance adding to the eagerness of the King's love, he would at last needs come to violence, and without any consideration of the nobleness of Artesia's blood, which was no other than a branch of his own, he laid a design how to put his wicked resolutions in execution upon her. This virtuous Lady, whose Father had been dead many years before, destitute of all protection against her King, and that such a King, as to whom, after he had put to death his own Father, all crimes ought to be easy and familiar, had no way but to fly, to deliver her virtue from that tempest, and there being no way for her to conceal herself from so great a King, but by disguising her sex, she put on man's clothes, and causing me to do the like, took only me along with her in her flight, and two ancient man-servants of her Fathers, whose fidelity she was confident of. After several journeys to and fro, wherein she had still inviolably kept the secrets of her adventure, she at last came into your territories. It was not her design to make any long stay therein; but she was immediately charmed by the virtue of ●lisena, and in process of time coming to a perfect knowledge of her, and conceaving her a person with whom she might safely enter into a solid friendship, and in whom she might repose a great confidence, she discovered herself to her, acquainted her with her Fortune, and revealed to her what she had so carefully concealed from all the World. Elisena entertained these demonstrations of her affection and confidence with an admirable goodness, and offered her all the assistance that lay in her power. This was merely the effect of her generosity as to a stranger; but not long after, the virtue and excellent endowments of Artesia having wrought their effect on the spirit of Elisena, as those of Elisena had upon that of Artesia, it became the cement of such a perfect friendship between these two amiable persons, that the present age could hardly have furnished us with a nobler example. The mutual demonstrations which they gave thereof one to another, with less circumspection than persons, whose intentions are criminal, are wont to observe, raised jealousies and suspicions in you, insomuch, that upon the first discoveries you made thereof, they consulted together, and considered whether it were safe to discover the truth to you, and acquaint you with the sex and fortunes of Artesia. But after much debate, Elisena herself thought it not either safe or seasonable, and knowing that you stood in some fear of the power of Phraates, and that your Tetrarchy lying near his great Empire, it concerned you very much to hold a good correspondence with him, did not think it fit that that secret should be communicated to you, as being in some fear, that either to put an obligation upon Phraates, or to avoid the occasion of making him your enemy, you might discover to him that Artesia was in your power, and haply have sent her back to him. The sincere friendship which Elisena had for Artesia, inspired her with that fear, which indeed became so great afterwards, that upon your relapse into jealousy, and the second discoveries you made thereof, she chose rather to be deprived the sight and company of her friend, then that you should be acquainted with the secret of her life, and consequently expose it to any danger. This separation could not but occasion a violent grief on both sides, insomuch, that when you unfortunately took them in the Arbour, they were taking their last leaves one of another, with those demonstrations of friendship which proved so fatal to them. You are but too well acquainted with what followed, I desire to be excused as to any further discourse with you, and your leave to return to that body which I so much loved when living, to render it my last services, and to take some course for the carrying of it away out of this cruel country, and, since it is now beyond all fear of the violences of Phraates, dispose it among the monuments of her Fathers.  
Such was the discourse of the desolate Gentlewoman, whereby coming to understand as well the extraction, as virtue of Artesia, I felt the grief and remorse, which I thought violent enough before, assuming new strength to torment me the more. I was in a perpetual posture of sighing and sobbing, which being penned up in the crannies of my breast, forced out their way with the greater violence, bringing forth with them words so pitiful, that it raised a certain compassion in all those, who upon the cruel consequences of my mistake had conceived a horror for me. I continually called upon the name of Elisena, and with that of Elisena, I oftentimes brought out that of Artesia, whose lamentable adventure I was no less troubled at, than I was for the loss of my wife, whom I had thought so amiable, and accordingly so dearly loved.  
I shall not tyre you, my Lord, with tedious discourses of my complaints, or with relations of all those things which I did for some days, during the extravagance of my affliction, and shall only tell you, that those who know me at this present, and know what course of life I have led for these many years together, would not easily believe the strange effects it wrought in me. The Gentlewoman, who had waited on Artesia, and her two ancient servants, having caused the body to be embalmed, carried it away into their own Country; and that of my Elisena, was disposed into a sumptuous Monument which I caused to be built for her. I visited it every day, and spent whole hours in washing it with my tears, embracing the cold Marble, and doing a hundred actions which sufficiently discovered my love, melancholy, and despair. There was not any thing from which I could derive any comfort; in the day time I avoided the society of men, and in the night, methoughts I saw perpetually at my bed's head, the unfortunate images of Elisena and Artesia, showing me their wounds, and loading me with the most bitter reproaches that might be. During these imaginations, I was many times in a manner distracted, insomuch, that in time, if I were not grown absolutely mad, I was at least so far gone, that I had nothing of mildness, nothing of a sociable humour left in me. By degrees I became more and more savage, and barbarous, much more than I was naturally inclined to be, and out of an imagination I had, that all the World ought to abhor me, I began to abhor all the World. Accordingly, from that time all things fell out contrary to my expectations, and my crime was such, that Fortune declared herself my enemy as well as men. The King of the Parthians, who was infinitely troubled at the death of Artesia, immediately resolved to ruin me, and Herod, who watched all occasions to possess himself of my Tetrarchy, to join it to his own dominions, whereof he conceived it should be some part, having no pretence of war against me himself, promoted underhand the designs of the Parthian King, gave a passage through his Country, to the Army he sent against me, and supplied them with provisions, out of hopes of getting my estate into his hands.  
Things fell out, in a manner as they had designed they should, so that I, who in the height and favour of fortune, had not been able to oppose the forces which the King of the Parthians sent against me, could hardly, in the misfortune, I was fallen into, lost as to friends, courage, and all things, make any resistance against them. The Parthians forced me out of my country, and Herod having gotten it into his hands upon some treaty there had passed between him and Phraates, he not long after went and begged it of Augustus, alledgiug that he had some interest in it, during the time that Lisanias was in possession thereof. It was bestowed on him, and he was put into possession thereof by the Emperor, who sent Sosius to settle him quietly in it, and who accordingly maintained him therein, against the pretensions of the King of the Parthians. This was the occasion of the difference wherein Phraates was so much exasperated against Herod, and which bred the war that hath happened between them since, and which was begun by Phraates not long after the carrying away of Phasela, and old Hircan.  
In the mean time I made a shift to get away with a certain number of ships, destitute of all friends and supply, nay indeed lost as to all things; for having applied myself every where for assistance, all proved ineffectual, all denied me. Insomuch, that, my mind exasperated by the constant malice of my Fortune, I became lost as to all virtue and morality; and thence out of an assurance I had that all the World were enemies to me, I became an enemy to all the World. While my grief, for the loss of Elisena continued strong upon my spirits, I was but little troubled at the loss of my estate, and friends; but when time had wrought some abatement of it, I could not, without indignation and rage, look on the change of my condition, and see Herod possessed of all I had, and so powerful through the authority of Augustus, who maintained him in it, that there was but little probability of ever getting it out of his hands.  
This put me upon resolutions of getting that elsewhere which had been wrested out of my hands at home, and having yet a number of ships under my command, I began to make a Sea-war; first against those only that had taken away my estate, and afterwards against all Nations, without any choice or distinction of parties. I had gotten with me my Nephew Ephialtes, as valiant and daring a person, as ever followed this course of life, who contributed much to the carrying on of my design; insomuch that when I had, by a great number of rich prizes, got together abundance of wealth, I bought more ships, and so reinforced my Fleet, and lured in a many soldiers, who found better service and pay in our war, than they would have done in any lawful one. In fine, I became so powerful, that I had squadrons of ships on all seas. Having made Ephialtes my Vice-Admiral in those parts of the sea which admitted not of any communication by sea, we went and met by land, having Horses and private retreats for that purpose. So that of a desolate man, and one that in all probability should have spent his whole life in weeping over a Tomb, I became terrible and dreadful to all Nations, the terror of all that had any business with the sea, and famous for thousands of Prizes, which had made me the richest of all the Pirates that ever were. This course of life have I led for these ten years very near, and yet I shall not entertain you with the most considerable actions I have been engaged in, not only because it would require a long relation, such as possibly might prove very troublesome to your Majesty, but also for that I am confident you have already had some account thereof, and have, not without astonishment, heard of the several changes of my Fortune. I shall therefore only tell you, that during the space of ten years, that I have followed this trade, there happened not any thing memorable unto me, in comparison of what hath come to pass, within these few days upon these very coasts, there having in a manner at the same time, fallen into my hands, two of the most beautiful preys that the whole universe can afford. And this I am confident you cannot but acknowledge, when I have told you that in two day's time, I had in my power and disposal the fair Candace Queen of Aethiopia, and the Princess Elisa, the only daughter and heir of the great King of the Parthians. I took the Queen of Aethiopia, just at the mouth of the Nile; and this soul of mine, which since the death of Elisena, had not entertained the least impression of love, nor ever thought it could have been capable of any, remitted some part of its Forces, upon the first view of that Princess, and, by degrees, became absolutely subject to her Beauties. I was ignorant both of her name and quality; and yet love made me at first slight the proffers she made me of a considerable ransom, and when afterwards she told me that she was Queen Candace, I would not absolutely believe what she said, out of an imagination that she might take that name upon her, purposely to keep me within those terms of respect which she perceived I should not be long able to observe. During that uncertainty, I did all that lay in my power to persuade her to my will, and having found all the ways I took ineffectual, I hoped at last to effect my own satisfaction, by making use of the power I had over her, when that during the space of one night, which I had allotted her to fix on some resolution, this Princess, daring above her sex, and beyond all example, set my ship on fire, which broke forth in several places, and cast herself into the sea within some few stadia of this river. You may well imagine what an astonishment I was in when it came to my knowledge that I had lost her in that manner. I made the best shift I could to repair the breaches which the fire had made in my ship, that I might the sooner make after her into this river, whither I conceived she might get upon planks, with the assistance of some men, who had cast themselves overboard at the same time with her.  
We were very busy a mending of our ships, when it was the pleasure of Fortune, (to make me some requital for the former loss) to send me a vessel, wherein was the Princess of the Parthians, which having with much ado escaped wrack in a great tempest that had been, and being not furnished with men to maintain her, came and cast herself into our hands. We boarded her without any great difficulty, and the first thing I was entertained with, was the shouts of certain slaves, whom I found to have been my soldiers, and some of those that I had left Ephialtus. They presently gave me an account of the death of my Nephew, and pointing to a person that stood near the Princess, they told he had been his murderer. I cast my eyes on the man, and notwithstanding the admirable things I could observe in him, yet was I resolved his life should be sacrificed to the Manes of my Nephew, whom I had so dearly loved, and thereupon caused the points of all our swords to be turned upon him. But good gods, how strangely did he behave himself! for passing through our arms without any fear, he comes up to me, taketh hold of me by the middle, and cast himself into the sea, with me in his arms. I was relieved and taken up again by my own men, not without some difficulty; but when I had recovered the danger, cast up the water I had drunk, and put on other clothes, the presence of a Beauty which all the World might admire, but that seemed o'erwhelmed with an insupportable grief, could not make me forget her, who may be said to have set my heart a fire as truly as she had done my ship. And thereupon resolving to follow her living, or find out her dead body about this river, I came hither, and landed with thirty of my men, leaving the fair prize I had taken in my Vessel, under the care of a Lieutenant whom I trusted her with. I wandered up and down the riverside all that day, and could not make the least discovery of what I sought, and the next day, after I had spent some part of the day in the same enquiry, and having divided my men into several parties, in order to visit more places, I came at last, accompanied only by two of them, near a spring, where I saw two men engaged in a furious combat. They were both persons of an admirable goodly presence, their arms rich and magnificent; but there was nothing comparable to the valour wherewith they fought, but the animosity they expressed in the combat. One of the two had upon his arms, which glittered with gold, the Roman Eagle spread in divers places, and those of his adversary remarkable for certain Lions, causing me to observe his stature and action, I at last discovered him to be the same person that had cast himself overboard with me in his arms, and whom I had given over for drowned.  
I was at a loss what I should do upon this occasion, when, notwithstanding the attention whereto it might be thought the combat obliged him, he cast his eyes towards me, and immediately calling me to mind, he retreated a little before his enemy, and having said something to him, which I could not hear, he left him, and fell upon me with as little mercy as a bird would on his prey. I was astonished at the violence of his proceeding, but though I had then no other arms about me but my sword, yet I saw there was a necessity I should put myself into some posture of defence. When I saw falling dead at my feet upon the dealing of but two blows, my two companions, who had set themselves before me; I must needs confess, that this sudden execution frighted me a little, and seeing myself without arms, to engage with a man armed all over, I was afraid to meet with him, and so made away from him as fast as ever my horse could carry me. I rid a great way, flying still before him, and he had very near overtaken me, when coming into a pleasant valley, I met with a person on horseback, very sumptuously and richly, armed, who secured me from him, and in the very same place had I sight of the admirable Princess, whom I sought after. I was not a little encouraged at this happy adventure, but being not in a condition to carry her away without some assistance, I returned to my companions, and having met with some of them, I came back again along with them into the Valley, and with their help carried away the fair Candace, on horse back. 'tis true, the greatest part of my soldiers, were killed by those valiant men that engaged with us at our coming into the place, insomuch that I had but one about me by that time I got to the river side. Here it was that I was satisfied as to the inconstancy of Fortune, who had treated me so oddly in one and the same day; for my ships were all gone, and casting my eyes toward the sea, I saw them at a good distance, making as much sail as they could away. However I resolved not to quit my prize, and accordingly carried her into a Wood that was hard by, in spite of all the resistance she could make. At last having made a shift to get from me, while I was upon the point of recovering her again, I was set upon by divers men on horseback, and being run through with a sword, I fell down to the ground with very little hopes of life. That soldier of mine who had followed me, saw me fall at a good distance from the place; and when our enemies were gone away with the Princess, he came back to me, meeting in his way with another party of his companions, which I had sent some other way, and had not been engaged in the fight we had had. They were extremely cast down to see what condition I was in, and perceiving there were some remainders of life in me, they carried me to a poor Countryman's house not far from that place. This man was sent into the City for a Chirurgeon, having before engaged himself to keep all things secret, and my men having put them both into hopes of extraordinary rewards for the good they should do me, they have accordingly done as much for me as I could have desired them. I had about me both money and jewels to engage them to sidelity and attendance, and I must confess, they have done all things with so much good success and secrecy, that they have brought me into the condition you now find me in, without the least discovery of any thing.  
During the time I remained at that house, such of my men as had gone several times to Alexandria, purposely to see what news were stirring, brought me word that Candace was in Alexandria, that it was the Praetor himself that had wounded me, and that the very same day those whom he had sent to sea had taken my ships, killed all the rest of my men, together with my treacherous Lieutenant, and recovered the Beauty I had left with him, who had discovered herself to be Elisa, Princess of the Parthians. Till than had I been ignorant who she was; but had learned Candaces name from her own mouth, as I told you before, though my people told me, that she was not known in Alexandria for any other than a Lady of great quality, born in Aethiopia, and one whom it was thought the Praetor was fallen very deeply in love with. In a word, my Lord, having lost my ships, my men, and the noble prizes I had taken, with the assistance I have happily met with, I am gotten into the condition wherein you see me, and this very day, as I was thinking of my departure from that house, Aristus, seeking out where there were any provisions to be sold, comes in. We had been heretofore very intimate friends, and, notwithstanding the alteration, which so many years must needs have made in our faces, yet after we had looked a good while one upon the other, we called one another to mind, we embraced, and after we had enquired one after another what accidents or occasions had brought us into these parts, he told me, that your Majesty was hereabouts, and made me believe that my own service, and that of these men I have left me, might be worth your acceptance, and contribute somewhat to the furtherance of your designs. Whereupon I thought myself obliged to follow him, which I did with the greater joy, for that it gives me some occasion to satisfy you, that even in the midst of my misfortunes, notwithstanding all the changes I have run through, nothing hath been able to force out of my memory the resentment of your goodnesses, or the desire I have, by all the services it lies in my power to do you, to acknowledge them.  
The end of the Third Book.    

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART IX. LIB. IV.  
ARGUMENT.  
THe King of Armenia acquaints Zenodorus how he had brought away the Princess Cleopatra and Artemisa, tells him what designs he had upon them, and is encouraged in his enterprise by the Pirate. Artaxus is set upon by an Egyptian Vessel, for the deliverance of Cleopatra, and is like to gain the victory, when an unknown person that was in Artaxa's ship, awakened by the noise, comes in to the relief of the Armenian, and forces the Egyptian to retreat. Having secured the victory, he is known by Cleopatra to be Coriolanus, whereat she is almost distracted. Upon her reproaches to him for the disservice he had done her, he 'swounds, but soon after recovers, pleads his ignorance, and the innocency of his intentions. To expiate his crime, he undertakes to deliver her out of the hands of Artaxus, who thereupon sets his men to kill him, but upon the mediation of Cleopatra, he is proffered life and liberty. He refusing both, is again set upon, kills Aristus, Zenodorus, and divers others, and keeps all in play so long, till a ship of Alexandria coming in quest of Cleopatra, comes to his relief. The ships being ready to close, Artaxus threatens to kill the two Princesses, whereupon the Egyptian Vessel, wherein were the Princes, Alexander and Marcellus, dares not fasten on the other. Artaxus would have put his barbarous design upon the Princesses in execution, but is miraculously prevented by Coriolanus, who thrusting him to the other side of the ship, sets himself before the Princesses. Marcellus taking his advantage upon that interval, board's the Armenian. Alexander would have killed Artaxus, but, upon the mediation of Artemisa, forbeans; yet he, scorning life from an enemy, falls upon his own sword. Coriolanus is charged with, and, at last, informed what his ancient infidelity to Marcellus and Cleopatra was, promises to clear himself, and is promised to be restored to Cleopatra's affection. Marcellus, Alexander, and the two Princesses return to Alexandria, whither the body of Artaxus is brought by Megacles, who in his way set Coriolanus ashore, to find out some means to approve himself a faithful lover and servant of Cleopatra.  
THis was the conclusion of Zenodorus' discourse, and when he had given over speaking, the King of Armenia acknowledged his obligations to him for the proffers he had made him of his Services, and by way of requital promised him, that, as soon as they were arrived in Armenia, he would furnish him with all the assistance he could desire, either to restore him to his Estate again, that he might spend the rest of his life in quiet, or put him to sea in as good a condition as he had been in some days before. Zenodorus told him on the other side, that it was neither prudence nor safe for him to make any stay in Armenia, because of the Friends of Elisena, who could not look on him without a certain horror, and therefore he relied more upon the hopes he had put him into, of his furtherances in that course of life which he was resolved to follow. Artaxus, who by this unexpected supply was twice as strong as he had been before, in men, not only well versed in Sea-affaires, but much acquainted with those coasts, was not a little glad of the adventure: and out of a design of engaging Zenodorus the more to serve him, he thought it not amiss to discover to him all that had passed, how things then stood, and related to him the manner how he had brought away the Princess Cleopatra and Artemisa, and how that his intentions were to carry them to Armenia as soon as the wind should serve.  
The Pirate was infinitely pleased to see a King fallen into that course of life which he had followed for so many years, and being almost out of himself for joy that he had such a companion, he encouraged him in his enterprise, and promised him success in it, or that he would perish in his Service. These two souls, near of the same making, were extremely glad at this renewing of their acquaintance, but Megaeles, a person of a quite different disposition, and one that could not without a certain regreet endure the violences of his Master, looked on the Pirate with horror, and had shed many tears at the unfortunate adventure of the deplorable Elisena. Having therefore taken his rest (which he should otherwise have done out of a consideration of his indisposition) during the whole time that this relation had lasted, Artaxus, thinking it long since he had seen the Princess Cleopatra, rose up from his bed, and was going to her chamber. But before he was gotten into it calling to mind that virtuous unknown person in whose commendation Megacles had spoken such great things, and though he were of a cruel nature, yet upon the account of his courage, which indeed was very great in him, having a certain esteem for noble and generous persons, he would needs give him a visit, and so went to the place where he was in his bed. The unknown person lifted himself half up at his coming in, for having heard the word King often spoken of in the vessel, out of an imagination that he might be the King himself who did him that civility, he received him with abundance of respect, and with as great demonstrations of cheerfulness, as might be expected from so deep a melancholy as he then groaned under. The place was something dark, and the day almost spent; but it was not long ere torches were brought in, by the light whereof the King soon discovered the gracefulness of the unknown person; which raised in him not only astonishment but much respect for him. The first discourse he made to him, was to express how much he was satisfied with the assistances he had received from Megacles, repeating some part of those proffers which Megacles had made him before: and the unknown person on the other side, though he entertained them not as one that had any intention to make advantage of them, yet acknowledged how great an obligation he had laid upon him, and did it in such terms and with such a grace as raised no small admiration in the Armenian. Having understood by the account Megacles had given of him, that he was a person much inclined to Virtue, he thought it not fit to let him know any thing of his carrying away of Cleopatra, as conceiving he might not approve of it, whence it may be inferred that Virtue hath this advantage, that even in the persons of the miserable, she raises a fear of herself in the most happy and most powerful. He told him that he had to his no small satisfaction understood, that since his coming into the ship, he had lost some part of that aversion which he had for life, or at least that he would not prove his own executioner as he had intended the day before. The unknown person made him answer, that as to matter of Life, it was no dearer to him than it had been, when he had endeavoured to rid himself of it; but that having called to mind a certain obligation that lay upon him, to continue it till such time as he should be disengaged from it, he had resolved to make one attempt more to meet with some opportunity to do it, and consequently not die with a regreet of having omitted any part of his duty.  
That discourse ended, the King asked him whether he would go along with him, in a voyage he intended to make with the first fair wind, or if he had no inclinations to that, whether he had in some other design any occasion of his assistance? The unknown person made answer, that not able to imagine how he could do him any service by reason of the despicable condition whereto fortune had reduced him, and satisfied on the other side that being unserviceable he must needs be troublesome, he made no proffers of his company, but entreated him, that, ere they set sail thence, he would order him to be set somewhere ashore.  
Some further compliments passed between them; but at last the King remembering where he was to go, and impatient to see the Princess, put a period to the discourse, and having left the unknown to his rest, which he seemed very much to want, he went to the chamber where Cleopatra was. He came to her with a countenance wherein through the Love it discovered, was visible some part of the discontent he was in; and not able to dissemble the occasion of it: All things, Madam, said he to her, are contrary to me, all things oppose me, while you are against me, nay, the winds themselves, which seem to depend of another power than yours, will never turn to do me any service while I am hateful in your sight. You may thence also infer, replied the Princess, the injustice of your designs, since that where there is a want of the assistance of men, the very Elements fight against you. We must not always, replied Artaxus, measure the justice of the intentions by the easiness of the obstacles which we meet within the execution of them; and if you lay that down as a general rule without any exception, you must consequently reconcile Fortune and Virtue, who are seldom found to be very great Friends. I am of your mind as to that, replies the Princess, and if Fortune did take part with justice, and afford her assistances to virtue, 'tis out of all question that you had been ere this punished for the violence you do me, or at least I should not be your Captive. Ah, Madam, says the King of Armenia, do not call her my captive, who herself hath me in chains, and disposes of me with a sovereign power! I pray give me leave only to dispose of myself, says Cleopatra, interrupting him, since that there's no Law in the world that gives you any power over me. The Laws of Nations, replies Artaxus, are of much less authority than those of Love, and it is only to these latter, that men, such as we are, that like so many stars of the greatest magnitude, are of the highest quality, aught to submit themselves. By this law of Love, whatever my passion puts me upon, is justifiable, and all that I could allege, as concerning the affronts and injuries I have received from your house hath much less of argument in it than this imperious reason.  
It was with no small trouble that Cleopatra endured, not only the discourse but even the presence of the King of Armenia, and notwithstanding her reservedness, no question but she had treated him with a great deal of scorn and contempt, had it not been out of a consideration of Artemisa, whose condition pitied her no less than her own, and a conceit withal, that there was no way to keep Artaxus within the bounds of civility and respect, but by an excess of patience. Supper was brought them in, and the King to express his compliance, permitted them to eat alone, as knowing they would look on it as a favour, and endeavouring by such behaviour to dissemble the resolution he had taken to make use of his power, when he were gotten off a little further from a Country where he was not over-confident of the safety of his prize. He spent some part of the night in discourses of the same nature with the precedent, and when he thought it time to leave the Princesses to their rest, he withdrew into his own chamber, and before he lay down, gave order that a good strong guard should be set in the ship, to prevent all designs the Princesses might have to get away in the dark. The two Princesses passed away this night as they had done the precedent, save that they were in a much greater fear of their sudden departure than before, if it were not prevented by some unexpected assistance from heaven and the kindness of the winds, which did them all the favour they could. Artaxus, tormented with his Love and a fear of losing his beautiful prize, could sleep but little. The unknown person disburdened himself of frequent sighs which were heard by some in the vessel that were nearest him; And Zenodorus bursting almost with grief and rage for the losses he had received, had much ado to find any rest.  
The day hardly began to appear, when upon the first dawning of it, those who were upon the watch discovered a vessel, which being gotten somewhat near them while the darkness was not yet dissipated, made all the sail she could towards them, as having a very good wind, that indeed in a manner forced them upon the shore. They immediately gave the alarm, and all being prepared, and in expectation of an engagement with the other ship, all that were able to bear arms, took them, and came up upon the deck in order to a fight. There were much more arms in the ship than were requisite for the number of men that were in her, insomuch that the Seamen who minded only the conduct of the ship, could not as she than lay be any way employed, as being in such a posture as they were loath to quit by reason of the advantage of the place, which was so advantageous that the enemy could not assault them but by one only side. Zenodorus and Megacles having put all into arms, and there being as I told you but one side to make good, they fortified it with men, and put it into such a posture of defence, that it was as defensible as if they had had a far greater number of men. This charge did Zenodorus and Megacles take upon them, because of the wounds which the King had received not long before, whereby he was still a little indisposed, and would fain have had him kept his bed; but he would by no means take their advice, by reason of the great concernment which he had to make his party good, and accordingly starting out of his bed upon the first alarm, he called for arms, and came up upon the deck in the posture of a man that wanted not either courage or confidence. Zenodorus and Megacles walked up and down the ship, putting all things into good order, and Artaxus showing himself among his own people in a posture of fight personally with them, endeavoured to encourage them as well by example as by words. He omitted nothing of all that he thought might any ways animate them to fight, and promiseth them extraordinary rewards, if they behaved themselves gallantly, and came off with honour.  
During all this time the other vessel drew nearer and nearer, and when it was come within a competent distance, Zenodorus discovered by the flag, that it was one of those ships that belonged to the Praetor Cornelius, and which ordinarily lay in the port of Alexandria. This discovery exasperated him not a little, as calling to mind the wounds he had received, and the great losses he had suffered by the same enemies; and thereupon he told Artaxus that he need not question but he would be set upon, and that infallibly it was one of the Praetor's ships purposely set out by him in the pursuit of those that had carried away Cleopatra. Upon this discourse, which made some of the company tremble, Artaxus reiterated the entreaties he had made to them to defend themselves to the utmost, and they all promised him, though possibly with unequal resolution; that they would stand to him, to the last drop of their blood. The two Princesses, who had awakened at the first noise that was made, and had, from what they had distinctly heard through the ship, easily imagined the truth of what had passed, got immediately out of bed, and betaking them to their devotions prayed the Gods to send them those assistances whereof they then began to conceive some hopes  
In the mean time the vessel of Egypt being come up to the Armenian, the person that commanded it showed himself upon the deck very well armed, and having made some sign to show that he was desirous to speak with those of the other vessel before they engaged, asked for him that commanded the Armenian vessel. Artaxus having showed himself to be the man, and asked him what his business was with him; My business, said he to him, is to find out the Princess Cleopatra, and those that have carried her away, and if you are any of those, you are either to restore the Princess or prepare to fight. Artaxus would have been glad to avoid fight, as not conceiving himself strong enough to deal with his enemies who very much exceeded him in number; and accordingly making him answer, though not without shame and some repugnance. Those whom you seek said he to him, are not among us, and there is very little likelihood that any people having made such a prize should stay so near Alexandria. What you say, replies the other, may possibly be true, but we shall not take your word, and therefore must search your ship, which we are empowered to do by the orders of the Praetor and the authority of Caesar. Artaxus, ex asperated at this discourse, and perceiving there was no way to avoid ●ighting; I am not a person to acknowledge any orders, said he, nor know I any authority, that should force me to commit a base action, and therefore if it be fightiag that thou desirest, prepare thyself for it without seeking any other pretences.  
These words were spoken so loud that they were distinctly heard by the Princess Cleopatra; and out of a fear that she was in least Artaxus might persuade those of the other vessel with fair words, and divert them from their intended design, she would needs show herself to them. Finding therefore the chamber door fast, she ran to a little window that was on one side of the ship, and opening it as hastily as she could, she showed them her beautiful countenance, which seemed to shine a new day upon the waves, and lifting up her voice so as that she might be heard; Here, generous men, cried she, here is Cleopatra, whom you look after, I expect my Liberty from your assistance, and I beg it of you out of the compassion which my misfortune may have raised in your Souls.  
There needed no more to satisfy all parties so as to resolve upon what was to be done, insomuch that she was scarce delivered of these words but the Egyptian vessel had fastened her grappling irons in the other. The fight upon the first onset was very terrible, and so much the more cruel in that they were come to handy blows, those that were come to rescue the Princess, having it seems purposely forborn to make use of arrows out of a fear they might hurt them. There being therefore on both sides a many gallant men, and those animated by considerable interests and concernments, they all fought with abundance of valour, insomuch that within few minutes the waves were died with the blood of both parties. With the first rays of the rising Sun were seen the swords glittering, and the blows falling at the same time either on the bucklers opposed thereto, or on those unarmed places where the steel found its passage to dispatch life. And whereas Artaxus and his men were only upon the defensive, and stood to their business close and covered with their bucklers, it was very difficult to force them and so to board the vessel. The first that came on of the enemies was cast overboard, and there fell more than one by the hands of Artaxus himself. He was gallantly seconded by Zenodorus and Megacles, though this latter fought with some regret upon so unhandsome a quarrel. But after some dispute, the number of their enemies being still greater than theirs, and being also better armed than they, and commanded by no less valiant men, and that of Artaxus' side there were but twenty fight men, and the rest only ordinary Seamen whom they forced to fight both against their wills and their custom, Fortune began to turn to their side who fought for the liberty of Cleopatra, and their Commander having with an unmerciful blow upon the head laid Zenodorus grovelling on the ground, and gained the places which he had forced him to quit, his companions took encouragement by his example, and victory seemed to declare herself for their side.  
Things were come to this pass when the unknown person, who rested himself upon his bed in the bottom of the vessel, and perceived that through the rest he had taken he had recovered his strength, having heard the noise, and at length understood the truth of what was done, immediately got on his clothes. And though he seemed a person little concerned in what was done in this world, yet, his generosity being not quite extinguished by his misfortunes, he thought himself obliged to assist those men, who had done him such civil offices in his despair, and who were set upon in a vessel wherein he was with them. Possessed by this imagination, he stood not to resolve on what he was to do in that emergency; so that finding his sword lying by him, he took it, without any other arms, and comes up on the deck; where meeting with a buckler at his feet, he covered with it his left arm, and in that posture went towards those that were a fight. Just as he came in were Artaxus and his men ready to quit the place, and their enemies pressing very hard upon them, began to board the ship in several places. The unknown person stood still a little to consider how the fight stood, and perceiving what an ill condition they were in whom he was to relieve, he ran and set himself in the head of them, and by the first blows he dealt, let them know that in one single person, they had met with an assistance far greater than they could have expected. The two stoutest and most forward men of the enemy's side fell dead at his feet at two blows, and rushing in upon the rest with such a force as they were astonished at, he dispersed the most daring, in such manner, that in a few minutes, he brought the victory into dispute which had been before concluded for the other side. Artaxus and Megacles were immediately sensible of this assistance which had so much changed the face of their affairs, and, perceiving him to be the gallant unknown person mentioned before, because he fought without any thing on his face, and without any arms other than a sword and a buckler, they were overjoyed at the relief they had received in him, and looked upon him as some miraculous person.  
When he had by the first blows that fell from him scattered the most confident of the Enemy, calling Artaxus and his men to him, and encouraging them to prosecute the fight both by his words and example; Take heart, said he to them, gallant men, fight with me for your own safety, and do not fear enemies that dare not stand before you. These words were seconded with such heavy blows, that there durst not an enemy appear before him; and Artaxus and his men having recovered a little of their courage at this miraculous assistance, came up to him, and began to fight again with abundance of valour.  
During all this time, the fair Cleopatra, who in a strange disquiet expected the success of a fight on which her liberty, and all the happiness of her life depended, after she had spent a good space in prayers to the gods for those that fought for her deliverance, would needs, if possibly she could, see them fight, out of an imagination that they might derive no final encouragement from her presence. To this end coming to the chamber door, which, during the time of the disorder of the fight, was not guarded, she found a means to open it, and to get up upon the stern of the ship. From thence she soon discovered how things had past, and perceived, much to her grief, that those of her party fled before the dreadful sword of the unknown person, and those others whom his example had animated, and that that man, without arms, by a prodigious valour, sweeping all that came before him, forced the others into their Vessel with much more speed than they had made to get into that of the King of Armenia; Woe is my lot, cried she at that fight, overwhelmed with grief! What man is this that the gods have armed against me, and why, if they are just, have they not made him one of those that came to my rescue, since that I might with more reason expect my safety from his single sword, then from the assistance of so many men, whom he puts to slight? Thus, continued she, sighing and speaking a little lower, did, not many days since, my unfortunate, or unconstant Coriolanus fight for me, and with the same valour would he fight again, had it but pleased the gods to send him to me.  
While she thus discoursed to herself the unknown person, whose valour she so much admired, and was withal so much displeased at, either flung his enemies over board into the sea, or forced out of the vessel what ever stood in his way; and, being at last come up to the Commander in chief of the contrary party, who had fought all this time very gallantly, he burdened him with such heavy blows, that notwithstanding his extraordinary valour, not able to bear them, he was forced to retreat towards his own vessel, and had gotten his foot into it, when he receives a blow on the head from the same dreadful hand, which made him fall to the ground among his own men, who reached out their arms to save him from falling into the sea. The fall of their Commander, and the death of the best part of their companions, put the enemies to a loss of all courage, and having, as soon as they could, got their ship clear from the other, they made all possible haste away, and would meddle no further with either the victory or relief of Cleopatra. 'tis inexpressible what affliction it was to the Princess, to see all the great hopes she had conceived vanish of a sudden, and with what resentments was she not exasperated against that valiant, though unknown, person, whose valour had proved so fatàl to her? She looked upon him sighing, and when, after he had secured the victory, he turned his face towards that part of the ship where she was, which before he had always had upon his enemies, she cast her eyes upon him full of tears. But, O celestial powers! What a strange astonishment, what an incredible surprise was she in, when in the countenance of that detestable stranger to her, who had been the only hindrance of her liberty, and had returned her once more into the power of Artaxus, she saw that of Coriolanus? Here certainly all expression is too weak to make the least representation of what she felt upon that cruel discovery, and the strangeness of the accident wrought so violently on her, and put her into such a distraction, that having not the command of her constancy for some small time, she was upon the point to cast herself into the sea at the sight of that ungrateful person, and so to sacrifice to him a life which he had made so insupportable to her, by delivering her up to the most cruel enemy she had in the World. She looked on him for a good while together, out of a fear she might be mistaken, and found it no small difficulty to convince herself of that cruel truth. But at last being satisfied that her eyes did not deceive her, and that it was but too too certain that she saw no other than the true Coriolanus, she was out of all patience so far, that she discovered her grief by such circumstances and demonstrations of it as she was not able to conceal, and made the ship, and the hollowness of the adjoining rock to echo again with the noise of her lamentations. Is it possibe, wickedest of men, cried she, that thou shouldest fight against the liberty of Cleopatra? This then is the innocence thou pretendest to, and wouldst have had me to believe; Or art thou not sufficiently satisfied with thy former treachery, which had armed the powers of Heaven and earth against thee, but thou must commit a second more detestable than the other, by being thyself the instrument to deliver her whom thou hadst so ungratefully forsaken into the hands of the greatest of her enemies?  
She had no sooner begun to speak, but Coriolanus, (for it was really Coriolanus himself) smitten with a voice he was so well acquainted with, had cast his eyes upon her with some precipitation, and perceiving it to be the celestial countenance of the Princess whom he adored, he became as immovable as a statue of Marble; and having, from the very first words she said, discovered the certainty of his unhappiness, that conviction of the malevolence of his destiny, wrought so much upon him, that immediately a deadly shivering running all over his body, the sword fell out of his hand, his eyes closed, and his strength leaving him of a suden, he fell down in a swound upon the deck. The incensed Cleopatra, had not lost her generosity, and therefore seeing him in that condition, though she was somewhat of opinion that that weakness might come upon him from some wound he had received in the fight, she gave those notice that were about him to have a care of him, since he had fought so well in their quarrel.  
Having so done, she found a place to sit down where she was, and leaning her amiable face on her two fair hands, she burst out into a rivulet of tears, and deplored the strange and extraordinary misfortune that had happened to her, by such complaints, as no doubt would have moved any soul with compassion, unless it were those of Artaxus and Zenodorus. Artemisa, who sat by her, would have comforted her, but not being able to do it, she wept with her for company, and was not afraid to displease Artaxus by participating in her lamentations. When the fair Daughter of Anthony had with much ado dispersed those sobs which made some resistance against the passage of her voice, turning upon Artemisa those fair eyes, which, though drowned as they were in tears, set all on fire in the ship, even to the hearts of unmerciful Pirates; Ah Sister, said she to her, what fortune was ever comparable to mine, by what means think you am I fallen into the hands of Artaxus, now the second time! That man whose innocence you pleaded so much, and were so confident of; that man from whom, inconstant as I had concluded him, I yet expected assistance, nay, that very man whom you saw, not many days since, fight so valiantly in our defence, by the same valour delivers us up himself, and that into his hands from whom he had before rescued us, the King, your Brothers. Had it not been for the assistance of his fatal valour, we had been freed; and it was he alone that forced away, nay, haply, killed those that fought for our liberty. After such an adventure as this, never dispute with me again the greatness of our misfortunes, and find me but one example in the World that may be paralleled with this. I do not think it strange, that Artaxus, an implacable enemy of our house, and one that by his former inhumanities' had discovered the malice he hath against us, should treat me with violence and injustice: but that he who had sometime loved me so dearly, whom, to my confusion, I had loved beyond my own life, who had suffered so much for my sake, and upon my account, and had been the occasion that made me suffer so much myself, and to be short, that that only person who should have sacrificed thousands of lives for my liberty, should come and expose all he had against my friends and against my rescuers, purposely to return me into the chains and power of Artaxus, and not into his own! Ah Sister, this, this is what no ages ever produced any thing comparable to, and 'tis such a strange accident as I am not well able to comprehend, though my eyes can but too well witness the truth of what I have seen.  
While Cleopatra broke forth into these lamentations, and that Artemisa, astonished at the strangeness of the adventure, gave her the hearing, and wept with her without making any reply, Megacles and divers others were gotten about Coriolanus, endeavouring to recover him again, some others were employed in casting the carcases overboard, and to dress those that were wounded, whereof there was no great number. But before they went to visit them, having looked all about the body of Coriolanus, they could not find any wound about him: and, yet though they cast water in his face, and used several other remedies, all could not bring him to himself again. Megacles, who had the greatest respect of any for him, made it his business very earnestly to recover him, besides that when they reflected on the assistance he had done all that were in the vessel, all did accordingly conceive themselves obliged to relieve him. Artaxus knew not how he should entertain this strange emergency, and though his first motions were inclined to gratitude and acknowledgement, for the great services he had received from that valiant person, yet those which immediately succeeded them began to raise a terrible disturbance within him. From the words of Cleopatra, which fell from her in the violence of her grief, contrary to her ordinary prudence, he concluded that that man must needs be his Rival. But that grieved him not so much as to consider that it was a Rival very precious in the affection of Cleopatra, and the history of the King of Mauritania's Love to that Princess being a thing known all over the world, from the gracefulness, from the valour, and from all the other demonstrations and characters of a great soul that were discoverable in that valiant man, he was easily persuaded that it was Coriolanus, and consequently he that of all the world should be most his enemy, and whom he should accordingly be most jealous of in the love he had for Cleopatra. Yet could he not find in his heart to hate him so suddenly, as well for the considerable service he had received from him, as that from several circumstances it was very probable he was unfortunate in his affection, and that from the reproaches of infidelity which the Princess made him, he could infer no less than that that Prince had sorsaken her. In this confusion of imaginations he was at such a loss, that he knew not what resolution to take, casting his eyes sometimes on the Prince that was still in a swound, and sometimes on the afflicted Princess. Besides, it being not his opinion alone, that the unknown was the very same person he thought him, it went from one to another, that without question it was the valiant King of Mauritania. So that, coming at last to the ears of Cleopatra, as incensed as she was against him; yet was she not a little troubled that she had by her discourse discovered him; and yet it being to no purpose to recall what is once past; Yond are in the right, said she, it is indeed the King of Mauritania, 'tis a perfidious man whom for a double infidelity I am obliged to hate above all mankind besides; but he is a Prince, how unconstant soever he may have proved to me, deserves your assistance for the service he hath but too fortunately done you against me, and therefore since you have made some advantage of his treachery, you have as much reason to look after him as I have to abhor him.  
To this effect was the discourse of this generous Princess; and though that in all appearance she seemed, not without very much reason, to be incensed against the unfortunate son of Juba, and to have made a strong resolution not to admit him into her affections again, but to avoid him as much as she could, yet could she not wish his death, nor endure the very thought that he should die for want of assistance. 'Twas for this reason that she aggravated his infidelity before Artaxus, purposely to make him the less odious in his sight, and to divert what after such a discovery he might well fear from the exasperated Armenian.  
The Prince was not all this while come to himself, and while Megacles was very busy and took a great deal of pains about him, one of the Armenians being come near him, and viewing him with a countenance swelled with indignation; instead of the assistance you afford this man, said he, with so much care and tenderness we should do well to run our swords into his breast. This is the very man that killed our companions not many days since, when we carried away the Princesses; and besides the lineaments of his face which I easily call to mind again: I have found about his bed the arms of my Brother whom he unmereifully killed in my presence. This was the discourse of the Barbarian, who could not but discover the malicious design he had against the Prince's life, when Megacles hearing it, and having authority over him, gave him such a look as upon which he immediately took occasion to be gone, with some threatening gestures, that sufficiently argued his resentment of it.  
At last, upon the application of several remedies, the King of Mauritania opens his eyes, and became sensible, and having gotten up, he scattered his scaring and extravagant looks on all those that were about him, and, finding Megacles one of the nearest him, and one that made it most his business to assist him, he looked on him a while in such a manner as if he would express thereby how sensible he was of his compassion and good offices, yet were displeased at him for them? Will you ever be, said he to him, the cruelest enemy I have, by taking so much trouble upon you as you do for the preservation of my life, and should you not rather have suffered me to die, since you are one of those that carried away Cleopatra. Charge me not, said Megacles to him, speaking very low, with a crime I have not committed, and confound not those who do things out of a consideration of the duty they owe their Masters, with those that serve them in their most unjust and irregular passions, Coriolanus thought it not fit to make him any answer and perceiving he had recovered his strength again, he gets up, and looking about for Cleopatra, he found her sitting in the same place where she had continued ever since they had given over fight. This second sight of her had almost put him into the same condition he had been in before, and reflecting on the disservice he had done her by opposing her deliverance and liberty, the grief he conceived thereat was so great, that he found it no small difficulty to support it. And yet he thought, that, as things stood, his only course was to muster up all his courage, and to summon all his virtue to his assistance, and after the short reflection of a few minutes, thinking himself in a better condition, that he met with Cleopatra in that posture, than that he should have lost her for ever, he took the best heart he could, and with a slow pace, such as argued the smallness of his confidence, he goes towards the place where Cleopatra was still set. She saw him coming towards her, and her indignation against Coriolanus being greater upon the recovery of himself, than her pity had been before, she could not endure he should come near her, and giving a look sufficiently discovering her displeasure; Stay there, barbarous man, said she to him, and come not any more near a woman whom thy continual treacheries expose to so many misfortunes! What canst thou hence forward expect from me, and what further mischief canst thou imagine yet to do me, after thou hast bestowed me on the King of Armenia. That Prince, inhuman as he is, and though the greatest enemy of our house, hath not betrayed me as thou hast, and I am much inclined to believe, that he would not give me to any other, as thou, with so much baseness, dost: Leave me therefore quietly to him, since that it is on him that thou hast bestowed me, even with the hazard of thy own life, and aggravate not my afflictions with thy abominable presence. This heart which so unfortunately received for thee those impressions whereof it should have been insensible for any other, favoured thee and argued on thy behalf, seeking out something, by way of justification for thee, while thou wert in arms for Artaxus against Cleopatra. Do not therefore think it much to afford her that comfort which she may derive from thy eternal absence, since thou hast for ever deprived her of all hope of any other, and imagine not, that after I have cleared my thoughts of the image of an unconstant man, they can ever entertain that of Artaxus, for whom no doubt but thou art come to speak.  
The dejected and almost desperate Coriolanus, leaning against one of the Masts, harkened to this violent discourse of Cleopatra, having not the courage to make her any answer, and the Princess, attributing his silence to the confusion he might conceive at the horror of his crime, was the more inflamed into indignation, insomuch that she could not forbear to discover it in further reproaches. Tell me, cruel man, said she to him, by what offence had I so far incensed thee, as to deserve the unworthy treatment I receive at thy hands, and, if I were no longer worthy the affection thou wert pleased sometime to afford me, and which had wrought all the pleasure and felicity of my life, by what action, or by what defect, am I become so odious to thee, as that thou must needs sacrifice my liberty, life, and enjoyments to the most inhuman of all mankind; to him, whom of all men I should look on as the most detestable? Or if this proceed not from any hatred, which I know not how I should have deserved at thy hands, upon what account of friendship or interest, couldst thou do Artaxus a service so disconsonant to the precedent actions of thy life, and to that virtue which thou hadst sometimes the reputation to practise? Wert thou restored to the throne of thy Predecessors by the means of any assistances from the King of Armenia, or wert thou so deeply engaged to him that thou couldst not any way disengage thyself but by presenting him with that which thou hast sometime preferred before the Empire of the Universe?  
Thus did the disconsolate daughter of Anthony discourse, while the King of Armenia and all those that were about him gave so much ear to what she said, that they had not any of them the power to interrupt her; and the Prince overwhelmed with grief and confusion at the apparent justice of her reproaches, suffered the torrent of them to waste itself without offering to oppose it, and would not have presumed to open his mouth in his own justification, if the Princess had not given over speaking, to wipe the tears that fell abundantly from her fair eyes. The dejected son of Juba took the advantage of that interval to rejoin to her discourse, but it was with no small difficulty that he made a shift to speak, so much were his expressions in a manner smothered by sighs. I am satisfied Princess, said he to her, that it is not without some reason that I am so detestable in your sight, and since that by so many extraordinary demonstrations and by misfortunes so far exceeding those of the common rate, it may easily be perceived how odious I am in heaven's account, it is but just you should avoid the eternal object of its indignation, and have no farther commerce with a person so strangely destined to be miserable. I am guilty of the crime you lay to my charge, I cannot deny it, and in an accident so unfortunate I cannot stand upon my innocency. I have fought for your enemies, against you; I have with all the strength I was master of opposed your liberty, and I have been the means of your coming into the hands of a man whom you would have me look on as the King of Armenia. After the commission of such a crime, I cannot pretend any thing to innocency, and, when their effects have proved so deplorable, it were vain for me to plead the ●harmlessenesse of the intentions, But might it be once the pleasure of heaven, Madam, that the former treacheries you charge me withal, and for which I am undone, were so much within the reach of my knowledge as this last which you reproach me with, I should not be as miserable as I am, since I should haply find somewhat to say for myself by way of justification in relation to those, as I can for this last.  
How is that, wickedest of men, said the Princess, interrupting him, dost thou think to find any thing by way of justification for a crime thou hast committed in my sight, or wouldst thou persuade me that I have not seen thee with thy sword drawn fight for my enemies against those that endeavoured my deliverance? Wouldst thou dazzle my own eyes in this, as thou wouldst those of all the World in thy former treachery, or is it thy design to persuade me that I am extravagant and out of my wits? It is indeed but too too true, replied Coriolanus, that you have seen me with my sword drawn fight for your enemies, and I may presume to affirm, that I haply made their way to a victory, which without my assistance it is likely they had not carried. It is not therefore my design to justify the events, but only my own intentions, which if considered alone, I dare affirm myself innocent, if there can be any innocency in an offence whereof the success hath proved so fatal to you. You may be pleased to remember, that there are not many days past since I fought in your defence against the same enemies, whom I have this day served, and there is but little likelihood I should since that time have contracted any friendship with them to prejudice the love I have for you. For this man, said he, looking on Artaxus, whom you would have me take notice of as King of Armenia, he knows how that it is but some few minutes since I first saw him, and whether I discovered the least desire to be acquainted with him. And for those others, said he, pointing to Megacles and his companions, you may have haply learned from them, whether they had not recovered me out of the waves into which I had cast myself from the top of the rock that covers us, through the despair which the loss of you had put me into. They can further tell you what trouble they had to make me admit of life, and they know, whether it were out of any other motive than that of gratitude, and a sense of the obligation I ought them for their assistances, that I took up arms in their quarrel when they were set upon. These truths cannot be unknown to you, all those that hear me are now become my enemies, since they are those that did you violence, and yet I appeal to them whether I affirm any thing which is not true.  
At these words he made a little stop, looking about him of all sides, and perceiving that Artaxus, being much at a loss to think of this adventure, expected to see what would be the issue of it without speaking one word, and that all those that stood about him were in the same posture and suspense, continued his discourse to this effect. I know not, continued he, whether I wanted any love towards you, when I cast myself headlong into the sea, out of the regret it was to me that I could not relieve you, when it hath been known, that in other very considerable misfortunes, to which my life hath been exposed, I have never been charged with want of constancy to support them, but these very enemies that hear me, know whether, upon their earnest entreaties, I have prolonged my life out of any other desire then that of making one attempt more for the service of that person to whom the life they prolonged was devoted.  
As soon as Cleopatra began to find some probability in the discourse of Coriolanus, she had heard him very attentively, and out of the desire she had that he were innocent, she favoured him in her heart as much as she could; and, looking on Artemisa, seemed as it were to ask her, whether she was not also in some sort convinced of the innocency of Coriolanus? Artemisa was very much inclined to that belief without any solicitation, and it was only by reason of the presence of the King her Brother, that she would not speak openly in his justification.  
In the mean time Coriolanus deriving a little more confidence from the silence of Cleopatra, as also from those discoveries which he perceived in her countenance of the disposition she was in to be persuaded of his innocence, reassumed the discourse with an action that argued a greater settledness of mind. You see then, Madam, said he to her, what I can say for myself, to justify my intentions: but for the effects, since they have proved so fatal in relation to your quiet, and that it is impossible to recall what is past, the reparation I am to make you, must be extraordinary. And therefore this very hand that hath done the mischief, must find out the remedy for it, and this sword, (continued he, putting his hand on the hilt of his weapon, which he had taken into his own hands when he got up) this very sword that hath put you into the power of the King of Armenia, aught to bring you out of it, or take away his life, were it to be done, not only in this vessel, but even in the heart of his kingdom. 'tis with this resolution that I cast myself at your feet, added he, coming near her, ready to defend you against him to the last drop of my blood, and it may be in a condition yet to give him his death in the midst of all his men, if he does not resign up to me what is mine, and restore you to that liberty against which I have so unfortunately fought.  
Artaxus had hitherto, with a great deal of patience harkened to all the discourse that had passed between Coriolanus and Cleopatra, and was content to hear the Princess charge him with cruelty, and declare that he was odious in her sight; but at this last discourse of the Prince of Mauritania, he thought his temerity and confidence insupportable, and accordingly looked on him with a malicious and scornful smile; Coriolanus, said he to him, I have passed by the first affronts I have received from thy presumption, out of a consideration of the service thou hast done me, and I have given thee leave to speak against my concernments with too much liberty, because thou hadst defended them with abundance of valour; but now I perceive thy temerity knows no limits, so that it will be hard for me to observe those bounds which I had proposed to myself upon the first reflections I had made on the assistance I have received from thee, and the esteem I have conceived for thy person.  
Artaxus, replied the valiant Mauritanian, looking on him very fiercely, there cannot be any such thing as a mutual esteem between us, and if my actions have raised any such in thee towards me, haply not without reason, thine cannot possibly have the same effect upon me. Besides, it cannot be expected we should be any longer Friends, not only because thou keepest Cleopatra as a captive, but also because thou lovest her. For the service thou hast received from me, thou art soon disengaged as well by the regret and affliction it is to me that I have done it thee, as by the little intention I should have had to do it, had I known thee to be him that carried away Cleopatra; and for the good office which I received from thy people, when they took me out of the water, I have sufficiently requited it, by exposing my life for their defence. We are therefore upon equal terms as to point of obligation, we are equal as to that of extraction, and if we are unequal as to fortune, it is in the power of Heaven, who protects justice against oppression and iniquity, to make our forces and conditions equal, and to put me once more into such a way as that I may be able to deliver Cleopatra. If it be the pleasure of fortune that I perish in the design, expect not thou ever the more that she will be long at thy disposal, nor indeed canst thou be ignorant that the whole Empire is at this present in arms against thee, and that, when thou hast brought the Princess into Armenia, thou wilt be soon followed thither by the most dreadful forces of the Universe, who will destroy all that lies before them by fire and sword, upon so just a quarrel.  
The Armenian King was silent all this while, as if his astonishment was no less now at the confidence of Coriolanus, than it had been not long before at his valour; and thereupon giving him a look wherein he sufficiently discovered his indignation; Thou speakest to me, said he to him, with as little respect, as thou wouldst haply do, if thou wert in the head of a hundred thousand men, but there is, it may be, some flaw in thy memory, and thou hast quite forgotten that thou art alone, and without arms in my ship, in the midst of all my men, and that thou art already obliged to me for the life which thou hast enjoyed upon my courtesy ever since that moment, wherein thou gavest me the first occasion of displeasure. From this very indulgence Cleopatra might infer so much as might oblige her to quit the opinion she hath conceived of my cruelty, and there are few Kings in the World, who having an absolute power, such as mine is, would have suffered so much from any man, and not have cast him into the sea. I shall cast myself into the sea of my own accord, replied the Prince of Mauritania, when the misfortunes of my life prove so insupportable as to advise me to put a Period thereto; but thou wilt find, that, to cast me into the sea against my will, is not an attempt so easy in the execution as thou conceivest it. And though thou hast a great number of men about thee, yet am I confident that the most daring among them will bethink him more than once what he hath to do ere he attempt it, and though they should forget all respect to the royal character which I bear as well as thyself, they are better acquainted with the metal my sword is made of, then to come over-confidently too near the point of it.  
Artaxus had his hand ready on the hilt of his sword, and by his own example was going to oblige all his men to fall upon the King of Mauritania, who securing himself with a buckler, expected them with an undaunted courage, when Zenodorus, having recovered himself of his fall, and the lethargy occasioned thereby, and being come up to him, told him that the wind was turned, and was very good for their departure thence, and that it was their best course to weigh anchor, and be gone from a coast, where they must expect to be assaulted again if they stayed there any time. Artaxus overjoyed at that happy change of weather, gave order to hoist up sail, and that they should make what hast they could out of the river. But now was it that Coriolanus made them know what he was, and turning toward Cleopatra, who heard that order of Artaxus as she would have the sentence of death passed against her; I beseech you, Madam, said he to her, be pleased to receive this last service from me without any repugnance, and be assured by the death which I am soon to suffer for your sake, what correspondence there hath been between me and the King of Armenia. I do not suspect you guilty of any, replied the disconsolate Princess, and notwithstanding the unconstancy you have been guilty of towards me, I am better satisfied as well of the nobleness of your blood, as of that of your courage, then to make a hard judgement of you in things where there is any one circumstance that makes any way for your advantage. But how inconstant soever you may be, added she, rising from the place where, she sat, I am far from desiring your death, and I shall never give way you should receive it in my sight, if I can hinder it.  
Coriolanus had not heard those last words, and seeing too men somewhat near him, doing something in order to the departure of the vessel, he thrust away the nearest to him with such force that he had turned him overboard into the sea, and with his sword cloven the others head into two pieces. Upon this spectacle Artaxus, perceiving it was not safe to dally any longer, and repenting he had not fallen upon him sooner, cried out to his men to hasten to cut off that temerarious person; and when he saw himself fortified by those that came about him, he advanced along with them with his sword drawn towards the Prince of Mauritania. But Cleopatra came and stood before him, and, speaking to him much more mildly than ever she had done before, Artaxus, said she to him, if ever in thy life thou wilt do an action which I may take kindly at thy hands, attempt not the life of Coriolanus, and remember the assistance thou hast received from him, without which I had been out of thy power, and thou thyself haply out of the World. What you desire of me, Madam, replies the King of Armenia, is a thing out of my power to grant, besides that Coriolanus himself, who, unworthily abusing the respect I have for you, sticks not to murder my men before my face, is not desirous of that life which you so much beg for him. And yet I shall not take it away from him, that I may at length begin to do something that pleases you, and though he be my Rival, and that one so much the more to be feared for that he is much in your favour, yet shall I permit him to live, and give him leave to depart immediately, out of the ship, and go his ways whither it shall please fortune to dispose of him.  
If there be any favour in this, replies the Mauritanian, it were done to thyself and not to me, nor indeed do I make the least doubt of it, but that thou wouldst be very glad I were once out of thy ship; but thou art not guilty of so much vanity as to imagine I will go hence without the Princess Cleopatra, and therefore resolve immediately either to restore her to liberty, or to give me my death, and withal to defend thy own life, which I doubt not but I shall even in the midst of all thy men, put once more into danger. Alas! for death, cries out Artaxus, being grown furious to the highest degree, thou shalt without much difficulty find it at my hands, and here I now sacrifice thee to my resentment, and my love, both as a temerarious enemy, and an insolent Rival.  
With this Rhodomantade, having not the patience to give any further ear either to his words, or the cries of Cleopatra, whom he caused to be taken away by force from between their arms, he began to make towards the Prince, who, having got to a place whence he could not be assaulted, but only before, covering his left arm with a buckler, and brandi●●g his dreadful sword with the right, expected him in such a posture as spoke him a person whom no danger could frighten. Artaxus was both valiant and daring; but besides that, he was not absolutely recovered of his wounds, and felt himself a little too weak to engage in a combat, the great actions he had seen him do that day against the enemy that would have rescued Cleopatra, made him look on that enterprise with some distrust, and accordingly was not much displeased to see the stoutest of his men expose themselves before him to that danger. Zenodorus, followed by the rest of his companions, and some of the Armenians, animated by him whose Brother the valiant Prince had killed some days before, was the first that would venture to come on. Megacles, not able to divert this misfortune, would not however have any hand in the crime, and holding his arms across at the other end of the ship, did all that lay in his power to persuade to stay with him such of the Armenians as had most affection for him. Aristus, who was the first that offered at the King of Mauritania, was also the first that paid for his confidence; for, having made a blow at the Prince, and he putting it off with his buckler, he received another from him by way of exchange, which taking him in the throat, cut off the passage of his respiration. For the blood, issuing out of his wound in thick clots, choked him within a few minutes, and after he had staggered some paces backwards, spreading his arms asunder, he fell down and breathed out his last at the King of Armenia's feet. Had Cleopatra delighted in revenge, and that a bloody revenge, here she might with no small pleasure have looked on this victim which the Prince sacrificed to her, since it was this man that had seized her, and carried her in his arms into the ship.  
This sudden dispatching of Aristus did a little cool the courage of his companions; but it withal animated them to revenge him; and the King, who had loved Aristus very dearly, being extremely grieved at his fall, cried out to his men to take heart, and would have been in the head of them, had he been in his absolute strength, and if some of his own, who would not have him to hazard his life, had not stood in his way. But this they did partly out of a desire to please him, and the fear they were in at the sight of Coriolanus' dreadful sword, and partly out of a certain repugnance they felt in themselves to put to death a valiant Prince, who not long before had so generously hazarded his life for their safety. Those that were the most forward to second Aristus, met with a destiny, not much different from his, and he who was so violent to be revenged for his brother's death, coming on a little too rashly, lost his resentments, with his life, by a thrust which for want of arms found a way into his belly, and which made him fall down into a rivulet of his own blood. The deaths of these two men made their companions more circumspect, and more fearful of the length of Coriolanus' sword. The valiant Prince looking on them with a certain contempt, and frightening them the more by menacing gestures; It is not so easy a matter, said he to them, as you conceived it, to take away a man's life, who knows how to defend it, the advantage of number and arms does not always bring victory with it, and if I die this day, as it is possible I may, by your hands, if the gods have so disposed of me, I hope I shall not die unrevenged.  
Having said these words to them, he kept his former posture, that is, stood close to the ships side to avoid being set upon behind, and warding off the blows which were made at him with his buckler, he looked like lightning on his enemies, and when any one of them instigated either by shame or the cries of Artaxus grew more daring than his companions, he neglected not either time or occasion to make him repent his forwardness, and always directed his sword so fortunately and with such force and execution, that it ever proved either the messenger of death or some cruel wound. At last Zenodorus, to whom this kind of engagement was more familiar than to any of the rest, being ashamed to fight with so much precaution against a single person, and desirous to let the King of Armenia see how much he deserved the assistance he had promised him, after he had called his companions about him, and reproached them with their cowardice and baseness, comes on before them, and, intending to direct his stroke at the Prince's bare head, Coriolanus warded it off with his buckler. But, having many adversaries to deal with, and they directing several blows at him at the same time, he could not so well put off that of the Pirate, but that his sword sliding down along the buckler fell upon his shoulder, and gave him a slight wound. Zenodorus perceiving the Prince to be in some disorder, would needs be at him again, and taking his sword with both hands, he lifted it up high in the air, with a design and hope to cleave the Prince his head asunder; but at the very same time the son of Juba, exasperated at the blow he had received, gave him a backblow with such force, that the edge of the sword meeting with the Pirate at the wrists, which were not covered with any arms, cut them both off, so that both hands and the sword fell down at the feet of those that were fight. The unfortunate Zenodorus, seeing himself in that deplorable condition, was loath to live any longer, whether that strange misfortune raised in him an aversion for life, or that he was persuaded that through his cruel wounds it would have run out with blood. So that having remained some little while as it were in an irresolution what to do, and sent forth a doleful exclamation towards heaven, he of a sudden flies at the Prince, with a design to thrust him overboard into the sea. And certainly he might have effected it, if the Prince perceiving he made towards him, had not stepped aside with so much agility, that the desperate Pirate not meeting with any thing to stay him, and thrusting forwards with the whole weight of his body fell over the vessel into the Sea, where having no hands to do him any service in point of swimming, or to fasten on any thing if need were, he was soon drowned, losing his life after a little struggling, the last word that fell from him being the name of Elisena, it being a certain justice in the Gods that he should expire in that Element upon which he had committed so many crimes, and was grown so dreadful to all the world.  
The misfortune of Zenodorus took off much of the spirit and eagerness of his companions, which had been the most animated by his example; but on the other side it put Artaxus into so much rage and violence, that being not any longer able to forbear either out of fear or any other consideration, he came up to the most forward of his men, resolved to perish himself or to take away his enemy's life. What, cowardly villains, cried he to his own men, you are afraid and give back for a single person, and you suffer the stoutest of your companions to be killed before your faces and are not able to revenge them? O shame beyond expression, the stain whereof neither all his blood nor all ours is able to wash off! O Zenodorus, added he, since thou hast in my quarrel lost a life, which thou hadst preserved among so many dangers, and among so many misfortunes, if I cannot make that satisfaction to thy Manes which I ought them, receive at least that victim which I now sacrifice to thee.  
With these words he comes on full of fury, when the most affectionate of his men cast themselves before him, and kept the Prince so much in play, that there was little probability, with all his valour, he should long defend a life set upon by so great a number of enemies, and that with so much eagerness and animosity.  
Alas! how can we imagine the disconsolate Cleopatra was employed while they were engaged in this unequal combat; and with what abundance of tears did she bewail the loss of a Prince whom she saw perishing upon her account, and that a Prince who, notwithstanding the pretended infidelity laid to his charge, was dearer to her than her own life? What endeavours did she not use to divert his enemies from their inhuman enterprise? But when she perceived that all her entreaties and solicitations proved ineffectual, as to the expectation she conceived from them, what complaints, and what regrets did she not importune heaven with, since that, in her misfortune, her lamentations and tears were all she could afford, and indeed all that Fortune had left her? She embraced the comfortless Artemisa, whose tears were mingled with hers, and pressing her, with an action that spoke the height of passion; Now Sister, said she to her, now, may you see the extremity of my cruel and unfortunate destiny, now may you see the most extraordinary effects of heaven's indignation, that ever fell upon any wretch in this world. After the infidelity of Coriolanus, after the loss of my liberty, and after the affliction it must needs be to me to see myself returned into captivity by no other hand than his whom I loved so much, all the misery I could further expect, was, to see the same Prince whom I loved so dearly cruelly destroyed in my sight, and perishing in our defence. If it must needs be the pleasure of the Gods that he should die in my presence, it had been supportable to me that he had done it while he was yet in his mistake and fought for our Enemies, and that to the former infidelity I might not reproach him with this last, which he hath now sufficiently cleared himself of. But the gods thought not fit to leave me that consolation in his loss, and would needs make his innocence appear as to this last crime, whereof I might otherwise have accused him, as if it had been done purposely that my grief for his loss might be the more insupportable.  
But Sister, said Artemisa to her, whenever the importunity of her tears made any interval in her discourse, can you be still of opinion, that this man whom you see fight with so miraculous a valour for your deliverance; that he, that should cast himself headlong from the top of a reck into the sea, merely because he would not survive your loss and indignation; and that hath refused before us the life which Artaxus was content to leave him, purposely, that he might sacrifice it to your service, can be a treacherous and unconstant person; and will you not quit that opinion upon so many apparent demonstrations of his fidelity and his affection? No doubt, Sister, but I should have other thoughts of him, replies Cleopatra, if in the discovery he made to me of his treachery he had not been so cruel as to deprive me of all matter of hope, and not leave me any circumstance whence I might argue any thing on his behalf. But, I beseech you; let us have no farther dispute about his innocence, since that if he be found innocent, I shall be so much the more unfortunate, and that it must needs be more insupportable to me to lose him innocent, then to see him die in his unconstancy. And yet Sister, though I see my grief must needs be the greater, yet can I not forbear wishing him innocent, and therefore whatever he may be, whether innocent or guilty, whether loved or hated by me, might it please the Gods that I could redeem his life with the sacrificing of my own, and that those Barbarians that assault him, would turn their swords against my breast so they would spare a life which is so dear to me as his.  
The consequence of these words was a torrent of tears, which when it had almost spent itself, she lifts up her eyes towards heaven, and reassuming her discourse; O ye just powers of heaven, cried she, are you then resolved to expose virtue to rage and cruelty, and shall heaven be turned into brass only against my addresses, when it is open to the Lamentations and cries of other wretches that call upon the gods?  
These words were hardly understood by Artemisa and Megacles, who desirous to have no hand in that unjust combat was come into the room where the Princesses were to comfort them as well as he could, but there was such a horrid noise in the ship about one single person, that there could not well be a greater, had there been a fight between divers ships. That put Cleopatra in a manner out of all hope of ever seeing Coriolanus alive long, when casting her eye towards the sea, as she did every minute almost to see whether there were any thing coming to their assistance, she discovered a ship making all the sail she could. That sight recruited her heart with some hope again, especially when she perceived by degrees with Artemisa and Megacles, who also observed her course, that the ship tacked about and came directly towards theirs, and was not at that time so far from it, but that it might come up time enough to relieve the Prince, if he would but stand it out as long as he could. To that end she thought fit to communicate that hope to him, and accordingly speaking to him as loud as she could, by reason of the noise and disorder; Take heart Coriolanus, cried she to him, the gods have sent you relief, husband your strength so as to expect it, and do not cast yourself away through despair, when it is yet in your power to hope.  
These words of Cleopatra wrought on him the effect she expected they should, and by a certain miracle multiplying the remaining fractions of courage which were yet left in the Son of Juba, when his strength was upon the point to forsake him, they obliged him to have a greater care of his life than he had had before. Five or six of his enemies were laid with their bellies upward at his feet, and made, as it were, a kind of a rampart against the rest, who, notwithstanding the cries of Artaxus, and their own great resolution, were afraid to meddle with him, and thought it greater prudence to expect till weariness had made him incapable of fight any longer, that they might accordingly kill him with less danger. Artaxus was somewhat of the same opinion himself, out of a confidence he had that he could not escape him, and finding in himself, that his strength, grown much less by reason of his wounds, was not proportionable to his fury, as he could have wished, he was content to remit somewhat of his rage, and to have a little patience with him.  
But, having at the exclamation of Cleopatra cast his eye about him on the sea, and seen the ship making towards them, which he could not take for any other than an enemy, the violence of his grief was inexpressible, insomuch, that retreating some few paces full of confusion and astonishment, he was for some minutes at such a loss, that he stood immovable, and incapable of all resolution. The first imagination that came into his mind, was, that he could not be in a condition to stand an engagement with those that came against him, especially, when the men he had lest, found it such a difficulty to take away the life of a single person: so that he was in a fear both of losing Cleopatra, without whom he did not much care for life, and also to lose that very life against which he had armed such powerful enemies. Possessed with this fear, he looked all about him, and perceiving he was at no great distance from the shore, he had some thought to quit the ship, and accordingly to avoid a fight which must needs prove disadvantageous to him upon the sea. But this reflection was no sooner in his mind, but he considered withal that that flight into the land, besides the dishonour of it, would prove fruitless, and that, though he should with much ado get ashore, yet could he not get Cleopatra out of the vessel till he had dispatched Coriolanus out of the way. Nay all this granted as possible, and that he were delivered of that obstacle by the death of the Prince, he conceived himself less safe upon the land than he was upon the sea, it being in a Country where all things were at the command of his enemies, and where he was not likely to meet with any retiring place for himself, or any to conceal Cleopatra, whom he could not think of forsaking without death.  
These difficulties, with a many others, coming immediately into his imagination, made him soon quit the design he had at first framed to himself, and thereupon he took an absolute resolution to fight it out, and to defend his beautiful prize to the very last gasp. In this resolution, looking up to heaven with eyes sparkling with indignation, and an action expressing the very depth of despair; Though gods and men, cried he, and all the elements combine to ruin me, yet shall they not abate a jot of my courage, and if I must perish, implacable destinies! you shall find I can do it without either baseness or remorse. With these words, he returns to Coriolanus, as conceiving it absolutely necessary that he should be dispatched out of the way before the enemy were come up; and thinking it now past time to dally, and that he was to make all the hast he could with him, he comes up to him in such manner, that the Prince, after he had warded off certain blows which the other had made at him, struck him over the head with all the strength he had. The goodness of the head-piece saved him from death; but it was not able to hinder him from being stunnied in such wise, that after he had staggered a while, he fell down within some few paces of the Princess Cleopatra. Megacles ran immediately to help him, and Artemisa, out of the excellency of her good nature, remembering what she ought her own blood, came to him, and took up the visor of his head-piece, to give him a greater freedom of breathing, and more air.  
While he continued in that condition, Cleopatra, running to those that were still fight against Coriolanus, and who possibly, notwithstanding his miraculous resistance, would have dispatched him at last, comes up to them without any fear, and liftng up her voice that she might be the better heard; Hold your hands, said she to them, and if you expect any favour from those whom you see coming to our assistance, make no further attempt on the life of a Prince, on whom your own, will, within these few minutes, depend. 'tis the only way you have left you to secure your lives, for you are not to hope for any mercy, if you be take you not to your own Prince, and by compliance make yourselves worthy the pardon which I promise you. These words proved effectual upon some part of those that heard them, and particularly upon the Armenians, who were most of them persons of considerable quality. These were content to do as the Princess would have them, and, giving over sighting, went to see how their King did: but the Pirates, in whom the death of their leader, and the despair of pardon wrought a different effect, were obstinate in the design they had conceived to take away Coriolanus' life, and, though there were but one half of them left, yet despaired not of revenging the death of Zenodorus.  
The Prince, perceiving himself eased, not only of the greatest part of this enemies, but also of the most dangerous and most valiant, valued not much those that remained; and though he must needs be very much weakened, as well by the continual action he had been in, as by some slight wounds he had received, yet was he now in greater hopes than ever of gaining the victory, and delivering Cleopatra. In the mean time, Artaxus, who had only been stunned with the heavy blow he had received, comes at length to himself, by the assistance they had given him; but ere he had so far recovered himself as to know all that were about him, and become master of his strength, that is, before he was in a condition to discern what passed in the ship, and to give out orders about any thing, the other that was coming in to the assistance of Cleopatra, and which had already been known to be one of those of Alexandria, was gotten so near, that they could hear them hollow that were within her, and in a manner discern their faces.  
Artaxus having got up, and taken his sword again, looked about him of all sides, and perceiving that all his hopes were vanished, he was convinced his final ruin was at no great distance. He sighed again for very grief and rage, as conceiving himself not to be in a condition either to execute his revenge, or keep Cleopatra in his possession, and therefore was at such a loss and irresolution, that he knew not what side to take. While in the interim, the other ship came on still with such speed and such hollowing, that it was out of all question she was an enemy, and indeed within a few minutes after Cleopatra and Artemisa, perceived, in the head of those that were coming to their assistance, Prince Marcellus and Prince Alexander, who, that they might be known to the Princesses had raised up the visours of their headpieces. If their joy was extraordinary, the grief of Artaxus, who, upon the first sight knew Alexander, was no less violent. He blasphemed against Heaven, and railed at his evil fortune, and that hateful sight filled him no doubt, upon the first apprehension thereof, with fatal resolutions. We must perish, cried he, but it is but just we bury under our ruins those that should derive any felicity from our destruction. And for thy part, Alexander, said he, loud enough to be heard by him, assure thyself thou shall not laugh at the defeat of Artaxus. With these words he comes up to the two Princesses, and looking on them with eyes red with blood and fire, he put them into a greater fright than ever they had known before; See here, said he, these are either my security, or my victimes: what shall escape my love, shall never escape my revenge, and if it be lost to me, it shall be lost to all the World besides.  
As he uttered these words, he took Artemisa in the left hand, and with the right presenting the point of his inhuman weapon to the fair breast of Cleopatra, he directs his fatal looks on Alexander and Marcellus just at the instant that they were preparing all things to fasten the grappling-irons, and addressing his speech to the Son of Anthony: Alexander, said he to him, hope not thou shalt have any thing to rejoice at in the misfortune of thy enemy, and think not to triumph over me so many several ways as thou hast, through the malice of my fortune, and the perfidiousness of Artemisa. It was through the baseness of this Princess that she ever came into thy power, and the revenging gods have been pleased that Cleopatra should fall into mine; but if my Sister hath been too susceptible of thy love, thine hath been too ungrateful to entertain the affection I have had for her. Thou returnest again conducted by that Fortune which hath ever been in hostility against me, with a design, and haply in a condition to force them both out of my hands: but know, that thy hope hath deluded thee, and all thou art to expect from this enterprise, is the death of these two Princesses. Thou mayst save their lives by directing thy course some other way, and leaving me at liberty to pursue mine: but if thou losest a single minute in considering what resolution thou shouldst take, thou shalt find me already resolved to sheathe this sword in the breasts of Cleopatra and Artemisa.  
The King of Armenia had made this discourse without the least interruption, while Alexander, seeing him in that crwel posture against the Princesses, had given order to those that were preparing to fasten the ship, to forbear, and stood in a confusion, and absolutely at a loss what to think of so terrible a spectacle. Upon the first sight of that Barbarian, and his inhuman attempt, his indignation would have broke out against him with all its violence; but fearing, on the other side, by his precipitation, to lose what was a thousand times dearer to him then his own life, his love tied up his hands, with considerations as strong as the other, and kept him in an irresolution full of perplexity. Thence it was, that he not only forbore interrupting Artaxus while he spoke, but also when he had given over, was not able to make him any reply, and only looked on him with much confusion, and as if he had been in a trance. Marcellus was also afraid for Cleopatra, whom he loved as dearly as he could a Sister, but his soul being not, upon this occasion, capable of such a violence of passion as was that of Alexander, he was guilty of a greater freedom of apprehension, and consequently was the less troubled at the horror of that object. Hence was it that he took occasion to speak while the other was silent, and darting on Artaxus, a look expressing the greatness of his indignation; Barbarous wretch, said he to him, if the sight of those divine beauties cannot stay thy hands, consider what will become of thy own life in that horrid attempt, and doubt not but thou shalt lose it by the most exquisite torments that humane invention ever found out, if thou execute thy barbarous resolution.  
The Armenian smiled at this discourse of Marcellus, and looking on him very scornfully, Do not imagine, said he to him, that thou canst frighten me with thy menaces, or that I stand in any fear of death myself, after I have given it to what I love beyond myself; but if thou with Alexander art desirous of the safety of these Princesses, resolve immediately to do as I would have you, for fear your resolutions come too late. Ah! says Alexander to him, assuming the discourse at last, will thy cruelties never have any end, and wilt thou treat me with more inhumanity upon the sea of Alexandria than thou didst upon the scaffold at Artaxata? Thus did he speak to him, as much out of tenderness as indignation, when the courageous Cleopatra, out of a jealousy that that softness might prove prejudicial to her liberty, and standing less in fear of death then of her captivity, and the importunate Love of the King of Armenia, broke that silence which she had observed all the time before, and looking on Alexander with a countenance that argued much more confidence than his: Brother, said she to him, have a greater reliance on the gods then to forsake us upon the vain frights which Artaxus would put us into. He dares not put us to death, but though we were to expect it, we think it much more supportable than the life he prepares for us.  
Artaxus was in a manner satisfied that these words of Cleopatra would have that effect on the spirit of Marcellus and that of Alexander as she expected they should, and fearing to be surprised, he lifted up his arm as he drew near to Cleopatra (who was gotten some paces from him) either to frighten them the more, or possibly to execute his bloody resolution. But, as happy fortune would have it, at the very same instant of time, the valiant son of Juba, who was fight at the other end of the ship against those that were left of the Pirates, had, notwithstanding their finding him so much employment, (minding the safety of Cleopatra much more than his own) partly taken notice of what was passed: Transported at the imminent danger he saw her in, and perceiving it was not now a time for him to be so mindful of his own life, broke through those enemies that stood in his way, and laying on the ground all that any way opposed him, he got up to the King of Armenia with so much speed, that, before he was sensible of his coming, he gave him a thrust with such force that he laid him at his feet and tumbled him upon the deck to one fide of the vessel. Artaxus made a shift to get upon again, bet ere he could do it, Coriolanus was gotten before Cleopatra in a condition to defend her, while in the mean time Alexander and Marcellus in taking their advantage of this interval had caused their ship to close with the other, and, notwithstanding the opposition of the Armenians and the Pirates, who joined with them with abundance of resolution, made their way through and boarded the Armenian.  
This fight, as it was undertaken upon a barbarous occasion, so was it managed with more animosity than ordinary, and upon that account was it that there was some blood spilt, which upon another occasion had haply, through the clemency of the Chiefs, been spared. The Egyptian soldiers that followed Alexander put all they met with in their way, to the sword; but that Prince and Marcellus scorning a victory too easily gained, ran to Cleopatra and Artemisa, and if love obliged the son of Antony to mind in the first place what he most loved, Friendship had in a manner the same effect upon the son of Octavia. Alexander, full of fury and indignation ran towards Artaxus, whom rage had put upon the last and most violent attempts, and who must needs have expected the execution of a just revenge; but Artemisa stepped before him, and speaking to her dearest Alexander with her natural goodness; Alexander, said she to him, put not to death the King my Brother, and satisfy yourself with the victory and possession of Artemisa. Alexander let fall the point of his sword at this discourse, and looking on the Princess with an action full of affection and respect; Madam, said he to her, had not you laid your c●mmands on me, I should have considered in the person of Artaxus both the blood of Artemisa and the dignity of a King. Whereupon, turning to Artaxus, who, swelling with rage and confusion, and overpressed with grief and weariness, sat upon the deck, whence darting his scattered looks of all sides, his thoughts ran upon what was most barbarous and horrid. King of Armenia, said he to him, thou shalt receive from us what thou hast never granted any one, and what indeed thou shouldst not expect, if thou call to mind that cruel scaffold upon which my head was once made a public spectacle. We leave thee thy life, and absolute liberty to dispose of thyself as thou pleasest, and desire no other advantage than that of delivering Artemisa and Cleopatra out of thy cruel hands. From this difference of carriage, thou mayst reflect on what there is between us, and from the ill success of thy enterprises infer what horror and vengeance the good and just powers of heaven have for thy violences and cruelties.  
To this effect was the discourse of Alexander when the King of Armenia, looking on him with eyes wherein the rage which possessed him was visibly apparent; Be not so fond as to imagine, said he to him, that I will accept of a life from the son of Anthony, the Cajoller of Artemisa, and the brother of Cleopatra. Thy very birth made thee my enemy, thy crime armed me against thee, and thy Sister, by the little regard she had for my love, hath deprived me of all the desire I could have had for life. Think not then that I will owe it to him who hath occasioned me so many misfortunes, or survive the hope I now lose both of being revenged of thee, and possessing Cleopatra. With these words he rises with his sword in his hand from the place where he was set, and rolling his dreadful eyes about him, gave all notice as it were of the horrid resolution he had taken. The two Princesses, who were best acquainted with his furious humours, ran behind their defenders, and the Princes set themselves before them in a posture to oppose Artakus', if he should attempt any thing. The cruel King having considered his weakness, and the little probability there was he should execute what his resentments inspired him with, harkened to the temptation of his evil genius, and after the silence of a few minutes; Implacable Fortune, said he at last, thou seest me ruined, but not vanquished, and though, by thy unjust assistance, thou hast made the blood of Anthony to triumph over that of Artabazus, yet is it not to thee, but to my own revenge and love that I now offer this great sacrifice.  
Having uttered these words, with a furious action he turned the point of his sword against his breast, and directing it to a certain place where there was nothing of arms to oppose its passage, he fell upon it so of a sudden, that no man had the time to prevent him, and that so effectually, as to his design, that the murdering sword meeting with no resistance, ran him quite through, and, passing through those parts which are most necessary for the preservation of life, deprived him of it in a moment. Though that unfortunate King had drawn upon himself the detestation of all those that were present at his death; yet were there some among them, who could not but pity his misfortune: and though Alexander were a person that of all men had the most just ground to hate him, yet was he extremely troubled for him, even to the shedding of tears at that deplorable adventure. Artemisa ran immediately to her brother with a face overflown with tears, and bewailed his loss with all the lamentations, which an excess of good nature could put into a woman's mouth. Cleopatra, Coriolanus, and Marcellus thought themselves concerned in it merely out of a consideration of generosity, and not long after, they all jointly acknowledged the justice of the gods in that example, and submitted to their will in the punishment of that cruel King. Artemisa was still about the body of Artaxus with Megacles and the rest of the Armenians, who had their lives given them upon the mediation of Cleopatra. Cleopatra returned her thanks to Marcellus and Prince Alexander for their assistance, and Coriolanus, not able to stand for weariness by reason of the continual action he had undergone for so long time, and the weakness he was in, through certain wounds he had received, was sat down, and looked on what passed as a person distracted by different reflections, when Marcellus and Alexander, casting their eyes on him, knew him. Their astonishment was not small at that accident, for Alexander, having been acquainted by Marcellus with the pretended infidelity of Coriolanus, he was no less surprised than Marcellus, to find him with Cleopatra. Now Alexander, having ever loved the person, and respected the virtue of the Son of Juba, thought not the ground he had to hate him so great as should oblige him to forget the esteem he sometimes had had for him. But Marcellus, whose resentment proceeded from a more violent passion, could not absolutely moderate himself in that emergency, and looking accordingly on the Princess Cleopatra with a countenance wherein might be seen the lively characters of his astonishment: What, Sister, said he to her, is the King of Mauritania among you? And is that Prince, who is guilty of so horrid an infidelity both against you and me, so near Cleopatra, whom he had so ungratefully forsaken? You may credit your own eyes, says Cleopatra to him, and know withal, that that very inconstant man, whom you find so near me, hath fought all this day alone against Artaxus and all his men, hath killed the greatest part of those you see laid along upon the deck, overthrew Artaxus in your presence at the very instant, that he was going to take away my life, and hath done so much in my assistance, that without it, yours had come too late, and I had been yet in the hands and power of the King of Armenia. I never questioned, replies Marcellus, but that Coriolanus was the most valiant Prince upon earth; but we may as little doubt, for your part and mine, but that of all men he is the most unfaithful both to his Mistress and his friend.  
Coriolanus, as it were, awakened by this discourse, out of those reflections wherein his thoughts were employed before, and looking on Marcellus with a certain discovery of his resentment; Marcellus, said he to him, now do I perceive that thy cruelty knows no limits, and thou thinkest it nothing to crush a miserable man with such indignities as he could not have expected from a Prince that had sometimes been his friend. It is a great demonstration of my fidelity, that I suffer these affronts from thee with patience, and not many days since, when thou hadst an implacable design against my life, I presented my breast to the point of thy sword without the least opposition, though it be not unknown to thee that I am able to defend it. If it be any trouble to thee that thou didst not then take it from me, come now and destroy the pitiful remainders that are left of it, and satiate thyself with my blood without tormenting me continually with thy cruel persecution. Acknowledge the difference there was between us in point of friendship, since that, for an imaginary perfidiousness which thou wouldst have to be construed a real infidelity, thou art bend against my life with so much inhumanity, and that by so many unworthy actions of thine, (whence I cannot but too much infer thy baseness) thou couldst never abate any thing of that affection which my heart hath conceived for thee, and does still preserve, indeed, but with too too much fidelity. Go cruel man, triumph over my misfortune by thy change, and prosecute, with Cleopatra, those enjoyments which I am content to resign to thee. I must needs at last conclude from the conformity which I perceive there is between her sentiments and thine, that it is upon thy account, and to enjoy thee, that she slights me, as conceiving her fortune will be much better with Caesar's Nephew, a person destined for the Empire of the Universe, then with a beggarly dispossessed Prince, whom Fortune hath not left any thing but his sword. And yet as contemptible and as wretched as I am, I would not resign the interest I have in her to Tiberius, while I had one drop of blood left in my veins, and I would wander all over the World, but I would find him, and take away his life, did I but once imagine that Cleopatra were designed for him. But for thee, who didst sometimes quit the pretensions thou hadst to her, to me, I find in myself a compliance for thee, suitable to so great an obligation, and if I cannot look on thy fortune without dying, I will be so far from being any way thy hindrance, that I shall haply by my death remove out of thy way the greatest obstacle which any other but thyself could have met with in such a business.  
This was the discourse of Coriolanus, and notwithstanding the cruel prejudice, whereby some, that were concerned in it, were possessed, yet had it that influence upon their spirits, that it was impossible for them to conceal the discoveries of their sympathy. Marcellus, who was a person of an excellent good nature, could not dissemble it; and doing himself a certain violence to express what he felt within him; Coriolanus, said he to the Prince, how far soever I ought to be persuaded of thy infidelity, yet have I not so great an aversion for thee, but that I would spend the best part of my blood, might it contribute any thing to thy justification; and if thy proceeding had been such as to leave us anything to doubt of, thou hadst found an advocate in my heart, that would have maintained thy innocence against all the World to the last minute of my life. But, Coriolanus, thou wert not pleased to afford us that comfort, and hast taken such a course to have thy crime noised through the whole Roman Empire, that unless we had been without the limits of it, banished into the most remote parts of the earth, it was impossible we should be ignorant thereof. Ask the most inconsiderable person among the Romans what the infidelity of Coriolanus was, and by what means it broke forth; and then ask Caesar, ask all the Romans, nay, Cleopatra herself, whether I have betrayed thee, or whether, from the day that for thy sake I disengaged myself from the affection I had for her, I ever looked on her otherwise then as a Sister, or minded any man's interests as to her, but thine. Do not therefore charge either her or me with any baseness, since there hath happened no change in our sentiments, and that when we both accuse thee with a departure from thy former thoughts, and the infidelity thou hast committed against us, infer not that I have quitted Julia for Cleopatra, or that Cleopatra, shunning Coriolanus as a monster of ingratitude, hath looked on the Empire, or Marcellus, or indeed any other person that thou canst any way reproach her with.  
Coriolanus, being out of all patience at this discourse, rises up of a sudden, and coming to Marcellus in an excess of passion; I am satisfied, said he to him, that what thou sayest is true; but thou must either run me through this heart with thy sword, or expect to see me fall upon the point of my own, after the example of the King of Armenia, or let me understand at l●st, what this infidelity is, which is so well known to all the World, and unknown only to the person that hath committed it. I have nothing 〈◊〉 particular to acquaint thee withal, replies Marcellus, but it 〈◊〉 ever my opinion, that what was apparent to the eyes of all the World carried crime enough in it to deny thee the thought of innocence, and that thou needest not express thyself more plainly both to Cleopatra and Marcellus, then by sending plenipotentiary Ambassadors to Caesar, with credentials under the great Seal of Mauritania, to demand of him the Princess Julia in marriage, and thereupon to do him homage for thy Kingdom.— Who? ay! cries out the Prince, at this discourse of Marellus, have I sent Ambassadors to Caesar to demand Julia of him, and to do him homage for my Dominions? 'tis true Coriolanus, says the Princess Cleopatra, who had been silent all the time, 'tis true, Coriolanus, you did send them, and if we ha●● not seen them ourselves with their credential letters in form, and with full power, we should hardly have been persuaded to a thing so improbable. Theocles, one of the most eminent of your Subjects, was the chief person of that Embassy, and he came along with Volusius to Rome, at his return out of Mauritania. There was nothing omitted in that affair, either as to solemnity or form, and if it wrought not the effect you expected it should, it hath raised in the heart of your friend, and that very justly, the resentment he hath discovered to you, and in that of the unfortunate Cleopatra, a grief which will bring her to the grave.  
Cleopatra having thus disburdened her thoughts by this discourse, Camilla, whom the virtue of that Prince had ever obliged to side with him, perceiving he was mute and immovable at these reproaches, comes to him, and in few words acquainted him more at large, with the cause of his misfortune, and the truth how all things were managed between Volusius and his Ambassadors. The son of Juba no less cast down at this discourse then if he had been struck with a thunderbolt, stood still for a good space of time looking still about him as if it had been to seek for some either to witness his innocence, or make good the charge put in against him. At last, dispelling his astonishment, and fearing his silence might be thought an argument of his guilt, he comes nearer to Cleopatra, and setting one knee to the ground; Madam, said he to her, I humbly crave your pardon, for my having charged you with any thing unjustly; I should have known, that you are just in all things, and thence have inferred, that your change could not proceed but from a cause suitable thereto. I might haply, not without reason, hope it from your goodness and the friendship of Marcellus, that you would have proved my advocate to yourself, and plead my cause against the artifices and designs of my enemies. And this it was not hard for you to take notice of, since there was little likelihood I should so much court the alliance and friendship of Caesar when I was possessed of the throne of my Ancestors, having slighted it in a time when I had no favour or fortune to hope for but from him alone, or that I should voluntarily offer him the homage of my kingdoms after I had conquered them by open war, and the defeat of his forces, when I had not long before refused them of him upon those very terms. But, in fine, since I have not been so fortunate as to find that protection in you, and that you have really been persuaded that I had been guilty of a baseness so improbable as that, and, if I may presume to say it, so disconsonant to the other actions of my life, it concerns me to endeavour my own justification, and to satisfy both you, and all the world besides, of the impossibility there is I should be guilty of so base an infidelity. I must find out Volusius and Theocles, and I must find out Tiberius, who, no doubt, is the Author of this cruel intrigue. I hope, through the assistance of the gods, to make my innocence apparent to all, and am confident that within a short time I shall dispel all these mists of plots and prejudice. But, Madam, you may be pleased to remember, that when you banished me out of your sight for ever, and pronounced that dreadful sentence, which hath occasioned all my losses, I was master of two great Kingdoms which I came to present you with, and that through the despair you put me into, you deprived me not only of the power but even of the design I had to go and maintain them, as no doubt I could have done against all the forces of the Universe. Through that misfortune is it now come to pass that I have nothing left me, as having lost, not only the crowns I had conquered, but also the Friendship of Caesar, from whom I was to hope for all I could expect. So that when I shall return again into your sight, in a condition innocent enough to hope a readmission into your favour, I shall have no Crown to offer you nor indeed a refuge in any part of the earth, it being not so easy for me to expect a second revolt of my Subjects, after I have by my negligence betrayed them to Caesar's severity, and the orders he hath settled in the Provinces since his last conquest thereof. Thus Madam, can I not cast my eyes on you with any confidence, nor indeed desire, you should fasten your self to the fortunes of a miserable person that hath not an inch of earth to offer you and to entertain you in. However I go my ways in order to my justification, so to satisfy both my love and my duty, by both which I am equally obliged thereto: and when I shall have effected it, I shall either, out of a compliance with the will of the gods, not disturb a better fortune, which it is in their power to send you, or, with my hopes, lose a life which must needs be troublesome to you, and to me insupportable.  
To this effect was the discourse of Juba's son, and Cleopatra and Marcellus were so moved thereat, as also at the reflection he caused them to make upon the deplorable change of his condition, that they could not forbear tears, and all other demonstrations of the tenderness, compassion, and sympathy, which might be expected upon such an occasion. Cleopatra, the most concerned of any to express her sentiments to the Prince, looking on him with eyes wherein could not be seen any thing of displeasure; Go Coriolanus, said she to him, go, and endeavour your justification, I desire you should effect it, no less than you do yourself. 'Tis possible you might be sufficiently justified in my apprehensions by the things you have done for my deliverance, by the probability which I find in your discourse, and by the good opinion I have of you, were it not requisite to make your innocence apparent, that so it might be lawful for Cleopatra to readmit you, with honour, into her former favour and affection. They are but the just rewards of your fidelity, if you have continued in it, and the loss of your Kingdoms shall lose you nothing in my heart if yours have suffered no change. In the mean tune conceal yourself in a Country where you are to fear all things, as being so near so powerful an enemy; and assure yourself that in the uncertainty I may be in of your fidelity, I am not so little concerned in the safety of your life, but that I tremble when I reflect on the hazards whereto you expose it.  
With these words she reached forth her hand to raise him up, and the Prince imagined to himself so much kindness and obligation in what she had said, as also in all the other demonstrations of her affection, that for the time he had in a manner lost all remembrance of his misfortunes. He stood still and made no reply, not knowing how to express his resentments, when Marcellus, looking on him with eyes red by reason of the tears he had shed; Prince, whom I once loved so dearly, said he to him, and whom I cannot yet hate, if you are innocent I know not what reparations to make you; but what condition soever you may be found in, I here promise that I will never oppose you.  
Having said thus much, they all went towards Artemisa who was showering down her tears upon the body of her Brother, and, after they had given her a little time to recover herself, they entreated her to pass into the other vessel. Artemisa was content, and was handed in by her Alexander, who, looking on her now as Queen of Armenia, by reason of the general opinion there was of the death of Ariobarzanes, would have behaved himself with more respect towards her than he had done before, would she have permitted it. They ordered Megacles to carry the body of Artaxus to Alexandria, that it might be embalmed, and transported thence into the monument of his Fathers: and Coriolanus, who had a great esteem for Megacles, out of a consideration of his virtue, would needs be carried ashore in his ship. Cleopatra, Marcellus, Alexander and Artemisa, having once more taken their leaves of him, went into their own, and, with all the joy and satisfaction, which they could derive from the liberty of the two Princesses, set sail towards Alexandria.  
FINIS.    


TO THE Truly Virtuous Lady, Mrs. JANE AUBREY, Of Ynis-gedwin in the County of Brecon.  
MADAM,  
THink it not strange, to find so great a Princess so unfortunate, nor much, to entertain her suitably to her condition, though not to her quality, and afford her what her misfortunes have forced from all she hath addressed herself to, Compassion. We are much moved at the distresses of Strangers, merely out of a consideration of their being such; but when we find the greatest Merit and Excellencies struggling with Calamities, Virtue itself surrounded with the inconveniencies of life, and such, whose veins swell with the noblest blood, exposed to all the miseries of a malicious destiny, it defies Humanity to be unconcerned, and is able to force the most barbarous inclinations into Sympathy. All these recommendations have we, Madam, in the person of the incomparable CLEOPATRA, one whom her misfortunes have wafted for refuge all over the World, yet afford not a greater hope of their drawing towards a Period, then that they have brought her to the extremities of it, as it were, to try the entertainment of Wales, after that of so many other Countries.  
And where should I address her there, with greater hopes of reception and assistances then to a Family, which glories only in the secret satisfaction that attends the doing of what is highly generous and obliging, and sheds its kindnesses as much beyond the expectations as deserts of those that receive them. This is an acknowledgement, Madam, which those, I have in particular received from your noble Father, force from me, and which I hope your Modesty will pardon, since that, though it were much greater, it would be below the resentments may justly be expected in,  
Madam, Your most humble and most obliged servant, J. DAVIES.   

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART X. LIB. I.  
ARGUMENT.  
ARtaban and Elisa, Princess of the Parthians, take sanctuary in Alexandria. Agrippa, under whose protection they had cast themselves, falls in love with Elisa, but out of consideration of virtue and generosity forbears the discoveries of his affection. Candace and Elisa discourse of their loves. Caesario (generally known by the name of Cleomedon) comes to Alexandria, upon intelligence that Queen Candace was there, with whom he hath a secret interview in the night time. He entertains her and Elisa with a continuation of his History. He gives battle, with 16000 men, to Tiribasus, who had 100000. is left for dead in the field, but afterwards miraculously recovered by Eteocles, who was left in a condition not much better. The next day after the battle, Eurinoe, an Ethiopian Lady, coming into the Field to seek the body of her beloved Teramenes, is brought also to that of Cleomedon, whom, as having killed him, and not long before a Brother of hers, she would have run through with a dagger, but is prevented by Eteocles. Making a second attempt to do it, she finds something in his countenance, which being taken with, she hath compassion on him, causing him and Eteocles to be carried to her Castle, where they were nobly entertained, and recovered of their wounds. Eurinoe, having given order for the enterrement of her dear Teramenes, he miraculously recovers to life, and is brought by Pelorus to a sister's house of his, where he is secretly cured, and informed of all that passes at Eurinoe's. She falls in love with Cleomedon, whom she much presses to promise her a mutual affection: but he persisting in his former resolutions of virtue, and constancy towards Candace, all proves ineffectual. Several conferences they had together to that purpose, most of which are overheard by Teramenes, who thereupon conceives a great esteem for Cleomedon. At last Teramenes is reconciled to Eurinoe, and by the mediation of Cleomedon they are married before his departure thence; and, in requital of his good offices, furnish him with all things necessary. He goes to Telemactrus and Onisthenes, to whom he discover himself, and acquaints them with the design he had against Tiribasus.  
IN the mean time, the Queen of Ethiopia, and the Princess of the Parthians were gotten into Alexandria, and after that the two Princesses had been disposed into their several lodgings, Cornelius, who had already taken order for the entertainment of the King of the Medes, did the like for the accommodation of Artaban. This latter, though he were not looked upon as a person of a royal rank, as Tygranes was, yet was he treated with as much respect as any of those that wore Diadems; and the great reputation he had acquired, such as was already spread over the whole earth, added to the gracefulness of his countenance, and that majestic air which was so remarkable in his person, made Agrippa, and the Praetor of Egypt consider him as a man worthy all the reverence and acknowledgement that might be due even to the Caesars. Though by an extraordinary indulgence of good fortune he had come off without wounds, having been engaged in so great a fight as he was that day, yet was he not so throughly recovered of those he had received before, but that the action he had been in had weakened him so much, as that he stood in need of some rest. Elisa could have wished he should take his ease for a certain number of days; but, not able to persuade him to it, by reason of the impossibility which he urged there was he should forbear waiting on her for so long time, after he had so miraculously met with her again, she laid her commauds on him not to stir out of his bed for that night, and the best part of the next day, though she did no small violencce to herself merely out of the tenderness she had for his health. He obeyed her commands with that respectful submission, which, notwithstanding his heat and fierceness, he had ever observed towards her, and, receiving the lodgings appointed him, and the Officers whom Cornelius ordered to wait on him, with abundance of satisfaction and respects, he passed over that night in his bed with reflections much different from those which he had had, for some that preceded it. Certain it is, that that great soul, great even among those that could pretend most to greatness, though it were not immoderately subject either to grief or joy, was at this time sensible of both: for as it had, in the loss of Elisa, made trial of the greatest spite that a malicious fortune could do him; so in the happy recovery of her, he had met with the sweetest satisfaction he could be capable of.  
During these pleasant entertainments of his thoughts, reflecting on the many extraordinary accidents that chequered his life, and not a little delighted with the consideration of those many victories that had raised his fame to so a high pitch, and the noble demonstrations of his affection to his Princess, he could hardly for some time so much as think of the misfortunes he had already run through, or the opposition he might for the future meet withal, through either the cruelty of Phraates, or the troublesome interview between him and the King of the Medes. All this signified very little with him, when it came into his mind that he had found Elisa again, that, by many discoveries, he found her not displeased that she had met him, that he was within the same walls with her, and that in a place, where she stood not in fear of any thing from either the authority or tyranny of Phraates. O ye immortal gods, said he at last, directing his thoughts to Heaven with all possible acknowledgement, O ye assistant deities, who have ever delivered me out of those abysses of misfortunes, whereinto an implacably malicious Fortune, and the ingratitude of men have often forced me! I humbly acknowledge your power in this miraculous effect of your goodness, and I repine no longer for what I have suffered, either from the hands of ungrateful men, or from the contrary disposal of my destiny, since you have been pleased at length to restore me my Elisa. I have not forgotten how much I am obliged to celebrate your divine assistances, not only for a many victories which have proved the means to raise me to some name and rank in the World, but also for the extraordinary protection which you thought fit to afford me, as well amidst the swords of my enemies, as the angry waves. There is therefore much less reason I should forget, that, at the point of despair, you restore my Princess, and with her those felicities which are not subject either to the inconstancy of Fortune or the ingratitude of men.  
From this consideration his thoughts were taken up with Tigranes, and he began to reflect on the obstacles and inconveniences he might fear from him, and his unfortunate meeting with him; and certainly, such a reflection, had it happened at some other time might have moderated, if not disturbed, his joy, but, as things stood now, it was not so considerable as to come into balance against his present happiness. Whereupon, calling to mind how that during the small time he had been felicified with the company of his Elisa, he had observed that her affections were absolutely devoted to him, and that she had all aversion that could be for tigranes, he could not but raise his thoughts to a certain confidence, that all the hindrance he might fear from that Rival would not be able to injure his Fortune. The protection which Agrippa had put him in hopes of amounted to so much, as to win him into a belief, that Caesar would not any way oppose him, and the constancy he had perceived in Elisa towards him, though she were not naturally guilty of too much forwardness, made him imagine that though all the world should be against him, yet was his happiness so surely grounded on the affection of his Princess, that nothing could shake it. Amidst these imaginations wherein it might be said he placed a certain felicity, his greatest disquiet, was, that he wanted the sight and presence of his Elisa for some few hours; and the impatience he was in to see her again, made him look on that one night, and a piece of the next day as if it had been a year, so trivial seemed to him the consideration of his rest in comparison of that of his Love.  
But if his reflections troubled and interrupted his sleep, that of the great Agrippa might be said to be subject to greater distraction. For the passion he had for Elisa having already arrived to its full strength, and being come to such a height as that all the force of his understanding and discourse was not able to oppose it, the effects it had wrought in his soul were accordingly so violent, that he could expect no other issue thereof but perpetual and inevitable disquiet. And though it had been merely out of the consideration of his own virtue, which would not suffer him to deny the doing of a good action, when an opportunity offered itself to do it, that he had protected Artaban, against the arms and power of Tygranes, and purely out of generosity had taken his part rather than that of the King of the Medes, yet was it not in his power to forbear looking on him as his Rival, and that not as a Rival out of favour and slighted, as Tygranes was, but as one much esteemed by Elisa, and consequently as the only person that had been so fortunate as to engage her affections. He had, it seems, that very day observed very evident demonstrations of the mutual respects that passed between them. And whereas, on the other side, the revolutions which had happened in the Kingdom of the Parthians and that of the Medes by the valour and conduct of Artaban were of such consequence as that they were known all over the world; in like manner, his inclinations for Elisa, and the ingratitude of Phraates, made no small noise among the Romans and by that means was come to the ears of Agrippa so that when he looked on Artaban he must needs consider him as that person, who of all men was the most likely and most able to cross him in his love, or rather as the only man that could ruin all his pretences.  
This consideration made him sigh for very grief, and if his virtue had not been so great, no question but he had repent him of the assistance he had given him: but, having withal a great and gallant soul, and all his resentments conformable to the noble fame he had acquired, he could not be troubled that he had done what he ought to have done, and thought it sufficient only to quarrel at the crossness of his Fortune without being guilty of a wish that should any way derogate from his virtue. Nay, he was not able to conceive any aversion for such a Rival, and those excellent qualities which might oblige him to fear Artaban, were no less powerful in obliging him to love him, as representing to him, that he might by the same means deserve the friendship of Agrippa, as he had obtained the love of Elisa. And yet all this hindered not but that he wished himself loved by Elisa, and all the great virtue he was master of, could not oppose in him a desire so natural to those that Love, nor prevail with him to quit Elisa to Artaban, though he were very much in her favour, and not unworthy her affections. He was satisfied that how earnest soever he might be to gain her love, all his endeavours would prove ineffectual, and yet his passion exasperated by that kind of despair seemed to grow more and more powerful, and to seat itself in his soul with more empire and authority.  
From this therefore he concluded; that it was impossible for him to give over loving Elisa, and thereupon resolved to do all that lay in his power to force her inclinations from Artaban● and to give a check to the favour she was pleased to afford him. But, in regard that all his thoughts were comformable to honour and generosity, and out of a consideration that he could not, without prejudice to both, disturb a noble affection grounded on extraordinary Services, and that, between persons that had cast themselves under his protection, in a place where he had all power in his own hands, and where, in all likelihood, he could not make use of his authority, without a certain kind of tyranny, he sought but a mean to reconcile his Love to his Virtue, and to manage the former without prejudice to the latter.  
Upon these reflections he resolved to dispute the business fairly with Artaban, without any advantage as to matter of power, and to strive with him for the heart of Elisa, by desert and services, and not make use of his credit in the Empire, or the authority of Caesar. Being confirmed daily more and more in that resolution; What injury, said he, do I do Artaban, by being desirous to engage with him in a combat; wherein all the advantage is of his side? And what quarrel can be justly have against me when I shall with no other force, than that of Love, assault a heart already delivered up to his disposal, and that a heart favourably prepossessed for him with all that may make him happy, to my prejudice. I am not engaged to him either upon any account of Friendship, or obligation, and therefore see no reason that should persuade me tamely to sit down in my own misery, out of a fear of thwarting his happiness. There are few persons haply that have such a command of their inclinations, as to confine themselves to those rules which I propose to myself, and it is in Love rather than policy, and to gain the possession of what a man most affects, rather than to gain a kingdom, that it is lawful to employ all arms, and to make use of all manner of forces. And yet to avoid the reproach, I might make to myself, of having abused my Fortune against persons to whom it is contrary, I will by no means make use of Augustus' favour, or the power I have in the Empire, but shall be content to be unhappy while I live, if my happiness cannot be effected by other ways than those.  
Having so said, he recollected himself for some few minutes, as if he were extremely well satisfied with the resolution he had taken. But not long after, reflecting on the difficulty of his enterprise, and the little hope he had to bring it to any effect: It is true, continued he, that by this course I should avoid that remorse and those scruples which might rise in my mind, for oppressing, by my power, a man whose virtue is not inferior to my own: but, alas! if this be the way to quiet my conscience, it is also the only course I can take to crush my hopes; that is, I undertake a business whereof I cannot expect the success should be fortunate. Artaban is already very much in the affections of Elisa, and besides the eminent services, whereby he hath deserved her favour, he is otherwise worthy of it upon the account of the great excellencies of his person, as much as for the noble effects of his Love. So that there is very little probability, that a Soul engaged not only by a great merit and very considerable services, but also haply by a strong inclination, can easily be disengaged by a new affection, if I neglect my advantages, (which alone may come into comparison with those of my Rival) and merely upon the account of merit deal with a merit, which is so far from being inferior to my own, that it hath already wrought in the soul of Elisa, all that I could hope, or rather all that I could desire.  
This reflection troubled, and cast him down very much; but not long after taking encouragement from that little shadow of hope which ever offers itself even to the most miserable; Why, added he, may it not be lawful for me to hope? There happen daily revolutions no less strange than what I am about to undertake, and if a man may be pardoned a little self-conceit upon some certain occasions, I may hope something beyond the ordinary rate of men. My person is not unacceptable to those that see me, I have some name among men, my rank is considerable enough to work some effect on the inclinations of Elisa, to the prejudice of a man, to whom heaven, though it hath bestowed on him great advantages, hath denied some part of those which it was but requisite he should have to pretend to the Princess of the Parthians. Let us hope then if we may presume to do it, or at least, let us not absolutely despair, since that hope is a virtue so much inclined to assist any one, that it hardly forsakes the most unfortunate that are, though in their greatest and last extremities.  
Thus were Agrippa and Artaban treated by love, (who at this time, in a City where the Ptolemies had reigned, was taken up with nobler employments than haply he had met with in all the extent of his Empire) while Prince Ariobarzanes, and Prince Philadelph, were entertained by him with such enjoyments as to all others were incomprehensible. These two Lovers, who, after so many traverses of fortune, and so many tempests, saw themselves at the feet of their amiable Princesses, as it were in a secure Haven, could not without some difficulty apprehend the greatness of their felicity, when they reflected on their past miseries, and may in some sort be said to have found that, in the excess of their joy, which they had avoided in their afflictions and dangers. All that day was spent in transports, such as the prudence of their Princesses would have moderated, though ineffectually; and though those of Ariobarzanes, should, proportionably to his adventures, and the accidents had happened to him, (which indeed had been of the most dangerous and extraordinary) have expressed in all probability something more vehement than could be expected from those of Philadelph; yet was it certain, that in the soul of the Prince of Cilicia, there passed somewhat that argued a greater tenderness and sensibility of affection. For, this satisfaction having happened equally to both that they had met with the Princesses they adored, and whom they sought out so earnestly, Philadelph had this advantage, that now he had by many infallible demonstrations discovered himself to be admitted to a happiness which he was not before assured of, and found that his amiable Delia, who, while they were in Cilicia, could never be persuaded to declare what sentiments she had for him, made no difficulty to afford him, even in the presence, and with the consent, of her Brother, the greatest proofs of affection he could have desired, from a virtue, such as was that of Delia. Above a hundred times that day had he embraced her knees, with expressions of love particular to his passion; and the modest Arsinoe, mildly putting him back, could not but with joy observe the continuation of that noble affection, whereof he had given her so many obliging demonstrations in Cilicia. The more he called to mind those pleasant entertainments, the more it added to his acknowledgements, insomuch, that the fair Olympia, whom Ariobarzanes had already acquainted with all the particulars of their History, conceiving an affection towards Philadelph, upon the account had been given her of his generous way of proceeding, took occasion to confirm Arsinoe more and more in the resentments she had thereof.  
Yet was not this felicity of Philadelph without some disturbance, for the experience he had of the King of Armenia's disposition, (which was such as admitted no reconciliation with his enemies) put him, not without some ground, into a fear he might refuse his alliance, and, out of the hatred he had him for his house, raise him some new difficulties. Arsinoe herself was not absolutely free from that fear, and could not dissemble it to Philadelph, when he discovered his to her: but Ariobarzanes gave him the best consolations and assurances he could, by promising him that he would further his interests as much as lay in his power, even though the King his Brother should oppose them, and that he would perish rather than that Arsinoe should be any other man's than Philadelph. Besides, when it came to the worst, they had this course to gain the consent of Artaxus, still left them, which was to make use of the authority of Augustus, who had such an influence upon the King of Armenia, that he could not deny him any thing, having some intentions, to that very end, to cast themselves under the protection of Augustus, who had sometimes proffered it them, and making no doubt but that he would employ the utmost of his interest to effect their quiet, not only upon their own entreaty, but also upon the recommendation of Agrippa, who had promised to assist them with all the power he had with the Emperor. The same mediation they thought would prove effectual with the King of Cilicia, who in all probability would gladly comply with the desires of Caesar, though, on that side, all that was to be done was to satisfy Arsinoe, in regard Philadelph was fully resolved not to be troubled at any obstacles, which through the means of the King his Father, might any way delay his happiness.  
As for Ariobarzanes, his trouble was much less, as being not obliged, as Arsinoe was, to be guided by the will of his Brother, and knowing no reason he could allege to disapprove the alliance of Olympia. However, he hoped he should not want Caesar's Authority, if it were requisite, and doubted not but he should find him favourable in an occasion which of its self was sufficiently such. The consent of Adallas he stood not at all upon, as thinking it unnecessary, and, besides that he had already given it, he had, by the inconstancy of his proceedings, given them but too clear a dispensation from all ordinary proceedings. The greatest regret he now had, was, that he wanted a Crown to present Olympia withal, as Adallas had sometimes cast it in his dish. For though that Princess seemed to be very well satisfied with his present condition, and to prefer his person before all the Empires of the World, yet had it been no small difficulty to him to digest the displeasure he conceived thereat, had there not been a certain hope left, that with the help of the same sword which had defended Thrace with so much valour, he might possibly raise Olympia to the dignity of her Ancestors. Besides, it must needs be some grief to him, to observe, in the Princess' countenance, the alteration, which her sickness and sufferings had wrought therein; but he doubted not but that in an age, such as was that of Olympia, joy might recover what sadness had taken away, nay, he was further of opinion, that the change which her condition had received that very day, had in that small space of time retrived no small part of her beauty.  
These four, mutually loving, and mutually beloved persons, having thus passed the day together, understood at night, and not long after the return of Elisa and Candace, some part of what had happened to them, and how that the Princess of the Parthians, had almost been carried away: but what they heard was with some uncertainty and confusion. And therefore since it was very late, & that they were assured the Princesses were safely arrived in the palace they forbore the visit they intended them till the next day, as being only to express how much they concerned themselves in their adventure, and their desires to be acquainted with the particulars thereof.  
In the mean time, Candace, and the fair Elisa being retired to the lodgings appointed them, after they had endured the conversation of Agrippa and Cornelius for the space of an hour, were no sooner left alone with the women that attended them, but perceiving themselves delivered of the company that had hindered them from entertaining one another when they had the greatest desire and opportunity to do it, they caused their chamber door to be made fast, that they might discourse with greater privacy and liberty. After they had looked upon one the other, with eyes wherein might be perceived some part of what they had to say, they embraced one another with as much earnestness, as if it had been a long time since they had met. Whereupon, sitting down together upon a bed, Candace began first to speak, and pressing Elisa's hand between her own, with an action expressing the greatness of her friendship; Well then, my dearest Princess, said she to her, will you not for the future give credit to my predictions, and was I not a true prophetess, when I promised you a happy change in your fortune? Fairest Queen, replied Elisa, returning her caresses, I should but poorly acknowledge the happiness it was to me to meet with you, should I not have derived from it all the advantages I could expect, for I have not only found what I gave over for lost, according to your prediction, but I have found it by your means, and through that inspiration which no doubt you had from Heaven, to take me along with you to that happy walk. So that it seems then, replies Candace, I am not like to be henceforth the most satisfied of us two, and that you will return me some part of those consolations which you have received from me, when I shall bewail Caesario, as you did Artaban. May it not please the gods, replied Elisa, that you have the same occasion to do it; I had with these eyes seen Artaban buried in the waves, and you have seen Caesario living within these few days, and know that he is not far from Alexandria. I know not certainly, replies Candace with a sigh, whether I may trust my own eyes or no, and through the experience I have of my own unhappiness, I begin to imagine that rencontre a pure illusion. But whatever it may have been, I am content for this day to suspend the remembrance of all my misfortunes, to dispose myself the more absolutely to joy out of a compliance with your good fortune, wherein I think myself so much concerned, that I can hardly believe your apprehensions of it more lively than mine. This argues you as excellent in point of goodness, replied Elisa, as you are in all those great perfections which make you so admirable a person, and these I am so extremely sensible of, that ...  
No more of that, I beseech you, says Candace, interrupting her, I do not expect any acknowledgements, from you, of an affection, which, being but too much your due, the expressions I make you thereof cannot be excessive, nay I question not but your merit will force as much from all the World besides. But since it is lawful for me to rejoice with you, now that all occasion of your weeping is taken away; do you not expect I should reproach you with a felony you are guilty of towards me, for having stolen from me a man, whose first inclinations, if I am not much mistaken, were directed to me? And consequently you will give me leave to charge you with the trick you put upon me, in that, when you related to me the great actions of Artaban, you would not let me know that it was Britomarus, and that, when I gave you an account of the first actions of Britomarus, you would not tell me it was your Artaban.  
You charge me with two things, replied the Princess, whereof I shall find it no great difficulty to clear myself. For the former, which is, that I have robbed you of the heart of Artaban, I am to tell you, that the age and condition he was of when he was with you, considered, there is little probability he should lift up his eyes so high as you; and that further, supposing that might happen, the treatment he received from you, continued she smiling, might haply displace you out of his heart, so that there might not possibly be any necessity he should meet with Elisa the more to alienate his inclinations from you. And for the latter, which is, that I had not discovered to you that Artaban was the same person with Britomarus, I can assure you, that I have ever been ignorant of it as well as yourself; that Artaban never acquainted me with any thing that had happened unto him before I knew him, and that, being satisfied that his greatest glory consisted in the memorable actions he had done, whereof those of most consequence we had the knowledge of, I was never guilty of a curiosity to know any more of his fortune than he was pleased of himself to communicate to me, out of a fear of engaging him in a discourse, which he should take no great delight in.  
I am very much troubled, added the Queen of Aethiopia, that I have acquainted you with that particularity of the first beginnings of his life, though it discover as much of the greatness of his courage, as the gallant actions he hath done since, and could I have thought that Britomarus was sometime to be Artaban, I should not have let you known how he had lived with me, in a condition not proportionable to the rank which he now deserves to be in among men. Assure your yourself, replied Elisa coldly, that you have not done him any ill office by that discourse, and that Artaban, having only told us that he was of noble birth, hath not been with you in any employment, which might derogate aught from the nobility of his blood. On the other side, added she, with an action more free and cheerful, I shall not blush when I tell you, that you put me into no small joy, when you let me know that Britomarus had had some inclinations for you; and, if I should think it any misfortune or malice of my destiny to have complied with the affection of a man, whose birth is disproportionable to my own, I should have this comfort withal, that I were not the first of my rank and quality to whom he had addressed himself, and thence fall into this consideration, that he might very well lift up his eyes to me, when he had had the confidence to do it, you.  
This were but a very slight comfort, replied the Queen, but indeed you stand not in any need of it, since the virtue of Artaban is such as may both raise him to Crowns, and without doubt is to be preferred before them. But, my fairest Princess, continued she presently after, will you promise me that he shall be no longer at any distance with Caesario, if I may be so so happy as to meet with him again? He hath made you that promise himself, said the Princess to her, and, not to mention the respect he hath for you, and the consideration he may have of the desire I made to him to that purpose, there is so much advantage in the friendship of Caesario, as that he will not only desire it, but endeavour by all ways to purchase it; nay I dare further promise you upon the experience I have of the generosity of Artaban, that, if ever any occasion offer itself, he shall with the hazard of his life confirm the truth of what he hath already assured you of.  
Elisa having spoken to this effect, Candace spent a few minutes as it were in a deep recollection, not making her any answer at all. At last, awaking as it were out of it, and lifting up her head, she spoke to the Princess with much more earnestness than she had done before. But, Madam, said she to her, if I am not mistaken, you related a while since, before Agrippa and Cornelius, how that when Tigranes would have carried you away, you had been relieved by a certain man that laid him grovelling on the ground, and killed two of his men. 'tis very right, Madam, replied the Prencesse, I have been relieved by a very miraculous person: one that must certainly be Caesario, since it was not Artaban. The distraction and trouble I was in hindered me from taking better notice of him, only thus much I can remember of him, that he was somewhat pale in the face by reason of some wound or sickness; that he seemed to be much about the age of Artaban, and though I cannot haply speak of Artaban without partiality, yet methinks, measuring all things by the little notice I could take of him in so short a time, that either in point of beauty or valour, this person was not inferior to him. According to the description you make of him, added the Queen, I should be almost persuaded that it can be of no other than Caesario that you received that assistance, as being satisfied that unless it be Caesario, no man can come so near, as you express it, the valour and handsomeness of Britomarus. Might it please the gods, my most amiable Princess! to afford me a comfort so great as that of being certainly assured that it was really he and no other, who had done us that service. And this I the rather wish, not only out of a reflection that you had received it from a Prince I infinitely love, and could not do me the like more to my satisfaction in my own person than he hath in yours, but also out of a consideration that this action might in some part take away the aversion which Artaban hath for him, and might prove a likely means of a reconciliation, and as it were a short introduction to that Friendship which we would establish between them, as by fortune and the sympathy of our dispositions it is effected between us. Do not I beseech you make the least doubt, replied the Princess, but that Artaban will acknowledge this action with as much resentment as I do myself, and assure yourself, that, if I have received this relief from Caesario, his endeavours to gain his friendship will be greater than the dis-inclination he● sometime had towards him.  
The two Princesses would have continued their discourse for some time upon this subject, when Clitia who not long before 〈◊〉 g●ne out along with Cephira to take a little fresh air upon the Terrace, comes into the chamber, and presented herself before he Queen with a countenance wherein might be seen that the owner of it was in no small disturbance and astonishment. Candace having looked upon her, knew by her demeanour that she had something to say to her: whereupon, causing her to come nearer, she commanded her to discover before the Princess the cause of that disturbance which was so apparent in her countenance. Clitia having looked about her, and perceiving there was none in the chamber but only Vrione, whom they were confident of, takes the Queen by the hand, with a certain unusual eagerness; Madam, said she to her, the news I am to acquaint you with, is, no doubt, the best I could ever bring you; but indeed it is so great that you may well pardon the disturbance it hath put me into and which you took notice of. Caesario is in this palace, nay is come up upon the Terrace, and stays at your chamber-door. O ye heavenly Powers! Clitia, says the Queen, in a manner out of herself, what dost thou tell me? Is Caesario at my chamber-door? He is, replies Clitia, in the little Gallery which abutts upon the terrace, where he expects my return and your commands to wait on you. Taking advantage of the night and the confused number of persons that are in this palace he hath made a shift to get in; and being acquainted with all the passages of the place, as having not only been born here, but spent his youth in it, he hath without any difficulty got to your lodgings, and hath walked upon the terrace, till such time as he saw me appear, and, by the discourse I had with Cephisa, knew my voice. Whereupon, having called me softly by my name, he acquainted me with his own, and not long after with his person, whereof I had an impression so well graven in my memory, that it would not have been very hard for me to have discerned him in the greatest darkness.  
While Clitia gave this account of Caesario, the beautiful Queen was in a manner overwhelmed with an excess of joy, which, by a pleasant authority, got the dominion of her Soul; and, though fear and disquiet endeavoured to disturb it, yet was there a necessity they should give place to the first sallies of that passion, and suspend their effect, till the first violence of the other were spent. The Queen, casting one arm about Clitia's neck, Ah Clitia, said she to her, it is certainly decreed, that it is from you I must expect all the most happy tidings, and it was you that heretofore brought me word into the garden at Meroe, of the life and return of Caesario, at a time when I bewailed his death, and that I had renounced all the enjoyments of life.  
After she had said these words, she would have put a hundred questions to Clitia, and that all of a sudden, upon that accident: but she told her, that the time she had was to be otherwise spent, and that she must resolve either to see Caesario at the place where he expected her return, or permit him to come into the chamber. Now was it that fear began to disturb her joy; and if, on the one side, she were satisfied to see herself so near the Prince she dearly loved, she trembled, on the other, when she considered, that he was in a Palace whereof Augustus' Lieutenant had the command, and that a place where he must expect no less than to lay down his life, if he were discovered. This fear made her to shake again, and put her to such a loss that she knew not what resolution to take, looking sometimes on Elisa, sometimes on Clitia, as if it had been to ask their advice what she were best to do. The fair Princess of the Parthians, who had received so great consolations from the Queen, together with such remarkable demonstrations of Friendship, conceived herself extremely concerned not only in the joy, but also in the fear which she now struggled with, and would have been as glad as the other to find out a way to see Caesario with as little danger as might be. But, after they had continued for some time in uncertainty and at a loss what course should be taken, they at last thought it the safest way that he should be brought into the chamber, it being then such a time of the night that it was not likely they should be troubled with any more visits, especially there being conveniencies enough to hide him in case it were necessary, and that Clitia proffered, assoon as she had brought him into the chamber, to go out upon the terrace along with Cephisa, and to walk there a while, to see if any body came by whom they might be surprised. Besides all which, it made something for the security of the Prince that he was, not only, not known in Alexandria; but also his death was more firmly believed there, then in any other part of the world. Upon all these grounds summed up together, yet not without a great deal of doubt and terror, the Queen commanded Clitia to go and fetch him in, whereupon Elisa thinking herself obliged in discretion and civility to go into her own chamber, that they might be at a greater freedom in that interview, would have done it, but Candace embracing her would not permit it, and entreated her to be present at her felicity, as she had been at the happy meeting between her and her Artaban.  
Elisa, at the entreaty of Candace stays in the room, and presently after Clitia returns, bringing along with her the son of Caesar into the chamber. At that first sight, these two excellent souls felt in a moment all that a passion such as theirs could produce in a longer space of time, and their first looks communicated one to another, of an instant, what their hearts meant of greatest tenderness and passion. Assoon as ever the Prince appeared at the door, the Queen ran towards him, with an action, whence he might easily infer, how welcome his presence was to her; and the son of Cleopatra, kissed her hands and embraced her knees with such transportations of joy, as might well convince her that his Love had not admitted of the least diminution or remission. Candace, after she had embraced him very earnestly with both her arms, while he was yet in that submissive posture, raised him up, and entertained him with all those Caresses which were suitable to her dignity and modesty, considering withal the violence of her affection. During the first expressions of their mutual satisfaction and joy, their discourse was accordingly confused, and incoherent; but when the violence of those were over, Candace, retreating some few paces back, as it were to take the better notice of the Prince; What Cleomedon, said she to him, the gods it seems have thought fit to restore you to me, after so many dangers as I had run through myself, and so many others wherein I had left you? But, Madam, replies the Prince, it was then decreed I should find you, after I had so unfortunately lost you, and what is more, I do not only find you living, and full of goodness for me, but I meet with you in Alexandria, in the Palace of my Fathers; and in that very Chamber, wherein I drew the first mouthful of air, and saw the first beams of light. 'tis an accident, I must confess, replies Candace, that speaks something extraordinary, and if you are surprised at it, I must needs be not a little moved thereat. O how does this second life which I here receive, added the Prince, make the Palace of the Ptolomey's much more dear and precious in my apprehension then the former which I ought it, and how easily can I bear with the loss of the command of it when I find therein what is a thousand times more dear to me then thousands of Empires and thousands of lives.  
To this discourse he would have added much more, to the same effect, and the beautiful Queen, whose affection was not inferior to his, though, out of the civility and reservedness suitable to her sex, she moderated herself the more, looked on him with a certain delight, and had pleasantly seconded him herself in the expressions of his love, had she not thought it unhandsome to suffer any more, before the Princess of the Parthians, till Caesario had taken notice of her and saluted her. Upon that account, mildly interrupting him, she obliged him to turn towards Elisa, and prepared him to salute her as the greatest Princess upon earth, and the best friend she had in the World. Caesario, however he might be transported at the sight of Candace, was astonished, and in a manner dazzled at that of Elisa, and, coming near her with a respect, which her admirable beauty, and the words of Candace easily forced him into, saluted her with such submission, as the most inconsiderable of mankind might do the heiress of the throne of the Arsacides, and received from her all the civility she could have done him, had he been possessor of the Empire. He was not at all surprised to meet with Elisa, whom he knew before to be in Alexandria, and with Candace, but looking more earnestly in her face, he thought he had seen her that very day once before, and the fair Elisa taking more particular notice of him, discovered in his, that he was the same man whom she was talking of some few minutes before, and who had that day relieved her against the violence of the King of Media. She no sooner perceived it, but but her gratitude and acknowledgement working their effect upon her, she turned towards Candace, with a countenance which partly expressed the sense she had of that obligation. Madam, said she to her, our wishes are accomplished, and if you find in this Prince a person infinitely dear to you, I find in him, that of my valiant defender, and look on him accordingly as one whom I owe, not only my liberty, but also the happiness I have to be bear with you.  
These words put the Prince into a modest blush, and receiving them with a abundance of submission; Madam, said he to her, I have done no more for you then you might have received from any man whatsoever upon the same occasion; but indeed it proved so favourable and so glorious a one to me, that I ought to have hoped for no less in consequence thereto, than the great happiness which I enjoy this fortunate day.  
Having thus expressed himself he thought himself obliged to observe a greater reservedness in the presence of Elisa, as conceiving it not fit he should disburden himself before her of all that lay upon his heart. But Candace, taking notice of it, would not suffer him to entertain any such thought, and after she had looked on the Princess with a smile; Ca●sario, said she to the Princess, since I have had sufficient experience of your respect, even so far, as not to fear any incivility from you even in deserts, and that the Princess hath a greater goodness and friendship for me then to deny us that liberty, I must tell you that her presence obliges you not to any reservedness but what may be expected only upon account of the respect due to her, and not upon the score of any circumspection otherwise. And this you may be confident of, in that before her I call you Caesario, in Alexandria, and you will haply be the more assured of it when I shall have told you that she is not only acquainted with all our adventures, but also, that she is not ignorant of my most secret thoughts.  
Upon that assurance, and the freedom you are pleased to afford me, replied the Prince, I shall presume, my fairest Queen, to ask you what posture my life and fortunes are in, and to conjure you to let me know whether it be possible, that distance, distractions, and the dangers whereto you have been exposed, have wrought any change in that fortunate condition to which you had out of your own goodness raised me? May I hope, fairest Queen, continued he (setting one knee to the ground, instead of sitting in a chair which Urione had brought to the bedside, where the Princesses were already sat) ought I, and may I hope that that precious affection, whereby you have made me the most glorious person in the World ...  
'tis enough, said the Queen interrupting him, and forcing him to rise, it is enough, I doubt not but you could answer that question sufficiently to your own satisfaction were you so pleased, and I am in a manner confident, that you make not the least doubt of the constancy of an affection, which I have inviolably preserved for you, amidst traverses of fortune as great haply as those that may have happened to yourself since our separation. Not but I must confess, that I have been in more than ordinary extremities, and my life and affairs in such a posture, that I stood very much in need of your assistance. Ah Madam, replied the Prince, I have understood no less from Eteocles, whom it hath pleased the gods to preserve for my comfort; he hath indeed given me an account of that dreadful danger, whereto you were reduced, when you fell into the hands of the Pirate Zenodorus, and that admirable resolution which your virtue inspired you with rather to sacrifice your life to flames and waves, then to suffer any violence. It is possible, indeed, added the Queen, that that action might proceed purely from my virtue; but I must withal entreat you to conceive yourself a little obliged to me in it, and accordingly believe, that the design I had to preserve myself absolutely yours to the last gasp, extremely fortified me in that resolution.  
Caesario was so strangely transported with joy at these obliging expressions, that he was at some loss how to signify the resentments he conceived thereof. And yet at last he made a shift to do it, but with such a disorder and confusion, as more truly discovered the greatness of his passion then the best couched discourse could have done. And when the Queen had suffered him to recollect himself in that posture, wherein she beheld him with abundance of pleasure; But is it just, said she to him, I should be any longer ignorant, how, and by what adventure I come to see you again, what good genius hath brought you to Alexandria, and what fortunes you have run through since our separation? It is just, replied the Prince, I should give you an account of what you were pleased to entrust me with, and acquaint you with the state of a Kingdom which you thought fit to leave to my management. That is not it, replied the Queen, which I am so desirous to press you to; and though I should be content to understand whatever you shall think worthy our knowledge, yet this fair Princess can satisfy you, that, in the discourses we have had together, she hath observed, that the loss of my Kingdom was not the thing I was most troubled at.  
Your generosity is to be admired, replied the Prince, that is suitable to your admirable person, and I cannot express the experiences I have found of it, but by my silence and confusion. I shall therefore acquaint you, as well with what past at Meroe, as what hath been done in Aethiopia, since your departure thence, whereof the relation cannot be long, because it can amount to no more than a diary of some few days actions, and afterwards, what hath happened to myself, since it hath been my business to find you out,  
Now it comes into my mind, added Candace, when I entertained this fair Princess with a relation of our adventures, I forgot, to give her an account after what manner you got off from that bloody battle, which with a handful of men you gave the great and numerous army of Tirabasus, and where you were left for dead, and passed for such in my apprehension, as you did in the general opinion of all the World, till the day that I saw you again in the garden at Meroe. And though you since told me something of it, yet was it so confusedly that as well for that reason, as that I thought not fit to confound that discourse with the perfect relation I had to entertain the Princess with of other things, I made not the least mention thereof. So that it shall be your business to acquaint her with that particularity, which is all she wants of your adventures to your return to Meroe, and then we shall be glad to know what hath happened to you, since my departure thence. The discourse you have to make, you will, I know, contract what you can, by reason of the disturbance I shall be in, if you make any long abode in this place, where I cannot look on you without fear, as knowing what danger you expose yourself to.  
With these words the Princesses having called Vrinoe, who only remained in the Chamber, entreated her to take such order as that there should not come near them any of the slaves that had been appointed to wait on them, and to have a care with Clitia, that they might not be surprised. After this precaution given, the Prince having seated himself between them, as the Queen had commanded him, after a recollection of some few minutes, to recall into his mind, the things whereof his discourse was to consist, began it at length in these terms.  

The continuation of the HISTORY OF CAESARIO.  
I Must needs confess that in the battle wherein, with 16000 men, the greatest part wounded and unfit for service, I engaged with an Army of 100000. I did not do like an experienced General, or a man that had before commanded Armies, and gained Victories. But it is also to be acknowledged, that it was not out of any hope of victory, that I came into the field, but merely out of a desire to die, proceeding from the despair whereto the misfortunes of my great Queen had reduced me, and to endeavour even at my death to shake, if not overthrow, the perfidious usurper of her Crown and Liberty. Besides, having considered all things, I found myself not in a condition to make my party good by retreating before the army of Tiribasus, which was come of a sudden upon us into that very field, where not many days before I had defeated 35000. men, and killed Antenor, the Brother of Tiribasus, by whom they were commanded. I shall not therefore spend any further time to justify that action, which will be thought more pardonable, among persons prepossessed by a violent passion, such as was that of mine, then among persons experienced in the business of war; and consequently shall only tell you, that I was not fortunate enough to effect what I had undertaken, though I had the happiness to see Tiribasus fall in the midst of his men with two or three wounds about him, and had this comfort in my misfortune, that, with the loss of my own; I saw the field covered with a number of carcases three times greater than that which I could make when I first came into it.  
At last it was my lot to fall, loaden with wounds, amongst those that covered the ground with their carcases, and, as my good fortune would have it, my faithful Governor Eteocles, who still kept as near me as he could, having fought it out a little longer, fell also not far from me, with such wounds about him, as had deprived him of all sense and apprehension. The Enemy spent the remainder of the day in shipping the dead, and in burying or burning their friends, but in regard that about that place where we were, the air was grown a little infectious by reason of the precedent battle, the Generals thought not fit to make any longer stay there, and thereupon marching all away in the night, they encamped at a good distance thence upon the way to Meroe insomuch that there were none left in the Fields but the dead, or at lest what were thought such by those that left them.  
Now the wounds of Eteocles proving not very great, and that his weakness proceeded not so much from their danger as the great loss of blood he had undergone, he made a shift to recover himself assoon as it was night, and I am in this extremely obliged to him, that e'er he had bestowed many minutes to reflect on the condition he was in himself, he came to see what was become of me. He sought me out, and with much ado found me, notwithstanding the darkness, because I was not far from him, and crawling along as he could to get a little nearer me, he came and felt me all over, trying by all the ways he could whether there were any life in me. The cold air of the night stayed the bleeding of my wounds, insomuch, that Eteocles finding me cold as ice all over, his first apprehensions concluded me absolutely departed this world, but at last laying his hand on my breast, he found by the palpitation of my heart, that there were some small remainders of life in me. The weak hope which this unexpected discovery raised in him, filled him with all the joy he could, in that condition, be capable of, and though he took abundance of pains about me to recover me to some degree of sensibility, yet all his endeavours proved ineffectual, insomuch that the whole night, which at that time of the year, was of the shortest, was over ere he could do any good with me. He many times endeavoured to get upon his feet, and to go seek out some held, but his weakness was such that he was not able, and e'er he could half get up, he fell down again by me. I shall not trouble you either with the complaints that fell from him, or the grief it was to him, that he could not effect what he desired, and it were but to make my relation the more tedious to insist upon such frivolous particulars.  
The Sun was gotten into his chariot when I first began to open my eyes, and to breath, in such manner that Eteocles perceived it. He immediately creeps nearer my face, almost out of himself for joy, gave me so many kisses, and spoke to me with so much earnestness, that at last he absolutely recovered me to life again. I began to feel and to see, but had not the power to stir, and though I saw Eteocles, yet did I not perfectly know him, but as it were by some broken remainders of an Idea half forced out of my memory. In the mean time he perceived it was impossible for him any way to relieve me, and though he saw I was come to myself, yet did he in a manner put it out of all question that I would die for want of assistance, and, out of the fear he was in it might so come to pass, he importuned heaven with cries and exclamations, and did all that lay in his power to call in somebody to our relief. Yet were they not his cries that wrought that effect; but it happened by an adventure very strange and unexpected, whereof, for many reasons, I thought fit to give the Queen but a slender and imperfect account, but shall now relate at large, since it hath been your pleasure to command it from me.  
I had already made a shift to open my eyes fully, though all I could do was only to stir them a little, when Eteocles hears the neighings of certain horses and the noise of their going, which made him imagine that there were some people coming towards us. He thereupon looks about him, and perceives a chariot coming into the field, among the dead bodies wherewith it was covered, and a man riding on horseback before the chariot, as if he had been a guide to those persons that were within it. Those were only two women, one whereof filled the air with the dolefulness of her Lamentations, and there followed the chariot only three slaves, all asoot. At last, when they were come quite into the field, the heaps of dead bodies hindering the passage of the chariot, the women, that were within it, were forced to alight, and the man, that was on horseback having done the like, took the more considerable of the two by the arm, and led her towards the place where we were. Eteocles, whom this accident put into a great hopes of relief, took very much notice of all that passed, and distinctly heard the mournful cries and expostulations of that disconsolate Lady, which certainly were such as might have been heard many Stadia's. Her hair was loose and dishevelled, as if she had been fallen into some extravagance, her eyes showered down tears, her breast almost rend with the violence of hersighes, in a word, her deportment was no other than that of a person distracted and ready to fall into despair. Terrible death, cried she, implacable devourer of mankind, which appearest to me here in so many forms! is it possible, that in this place, where thou hast exercised thy power with so much cruelty, thou shouldst forbear to dispatch one miserable creature that defies thee, or that thou canst deny her thy assistance, after thou hast deprived her of all that could oblige her to shun thy face. Insatiable Goddess, to whom my malicious Fortune hath sacrificed all that the earth had that was amiable in my sight! is it possible thou shouldst avoid an unfortunate woman as I am, while thou cuttest off such noble lives? and that, more inhuman in thy compassion than thy cruelty, thou must needs strike a thousand times at a heart which there needs but one blow to deliver from thy Tyranny.  
Here sighs and sobs made a patenthesis in her discourse forsome minutes; but soon after, reassuming it with an accent much more doleful; Teramenes, continued she, my dear Teramenes, where art thou? why dost thou conceal thyself from me? O thou body that I have loved beyond all things; why dost thou hide thyself from her eyes that was sometimes so dear to thee? Art thou afraid, thy countenance covered with the horrors of death might frighten me, or that it will be a less delightful object to me in that figure, than it was in that wherein I was so much taken with it? No, no, my dearest Teramenes, even under that dreadful livery, under that irremissible ice of death, I shall think thee amiable, and it may not haply be impossible, I should by my kisses restore to thee some part of that which thou hast lost, and reinfuse into thy cold body that soul which thou hadst inflamed with a fire that death itself is not able to put out.  
At this passage she made a little truce with her Lamentations, but it lasting not above a minute or two, she turns herself to the man that conducted her: But Pelorus, said she to him, where is then the body of Teramenes? You showed me this place, with a confidence it was that where I should infallibly find it, and yet, among this vast number of carcases I see not that of my Teramenes. Fear not, Madam, replied the man to whom she spoke it will not be long ere we find it, for now we are come to the place where I saw him fall yesterday by the hands of Cleomedon. No doubt, but he came by his own death out of the over earnestness he had to revenge that of your Brothers, who died by the same hand in the former battle, as also out of an excessive desire to have the honour of dispatching with his own hands a Prince of so great a fame. Cleomedon falling at his feet drew him upon him, and with that little remainder of strength he was yet master of ran him into the throat with a dagger which he had still in his hand. Teramenes, though mortally wounded with that thrust, made a shift to get off the body of the expiring Cleomedon, but after he had staggered a little, he fell down within some ten paces of him, and, by reason of the blood which, coming out abundantly, hindered his respiration, died immediately.  
Ah cruel man, cries out the Lady, ah inhuman stranger, whom I had never any ways injured, and that leavest thy native soil to bring death after so many several ways into the breast of the innocent Eurinoe! May it please the gods, since I have no other revenge either to take or desire upon thee, that thy body may be the prey of Vultures, and that thy shade may eternally wander amongst the most unfortunate ones, without ever obtaining of the infernal Gods any other rest then what thou leavest this miserable woman, Thou hadst opened the sluices of my tears by the death of a brother I infinitely loved, which thy unmerciful arms had deprived me of not many days before; but thou thoughtst it not sufficient to assault myself only upon the account of Blood, and Friendship, without sacrificing to thy cruelty, whatever there is in Love that is most passionate and most violent in the death of my Teramenes.  
While she disburdened her grief by such expostulations, he, who conducted her showed her the body she looked after, which lay not above fifteen or twenty paces from us, and it was upon the cruel spectacle, that the desperate woman casting herself on the cold body with a great cry, fell into a swound, which for some time interrupted her lamentations, and found these persons that were about her work enough to relieve her. For my part, I had not the least apprehension of any thing that passed, though I had my eyes open, wherewith, all I could do, was to look on the dejected Eteocles. But he had not miss one of these words, and was infinitely troubled to find himself so far from the relief he had expected upon that accident, as not doubting but that I should be discovered and known by those exasperated persons, if they saw me, and that, in the rage which then possessed them, they would take away those small remainders of life there were in me, rather than any relieve me. On the other side he saw me drawing towards my end, and was sensible he should die himself, if he were not assisted, and in that perplexity, not knowing what resolution to take, he lifted up his eyes to Heaven, and desired that of the gods, which he thought it vain to expect from men.  
In this interim the woman comes to herself again, and immediately discovered it by her mournful groans and lamentations: she embraced the frozen carcase, and bestowed thousand of kisses on a face all covered with blood, and that with such transportation as from whose violence Eteocles could infer no less then that that of her love had been extraordinary. Darest Teramenes, said she, sometime the enlivening light of my days, but now a Luminary eclipsed by the interposition of eternal darkness! Are these the happy Nuptials that were prepared for ourselves, and after the faithful test of so many traverses and misfortunes, is it in this fatal field that I was to enjoy thee? Dear shade, which by an unhuman thrust hast quited this body, the object of my truest affections, and wanderest yet about these shores in expectation of sepulture! Infinitely beloved shade, dost thou forsake me for ever? And is it possible thou shouldst seek rest while thou leavest me in disturbances a thousand times more insupportable than that death which snatches thee from the embraces of thy faithful Eurinoe?  
Many other exclamations to the same effect fell from her, such as were the sad effects of her despair, and which Eteocles would have harkened to with more patience; but the danger wherein we were, or rather the desperate condition of our lives, took up his thoughts so much, that he could not afford her any longer attention. But indeed it was not long ere he had another motive to discover us, when the man that waited on that afflicted Lady, being come nearer me, and having presently known me, out of a confidence he was of that I had fallen in that place, and knew me very well by sight, perceived withal that my eyes were open, and that I was not quite dead. They had not stripped me naked because of the abundance of blood that was about my clothes, but they had taken away the excellent armour wherein I had fought, and whereby I was so remarkable in the battle. Eteocles had wiped the blood off my face, so that the man could with less difficulty know me again, and thereupon returning immediately to his Lady: Madam, said he to her, if revenge may abate any thing of your grief, lay hold on the opportunity which the gods favour you with to offer a noble sacrifice to the Manes of Teramenes. Here, behold not only his murderer, but the murderer also of your brother, is yet alive, and the just gods seem to have reserved those little remainders of life which he hath yet left purposely that they might in some measure satisfy your revenge:  
Never did any Tigress fly out with so much fury at those that had carried away her young ones, as that exasperated and desperate woman did upon those cruel words. She lays hands on a dagger which she spied lying on the ground among other arms, and running to the place where the man pointed, she was immediately with me, looking on me with eyes sparkling with indignation, yet so as through which satisfaction she conceived at her intended revenge, did in certain intervals, show itself. Teramenes, cried she, I am now going to sacrifice to thee all that is remaining of thy executioner, and shall meet with thee again with greater joy, when I shall have appeased thy Manes with this victim.  
With these words she comes up close to me, (who was lying on my back with my face directed to Heaven, and my eyes open, which I weakly fastened on the objects, yet so as that I was not able to discern what past) and lifting up her arm to thrust the weapon into my breast, it was coming downwards upon me, when Eteocles lifting himself half up, put forth his hand, and, laying hold of hers with greater force than in all probability he seemed to have had in him; Hold thy bands, cruel woman, said he to her, spare the blood of the gods, and do not, by the cruelty, shorten, for some, few minutes, the noblest life in the World.  
Eurinoe was so surprised both at the action and the words of Eteocles, that the dagger fell out of her hands, and she was at such a loss as to all resolution, that she could only look on the man whom the gods seemed to have purposely raised up to prevent the effect of her resolution. But at last her passion being still the most predominant in her mind, her rage grew more violent than it had been before, and running to another weapon which she saw, not far from her. Do not hope, said she to Eteocles, thou shalt divert me from the sacrifice which I owe my Teramenes, and be content with this comfort, that his executioner hath but those weak remnants of life, whereas I should wish him a hundred lives, that I might take a nobler revenge of them altogether.  
With these words she comes to me on the other side, and at a place where the assistance of Eteocles would have stood me in no stead; desirous to execute her revenge with a grater satisfaction, she would needs look upon me, and so as she lifted up her arm fixed her eyes on my countenance. Eteocles hath told me since, that even in that languishing posture wherein I then appeared to the sight of Eurinoe, there was something in me more beautiful than ordinary: my eyes looked more gently, because I looked more dejectedly then I should have done otherwise, and my hair stained with blood in some places, playing with my cheeks, by reason of a little wind that then blue, heighthed the little beauty which still remained in my face, whereof the paleness must needs be thought an extraordinary whiteness, in a Country where ordinary degrees of whiteness are thought rare and admired. In fine, for my part, I know not with what advantage I appeared in the sight of that incensed woman; but the arm she had lifted up remained in that posture, and at the same time having gently turned my eyes upon her, with a feeble groan, her indignation was disarmed at that object, and the weapon fell out of her hand the second time.  
The man that waited upon her, thinking he did her a very acceptable service in egging her on to take the intended revenge, put the weapon into her hand the third time, and encouraging her to the action she would have done, was ready to help her to put it in execution, when the woman looking very passionately upon him; Hold thy hands, said she to him, it is not the pleasure of the gods that I should put Cleomedon to death. The man, who was, on the other side, as ready to obey her, was quiet, and Eurinoe having sat her down some few paces from me, began to look very earnestly upon me, and ever and anon disburdened herself of certain sighs which her breast was not strong enough to keep in. She looked still more and more earnestly, and the more she looked on me, the more she seemed to struggle with her passion, and by all her deportment it was easily visible to those that took notice of it, that there passed strange things in her soul, and that there was an engagement of passion there, whereof she was not over-confident which should have the victory. Sometimes she would take her sight off my countenance with some signs of reassuming her resolution; but presently after she would fasten her eyes on me again with greater earnestness than before, and during those uncertain and impetuous motions which raised such a tempest in her soul, she with much ado made a passage for certain sighs. Which when she had disburdened herself of, Cruel man, said she, loud enough to be heard by Eteocles, who was the next man to her, fatal enemy of our house, must thou needs, after thou hadst triumphed over the life of my Brother and my Lover, prosecute thy victorious arms even into my heart? With these words she held her peace, and observed, not without confusion, that Eteocles might have overheard them.  
I here entertain you with a discourse not much consistent with the modesty which is natural to me, and which Eteocles might better have undertaken than myself; but it was your pleasure to command it, and I know not any reason whereby I may be dispensed from the obedience I owe you.  
While the woman was still struggling with the incertainties she was in, and that by several discoveries it was visible, that she was guided by a passion contrary to that which a little before had put the weapons into her hand to dispatch me; Eteocles, who, notwithstanding the extremity whereto he was reduced himself by reason of his wounds, was satisfied of the truth of his observation. Being accordingly desirous to make what advantage he could of the adventure, wherein he could not but imagine something miraculous and extraordinary, and looking on Eurinoe in a very submissive manner: Fair Lady, said he to her, since your indignation hath submitted to your pity, be not generous by halves, and consider with yourself, that to thrust a dagger into the breast of Cleomedon, and to leave him without relief in the condition whereto you now see him reduced, is, no question, one and the same thing. Let your virtue have an absolute conquest, in favour of a Prince who hath offended you only through his misfortune, and will serve you by his acknowledgements, if the gods shall, through your assistance, prolong his life.  
Eurinoe needed no more prevalent solicitation to oblige her to do a thing which she was earnestly bend to do, and thereupon giving Eteocles an immediate answer; I shall satisfy your desires, said she to him. I shall relieve Cleomedon, though he be the murderer of both my Brother and my Love; and the gods who were not pleased he should receive his death at my hands, command me to preserve his life, if it be possible.  
With these words turning to the man that accompanied her; Pelorus, said she to him, the hazard I run in this action is very great, and, besides the report I am to fear by doing this good office to him that hath shed the blood that was so dear to me, you know I have yet one brother left about Tiribasus, exasperated to the revenge of his own relations, and without doubt an irreconcilable enemy of Cleomedons'. But I have so great a confidence of your fidelity, that all my hope is in it, and I am accordingly inclined to believe, that you will not betray this secret, and will afford me your assistance upon an occasion of so great consequence. The man, who was become absolutely her creature by the death of his Master, complied with her in all things, and promised her to be as secret as she expected.  
But why should I importune you any longer with the relation of particulars of little consequence? By the command of Eurinoe, and the care of those that were about her, a horselitter was prepared and brought to the place where we were, into which I was put, and Eteocles by me, and we were conveyed as gently as could be possible, to a castle which was but one hours riding from that place, where we were at first disposed into several beds, but in the same chamber, Eteocles, it seems being very unwilling to be in any other place then where I was.  
But now give me leave to beg your attention, O ye great Princesses, and withal your astonishment, at what I have to tell you, or at least be pleased to infer thence the constancy of those affections which seem to be the most violent. You have heard the account I have given you of the affliction Eurinoe was in for the loss of her Teramenes, as also of her lamentations and her deportment full of despair and extravagance, which in all probability were the expressions of the most violent love that a soul could be capable of: and now you are to know that when she left the place, whence she caused us to be conveyed away, she hardly so much as thought on him, or at least bestowing all her pains on the living, who might stand in need of her assistance, she thought it enough to give Pelorus order to cause the body of Teramenes to be carried away, and to see it buried.  
They presently sent into the next Town for Surgeons, by whom we were dressed with much secrecy, taking great care they should not come to the knowledge of my name who knew me not by sight. And these being excellent men in their profession, their endeavours proved so successful on me, that, ere that day was passed, they brought me absolutely to myself again, and within a few days after undertook to Eurinoe, and Eteocles, that I should not die of my wounds. I have understood since that Eurinoe entertained that assurance with as much joy as if her life were concerned in the preservation of mine; but for my own part, I can truly affirm that I received it without any, and that after I had recovered my memory, and began to make my first reflections on the wretched condition I was in, I had almost cast myself, through my own despair into that danger out of which they took so much pains to deliver me. Whereof this certainly must be the reason, that the violent desire of death which had forced me to engage in the sight, being not yet gotten out of my mind, I should in all likelihood have followed what that inspired me with, and had rendered the endeavours of those that took so much trouble upon them about my recovery, absolutely ineffectual, had it not been for the continual solicitations and importunity of Eteocles, for whom I have ever had a very great esteem and a most affectionate friendship.  
I shall not trouble you with a repetition of all those reasons whereby he endeavoured to make me apprehend, that I did not only betray a great want of prudence, but that I was guilty of a capital crime against my Love, by courting my own death, at a time, that my life might be necessary for the Queen's service, and that since I had not received any tidings that she was either dead, or married to Tiribasus, there was no reason I should rush into extremities which I might overtake time enough, when those misfortunes were come to pass. To be short, he pressed these things to me with so much reason and conviction, that I began to acknowledge the truth of them, and to submit to his judgement, that it was not well done of me, to hazard upon such light grounds a life which I had bestowed, and consequently could not dispose of myself, while she that was the Mistress of it, might expect any service out of it. Upon this consideration I was content they should endeavour my recovery, and entertained with great acknowledgements the care they took of me.  
Asson as I had arrived to such a degree of recovery as that I was able to endure discourse, Eteocles came and told me what place I was in, and by what adventure I was brought thither, and at the same time acquainted me what aversion Eurinoe had had for me upon account of the death of her Brother and her Love, and what affection she had conceived for me of a sudden. Now his health being in a much better posture than mine, as having given over keeping his bed, while I was yet in great danger, he had had more leisure to inform himself of all that he was desirous to know, and had understood that Eurinoe was a widow of very great quality, that her friends and her husband had always kept her at a distance from the Court, that she had had two Brothers, very deeply involved in the interests of Tiribasus, whereof the younger was slain in the late Battle, and the elder had stayed at Meroe by the orders of Tiribasus, who affected him very much, and reposed great trust in him; that she had been very earnestly courted, since her widowhood, by that Teramenes, on whom she had bestowed, so many tears, a person it seems of very great worth and very amiable as to his person; that she had loved him very dearly, and that after many great traverses and revolutions she was upon the point of marrying him with the consent of her friends, when death deprived her of him. Eteocles acquainting me with all these things, told me withal how circumspectly I should carry myself, that I might not be discovered by any other persons than those whom Eurinoe was forced to trust with that secret, not doubting but that, if such a misfortune should happen my life must needs be in manifest danger, as well by reason of the rage of Eurinoe's brother, as the near relation he had to Tiribasus, who, out of all question would never suffer me to live, should he once find out where I were retired. But, as things stood, the security of that secret consisted not altogether in our circumspection, for Eurinoe was so much concerned in it herself, not only out of the desire she had to preserve a person on whom she had bestowed her affection; but also for fear of her brother's indignation, whose savage humour she was acquainted with, that she omitted nothing which in point of care or caution might be expected from her.  
I shall not presume, my great Princesses, before you, whose beauties eclipse what ever is beautiful in all nature, to say any thing of the beauty of Eurinoe, but certainly among the beauties of the rank next inferior to the first and chiefest, the might very well pass for a handsome woman, somewhat duskish, not absolutely black, the lineaments of her face very good, of a good stature, and in a word one of the handsomest persons that ever I met with in Aethiopia. I should commend her farther, were it not that you would imagine, fairest Queen, that in the commendations of her beauty, I should have no other design, then to celebrate my own sidelity.  
Assoon as I was grown any thing capable of conversation, I had her perpetually at my bedside, and I soon observed in all her deportment what Eteocles had told me before of her affection. Her modesty indeed was such, that she would not in words discover what her heart was burdened with; but her eyes betrayed some part of it, and all her actions sufficiently confirmed the observation which Eteocles had made of her. During some few days, at first, while the success of my recovery was yet doubtful, and my fever very violent, she said little to me, and I saw her not but at some certain times; but when I was a little recovered and permitted to discourse, she was very liberal of her company. She was one day at my bedside, where she seemed to be extremely satisfied to see my health in so good a posture, when I, venturing to speak, more than I had done before, took occasion to give her thanks and to make all the acknowledgement I could of her care and tenderness towards me, and commended the generosity she exercised towards a man who had been of a party contrary to that of her Friends, and withal so unfortunate as by the chance of war to do her a displeasure. She patiently bore with my discourse, and taking her advantage of my silence, My lord, said she to me, I have done no more for you than your virtue deserved; but shall entreat you not to attribute merely to a consideration of generosity all that I have done to serve you. After you had not only been the death of my Brother, but also deprived me of a person I infinitely loved, and one with whom I was upon the point of marriage, there was no reflection of generosity strong enough to oblige me to do an action, whereby, I cannot but incur, if it be known, the reproaches of all the world, and the indignation of all my kindred, and you may therefore well judge, that it must proceed from some more powerful motive, that I conceived myself engaged to relieve you. I shall take it upon what ground you please, replied I, but you will give me leave to imagine that it is merely to your goodness that I am to attribute the assistances I have received from you, since I had not any ways deserved them. If it be merely upon the account of goodness, replied she with a sigh, alas! how fatal will that goodness prove to me, and if I am only good to you, how cruel am I to myself! It would be an infinite trouble to me, replied I, to think that the good offices you do me should cause you any displeasure, and therefore when my health shall be in another posture than it is now, I shall heartily spend this life, which I have received from your courtesy to protect you against whatever you may fear. You yourself, said she, casting down her eyes with a blush which covered all her face, you are the most dreadful of my enemies, the only person I can fear, and the only man against whom you can offer me your assistances.  
These words, though I were not at all surprised thereat, put me to such a loss that I knew not what answer to make her, and seeing me silent as seeking what to say; It plainly argues in you, added she, an excess of cruelty to pretend yourself ignorant of my condition, after what you have discovered yourself, and what you might have understood from Eteocles. You cannot be yet to learn that miraculous alteration of my heart and sentiments, which, by reason of the inexpressible suddenness of it, must needs proceed from some superior power, or a strange fatality ere it could pass out of one extremity into the other. It is impossible you should not take notice of its engagement in my actions since, and in fine you but too too well perceive all the transactions of my soul, for me to trouble myself to acquaint you therewith by my discourses. I am not naturally very much inclined to make declarations of this kind, but I have not been able to contain myself in an adventure absolutely prodigious, and whereof all the consequences must needs be extraordinary.  
Here Eurinoe put a period to her discourse not without great discoveries of confusion, and I was in too much disorder myself, not to be astonished thereat, as perceiving myself reduced out of necessity, to act a part for which I had so much aversion. I thought it fit to make her some answer, and after I had studied sometime to dress it with such obliging expressions as that I might neither engage myself nor deceive her; Madam, said I to her, I now perceive I am much more happy than I thought myself, since I must infer from your discourse, (it being your pleasure I should) that I owe that to your affection, which I thought myself obliged for only to your pity. This happiness is too great not to be esteemed and acknowledged by a person that hath the least pretence to respect and gratitude, and I must therefore promise you that you shall find my heart as well furnished, as to that point, as you can desire yourself. This was all I said to her for the first time, and I was not able to judge, whether she were satisfied or displeased at it, for that Pelorus, whose fidelity she began to mistrust, comes into the chamber, which obliged her to fall upon some other discourse, and not long after to leave the room.  
The discoveries of this affection of Eurinoe had made some further impressions upon me, if my soul had not been then struggling with other afflictions which I thought more insupportable and if the knowledge I might have had of the extremities whereto my Queen had been reduced through the Tyranny of Tiribasus had not tormented me with such a violence as afforded me but little leisure to think of any thing else. Woe is me! what cruel reflections was I persecuted with at that time, and how often in the day, did I represent to myself that my fairest Queen was fallen into the power of Tiribasus, and, it may be, upon terms of yielding to his violence? Then was it that I seriously repented me of my rashness in pursuing my own death, at a time that I should most have husbanded my life to do her further service; and I thought that if I had minded my own safety, I might have been able, alone, and by some other ways, to take away Tiribasus'● life in the midst of all his Guards. That which aggravated my grief, was, that I durst neither inquire after any news from the Queen, nor give any credit to what I heard related in that place, as being such as I could not but suspect. On the other side I could well remember that just upon my engagement in the battle, I had writ her a Letter, whereby I gave her to understand, that I was going to inevitable death, and consequently made no doubt, but that the news of my departure was soon brought her, and spread all over Aethiopia. And th●● I saw must needs prove prejudicial to me two ways, either by exposing her to a grief for my loss, proportionable to the first experiences I had received of her favours, or by exempting her, by my death, from the obligation she had to my Love, and the promise she had made me.  
I was so tormented with these cruel reflections that I saw there was no remedy, but patiently to expect my recovery, and to hasten it all that lay in my power, it being not to be expected I should there meet with any express messenger whom I durst trust with the secret of my life, and Et●ocles being absolutely resolved not to leave me in the doubtful posture I was in as to point of health, and withal in a place where I lay subject to a thousand dangers, if my abode there were discovered. I therefore resolved, with much difficulty, to comply with the present necessity, mustering up all the forces of my mind to my assistance in that emergency; while in the mean time my fairest Queen was still in my thoughts, and her idea, as it was the cause of all my sufferings, was also the ground of all my consolations.  
That part of the Castle into which we were disposed was at some distance from all the rest, so that those persons that were in the others, knew nothing of what was done where we were, Eurinoe having so ordered things that all was carried on with the greatest caution and secrecy imaginable. By this means had I all the accommodation and attendance I could desire, insomuch, that, having kept my bed a month, I at last began to sit up, and to walk a little about the room. Now had I so much of Eurinoe's company, that she was in a manner never from me, making it her business, by all her discourses, though ever clothed with modesty enough, to convince me of the greatness of her affection. ay, on the other side, expressed myself with as much acknowledgement, as I could possibly, of the obligations I ought her, as well because I thought it no more than civility to do so, as upon the advice of Eteocles, who would not have me by any means to exasperate her, and was afraid of the dangers it was yet in her power to bring us into.  
But she in the mean time was not satisfied with my simple civilities, and expected I should engage my heart in a love proportionable to h●rs towards me. ay, on the contrary, avoided all the occasions of saying any thing to her which might displease her, though I said not aught that the might be mistaken in, or on which she might ground any thing of affection. But one day, after she had pressed me very much to resolve on something, yet in a way full of sweetness and modesty, I thought fit to discover my thoughts more particularly than I had done any time before. Looking on her therefore in the most obliging manner I could; Fairest Eurinoe, said I to her, I have this unhapiness for one, among many others that are my perpetual attendants, that I cannot convince you of the sincerity of my intentions, and the real acknowledgements I have for all the great demonstrations you honour me with of your affection. This misfortune happens to me, for that I really have too great an esteem for you, to make protestations to you beyond what I am able to make good; but since you will needs oblige me to open my heart to you, with that freedom which I owe a person to whom I owe my life, and of whom I have received such extraordinary expressions of affection, I must tell you, fairest Eurinoe, that, since you are acquainted with my name and person, it is not to be doubted but you have had some account of my life, and consequently know how far I am at liberty to dispose of my affections. There are few persons in Aethiopia but know it, and therefore without obliging me to discover myself any farther, be pleased to reflect on what I can, and what I ought to do, and assure yourself that I shall be infinitely desirous to afford you all the expressions of my resentments that I possibly can.  
Eurinoe seemed to be a little dashed at this discourse, and it was some time ere she could make any answer thereto, but at last, having sufficiently recollected herself; I have, indeed, with all the Kingdom, said she to me, heard of the love you have for the Queen, the great actions you have done for her service, the intentions which the late King had to bestow her on you, and the hopes you may, upon just grounds, have conceived, that you may obtain her, and I am not so far blinded by my passion, but that I am sufficiently sensible of the disparity there is, as well in regard of nature as fortune, between Candace and Eurinoe, upon the account both of quality and beauty; nor is my extravagance come to that height, as that I would dispute with Queen Candace, the possession of a heart to which she hath any pretensions. But my Lord, you are withal not ignorant, how that, on that side, all your hopes are blasted, that Candace hath now lost both her Kingdom and her liberty, and that all the good intentions she may have for you, stand you in no stead. She hath haply bestowed herself on Tiribasus, who is master of her person as well as of her dominions; and the inclinations she hath had for you, if they have not already, will no doubt give way to that cruel necessity, which allows her not the liberty to make choice of a husband.  
These words, wherein I perceived there was abundance of probality and truth, came very near my heart, and not being able to conceal it from Eurinoe; The news you tell me is very doleful, said I to her, and yet you tell me nothing but what I knew before; I have been acquainted with the usurpation of Tiribasus and the captivity of Candace, but I know withal, that the gods are just and omnipotent, and that by a turning-cast of their power and justice, they may overturn Tiribasus, and raise Candace into the Throne. There have been seen among men revolutions as strange as that, and we must not quit hope till the utmost extremities of misfortune. But such a hope as that, replied Eurinoe, cannot be well grounded, and as it is not impossible but you might alone counterbalance, and haply overturn the fortune of Tiribasus, if you had had sufficient forces to oppose him, for you are not ignorant that there is not any body left which he needs fear, or that can with any probability prevent his establishment in Ethiopia. I can do it yet myself, said I to her, not able to disguise my thoughts, what necessity soever there were I should do it, I may yet haply thwart that fortune which you think so well established, and put him to as great a hazard upon the usurped throne he is in, as he was in when he had the command of a hundred thousand men. Ah, my Lord, replies Eurinoe, trust not too much to that unfortunate presumption. Your courage is sufficiently known, but Fortune is not your friend, and your life is dearer to me then that I can, without trembling, reflect on the danger you must expose yourself to. Your fear, said I, smiling, is haply for Tiribasus, as knowing well that a miserable person that is careless of his own life, may endanger those of the most powerful and most fortunate. Cleomedon, said she to me, you do not, I hope, any way doubt, but that your life is much dearer to me then that of Tiribasus, since I value it above my own. I shall not take the pains to persuade you any further as to that point, but shall only add thus much, that how far soever my brothers have been wedded to his interest, whether upon the account of fortune, or some alliance that was between our houses, and though Teramenes, (whom when living I loved beyond myself, and whom dead as he is, I should have loved to t●e last minute of my life, had it not been for the fatal sight of Cleomedon) was very much in his esteem, I could never, for my own part, approve his proceedings, nor conceive any respects for an ujust man and an usurper.  
She would have said more, had it not been for Eteocles coming into the room, before whom she would not insist any longer on that subject. In the mean time, my greatest care was to hasten my recovery, being upon thorns to fasten on some occasion to sacrifice the remainders of my life, with some advantage, to the service of my fairest Queen. But the more I recovered my health, the more did Eurinoe's diminish, insomuch, that at last she was brought so low by that unfortunate passion, that I could do no less than pity her, if I may use that term with modesty, and was extremely troubled that I could do nothing to comfort her.  
I was at last grown so strong, that I durst venture out of my chamber, and to go into a fair garden where she would needs have me to walk with her. I did it, though with much difficulty, she being forced to help me ever and anon by reason of my weakness. 'Twas in this place that she made her complaints to me with more freedom than she could do in the chamber, and where I was many times extremely put to it, though I am obliged to give her this character, that, in all the most violent expressions of her passion, I never observed any thing to fall from her that was unhandsome or prejudicial to modesty. I urged to her, but to no purpose, the fidelity I ought to the Queen, and one day above all having pressed it to her more earnestly then at other times; Cruel man, said she to me, you have but that only argument to elude me withal, and I am confident, that it is without any hope that you make it a cloak for your cruelty. I have told you several times, that I would not dispute your heart with Candace, could you but think of her with any likelihood of obtaining her; but you know well enough that she is lost as to you, and yet thrust a dagger into the breast of an unfortunate woman who loves you but too well, and pretend fidelity to a person that cannot think on you, and, no doubt, does not.  
These words, which I was extremely moved at, furnished me also with an answer thereto, wherewith I thought she would be in some measure satisfied; yet so as that I should not stand engaged to any thing, and thereupon taking her by the hand, and wring it, with an action that argued something of a passionate affection more than ordinary; Madam, said I to her, it is no small affection to me to find you so doubtful of the sincerity of my heart; but since you are so incredulous, I must make you one overture more, which shall absolutely convince you of my reality. Since therefore you have already declared that you would not dispute my heart with Candace, and that it is only upon the supposal of her loss that I must be yours, I protest to you, by all the gods, in whose presence we now are, and make a solemn vow to you, such as nothing shall ever oblige me to break, that if Candace be lost as to me, and that I survive her loss, I shall never love any thing but the fair Eurinoe. Though she could not derive any advantage from these words, if rightly understood, and that I hazarded nothing by promising not to love aught but her, in case I could love any thing after the loss of Candace, yet I observed that this discourse wrought that effect which I expected it should, and that she was so strangely appeased, that for many days her thoughts were in a more than ordinary serenity, during which time I grew stronger and stronger, insomuch that I thought myself able, within a few days to get on horseback.  
Now was it that my disquiets persecuted me afresh, as having neither armour, nor horses, and knowing no means how to procure any, but only through the assistance of Eurinoe, whom I was very much afraid to make any proposition to upon that account, as being confident she would do all that lay in her power to prevent my departure at least as long as she could. And certainly I was not mistaken in the opinion I had conceived of her, and accordingly as soon as she understood, that I was upon some resolutions to be gone, she was so extremely troubled at it, that I thought it would have proved impossible to comfort her. This put me into a strange disturbance, as well out of the fear I was in, that her despair might produce something that should prove prejudicial both to herself and to us, as the improbability there was I should get out of her house, in the condition I then was in, without her consent, or indeed without her assistance. My thoughts were continually employed in finding out some expedient, and consulting with Eteocles, who was to seek in it as much as myself, when our disquiets were determined by an adventure that happened, and at which you will not haply be a little astornished.  
During the time that Eurinoe was troubled most with a fear of my departure, and that I found myself in such a condition as that I might get on horseback within three or four days, she took me along with her, as she had done divers times before, to walk in the garden. And in regard I had now fully recovered my strength, she carried me into the most solitary walks, and most remote, having with her that Gentlewoman, whom she had entrusted with this secret from the beginning, as if she stood much upon the decorum and civility she had always observed towards me. After we had taken some few turns, we sat down upon a seat made of turss, at the end of a walk, on both sides of which was a high and thick hedge-row, and there, after she had spent some time in the remonstrances she ordinarily entertained me with. How cruel man, said she to me, can you possibly prevail with yourself to forsake me, and leave me in an indignation that I have made no impression upon your heart by so many demonstrations, of a perfect affection? It seems then, that neither what I have done in order to your safety, nor what I have done against myself by exposing myself to the indignation and resentments of my friends, nor the violence I did for your sake, to an ancient and earnest passion, could never move that insensible soul of yours, and you make it a light matter to forsake me for ever, and to leave me at a time, when you cannot doubt but that the loss of my life depends on that of your sight.  
There fell abundance of other things from her, with such a torrent of words, as I knew not how to stand against. But when that was spent, and that she had given over speaking, Eurinoe, said I to her, I shall not leave you, till such time as you give me the liberty to do it, and shall be yourself satisfied that I ought to be at a greater distance from you, as well in regard of your concernments as my own. By the discovery I have made to you of my thoughts you have understood that I am obliged to endeavour once more to do something for the service of an unfortunate Princess, to whom you know my life hath been long since devoted, and I were unworthy your esteem if I should basely forsake her in the misfortunes whereto she is reduced. This is it I am obliged to do, as to what concerns myself; and for your part Eurinoe, you must give me leave to tell you, that what may be thought lawful and haply commendable in your carriage, during the extremities whereto my wounds had brought me, would not be thought so after the recovery of my health, and that it would prove very unhandsume, and much prejudicial to your reputation, that a person of my age, and one to whom you pretend an affection should make any longer abode in your house. What may have been kept secret hitherto, cannot be any longer, for time does at last discover things that are most concealed. You have abundance of virtue, Eurinoe, though you have been overcome by some passion, and it is your virtue as much as the assistances I have received from you, that I conceive myself obliged to esteem you for. Since than your virtue is really more than ordinary, suffer it not to be stained with those spots, which it will be hard for you to get out again, and endeavour to preserve your reputation amongst men by actions conformable to those of your life past. You will pardon me for being so free as to give you this advice which, assure yourself, proceeds from a heart full of grateful apprehensions, as also if I presume to beg no other love from you, than such as you would afford a Brother, since that you perceive by the posture of my affairs, that I cannot love you otherwise then as a sister.  
I had not till then spoken in such terms to Eurinoe, whence it came that she was the more surprised thereat, insomuch, that for a long time she was not able to make any reply. And yet I think she had bethought her of something to say, when our discourse was interrupted by a little noise which we heard behind the hedg-row, against which we were sat, and not long after, by the appearance of a man, who, being come into the walk, made all the hast he could towards the place where we were. Eurinoe's thoughts being employed at that time much more than mine, I took notice of the man before she did, and saw that he was of a very goodly presence, a noble and majestic air, and had a very fair countenance for a man of that nation, though he seemed to be weak and brought very low, and discovered in his eyes some dreadful resolution. Being, for my part, ignorant what occasion might bring him thither, I was very glad of a sword I had by my side, which Eurinoe had given me the day before, and had begun to wear it but that very day, to make use of, if need were, in a Country where I was to suspect all things: but Eurinoe, who had thought before that it was either Eteocles or Pelorus, cast not her eyes on him, till such time as he was come up almost to us. At the same time the woman that was with her gave a shriek, which she hearing, and endeavouring to find the cause of it in the countenance of that man, she immediately found it, when she knew him to be her unfortunate Teramenes, on whose death she had bestowed so many tears, and o● whose body she had made so much lamentation, and done things that sufficiently argued her extravagance and despair. At this sight she gave a great shriek, as she brought forth the name of Teramenes, and the terror she conceived thereat was so great, that she fell into a swound upon the seat where she was sat. Her action, that of the woman that was with her, and the name of Teramenes, which they pronounced, put me into an imagination it might be his ghost, or haply he himself preserved by some miracle.  
During that uncertainty, retreating back a little, when he was come up very near us, and putting my hand to the hi● of my sword; Stand there, said I to him, and if thou a●● only the ghost of Teramenes, disturb not any further by thy approaches, those whom thy presence hath frighted. Were I only the ghost of Teramenes, replied the man, it were to thee that I should address myself, as having been my murderer; but since I am Teramenes living, and recovered of the cruel wound which I received from thee in the battle, thou shalt not need to fear in this deplorable condition, him, whom thou couldst look upon without any dread in the head of an Army. I am Teramenes the over-faithfull Lover of that faithless woman, whose heart thou hast gotten from me after thou hadst taken away my life not only in her opinion, but in that of all the world besides. I was thine enemy upon the concernments of Tiribasus who was my Friend; I became thy enemy upon the wound I received from thy hands, which hath brought me to the extremities of life and death, and I have yet a more just ground to be thy enemy for the injury thou hast done me in robbing me of the affections of Eurinoe, which I was in possession of, and had well deserved. I must further acknowledge, that this last injury though thou hast done it innocently, had armed me against thee; and that I came abroad this day, though the first of my stirring, with a resolution which might have proved fatal to one of us; but the words that have fallen from thee, and which I have overheard, have wrought a change in my thoughts, and I have found so much virtue, prudence and goodness in them, that they have taken off all the indignation I had conceived against thee. I come therefore, no longer as an enemy, but as a person that hath a veneration for thy virtue, and as one that is an humble suitor to that generosity, which thou discoverest as well in thy actions as thy words, to beg that heart of thee, which thou hast taken away from me, without making any advantage thereof, and which thou keepest from me, yet wouldst rather be without it. Restore to me Cleomedon, a thing which thou hast no mind to preserve, or if thou wouldst be further revenged on the Friends of Tiribasus, behold the sacrifice, which I shall now offer at the feet of an ungrateful woman, of a life, which must now be as detestable to her as my death was grievous at the last moments of her affection.  
While Teramenes disburdened himself after this manner, and that I harkened to him with attention and astonishment, Eurinoe, by the assistance of her woman, and that of Eteocles and Pelorus, who came in at the same time, was come to herself again, and might have heard some part of what Teramenes said, while Pelorus, who had cast himself at her feet, assured her that he was really living, and craved her pardon for having put such a trick upon her. The woman was so strangely at a loss between horror, astonishment, shame, and, possibly, grief into the bargain, for the return of a man she had then no affection for, that she knew not in a manner where she was, was not able to speak, and had not the confidence to look upon him. With this, she found it no small difficulty to be persuaded that Teramenes was living, though Pelorus had, by protestations assured her of as much, as but too too well remembering the last kisses she had given his cold and bloody body, and the orders she had given for his enterrement.  
While she was in this perplexity, Teramenes comes towards her, though by her shrieks she sufficiently discovered the fear she was in he should come near her, and thereupon stopping at the distance of some few paces from her, because he would not disturb her any further, and looking on her with a countenance wherein his passion was extremely visible; Is it possible, Eurinoe, said he to her, you should be so much affrighted at Teramenes living, when you could find in your heart to give him kisses when he was dead, and wash his face with so many tears! But can I think that change any miracle, cruel and ungrateful Eurinoe, when I am so well acquainted with that of your soul; and that I am not ignorant, how that, in the same minute, you were seen to pass from, the effects of the most violent passion in the world, to a mortal oblivion of him that had adored you with so much fidelity, and to new inclinations for a dying man, whom you had never seen before, and one that had been the death of those persons whom you thought dearest to you. I return, Eurinoe, I return, almost from hell to reproach you with your prodigious inconstancy, and the gods have been pleased to restore me to life contrary both to your expectation and my own, that I might come and represent to you, the many oaths and protestations wherein you have called them to witness, to your promises of an eternal affection for me. Is it possible that you can call them to mind without remorse and confusion, and can so many demonstrations of my love, which you sometime valued at the highest rate, come into your memory, and not raise in you either a secret grief or a secret repentance? Your hand was lifted up to thrust a dagger into the heart of my Murderer, and by an extravagance of passion, you were hurried into extremities not ordinary to your sex, when that fatal sight gave a check to your cruelty, and that new love, possessing itself of your soul in an instant, forced thence the unfortunate Teramenes in such manner, that you hardly remembered he had once lived. In the mean time, my life was preserved to my greater misfortune, and I wish it had pleased the gods to have put a period to it at that very minute when your affection ceased, and that their assistance and that of men had not proved so effectual as to restore it me, to make me fall into the greatest unhappiness that ever man groaned under. Do you imagine, Eurinoe, that heaven hath not a punishment for so strange an infidelity, and that the cries of a desperate and an injured Lover, will not bring upon your head those misfortunes which his Love permits him not to wish you.  
To this effect was the discourse of Teramenes, which fell from him with a certain action, that raised in me abundance of pity, and he would have said more, had not the excess of his grief prevented him, when Eurinoe, having quite recovered herself, as convinced, both by the things which she heard, and by what Pelorus had told her, would needs stop the torrent of his words. Whereupon, smothering that confusion and remorse which had tied up her tongue so long, she looked on Teramenes, not without some remainders of the fright he had put her into; and not long after, venturing to speak, though with difficulty enough; Whatever thou art, said she to him, whether the Ghost of Teramenes, or Teramenes himself alive, thou hast filled my soul with terror and astonishment, and I cannot look on thee in that condition, after I had honoured thy cold and bloody body with the last demonstrations of my Love, but I must needs be disturbed at so strange an adventure. Assure thyself therefore that what thou hast observed in my countenance is merely the effect of that trouble, and not of that confusion and remorse which thou dost reproach me with, and though it might haply have proved more advantageous to myself to have continued my affections to thee even after thy death, since it was decreed thou shouldst come to life again, yet is it certain that thou hast lost them by a misfortune which I have not any way contributed to. With what justice, Teramenes, canst thou charge me with any infidelity towards thee? Have I been any way backward in the Love I had promised thee to the very last minute of thy life, or did we persuade one another that our Love should last beyond this life? What law is that which engages one to this eternity of affection towards the dead, or by what symptoms, could I judge that thou shouldst return to life, after I had caused thee to be brought out of the Field in order to thy burial? Those demonstrations of love which I gave thee, and what else thou mayst have understood from the unfaithful Pelorus, were they the effects of an ordinary passion, and was there not ground enough thou shouldest be satisfied with a passion which engaged me to do things beyond the bounds of reason? To revenge thee, I became, contrary to my natural inclinations, more cruel than a Lioness, and would have attempted the life of an expiring Prince, at whose sight even Tygresses would have been moved to compassion. If I therefore were moved thereat, if the will of the gods, and generosity obliged me to assist him, and if since, (as thou art too well informed to be denied any thing) his excellent endowments, or some superior irresistible power, have forced my inclinations, and taken that place in my heart, which was not to be eternally kept empty for one that was dead, dost thou find in this misfortune that horrid infidelity which thou reproachest me with, or didst thou imagine that my obligations were as great to thy ghost, as they were, while living, to thyself? No Teramenes, think not that thou canst accuse me with any justice, and if thou hast been so unhappy to lose my affections, by an adventure so prodigious quarrel, with heaven, whose will it was it should be so, and not with my will which hath contributed nothing thereto. As to the misfortune which thou bewailest so much, my condition is not a jot happier than thine, and thou mayst elsewhere find a better fortune than thou canst expect with the unfortunate Eurinoe, while in the mean time it is destined she should be eternally miserable, and exposed to that chastisement of heaven, which thou sayest must fall upon me, and which indeed I have already felt.  
The period of this discourse of Eurinoe's was a shower of tears which it lay not in her power to keep in any longer. Whereupon Teramenes whom it put to the extremity of grief, by reason there could not be a greater confirmation of the reality of his unhappiness, casting a dreadful look upon her: No, no, Eurince, said he to her, I shall accuse you no longer, but acknowledge with you, and submit to that irresistible power which hath forced your inclinations. But in regard my life might do your reputation some prejudice in the world, though my tongue were silent and that it is not to be doubted but that I am now as abomible, as ever I was amiable in your sight, it is but just my life should here determine, and that in such a manner, that you may not be therein mistaken a second time. The greatest regret I now have at my death, is, that I leave you an unfortunate woman, and if the virtue and constancy of Cleomedon could but give him leave to forget Candace to enjoy you, as you have, to gain him, forgotten Teramenes, the last entreaty I were to make should be, that he would be less cruel to her, and not aggravate any further a revenge which I desire not you should take.  
With these words he drew out a dagger he had about him, and listing up his hand, would have thrust it into his breast, if I had not fastened upon him, and stayed his hand, though only with so much force as to prevent him from executing his resolution. Teramenes, perceiving his design frustrated, looked on me very disturbedly, and endeavouring to snatch the dagger which I had taken out of his hands; Cleomedon, said he to me, content yourself that the experience I have of your virtue, hath prevailed so far upon me, that I would not have the effects of my despair fall upon you, and since I am willing to spare those by whose means I am become miserable, purposely that I might execute all my revenge upon myself, hinder me not from freeing myself from those miseries which I groan under upon your account. I will hinder you to lay violent hands on yourself, said I to him, if it lie in my power to do it, and it shall not be my fault, if you do not find out some expedient besides that of death, to get out of those misfortunes whereof I am the innocent cause. Eurinoe knows very well, that it is not upon any hopes that I have given her that she perseveres in the affection which she hath for me, and I here give you a full discovery of my thoughts, when I tell you, that I should think myself a very wretched person, and abominable in the sight of Heaven, if a love so faithful as yours should come to an unfortunate end by my means.  
Having with these words taken away the dagger from Teramenes, I turned towards Eurinoe, in whom the deportment and last words of her husband had raised some compassion, I said to her all those things which pity could suggest to me on her behalf, and alleged to her all the reasons which I thought might any way oblige her to dis-lodge me out of her heart, and to re-admit her faithful Teramenes. For some time she was not able to make me any answer, other then that of a shower of tears, which being at last over, she very earnestly reassumed the discourse, and charged me with the greatest cruelty and ingratitude imaginable. I heard all with abundance of patience, and not discovering the least trouble thereat, I took occasion to represent unto her, what might be the consequences of an obstinate perseverance, in a fruitless passion, and that directed to a man engaged in another love, one that was ready to take his leave of her, and should not haply ever see her again; nay, which is more than all, one, that, though he were not called away by the affection he had for the Queen, could not make any abode with her, but to the utter ruin of her reputation, besides the little probability there was she would be so extravagant, as to entertain in her house the murderer of one of her Brothers. To this I added what she might fear from her other Brother, who was still with Tiribasus, and that she must needs expect he would have some designs, not only against her life, but mine also, as being dear to her, but that, on the contrary, she could not but be happy with Teramenes. it being out of all doubt that he had an extraordinary affection for her, since the demonstrations she had received thereof were very remarkable: that he was approved and recommended to her by her friends, and, in a word, that it was the only means to make a composure not only in her own mind, but also in her house and fortunes.  
While I thus disburdened my thoughts to Eurinoe, Teramenes, having cast himself at her feet, bathed them with his tears, insomuch, that, whether it were upon that spectacle, which stirred up in her the embers of her former affections, or that she was convinced of the reason and truth of the things I represented to her, and withal lost all hope of being loved by me, and haply imagined she might never see me again, after a doubtful engagement wherein we spent the best part of the day, she at last began to yield. Whereupon looking on Teramenes, with a milder countenance than before, she turned towards me, and told me she would do what I should advise her to, and that, being become mine through the means of some unknown power, she now submitted again to the same power, which she was not able to resist. Teramenes, almost out of himself for joy, after he had given thousands of kisses to her feet, cast himself at mine, embracing me by the knees, calling me the author of his safety, and his tutelary angel, and making all the earnest protestations he could to me, that he would heartily spend, to do me any service, that life which I had prevented him from destroying, and made him happy in. And knowing on the other side that Eurinoe might be in some fear he should afterwards remember the change that had happened in her affections, and accordingly conceive some discontented thoughts of the love she had some time had for me, he, to rid her of that fear, made thousands of protestations to her, that it should never come into his mind again. He told her that he absolutely attributed that accident to the extraordinary merit of Cleomedon, which might produce no less miraculous an effect any where: but in fine, that, however he might seem to quarrel with her, he was confident of her virtue, not only upon the former expressions she had made thereof, but also from that very demonstration of it, which, when he least expected any such thing, he had heard from the mouth of Cleomedon; that, for my part, he should never conceive the least jealousy or ill thought of me, out of a confidence I should never prove unfaitful to Candace, either for Eurinoe, or any other person in the World.  
Here am I forced to contract my relation, for that, should I make it my business to repeat all the discourses which passed upon this occasion to satisfy and convince Eurinoe, it would take up more time than I have spent in the account of all I have given you already. At last I made an absolute reconciliation between Teramenes and Eurinoe, who endeavoured, all that lay in her power, to conceal before him, the violence she did herself upon that occasion, and prevalid with her so far upon the earnest entreaties of that Lover, that I got her to promise that she would be married to him before my departure thence, as she might very well do, being, as she was, altogether at her own disposal, and knowing withal that her marriage with Teramenes was approved of, and desired by all her friends.  
At last we would needs know of him, how he had recovered to life, and had carried his business so secretly that Eurinoe never so much as suspected any such thing. He, in few words, acquainted us, how that, after we had been brought into the Castle, Pelorus returning to the place, where he had left him, with a letter to carry him away, found him recovered out of that mortal swooning wherein he had continued all the night, and some part of the day; that this man, being one that had been brought up in his service overjoyed at the accident, had taken such pains about him, that at last he brought him so far to himself, that he was sensible of what was said to him. To this Pelorus added, That Teramenes had commanded him to carry him to Eurinoe's, as having no place where he might well retire any nearer, and that thereupon he had been forced to acquaint him with the truth of all that had passed, as having far greater respects for his Master then he had for Eurinoe: That Teramenes had almost died in good earnest at that cruel news, and that nevertheless, out of a desire to see the consequences of that adventure, and to apply those remedies which time and his own resentments should suggest unto him, he was content to be carried to a house that belonged to a Sister of Peloruus', not far from Eurinoe's Castle, where he might not only be privately looked after in order to his perfect recovery, but also be in a place, where he might every day understand, by Pelorus, what was done at Eurinoes': That all things came to pass as Teramenes had desired, and that he had been waited on and dressed with so much care as might be, by persons concerned in his welfare, and such as had not anyway betrayed the secret committed to their trust: That this had been done with the greater ease, by reason of Eurinoe's continual employment about me, and the little curiosity she was then guilty of, to inquire what was done in her neighbourhood: That he brought Teramenes notice every day of what was done at the Castle, in regard he might go and come to his Sister's house without the least suspicion: That Teramenes conceived such a grief and affliction thereat, that many times he was upon the point of discovering all, not doubting but that Tiribasus, and Eurinoe's Brother, and all of that party would soon find out some means to dispatch me, when they were once acquainted with the place of my abode, but that he had been persuaded to the contrary, partly by his entreaties, who desired him to delay it, and partly by those remainders of love which he still had lest in him for Eurinoe, for whose sake principally it was that he forbore putting that bloody design in execution; that at last, through the assistances of those that were employed about his recovery, he was come to the posture of health wherein he saw him, and that having notice given him, that Eurinoe and myself walked every day in the Garden, he would needs come thither, to overhear our discourse, if it were possible, and to take his opportunity to be revenged of me in such a manner as might least prejudice the reputation of Eurinoe; That he had many times overheard our discourse, through the hedge-row, but that in those which I made to Eurinoe, he had found so much prudence and virtue, that he immediately changed his resolution, and that perceiving I had no affection for Eurinoe, he thought sit to make his advantage thereof, and had then discovered himself to us to implore my assistance upon the opinion he had of my generosity.  
Thus did Teramenes give us an account of his adventure, and prevailed so far with Eurinoe, that she pardoned Pelorus, who in those transactions had expressed a greater love to his ancient Master then to his new Mistress. But to what purpose should I spin out the particulars of this relation, all things were composed, quiet and serenity of thoughts began to chase away all former dissatisfactions, only Eurinoe discovered by certain sighs that her soul was not absolutely recovered, and, three days after, finding myself in a condition to depart thence, I charged Eurinoe with her promise, and in my presence obliged her to marry Teramenes. There happened some particulars in this action which I carefully concealed from Teramenes, and the next day I pressed them, to accommodate me with those things that were necessary for my departure, that I might repair to those places which I was obliged to go to, promising them, I should acknowledge, when it should please the gods to enable me, the assistances and kindness I had received from the offitions Eurinoe. Teramenes granted my request, and furnished us with clothes, arms, and horses, and would have gone along with me, had I accepted of his company: but I gave him thanks for his kind prossers, and told him, that I was satisfied he should be no longer my enemy, without engaging him to be any way serviceable to me against Tiribasus, who was much his friend, and so entreated him not to discover any thing he knew of me, and to promote the report which was already spread abroad of my death. And this I was the more confident he would do, not only upon the promise he had made to do it, but also out of a consideration of his own interest, which would advise him not to publish a thing, that might exasperate Tiribasus against him. They also taught me an invention which proved very fortunate to me; for, perceiving I was somewhat troubled how to conceal myself in the places I was to pass through, by reason of the fairness of my face, so different from the complexion of the men of that Country, they gave me a certain water, which is commonly used among the Aethiopians, by those that are desirous of a more shining blackness in the countenance, and having made experience of it first on my hands, they afterwards therewith painted my face, as also that of Eteocles, so that after three washings, we were grown as blacsh as if we had really been Ethiopians. They gave me a little Glass Bottle full of it, to carry along with me, and showed me the way to take it off, when I had a mind to do it, which was, only with warm water and certain herbs put into it. In this posture, after some bemoanings from Eurinoe, which she was not able to forbear, and thousands of protestations which I made her, to acknowledge her extraordinary favours, if ever Fortune proved kind to me, I departed from that house without any other company than that of Eteocles, and one servant on horseback, Teramenes bestowed on me, and of whose fidelity he gave me very great assurances.  
The design I then had was secretly to get to those whom I knew to be still my Friends, and were desirous to serve their Princess, and had a zeal for the memory of their late King, hoping, that upon my return they would be encouraged to attempt something for the service of their Queen, whom I knew to be well beloved among the Ethiopians. Among those Telemachus and Oristhenes were the most considerable, and, having understood in my way that they were retired from the Court to certain houses they had in the Country, where they passed away their time in grief and solitude, I, without any danger, got to Oristhenes, passing through all places, without the least suspicion, by reason of the blackness of my countenance, which disguised me so well, that you yourself, Madam, were mistaken in me. I shall not take occasion to prolong my discourse upon the astonishment of Oristhenes and Telemachus, when I had discovered myself to them, and when they found me living after they had bewailed my death. They gave me thousand of expressions of their joy and friendships, and continuing still as well affected and as zealous for the service of their Queen, as ever they had been; they very cheerfully entertained the proposition I made to them, of attempting something against the Tyrant, and proffered of themselves to go, and secretly solicit all her faithful Servants and Subjects into some engagement, and to get together such a Body as might undertake some remarkable enterprise. They acquainted me, Madam, how you had been secured and guarded; and gave me an account of your admirable constancy in opposing the solicitations of Tiribasus, who was not yet come to the utmost violences, but had gone so far as to put your most faithful Servants into some fear, that he would not long continue in those terms. I communicated to them the design I had to wait on you, and they were persuaded, that, considering how I had disguised myself, I might come even into the presence of Tiribasus without any danger. I came to Meroe, where I had not the happiness to see you the first time; but the second, when I came into the Garden, I was more fortunate, and seeing you again, I laid as an offering at your feet your faithful Cleomedon, whom you had honoured with your tears, and who, through the excess of your goodness and favours, still lives in your memory.  
The end of the First Book.    

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART X. LIB. II.  
ARGUMENT.  
CLeomedon prosecutes the continuation of his History. He draws to his party 4000 men, with whom he forces the Palace at Meroe, forcing Tiribasus into the City, and sending Queen Candace along the Nile to Bassa. He maintains the Palace till the supplies raised by Oristhenes and others were come into the City, whereupon, sallying out to join with them, and jointly to engage Tiribasus, he meets with a party commanded by Asanor, defeats it, and kills him. He relieves Oristhenes, hard set upon, and consummates the victory by kill Tiribasus, Having secured the reduction of the City by a new oath of allegiance to Queen Candace, he goes after, thinking to find her at Bassa, but meets there with a probable report that she might be taken by the Pirate Zenodorus, whom thereupon he makes a fuitlesse search after, till at last he was by a tempest cast ashore near Alexandria. Renewing his search after her upon Land, he meets accidentally with Artaban, they fight, but are interrupted by Zenodorus passing by, who is pursued by Artaban. They both fight against Zenordorus and his men, till that weakened by wounds and loss of blood, he is relieved by Eteocles, and brought by Alexander to a house where he hath a sight of his Sister Cleopatra, but discovers not himself to either. By the mediation of Candace and Elisa, he is induced to an inclination of friendship with Artaban. Olympia and Arsinoe come to visit Candace and Elisa. Philadelph goes to visit Tigranes, to whom he presses his vain pursuit of Elisa, and reproaches him with his former affections to Urania: Olympia and Arsinoe are made acquainted with Artaban, who know him to be the same Britomarus, who had sometime had some inclination for Arsinoe, and had rescued Ariobarzanes out of the hands of the Pirates. Ariobarzanes and Philadelph are made acquainted with Artaban, and acknowledge their great obligations to him under the name of Britomarus. Agrippa entertains Ariobarzanes, Philadelph, and others, with the loss of Cleopatra, upon which the Princes that were present take occasion 〈◊〉 discover what they had every one contributed to that adventure.  
THe fair Princess of the Parthians and the Queen of Ethiopia had harkened hitherto with great attention to the relation of Cleomedon, without offering to interrupt him, but when he was come to that passage, Elisa, looking on the Queen with a smiling countenance; You were very much to blame, Madam, said she to her, not to have discovered to me this particular of Caesario's life, because, in my judgement it is none of the least important. But I withal perceive that you purposely avoided all occasion of giving me any account of the Love of Eurinoe, out of a fear you were in, that I might observe in your discourse, some glimpses of the jealousy you may have conceived at that adventure. You force me to a protestation, Madam, replied the Queen (with an action wherein she seemed to be as indifferent and as little earnest as the other) which is, that the greatest part of those things which he hath related, was not come into my knowledge; and therefore whether it were for the reason you allege, or for some other yet unknown to me, Caesario had given me but an imperfect account of that adventure, and had not discovered the particulars thereof that were of most consequence. You are very much in the right, Madam, replies Caesario, for indeed, I should gladly have avoided giving you any account of it, could I well have done it, and the little inclination I have to engage myself in a discourse of this nature might have exempted me from doing it now, had you not laid your absolute commands upon me to that purpose. I have therefore made a shift to get through the first and longest part of my narration, since you have already acquainted this great Princess with the entertainments that passed between us in the garden, as also all that happened even to the day, on which, after I had brought in four thousand men of those I had drawn in to our party by the means of Telemachus and Oristhenes, I forced the palace, and that Tiribasus, having saved himself by getting into the City, I led you through the garden to a vessel which I had provided to carry you along the Nile to the city of Bassa, a place then at our devotion. Of all these things, replied the Queen, I have given the Princess an exact account, all you have yet to inform us of, is, what hath happened to you since our separation. Though this, replied Caesario, be the shortest part of my relation, yet is it that of greatest consequence, and I cannot but extremely wonder you should not be more impatient to know whether you have not still a Crown to dispose of.  
After I had brought you to the vessel, and there left you, though not without much violence to myself; to put the design we had undertaken in execution, which we had in some part effected, in as much as concerned your liberty, but as to what was yet to be done were in a very ill posture by reason of the escape of Tiribasus, I returned to the palace, where I found all my men absolutely resolved to make good what they had gotten, and to fight for your interest to the last gasp. I encouraged them in that design by all the words I thought might any way animate them, and put them into a posture of maintaining the Palace, in the best order I possibly could. I made no doubt but that Tiribasus, as being a man much experienced in matters of war, would come immediately and set upon us with all the force he could of a sudden make, knowing that it concerned his safety to recover presently what he had lost, before those supplies came in to us which we expected. This he accordingly put in execution, as I had imagined he would, and he was no sooner gotten into the City, but he forced all the Citizens to take up arms, though the main motive of their obedience was their fear, their inclinations being absolutely for their Queen; and in the mean time having given order that all the troops that were in the suburbs and about the City, should rally under the command of Theogenes and Asanor, he got a considerable body together, and came against the Palace with abundance of fury. You know, yourself, Madam, that all the fortification there is about it, is a ditch with a low stone-wall flanked here and there with certain Towers. The ditch may soon be filled, as being neither very broad nor very deep, yet not so easily but that it would cost a great many men to do it, the palace being made good by a considerable number of men, and those all resolved to sell their lives at the dearest rate.  
Tiribasus having made his assaults upon that side of the palace which lies towards the City, sent at the same time to secure all the boats that were upon the Nile, that he might not only have the command of the river to carry on the siege against us, but also prevent us from making any escape that way. Nay I doubt not but that, if he had had the least suspicion of your departure, he would have sent some boats after you; but you might have been so far before he bethought him of that course, that I was out of all fear of your being taken before your arrival at the City of Bassa, where you were expected. Tiribasus made his approaches and carried on the assault, as a man that very well knew what he had to do; and causing some part of his soldiers to bring turfs, stones, faggots, and all such other things as were fit to fill up the ditch, he began to do it with abundance of earnestness, but there being within a considerable number of old soldiers, and such as were well versed in matters of war, and far greater than was necessary for the defence of the palace, while I gave order that some should rest themselves, the rest were disposed upon the battlements, and showering down arrows upon the Stormers that were below, they filled the ditch much more than all those other things did which the enemy had brought thither to that purpose. I had, as good fortune would have it, found out in the palace, an infinite number of arrows and all other arms, which it seems Tiribasus had caused to be brought in thither, and which was yet a further happiness going into that chamber which he had appropriated to himself since his pretended Royalty, I there met with my own armour enriched with Eagles of gold, the very same which I had been stripped of after the battle, and which had been brought to him, as well for their sumptuousness, as to put him into a greater assurance of my death. I have been informed since that it was an officer that had fought under my command in the war of Nubia, and one that had some respects for me, that had hindered his companions from cutting off my head, to present it to Tiribasus, as they were once resolved to do, and was content only to strip me of my Armour and to present him with them. This accident I looked on as a good omen, and thereupon putting them on with much joy, I imagined myself more hardly conquerable in them than I had been before. I very diligently visited all those places wherein my presence might be any way serviceable, and omitted nothing that contributed aught to our defence, no more than Tiribasus did on the other side to carry on the assault. I once perceived him, amidst a many of his Soldiers, issuing out his orders with much earnestness, and having discovered myself to him by a great shout, I took a bow and arrows in my hand, and shot twice at him, the latter arrow coming so near his head, that he durst not continue any longer in the place where he was; and perceiving that, at the same time, I caused him to be shot at several ways, after he had threatened me by cries and gestures, he retired to a place where he was more secure. From that time I set upon him the best Archers I had, to shoot continually at him assoon as ever he should appear, by which means it came to pass that he was less confident in the assault than he had shown himself before.  
The number of men that I had within the palace was such, that I might have ventured to sally out, and have forced back the more daring of the Enemy's side; but it was my greatest concernment to gain time, in expectation of those supplies which Oristhenes was to bring me, and which were raised with so much privacy, in the Cities that were still under our command, that Tiribasus had not the least intelligence thereof, and in the mean time to keep Tiribasus so in play, that, directing all his force against us, he might make the less provision against other enemies. Besides those I had about me in the palace I had four hundred men lying dormant in the City, in certain houses whereof we were confident, and under the command of Clinias a Nephew of Oristhenes; and these were ordered, assoon as the supplies were come, to join with them at a place appointed, and possess themselves of a gate of the City to make way for the other forces. I discovered some part of my design to the principal Officers, encouraging them to play the men that day, and promising them they should be relieved, if not the night following, at farthest the next morning. There was no great need of this solicitation, for they all fought with such eagerness, that, though Tiribasus had in some places filled up the ditch, and had brought sealing ladders to storm the place, yet all came to no other effect then that those who were most forward to get up, were rumbled down into the ditch, as it were to abate the confidence of those that were to come after them.  
You would haply think my relation very tedious and impertinent, should I give you a particular account of all the actions of that day, and therefore, I shall think it sufficient to tell you, that the Gods (who no doubt, had a vengeance in store for the Tyranny of Tiribasus,) took away the light of his reason in that emergency, and, depriving him of some part of his ordinary prudence, were pleased, that, blinded by the violence he was in to reduce us, he bent all his forces to do it, in such manner, that he made not any provision for the security of the City. Upon this account was it that he spent the whole day in assaults against us, but to no purpose, and having hardly taken one hours' rest in the night, he was at us again before day, much more furiously than before.  
In the mean time, Oristhenes, having landed in the Island without any difficulty, was, with the advantage of the night, gotten to the very gates of Meroe, and, at the break of day, having given the signal which we were agreed upon with Clinias, he was presently at the gate, whither all his men, coming to him from several quarters, came about him, and, before that those who were then upon the guard could perceive whether they were Friends or Enemies, they fell upon them, cut off those that made any resistance, and having forced the rest to fly, set open the gate for Oristhenes. Yet could not this be done with so little noise, but that those who were upon the walls, though but few, and those not much minding what was done, did, assoon as it was light, discover the forces of Oristhenes, and accordingly give the alarm; but, before it could come to the place where Tiribasus was, Oristhenes was gotten into the City, his troops coming in still like waves, and meeting with nothing that any way opposed them. He brought in along with him three thousand horse, and about seven or eight thousand foot, all choice men, and such as were ready to sacrifice their lives for the just cause wherein they were engaged. Oristhenes' used all the expedition he could to get in his forces, which he disposed into the more spacious streets and other large places that lie near that gate, and when he saw that the greatest part were come in, and that the rest would follow without any hindrance, he advanced towards the palace, putting all to the sword that he met with in arms. He caused it to be cried wherever he came that the Citizens should lay down their arms, and that no violence should be done to those that would not fight for Tiribasus. It were impossible for me to represent to you what a distraction Tiribasus was in, when word was brought of that misfortune, and what imprecations he made against heaven, when he perceived himself surprised by those very enemies, whom not long before he had slighted for their weakness: and yet he withal saw that he had but little time to lose in consultation, and that instead of carrying on the assault against the palace, he must make head against Oristhenes and fight him.  
He accordingly resolved to do it, and thereupon, rallying all the forces he had abont him, and giving order that his horse should mount, he mounted also himself, and leaving a small number before the Palace to keep us in play, he took all the rest along with him to engage with Oristhenes. I had understood by a signal from Clinias that the supplies were come, and easily imagined what might have followed, insomuch, that, finding that I might either freely sally out, or at the worst meet with such opposition as I might well overcome, I thought it not fit to sighed any longer behind dead walls; and so leaving twelve hundred men to make good the Palace, though a less number might have served to do it, I commanded out all the rest, and getting up of a good horse, whereof I found no small number about the Palace, and which I disposed among the most considerable of those that were about me, I caused the great gate of the Palace to be opened, and drew out into a spacious place not far from it. Those that endeavoured to oppose our passage were immediately cut in pieces, and the rest, running away, made all the hast they could to Tiribasus.  
I was no sooner got into the City, but I caused it to be proclaimed every where, as Oristhenes had done before, that the Queen pardoned the Citizens, provided they laid down their arms, and this, running from one to another, proved so effectual, that the greatest part of the inhabitants took occasion to go home to their own houses, by which means Tiribasus' party became much weaker than it had been. However, the number he had about him was far greater than that of our forces; but he could not make any advantage of their number in the streets, where the engagement was not the same as it would have been in an open field. Tiribasus was already engaged with Oristhenes, and upon the first encounter there was abundance of blood spilt on both sides. As I was marching towards the place where I thought to have found them, I met with Asanor in my way, in the head of a party which he was carrying to the relief of Tiribasus. I immediately charged him, and it happening that we met in a spacious place, the engagement proved accordingly very hot and bloody. The success also for some time was very doubtful, but at last victory declared herself for the juster cause, and, Asanor being killed, with the most considerable of those that were about him, the rest ran away in disorder towards the place where Tiribasus was fight against Oristhenes, and certainly there it was, that blood and blows were not spared, and that we had by much the worst end of the staff. Tiribasus fight with his men like one that had all at the stake, had charged Orisihenes with such fury, that the bravest of his men lay upon the ground, and he himself, being unhorsed, disputed the business on foot with little hope of victory, nay, it would not have been long ere he had lost his life, had not some of the best affected and stoutest of his men set themselves before him, and relieved him with much eagerness. Tiribasus, making all the advantage he could of that overture of victory, forced his enemies to retreat, fight them still even into the spacious place of Meroe. There it was that he thought to give them an absolute defeat, by reason of the advantage of the place, and the distraction they were already in, when I, coming to their relief another way, which I found free, got up to that place with my Troop, and immediately crying out, Candace, Candace, and those that followed me, Cleomedon, we revived those that were ready to quit the field, and abated their confidence, who expected nothing less than victory. The presence of the two chiefs added very much to the bloodiness of the engagement, which was upon my coming reassumed, and, having sent some of my men to relieve Oristhenes, whose danger I had understood, I endeavoured to meet with Tiribasus, as knowing that in his person consisted all the war. I took notice of the place where he was, and he immediately knew me. I am easily persuaded that it was not his desire to avoid fight, being, by the acknowledgement of all, a man valiant enough, and no less concerned in my death than I could be in his: but the most devoted to his interests that were about him, setting themselves before him, many were laid on the ground that I was forced to dispatch to come up to his person. At last we came together, notwithstanding the opposition of our men, and running at him full of fury; The day is now come, Tyrant, said I to him, that thou must render up the Crown with thy own life into the bargain. He made me some answer, which I could not hear by reason of the noise, and the heat I was then in, and received me with a resolution not must different from what I brought. But, being ever and anon hindered by our men, who came in between us, and that especially by his, who fell upon me on all sides, I grew the more eager to determine the difference, and that was it had almost cost me my life. I had made two blows at Tiribasus, with such good fortune, that they gave him two wounds, whereupon he began to look on me as one that fought with a certain confidence of victory, when my horse, by reason of many hurts he had received, fell down so of a sudden, that I had much ado to get my feet out of the stirrups, and to stand before Tiribasus, who taking me at that advantage, was upon the point of running over me, I could not avoid the shock of his horse, insomuch that he had almost overthrown me, but in that posture leaning on my own horse that lay dead between my legs, with my left hand, I, with my right, thrust my sword into the belly of his, so that when he was coming at me, he felt him falling down under him. In that interim I closed with him, to avoid the shock of his men, and in that disorder finding a place unarmed, I run him with my sword through the body.  
Tiribasus stretched forth his arms as he was falling with his horse, but, in regard that I stood near him, he very furiously cast himself on me, and, by his weight forcing me to the ground, he fell upon me, as he breathed out his last, and fastened on me in such a manner, that I found it no small difficulty to get from under him, all gored and covered with his blood. The danger I was in by reason of that disadvantage, had been very great, had I not been relieved by divers stout men, woe rescued me from the rage of Tiribasus' friends, and, notwithstanding all they could do, got me on horseback again. This, Madam, was the fate of Tiribasus, the usurper of your Dominions, and your precious Liberty, and you may see in it how that the just gods decreed he should perish by his hands, to whom, of all men, that revenge was most due.  
Upon his death, those that were of his party were so lost, as to courage and resolution, that the most eager in the cause could hardly be gotten to fight much longer. When I saw the resistance they made was very weak, and that some were running away in the streets, casting away their arms, I considered, Madam, that they were your subjects, and thereupon, out of a desire to spare their blood, I cried, and caused it to be cried up and down, that if they laid down their arms, the Queen would give them their lives, and would forgive all that was passed. Some particular friends of Tiribasus would not accept of this proffer, but would needs be killed, and, among the rest, Eurinoe's Brother, whose life I would gladly have saved for his Sister's sake: but all the rest, perceiving there was no safety but by that means, and having, for the most part, sided with Tiribasus, purely out of fear, laid down their arms, and cried up and down, God save Queen Candace. I immediately thereupon sent orders every where, that none should be put to the sword; and it was so religiously observed, that, after some few minutes, there was no more blood spilt. All those of Tiribasus' party went in among the Citizens, who had laid down their arms as soon as I was gotten out of the Palace: and our men, though in arms and victorious, began to treat the others as their Countrymen and companions. Oristhenes, who, having been set on horseback again by the relief which I had sent him, had joined with me, and behaved himself with abundance of valour, rid all about the City by my order, and so appeased the remainders of the disorder, that when the dead bodies were removed out of the streets, it could hardly be imagined there had been any fight.  
All things being thus composed, I sent out orders, that the more considerable of those that had followed Tiribasus, as well Citizens as soldiers, should come to me in one of the most spacious places in the City, and, after I had entertained them with a discourse (which it were not fit to trouble you with a recital of) wherein, having in, the first place, represented to them the greatness of their crime, I made them, in the next, apprehensive of that of your goodness, who were graciously pleased, even at a time that they might be punished with severity, to pardon them so horrid an infidelity, and forget all that was passed; provided that for the future they did those things which were expected from them. And that I exhorted them to do with a true remorse, and to repair their crime, by a fidelity as remarkable as their defection had been. All the inhabitants answered me with cries and tears, and, pronouncing your name on their knees, they called all the gods to witness the sincerity of their intentions, and protested they had done nothing against you, but by force, and out of the fear they were in of the power of Tiribasus. The souldery, for the most part, returned me the same answer, so that after I had taken a new oath of allegiance from them all in your name, I dismissed the Assembly, permitting all to follow their occasions, and such as had friends dead, to bury them. I also gave way, that those that pretended a more particular affection to Tirabasus, should take away his body in order to an honourable enterrement, as knowing, Madam, your generosity to be such, as permits not your resentments to go beyond death. And thereupon, having my thoughts wholly taken up with you, and yet not thinking it safe to leave Meroe that very day, for fear of the accidents that might happen upon so sudden a revolution, I sent Clinias Express to you, to give you an account of all that had passed, and to entreat you to remain at Bassa till the next day, at which time I should have waited on you, bringing along with me your people of Meroe, who were infinitely desirous of your return.  
Having gone so far, I spent all the rest of the day, and some part of the night in pacifying and composing all things, and, considering the shortness of the time, there was such order taken, that it was hardly perceivable that there had been any revolt in Ethiopia. But what grief it was to me, what distraction I was in, the gods only know, the next day, when I found Clinias returned, telling me, that you had been expected to no purpose at Bassa, whither you came not at all, and where there had not been any thing heard of you. Being extremely troubled at this account of you, I immediately left Meroe, having only stayed so long as to leave orders with Oristhenes to take care of all things till your return, and, taking certain boats, and such a number along with me, as I thought fit, of those I could best trust, I made all the hast I could to Bassa. There I soon met with the cruel confirmation of your loss, and understood from those that you had left to command there in your absence, that they had neither seen nor heard any thing of you. These unfortunate tidings raising the greatest distraction imaginable in my thoughts, put me to such extremities, as I had never been acquainted with before; and the violence of my affliction taking away for some time the use of my reason, I had much ado to forbear revenging myself upon such as had contributed nothing to the misfortune. I did nothing the rest of that day, and all the next night, but wander up and down upon the Nile, while thousands of persons were searching in other places to the same purpose.  
But all proving ineffectual, I thought it my best course to return to Meroe, out of a conceit, that, without all question, you had been taken by some persons that Tiribasus had sent after you, and that, by securing those that were yet there, of the friends of Tiribasus, something might be discovered, when there comes to Bassa an Egyptian Merchant ship, by which I understood, that as they sailed up the Nile, they had met with the Pirate Zenodorus, with four ships, and had escaped being taken by him, by making to land, which they were not far from, and that they had passed so close to him, by reason of the narrowness of the River in that place above any other, that they could easily perceive there were some Lady's prisoners in his Vessel, whereof they had seen some upon the deck, and heard the cries of others echoing all over the River; and that afterwards, coming further into the River, after the Pirate was gone by, they met with abundance of carcases sloating, and found all the circumstances of a great and bloody engagement. From this disourse, which the passion I was then distracted by easily induced me to believe, I immediately inferred, all circumstances considered, that it must needs be you, Madam, that was fallen into the hands of the famous Pirate Zenodorus, whose name was grown dreadful in all these coasts, and who was the best acquainted of any therewith, by reason of the perpetual inroads that he made upon them. You may easily imagine, Madam, that it were impossible for me to make you sensible of the grief it was to me to hear these fatal tidings, and that all I am able to say will come very far short of what I then felt upon the first entertainment of that cruel account of our malicious Fortune. This was it that put me out of all patience, and in a manner took away the use of my reason, insomuch, that the gods may well pardon me, if, during the time that that extravagance lasted, I did not always observe that respect which a man should never be guilty of any breach of towards them. Nay, me thought the age I was then possessed by, was in some sort excusable, and that misfortune, happening at a time when I expected all the kindness and indulgence of fortune, seemed to me so great, that I could not imagine it supportable by the greatest constancy in the World. Nevertheless, thinking it too great a lowness of spirit to loose time in lamentations and fruitless complaints, I sent Clinias back, again to Meroe, with orders directed to Oristhenes, to hearken out every where after you, in case the tidings I had received of you should prove false, and to secure the most intimate friends of Tiribasus, to find out, by that means, whether you had been taken by any orders of his, and, having given him that charge, I took up three vessels that lay in the haven ready to set sail, accompanied by all those I had about me, that I thought able to fight, and made all the speed I could towards the mouth of the Nile, into the Mediterranean Sea. I thought it no such difficulty to make after Zenodorus, though with a number of vessels, much inferior to his, and, no doubt, less serviceable as to matter of engagement, and all the fear I was in, was, that I should not find him, so far was I from any thoughts of being worsted, if I were so fortunate as to meet with him.  
We got out of the Nile, and were ●●tred into the sea, being absolutely to seek what course we should take; but, having understood that Zenodorus came, often to Pelensia, and the ports adjoining to Alexandria, to sell some part of what he took upon those coasts, I imagined I might there hear of him, and so thought fit to make towards Alexandria. I shall not, Madam, trouble you with the complaints I made during the time of this sad course, nor the doleful reflections which tormented my thoughts without the least intermission. I was sensible, as indeed I ought to have been, of a misfortune that deprived me of the happiness of your presence; but this was not yet the greatest of my afflictions, and when I imagined to myself, that my fairest Queen was in the hands of a merciless Pirate, and represented to myself all the dangers whereto she might be exposed, (and to which, as I have since understood from Eteocles, it was but indeed too too true that she was) I was at a loss of all patience, insomuch that I could hardly forbear casting myself into the sea. At last, we were entertained by the same tempest which proved so favourable to you against the insolences of Zenodorus, and which hath been the occasion of so many accidents upon these coasts at the same time; and this also grew so implacable to us, that our veilels were dispersed, in such manner, that I could never yet learn any tidings of the other two, and know not but that they are long since devoured by the waves: and that wherein I was in myself, after we had, for two whole days struggled with the same cruelty of weather, that you had met with, was at length cast upon this coast within a hundred Stadia of this City, so shattered, that it was absolutely unfit for the sea. I left some part of my men to get the vessel repaired, as at Alexandria they might with all freedom do, there being free commerce between the Ethiopians and the Egyptians, leaving orders with them that they should expect to hear from me in the port of Alexandria, and that they should make enquiry every where after the Pirate Zenodorus. And so, taking only twelve along with me, proportionably to the number of horses that we had in the vessel, we all mounted, and having, for some time rid all together along the shore, I thought it not amiss that we divided into parties, it being the more likely way to find out what we sought, and thereupon showing them a little village which I knew, and whereof I gave them the name, I entreated them, that, after they had visited all the places about Alexandria they would all meet there at night.  
This was done as it had been resolved, and for my part I would have no more in my company but only one Esquire, by reason of the aversion, which, through melancholy, I had for all company. All that day was spent in a fruitless search, and at night meeting at the rendezvous appointed, we there passed it over, wanting nothing as to the accommodation of the body, if the mind could have taken any rest. The next day, I named to them another small town distant from this place about two hundred Stadia, where was appointed the meeting for the night following, and so, dividing into several parties, as the day before, directing them to take other courses than they had done, went myself as before, attended only by a single person in the quality of an Esquire.  
I had wandered up and down for some part of the day, when, finding myself sweltered with heat, and the weight of my Armour, which I had not put off all this time, I would needs take a minute's rest, and refresh myself at a spring that lay in my way in the midst of a very pleasant valley. With this resolution I alighted at a certain distance from the spring, and, having given my horse to the Esquire, I sat down by it, and putting up the visor of my head-piece, I drunk of the water, and lay down on the grass, where no doubt I had taken some little rest, had my grief been so supportable as to afford me such an interval. I had not been there many minutes, when there comes to the place where I was, a man accoutred much after the same rate that I was, and, as I conceive, with the same intention. His arms were very sumptuous, and he was of a goodly presence: but I thought him quite another man, when he had put up the visor of his helmet, as I had, and that, casting my eyes on his face, I found he had the best countenance in the world? We saluted one another very respectfully, though that in his face, as well as mine, were visible the characters of more than ordinary sadness. After he had quenched his thirst, which it seems had forced him thither, he began to look more earnestly on me, and he had no sooner cast his eye on my face but he thought he should know me. His behaviour obliging me to look on him with the like earnestness, methought the lineaments of his face were not strange to me, and, notwithstanding the alteration which seven or eight years might have wrought therein, I presently was persuaded I had seen him somewhere before.  
We looked thus one upon the other, with some suspense on both sides, when he, first discovering himself, and speaking to me with an accent which I was not unacquainted with; I know not, said he to me, whether you would find Britomarus in my countenance as I would do Cleomedon in yours. There needed no more than these words to put me out of all doubt, that it was no other than the same audacious Britomarus, with whom, while we were yet both very young, I had had that great falling out in Ethiopia, and whose valour and generosity I had so much admired. And though I should have gladly concealed myself from any other person, yet could I not imagine it pardonable in me to do it from Britomarus, after I had reflected on those things that had passed between us, and thereupon making him an answer suitably to his manner of speaking to me; You are very much in the right, said I to him, I am Cleomedon, and though it is with much ado that I called you to mind, yet now I am absolutely satisfied that you are Britomarus. 'Tis very true, I am Britomarus, replied he, and I must tell you moreover, that I am Artaban. Under this latter name I am much more known among men then under the former; under that name I have gained some battles, conquered Kingdoms for ungrateful Kings, and have done those actions, which have haply raised me to that rank, whereto I told you at our last parting, I was in hopes to raise myself. I have measured my sword with Kings, who have not thought it any dishonour to themselves; I have raised some of them, I have pulled down others, and I have not met with any greater than myself, till the chance of war had decided the controversy.  
There needed no more than the word Artaban, to satisfy me as to some part of those things which he told me, the reputation of Artaban being so much spread all over the world, that few were ignorant of the great actions he had done. On the other side, by reason of the acquaintance there had been between me and Britomarus, I was easily persuaded that he was Artaban, as finding in him all things extremely conformable to what I had known in the other. I harkened to his violent discourse with much patience, to see what would be the issue of it, when he, proceeding; I do not, said he to me, tell you these things of myself, Cleomedon to derive any vain reputation thence, but to give you occasion to remember that, when I was affronted by you, and forced to quit the service of Candace for your sake, I told you, as we parted, that a day might haply come, wherein I should be in a condition once more to measure a weapon with you. Not but that the cause of that resentment of mine hath long since been taken away, and that the addresses which were slighted by Candace, have Been entertained by a Princess who is not inferior either to Candace or any other Princess in the world; not also but that I am satisfied that the aversion which I have ever naturally had for you, is unreasonable, since your excellent endowments ought in all justice to gain you the esteem of all the world. On the other side, it is not unlikely, but that there may be some occasion, nay haply necessity, that both of us should employ our arms elsewhere, and upon that consideration I shall not oblige you to turn yours against me: but you will be pleased to remember, when we shall meet with a more favourable opportunity, that Britomarus is arrived to that condition which he said he should come to, and dares measure a sword not only with Cleomedon, but with all the Princes upon earth,  
This fiery discourse of Artaban's, though it raised in me a certain esteem for the person, yet was I not a little incensed at, and my thoughts being easily put into disorder by reason of the affliction I was in, there needed but a small matter to put me out of all patience. Not but that I was extremely troubled at this adventure, as such as obliged me to a fruitless engagement, in a time which I was to employ in finding out other enemies; but there being no grief so great as to smother the Love of glory, I thought, that, the discourse, which Britomarus had made, well considered, I could not with honour avoid fight, though he had left it to my choice. Upon this reflection looking on him with an eye, which easily discovered how much I was moved at what he had said; Artaban, said I to him, I am very ready to believe of you all that you say of yourself, as also all that Fame hath spread abroad concerning you, and am withal satisfied, that the cause of your resentments hath been taken away by the change of your affections; but, it seems, though there be no quarrel between us out of any consideration of jealousy, I am yet to be accountable for your aversion, and though there want not haply other occasions of far greater consequence than the motives of our differences that call me elsewhere, yet will I be obliged for my liberty to prosecute them, to myself and not to your civility. Let us not remit to another time and other opportunities, what we may determine in this. It is possible we may not meet with another so favourable, and we were both equally unblamable if we should now part and avoid an engagement that is now become necessary, and for which it seems you come so well prepared.  
With these words I rose up from the place where I lay, and after I had put on and fastened my head-piece, and taken my buckler from my Esquire, I got up on horseback, and rid forth into the most delightful part of the plain. Artaban was not a person to be expected, he had his foot in the stirrup assoon as myself, and being immediately, come up to me, he easily discovered by all his deportment, that he was the person Fame published him to be. The first ouset proved very furious, and the indignation I was in to think that he should continue an unjust aversion during so many years for a displeasure I had innocently done him, and for which I had made such satisfaction, caused me to fight with no less animosity against him, than I had done some few days before against Tiribasus. The first blows that were dealt on both sides were hearty and heavy enough; but being both very well skilled in the use of the Buckler, there were a many exchanged ere there was any wound received on either side. At last being more and more exasperated by this trial of our strength, we engaged one another with less circumspection, insomuch that both his armour and mine began to be died with the blood, which our swords drew out of our bodies. That spectacle heightening our courage added also to our animosity, and no doubt but that the end of the combat would have proved fatal to one of us, nay it may be to both, by reason of the great equality of our force, when a certain man on horseback riding at a small distance from us, and making a sudden halt, stayed for some little time to look on us. For my part, I could see nothing in the man that might divert me from minding what I was then about: but Artaban had no sooner cast his eye on him, but he gives a great shout, and at the same time, gave me such a blow over the head that I was for some minutes stunned with it. However, I made a shift to recover and that immediately, and was thinking to drive towards him, when, looking about, I perceived him at a great distance from me, riding with all the speed his horse could make, after the man we had seen, and pursuing him so closely, that it was not long ere a turning that was in the plain deprived me of the sight of him. This accident put me very much to a loss, as being too well acquainted with the valour of my Adversary, to imagine that it was out of any motive of fear that he avoided fight. No, I was far from conceiving any such thing of him, as knowing him to be as gallant and as stout a man as ever drew sword: but being already exasperated by the sight of my blood sliding down along my Armour, I would needs run after him, either to decide our quarrel, or know of him the reason why he had left me in the midst of it.  
Whereupon observing the way he had taken, I followed the tract of his horse, with all the speed I could make, and within a small time came into a place where I found him engaged in a combat with another man that seemed to be no less valiant than himself. But, my greatest Queen, I shall say no more as to what passed then, because you were yourself present and saw all, having Eteocles with you, and another valiant person, who made it his business to part us. There it was that I had the happinnesse to see you like a flash of lightning, and just at the minute that I began to feel the first motions of joy for that adventure, I saw you carried away, once more, by the man whom Artaban had pursued, who was returned thither with his companions, and was the Pirate Zenodorus, as I have understood since by Eteocles.  
The fair Queen, who had been present at that action, and had observed all till she was carried away, was so well acquainted with all passages, that he might well forbear all further account thereof. Whereupon the Prince related to her, how that he had followed her so long, till at last, through the great loss of blood, and the weakness he was reduced to, by reason of his wounds he fell off his horse; how he had been relieved by Eteocles, and not long after by his own Brother, Prince Alexander, and the Princess Artemisa. He afterwards entertained her with an account how they had brought him to the house where they had taken sanctuary themselves; how that some few days after, when he had in some measure recovered his health, he had been acquainted with the History of their loves, and yet, though he had not the least mistrust of their virtue, and friendship, that he thought it not fit at that time to discover himself to them, as not knowing whether she might take it well at his hands.  
He afterwards acquainted her with the arrival of the Princess Cleopatra, and her being in that house, to whom also he had not discovered himself, and how that the next day she had been carried away again with Artemisa. Caesario aggravated to the Queen the affliction he conceived at that misfortune, as being not in a capacity to afford his Sister the assistances he ought, and to go along with Alexander after those that had carried her away; yet told her withal, that it was his resolution to have done it, and that he would have put on his armour, if Alexander himself had not prevented him; and if Eteocles had not taken such order, that he could get neither arms nor horses for that day: that the next day towards the evening finding himself a little stronger, he got out of his bed with an intention at the same time to seek out both Candace and Cleopatra, and was got to one of the windows, whence, casting his eye upon the adjoining wood, he had seen a Chariot passing by, wherein he had perceived the Queen, with the fair Princess of the Parthians, whom he knew not, that upon that happy sight, joy taking its former place in his soul, friendship had submitted to love, and the loss of Cleopatra troubled him the less by reason of the recovery of Candace: That he would immediately have run after her, but, not long after, Eteocles, coming into the room, and having communicated that good news to him, had entreated him to have a little patience, and to give him leave to run alone after the Chariot, to find out the truth of that adventure; That accordingly Eteocles got on horseback, and followed the tract of the Chariot, and those that conveyed it, into Alexandria, whither having got in undiscovered, he had informed himself so well of all things, that he understood how the Queen was in the Palace, with the Princess of the Parthians; that she had been rescued out of their hands that had carried her away by the Praetor Cornelius, and that she was attended with all manner of respect, though she had discovered herself only so far as th●● she was a Lady of great quality, born in Ethiopia; that these tidings restoring him, as it were, to a new life, had also restored him, in some measure, to his health and strength: and that, having that very day sent Eteocles into the City to speak with her, if he possibly, with any convenience, could; he returned some time after, with news, that he had seen her getting up into a Chariot, wherein she went out of the City, to take the air along the river side, and would come within a small distance of the house where he was; That, upon that news he was not able to keep in any longer, and that notwithstanding the reasons alleged by Eteocles, who would by all means have hindered him, he got on horseback, and rid for●h into the wood, in hopes of some opportunity to see her, out of a confidence he should not meet with any one that knew him. That it was, as he crossed the wood up and down upon that design, that he first heard certain out-cries, and afterward saw the Prince●s Elisa in the hands of Tigranes; That, though he knew not who she was, he had done her that service which he ought her, and that he had not forsaken her, had he not seen Artaban, and a company of men on horseback coming behind him; That being unwilling to be discovered by them, he withdrew; but that he had taken particular notice of Artaban, and that, looking on him as the most concerned in the relief of the Princess, he was very glad that he had done him that good office, as well out of a consideration of the satisfaction a man takes in doing what he is in honour obliged to, as out of a remembrance, that, in the engagement they had had together, against the Pirate Zenodorus, and his men, Artaban had relieved him, and helped him on horseback, after his own had been killed under him; That afterwards he had wandered up and down the wood, in hopes to see the Queen, but that, having observed some appearance of Agrippa and Cornelius, with their Troop, he would not by any means be met with by them, and thereupon retired till night, at which time, through the help of the darkness, he made a shift to get into the City, and, knowing what part of the Palace the Queen was lodged in, he, without any difficulty, found her out, having once gotten upon the terrace, where he had met with Clitia.  
Thus did Caesario put a period to his relation, and when he had given over speaking, the Queen, looking on him with a countenance wherein her thoughts were in some measure legble; Caesario, said she to him, you have had your traverses and extremities, and we had ours, which I shall not trouble you with any relation of, because you have understood them already from Eteocles. If I have suffered much for you, I must yet confess you have endured more for me, besides, that by your attempts and valour, you have regained me a Kingdom, which I gave over for lost. It is but just it should be a present made to you, as it were, in some sort, to reward your care and conduct, and might it please the gods I had any thing to present you with, that were more considerable and more precious, that I might requite, as I ought to do, those so many noble demonstrations of your affection. Madam, replies Caesario, it is beyond the merits of my blood, nay, indeed, of my life, to deserve the expressions I receive of your favours and goodness, and I am very much ashamed to expect so many great things from my noblest Queen, when I am able to offer her nothing but a miserable wretch discarded and despoiled of that which now makes up so many Monarchies and a ............  
'tis enough, says Candace, interrupting him, let me hear no more of that discourse, if you have not a set purpose to displease me, and take it for granted, that your person is of a value high enough to be preferred by the greatest Princesses in the universe before that of the usurper, who is now possessed of your Father's Palace.  
Having by these words engaged him to silence, she fell upon some other discourse, wherein she discovered to him what trouble she was in for the danger whereto he exposed himself, by coming into Alexandria, where he must expect no less than death if he were once known; as also her displeasure to see him so careless of his health, as being not sufficiently recovered, (as might be seen in his countenance) to venture on horseback, and take such pains as he did. The Prince, after he had thanked her for the afflictions she was in for his sake, as being the pure effects of the tenderness she had for him; For the hazard whereto I expose myself, said he to her, it is not so great as you imagine it, and besides the difference there is between the face of a child of fourteen years of age, and that of a man of four and twenty, the report that is scattered up and down the world of my death hath taken such root, and is particularly so much credited by Augustus, that it were no small difficulty to persuade people to the contrary: and for my health, I find, that through the joy which the gods have been pleased to afford me, by meeting with you again, I have recovered my strength in such a measure, that within three or four days I shall be in as good plight and condition as ever I was, either to do any thing in point of arms, or to wait on you by sea into Ethiopia. Eteocles hath within these two days found out our vessel, which the Ethiopians that had followed me have gotten made fit for the sea again, and rides at anchor within a hundred stadia of Alexandria. Your faithful subjects that are aboard it, have understood, not without great transports of joy, that you were in this City, and expect your orders with that secrecy which Eteocles hath engaged them to. I shall be content to remain either with them, if you think it good, or in the house where I have already made some abode, and where, by the appointment of Alexander, I have hitherto been extremely well entertained, and at such hours as these you will give me leave to wait on you for some small time, till the day that you shall have resolved to depart hence. Alas! for matter of departure, says Candace to him, it shall be as soon as your recovery shall permit, besides that there are some other reasons best known to myself, which would force me to hasten my departure hence, were it not that the company of this fair Princess, which I cannot without an infinite affliction ever quit, doth prevail with me to wave all resolutions of that nature. It was but just, said Elisa to her, that you gave me that little comfort, after the cruel discourse you have entertained me with, and I shall be very much troubled to consent to your departure, if you do not take me along with you.  
These last words fell from her with a certain smile, whereupon the Queen looking with a more serious countenance; Fairest Princess, said she to her, you speak that in jest, which, with more reason, you might do after another manner: and were it the pleasure of the gods, and that I might hope so much from your friendship, as that, till such time as you are reconciled to the King your Father, or have settled yourself by other ways, you would make your residence in Ethiopia, you shall be there attended with so much respect and affection, that possibly it would be long ere you returned among the Parthiaus. Two hours since I could not have made you this proposition; but since that through the assistances of the gods, and the valour and conduct of Caesario, we have recovered the Kingdom of our Fathers, I shall never derive any advantage thence that can be more acceptable to me then that which I may receive by this goodness of yours.  
This discourse of Candace was accented with so much affection, that Elisa could not forbear embracing her, and kissing her many times together, giving her withal many thanks for this demonstration of her friendship, in terms wherein she fully expressed how extremely sensible she was thereof. At length, turning to Caesario, I should have feared, said she to him, that the difference there is between you and Artaban might have engaged you to employ the interest you have with the Queen, to oppose the sanctuary and entertainment she is pleased to prosser me, as knowing the inclinations he hath for me, and haply having understood the marks of a more than ordinary esteem which I have for him: but since you have been so fortunately generous, as to have done her, with joy, the greatest service she could have expected from the best of her friends, I cannot but hope, that, through the assistance of the Queen, who will make it very much her business to persuade you thereto, you will not be so exasperated against him, as to deny him your friendship, if he desires it of you, as he is obliged to do. Madam, replies Caesario, I can make an unfeigned protestation to you, that I never had any hatred against Artaban, and from the esteem I have ever made of his admirable endowments, it may easily be inferred, how extremely I was troubled to find in him so much aversion for me. Insomuch, that without engaging by this action, the Queen, or yourself, to a belief that it proceeds from the respect and compliance I have for your commands, I shall gladly embrace his friendship, and give him what assurances of mine you shall think fit.  
Elisa seemed to be extremely joyed at this discourse of Caesario's, whereupon the Queen, desirous to unite those two extraordinary persons by a friendship great as that which was between herself and Elisa, knowing that Caesario had had some imperfect account of the great actions of Artaban, as also of the affection he had for Elisa, acquainted him in few words with what of most consequence he was yet ignorant of. Insomuch, that by that relation she gave him such a character of Artaban, that he looked upon him as the greatest and most generous of men, and representing to him the difference there is between those elevated souls in whom noble actions raise only an impression of esteem and respect, and those other reptile ones, wherein they produce envy and enmity, to desire with earnestness, the acquisition of his friendship.  
It is not to be doubted but that the sight of Caesario was an infinite satisfaction to Candace; and Caesario, on the other side, could gladly have spent whole ages in her company, and yet not be sensible of their length; but yet, besides the fear which upon his account Candace was perpetually in, the night was in a manner spent, and Caesario thought it too great a presumption to delay any longer the repose of those two great Princesses. So that he was obliged to recommend them to their rest, having first obtained the Queens leave to wait on her the next night at the same hour, and promised, that he would entertain Artaban with all friendly embraces, if it should prove his fortune ever to meet him again. Assoon as he was gone, the two Princesses went to their beds, and by reason of the alteration that had happened that day in their fortunes, having dismissed those cruel disturbances which interrupted their repose, thy fell into such a quiet sleep, that it was very late the next day ere they awoke.  
Thus was this night passed over by those many illustrious persons who were then at Alexandria, and the next day assoon as Olympia and Arsinoe had notice brought them, that Candace and Elisa were awake, they left their own lodgings with an intention to give them a visit, and to let Elisa understand how much they thought themselves concerned in what had happened to her the day before. They would by no means give way that Ariobarzanes and Philadelph should follow them, though it was no small torment to them to be out of their Mistress' presence so much as one minute, and indeed they were not over-earnest to do it at that time, knowing well, that by reason of the difference of sex they had not the same freedom with the others to visit Ladies before they were dressed. Besides Philadelph was a little troubled by what he had understood of the arrival of Tigranes, and the attempt he had made to carry away Elisa. And being withal a kinsman and friend to the King of the Medes, and that it was by his assistance and that of Archelaus King of Cappadocia, that Tigranes had recovered his Kingdom, he knew not well, how he should behave himself towards Elisa, for whom he had already conceived abundance of respect, and for whom Arsinoe whose commands he was wholly to be guided by, had a very great affection. At last he resolved not to do any thing that Arsinoe might take amiss at his hands, or prejudice the respect he had for Elisa; but he thought he might safely go and see Tygranes, having understood that he was in Alexandria, and thereupon taking his leave of Ariobarzanes for some time, he went to give him a visit. And yet before he was gotten out of doors he called to mind the ancient enmity that was between the King of the Medes and the house of Armenia, though there had been a peace concluded between those two Crowns by the interest and Authority of Augustus. And accordingly, fearing that Ariobarzanes was still wedded to the quarrel wherein his house had been engaged, and consequently an enemy to Tygranes, he entreated him for his sake, to moderate the resentments there might be yet remaining in him as to that affair, and to do that Prince no ill office, if he did not by some deportment of his, oblige him thereto. Ariobarzanes, who was a person of an excellent good nature, promised Philadelph to be guided in all things by him, and seeing himself deprived of all company by his departure, he went to see Agrippa whom he extremely honoured for his virtue, and whose friendship he was very desirous to preserve that he might make use of it, either upon his own account or Philadelphs, against the implacable humour of Artaxus, whom he stood much in fear of.  
Tygranes had passed away the night in such fits of madness and exasperation, as had hardly allowed him the rest of some few minutes, and brought him into an humour, which made him unfit company for all in a manner, Philadelph only excepted. But assoon as he cast his eyes on that Prince whom he had infinite love for, and whom he was obliged to for the recovery of his kingdom, all his melancholy and extravagant resentments vanished to make way for that excess of joy which filled him at a sight so little expected. He found it some difficulty to imagine to himself that it was really Philadelph; but when the Prince had by his words and caresses, confirmed what his eyes durst not easily decide, the satisfaction it was to him proved an excellent remedy to alleviate his discontents, and, suffering himself to be absolutely possessed thereby, his behaviour towards the Prince was such as could not proceed but from a violent and cordial affection.  
After the first compliments, ordinary upon the occasion of such an interview, were past, Tygranes asked Philadelph what strange adventure had brought him to Alexandria, and Philadelph, having made the same demand to the other, they reciprocally satisfied one the other; and entertained one another with an account of their last adventures, by means whereof they were come to Alexandria. Tigranes seemed to be very glad at the fortunate success of Philadelphs Love, though he could not but much wonder, that that fair Delia, of whom he had heard such strange things while they were in the wars together, was the same Arsinoe, that was reported to be dead long before with her Brother Ariobarzanes, and Sister to Artaxus their in econcileable enemy. Philadelph told him that he had been no less astonished at it himself, and therefore doubted not but that the indeprecability of Artaxus and that of the King his own Father might yet put a many rubs in their way; but, all notwithstanding, he thought himself happy in having consecrated his life to the most amiable and most virtuous Princess upon earth, and that he expected no less from the friendship of Ariobarzanes, and the authority of Caesar then that all things should be so carried that both parties should comply to contribute to their good Fortune.  
After they had had some discourse of the affairs of Philadelph they spoke of those of Tigranes, and after that that violent King had with a great deal of fury and fierceness disburdened himself of part of that which lay so heavy on his heart, and made thousands of complaints against Elisa, and disgorged thousands of menaces against Artaban and all those that were of his party, Philadelph took occasion to reassume the discourse with abundance of mildness in these terms. You do not doubt, said he to Tigranes, but that I am your Friend, and as deeply engaged in your interests as any Prince whatsoever, either of your allies or neighbours. The expressions I have received thereof, are but too many, too great and too important, replied Tigranes, not to raise in me a confidence of your Friendship. Since you are so much of that belief replies Philadelph, you will give me leave to tell you that you yourself contribute most of any to your own misfortunes, and that the same Elisa for whose sake you have once already lost your kingdom, may prove the occasion of greater inconveniences to you. I must needs acknowledge the world affords not any thing comparable to her beauty, not any thing greater than the rank she is in among the Princesses of the earth, and that the Crown of the Parthians, whereof she is yet presumed to be the lawful heir, is, next to the Roman Empire, the greatest Monarchy in the world. But on the other side, you are to consider, that this Elisa shuns you, hates you, prefers before you a person whose revenues consist in his sword, and defies the indignation of her Father and her King, merely to satisfy the aversion she hath for you; so that you may well infer that there is little likelihood to reduce that which neither paternal authority, nor the hazards she hath hitherto been exposed to, have ineffectually attempted: And therefore, if you will take my advice, you will make this advantage of the disentertainment of your addresses, to banish out of year heart a person that slights you, and one that, though she were within your power, will never have any affection for you while she lives, and consequently, must needs make you, by reason of the continual hostility which you must ever expect to struggle with in your own house, the most unfortunate Prince upon earth.  
On the other side, I have heard of some little engagement you were in towards Urania, during the time you took sanctuary with King Archelaus, her Brother, who may with very much reason be exasperated against you, if the things I have heard be true, and you must needs expect the reproaches of all the world, if by your irregular proceedings you disoblige a friend from whom you have received services of so great consequence.  
While Philadelph held him with this discourse, Tigranes harkened to it with much impatience, as desirous to interrupt him. But when he had given over speaking; I must needs acknowledge, said he to him, that there is abundance of reason in some of these things which you insist upon; but if you have had as much love for Delia as you have sometimes told me you had, I am to learn, how you can imagine it should be so easy for me to disengage myself from that which I have for Elisa, the influences of whose beauty are not so weak but that they may work their effect upon a man's heart while he lives. Besides, though my inclinations that way proceeded not out of any engagement of Love, and the interest of a Crown, such as is that of the Parthiuns, I am obliged to do what I do out of a consideration of honour; for I have married her by my Ambassadors, and the King her Father bestowed her himself upon those Ambassadors, that she might be brought into my embraces. So that I am to take in any part of the earth, wherever I meet with her, the woman that is my lawful wife, and by all manner of ways revenge the affront I have received, and I cannot imagine that Caesar, or any other Authority in the world, will oppose so justifiable a resolution. For Urania, you know the worst she can expect; it will be no prejudice to her to give place to Elisa, and though what you have heard should prove true, she is no worse dealt with by me then she had been before by you.  
I hope you are not so far mistaken, replies Philadelph, as to imagine I ever promised Urania any thing, and that if I had, the Love I have for Arsinoe should not oblige me to deceive her. As for the revenge you speak of, and which you say you ought to endeavour for the affront hath been done you, I know not on whom you should execute it, and if you take my opinion, I think it is only of Elisa that you have received that affront. I shall not revenge myself on Elisa, replied the King of the Medes, because, notwithstanding her ingratitude and insensibility towards me, she is yet dearer to me than my own life, and I could never attempt any thing against her, but it must wound me to the heart. But I will punish that audacious fellow whom she most shamefully prefers before me, and will chastise a person who, risen out of the dust, would needs raise himself above Kings, and who, not able to list himself up into the rank whereof he now is, but by the favours that I have done him, and the employments I have put him into in my Armies, hath so insolently abused the fortune he crept into by my lenity, and treats Kings as his equals, if not as his inferiors.  
I am not acquainted with Artaban, replies Philadelph, though his great fame hath raised in me a great desire to be; but if I may measure him by the things I have heard related of him, I cannot look on him as a person that Kings should contemn. This you can testify more than any other, and consequently when I consider the things he hath done as well for you, as for the King of the Parthians, it cannot enter into my imagination that you will find it so easy a matter to punish him as you conceive.  
Philadelph would have said more to that purpose, as being not able to forbear giving that acknowledgement of Artabans' virtue which all the world confessed to be its due; but observing in the countenance of Tigranes, that he was not well pleased with discourses of that nature, he thought fit not to continue it, and not long after falling into some other talk, for some time, they went together to give a visit to Agrippa. Tigranes made some difficulty to go, by reason of the hindrance he had done him in his design the day before; but considering withal that, by reason of the interest he had with Caesar, the success of his affairs depended partly on him, he went along; Philadelph having before hand made him promise, that he would not discover any dissatisfaction towards Ariobarzanes, who was no enemy of his, and had made the same promise as to him.  
Agrippa entertained all these Princes with much civility, and, being a man that derived no pride from the greatness of his fortune, because it was indeed below his virtue, he treated them with all the honour due to their dignity. And knowing that in Alexandria they had not all things suitably to their rank, nor had that attendance, they were wont to have, especially Ariobarzanes and Philadelph, who had not any retinue at all, he invited them to dine with him, excusing himself for being so free with them, out of a respect of their present condition in Alexandria, which was such, that they could not have those accommodations at their own lodgings, which they might with him. Ariobarzanes and Philadelph were persuaded to stay; but Tigranes would needs dine with Cornelius, who had sent him an invitation to that purpose in the morning. At this first interwiew between Ariobarzanes and him, they saluted one another as persons that were not acquainted, without any expression of discontent or animosity of either side, which was all that Philadelph desired.  
In the mean time Arsinoe and Olympia were gone to visit Elisa and Candace, whom they took just getting out of bed, and assoon as Olympia was gotten near Elisa, putting on, yet with a cheerful look, the countenance of a slave; What, Madam, said she to her, have you no employment now for your slave, and will you 〈◊〉 yourself to be dressed, and receive the services of those that are about you, and slight mine? Elisa blushing at this discourse, after she had kissed Arsinoe and Olympia; I cannot blame you, Madam, said she to her, for reproaching me with the faults, which, through my ignorance, I have committed against you; and to be ingenious, I must confess they are such, that if you are not in some measure guilty of them yourself, I shall be ashamed of them as long as I live.  
This discourse had been continued somewhat longer, if the fair Arsinoe had not interrupted it, to let Elisa know, how much she thought herself concerned in what had happened to her, as well upon her, meeting with Artaban, and with Tigranes, assuring her, that she was no less troubled for any misfortune night come to her, than those persons that had been of her acquaintance many years together. The discourse of Olympia was much to the same effect, and that in terms full of affection; and when Elisa had returned them thanks, clothed in the best expressions she could, For your part, Madam, added she, speaking to Olympia, you have done nothing upon this occasion, but what I might justly have expected from the friendship we have mutually promised one another: but for yours, Madam, said she, directing her speech to Arsinoe, I must needs acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to you, for adhering to my interests, against your own friends, or, at least, if I may be pardoned that freedom, against those of Philadelph. For I cannot imagine you are ignorant, that Philadelph, is both a Kinsman and Friend to Tigranes, and that it was Philadelph himself that raised him into that Throne, out of which Artaban had pulled him down.  
Since you oblige me to answer for Philadelph, replies Arsinoe, smiling, and, and blushing at the same time, I shall tell you, that haply he did but his duty when he relieved his friend and kinsman against those that had dispossessed him of his dominions; but if he place any concernment in the loss or enjoiment of my person, I shall accordingly hope, that those of our house will be as dear to him, as any related to that of Tigranes, who hath ever been an enemy thereto. And for our own particular, I am to tell you, that there is such a constancy in the inclinations we both have to honour you, that I dare assure you that we shall ever be of the same party. Besides, I am further to let you know that both my brother and he, though they never saw Artaban, are so strangely fallen in love with the noble fame he hath acquired, and the account hath been given them of his person, that it will be a kind of miracle that ever they should oppose him in any thing. Some considrations of no small consequence have obliged them to forbear visiting him this morning; but they hope, that ere this day be over, they shall find out some means or other to see him: and if you will pardon me the acknowledgement of my own curiosity, I must confess, that I desire it no less myself, and that I cannot make any representation of him to myself, but as a very extraordinary person. When you shall have seen him, added Candace, your conviction will be much greater than your confidence is now, and you will find, that though Fame be extremely liberal of her good word and character of him, all comes short of the truth, and in this discourse which I make of him, I am the more to be credited, the less I am obliged to be his friend, and that, for some little infidelity he hath been guilty of towards me, I were sufficiently dispensed from speaking so much to his advantage.  
This last expression falling from her with a smile, and that observed by Elisa, onwhom she looked at the same time; I did not imagine, replied Elisa, that you had been acquainted with Artaban, and much less that you could have charged him with any infidelity: but I have this only to say by way of excuse for him, that if he had been guilty of it towards any other person than yourself, whose attractions are so great, as to confine the most inconstant minds till death dissolve them, I think I should pardon such a defection out of a consideration of the noble cause of his change, and that I should not call that man inconstont that should forget all things to sacrifice himself to the fair Princess of the Parthians. You would take that for good satisfaction, says Candace to her, if he had forsaken you to serve her? I know not what I should do in that case, replied Arsinoe, smiling, but am satisfied, that I ought to do it, if I were but any thing rational. I do not place so much felicity in revenge, replies the Queen of Aethiopia, as to wish that Philadelph should prove inconstant; but I would with all my heart, that Artaban, in whom you are not so much concerned, had seen you, had loved you, and had forsaken you, to court Elisa, and it would be no small happiness to me to have so fair a companion in this disgrace.  
Arsinoe was going to make her some reply, when Olympia takes occasion to break off the discourse; out of a desire to be more particularly informed of the adventure that had happened the day before; as having before had but an imperfect relation thereof. Elisa entertained them with an account of it; but, being unwilling to bring in any thing into those adventures relating to the History of Candace, which they had not been acquainted with, as they had with her own, she said nothing of the discourses that had passed between her and Artaban, and did not discover any thing whence they might imagine that Artaban was Britomarus. These two Princesses were, by this relation, confirmed in the great opinion they had conceived of him, and acknowledged that such a man, though without Crowns, was to be preferred before those that wore the richest in the World.  
When the Princesses were quite dressed, word was brought them, that dinner stayed for them, and though Elisa doubted not but that she should see Artaban that afternoon, as she had promised him, yet out of a conceit that she should not any time that day, have the freedom to see him alone, she thought sit to entreat the two Princesses to dine with them, which proposition they complied with, when they had understood by a messenger that came from Ariobarzanes to the Princess his Sister, that Philadelph and himself were invite● to Agrippa's.  
Assoon as they had dined, they immediately returned into Elisa's chamber, whither they were hardly all gotten, but Cephis● came and acquainted the Princess, that Artaban was at the door desirous to wait on her. She, with a certain agitation which she was not able to conceal, gave order he should come in, so that at the name of Artaban, Arsinoe, and Olympia prepared themselves for a sight which they had long been infinitely desirous to see. Artaban was immediately admitted, and came in with that attractive countenance, and majestic deportment, which raised in all those that saw him, respect and admiration. Olympia was astonished at it, as finding somewhat beyond all she could have imagined of him, and would needs turn to Arsinoe, as it were to read her thoughts of him in her countenance, when she observed in it, more of astonishment and surprise than she had thought to find there. Accordingly, Artaban, having in the first place very submissively saluted Elisa and Candace, had no sooner turned himself towards Olympia and Arsinoe, to do them the same civility, but the Armenian Princess met with, in his countenance, that of Britomarus, the same Britomarus that had courted her with a very violent affection, in the King her Father's Court, that Britomarus, whom, for his over-confidence, she had slighted, though she infinitely esteemed him for his great worth, and who, not long before, had, in Cyprus, protected her against the violences of Antigenes, and restored her into the hands of Ariobarzanes, after he had delivered him out of the chains of the Pirates, as she had related to Philadelph two days before. These last obligations put upon them by Britomarus were of such consequence, that in a mind, such as was that of Arsinoe, they could have produced no less than an acknowledgement equal thereto, and when that in the person of that great Artaban, whom she looked on as a man, whose sword decided the fates of Empires, she found that of Britomarus, to whom she ought her honour, and her brother's liberty, sh● could not avoid being seized by a violent surprise, yet such withal, 〈◊〉 was delightful, and brought with it no less satisfaction than astonishment. Nor indeed either could she, or would she, dissemble it, and thereupon coming up to him with such a confidence as she might have expressed towards a most affectionate brother: What, Britomarus, said she to him, are you then that great Artaban, whose fame fills the universe, and who, under that illustrious name of Artaban, are pleased to conceal from us that of Britomarus, to whom I stand engaged for my own honour, and my Brother's life?  
The other three Princesses could not but wonder very much at this discourse of Arsinoe; but indeed Artaban could do no less himself, as considering with himself, not without astonishment, how Fortune, in so small a space of time, should bring together, out of several Kingdoms that lay at a great distance one from another, the only three persons for whom he ever had conceived affection. The presence of Elisa, as things than stood; put him into some little disorder, and yet not willing to be thought insensible of the civility he had received from Arsinoe, for whom he had infinite respects, after he had saluted her with as much submission as he could have done, even when his affections were most violent for her, Madam, said he to her, the same fortune, that makes Delia's and Arsinoe's, may also make Artaban's and Britomarus', and under both these names I continue towards the Princess Arsinoe a respect, which nothing shall ever be able to make me forget.  
Elisa, during this discourse, being gotten close to Arsinoe: What, Madam, said she to her, it seems you are acquainted with Artaban? Since Britomarus is the same with Artaban, replies Arsinoe, I dare tell you, Madam, that I knew him before you, and shall further let you know, that I have much reason to be acquainted with him, since that, not to mention the addresses he sometime made to me in my own Country, even while he was yet very young, he hath within a small time, by his admirable valour, and with the hazard of his life, preserved that, which, amongst us, is counted most precious, and delivered my brother out of the hands of the Pirates. What Sister, cries out Olympia, is it than to the great Artaban, that we are obliged for the safety of Ariobarzanes? It is so Sister, replies Arsinoe, 'tis to him that we are obliged for him, and I believe, let him go which way he will, he shall every where meet with persons engaged to his fortunate valour. If your considerations are limited by the engagements you have to my valour, replied Artaban, you may reflect only on services which you might justly have expected from all those persons whom fortune had favoured with the same opportunities to do them; but if you call to mind that over-confidence, as you thought it, which you punished with so much severity and disdain, while I continued in Armenia, you will haply conceive yourself more obliged to my crime, than my services, and that I had presented you with a thing at that time, which might have made a greater impression in your memory, than that little relief, for which you are indebted only to my sword.  
These words made Arsinoe blush, and while she was considering what answer she should make, Candace not well affording her the the time to do it; Ah Madam, said she to her, might it please the gods that the wish I made some minutes since may be accomplished, and that it were true that Britomarus were guilty of the same infidelity towards you, which you so much approved, or, at least, thought so excusable by reason of the noble cause thereof. For matter of infidelity, replies Artaban, I am not guilty of any towards the fair Arsinoe, for she never accepted of my fidelity, nor entertained the respect I had for her with any obligation. But certain it is, Madam, that when I left you, I brought away this young heart, which was, upon my first inclinations, grown confident enough, and laid it at the feet of Arsinoe, and that, without all question, I had spent my whole life in that engagement, if the rigour of this Princess, and the pleasure of my destiny, reserving me for another vassalage, had not involved me in other chains, for which I should willingly forsake, with all it contains that is most excellent, the Empire of the whole World. But who can be confident, says Elisa to him, not with too much earnestness, that these last chains will not be broken as the former were, and what beauty in the world can be secured against your inconstancy, since that of these two fair Priecesses hath not been able to fix it? I am very confident, replies Artaban, that she, whose vassal I now particularly profess myself to be, is not in any fear I should break the chains I am in, and am far from thinking myself so happy, as to put her into any fear, which might raise me to a degree of felicity whereto I am not yet arrived. Might it please the gods I were on those terms with her, for I should find it no hard matter to 〈◊〉 her, that I conceive my slavery too too glorious for me to imagine there is any need of fidelity to continue in it.  
These few words he thought sufficient as to that point, and Elisa was satisfied therewith, not insisting upon any further matter of justification to be convinced of a fidelity, which she had experienced in so many extraordinary demonstrations. Upon that account was it that she fell upon some other discourse, and so asked Artaban, by what miraculous means he had escaped out of the sea, into which she had seen him cast himself, and being satisfied for that day, she could not hope to have any private discourse with him, she entreated him to relate before those Princesses, by what strange ways he had escaped, and in what manner he had spent his life since their unexpected separation. Artaban was preparing himself to obey her commands, conceiving, as she did, that he must needs expect till some other, more favourable opportunity, to enter into private discourse with her, when there come into the room Agrippa, Philadelph, Ariobarzanes, Ovid, and some others, who had dined that day with Agrippa. Arioborzanes and Philadelph, how impatient soever they might be to see their beloved Princesses, from whom, after so cruel an absence, they could hardly bear with one that took up only some few minutes, found that desire, when they were come to the Princess of the Parthians lodgings, exchanged into another, viz. That of seeing Artaban, whose great reputation had raised in them no less curiosity for his acquaintance then esteem for his person. Assoon as Philadelph saw him, he thought there had been something more than humane in his countenance and deportment; but Ariobarzanes had no sooner cast his eyes upon him, but, as Arsinoe had done before, finding Britomarus in the person of Artaban, he retreated some few paces with an action full of astonishment, and a little after coming up to him with his arms spread open, after he had craved the pardon of Elisa and Candace, for the freedom he took in their presence, he embraced with all the demonstrations of a perfect friendship, and, seconding his caresses with words full of affection; O ye just gods, said he, is it possible, that in this Artaban, who is so favous all over the World, I should find that Briton arus, who is so dear to me, and to whom both my Sister and myself are obliged for our honour, life and liberty? Ah! no question, it is the very same, added he a little after, and all things were so great and promising in Britomarus, that, from the first discoveries he made of himself, we could presume no less then that they would terminate in the glory of the great Artaban.  
Artaban, entertaing the caresses of that truly noble and amiable Prince with all manner of acknowledgement, and his expressions of him with abundance of modesty, answered him with the respect he had for those Princes that degenerated not from their dignity; and, knowing withal that Ariobarzanes was yet more considerable for his actions then for his birth, as he had understood from the relation he had received of him after he had rescue 〈◊〉 out of the hands of the Pirates, he looked on him with so much esteem, as he could possibly have for those whom their quality and rank make the most recommendable ●●ought men. Whereupon disengaging himself out of his embraces, My Lord, said he to him, your own virtue makes you set too great a value on their valour in whom you may have discovered some virtuous inclination, and the actions of Artaban are not so considerable as the miracles of Artamenes. Besides, both yourself, and the Princess your Sister conspire together to attribute to me the glory of an assistance you received not from me, since that it is not to be doubted, but you had yourself a greater hand than I had in the victory, which rescued you out of the hand● of the Pirates.  
They had continued their discourses to this effect for some time longer, if Philadelph, perceiving by what Ariobarzanes had said, that Artaban was the same Britomarus who had rescued De●ra from the violences of Antigenes; and put to death that infamous Ravisher, and all his lewd companions, being almost out of patience to express his gratitude towards him, had not come up to him with as much earnestness as Ariobarzanes had done before. And in that heat, not having the least memory of the interests of Tigranes, but looking on Artaban, as a person to whom he was obliged for what was of greater concernment to him then his life; And have not I, said he to him, as much reason as any man to offer myself up wholly to the service of the great Artaban, and can he have delivered Arsinoe out of the hands of her enemies, and not command the life of Philadelph. At that word Artaban, having taken notice of Philadelph, whose goodliness, as to his person, he had already observed, and whose life he had been acquainted with, both from the mouth of Arsinoe, and that of ●ame itself, looked on him with more earnestness than he had done before, and, considering him as one that might justly be of that number of men, whom he thought worthy his respects and affection, he accordingly expressed himself with as much freedom to him, as he had done to Ariobarzanes. So that after he had received his caresses with the same civility, It had been very much more to my advantage, said he to him, that you had had these favourable sentiments towards me, when you were so earnest in restoring my enemy to his throne, and in a condition to deprive me of all, both my hopes and my happiness; but what time or occasion soever you take to proffer it me, I must needs place abundance of glory and felicity in your friendship. When the King of Cappadocia, and myself, replies Philadelph, assisted Tigranes to recover his Kingdom, out of which you had forced him, we gave him an assistance, which, no doubt, we ought to have afforded our friend and our kinsman; but what advantages soever he might have made of your absence, he would have been but little the better for it, if that sword of Artabans, which commands victory where ere it comes, had still been in the service of the King of the Parthians. When that sword purchased me any victory, replies Artaban, I had not to deal with such enemies, as Philadelph, and if Tigranes had followed your noble examples, he had never fallen into those misfortunes out of which you have since delivered him.  
Philadelph replied to this discourse with much modesty, and they had continued it somewhat longer, if Agrippa and the rest of the company had not interrupted it, all looking one upon the other with a certain esteem and veneration. And certainly the persons that were then met were such, that whether sex were looked upon, there was still matter of esteem and admiration, it being likely to prove a hard matter to find in any other part of the world, a like number of persons to whom nature had been so liberal of her advantages.  
When they were all sat, they fell into very pleasant discourse, but it was not free from some reservedness, and, unless it were Ovid, and some others that came along with Agrippa, there was not any one in that noble assembly that was not rather desirous of private discourse with some particular person present, than a general conversation. Ariobarzanes and Philadelph could have wished they had been where they might with freedom speak to their Princesses, yet were not they the most disturbed of any, and whereas their fortunes were in a more settled condition than those of any of the rest, they accordingly with the more patience endured that little abatement of their satisfaction. Artaban, who had not had any discourse with Elisa since their separation, was no doubt very desirous of it at that time; but being confident that he was loved to as high a degree as he could rationally desire, he was much in a better condition than Agrippa, who certainly was the most disordered of the whole company. He had taken a seat very near Elisa, but he could not say a word to her which must not be heard by all the rest, especially Artaban, who sat at a very little distance from her, and, for the most part, had his eyes fixed on her countenance. Elisa from time to time fastened on him such looks as easily discovered what kindness she had for him in her heart; or if those who were not concerned therein in were accordingly the less apprehensive thereof, they were but too too significant to the construction of the passionate Agrippa, who, reading in them all he could fear in favour of his Rival, was wounded thereby to the very heart. Of this he would have givenexpressions remarkable enough had he harkened only to the suggestions of his passion, but being a person of much prudence and reservedness, he so far 〈◊〉 he agitations of his thoughts, as not to discover them 〈◊〉 to Elisa, who had already taken but too much notice 〈…〉  
Now there having not happened any thing of a long time in that Country so remarkable as the carrying away of Cleopatra, that became for some time the subject of their discourse, and after that Agrippa had acquainted the company with the order that Cornelius and himself had taken for her recovery, and how they had sent by land an infinite number of persons to find her out, and by Sea the greatest part of the ships that were in the port of Alexandria, to so little effect that none of all those brought any account of her, all spoke with very much resentment of the misfortune of that fair Princess. It went to the very heart of Candace for Caesario's sake; Elisa out of her own excellent good nature, was extremely troubled at it, and Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe though the children of Artabasus and Brother and Sister to Artaxus, having not for the deplorable destiny of their Father, that cruel resentment which their Brother would never quit towards the innocent family of Mark-Anthony, but, on the contrary, calling to mind, with tenderness, the years they had spent in the company of the Princess Cleopatra and her Brothers, in the same City and Palace, where they than were, and reflecting on the demonstrations they had in those days received of their affection, were very much afflicted at that misfortune. Insomuch that Ariobarzanes, concerning himself in it with that ingenious generosity which was observable in all his actions, made a protestation that he would hazard his life in the service of that Princess. Whereupon, Agrippa, who had privately seen Alexander the day before, had furnished him with a vessel, and had in few words been informed by him how things had passed, looking on Ariobarzanes with a smile; I am very glad, said he to him, to find your sentiments of this business suitable to the greatness of your courage; but I am doubtful whether you will persist therein, when you have understood that the Princess Cleopatra was carried away by the King of Armenia your Brother. Ariobarzanes was very much at a loss to hear that, but not long after rejoining to the former discourse; You entertain me, for your own diversion sake, said he to Agrippa, with a discourse that seems to have but little probability in it; but, it being supposed that the King my Brother had carried away the Princess Cleopatra, I should by no means approve his action, and would never serve him in such an unjust enterprise. I expected no less from your virtue, replies Agrippa, and it is upon the experience I have of it, that, after a little recollection, I am resolved to acquaint you with the whole truth of that business, and shall inform you of divers other passages which you must needs be astonished at, after I have told you that instead of sending abroad both ships and men, I would have gone in person, as I thought myself obliged both in point of duty, and the friendship I have for the children of Anthony, in pursuit of the King your Brother, who would needs come and carry away even out of our port a Princess of the house, and under the protection of Caesar, if I had not received an express order from the Emperor not to stir hence, upon any account whatsoever, before his arrival.  
This premised, Agrippa perceiving that the whole company, and particularly Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe, harkened very attentively to him, gave them a brief relation of what he had understood from Alexander, of his first addresses to Artemisa, of the cruelty of Artaxus, and the extremity whereto he had been reduced upon the scaffold, his escape through the assistance of Artemisa, and his arrival upon the coast of Alexandria with that Princess. Ariobarzanes, who had trembled, as it were, out of the horror he had conceived 〈◊〉 that description of his Brother's cruelty, was on the other side glad of the safety of Alexander, and commended Artemisa for the acknowledgement she had made of his affection; protesting that if he had been near her, he would have encouraged her in that design, and have sacrificed his life to promote it.  
Agrippa, perceiving him to persevere in those virtuous sentiments, after he had commended him for it, reassumed his discourse, and entertaining the company with all that Alexander had learned from Cleopatra, during the space of a whole day that they had been together before her last carrying away, gave them an account of her meeting with the King of Armenia upon the Sea; how that cruel King was going to thrust a weapon into her breast to kill her, and had been disarmed by the Love he immediately conceived for that Princess; the persecutions he had made her suffer, their arrival upon the coast of Alexandria, the escape of Cleopatra, the relief she had received from an unknown person on horseback, who had defeated the King of Armenia when he was upon the point of retaking her; how she got to the Lodging, where Alexander and Artemisa were retired, and how that the next day she had been carried away a second time into the wood with the Princess Artemisa, by a company of horsemen that belonged to Artaxus, who in all probability had returned her into the hands of their Master: that Alexander, having wandered up and down in pursuit of her all that day and the next night, though to no purpose, gave him a secret meeting the next day, and after he had given a brief ralation of what he 〈◊〉 entertained them with, had entreated him that he might 〈◊〉 a vessel and men to make after those that had carried away Cleopatra and Artemisa; which he had done, not without much regret that he could not go himself in person, by reason of the express orders he had received from the Emperor not to stir by any means out of Alexandria.  
During all this long discourse, the prudent Agrippa made not the least mention of Coriolanus, though he had furnished him with his own horse in the wood to ride after Cleopatra, and was not ignorant of the greatest things he had done for the relief of that Princess. The whole company was extremely astonished at the relation of Agrippa, especially Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe, who were doubly concerned in it, both in the person of Artaxus and that of Artemisa. They continued for a good while all silent; but at last, Ariobarzanes, being unwilling Agrippa should imagine, that his discourse had wrought any change in him as to his former opinion; I am extremely astonished said he to him at the relation you have made of the cruelty and injustice of Artaxus, and so far from disapproving the procedure of Artemisa, that, certainly, had I been at Artaxata, at that time, I should with her have hazarded my life for the safety of Alexander. The extremity he was reduced to, by the inexorable severity of Artaxus, makes me tremble, and though he be my Brother and my King, he should not find any other in the world that would more oppose him in these horrid and detestable attempts. Might it please the gods, that, notwithstanding my obligations to him, I might without attempting his life, deliver Cleopatra and Artemisa out of his hands, and I protest to you that I should neither spare my pains nor my blood upon that account. The King of Armenia, added Artaban, hath shown himself in those last actions to be the same man he had ever been, for it was out of the horror I conceived at his cruelty, that I sometime quitted his service, when he babarously put to death two Cilician Princes, both prisoners of war, whom I had taken myself in fight. But I can assure you thus much, that he is hardly in a condition to undertake any long voyage or any great enterprise; that I have seen him, and spoke to him within these 〈◊〉 days, and that we parted but yesterday, after 〈◊〉 had remained for some days together in the same 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 this he related to them how he had met Artax● the house of Tiridates, as also what discourse had passed between them, and told them, how that the day before, he had left that house, not long before his departure thence, upon a visit to Tiridates' tomb.  
That discourse of Artaban gave the Company new matter of reflection upo● that adventure; insomuch that at last Philadelph, who had been silent a long time, taking, upon that, occasion to speak; If I thought that Prince Ariobarzanes, and the Princess Arsinoe, said he, looking on them, would pardon me the injury I have innocently done them, I should acknowledge how far I have been engaged in this adventure, and would tell them, that, if I am not much mistaken, it was myself that fought with Artaxus, for the recovery of Cleopatra, and who, encouraged by the justice of the quarrel, gave him such wounds as made him incapable of further fight.  
Here he took occasion to acquaint them how he had met with Artemisa near the spring, though he spoke of her as a person absolutely unknown to him; how that at first he took her for Delia, what grief it was to him when he grew sensible of his mistake, what compassion she had expressed thereat, the long discourse there had passed between them, and how that upon the point of their departure one from the other, he had seen Cleopatra passing by, making all the hast she could before a person on horsebock that pursued her. He told them that he had not any acquaintance with that Princess, but that by the admirable beauty he had observed in her countenance, it must needs be either some Goddess or the Princess Cleopatra.  
This account of Philadelph raising in the Company new matter of astonishment, as that, by a strange traverse of fortune, two men that were implacable enemies should come and engage one the other, yet without either's knowledge of it, and that the amorous Philadelph should fight with the Brother of his beloved Delia. He once more craved their pardon for it, and both of them assured him, that the greatest affliction they conceived at that adventure proceeded from the fear they were in it might further exasperate Artaxus against Philadelph, and would make him the more inexorable as to the consent he expected from him for the quiet enjoyment of Arsinoe.  
It was generally concluded that the fair La● he had met with at the spring was no other th●● Artemisa, and that especially after the description 〈◊〉 had given them of her, and the resemblance, which upon the first sight had made him mistake her for Delia, though there were a difference between their faces observable enough an imagination that were not so violently prepossessed with the impression of Delia.  
The end of the Second Book.   

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART X. LIB. III.  
ARGUMENT.  
FLavianus is brought in wounded to Alexandria, having been worsted in his attempt for the deliverance of Cleopatra; Whereupon Agrippa, Artaban and others prepare for her rescue; but upon their coming to the port, discover a ship arriving, wherein were Alexander and Marcellus, bringing in Cleopatra and Artemisa. Tigranes desires the favour of a visit of Elisa, but is denied: Cornelius persisting in the presumption he had, that Candace was only a Lady of great quality in Ethiopia, persecutes her with the discoveries of his affection. Cleopatra and Alexander are brought into Alexandria. Artemisa, persuaded, that Ariobarz●●● and Arsinoe had been dead, 'swounds upon the first 〈◊〉 of them, and afterwards acquaints Ariobarzanes that 〈◊〉 King of Armenia, by the death of her Brother Ar●●● Ariobarzanes, Alexander, Philadelph, Olympia, Art●●●a, and Arsinoe condole his death, and afterwards reflect on the advantages they all have by Ariobarzanes' coming to the Crown. Candace and Elisa are made acquainted with Cleopatra, to whom Queen Candace discovers both herself and quality, and entertains her with the History of Cleomedon. Elisa does the like with that of Artaban. Agrippa hath a private conference with Elisa, wherein he further discovers his passion to her. Artaban entertains Elisa and Candace with a relation how he escaped drowning, after he cast himself, all armed, into the sea, with Zenodorus the Pirate in his arms. Cleomedom hath a secret interview with Artaban in Elisa's Chamber, where be discovers himself to Cleopatra and Alexander, to be Caesario, the son of Caesar, and Queen Cleopatra; which they not easily crediting; are confirmed and saitisfied by Candace, Elisa, and Eteocles.  
WHile these Illustrious Persons were thus in the midst of their entertainments, discoursing of the many strange accidents that were come to their knowledge, Cornelius comes into the room, discovering by his action that he had something of news to communicate. Whereupon, addressing himself to Agnippa, My Lord, said he to him, I have just now received some tidings from the Princess Cleopatra, and those that carried her away. Those whom we sent in pursuit of them, were gotten far enough hence to find her, when in the mean time they were nearer us than can well be imagined, insomuch, that Flavianus, a Commander of one of our ships, met, but this morning, with that, wherein were the Ravishers, lying close under one of the Rocks, which in some places hang over this coast, came up to her, saw the Princess, spoke with her, and fought for her deliverance with so much good success in the beginning, that he boarded the enemy with divers of his men, and was in a manner possessed of her, when a certain person, who had not appeared at the first engagement, comes up upon the Deck, without any other arms then his sword, and fought ours with so prodigious a valour, that, having either killed or forced away all that were gotten into the other vessel, he struck down Flavianus himself, loading him with such wounds, that he was incapable of fight any longer, and so by the death of the Commander, abating the courage of the Soldiers, they gave over the enterprise, and were forced to quit their attempt for the deliverance of Cleopatra, and to make what hast they could into our Port. Flavianus is brought into the City, very desperately wounded, I have seen him, and though it be with much difficulty, that he expresses himself, yet have I made a shift to get thus much out of him.  
The news is not the worst we could have expected, r●●●ies Agrippa, and since Cleopatra is yet at so small a distance from ●s▪ I hope she may be met with by some of the other vessels th● are still abroad to find her. It was ever my opinion, says Artaban, that the King of Armenia could not be gotten far hence, and that, out of all question, the wounds he had received had been the ground of his lying in that obscure place, till such time as he were in a condition to depart. But is it not possible, continued he, turning to Cornelius, we may yet come time enough for the relief of that Princess? And have you no other vessels ready for us in this extremity? We may make use of that which hath brought in Flavianus, with what there is remaining of his men, and such others as will follow us, says Agrippa to him, and since that those we seek are so near us, I think I shall not much oppose the orders of Caesar, if I go some few stadia out of Alexandria, upon an occasion of so great importance. It were not civility to entreat either Ariobarzanes or Philadelph, whereof the one is Brother to Artaxus, the other in hopes to be, to afford us their assistance in this emergency; but for you, generous Artaban, if your condition, in point of health, be such as may permit it, I should not refuse your assistance, and having such a second with me, I may well think our enemies must be very valiant to dispute the victory with us, I find myself in a capacity to follow you, replies Artaban, and there is not any thing shall hinder me from courting the glory I conceive it is to fight under the great Agrippa.  
Elisa's complexion changed at this discourse of Artabans, and she discovered in hereys the touble it was to her that he should so readily engage himself in such an enterprise. Ariobarzanes and Philadelph knew not well what resolution to take, there being little probability they should be drawn in to engage, the one against his own brother and his King, the other against the brother of his dearest Delia, both of them being equally troubled at the departure of their companions in order to an engagement upon so just a quarrel. However, they knew no remedy but to take all patiently, there being no matter of choice in the business, and consequently saw, there was a necessity they should quietly expect what would be the event, upon the promise which Agrippa made to Ariobarzanes, that if they met with the King of Armenia, they would treat him as a King, and would afford him the fairest terms he could expect, for his sake.  
These two great men, conceiving they had very little time to lose, as things than stood, in order to the design they were engaged in, left the Princesses, and were attended by all the Roman Nobility that came along with Agrippa to Alexandria. 'tis possible they might have taken a far greater number with them, but having understood what number of men might be with Artaxus, and ●nowing that he had but one single vessel, they thought there was unnecessity of taking any more with them. Artaban sent for his ●●mour, giving order that Telamonius should come along with them from the house of Tiridates and that they should be brought aboard the vessel, to be made use of if occasion were, as being not able, by reason of the condition he was then in, to endure the weight of them without some inconvenience to himself.  
After they were all departed out of the Chamber, Cornelius, who stayed there upon the order of Agrippa, coming up to Elisa, acquainted her, that he had, not long before, parted with the King of the Medes, who had honoured him so far as to dine with him, and that that Prince had entreated him to know of her, whether he might with her leave give her a visit. Elisa, though naturally full of mildness and compliance, seemed to be much troubled at that proposition of Cornelius, and looking on him with a little angry blush, that immediately spread over her face; He shall not need put himself to so much trouble, said she to him, for after the violence he would have done me yesterday. I cannot look on him otherwise then as my Enemy. Let me therefore entreat you to spare me that affliction, if you please; and if you will have me to conceive myself at my own freedom, in a City where you command, I beseech you, let me not be forced to see those persons, whom above all I endeavour to avoid. Far be it from me, replies the Praetor, to side with Tigranes against you, and assure yourself you shall be free and absolutely at your own disposal in Alexandria, while I shall continue in that power which the Emperor hath put me into: but on the other side, you are to consider, that, since you have the liberty to see Artaban, you were not very much to be blamed, if you also endured a visit from the King of the Medes. It is not my design, replied the Princess, that Tigranes should be ignorant how much I prefer Artaban before him, and that he should accordingly assure himself, that, besides the difference which virtue hath made between them, I must needs add very much to it of myself, unless he imagines I know not how to distinguish between two men, whereof the one hath done me the greatest injuries he could, and the other the greatest services I could expect from him.  
Cornelius, who had not made this proposition to Elisa, but merely to satisfy the importunity of Tigranes, who had entreated him to do it, thought it not civility to press it any farther, perceiving she was offended thereat, as being a thing, which he saw she had not the least inclination to grant. Whereupon, having taken a seat somewhat near Candace, he began to entertain her with the eyes, rather than with his tongue, as having not that command of his speech, as that he durst acquaint her with his thoughts; and that fair Queen perceiving it, would not suffer Elisa to be a minute from her, out of a fear she might be left alone with him. At last having observed that the weather was somewhat cloudy, and 〈◊〉 the Sun darted not his rays with too much violence upon 〈◊〉 Terrace, he would needs invite the Princess to take a walk about it, not only for the air sake, but also for that there was a fair prospect thence into the sea, and that they might distinctly perceive things far beyond the place where they had met with the King of Armenia's ship.  
This curiosity was a sufficient motive to oblige them to leave the Chamber, and Philadelph, upon the command which Arsinoe herself laid upon him, having taken Elisa by the h●nd, while Arsinoe stayed with Ariobarzanes and Olympia, to whom her presence was not any inconvenience, Cornelius very fortunately happened to be alone with Candace. They took some turns upon the Terrace, before he could speak to her with any freedom, but at last, getting some few paces before the rest, and imagining he could not be over heard by them; Is it possible, Madam, said he to her, that, in a place where I may presume, I have some power, I should be the only miserable person, and that I should find so many other men happy through the favours of those Ladies whom they affect, while you seem to be absolutely insensible of the love I have for you?  
Candace conceived such a vexation at this liberty of discourse, that she was upon the point to declare to him what she was, so to stifle the presumption he took to speak to her after that rate, as conceiving withal that it could not be long ere she were discovered, and that she was not so much obliged to conceal herself, now that Tirihasus was dead, as she had been were he living. However, reflecting on the concernments of Caesario, she forbore to do it at that time, out of a fear of exposing him to some danger, and being withal unwilling to discover herself, before she had taken his advice in it. She therefore endeavoured to find out a mean, that is, so to express herself, that Cornelius might perceive she was displeased at his discourse, yet so as that he might not be incensed thereat, as calling to mind how much she was obliged to him, and fearing the discourtesies he might do her. Upon these considerations, after she had continued some little time ere she made any answer, That I am so insensible of the passion you tell me of, as you conceive me, said she to him, the only reason is, that I neither am, nor am any way desirous to be, acquainted therewith; but I must withal assure you, that I am extremely sensible of the civilities I have received at your hands, and that with the remembrance thereof I have all the gratitude and acknowledgement I ought. Were that certain, Madam, replied he with some precipitation, you would treat after another manner, a person whom you conceived yourself obliged to for so considerable a service, and you would not slight, with so much disdain, an affection which cannot any ways displease you. Were I not sufficiently mindful of the obligations you have laid upon me, replies Candace a little moved, I should tell you that many times, what does not displease may be thought importunate, and that to endure any man's, either injury, or importunity, is to me equally insupportable.  
This discourse put Cornelius out of all patience, and not being able to dissemble it; I am very much troubled, Madam, said he to her, that I should be thought importunate to you, but if you will be pleased to remember yourself, I think I have sometimes found you in so good an humour as that you thought not my presence troublesome to you, and it is yet possible, that if I prove the object of your detestation, I shall not be withal that of your contempt.  
Candace, who was naturally fiery and confident enough, could not smother her courage upon this discourse of the Paetor, and thereupon looking very scornfully upon him; You have lost, said she to him, all the glory of the service you have done me, by pressing it to me with so many reproaches, and the menaces you add thereto, whence I perceive that you know me not, and that when you shall understand who I am, you will haply learn at the same time to speak to me after another manner.  
With these words she stood still, expecting Elisa and Philadelph to come up to her, and would have no further discourse in private with Cornelius. She made no difficulty to speak that day much more confidently than she had done at any time before, because she was in some thoughts to leave Alexandria within some few days, where if nevertheless she were obliged to make any longer ab●de, she knew that Caesar was upon his arrival thither, and considered, that, Agrippa being there already, she should not be exposed to the persecutions of Cornelius, as she might have been without their coming thither. It came also into her mind, that if Augustus came thither before her departure thence, it were not policy in her to conceal herself, out of a fear, that, if she were discovered (as it was very probable she might, by reason of the commerce that was between the Ethiopians and Egyptians, and the report which might be scattered every where of her flight, and the revolutions lately happened in her dominions) he might misconstrue her lying there incognito, and might take occasion to secure her.  
After she had spent some time in these reflections, she engaged in the discourse of Elisa and Philadelph, and not long after they made a halt for Ariobarzanes and the two Princesses he waited upon, to come up to them, that they might further participate of their conversation. Ariobarzanes seemed to be very much dejected and troubled in his thoughts, and Arsinoe in no small disturbance, there being a certain tempest raised in them by the reflections they made on the attempt of Artaxus, and the inconveniences likely to ensue thereupon, such, it may be, as might occasion great alterations in their fortunes. They discoursed thereof for some time, all having something to say of it, (Cornelius only excepted, whom the last words and deportment of Candace had so nettled, that for all that day he spoke not a word) and after several discourses, whereby Olympia endeavoured to divert Ariobarzanes; I know not, said she to him, what you would presage by your sadness; but for my part I have dreamt this last night, that you presented yourself before me, with a Crown of gold upon your head. Could I wish myself a Crown, replied Ariobarzanes, you may assure yourself, my dearest Princess, that it should be only to present you with it, and that it is many times no small trouble to me to consider the rank you are pleased, out of your own goodness, to quit for my sake. I have represented it to you, more than once, replied Olympia, that you cannot do me a greater displeasure then by insisting on discourses of that nature; and, not to mention that you are Brother and Son, to Kings, that by a long series have sat successively in the Throne, you should be sufficiently satisfied, that a virtue, such as yours is, is more considerable in my account then many Crowns.  
While they were discoursing in this manner, Agrippa, with Artaban, and a great number of persons of quality from Rome, were in their way towards the Port. As they went, Agrippa fell into discourse with Artaban, whom he could not but admire in whatever related to his person, and hardly forbore sighing, when he considered the many excellent qualities which made him both amiable and dreadful. Yet was it not in his power to have any aversion for him, as well by reason of the natural propension he had to virtue, as that the personage of Artaban was such, as if it had been purposely made easily to raise love, and hardly aversion, in any that saw it. Artaban, who had not the least suspicion of Agrippa's love for Elisa, who esteemed him very much for his great actions, and much more for his moderation amidst so vast a fortune, who was in hopes of his assistance against Phraates, and was obliged to him for the refuge he had afforded him against Tigranes, looked upon him with very much respect, and a most unfeigned affection. The compliments that passed between them all the way to their coming into the Port, were accordingly such as well expressed the mutual admiration and esteem they had one towards another. They were hardly well gotten into it, but they perceive a vessel making all the sail she could towards them, and and was already within such a distance, as that they could discern the streamers. The Officers of Cornelius, who were with Agrippa, had no sooner observed them, but they told him it was the same vessel which had been provided for Alexander, in order to the design he was then engaged in, and upon that account Agrippa having stood still, resolved to wait its coming to shore, as taking that to be the only way to hear what news they might bring of Cleopatra. They had not long to expect, for that within a few minutes the vessel was gotten into the Port, and immediately they saw appearing upon the hatches, Prince Marcellus, with the Princess Cleopatra, Alexander with Artemisa, and behind them the Women that belonged to Cleopatra.  
Agrippa, being a particular friend to all of the house of Anthony, and one that had a more than ordinary honour for Cleopatra, was extremely elevated at that sight, nay indeed astonished at that of Marcellus, whom he thought not to be near that Country, and of whom there had no tidings been heard; no more than of Tiberius, since they both lest Rome, much about the same time. There was a very great friendship between Marcellus and Agrippa, though it had been often imagined at Rome that the great authority of Agrippa might produce alteration in that particular, and that there had been many reports spread abroad, that Marcellus, to whom the Empire was designed, looked with some jealousy on the great credit of that Favourite of Caesar's, and had some thoughts to pull him a little lower. This suspicion had prevailed very much among the people, but those, who were acquainted with the virtue of Marcellus and Agrippa, were of another opinion: and besides that the excellent good nature of Marcellus was such as forced on him an esteem and affection for Agrippa; on the other side, Agrippa loved him and looked upon him no otherwise than as if he had been indeed the Son of his Benefactor, and accordingly endeavoured what lay in his power to moderate his fortune so as that he might not conceive the least jealousy thereat.  
Assoon as he had perceived those illustrious persons on the deck, he would not stay their coming ashore, and thereupon, taking Artaban along with him, took a boat and went to receive them in their own vessel, and at the same time sent some of his men to Cornelius, to give him notice of their arrival and to desire him to send chariots to bring the Princesses to the palace. Cleopatra seeing these two great persons appearing, one whereof was unknown to her, came towards them with that amiable majesty which purchased her a certain empire over all that saw her, addressing herself to Agrippa, whom she knew to be one of the best friends she had, she entertained him in the most obliging way that could be, and surprised Artaban in such manner with the sight of her admirable beauty, that how strangely soever he might be prepossessed with that of Elisa, he could neither suffer that lustre without being dazzled, nor forbear acknowledging the advantages which heaven had bestowed on that beauty beyond all that were mortal. He had not shaken off that astonishment when Agrippa presented him to Cleopatra by recommending him to her under the famous name of Artaban, and giving him withal a character which could not any ways be denied him. This made Cleopatra look on Artaban with an astonishment not much different from that which he had conceived at the first sight of her, and while he saluted her with the same respect which he would have expressed towards a goddess, and she received him with abundance of kindness and civility; Marcellus and Agrippa embraced one the other, and Alexander coming forward, and presenting Artemisa to Agrippa, as a treasure he had recovered through the assistance he had received from him, the virtuous Roman received that fair Princess with all the courtship that was due to her birth, her great merit, and the friendship he bore Alexander. Upon that, Marcellus, being advanced to salute Artaban, whose name he had understood from Agrippa, after he had looked on him a little, knew him to be the same man whom he had seen in the house of Tiridates, at the time that that unfortunate Prince breathed out his last, and called to mind the hot contestation there had passed between him and the King of Armenia, and how far he had himself endeavoured to reconcile them. Artaban also knew him, and knowing him withal to be Prince Marcellus, whom all the Empire had a love and respect for, gave him no less honour than he would have done to Caesar himself, and received from him those demonstrations of the esteem and account he made of him suitable thereto.  
That done, Artaban and Alexander saluted one another as two men equally surprised, the one at the goodly presence of Artaban, the other at the great beauty of Alexander. But when Artaban came near Artemisa to salute her, and that she was preparing to return to the name of Artaban which she had several times heard pronounced, what was due to its great reputation, she cast her eyes on his countenance, and, considering it with some earnestness, notwithstanding the alteration which some years had wrought in it, she at last read in the person of Artaban, the same Britomarus whom she had sometime known in Armenia, and for whom she had that esteem which all the world was forced to acknowledge justly bestowed on him. While they were solemnising their renewed acquaintances, with expressions full of tenderness and affection, Agrippa being returned to Cleopatra, discovered to her the joy he conceived at her liberty and return; and that Princess who had understood from Alexander, that it was he himself that had furnished him with the vessel and men that had come in to her relief, and had heard but a little before that he was then coming in person to find out those that had carried her away, had not her happy arrival prevented him, expressed the great sense she had of that obligation, in words proceeding from the greatest gratitude imaginable.  
At last, this illustrious company closing up together again; and Agrippa, having acquainted the Princesses with the care he had taken to send for chariots to convey them to the palace, persuaded them to remain in the vessel till they were come, and, in that interim would needs know after what manner they had been recovered, and what accident had brought Prince Marcellus into their company. Marcellus thought it then unseasonable to give any particular account of his adventures, and so, only to give Agrippa some satisfaction, told him, that he came into Alexandria, just at the time, that Alexander was going to take ship, to find out the Princesses; and that, having met him and known him upon the Port, after they had embraced one another, with that fraternal affection wherein they had been brought up by Octavia, he had acquainted him with the loss of Cleopatra, and the design he had to relieve her, and that upon that account of her, he without any further disputing of the business, went aboard resolved to run the same fortune with him.  
But when the Princess Cleopatra was pressed to give Agrippa a particular account of her being taken and her deliverance, she looked on Marcellus and Alexander, as not knowing whether she should make any mention of Coriolanus before Agrippa, in whom the concernments of Caesar might have altered his inclinations. But Marcellus, who was satisfied of the virtue of Agrippa, advised her to give him a faithful relation of all without disguising any thing, assuring her out of the confidence he had of his generosity, that he would rather relieve than crush the miserable. Upon this confidence of Marcellus, the Princess gave Agrippa a brief narrative of what had happened to her since her last carrying away, whereof the accidents of greatest importance had happened that very day, and surprised him in such manner, by the relation of the great performances of Coriolanus, and by that of the King of Armenia's death, that he could not for some time recover himself out of the astonishment which the consideration of so many extraordinary occurrences had raised in him. And thereupon taking occasion to let Cleopatra know that it was not without reason that she reposed so much confidence in him, he related unto her, how he had met with the disconsolate Coriolanus in the wood the night before she was carried away the second time; how that that unfortunate Prince had discovered himself to him by his speech, and how that, not being able to do him any other service, he had bestowed on him his own horse, and had passed over the night in the woods, after he had spent the day in pursuit of those that had carried her away.  
Cleopatra could not forbear celebrating the generosity of Agrippa upon that occasion, and being before more then half convinced of the innocency of Coriolanus, she was not a little glad to find that, even in his misfortunes, Agrippa continued that Friendship towards him which he had ever had for him. Artaban, before whom, upon the engagement of Agrippa, who had to that purpose satisfied Cleopatra, were related the prodigious effects of the valour of Coriolanus, was very much pleased with that discourse; and being acquainted with that Prince by reason of the combat wherein he had been engaged against him in the presence of Candace and Tiridates, and by the abode they had both since made at Tiridates' house, and, having accordingly conceived very much affection and a more than ordinary esteem for him, he thought himself very much concerned, in what he had heard said of him, and though he concealed what he knew of him, because he saw there was not any necessity to speak of it, he was earnestly desirous to meet with some occasion wherein he might serve him. And indeed it was partly upon that ground that he had so generously proffered his assistance in order to the relief of Cleopatra, at a time when the posture of his health, and other allowable motives might well have procured him a dispensation from engaging in that enterprise.  
Upon that reflection, looking on Artemisa, and perceiving the tears standing in her eyes for the death of the King her Brother, he was troubled at the misfortune of that Prince, though he was neither taken with his disposition nor his person, and so gave the Princess his Sister the best words of comfort he could. He thought not fit to tell her any thing of Ariobarzanes or Arsinoe, because Agrippa and he had so resolved before, that she might be the more surprised when she saw them; and yet when he heard her called in the ship by the name of Queen Artemisa, he could not forbear telling them, that they should not be so hasty to give her that title before the King's death were published, and that he had a certain imagination that she would not be Queen of Armenia.  
This discourse made Agrippa smile, which Marcellus perceiving would fain have known the meaning of it, when they perceived Cornelius was come with two chariots, followed by an infinite number of people whom the tidings of Cleopatra's arrival had drawn down to the port. The name of Cleopatra was in so much veneration in Alexandria, and the children of that great Queen were so dear in the account of the people, who had seen them born and brought up in their City, that they could not understand that the Princess Cleopatra, and Prince Alexander her Brother, whom they had sometimes, upon the commands of Anthony, reverenced in a manner as gods, were coming into their City, without running before them with exclamations, and such expressions of tenderness, as could not admit any thing comparable thereto, but upon such another occasion.  
Nor indeed did Cleopatra and Alexander much misinterpret those expressions of their affection, for they could not look on either the walls or people of that City, wherein they had received their first breath, where they had passed over their first years with so much reputation, and whence, after the deplorable ruin of their house, they departed ten years before to follow as far as Rome the fortune and the triumphal chariot of their Conqueror, but the sadness of the commemoration must force them to shed those tears which it was impossible for them to keep in. And it was the more observable in Cleopatra, for that she never gave over weeping from the port even to the palace, the sight whereof multiplied her grief when she could not look on it only as the magnificent house of the Ptolomey's, but that also where the unfortunate Anthony, and the deplorable Cleopatra had lost their lives with the Empire, not to mention thousands of other sad circumstances, which at the same time pressed into their memory.  
Cornelius had so ordered things, that Olympia and Arsinoe, Ariobarzanes and Philadelph, as also Tigranes and Artaban, were not lodged within the Palace, because that had been reserved for the Emperor and the Empress, who were to come thither within two days, and how spacious soever it might be, the Emperor's retinue was so great, that there would be but little lodging to spare for other persons. But for the Princess Cleopatra, Cornelius thought it not fit to lodge her out of the Palace, but had appointed her certain rooms within that which had been designed for Octavia. And Candace, either to leave the more room for the Empress, or that she could not be without the company of Elisa, was, upon the desires of that Princess, gone along with her, and had left her lodgings void; so that Cornelius finding none more convenient for the Princess Cleopatra, changed his former resolution, and disposed of her into the place which before had been taken up by the Queen of Ethiopia.  
When the two Princesses were alighted out of the Chariots, they met, at the bottom of the stairs, with Elisa, Candace, Olympia, and Arsinoe, with Ariobarzanes and Philadelph, coming to meet them. Agrippa immediately showed Elisa and Candace to Cleopatra, to whom he had spoken of them before in the Chariot, and those two Princesses coming up close to her, she saluted them, with sentiments not much different from that admiration which they expressed at the sight of her divine beauty. She knew Elisa to be sole heir to the Empire of the Parthians, and looked on Candace as a Prince of the royal progeny of Ethiopia, and, accordingly, made the return of civility to both, which upon the sight of their countenances they might have challenged from all the World; and at the same time Artemisa saluted Olympia, who, knowing her to be Sister to Ariobarzanes, was, through a forwardness of affection, come up to her. Artemisa entertained, with very much civility, the effects of an affection, whereof she yet knew not the cause. But when, after she had disengaged herself out of her embraces, and received those of Candace and Elisa, whom she first met in her way, she was going towards Arsinoe, who stretched out her arms with a cordial friendship to entertain her, and at the same time cast her eye on her countenance, as also on that of Ariobarzanes, who stood close by her, she was seized by such an astonishment, that had it not been for Artaban, who was not ignorant of the cause thereof, and came forward purposely to hold her up, she had fallen all along on the ground.  
In the mean time Arsinoe kissed her, and embraced her with much tenderness, yet was not able to bring her to herself, nor make her apprehend that what she saw was real. Whereupon Ariobarzanes, after he had saluted Cleopatra, whom Agrippa had acquainted with his name, as also with that of Arsinoe, taking Artemisa out of his Sister's hands, after he had begged the pardon of those great Princesses, to acquit himself of the civilities he ought his Sister, saluted her at last, with all the demonstrations of an affectionate friendship, and perceiving that that Princess, astonished at the unexpectedness of the interview, could not be recovered out of her amazement; What, Sister, said he to her, will you not know Arsinoe and Ariobarzanes? Artemisa, with much ado, coming at last to herself again, and looking on them one after another for some time, before she would venture to speak: Alas, said she at length, I very well see the countenances of Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe, but I question whether I may trust my eyes so far, and I find it no small difficulty to be satisfied, whether they are their shades that present themselves to me after their death, so well known throughout all Asia, or whether they appear really before me, and without any illusion. Assure yourself, Sister, replied at the same time Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe, you see us really, and you may embrace us without any fear, since we are truly living, and have not been dead, but in the opinion of men.  
Artaban, who stood near Artemisa, gave her further satisfaction as to that truth, acquainting her her in few words, how they had both escaped shipwreck; and when the Princess was convinced, and that the caresses of her brother and Sister had dispelled all her doubts, she in the first place gave way to certain tears, which a tender joy would needs add to those which the death of Artaxus still forced out into her face. And then, instead of returning the caresses she had received from Ariobarzanes, suitably to their ancient familiarity, she cast herself on her knees before him, and taking him by the hand, and bathing it with her tears, Since it is certain, said she to him, that you are Ariobarzanes alive, and that I am now absolutely at your disposal, be pleased to pardon the unfortunate Artemisa, what too too justifiable a gratitude hath obliged her to do for the safety of Alexander, she embraces your knees to obtain that favour at your hands, and she hopes, the gods have not restored you to life, to raise in you a severe, and an inexorable, judge of my actions.  
Ariobarzanes, astonished at the deportment of Artemisa, from whom he expected those caresses that spoke more familiarity, raised her up with much ado, and discovering how much he was surprised at it in all his looks; Sister, said he to her, I apprehend not what you mean by this kind of behaviour towards me; and besides, that the crime you charge yourself with, deserves rather to be commended then blamed, and that I should have done no less myself for the safety of Alexander, it is to the King our Brother, and not to me, that this submission is due from you. If it be due to my King, replies Artemisa, it is to my King that I make this submission, and since I am the first of your Subjects that hath demanded any favour at your hands, I am also the first that brings you the news that you are King of Armenia.  
These words put Ariobarzanes to such a loss, that he had not the power to make any present reply thereto; and during the silence he kept by reason of the astonishment he was in, Agrippa assuming the discourse acquainted him with the particulars of Artaxus his death, as he had not long before understood them from Cleopatra; and in the relation he made thereof, he forgot not to insist very much upon this, that his death was purely the effect of his own rage and exasperation, and that his enemies had been so far from contributing any thing thereto, that they endeavoured all they could to prevent it.  
Artaxus ha●, no doubt, been a very inhuman Prince, one for whom it could not be expected, that the inclinations of Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe should be very violent, by reason of the great disproportion there was between their dispositions; yet, being both of excellent good natures, the grief they conceived at that unfortunate accident, was, for the present, so great, that it could not be abated by the purchase of a Crown, in the apprehension of Ariobarzanes, nor, by the hopes of a more happy condition of life, in that of Arsinoe. For Philadelph and Olympia, if they were astonished in some measure at the first hearing of that news, assoon as it was dispersed, joy took its place, and there was no reason it should give way to any thing in their apprehension, it being considered how very much it concerned them to find Ariobarzanes King of Arnenia. But for him, he had his countenance covered with tears for some time, which there was not any one thought proceeded from dissimulation, by reason of the confidence which all had of his virtue; and Artemisa, by the embraces wherewith she received him, and by his courteous reception of Prince Alexander, seemed to be so far eased of that burden of sadness, which till then had been very observable in her countenance, that there was not any could suspect her the least troubled at the loss of a Kingdom, which in all probability she should otherwise have possessed. Ariobarzanes, thinking himself obliged in civility to retire, Artemisa, who would needs, and conceived she ought to follow him took leave of Cleopatra for some small time. He was also immediately after followed by Olympia, Arsinoe, Alexander and Philadelph; and the Princess Cleopatra, with Elisa and Candace, attended by Marcellus, Agrippa, Artaban, Cornelius, and divers others, went up the stairs, and was conducted by that illustrious company into those lodgings that had been prepared for her. She could not prevail with Elisa and Candace, to forbear waiting on her thither, though that, out of the assurance she had of the quality of Elisa she did all that lay in her power to prevent that civility from her, that she might rather have done it to her. But she being the last come thither, and having lately escaped a danger which gave others a pretence to visit her, she was forced to pern it it, and she did it with such a grace, that those two Princesses were infinitely taken with it. They both equally admired that so famous beauty of Cleopatra; and, though nature had been sufficiently liberal of her excellencies in theirs, to raise the same admiration in those that knew them, and that there was in that of Elisa, as much delicacy and perfection, and in that of Candace, as much grace and majesty as ever had been observed in the most accomplished beauties that ever were; yet was it certain, that the delicacy of that of Elisa, and the majesty of that of Candace were equally apparent in that of Cleopatra, and that if it were very hard for any man to see her, and not be sensible of a love towards her, it was also a matter of no less difficulty to look on her, and n●t conceive a respect and veneration for her.  
Candace, who thought herself much more nearly concerned in her person then Elisa, and looked on her with an affectionate tenderness, as the Sister of Caesario, was very desirous of some opportunity to discover herself to her, and to enter into that measure of her friendship which she should be pleased to admit her into. And having heard her particularly celebrated for her prudence and reservedness, she resolved to make her acquainted with Caesario, and could not but think him chargeable with a certain degree of inflexibility, that he had remained a whole day in the same house with her, and never offered to discover himself to so amiable a Sister. But for the present, she, with the Princess Elisa, only expressed to her, in terms full of the tenderest passion, how much they were troubled at the misfortune she had fallen into, and how glad they were of her liberty and happy arrival thither. Whereto the fair daughter of Anthony having returned thanks, for that demonstration of their affection with the greatest acknowledgements she could make thereof, assured them on the other side of the satisfaction it was to her to meet with them in Alexandria: and in regard they were both strangers, and might haply stand in need of some recommendation to these powers which then disposed of the Empire, she proffered them, in the most obliging manner in the World, to serve them with all the interest she had in the friendship of Octavia, Julia, Marcellus, and some other persons when she was allied to, in order to what they might have to propose, to the Emperor, promising them withal, all the service and assistance they night desire in chose traverses of fortune which had foerced them out of their native Countries.  
The two Princesses received those proffers with the greatest acknowledgements imaginable; and while they were thus engaged in discourse, Agrippa and Artaban, having not the opportunity to entertain Elisa as they could have wished, Cornelius having not the confidence so much as to come near or speak to Candace, and Marcellus being drowned in a deep melancholy, which had hanged upon him for some time before, Agrippa rising up, said, it was but just to leave the Princess Cleopatra to her rest, after the travail and vexation she had undergone, and Cornelius entreated Marcellus, that he would be pleased to follow him to those lodgings that were designed for him. By which means the Princesses were left to themselves, Artaban not presuming to stay alone with them, though he left not the room without some regret. But ere he went out, Candace having called to him with much more confidence, than Elisa durst have done, and calling to mind the resolution she had taken to reconcile Caesario and him together that night, gave him notice to be on the Terrace at the hour she assigned him, and which was the same wherein Caesario was appointed to come. Artaban entertained that favour with abundance of respect, and going out of the Palace very well satisfied, he went to give a visit to the new King of Armenia.  
In the mean time, Ariobarzanes, being retired to his own lodgings, in such a sad posture as had not permitted him to take notice of the persons that followed him, observes at last, among many others that were in the chamber, Prince Alexander, and imagined with himself, that the affliction he was in, could not excuse him from entertaining with the civility he ought a Prince so eminent as the son of Anthony. Whereupon addressing himself to him, with that sweetness and courtship that was ordinary and natural in him, after he had excused his unmindfulness of him, and the want of respect he was guilty of in suffering him to accompany him at that time, by confessing the disturbance he then was in; My Lord, said he to him, is it possible there can be any goodness remaining in you towards a house that hath exposed your life to so dreadful a danger, and wherein you have received such barbarous entertainment? And is Artemisa still so happy as to have the continuance of your affections, after she had put them to such terrible trials? Assure yourself, my Lord, replies Alexander, that for what I have suffered for Artemisa, I place abundance of glory and happiness in it, and the reflection I should make thereupon, must needs be very pleasant, if I am so fortunate as to find you in sentiments as much to my advantage, as those of King Artaxus, were to my prejudice. Ah my Lord, replies Ariobarzanes, make not the least doubt but I shall acknowledge the great honour you do our house, and be confident, that, notwithstanding I am the son of Artabasus, I shall have my eyes so far open, as to consider, how little you have contributed to the misfortunes of our Family. No, I have still fresh in my memory the first expressions of your friendship; and I should have disclaimed my Sister, had she not done what she hath for your safety, especially in an extremity whereto you were reduced, merely for your love to her. I shall not therefore tell you she is yours, for you have but too much interest in her for any man to dispute her with you, but I shall, for your further confidence, make this protestation to you, and that truly and sincerely, that your affection to her cannot be greater, than the earnest desire I have to serve you both in your mutual inclinations.  
Alexander almost out of himself for joy to hear Ariobarzanes in these expressions, comes up close to him, whereupon these two Princes embraced one another, with so many discoveries of a real friendship, that the whole company could not forbear taking notice of it, not without much sympathy and satisfaction. Artemisu could not smother the felicity she conceived therein, as seeing herself, after so many storms prosperously arrived into so happy a Port, and finding, by reason of the sweet and generous disposition of Ariobarzanes, her fortune much different from what it had been some few days before. While her thoughts were the most taken up to find out terms to express her satisfaction, or rather to moderate it, she accidentally cast her eyes on Prince Philadelph, whom, till then, by reason of the disturbance she was in, and the many illustrious persons she had seen before, she had not taken any particular notice of. And after she had looked on him for some time very earnestly, she found him to be that Prince of Cilicia whom she had met with some days before, and who had entertained her with a relation of his noble inclinations for Delia, and who, upon the point of their parting, had so gallantly defended the Princess Cleopatra, against those that would have carried her away. Artemisa, upon this occasion, conceived such an esteem for Prince Philadelph, and was so much moved at the relation of his loves to Delia, that she could not look on him without expressing an extraordinary joy thereat. Whereupon coming to him with a countenance, wherein were visible the great kindness she had for him; What, my Lord, said she to him, I have, it seems, the good fortune to see you again, and the liberty withal once more to assure you of the esteem which I have conceived for your admirable virtue?  
Philadelph, whose joy had had put him into so much disorder as Artemisas could have done her, and who waited the opportunity to discover himself to Artemisa, and to put her in mind of their last meeting, kissing one of her fair hands with the greatest submission that might be; Madam, said he to her, my fortunate meeting with you, proved the prologue to that good fortune which the gods have been pleased to send me since, and you may also infer thence that I was not absolutely blinded by my passion, when I took you for Delia. How extremely I was moved at your relation, replies Artemisa, the gods only know, and consequently you may well think yourself obliged to let me know immediately, whether you have had any tidings since of that Delia, for whom you pretended so extraordinary an affection.  
These words of Artemisa causing Philadelph to look on the Princess Arsinoe with a smiling countenance; I know not, Madam, said he to her, whether it be any prudence in me to acknowledge my inconstancy to you; but I cannot forbear making this confession to you, that that Delia, for whom I had so much affection, hath resigned up all the right and title she had in my heart to the Princess Arsinoe, your Sister. Ah Philadelph! cries out the Princess with some precipitation, though my Sister were the most amiable person in the World, I should never approve that change in your inclinations, and I should no longer continue that esteem towards you, which I some time had for you, if I thought you could be guilty of any such infidelity.  
These words fell from her with so much earnestness, that Philadelph could not forbear laughing at it in such a manner, as put him afterwards into a little disorder, and more sport might have been made of it, if, by reason of the death of Artaxus, civility had not obliged them to a more serious conversation. And yet Arsinoe thinking it sit to make some rejoinder to the former discourse, What Sister, said she to Artemisa, it seems you would advise Philadelph to prefer a person he never knew before me? She said but these few words, but the action wherewith they were pronounced, raised at first some suspicion in Artemisa, which afterward grew into a satisfaction, in some measure, as to the truth of that business. With that reflection, looking on them both with a countenance wherein were legible the characters of her astonishment, Ah Philadelph, said she to him, is it possible that Arsinoe, and Delia should be the same person? Philadelph, who thought it unseasonable to continue that lightness of discourse any longer, discovered the whole truth to her, and, telling her, that that Delia, whom he had professed so much love to in his relation, was the Princess Arsinoe her Sister, put her into such an astonishment, that for a long time there fell nothing from her but exclamations, which once over, she embraced a hundred times together that amiable Delia, and entertained Philadelph with all the caresses she could express towards a beloved Brother.  
Ariobarzanes, who all this time was in discourse with Alexander, had nevertheless taken notice of what had passed between his Sisters and Philadelph. And when that first astonishment of Artemisa was over, taking her by the hand, and presenting her to Olympia, who stretched out her arms to her with much affection; What, Sister, said he to her, would you bestow all your caresses on Philadelph and Arsinoe, and will not look on my Princess here, her, I say, to whom I not only owe my life, but have sacrificed it, to make her satisfaction in some measure for what I am obliged to her? Artemisa, without any difficulty, cast herself into the arms of Olympia, in whom, notwithstanding her paleness, she could observe the tracks of an admirable Beauty, and a most amiable kind of Majesty. And thereupon having entertained her embraces with abundance of affection; Be pleased, Madam, said she to her, to charge the faults you now find me guilty of, upon my ignorance, as conceaving, that, one, who, within these few minutes, knew not whether Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe were in the World, could not have learned whom they are obliged to for their lives, nor understood the particular respects due from her to yourself.  
Olympia made answer to this discourse of Artemisa with a civility suitable to that of the other, and the King of Armenia engaging himself in their conversation, addressing himself not long after to Olympia, and looking on her with eyes full of love, and a deportment, which, by reason of the present occasion of his sadness, was somewhat more serious than ordinary; Madam, said he to her, when I was so desirous of a Crown to present you with, the gods are my witnesses, that it was my hope I should have arrived to it, by some other way than that whereby it is now fallen to me, and that I should have chosen rather to pass away my life with a private fortune, then aspired to the Throne by the death of the King my Brother. But since it hath pleased those celestial powers, whose decrees are irresistible, so to dispose of me, as that I am come to the possession of the Crown of my Ancestors; give me leave to offer it to you, as I would offer you that of the Universe, were it in my power, and be you pleased to receive it from your faithful Ariamenes, as a thing of greater value than it is, and yet as what he conceives a thousand times less dear, and less glorious than the chains he hath worn, and shall wear for your sake to the last minute of his life.  
Olympia entertained this discourse of Ariobarzanes with a deportment suitable to his that spoke it, and looking on him with a countenance, which, in some measure discovered the present state of her thoughts; My Lord, said she to him, I have looked on you with so much esteem, even while you were without a Crown, that that, which you have now received, can hardly add any thing to what you were in my account before; I receive it with all heartiness and submission, because that with the Crown, I am confident you will bestow on me the Prince that is to wear it, and without the person of Ariobarzanes, I could easily contemn all the Crowns and Sceptres of the Universe. I cannot bestow Ariobarzanes upon you, replied the Prince, because he is yours ever since the day he ceased to be his own, and consequently it is not in my power to make you that present; but I might well offer you the crown, because that it is within this hour that it came to my disposal, and that till than I was not in a condition or capacity to make you any offer thereof; and so, ay, in some measure make your satisfaction for the injury I did you, in depriving you almost of all hopes of a dignity which you could not have miss elsewhere, and which you slighted for your Ariamenes.  
He entertained her with a many other things that discovered the greatest kindness and sense of obligation that might be; whereto the fair Princess answered with the same generosity, and their discourse might have continued yet some while on the same subject, had it not been interrupted by Prince Philadelph. And what shall become of me? said he to Ariobarzanes, shall I make no advantage of that influence which the change of your condition gives you over my fortunes? And will you offer me nothing, now that you can do all things, after you had offered me so much when all my hopes consisted merely in the good inclinations you had for me? Assure yourself, replied the King of Armenia, that one of the greatest advantages I shall hope to make of my new dignity, is, that I may be able to do you the civility I ought: and though you have indeed but too great an interest already in Arsinoe, yet if you have that distrust of her disposition, that you imagine she stands in need of a Brother's consent to make her absolutely yours, I should heartily, with that consent, part with the crown I have received, could I think that present might contribute any thing to your satisfaction.  
Philadelph received this discourse of the King of Armenia's, with the marks of both a satisfaction and a resentment that were indeed extraordinary, and immediately thereupon casting himself at the feet of his amiable Delia, and, notwithstanding her resistance, kissing one of her fair hands, with the ordinary sallies of his affection, entertained her with abundance of discourse, consonant to those demonstrations of Love which she had received from him in Cilicia. Alexander was in the same terms with Artemisa and Ariobarzanes being also in the same humour with Olympia, these six fortunate persons, after so many storms which a malicious fortune had raised against them, finding themselves safely arrived at the so much wished for port, celebrated their happiness by all the obliging expressions, which they might derive from such an excess of joy. But being mutually ignorant of the fortunes of those persons that were so dear to them, and particularly Artemisa, who knew nothing of that of Ariobarzanes, and had not understood some part of those of Arsinoe, and that there were a many particulars in that of Artemisa and Alexander that were unknown to Ariobarzanes and Arsinoe, they would needs be informed one of another, and thought fit to spend that day in the relations of their adventures. To do this, they would observe a certain order, and Alexander and Artemisa being extremely desirous to understand those of Ariobarzanes and Olympia they were accordingly the first satisfied, with this proviso, that Alexander, Arsinoe and Philadelph should afterward give them an account at large, of what, of their fortune, was not as then come to their knowledge. Artaban coming into the room while they were thus engaged, and being very kindly entertained by all those illustrious persons that were present, diverted them not from the resolution they had taken. And being a person they might well trust with their concernments, he harkened, not without much satisfaction to a many things, whereof, as having had an imperfect account of them before, he was very much pleased with the relation, and would needs sup with that noble company, and spend his time in it till the hour assigned him by Candace.  
In the mean time the Princess Cleopatra stirred not out of her own chamber, where she had with her Elisa and Candace, and assoon as the Princes were departed the room, the two Princesses imagining, not without reason, that Cleopatra might stand in need of rest, took their leaves of her, and went to their own lodgings which were close by. Cleopatra, upon their importunity laid herself upon the bed, and rested for an hour; but that time expired, she got up, any having understood what quality Elisa was of, and had some account of Candace, and finding herself inclined to a great esteem and affection for both, she would put off no longer the return of a civility which she conceived she ought them, and going out of her own chamber with her woman Camilla, she went to that of Elisa. The two Princesses quarrelled very much at her for that strictness of ceremony, and seemed to be very much troubled, that she had taken so little time to rest, considering the great trouble and hardship she had undergone. But she made them answer, that the rest which her body might require was not so considerable to her as the obligation she thought lay upon her to return their civilities, nor so dear to her as the honour to wait on them, which she was not able to dispense with any longer after she had been deprived of their sight with so much precipitation.  
The two Princesses made her answer with equal civility, and whereas Candace was already passionately in love with her, as well out of a consideration of her excellent endowments, which might produce that effect in any one, as upon the account of Caesario, and was very desirous to be more intimately acquainted with her, looking on her in a most passionate manner; As for the fair Princess of the Parthians, said she to her, whose extraordinary merit makes an immediate assault on all hearts, and whose illustrious birth is known to you, she may without any unjust presumption claim some place in your friendship, and there are few souls can stand out long against her charms, if she thinks fit to make use of the battery thereof. But for one whom you have no other account of then that she is a person of some quality born in Ethiopia, and cannot aspire above a mediocrity of parts, she cannot rationally hope for the same advantage, if in some measure, to balance those wherein Elisa so much excels her, she could not pretend to something, that, more particularly recommends her to your notice. For matter of recommendation, replied the Princess, smiling at the modesty of her discourse, there is so much legible in your face, that it were supererogatory in you to look for any elsewhere; and as for your being born in Ethiopia, you are never, for that, the less worthy of our affections and our respects. I am not, I must confess, made absolutely acquainted with your birth, though I have understood something of it; but besides what I have observed of the Princess Elisa's familiarity and behaviour towards you, there are a many other arguments whence I infer, that your quality must needs be of the highest, and I shall haply know more of it, when you shall be so well acquainted with me, as to think I may be trusted with a secret of that consequence. I know not, replied the Queen, whether I can with civility distrust you; but, besides the bent of my own inclination which naturally engages me into a very great confidence of you, I have haply some very particular reasons to discover that to you, which I have not to any but the Princess of the Parthians. And therefore to begin with something, I shall make no difficulty to acknowledge myself to be Candace, Queen of Ethiopia, whom Fortune hath been pleased to cast on these coasts, and that dispossessed of a Kingdom, which she hath since recovered by the assistance of a person not unknown to you.  
Upon this discourse of Candace, Cleopatra asked her pardon, in case, through an ignorance of her quality, she had been wanting as to point of civility towards her, and gave her many thanks for the confidence she was pleased to repose in her, with a protestation that she should make no other advantages of that acknowledgement of her, than such as might give her the occasions to serve her, if she should be so happy as to find them. And thereupon reflecting on the last words that fell from her whereby she confessed herself obliged for the recovery of her Crown to a person of her acquaintance; May I pretend to so much happiness, said she to her, as that there should be a person within the reach of my knowledge, that may have done you a service of so great importance as that you tell me of, and can I beg his name of you without presuming too far upon the confidence you have honoured me with. I hope, it will not be long, replied Candace, ere I shall make you far greater discoveries of him than that of his name, and, it may be, renew your affectionate inclinations towards a person upon whose account I presume so much upon your friendship; but till that happen, give me leave to ask you whether you did not see Cleomedon, in the house where Prince Alexander made some little abode upon his arrival near Alexandria. It is very true, replied Cleopatra, that I have seen him in that house, where I stayed one night and some part of the next day, till such time as I was carried away thence: Alexander procured me the sight of him in his bed, which he was confined to by reason of some wounds, so that I could not see him with as much advantage in that condition, as, no question, I should have done in another. But to measure him by that little observation I then made of him, I perceived as well in his countenance as his discourse, something that argued a certain grandeur much beyond the ordinary rate of men; and it now comes into my mind, that my Brother procured me that sight of him as a person of a great and noble fame, and told me withal, that his name was much cried up in Ethiopia for many famous victories. Alexander replies Candace, hath told you no more of him than Truth will justify; but I am in hope that he will bring both you and Alexander, those tidings of a person whom you once thought very dear, which may prove very advantageous to me, and very much further the design I have to purchase your friendship; and it is for that only reason, that I asked you whether you had seen him, and that I am desirous to give you another sight of him before this night be quite passed, if you give me the liberty to do it. It cannot be, replied the fair Princess, but too great a satisfaction to me, to see a man so considerable, both upon the account of his own worth, and the great services he hath done you, and I think myself so much concerned already in whatever relates to you, that I cannot but with much more interest than heretofore, look on a man to whom you are obliged for the recovery of your Crown. Not, Madam, that any consideration of his person, or the hopes I may conceive within myself of him can add any thing to the respect which I have already for you; and assure yourself, that if the friendship you are pleased to desire of me, were any thing of far greater value than it is, I should gladly offer it you by way of exchange for that which I desire of you.  
Candace, extremely satisfied with this discourse of Cleopatra, made her answer in terms so affectionate, that the fair daughter of Anthony, as well out of considerations of gratitude, as for the remarkable excellencies of that great Queen, felt in herself a more than ordinary inclination to love her as much as lay in her power, and began to give her the greatest assurances she could thereof. Which Elisa, who had been silent all the time, very much observing, and not able to endure it any longer without some discoveries of her jealousy; What, Madam, said she to Candace smiling, you are, it seems absolutely resolved to engross the friendship of this fair Princess to yourself, and would not suffer me to have any place therein, though possibly my desires of it are not inferior to yours? If you dispute it with me, replies Candace, no question but you will clearly carry it from me, but if you do, you must look on it as the pure effect of your merit, whereas I have some reasons to pretend thereto, which you cannot any ways allege.  
Cleopatra perceiving this obliging contestation of the two Princesses, found it no great difficulty to give them satisfaction; and indeed they were both of them so amiable, that she was easily inclined to afford them those demonstrations of her affection which they desired, that is, such as could not well be denied them. But the discourse of Candace, whence she might have inferred that she must needs have something of news to acquaint her with, raising a certain curiosity in her, she could not forbear discovering to her the desire she had to be somewhat better iuformrd than she was, of her affairs, as also of those of the fair Princess of the Parthians. Which they were no sooner sensible of, but they were both very ready to afford her that satisfaction, and having obliged her to cast herself on the bed, upon which they sat by her; Candace gave her a more brief account than she had done to Elisa, of the adventures of the greatest consequence that had happened to her; but in her discourse she discovered nothing of the birth of Caesario, and calling him all the way Cleomedon, represented him only as a Prince come for refuge into her dominions.  
Cleopatra having admired the strange accidents of Candaces' life, and expressed how much she was moved thereat, with no small affection, gave hearing afterwards to what she was yet to learn of those of Elisa; I say what she was yet to learn, for the greatest part thereof was already come to her knowledge from the common reporter of all things, Fame, who had divulged the most memorable of her adventures. By these discourses of the two Princesses, Cleopatra became better acquainted than she had been before, with both Artaban and Cleomedon, and looked on them as the only two in the World, whom she might justly compare to her own Coriolanus, and having understood from them the design they had to have them reconciled that night, and to oblige them to forget the great differences that had been between them, she very much approved their resolution. And being further satisfied, that Cleomedon, for very good reasons, could not come to visit Candace till such time as all other people were in their beds, she assured the Queen that she would gladly return into their Chamber at that time, if she thought it sit, that she might take better notice than she had done before of two men so particularly observable, as also to understand from Cleomedon, what the Queen had put her in hopes of, concerning him. They continued their discourses of this nature till supper time drew near, and having discovered their desires to eat together, all things were accordingly prepared in a Parlour, not far from their lodging rooms, whither they were conducted, and immediately after supper, returned to Cleopatra's Chamber, to pass away the evening with such as should come to visit them, and whom, by reason of their rank, they could not deny that civility, with a resolution withal to meet together at Eliza's Chamber, when all were withdrawn.  
Immediately after they were gotten into the Chamber, as they had imagined, they were visited by Marcellus and Agrippa, who had supped together at Agrippa's, Cornelius having, as it should seem, spent that evening with the King of the Medes, with whom he had contracted a friendship, and was engaging in some designs of his. Marcellus, whose company was infinitely pleasant, when His mind was in a serenity free from the tempests of his discontents, entertained the Princesses for some time, with an account of some particular observations he had made in his late voyage; when in the mean time Agrippa, finding an opportunity to sit by Elisa, so as that Candace was not so near her as she was wont to be, that fair Princess could not avoid, but that he might speak to her, yet not be overheard, and consequently that he might acquaint her with his love. She would have called Candace to a relief which they mutually afford one the other, by way of combination against both Agrippa and Cornelius, could she without incivility have done it: but Agrippa was a person of that rank, and, withal, of such worth in himself, that the Princess, not without some reason, was afraid to disoblige him, and thereupon resolved to endure his discourse, as being out of necessity forced to do it.  
Agrippa having thus broken the ice, and removed the first difficulties, he found it so much the less to carry on his design; and after some discourse of an indifferent nature, perceiving that he might speak without any fear of being heard: Is it possible, said he to her, that, in a place where I have the honour to wait on you at any time, I have with much ado got the advantage of this little interval, to give you some assurances of that submissive passion which I have for you? Or rather am I to imagine, that the first discoveries I made to you thereof, have incensed you so much against me, that you should avoid my company as you do?  
No doubt but Elisa, was sufficiently troubled at these words, yet would she not displease Agrippa, whom she thought herself obliged to, whose power she was afraid of, and whose virtue she highly esteemed. Accordingly, rejoining to his discourse with an accent full of mildness and modesty; I have but too great esteem, said she to him, both for your worth and your person, to shun your conversation, and therefore if you find any repugnance in me as to that point, it does not proceed from either of those two causes; and I should both see you and hearken to you with very much satisfaction, had you so much goodness for me as to make something else the subject of your discourse. My discourse shall be of what nature you shall approve of, replies Agrippa, but I cannot, without a great violence to myself, forbear telling you, that I die for your sake, and that, though you should forbid my mouth to tell you so much, it were very hard for my eyes to afford you the same obedience, and that they should not, in some measure, express the effects of what you have caused in my heart. I am easily persuaded, replied the Princess, that you do not feel all that you would have me believe; and I cannot but have that confidence of your generosity, that instead of what your discourse might very well put me in fear of, I shall find only, where you are, a sanctuary against that persecution which I have run through so many dangers to avoid. I should think myself the most unfortunate man in the World, replied Agrippa, if you should look with the same eyes on the love of Tigranes, and that which I have for you, and call that by the name of persecution, which is, on the contrary, a passion full of respect and veneration, such as mine is, as you do the violence of a Prince, who, by force and tyranny hath sought that which he should have patiently expected from your own good liking. I knew, Madam, that the enterprise, I engage myself in, is of no small difficulty, when I would dispute a heart prepossessed by another affection, and that an affection dearly purchased by an excess of merit, and which you have, not without much reason, conceived for him, who, of all men, hath shown himself the most worthy of it, as well by his virtue, as the transcendency of his actions. But I shall entreat you withal to assure yourself, that it is not by condemning it, that I shall endeavour to ruin it, to my advantage; and observe, that I freely acknowledge Artaban to be worthy of his fortune above all the men I have known, and, that it is not my own will that inclines me to traverse his affections, but that it proceeds merely from the violence you do me, which is such as I have ineffectually endeavoured to overcome by all the reasons which you could yourself have alleged against it. Do not therefore consider what I do against him as a voluntary action, which might be condemned, but as a forced action, and consequently rather deserving your pity, than his resentment; and pardon, if you please, the design I have to dispute your affections with him, which I shall not do out of any consideration of Caesar's authority, and the power he hath invested me with through the whole extent of his Empire, but by my love and services.  
To this effect was the discourse of Agrippa, and the Princess finding some comfort in the conclusion of it, and in what he had said to the advantage of Artaban; It hath ever been my persuasion, said she to him, that, what design soever you might be engaged in, you would make use of no other force than that of virtue itself to effect it; and that is it indeed which makes you more considerable than the rank you are in, or the friendship of Caesar; and it is from the same virtue that I am inclined to hope you will overcome a passion, which may haply expose your reputation to some reproach by thwarting the enjoyments and felicity of those that cast themselves under your protection.  
These words troubled Agrippa more than any thing else could have done, as being leveled at him in point of generosity and honour; and indeed, great souls, such as was really his, are far more sensible of assaults of this nature, than those which proceed merely out of a consideration of difficulty or danger. He accordingly was at a little loss what return to make thereto, but when he had recollected himself a little; It is not for Agrippa, said he to her, to afford protection, within the territories that are under the subjection of Caesar, to a daughter of the King of Parthia. Caesar may be said to protect you, and I may contribute my services to his protection; but it concerns me ever to be suppliant and submissive to you, and to account myself your vassal, rather than your Protector: under this qualification of vassalage, which I conceive honourable enough for me, and not under that other of protection, which I could not pretend to without insolence, it may be lawful for me, upon equal terms, to engage against my Rival, and in this kind of engagement, I shall not seem very dreadful to a person, of whose side the victory is already declared.  
He would have spun out this discourse to a greater length, had not Candace, troubled to see the Princess so engaged, started a question to her, purposely to break it off, and, not long after, obliged her to quit Agrippa, and to participate of their conversation. It continued not long that night, for Elisa and Candace, to oblige Marcellus and Agrippa to withdraw the sooner, bid Cleopatra good-night; telling her, that, the better to recover the rest she so much wanted, it was but fit she should go to it somewhat sooner than ordinary. Whereupon the two Princesses departed to their own lodgings, and Marcellus and Agrippa, having taken their leaves of them, left the room at the same time.  
The two Princesses were no sooner alone, but Elisa acquainted Candace with the discourse that had passed between her and Agrippa, and the Queen of Ethiopia, gave her an account at the same time of what she had had that day with Cornelius. Whereupon they advised with one another what they should do in that case, and spent some time in deliberating whether they should acquaint their Lovers with that new emergency. They found very strong reasons on both sides, as well to oblige them to do it, as to divert them from it, and they were absolutely unresolved what to do, when Artaban comes into the room. 'tis, out of all question, that Elisa was infinitely desirous to see him, yet could she not look on him at such an hour, without blushing at the freedom she gave him; and though she loved him to that degree which she conceived herself obliged to do, as well by way of recompense for his great services, as out of her own inclination, yet had she not ever granted him any favour that derogated from the strictest observances of honour and her sex; and had not been persuaded to this secret interview, but out of compliance with Candace, whose authority, rather than any thing else, satisfied her scruples, and prevailed with her to grant it in order to the interview which she so much endeavoured between Caesario and him. Candace, though she had no less devotion to virtue then the other, might presume upon a greater liberty, and besides, that she could not see Caesario but at such hours, she was absolutely at her own disposal, as well in regard of her person as her dominions. Add to that, that in her favouring Caesario, and bestowing on him her Crown with her person, as she was resolved, she complied with the will, and obeyed the commands of her father, who, in his life time, and at his death, had publicly declared such an intention, and had absolutely ordered it should be so.  
Elisa entertained Artaban with her ordinary sweetness and modesty; and Candace, having treated him with all manner of civility, You are now satisfied, said she to him, that I am not much inclined to revenge, and that notwithstanding the resentment which your inconstancy might well raise in me against you, I yet think it not much to procure you such favours as you had not haply ever received before. I must indeed confess, replies Artaban, that this favour is a pure effect of your goodness; but shall not acknowledge, if I may be so free with you, that you had any great resentment to struggle with, for a loss you were not any way sensible of. The loss cannot be thought light, replies Candace, when one loses such a man as Artaban: but it hath been the pleasure of our destinies to dispose of us both otherwise, and for that reason it is but fit we forbear all reproaches. But I must tell you withal, that I have not been the instrument to procure you this sight of Elisa, besides your expectation, without some little By-concernment; and that is, a request that both she and I make to you, that you and Cleomedon have an interview in this room, that you embrace one the other in our presence, and, if it be not impossible, become good friends, as your fair Princess and myself are.  
Artaban receiving this discourse of Candace, with a great sense of the obligation she laid upon him; I am very much troubled, Madam, said he to her, that you should not make trial of the respect I have for you, by a test of my obedience, wherein I might find more difficulty, than there can be in that which you propose to me; for the friendship of Cleomedon is a thing, whereof the purchase is so advantageous, that I cannot entertain the offer you make me of it, otherwise then as a recompense you are pleased to allow me, and not as a punishment that you impose upon me. I may add to this, that he hath put a late obligation upon me, which ought to have a greater influence on my soul, than that unreasonable aversion which heretofore I ever found bandying against that affection which his virtue might raise in me for him, and I conceive myself engaged to him in much more than my life amounts to, since I must acknowledge the liberty of my Princess, an effect of the relief she received from his valour, when she was in the arms of Tigranes. Artaban, said Elisa to him, very much satisfied with his discourse, assure yourself, you cannot any way oblige me so much as by this kind of proceeding, and there is such an union between this fair Queen and myself, that it were very unjust there should be any difference between the objects of our Loves. Cleomedon made in a manner the same answer, when we made the same proposition to him; and accordingly, it is no small satisfaction to me, to see that we shall find it no hard matter to establish between you a friendship not unlike ours.  
While Elisa spoke in this manner, Candace, desirous to favour Artaban all she could, pretending she had some business to do in a closet, that was within the room, took occasion to go into it for some time. Which interval the passionate Artaban making his advantage of, cast himself at the feet of Elisa, and embraced her knees, with all the most affectionate demonstrations of that passion, which she was already so well acquainted with; and whereas he could not express that transcendency of joy which then possessed him, otherwise than by confused and broken words, the fair Princess thought his love more legible in that disorder, than it had been in a discourse well couched, and actions proceeding from the greatest recollection. The presence of Vrinoe (for Cephisa was walking upon the Terrace with Clitia in expectation of Caesario's coming) hindered him not from giving thousands of kisses to the fair hands of his Princess; and this being the greatest favour he could expect from her, she could not deny it him in so favourable an opportunity, and that especially after a separation, which had caused her to bewail his loss with so many tears. Nay, she had much ado to keep them in now, during the reflections she made on it, and looking on him in the most amorous manner that could be, with those very eyes which had set him so much on fire; Ah Artaban, said she to him, what real afflictions hath your imaginary death cost me! and what abundance of tears have I shed out of that cruel persuasion! Ah Madam, replied Artaban, how precious ought I to esteem that death, and how dear those tears! The rest of my life is no way comparable to that fortunate death, no, it was not either my life or death could deserve those tears, which compassion drew from your fair eyes. But is it not time, added the Princess, I should know, by what adventure it came to pass that you are now alive; or am I still to be ignorant what good fortune it is that we are obliged to for your safety?  
Artaban was going to acquaint her in what manner he had escaped drowning; but Elisa, remembering herself how that the night before, Candace would needs have her to be present at the arrival of Cleomedon, and being a little ashamed that she had suffered her to withdraw into the closet, she called her, and entreated her to participate of their conversation as she had done of the discourse that had passed between her and Cleomedon, and understand, how Artaban had escaped the fury of those waves into which he had cast himself, since that in all likelihood the relation he was to entertain them with would not be so long but that he might well go through it before Cleomedon came in. Candace made her answer, that she should gladly hearken to any thing wherein she thought herself concerned, and after she was set down by her; Madam, says Artaban to her, since that there are but few days since my falling into the Sea, I shall not need many words to acquaint you with what hath happened to me from that time, and shall not abuse your attention long with an account of things of little consequence.  
It is not without some reason, continued he, speaking to Candace, that you said you were concerned in my safety, or at least I may well say that you have contributed very much thereto, and consequently that I am not a little obliged to you for it. To me, replied the Queen, somewhat astonished at what he said? Even to you, Madam, said he, more than any other; and had it not been for that generous action which you did in setting Zenodorus' ship on fire, that action, I say, which carried in it a more shining demonstration of your virtue then the fire you kindled on the water, I had infallibly lost a life, which I could not long have made good against the violence of the waves, being armed all over, my buckler hanging about my neck, and being at too great a distance from the shore to recover it by swimming, even though I had had nothing of armour about me. Their weight had once already forced me to the bottom, where I had rolled myself for some time upon the sand, when by the violence of a Billow I was again brought up to the top of the water, where, as good fortune would have it, I met with a plank, half burned, of Zenodorus' vessel, which struck against my head, and, not long after, touched against my hand. Though my condition was such that I had but little knowledge or apprehension left, yet made I a shift to do that, which they say is natural to all men in the like extremity, which is, to fasten on any thing they can: and so, embracing the plank, which was thick and heavy, I did so well with the help of it that I got my head above water, and had the liberty to breath; insomuch that, by degrees, I got it under me, in such a manner, that it bore me up, with the help of my legs, which I moved to and fro, as if I were swimming, the best I could. But I was, withal, so weary, so much troubled with the water I had swallowed, and so loaden with my armour, that I could not hope to escape with that help alone, though I endeavoured with all the remainder of my strength, to force the plank towards the shore.  
Being in this extremity, it pleased the gods to direct certain Fisher-boats whereof there are a many upon that coast, towards the place where I was, which was not very far from the shore. Those that were in them taking notice of the glistering of my head-piece, and perceiving the top of my plume of feathers all wet, imagining what the matter might be, came up with one of their boats to my relief, and indeed it came just at the point that I stood very much in need of it, and was reduced to my last shifts. They took me into their boat, disarmed me, and at the same time made me cast up the salt water I had drunk, and when they saw I had a little recovered myself they took me ashore and brought me to one of their cottages. There was I forced, by reason of the hardship I had undergone, and the sad condition I was in to rest myself for some hours, as being so spent, that I was hardly able to stand on my Legs.  
I had not been there long ere the memory of my misfortunes began to torment me, and thereupon representing to myself how that I left the Princess under the power of a cruel Pirate, and that I was without men, without vessel, and knew not any way how to relieve her, my grief came upon me with so much violence, that I was in a manner resolved to go and seek, in the bowels of the Sea that death, which I had with so much difficulty escaped; and certainly I think, that, had I not been prevented by those good people, I should have executed that fatal resolution; but indeed my weakness was with all such, that it was easy for them to keep me on a sorry bed whereon they had cast me, and where I had already passed away some hours.  
I shall not trouble you Madam, continued he addressing himself to Elisa alone, with a repetition of all those words, which fell from me, during the violence of my grief; and you may judge by the greatness of a passion which you are well acquainted with, that there was, in the effects it produced, but very little moderation. The night was now drawn near, when having recovered my strength and spirits in some measure, I called for my clothes which the Fishermen had taken off to be dried, and began to find myself in such a condition, that I would not by any persuasions be kept there any longer, when good fortune, being then my Friend, directs to the cottage where I was, a certain man, whom I knew to be Telamonius, a person that accompanied me in the quality of an Esquire. I immediately called him by his name, and the faithful Esquire, transported with joy runs to me, and embracing my knees, asked me thousands of times by what miracle I had escaped; but instead of answering him, I presently asked him what was become of the Princess? Telamonius, perceiving with what earnestness I pressed that question to him several times; My Lord, said he to me, assoon as the Pirate, by the assistance of his men, was taken up out of the water, and brought into the vessel, finding himself in a posture able enough to pursue the design he had undertaken, as having been immediately recovered out of the water, he gave orders to be set ashore at a certain place he appointed to them, and leaving the Princess under the guard of his Lieutenant, he left the vessel with a select number of his men, to seek out, as they said, a person that had made an escape the night before, after she had set his vessel on fire; he commanded his Lieutenant to have a care of the Princess, and to expect his return at a place where he appointed him. For my part, having not the patience to stay any longer in the vessel, I thought it my best course to leave it, with a resolution to give you all the assistance I could if so be I found you capable of any, or to take some order for your enterrement, in case I should have found your body cast up any where on these shores. Whereupon I came away with the Pirates, with Zenodorus' leave, after I had cast myself at his feet begging his permission to look after the body of my Master, to do it the last honours it were capable of.  
So that it seems then, said I interrupting him, my Princess is yet about the river, where she is to expect the return of the Pirate, and that Zenodorus is come ashore upon this coast, and is not yet returned to his ships. I can assure you, My lord, replied he, that he is not yet returned, and that he is resolved, by what I have understood, to bestow all the next day to find out the person that is escaped from him, and that it is impossible he should have met with her since we came ashore.  
This account of Telamonius filled me again with new hopes, as resolved, that if I could meet with the Pirate, what number soever of men he might have about him, I would either die in the engagement with him, or force him to return the Princess, out of a certain confidence, that either gods or men might afford me some assistance to carry on my enterprise. In order thereto, knowing that we were not far from Alexandria, where might easily be procured all things that were necessary, I gave Telamonius some of the jewels I ordinarily carried about me, and which the Fishermen had not, as good Fortune would have it, taken out of my clothes, when they dried them, and commanded him to make all the hast he could to the City, and buy two horses, charging him, by all means, to make choice for me of the best he could meet with all, what rate soever he might be set at. To which having further enjoined him to bring them me assoon as he possibly could, and to give notice that night to the Praetor of Alexandria of the arrival of the Pirates upon the coast, and the carrying away of the Princess, I dismissed him.  
Telamonius, with these orders, took his way towards Alexandria, while I remained, with some little hope to do something, among the Fishermen, who would needs force me to take what poor entertainment they could afford me; and certainly; that night's rest was no more than necessary for me, to recover my strength, and put me into a condition to be able to deal with those enemies which I should meet withal. But why should I spin out my relation to such a length? In a word, the next day about an hour after Sunrising, I saw Telamonius coming with two horses. So that having put on my Armour and bestowed some of those jewels I had left among the Fishermen, I got up on the better of the horses, which I found, much to my content, very fit for my turn; and having understood from Telamonius that the Praetor had notice given him, and was sending out vessels to the relief of the Princess, I resolved to make a search all about Alexandria. During all that day, it ran still in my thoughts, that the only way for me to relieve you, Madam, was, to meet with Zenodorus, and to become master of his liberty as he was of yours; and I thought it so much the more likely to be effected, in regard that Telamonius had assured me, that, the better to find out the person he was in quest of he had divided his men into four parties, and consequently had but very few about him.  
I thought sit in the first place to ride up and down the shore and to visit the woods, and all the places thereabouts, especially wherever I observed the tract of any horse. I had spent in this manner the best part of the day to no purpose, when crossing through a pleasant valley, and perceiving a little rivulet, which took its rise from a spring that was not far off, the thirst I then was in, occasioned as well by reason of the heat of the day, as the heaviness of my armour, obliged me to alight, and to come to the spring, where happened that accident which you may have had an account of from Cleomedon, since you have already seen him. 'Tis very true, replied the Princess Elisa, we have so, and understood all the particulars of your combat; and I knew not how to forbear blaming you, for being so ready to give Cleomedon occasion to come to blows, since you had no ground to hate him, nor did pretend any thing to the Queen of Ethiopia.  
Madam, replies Artaban, you may be pleased safely to assure yourself as of nothing but truth, that the condition I was in then was such, that I had not any intention to engage Cleomedon to sight; but calling to mind the last words I had said to him at our parting, wherein I made a confident brag, that I should one day be in a condition to measure a weapon with him without any prejudice to him, I thought myself obliged to put him in mind of it, out of a fear he might attribute that forgetfulness to any want of courage, and yet I endeavoured all I could to express it in such terms, as could not have provoked him to fight, had he not been as forward as myself.  
Whereupon Artaban, having briefly run over those passages which Caesario had related before, acquainted them with what had happened to him since Candace's being carried away in their sight the second time; his engagement with Zenodorus' crew; his retreat to the house of Tiridates, and the abode he had made there, to their meeting at Tiridates' tomb.  
He had just made an end of his discourse, when Clitia came to give them notice that Cleomedon was upon the Terrace, and immediately after, he comes into the room with an amiable and majestic deportment. He had hardly acquitted himself of his salutations to the two Princesses, when Artaban, who would needs do, with an obliging grace, whatever he conceived he ought to do, comes up to him, and saluting him with a civility animated by all the expressions of a real greatness of soul; Generous Cleomedon, said he to him, I have forborn too long from rendering you that which all men acknowledge to be your due. Since you have overcome that unjust repugnance which I had to do it, as well by the admirable virtue you are Master of, as by a late demonstration of your generosity, give me leave to approach you with abundance of remorse for what is passed, abundance of respect for your person, and a more than ordinary earnestness to deserve some place in your Friendship.  
Caesario, who was resolved to have done that to Artaban which Artaban had done to him, was somewhat troubled that he had been prevented, and entertaining his discourse and action with a civility suitable to his; The friendship you proffer me, said he to him, is a happiness of that concernment, that it was but just I should purchase it with the price of my blood, and as I could not charge any thing but my own misfortune with the backwardness you were in to afford it me, before; so is it to my good fortune only that I must attribute the present you make me of it now. I conceive, replied Artaban, that respect and esteem which I have for you, due to your virtue, your birth, and your excellent endowments; and the earnestness I have, freely and faithfully to serve you, to the assistances you afforded me by your valour, in delivering this great Princess out of the hands of those that would have carried her away. It hath been no small satisfaction to me, replied Caesario, that you were something concerned in the service I have done the Princess of the Parthians, thought it were such as she might have received from any man upon the like occasion; but I have not forgotten the relief you gave me, when my horse was killed under me in the engagement against Zenodorus' men. However it be, I conceive it a great happiness, that these mutual civilities should engage us to become faithful friends, and I promise, I shall never be found guilty of the least violation of a friendship which I desire may be eternal between us.  
With these words, these two great persons embraced one another, upon the commands of the two Princesses (the respect they had for them not permitting them to take that liberty in their presence) and a little after, they looked one upon another with a mutual admiration, and were both equally satisfied as to the Friendship which they had contracted. Candace who was infinitely pleased with it, spoke to them whatever she thought might any ways confirm them therein; and Elisa, who was extremely sensible of the assistance which she had received from Caesario, joined her solicitations with the others, to establish a perfect union between those two great men. But they might very well have spared their endeavours to that purpose; for the behaviour of these two great souls was so mutually ingenuous and cordial, that there was such a perfect consonancy between their words and thoughts, that it might be said, their friendship was truly consummate before they had in a manner made the first overtures thereof.  
These four illustrious persons, all satisfied, though with some inequality, would have fallen either together, or separately, into some pleasant discourse had not Candace be thought herself that the Princess Cleopatra was not gone to bed, out of an expectation to hear from them, and if she had not had a great desire to make her acquainted with Caesario that night. Upon that reflection, having taken the Prince a little aside (and at the same time left Elisa with Artaban in an affectionate and pleasant discourse) she discovered to him her desires, that he would make himself known to the Princess his Sister, to whose prudence it were not unsafe to commit things of the greatest importance, and repeated to him all the discourses which she had entertained her with, to prepare her thereto.  
Caesario very willingly condescended to the proposition of Candace, as having already found it no small difficulty to conceal himself from so amiable a Sister, and having forborn it upon no other account than the submission he had for the Queen. Candace would have sent word to Cleopatra of it; but she was a little troubled that Artaban should be present, as not conceiving, that Caesario would, before him, declare a thing, the least discovery whereof would infallibly cost him his life. She acquainted him with her thoughts to that purpose, and advised with him what course should be taken to have things so carried as that Artaban might not be present at that action. But Caesario's soul being too great to entertain the least distrust of such a person as Artaban, and upon the first discovery the Queen made of her jealousy, slighting that precaution, and lifting up his voice, purposely that he might be heard by all that were in the Chamber: There is no necessity, Madam, said he to her, of any such circumspection when we have to deal with a virtue, such as is that of Artabans. I know him so well, as that I would trust him with something more precious than my life, and therefore, since it is your pleasure we should see Cleopatra, I shall discover myself to her, before Artaban, with as much confidence as before yourself.  
All that were present were infinitely pleased with the ingenious clearness which Casario expressed; and Artaban, who had heard the words, and easily imagined the occasion on which they were spoken, willing to return him an answer, not unworthy the good opinion he had of him; I must needs confess, said he to him, that this demonstration of your generosity is very great, wherein you are content to make a discovery of yourself to me, which, among persons, of whose faith you were doubtful, might prove prejudicial to your safety; and I receive, with the resentment I ought, a confidence, whereto I have not any ways obliged you. But that you may be satisfied, that I am not absolutely unworthy of it, and that you need not fear I should abuse it, now that you have assured me of your friendship, I am to let you know, that, even during that time, wherein I had the greatest aversion for, nay, in the time of youth, which is not ordinarily over-apt to keep a secret, I have known your name and birth, and that you will not tell me any thing I know not, when you shall discover yourself to the Princess your Sister to be Caesario, the son of Caefar and Cleopatra.  
This discourse of Artabans, little expected by Caesario, raised in him some astonishment, and might have put Candace into some jealousy of Elisa, had she not immediately called to mind to some words which Artaban had said to her, when they met at Tiridates' Tomb, whence she might have imagined, that the birth and true name of Caesario were not unknown to him. The Prince, upon this new expression of true friendship, could not but admire the great courage of Artaban, who, notwithstanding the strange aversion he had ever discovered towards him, and that in an age which is not much inclined to the moderation of the most violent passions, had slighted the opportunity he had to prejudice his enemy, and observed that secrecy towards him, which he would not, without some difficulty, have found, even among his friends. And certainly his astonishment had been the greater at this kind of proceeding, if these characters of an elevated soul had been less familiar to him, and if he had not found in himself an inclination to do the like towards Artaban.  
However, he thought it but just to let Artaban know what esteem and acknowledgement he conceived at so generous a carriage, and looking on him with an action, which in some measure expressed what his thoughts were employed about; I must needs confess, said he to him, that all things are admirably great in you, and that it will be a great injustice in fortune, if she raise you not above Kings, since they are things you can pull down when you please. There are few persons certainly would have made so little advantage as you have done, of a discovery, which might have proved so prejudicial to me in the world; but there are yet fewer would have effected those great things which are in you the accomplishments of your generous beginnings. But, may I presume to ask you, by what adventure you should come to the knowledge of that which all the World was ignorant of? A young man that had sometime been a servant of yours, replied Artaban, and who since, as I have been informed, was killed in one of the battles which you fought in Nubia, having for me a very particular friendship revealed that secret to me, and there needed no more than the illustrious characters I observed in your person to satisfy me that he told nothing but what was truth. If those characters are able to work that effect, said Caesario to him, I must needs imagine you to be the issue of the gods; and though you are not pleased to derive any recommendation from a birth, which you do not stand in need of to make you equal to the greatest Princes that are, yet can I hardly be persuaded but that yours is of the most eminent. Artaban would have made some modest return to this discourse, when the Princess Cleopatra, whom Candace had sent for, comes into the room, the Princess' having not thought it fit that she should receive Caesario's visit in her own, because of her women, to whom there was no necessity he should discover himself.  
The room, upon her coming into it, seemed to be filled with a new light, which dazzled both Artaban and Caesario, and though one of them had seen her that very day before, and that the other were her brother, and had spent his childhood with her, and that, to say better, they were both of them prepossed by a passion, which till then had not permitted them to imagine anything in point of beauty comparable to Elisa and Candace, yet could they not smother the astonishment which they conceived upon this sight, nor but acknowledge, though with some confusion and repugnance, that all the beauties upon earth ought to give place to that of Cleopatra. Caesario, transported with the affection which the blood and merit of that Princess, inspired him with, could upon the first sight hardly forbear making discoveries thereof; but upon second thoughts he resolved to proceed after another manner, and to make that adventure contribute somewhat to the diversion and entertainment of those that were present.  
Cleopatra was hardly gotten into Eliza's chamber, ere word was brought her that Prince Alexander, her brother, was come into her own, and that having left the King of Armenia, he thought not fit to depart the lodgings till he had wished her a good night. Cleopatra was going to send the Messenger back again with word that he should stay a while for her, when Queen Candace, who knew it was Caesario's design, to discover himself, as well to Alexander, as Cleopatra, entreated her to send for him, assuring her that there was none had the least mistrust of him, and that Cleomedon was too much engaged by the assistance he had received from him to deny him the opportunity to see him.  
Cleopatra, having done what the Queen desired of her, saluted Caesario and Artaban, with that ceremony which she conceived she ought to have observed towards two such eminent men, and of whom she had her imagination full, by the account had been given her of their gallant actions. She looked on them one after another, with a certain astonishment, as not knowing any one in the World whom she could think comparable to them, but only her own Coriolanus.  
They were going to fall into some discourse, when there comes into the room Alexander, upon the first sight, somewhat at a loss to find that company there. Artaban and he had spent the evening together with Ariobarzanes, and it was not long since they had parted, after they had conceived, (considering the small abode they had made together) abundance of esteem and respects one for another. But the sight of Cleomedon, was it, that he was most astonished at; and, having not seen him since he had left Tidaeus' house in pursuit of Cleopatra, he wondered much to find him in the same room with her. Yet was not his astonishment so great, but that he expressed the satisfaction he conceived it to meet with him; and after he had in the first place addressed his civilities to Elisa and Candace, with much submission, he came to him, to let him know how glad he was to find him in a condition so different from that wherein he had left him, and craved his pardon, that, by reason of the urgent necessity that had called him away to the relief of Artemisa and Cleopatra, he had been forced to leave him, and to recommend to other persons the recovery of a health which he infinitely esteemed.  
Caesario thought this discourse so obliging, that he could not but make an answer suitable thereto; whereupon looking on Alexander and Cleopatra with an affection, which blood, obligation, and merit, had easily raised in him; No, it is I, said he to the Prince, that aught, with much more reason, make my excuses to you; and had you afforded me the time to put myself into such a posture as that I might have followed you, the indisposition I might have been in by reason of my wounds, should not have excused me, for not bearing of you company, to relieve the Princess Cleopatra. That was an affair, which I was more particularly obliged to look after, than you could have imagined; and besides the engagement I stand in to the assistance I received from you, when my life was in greatest danger, the remembrance of a person whom you have sometimes esteemed, and of whom I have undertaken to bring some tidings to the Princess Cleopatra, and yourself, makes me concern myself in your interests, with a very violent affection.  
It is very true, replied the Princess Cleopatra, that the Queen hath put me into very much hope that I should receive by you some account of a person I have sometime dearly loved, and it is out of that confidence, that she hath been pleased I should come to her Chamber at such a time that it may be some inconvenience to her. I must needs confess that this promise of the Queens hath raised in me a curiosity which is more than ordinary to me, as well out of the imagination I have, that, from a great person, such as you are, I shall understand only great things, as out of a self-flattery I have been guilty of that it might be of a Beloved brother, a person of excellent endowments, whom an amorous despair, forced from Rome about seven or eight years since, that you have something to say to me. We are to learn whether he be dead or living, and it is not impossible, but that in his travels he might have met with you, and been of your acquaintance.  
I am very much troubled, Madam, replied the Prince, that it is not in my power to give you the satisfaction you expected from me; for as to that brother you inquire of, I have not certainly any account to give you of him, nay, which is more, I never know him. But I may haply have what to acquaint you with concerning some other persons of your house, who were no less dear to you, and whom I have heretofore familiarly seen and conversed with in this City, before the ruin of Anthony, and Queen Cleopatra. And that you may be the sooner convinced, observe well my face, and see, whether, notwithstanding the change which ten years may have wrought in it, you can find some features like to those of that person, who was brought up with you, and whom you dearly loved. I have been heretofore flattered by some with that resemblance, and know not whether you have preserved the idea of it so well, as to find there is yet something left of it.  
These words raised no small astonishment in the children of Anthony, and Alexander coming up close to Caesario, was was purposely got near the torches, Cleopatra and he looked on him a long time with much earnestness. It was about the tenth year of their age that Caesario departed from Alexandria, and about the fourteenth of his own, so that, by reason, as well of the infancy of Alexander and Cleopatra, as the alteration, which (more remarkably then in any other degree of man's age) happens in the countenances of men between that of fourteen, and that of four and twenty, which was then the age of Caesario, it might well happen, that the Princess, and the Prince her Brother, could not, upon the first sight, discover the face of their Brother, in that of Cleomedon, whose speech, proportionably to the rest, was altered, by growing bigger since their separation. Yet was not all this alteration so great, nor their memories so weak, but that after what Cleomedon had said, and the particular observation which he had obliged them to make, they would have known the Prince, had they not been carried away with the general opinion, that he had departed this World. Nay, after they had well considered his face, they, in a manner, knew him; but that discovery had no further effect on them, then to force out certain sighs; whereupon the Princess Cleopatra, assuming the discourse after she had looked on Alexander, to see whether he was of the same opinion: I must needs acknowledge, said she to the Prince, that I find abundance of resemblance between your countenance, and that of a Prince, with whom my Brother and myself were brought up, and one that might have been much about your age, if the gods had thought fit to have continued him in life and health, and to preserve him against those powers, by which he received an untimely death.  
I am also very much satisfied, added Prince Alexander, that if out Brother Caesario were living, he might be very like the brave Cleomedon. And thought that from the age of fourteen years, which was that of Caesario, when he died, to that of Cleomedon, which seems to be greater by nine or ten years, there happens more alteration, both in the bulk and countenances of men, then in all man's life besides, and that it might be withal granted, that time may in some measure have worn away, out of our memories, those Ideas, which cannot be expected otherwise then imperfect in the minds of children, such as we were then; yet can I not call them to my remembrance, without a certain conceit that I find them again in Cleomedon, and imagining to myself, that, if Caesario were now alive, there would be a very great resemblance between them. Nay, I am much inclined to believe, from the great hopes that were conceived of him, and the glorious blood that ran in his veins, derived from illustrious ancestors, that this resemblance might have reached to the greatness of courage, and that he would have thought it a dishonour to come too far short of that stupendous man, whom it was his glory to imitate in all things.  
The modesty of the son of Caesario, made him blush at these obliging expressions of the son of Anthony; whereupon, looking on him with a smiling countenance, It is but just indeed I should suffer any thing, said he to him, from a Prince to whom I am obliged for an assistance that preserved my life. But since you and the Princess Cleopatra are pleased to flatter me so pleasantly, with so advantageous a resemblance, I must in requittal assure you, that it is yet greater in all things than you imagine it, and that I am not only, as to my inclinations, comparable to Prince Caesario, but also that my fortunes have been absolutely suitable to his. I should put you to some astonishment, should I tell you, that, as he, so I was dearly loved by Alexander and Cleopatra in their younger years: That I was loved as tenderly as he was by the Queen your mother, and that her indulgence towards me was as great as what she expressed towards him; that as he, so I also left you to seek out my safety in Ethiopia, after the downfall of your house; That I was born as well as he of an unfortunate Queen, and am son to the greatest that ever was of mankind; and, in a word, I am so extremely like him, that I might even in Alexandria presume to own the name of Caesario, if by such an acknowledegment I should not put you to the hazard of losing him once again.  
These words of Caesario raised such a distraction in the souls of Cleopatra and Alexander, that neither of them being able to comprehend any thing of it, could do no more than look on him that had spoke them, with a silence which argued their astonishment, much more than any verbal expressions could have done. The son of Caesar had suffered them to coninue a while in that posture, when he sees Eteocles coming, in whom he had caused Clitia to call from the Terrace, where he had left him. Whereupon, reassuming the discourse with an action which held the Brother and the Sister equally in suspense; That you may be absolutely satisfied, said he to them, that my fortunes have been in all things conformable to those of Caesario, behold the man that brought me up, and who presumes that he hath been of the same name, was of the same Birth, same Country, and same countenance as the Governor of Caesario. If you look on him with more earnestness than you have done for some days past, when he was with you in that very house where I received your assistances, you will easily observe that resemblance, and he is a person of such an age, as wherein ten years cannot make so great an alteration, as they may in that wherein one passes from infancy to a more advanced age.  
While he thus spoke, the eyes of Cleopatra and Alexander were fixed on the countenance of Eteocles, and it being very certain that it had undergone much less alteration then that of the Prince, they immediately found therein all the features of that of Eteocles, with whom they had sometime been so familiar, as having been one that had carried them thousands of times in his arms, and had been brought up in the house, as son to the faithful Apollodorus, the dear favourite and confident of Queen Cleopatra. Whereupon both the Prince and Princess cried out, that it was really Eteocles, and immediately turning to the Prince with an astonishment much greater then what they were in before, by reason of this last circumstance: Cleomedon, said the Princess to him, for heaven's sake, keep us not any longer in the disturbance which you have raised in us, and let us know that Caesario is living, to tell us so much himself. 'tis only his death that abates that confidence which we raise from all the other circumstances, and if Caesario were living, I should be immediately satiefied that you were he.  
Should he discover himself to be Caesario, in any place that is under the jurisdiction of Augustus, replied the Princess, there is so little expectation of any Fortune thereby, that it were hard to suspect such a confession subject to any imposture: but it is withal a thing so glorious to be born of Caesar and Cleopatra, tha● without an excess of baseness, a man cannot disclaim it, and there is so much satisfaction to Caesario, to meet with a Brother and Sister, great and amiable as Alexander and Cleopatra, that no consideration in the World can oblige him any longer to conceal from them, a brother they have dearly loved, and one that hath continued towards them the tender affection he ever had for them.  
With these words, he came near Cleopatra, with his arms stretched out, and that fair Princess soon satisfied those that were present, that she knew him to be her brother, by receiving from him, and returning him those caresses which never had passed between her and any, but those that were of that near relation. Alexander also received and returned the like, by the command of Elisa and Candace, whose presence obliged them to a greater reservedness. But, notwithstanding all that blood might persuade the children of Anthony to, and the joy it must needs be to them to meet with a lost brother, in the person of so great a man as Cleomedon, yet was not all enough to dispel their astonishment, and this adventure seemed to be so great, and so full of miracle, that to be fully satisfied, it was but necessary they had the assistance of Candace, Elisa and Eteocles, who very freely acquainted them with the secret of Caesario's life: for as to the great actions he had done under the name of Cleomedon, they were in some measure known to Alexander, and absolutely to Cleopatra, by the relation which Candace had made thereof to her.  
When they were fully convinced of these truths, their joy discovered itself by all the effects it could produce in moderate and affectionate dispositions, as theirs were; and it had not haply been greater, though they had seen this very brother returning in that pomp and magnificence, which he might have hoped from his former fortune, when, even in his infancy he had been proclaimed King of Kings, by the commands of Anthony, and Queen Cleopatra. Then was it that Cleopatra, notwithstanding all her reservedness and modesty, could not forbear entertaining so great a brother with embraces sit to be envied by all men; and that Alexander expressed the agitations of his heart, by the most earnest demonstrations, that a sincere affection could produce in a noble soul as his was.  
It was also during these pleasant intervals that the fair daughter of Anthony, giving thousands of kisses to the Queen of Ethiopia, gave her infinite thanks, with tears, which the excess of joy and affection drew from her fair eyes, for his preservation, and for the present she made her of so great a brother, and thence took occasion to celebrate her generosity, and the extraordinary goodness she had expressed, in bestowing her precious affections on a Prince whom fortune had not left any thing she could have taken away from him, and raising him up to a Crown whereby he might recover himself into the dignity of his Fathers. What, said Alexander, is that invincible Cleomedon, who gained so many battles in Nubia, and whose reputation, notwithstanding the interposition of so many Provinces, eclipsed the glory of our most famous Captains, no other than the same Casario, on whom, in our infancy, we had bestowed so many tears, and in that dead Brother, do we recover again a Brother, whose glory may darken that of his Father?  
When the first demonstrations of this happy reacquaintance were over, they all joined together in a more moderate conversation; so that Artaban taking occasion to express his concernments in the joy of Cleopatra's children, no less then if he had been of the same Blood, made them consider with a certain admiration, that character of greatness, which the gods had put upon him. They thought it no ill course to moderate the discoveries of their joy, out of a fear the cause might come to be known; which if it should happen, it could not be without bringing Caesario's life into in minent danger. And considering withal that the night was in a manner quite spent, and that such long sit up might, in time, raise some suspicions, the desire which the Princess Cleopatra and Alexander had to enjoy yet for some longer time, that happy reacquaintance, and that which Caesario had to understand the fortunes of Cleopatra, whereof he had but an imperfect account, were not so great, but that, though not without some violence done to themselves, they appointed it to be the entertainment of the night following, those that were concerned in the safety of Caesario, thinking it not so safe to trust it to the day.  
They parted therefore, though with much unwillingness, and Alexander and Cleopatra were extremely troubled that the son of Caesar should take his retreat, in a loan house not much frequented, which Eteocles had provided for him in one of the most solitary skirts of Alexandria, as conceiving there would be less notice taken of his going in and out there, then in that of Tidaeus' without the City, where he had spent some days before.  
But before they parted, Artaban and Caesario confirmed the reconciliation they had made, by words full of the greatest expressions of a real friendship, and reciprocally promised one another all the assistances, which according to the posture of their fortunes, they should be able to afford one the other. The two Princesses they served, were extremely satisfied thereat, and when they were alone, the Daughter of Anthony passing to her own lodgings, they went into their beds, to crown the extraordinary accidents of that day with a pleasant rest.  
The end of the Third Book.   

HYMEN'S PRAELUDIA, Or, Loves Masterpiece.  
PART X. LIB. IV.  
ARGUMENT.  
VOlusius coming in wounded into Alexandria, is entertained by Cornelius, and, upon his entreaty, brought to Marcellus and Cleopatra, whom he entertains with his own History. The noble deportment of Coriolanus towards him after his defeat, his honourable dismission from Mauritania, and his ungrateful resentments of such extraordinary civilities. He is overtaken by Theocles, a discontented Noble man of that country, and with him enters into a conspiracy to do Coriolanus all the mischief they can. Volusius, not daring to come to Rome, as having exasperated the Emperor against him, by the loss of Mauritania, makes friends to Tiberius, who, (being an enemy to Coriolanus, and Servant to Cleopatra) undertakes his readmission into Caesar's favour, with promises of readvancement. Theocles is drawn into personate an Embassiy from Coriolanus, to Augustus, for the obtaining of Julia, so to make a difference between Coriolanus, and his friend Mircellus and Cleopatra; which proves in some measure effectual. Volusius, slighted by Tiberius; falls into contempt, and sickness, which having recovered, he leaves Rone, and, some time after, meets with Tiberius at Brundisium, whom he puts in mind of his former promises, and goes along with him and Theocles for Alexandria. They, conceiving some jealousy of him, plot his death, which is attempted by Theocles and his men, but he is rescuel by an unknown person, who having killed Theocles, and delivered him, proves to be Coriolanus, whom he acquaints with what he had done against him. Marcellus and Cleopatra are extremely glad and troubled at the relation of Volusius and Marcellus extremely grieved for the injuries he had done Coriolanus, goes to seek him out, resolved not to return till he had found him.  
THe fortunate meeting with a Brother, such as Caesario was, had raised in the Princess Cleopatra such a satisfaction, as, since the imaginary infidelity of Coriolanus, she had not been capable of, whence it came, that she passed over that night with more delight, and took more rest than the precedent. Now, as the best part of the night was spent ere she lay down, so was it accordingly very late ere she awoke in the morning, insomuch that those who knew not any thing of her long sitting up, would not have a little wondered she had slept so long, had they not imagined that the trouble and hardship she had gone through, for some days before, might require a more than ordinary repose.  
'Tis a common observation, that, it is ordinarily at our waking in the morning, we make the most natural reflections on the conditions and accidents of our lives. She accordingly had no sooner opened her eyes but the Idea of her late adventures presented itself to her remembrance, and as she was of an excellent good nature, so that sympathy which her meeting with Caesario had raised in her mind, was the first effect that was produced there. Her thoughts were, with no small satisfaction, taken up with that fortunate rencontre, as looking on it as a thing extremely advantageous, to find a Brother, whom she thought dead so many years before, changed into a Brother so great, so amiable, and so considerable, as well for his virtue, as the greatness of his actions. She reflected on the noble accidents of his life, the strange Fortunes he had run through, and fixed her consideration on the present posture of his affairs, which in all probability was such as promised him a safe harbour against all those tempests whereby he had been tossed up and down for the space of so many years, and seemed to be an establishment, such as gave him not any occasion to envy that of his Ancestors. The consideration of her Brother's concernments had that effect on her which it might be expected they might have on the best sister in the world, and struck her thoughts with so much delight, that for some time she could hardly make any reflection on her own: but at last she could not keep them off any longer, but they must needs do a violence to her memory, and the Idea of her unfortunate Coriolanus presented itself to her in the same posture as she had seen him the day before. Her first imaginations represented him to her in that terrible posture, wherein he had forced out of the vessel those that fought for her deliverance: but there being not so much satisfaction in this, as in the reflection on the other accidents that succeeded it, she soon quitted it, and imagined to herself a sight of the Prince in that mortal surprise wherein he was upon his first knowledge of her, and fell into a swound upon the ●eck; as also in that undaunted posture wherein hef had defied the King of Armenia, and was engaged himself alone against so great a number of Enemies; and lastly, she thought on him in that submissive posture, whereinto he had put himself ●ef●re her an● Marcellus, to clear his innocency. 'Twas upon this last reflection that ●he fastened her thoughts more than any, as desiring not so much any assurances of the valour of Coriolanus (whereof she had sufficient experience) as of his innocency, whereof she had been so long in doubt, and whereof either the certainty or uncertainty occasioned all the happiness or unhappiness of her life. She had so well engraven in her memory all the words which ●ell from that poor Prince, that, notwithstanding the disturbance she had been in, while he had spoken them, there had not so much as one slipped out of her remembrance. And finding them all very pregnant and full of conviction, it was a certain imaginary pleasure to her to be in a manner persuaded, that it must needs be innocence and truth that put them into the mouth of that Prince, to convince her of that error, wherein she had passed over so many sad days. Alas! with what satisfaction, and with what tenderness did she repeat them over and over, and how did she make it her ●ain business to heighten those circumstances that any way made for him? All indeed were very strong for him, from the time that she first opened her eyes to truth, and the discoveries of that pretended infidelity; and she could not but acknowledge her credulity, in having too easily been persuaded to a belief of things, that were contrary to reason and common sense. She could not find the least favourable imagination to persuade her that Coriolanus should fall in love with Julia, being then absent from her, when, even in her presence, and during the time that she expressed a great aflection towards him, he had ever slighted her, and that the Prince should so much court the friendship of Augustus, she thought yet more improbable, and that he should proffer himself to be tributary to him, when he had by open hostility recovered a powerful Monarchy; when he had refused the same friendship, at a time when he was not master of any thing but his sword, and could not expect any thing but by his means and assistance. She called to mind in what terms he had vindicated himself with so much apparent reason, and found so much eviction in all, that there needed not much, absolutely to justify him in her apprehension.  
During these pleasant intervals she opened her soul to give admission to that joy, which, of a long time before, could never have the least entertainment there, but it was at the same time very much abated, by a cold reflection on the miserable condition, to which that Prince was reduced, as having lost the Kingdoms he had conquered, and being deprived of all support and relief in the world, through her inflexibility towards him. These reflections, equally divided between grief and joy, drew many a sigh out of her breast, and this was the entertainment of her thoughts, all the time she lay in bed after her awaking, and while she was dressing.  
She was just upon the point of going out of her chamber, to go into that of Candace's (whom she now looked on as a Sister to whom she was engaged for the life and fortunes of her Brother, and who, as well as the Princess of the Parthians, had lain longer in bed then she had) when Prince Marcellus comes to give her a good morrow. Cleopatra entertained him as a beloved Brother, but what confidence soever she might have of his prudence and generosity, yet did she not think it fit to trust him with the secret of another, though she had with her own, and so made not the least mention to him of Caesario, though she had not the least jealousy, that any consideration whatsoever might induce Marcellus to do him any ill office. This Prince, after the first civilities were passed, being sat down by her; Sister, said he to her, I am to acknowledge to you, that during all this night, the Idea of the disconsolate Coriolanus never forsook me, and that I have spent the greatest part of it in finding out, as well in his actions, as his words, an innocency whereof I am more than half convinced. This Prince, who was sometime so dear to me, and whom it is not yet in my power to hate, comes and engages my heart with the same arms, whereby he had so well mastered it before, and methinks I find again, not only in his countenance, but also in his words and all his actions, that greatness of soul which we ever observed in him, and withal that confidence which never appears where there is a certainty of crime; and of all this I am so much assured, that I cannot, without an extraordinary violence, be persuaded, he hath been really unfaithful towards us.  
Cleopatra, in whom whatever were favourable to Coriolanus had already taken place, could not hear this discourse of Marcellus, without being moved to so much compassion, that a beautiful dew began to break forth at her eyes. Whereupon, having continued silent for some minutes, in such a suspense as easily discovered the disturbance she then struggled with; Brother, said she to Marcellus, the acknowledgement you have made to me, is such, that I conceive myself obliged to let you know, that my reflections have been absolutely conf●rmable to yours, and that I find so many de●nstrations of innooence in all the procedure of Coriolanus, and so much reason to fortify what he would have persuaded us to, that the opinion we had conceived of his infidelity, hath now with much ado any probability with us. Coriolanus, added the prince, cannot be justifiable in your apprehensions, but he must be so in mine too, and as we charge him both but with one and the same crime, wherein we are both equally concerned, so can he not be innocent as to what relates to you, but he must be so too as to what relates to Marcellus. Ah Sister! if this 〈◊〉 out to be true, what remorse shall I not feel within me while I live, for being so ready to hate a Prince so worthy the affection I had for him, and one, that, notwithstanding the cruel discoveries of my hatred, seems to have continued his inclinations towards me? What reparations am I not obliged to make him, if he be innocent, or rather, what blood can wash off the crime I have committed against him?  
Cleopatra was going to make the Prince some reply, and their conversation might haply have been more earnest and tender, as being engaged upon a subject wherein b●th thought themselves much concerned, when Cornelius comes into the room, and drew near them with a countenance, intimating that be had something of news to acquaint them with. A●ter the ordinary salutations passed between them, I am very glad, said he to them, that I have found you together, for I have charged myself with a request that is made to you both, which is, that you will be pleased to grant an hour of private audience to a certain man I have lest in the outer-room, and one whom the sad condition be is in might well have dispensed from coming hither, if the things he hath to acquaint you with, were not of very great consequence.  
This discourse of Cornelius made Cleopatra look on Marcellus, as it were to ask his advice, and Marcellus, by another look seeming to leave it to her what answer to make, she told him, that he might bring in what persons he thought fit, and that the Prince her Brother and herself should very readily afford him the audience he desired of them. Upon these words Cornelius went out of the room, leaving the Prince and Princess in some impatience, and withal some disturbance at the adventure; and not long after, he returns leading a man whom he helped to walk, and one that seemed brought very low through sickness, or by reason of some wounds.  
Cleopatra and Marcellus knew not, upon the first appearance, who it might be; but afterwards, having looked a little more earnestly on his countenance, they, without much difficulty, knew him to be Volusius, who had sometime been Praetor of Mauritania, before it had been recovered from him by Coriolanus, the son of Juba, whom that Prince had generously sent back, after he had overcome and taken him Prisoner, and who, upon his coming to Rome, had ruined the fortunes of that Prince, as to Cleopatra, by acquainting that Princess, Marcellus and all Caesar's Court, with the pretended infidelity of Coriolanus, and the design he had for Julia, and presenting to the Emperor a person of eminent quality, very considerable in Mauritania; who gave out that he was come thence express upon that negotiation. Marcellus was a little astonished at the sight of the man, whose mischievous reports had brought him to very sad extremities: but the Princess was put into such a disturbance upon the return of a man, who had been the destruction of all her happiness and enjoyments, that, having not the power to rise off the chair whereon she sat, though she should in civility have done it, out of a consideration of the qualities of Cornelius and Volusius, she sat still, as it were in a strange suspense and disorder.  
Volusius took very much notice of her deportment, and the perplexity she was in; but being well acquainted with the occasion of it, he was not at all astonished thereat, and thereupon taking a chair, by the order of Marcellus, who was sensible of his indisposition, and during the trouble Cleopatra was in, thought fit to do the civilities of her chamber, he made a sign to Cornelius, whereupon, knowing his meaning, he went out of the chamber, to give them the greater privacy, and withal thought it not amiss to divert the visits of Elisa, Candace, and other persons that otherwise might have disturbed their conversation. Volusius, being in such a condition, as required some rest, continued silent for some time, though Cleopatra and Marcellus seemed to be in expectation of what he had to say to them. But at last having prepared himself to speak, and seeing about the Princess only Camilla, who had obliged the rest of the women to withdraw into the closet, and who might be admitted to hear the discourse he was to make; Madam, said he, speaking to the Princess, I should speak to you and to Prince Marcellus in another posture, then that I am now in, and coming to make an acknowledgement of the crime I have committed against you, I should cast myself at your feet, to to beg a pardon from you which I neither hope nor deserve to obtain, were I not disabled by two wounds I have about me, such as have hardly left me the strength to come to you, and which will prove, for aught I know, a certain revenge for the injury I have done you. Only my remorse, and the promise I have made to do it, force me to discover to you things that ought rather to be concealed from all the World; and though I must introduce into my discourse, persons, whose power is much to be feared; yet shall I not forbear, since that within a few days, I shall either be in a condition not to fear it, or, if the gods think good to continue my life, I am more willing to see it exposed to some danger by my confession, then be perpetually persecuted with remorses which make it much more insupportable to me. Be pleased to afford me your attention to the discourse I have to make to you, and it is my earnest prayer to the gods, that it may in some measure repair the mischief I have done, and restore that happiness and fortune which I have unfortunately disturbed. To this effect was the discourse of Volusius, and perceiving, that, instead of making any answer, Cleopatra and Marcellus harkened very attentively to him, he reassumed the discourse in these terms.  

THE HISTORY OF VOLUSIUS.  
WE are satisfied by experience, that both the remembrance of good turns, and that of injuries, have a different operation, according to the different character of those souls where they are entertained, and that, as there are some minds wherein offences make but a very light impression, much lighter than that which good offices might make in them, so, on the other side, there are some, in whom the greatest benefits cannot smother the least injuries, or, to say better, who, not much sensible of obligations laid upon them, have nevertheless eternal resentments for injuries. That I have been worsted and disgraced by Prince Coriolanus, I must attribute it merely to his valour and my own unhappiness, and that I was nobly treated by him, it was the effect of his pure generosity: and yet the impression of the injury filled my soul in such manner, that it leaves not any place for that which the generous entertainment should have had there, and opposed the resentment it should have conceived thereof, that so I might be the more absolutely hurried into contrary resolutions.  
I doubt not, Madam, but you have heard, how that, having been several times defeated in the persons of my Lieutenants, I was at last overthrown in my own, and, through the valour of the son of Juba, having lost a battle, which in all probability I should have gained, I was by the same valour cast to the ground, and taken prisoner. You have also further understood, how that after some day's imprisonment, such as was sweetened by all the kind entertainments which I could have received from a brother, or the best friend I had, the same Prince, whom, by all manner of injuries I had obliged to treat me with cruelty, forgetting all, out of an admirable generosity, and comforting me in my disgrace with the most obliging words could fall from man, gave me my liberty without any condition, loaded me with presents of great value, and furnished me with ships and men to bring me to Rome, or any other place where I would myself. It might in all probability be expected, I should have been sensible of this treatment, as much as I had been of my misfortune; but having, through my disgrace, besides the fame I might have acquired in my former years, lost the government of two great Kingdoms, (a very high fortune for a private man) and the hope of finding again among the Romans an establishment comparable to that I had lost, the grief I conceived thereat, had so cankered my soul, that I was not able to entertain those expressions of the goodness and clemency of the King of Mauritania, with the least discovery of gratitude. However I pretended to be extremely sensible thereof, as I ought to have been, of a favour I should not have expected, and I received, with my liberty, the other effects of the magnificence of that Prince, with those demonstrations which might well persuade him that I was not insensible thereof. I went a-board with a soul half burst with grief, and I carried with me into the sea an affliction grown so violent, through the change of my fortune, that there was nothing able to afford me any satisfaction. And yet I am apt to imagine that my grief would have been satisfied in being only a torment to myself, without producing any effects prejudicial to the fortune of my Conqueror, if something of chance, and the solicitations of other persons had not furnished me witly the occasions to do it, and that at a time wherein my sufferings were not aggravated by any design of revenge.  
The third day after my departure I was overtaken by a Vessel, that came after me from Mauritania, and he that was Commander of it being come aboard mine, to give me a visit, was known to me, to be a person of very great quality among the Moors, named Theocles, whose Father had had under King Juba, the father of Coriolanus, the greatest places in the Kingdom, and the governments of greatest importance. But it happening upon the death of King Juba, that Theocles revolted to the Romans, and sided very particularly with me, as having not the least remainder of love for the royal blood, and that further he had expected till the issue of the war, without declaring himself for his Prince, as the greatest part of the Moors had done, young Juba, coming to the Throne, had accordingly slighted him, though he had not any way disobliged him, nor taken away any thing he was possessed of, and in the distribution of the Governments and charges which he bestowed on those whom he thought most worthy, and had expressed most affection towards him, he conceived himself not at all engaged to prefer Theocles, whose pretensions were great, suitably to his quality, and the high rank his Father had lived in before him.  
Theocles, thinking himself hardly dealt with, and taking it very impatiently that his sovereign should prefer other persons before him, such indeed as were inferior to him in birth, but much more considerable than he, by their services and their fidelity to their Prince, would needs leave Mauritania, and lurk among the enemies of his King, and bring over with him among the Romans his resentments and desires of revenge. So that having taken ship the same day that I departed, the third after, he comes up to me, and coming out of his own vessel into mine, he gave me a visit, making the greatest expressions he could of the affection he had for me. Now this man being he that of all the Moors I had held the greatest correspondence with, and his discontents being not unknown to me, I was extremely glad to meet with him, and having understood from him, that the resentments he had against his Prince were the occasion why he left the Country to follow me, and to go along with me to Rome, this consonancy of thoughts made me the more confident of him, and raised in me a certain affection for him, and engaged me to promise him all the friend-and assistance, amongst the Romans, that I could possibly help him to.  
Thus resolved we continued our voyage together, and in the same vessel; though we made his to follow us, and that very day Theocles acquainted me at large with all I knew not that related to his affairs, and disburdened himself of all that lay upon his heart; but with so much aggravation and animosity against his Prince, that, though I were really his enemy, and well pleased to meet with a man that loved him not, yet could I not in my Soul approve the procedure of his Subject, and that one that had no ground given him of discontent. However, I dissembled the apprehension I had of it, as thinking it not amiss to encourage him in that exasperation, against a man I loved not: and so mutually communicating our resentments one to another we kept on our voyage, and, having very good weather, came at last to Brundisium, where we landed. Here it was that I thought fit to make some abode, to make some discovery what posture my affairs were in at Rome; and knowing well enough that the loss of Mauritania happened partly through my fault, as having not only by tyranny and misgovernment, but also by the liberty I had given the Soldiers to do them thousands of injuries, given the Moors occasion to rise in the behalf of their Prince, and partly by reason of my neglect of preventing that revolt in the first eruptions thereof, and, by that negligence, given Coriolanus leisure to fortify, and put himself into a condition to reascend the Throne, which he would have found very much difficulty to do, had I used all the diligence I ought to smother that evil at its first breaking forth; the conscience I had of this truth troubled me extremely. By which put into a fear of the displeasure of Augustus, whom a loss so considerable as that of two great kingdoms might very much exasperate against me, and not doubting but that there were a many persons about him both very ready, and very likely to do me any ill office, I thought it no prudence to go to Rome, till I had before been assured what I was either to hope or fear upon my coming thither.  
To that end I sent one of my men with Letters to those Friends whom I had at Rome, wherein I entreated them to send me word truly and without flattery how I stood in the favour of Caesar, and what entertainment I was to expect from him, after the misfortune that had happened to me. The messenger got to Rome, and some few days after returned thence with some of my Friends; who came to see me at Brundisium, and these did not only heighten the distrust I was in before, but withal told me positively, that there was no coming for me to Rome, where I was extremely ill spoken of, till I had in some measure vindicated myself; that the Emperor was prepossessed with an opinion very disadvantageous to me; and that if I did not employ certain powerful persons that had much interest in him; there was not only very small hopes I should ever recover my former fortune, but they thought there was no great safety for my person, and accordingly advised me, till the tempest were laid by some persons I should employ to do it, to continue at Brundisium, where I had the advantage of the sea if I should be put to any extremity.  
This discourse, made to me by persons whom I could not any way suspect, and whose Friendship I had great experiences of, put me to more than ordinary distractions, insomuch that I resolved not to leave Brundisium; or look at Rome, till the Emperor's indignation were appeased. To effect that, I writ a large Manifesto, in order to my justification, wherein I laid down all the reasons that made any way for me, and endeavoured to elude all accusations that were put up against me, and having delivered it to my Friends they returned to Rome to set on work all those persons who we were in hopes might prevail any thing with Caesar, and those such as had most power and authority with him. I durst not expect any thing from either Octavia or Marcellus, as being not ignorant that there had ever been a very great friendship between that Prince and the King of Mauritania. I had as little confidence of the mediation of Agrippa, whom I had ever observed an enemy to those Governors, who by their miscarriages had exasperated the nations they were to govern against them, and so thought it my only course to address myself to Livia and Tiberius who had ever been enemy's to Coriolanus, and whose interest with Caesar was not inferior to that of any other whatsoever.  
I thereupon imagined, that my Friends, by the means of Tiberius, might set the Empress on work who could do any thing with Augustus, and it was altogether that way that I advised them to use their utmost endeavours. They departed in order to the design, and I remained still at Brundisium very much disquieted endeavouring what I could to shake off my affliction by the company of Theocles, who would needs stay there with me, and expressed a very great engagement in my concernments. Some days were passed since the departure of my Friends, when one of them returns to me, to assure me, that he had not only managed the business with much success with Tiberius, and had disposed him to engage the Empress, his Mother, to endeavour my 〈◊〉 but also, that that Prince, after he had with much satisfaction embraced the occasion to do me any favour, had sent, him to dispatch me from Brundisium, and to bring me privately to ab●use that belonged to a Friend of Tiberius', in the midway between Rome and Brundisium, where I should meet with Tiberus, and where he would discourse with me more freely concerning the state of my affairs, and express the earnesinesse he had to serve me therein. I received this news with no small satisfaction, and though I could not but attribute this earnesnesse of Tibertus to his envy against Coriolanus, much more than to any Friendship he might have for me, yet ●●st I needs embrace this occasion of recovering myself very seriously, never examining out of what motive it might proceed.  
●eft Brundisium in the night, accompanied by Theocles, who would by all means go along with me, giving out that I went ●nother way quite different from that which I took, nay to make it the more credible sent some part of my equipage that way, lest it might have been discovered, that I had any interview with 〈◊〉, who had indeed sent me instructions to that effect by ●y Friends. I came to Clunium, which is the name of that 〈◊〉, seated in a solitary place, such as a man might wish for a secret interview. Tiberius came thither the same day, having 〈◊〉 a 〈◊〉 person with him, and lest Rome in the night, and 〈◊〉 with so much secrecy that there was not the least notice 〈◊〉 of his departure. The condition I am in, and the desire 〈◊〉 not to abuse your attention, obliges me to contract my 〈◊〉 and therefore, to be as brief as I can, I shall only 〈◊〉, that Tiberius, whose subtle wit bends itself to any 〈…〉 would be at, entertained me with extraordinary caresses, 〈…〉 kindly received Theocles, atter I had acquainted him 〈…〉 quality, and the misunderstandings there were between 〈◊〉 and Coriolanus. Whereupon, falling into discourse about my misfortune, he comforted me with the kindest expressions that could be, by instancing in many great persons to whom Fortune had been as malicious, and telling me, that I ought to have this satisfaction in my disgrace; that what discourses soever my enemies might raise against me, yet was there not any durst charge me with any want of courage or valour. Then did he express the infinite desire he had to serve me, and, to make my peace with Caesar, and restore me to my former favour and fortunes, to employ not only the little interest that he had himself, but also that of the Empress his M●ther, which, whatever people night talk, was far greater than either Agrippa's or Marcellus', telling ●e withal, that he was confident, upon the account of that Friendship which she had for him, that the would not only do what lay in her power, but that she would effectually prevail with Augustus to condescend to what she desired.  
I made answer to this discourse of Tiberius; and his noble proffers with all the discoveries of a kind resentment I could possibly give him, and after I had told him several times, that I had not deserved these demonstrations of his goodness, I made a pretestation to him, that I would sacrifice the life and fortunes, which I should be obliged to him for, to serve him, and that no consideration in the world should make me quit his interests. After I had several times repeated this discourse to him; I do not doubt, said be to me, but that in a noble soul, the sense and acknowledgement you are to have of the service I am to do you, will produce the effect you promise me it shall; besides that there is some reason our interests should be joined together, since we have one common enemy that hath ruined our fortunes, and hath crossed all the happiness and enjoyments of my life by all the obstacles he could lay in my way. I conceive you are not now to learn, Volusius, what misfortunes have happened to me through the means of this African, who, not content to have disputed Cleopatra with me, upon the score of his own good Fortune rather than any other advantages, hath basely attempted my life, and almost reduced it to the last gasp by a wound he gave me at unawares. It is my business to be revenged on him, and I cannot do it better than by joining with you who are obliged to be his enemy; but, with my revenge, I seek the possession of Cleopatra, without whom life itself is unsupportable to me. I hope with your assistance, easily to compass both, and if you will do but what lies in you power to do, you may assure yourself that there shall not be any thing which I shall not both undertake and execute to give you satisfaction.  
This discourse of Tiberius, instead of putting ●e to any trouble, raised in me no small joy, by reason of the conformity which I found there was between his sentiments and mine at that time, and accordingly, returning him an answer, with a certain alacrity, whence he inferred how ready I was to do him any service that he should put me upon, My lord, said I to him, I shall think my happiness much greater than I could ever hope it would have been, if to the advantage which I expect from your protection, you add that which I ought to expect from any employment wherein I may serve you. For, though the Prince of Mauritania were not mine enemy, yet so much am I engaged to your generosity, that there is not any thing which I shall not undertake to facilitate, both your revenge, and the possession you so much desire of the Princess Cleopatra. Be pleased therefore only to let me know how you will dispose of me in order thereto, and think me unworthy the assistances you promise me in my misfortune, if I endeavour not to merit them, by the earnestness I shall express in promoting your interests.  
Now, now is the time, replied Tiberius, and, as my affairs stand at the present, there is nothing can contribute more to my happiness, then to persuade the Princess Cleopatra, that Coriolanus hath forgotten her, now that he is gotten into the throne, that matters of policy have stifled his affections, and that, to secure his acquists, he seeks other alliances than those of a ruined house, such as is that of Anthony, but these things must she be persuaded to by authentic proofs, and such circumstances as shall not leave her any thing to doubt of. As for the means how it may be done, I come to advise with you as a person whose testimony in this case she cannot mistrust provided she hear nothing of our interview; and I find there is yet much less difficulty to effect it then I had at first imagined, by the account you have given me of the discontents of Theocles, his quality among the Moors, and the desire he hath to be revenged of Coriolanus. I can assure you, said I, interrupting him, that Theocles shall do any thing that we shall put him upon, and that he is so strangely exasperated against Coriolanus, that there is not any consideration shall stave him from doing that Prince all the ill offices that lie in his power.  
Tiberius' recollected himself a little upon this discourse; but at last rejoining to it; If what you say be true, replied he, I see an infallible expedient to do that effectually which I had projected. The design, at first sight, you will think requires much confidence, especially as to Theocles, whose assistance and agency in it is absolutely necessary; but when you look farther into it, you will find there's nothing of danger, and yet the action, as to us shall be so meritorious, that all our house and relations shall perish, before you be exposed to any inconvenience, for having ●one me this service.  
Know then, that Coriolanus hath been sometime heretofore, very dearly loved by the Princess Julia, insomuch that it was the persuasion of many people that Coriolanus was not insensible of that affection. Marcellus himself grew not a little jealous of it, so for that it had almost made a breach in that Friendship which hath ever been so prejudicial to my affairs. When we have once facilitated your access to Caesar, and brought you into the same reputation with him as you were in before, you may represent to him, that Coriolanus hath not set you at Liberty, and treated you with such extraordinary endearments, but upon condition that you should do him all the favour you could with Caesar, in relation to the design he had to demand the Princess Julia, and present Theocles (whose rank and quality might well suit with an Embassy, to him as a person commissionated to that purpose. To that effect, Thoocles in an equipage conformable to that employment, wherein there shallbe nothing awanting as to matter of expense, may address himself to Caesar, with credential Letters under the great seal of Mauritania, which it will not be hard to find at Rome, among those of divers other Kingdoms, that have been brought thither after their reduction into Roman Provinces, and propose unto him in the name of his King; That if, with the Peace which he should be desirous to have with him, he would also bestow on him the Princess Julia in marriage, he would submit to him, as all other tributary Kings did, and would take his Kingdoms as dependent of the Empire. This proposition must be made withal the solemnities requisite to so great an Embassy: and in regard we are at a great distance from Mauritania, so that there is not any commerce between us and that Country, and that as things stand at the present there's little hope we shall have any, it is impossible we should be discovered. And though it may be thought somewhat unlikely there should be so sudden a change, and so beyond all expectation, in the affections of Coriolanus, yet there happens daily things no less strange, which, notwithstanding their distance from probability, are yet neighbours to truth, and there willbe those whom it will not be hard to persuade, that his 〈◊〉 both made him forget his Love, and that in the condition he is now arrived to, desirous of a rest he never yet met with, he could no way better effect it than by making a peace, and courting the alliance of Caesar, of whom he might expect the former upon the conditions proposed, though he took him not into the latter. And we shall find it a matter of so much the less difficulty to make Cleopatra sensible of his infidelity, for that I have it from very good hands, that, since his departure, she hath not heard any thing from him, and that she hath already conceived no small jealousy of what we would persuade her to. By this intrigue, I shall not only turn that love which Cleopatra hath for Coriolanus, into a higher degree of aversion for him, which is the only rub that lies in my way to happiness: but I shall also dissolve that Friendship which Marcellus hath for him, by making him believe that Coriolanus, addressing himself to Julia, whom he loves, and looks on as designed for him, is no less perfidious to him then to Cleopatra. And by that means, I shall deprive our enemy of a friend, whose interest with Caesar hath hitherto been the greatest obstacle I have had to struggle with; and instead of those supplies which he secretly receives from him, and the good offices he daily does him with Cleopatra, he will have the greatest indignation, and most irreconcilable hatred that can be against him. So that, to arrive to the felicity I aim at, and to make my revenge the more complete, I shall not be opposed either by the love of Cleopatra, or the friendship of Marcellus, which will be both destroyed by an artifice that cannot be discovered in many years.  
I harkened with a great deal of patience to this discourse of Tiberius, and found in it many things not easily digestible, as such as must needs bring us into many inconveniences; but I overcame the greatest part of the difficulties I should meet with, by the great desire I had to purchase his friendship and protection. Whereupon, assuming the discourse when he had given over speaking; My Lord, said I to him, though your design seems to carry in it much danger, and requires no small daringness in those that are employed in it, yet all must be hazarded to serve you, and we shall not be discouraged by any considerations whatsoever from effecting your satisfaction. But I shall take the boldness to propose it to you, whether it were not fitter to demand some other person rather than Julia, so not to draw on you the displeasure and interest of Marcellus, whom we must visibly engage against us, by demanding of Caesar a person whom he is in love with, and that is designed for him. By this demand, replies Tiberius, we break the friendship that is between Marcellus and Coriolanus, which it concerns me most of any thing to do; But we do not thereby any way injure Murcellus, and you do not run the hazard of encurring his displeasure, (though you may well be assured that your party shall not be weaker than his, after the union of our interests, and considering what you may expect from our house) for, as it is not hard for you to imagine, there is little likelihood that this personated Embassy of Theocles from Coriolanus, should any way prejudice Marcellus, or that Caesar should prefer the alliance of that African, his enemy, before that of his Nephew, whom he loves no less than if he were his own son, and designs to be his successor. No doubt, all he will do, will be to laugh at the extravagance of Juba's demand, but though the effect it will have upon him, will signify nothing, in Cleopatra and Marcellus, it will do all that I expect it should: so that I am in some hopes to enjoy Cleopatra long before the truth be discovered. And if ever it should come to light, I promise you, that through the power of the Empress, who will be absolutely for us, we shall reconcile all, it being to be presumed that the Emperor will not be much displeased at an artifice, which hath no design in it, but that of assuring me of the enjoyment of Cleopatra, and is not prejudicial to any but his greatest enemy.  
To these, Tiberius added a many other reasons to encourage me to engage in his design, so that there needed not much to inflame the disposition I was already in to serve him, into a resolution to do any thing he would have me, and by his own natural eloquence, and the inclination I had of myself to be persuaded, he took off all the difficulties I could make to myself when he first made his proposition to me.  
After I had reiterated the protestation I had made to him, we called Theocles, to whom Tiberius repeated all those things he had said to me, and without any difficulty brought him to a resolution to undertake any thing, which he the sooner was persuaded to, as well by reason he was naturally mischievous, and revengeful, but withal very indiscreet and inconsiderate, as by the hopes he was put into by Tiberius, of great fortunes and assistances among the Romans. At last he resolved to endeavour any thing should be proposed to him, and made no difficulty to personate the Ambassador of his King, and to take all his instructions from Tiberius. We stayed together all that day, and the best part of the night, to take all the order requisite in our design, and when we had settled all things, and thought ourselves fully instructed, Tiberius departed from that house to go and endeavour my peace with Augustus, having desired us not to stir thence till we had heard from him; but with as much secrecy as might be, lest there should be any suspicion of our interview. We accordingly stayed there as he had ordered us, while in the mean time Tiberius, having made a full discovery of his design to the Empress, and represented to her, that all the happiness of his life consisted in the hope he was in to enjoy the Princess Cleopatra. Livia, who who had a very great tenderness for him, after some few difficulties were satisfied, engaged in our design upon you, and promised him all the assistances she could afford him to effect it. He thought it not fit to make the least discovery of it to his brother Drusus, as knowing him to be a Prince of a candid and open disposition, and consequently would not have approved those artifices, so that all the persons acquainted with, and concerned in our plot, were only Livia, Tiberius, Theocles, and myself. For as to the persons we were to make use of, we easily persuaded them to what we would have had all others to believe. Livia solicited my readmission into the Emperor's favour with so much success, that she soon dispelled those clouds of reproaches and accusations which my adversaries had raised against me; and yet so ordered all things, that Tiberius was not any way suspected to have any hand in it, pretending, that what she did, was upon the importunity of some of my friends, who were persons of very considerable quality in Rome. So that assoon as Tiberius understood that I might have access to the Emperor, he sent to me by a trusty person, even the very same that had accompanied him in the interview, that I should come to Rome, and without any fear prepare myself to put in execution what we had undertaken. We departed thence, Theocles and myself, and got thither much about the same time as our retinue and equipage, which we had sent for to Brundisium; but before I presented myself to Caesar, we had another secret conference with Tiberius, and having understood from him how strong our party was, by reason of the Empresses being of it, he further acquainted us, how that he had in his hands the great seal of the Kings of Mauritania, and the order he had taken for the liveries of the Ambassadors, and for all other things that were requisite to our design. The next day, I waited on the Emperor, who, suitably to the hopes that Tiberius had put me into, entertained me with abundance of courtesy, imputing my unhappiness to fortune only, and seeming to be satisfied with the reasons which had been given him in order to my justification. And though he discovered nothing so much in his discourse, as the violent aversion he had for Coriolanus, yet did I still give him the greatest commendations imaginable, celebrating his valour, and acknowledging the extraordinary civilities I had received from him, in such terms as easily discovered that I was far from being his enemy. For thus had Tiberius and myself ordered the business to be carried, it being resolved that Theocles and I should speak well of him every where, so to take off all suspicion men might conceive of any evil design that we might have against him. The first time I was brought to the Emperor, I gave him only an account of my own affairs, as also of those of Mauritania; but in the second audience I had, which was when all things were ready and ripe for Tiberius' design, I had some discourse with him about Theocles' commission, and demanded audience for him.  
But here Madam, and you my Lord, continued Volusius looking on Cleopatra and Marcellus, I am now come to that part of my relation, which, being to give you an account of things you are but too well acquainted with already, will accordingly be troublesome to you. For you know as well as myself how we were entertained by Caesar, as also with what contempt he looked on the Embassy of Theocles, and in a word, all the particular circumstances of our negotiation. You also best know what influence our design had upon yourselves, in some measure answering the expectations of Tiberius; yet so, Madam, as that, to his misfortune and my unhappiness, he made not that advantage thereof he was in hope it might have produced, since that though you ceased to love a Prince whom you conceived inconstant to you, yet did it not occasion the least change in you as to what thoughts you had of Tiberius; nay, on the contrary, the aversion you had had for him, seemed to be far greater than it was before, upon this accident.  
At this passage Volusius made a little stop, as if he had gone through the first part of his relation; and Marcellus perceiving, that the Princess, having summoned all the forces of her resolution and constancy, to keep up her spirits at this reiteration of her cruel afflictions, was, nevertheless, forced to give passage to certain tears, doing himself a little violence to avoid expressing the same weakness; It is but too true, said he to volusius, that your barbarous combination produced effects but too deplorable, and that if the crafty Tiberius made no advantage of it, through the justice of the gods, who have ever a punishment for such treacherous designs; he drew nevertheless this satisfaction from it, that he filled our souls with a mortal grief, and that it did me more mischief than you expected it should, in regard of that strange influence it had on the disposition of the unconstant Julia, which it might have had on that of the generous Cleopatra. 'tis she, Volusius, whom you have not yet justified, though you have assured us of the fidelity of Coriolanus, and though Tiberius and yourself have overreached us to the prejudice of that poor Prince, who, you tell us, had not really so much as thought of Julia; yet hath that unmindful Princess appeared such upon that occasion as she had done upon divers others before, and the feigned expressions of the love and pretended design of Coriolanus, drew from her very earnest ones of the reflux of that affection which she had sometimes had for him. Ah, my Lord, says Volusius, reassuming the discourse, entertain not any such thought, and assure yourself, if you dare credit a man acknowledging himself guilty of so great a cheat, that Julia hath shown herself upon this emergency, no less constant than Coriolanus, and that she entertained with abundance of contempt what we would have persuaded her to, as to the affection of Coriolanus. The gods are my witnesses that I have not in the least contributed to the occasions of your jealousy, but was told by Toeocles, after he had received orders from the Emperor to leave Rome within some few days, that Tiberius, who had made him his absolute creature, and had promised him a secure refuge, though he saw him but very privately, and that in public he pretended not the least acquaintance with him, would needs, out of an extraordinary suggestion of malice, have him give you some occasion of jealousy, the more to inflame the resentment you might have against the King of Mauritania. This was to be done by the means of one of Julia's women, who, being corrupted by presents, was to give him admittance two nights successively, into the lodgings of that Princess, so to put you into an imagination that he had secret conferences with her. But he hath protested to me, with many imprecations, that he never saw the Princess, and that he had not spoken to any but that only woman, whose name is Acilia, if I mistake it not, with whom he had passed over several hours in the Princess' Wardrobe, and whence he never came but at such hours, as there must needs be notice taken of him.  
Cleopatra having wiped her eyes, looking on Marcellus with a very serious countenance; I know not, brother, said he to him, whether you dare trust me as far as you would Volusius. But if the late dissatisfactions which you have expressed yourself to be in as to Julia, proceed merely from those secret interviews which she hath been suspected to have had with Theocles, they are very unjust, and besides that the Princess coming to understand it after your departure, hath sufficiently cleared herself in my presence, as also by the acknowledgements of Marcelia and Antonia your Sisters, who spent those two nights with her, I can, for my own part, assure you, that during the representation of all this pretended infidelity of Coriolanus, she expressed nothing but a very great displeasure and indignation against him. I should have acquainted you with as much, had you not been gone from Rome without taking any leave from us, and must further let you know, that, according to my apprehensions of it, you cannot any longer justly charge with lightness a Princess, who, in your absence, though she had reason to take it very much amiss, hath ever expressed a firm and faithful affection towards you.  
At these words of Cleopatra, Marcellus, who reposed no small confidence in any thing came from her, seemed to put on another countenance, and looking on her with an action, wherein she might discover the change they had wrought in his heart: Ah Sister, said he to her, how much does the assurance of a person such as you are, fortify that of Volusius, and what sufferings and afflictions had I avoided, if I had been acquainted with what I now hear from your mouth, and which I cannot but give credit to, by reason of the authority which you have over my belief, with as much confidence, as if I had it from the relation of Volusius. For my relation, replied Volusius, you have no more reason to suspect it as to this particular, than you do as to the other truths which you have received from me: and if you will but afford me your patient audience to the end, you shall find, that, considering the interest which makes me speak, it is impossible I should entertain you with any thing but what is true. The Princess and the Prince having, upon those words, expressed their readiness to give him the attention he desired, he thereupon reassumed his discourse, whereof Marcellus harkened to the sequel with much more serenity of thoughts than he had done to the former part.  
When Tiberius first engaged me, with Theocles, to be instrumental in the cheat he had resolved to put upon you, my readiness to 〈◊〉 drawn in, proceeded not so much from the dissatisfactory re●●ntments I had conceived against the King of Mauritania, as the necessity I then stood in of his assistance, to be readmitted into favour with Augustus, and the expectation he put me into, of the protection of Livia, his own, and that of all his friends, for the recovery of my Fortunes which I had lost, with the government of Mauritania. He put me into some hopes, that, by the recommendations of Livia, I might be entrusted with other employments, not inferior, or less considerable, then that, nay haply with the same again, if the Emperor brought that Kingdom under subjection.  
He performed these promises he had made to me in some part, and, as I have told you, he made my peace with Caesar, before he got me to do any thing in the design, wherein I was to serve him. But, when he perceived that the artifices he had made use of, answered not his expectation, and that though they had proved so fortunate as to satisfy you both of the infidelity of Coriolanus, and consequently destroy or divert the affection you have had for that Prince, yet would not that diversion prove any way advantageous to himself, nor raise in the Princess' heart those inclinations which were lost as to Coriolanus, he immediately grew cold, not minding my concernments at all, or the great hopes he had, not long before, put me into. I was sensible of that change of his disposition by many circumstances, and took notice of it with no small dissatisfaction. However, at the first I took all things with abundance of patience, as not thinking it very strange, that the distraction Tiberius was in, which was such as made him less careful of himself, might well make him reflect but little on his friends, and that, considering with himself what little possibility he was in to gain your affections, Madam, at a time where he was in a manner confident not to meet with any difficulty, as having no Rival to balance his addresses to you, his humour seemed to be somewhat changed from what it was, and discovered some remission of that earnestness which he had before expressed to do me all the favours I could expect from him. But when I saw that his coldness increased more and more, and that the Empress did me not any good office with Caesar, I began to be troubled, and to give entertainment to that remorse which ever attends guilt, when a man reaps not the benefit which had encouraged him to the commission of a crime.  
However Tiberius thought fit, out of policy, to flatter me still with some slight remainders of hope, and held it no prudence to make an absolute breach with me, out of a fear that the discontent I might conceive thereat, should engage me to discover the truth of what had past. Upon these considerations was it, that he, being prodigal enough of his kindness and caresses, when there is any thing of concernment to himself, entertained me with civilities, such as, in appearance, were the most obliging in the World. But I perceived that in effect, he thought but little of me, and minded me no more then as a complice, in the base trick he had put upon you, and one that he could gladly have wished out of the World, so to be rid of a fear of being sometime or other betrayed. His carriage was not the same towards Theocles, and knowing him to be a person of mischievous inclinations, and one fit to be put upon any enterprise, he had held him in a very fair correspondence to be made use of in a design he had, and to be employed, as I have told you, to persuade Prince Marcellus that the Princess Julia treated privately with him upon the negotiation, he was sent thither upon, from Coriolanus. When the Emperor had sent him an order to leave Rome, he sent him to a house of his own, within a day's journey from the City, and there kept him secretly, till the time of his departure, which was within few days after. You know how he left Rome, in a manner alone, without any attendance, and went his ways, so obscurely, that it was not known what design he was gone upon, nor what way he had taken at his departure. He gave out, some days before, (as I also heard myself) that his intention was to find out Coriolanus in the midst of his dominions, and to be revenged by his death, for the wound he had received from him, since the Emperor had denied him all other ways of satisfaction, and thought not fit to trust him with the command of that naval army which he had sent against him, under the conduct of Domitius Aenobarbus, and I was confirmed in the confidence I had that he was gone away upon that resolution, when I understood that he had taken Theocles along with him, who was well acquainted with the Country, and might accordingly very much facilitate the execution of his enterprise.  
The departure of Tiberius put me into no small astonishment, as being a thing that came not within my expectation, for I found myself, by that means, much to my discomfort, deprived of that little assistance which I was as yet in hopes to receive from him. That which put me into a greater necessity of it, was, that, by the concernment I had in Theocles' negotiation, I had drawn upon me your displeasure, my Lord, with that of all your house, and that of Anthony's, which are the most powerful of the Empire, and against which I could not hold out long, but by the interest of Livia. Not my Lord, that I ever received any discourtesy either from yourself or the Princess, or that you did me any ill office that ever I could hear of; but it was not hard for me to take notice that you were all but little pleased with me, and I was not ignorant that you were in a capacity to do me a displeasure whenever you had a mind to do it. For your part, my Lord, you soon put me out of that fear, by your departure some few days after Tiberius, which was almost after the same manner, and, as most people were of opinion, with the same design; but the Princess Octavia stayed behind, as also the Princesses your Sisters, and divers other persons of great credit with Caesar, who were all very much dissatisfied with me. Livia and Drusus were indeed able to counterbalance that credit of theirs; but Livia countenanced me no longer, when Tiberius once forbore his solicitations on my behalf, and Drusus, a person of a more than orninary virtue, finding haply little inclination to any such thing in me, and having at my first coming conceived a prejudice against me, expressed not the least friendship towards me.  
Thus was I, in a manner, discarded by all, little esteemed by Caesar, who had not entertained me but upon the mediation of Livia, and abused by those that saw me fallen, through my own negligence, from that noble employment, and favour of fortune wherein I seemed to have been so well settled. My ancient friends, nay my own relations began to slight me, and not to endure my company without some violence; so that instead of continuing in the hopes I had conceived to be restored to my former condition, I found myself in a probability to waste away my life, not only in the condition of a private man, but withal, in that of one of the most unfortunate of mankind. The reflection I made on this alteration filling me with melancholy and despair, began to reinflame those regrets in my soul, which I might well conceive for the abuse I had done to so great a Prince, and made me look on my present fortune as a visible effect of Heaven's justice, whom I had incensed against me, by an unreasonable desire of revenge, and the carrying on of a base and unworthy project. I made all the friends I could for several employments, which were all denied me, though they were such as I might well pretend to; and I found at last that there was no living for me in Rome, but with the contempt even of those persons who had sometime adored my greatness. This consideration stuck such arrows in my heart, that, at last, being no longer able to hold out against my affliction, I fell into a long and dangerous sickness, which I was struggling with when Caesar left Rome to go that vast progress he intended through the Empire, and from which he is not yet returned.  
I shall not trouble you with the particulars of my sickness which kept me fastened to my bed in a manner ever since that time, and during which there have happened very strange and great revolutions, especially in Mauritania, which, upon the absence of its valiant Prince, whose presence might have maintained it against all the World, is fallen under the power of Augustus. Hearing this news at Rome, grief seized me afresh, as reflecting on the promise I had been fed with by Tiberius, to be restored to that government, if ever it were reduced. At last, after a long and dangerous sickness, I made a shift to leave my bed, much about two months since; and conceiving, that change of air, might contribute somewhat to the recovery of my health, I departed from Rome, and went to spend some time in certain houses I had still left me in Italy. When I was grown to some competency of strength, I would needs take a further progress, and after I had spent some time in visits among my friends, (if I may say that in my misfortune I had preserved any) I went to a certain house belonging to Mummius, distant from Brundisium about an hours riding. There had I stayed two days, when, by some that belonged to Mummius, who went almost every day to Brundisium, I understood that Tiberius was newly arrived there. I was a little surprised at that news, nay, so far, that I was in suspense what course I should take, as not knowing whether it were then a fit time for me to wait on him, to put him in mind of the promises he had made to me, and to acquaint him with the sad condition I was reduced to, or sit down in the persuasion I was of that he had absolutely forgotten me. But at last, some little scantlings of hope, that he would in some measure perform what he had promised, encouraged me into a resolution to see him. Accordingly, I went to Brundisium, and presented myself to him, at a time, that in all probability he was not much taken up with any thoughts of me. 'tis generally known what a great master he is in the art of dissimulation, yet could he not so disguise himself at my first appearance, but that I could easily perceive he was somewhat at a loss to see me there, and that I was not the welcomest person in the World to him. But after a while recovering himself and his artifices, he entertained me with abundance of seeming obligation, even to the making of a many excuses to me that he had left Rome without giving me notice of it, and swearing that that injury, (if it were any) was no more than he had done to all the World besides, those only excepted whom he had taken along with him, and that he had concealed his design from all, that so it might not be in the power of any to prevent it.  
Finding him in such a posture of civility towards me, I thought it a fit time, in plain terms, to acquaint him with the miserable condition I was then in as to point of fortunes, and did silently reproach him with a certain baseness, in that he had forsaken me, after I had upon his account engaged myself in an action, which had raised me enemies among the most powerful persons about the Emperor. I also took occasion to put him in mind of the promise he had made me for my recovery of the government I had lost, if it came within the power of Augustus.  
Tiberius' dissembled the vexation which this discourse must needs put him into, and affirming that he still persisted in the same resolutions, he told me that the reason of his stay at Brundisium, was, to learn by those that he had sent to Rome, in what place he might meet with the Emperor, who, as he had understood, was so far gone in his progress as into Asia, out of a design he had to visit the Provinces of the Empire. That as soon as his people were returned, his resolutions were to put to sea again to overtake Augustus' Court, where he promised me to endeavour all that lay in his power with him and the Empress to resettle me in Mauritania, in the same condition I had been in before.  
Seeing him in this humour, though I durst not be over-confident of his promises, I entreated him that he would be pleased to take me along with him in that voyage, and give me leave once more to try, whether I could recover myself out of the wretchedness of my fortunes by his protection and assistance. Tiberius' entertained that request with a countenance wherein it was visible that he thought me a trouble to him. Yet durst he not deny it me, out of a fear, as I have had good ground to imagine since, lest such a disappointment might oblige me to discover the combination and the design we had to circumvent you; which it seems he was very loath should take any air, though he had not made that advantage thereof which he expected. He therefore was content I should accompany him, insomuch that having some three days after received from Rome the account he expected, and the accommodations he had sent for, in order to his retinue, I went aboard, by his permission, taking along with me but a small number of servants that had attended me to Mummius' house; and so we directed our course towards Alexandria, whither he had understood that the Emperor was to come within a short time, and to make some stay there.  
I had forgot to tell you, that I found Theocles with him, in very good terms, as to matter of trust and intimacy, which I was at first very glad to see: but not many days after I perceived that the good inclinations which that Barbarian had sometimes expressed to me, were in a manner lost, and that I was much more an eyesore to him then to Tiberius. I understood from both, that they had been in Mauritania, to endeavour, by any means they could, the death of Coriolanus, it being, it seems, the judgement of Tiberius, that he might compass it any way whatsoever, without any prejudice to his honour, after the treatment he had received from that Prince in Rome, and the course he had taken to be satisfied of him by other ways, if the Emperor had thought it good to bestow on him the command of the naval army which he had desired. They further told me, what trouble it was to him that he had not met with him in his own Kingdom, and that after they had sought him up and down in others the next to it, he thought it best to take his way back again to Rome, out of an imagination he might be secretly returned thither to see the Princess Cleopatra.  
Though I was no friend to Coriolanus, as I think I had sufficiently made it appear, yet this perfidiousnes of Theocles could I not but conceive a horror at, perceiving it to be such as egged him on to compass the death of his Prince; and this troubled me so much, that I could not forbear discovering it to him, so far as that I could not any way approve of it. It was no doubt an imprudent action in me, and the Barbarian conceiving himself disobliged, not only forbore all further correspondence with me, but raising suspicions in Tiberius of me, he had ever and anon private conferences with him, which I must not be admitted to, and accordingly gave me occasion to mist rust there was something a-brewing against me.  
Thus we kept on our voyage which proved prosperous enough, till that yesterday we landed upon this river, at a little City which is distant about three hours riding from this place, Tiberius, it seems, being unwilling to come up into the port of Alexandria, out of a design, as he told me, to come into the City undiscovered. In order to that resolution he told us that we must be divided into several parties the better to avoid going in such a number and equipage as might occasion any discovery, and thereupon ordered me to go before with Theocles, seven or eight of his men and only two of mine, assigning Theocles a place in Alexandria, where it was appointed we should all meet at night. We got on horseback (I all this time not having the least mistrust of the wicked design they had upon me) and road a good way discoursing of indifferent things, the distance which was between Theocles and myself being not come to that height as to hinder us from discoursing together. At last being come into a wood, which from the river side reaches some stadia into the neighbourhood. Theocles began to rip up the former discourse we had together some days before, concerning the service he would have done Tiberius in the design he had undertaken to be the death of his own Prince; and told me that he very much wondered, I should disapprove his proceeding, being guilty of an action that was no better, and had myself engaged him in a cheat; which he had never been drawn into but by my advice and encouragement. Though I might well imagine that Theocles fell not upon that discourse but with a design to quarrel with me, and find a pretence without infamy to Tiberius to put in execution what they had basely plotted against me, yet did I not reflect on it soon enough, and accordingly could not forbear telling him, that there was a vast difference between an action wherein we had been jointly engaged (though truly considered, it were very horrid) and the design to murder a King in his own Kingdom; and that there was the greater difference between those two actions, in regard of us by as much as that I was a Roman and he a Subject to Coriolanus.  
This barbarous wretch, who, what answer soever I had made, would have found the pretence he was so desirous of, pretended to be transported with indignation at this discourse, drew his sword and ran at me with all the fury he could. I should have been but little frighted at his action, if all those that were about him had not done the like, and with the same labour satisfied me, that Tiberius had not bestowed that guard on me but to give me my death. Of my two men, the more affectionate lost his life at my feet, and the other frighted saved himself by getting into the wood, so that I was forced to stand alone to the fury of those cruel Butchers, who came about me and gave me two great wounds. No question, but a thousand more had followed to dispatch me out of this world, and I saw it was to no purpose to think to lengthen my life by a fruitless resistance, when it pleased Fortune to direct into that part of the wood a man armed all over, mounted on a very stately horse, and attended only by an Esquire. He made a little halt to see what was done, and perceiving he had but little time to lose, if he would save my life, after he had anticipated his coming by a great outcry, and in few words reproached my enemies with baseness and cowardice, he ran in among them with a fury to which nothing can be compared, and having with the shock of his horse overthrown the first he met within his way, he set upon the rest with such eagerness as showed he was nothing daunted at their number. And whereas they, as well as I, had no other arms then their swords, he spent very few blows which either carried not death along with them, or made those they met with uncapable of fight any longer. Theocles astonished at this miraculous relief, and perceiving there was no possibility to make an end of me till he had rid his hands of the stranger, endeavoured with the assistance of his men to dispatch him. But as it happened, he ran upon his own death, for that valiant man having received upon his buckler the blows he made at him, ran him clear through the body, and so he fell down to the ground, and immediately breathed his last. His companions were but weak in their endeavours to revenge his fall, and finding themselves reduced to one half of the number they made at first, and that by the same hand, they were quite discouraged, and placed all their safety in their flight.  
Finding myself rescued in that manner from those unmerciful enemies, though very much weakened by the two wounds I had received, I made a shift to come nearer my deliverer, to give him thanks for his assistance; and it happened at the same time, that he, feeling himself very much heated, either by reason of the sultrinesse of the season, or the action he had been in, put up the visor of his head-piece to take in a little fresh air. I had hardly fastened my eyes on his countenance, but I was in a manner dazzled by the lustre and goodliness of it, and thereupon looking on him a little more earnestly, I knew him to be that person to whom I had been so cruelly perfidious, the valiant King of Mauritania.  
It is impossible I should represent to you the confusion I was in, to find myself obliged for my life to a Prince whom I had so basely abused and to see that Fortune should, after so strange a manner, direct to my relief that person from whom of all men I had least reason to expect it. An adventure so unexpected could not but tie up my tongue for a while, and stifling the discourse I intended to disburden myself of by way of acknowledgement for the deliverance I was obliged to him for, I stood still before him, mute, immovable, and in the posture of a man whom an excess of remorse had deprived of all confidence. And it was certainly from my remorse, rather than any fear, that this proceeded, as not knowing whether the injury I had done him, was come to his knowledge; but if I was astonished to see him, he was no less to meet with me, and calling me to mind by the idaeas he had still in his memory of my countenance, and haply confirmed by the astonishment he observed in it, he stood still, as well as myself, like one lost in suspense and irresolution. At last, the passion which produced that effect in him being much different from that which had put me into so great disturbance, he soon recovered himself, and having viewed me with much more earnestness than before; Are not you Volusius, said he to me, sometime Praetor of Mauritania? I am the very same Volusius, answered I, who am now obliged to you twice for this wretched life, as having once received it with my liberty, as a demonstration of your generosity, and being obliged to you for it now by the relief I have received from you when I was reduced to the last extremities. You might have added to that, said he, that you are the same Volusius, who being once before obliged to me for your life and liberty, have nevertheless made me the most unfortunate man in the world, and by your perfidiousness have occasioned me the loss of Cleopatra's affection, my kingdom, and whatever should make me in love with life.  
This reproach put me to such a loss, that I knew not what answer to make, whereupon casting my eyes on the ground with an action expressing the greatness of my confusion, I satisfied the Prince that I had nothing by way of justification to say for myself. When he had looked on me for some time in that posture; What injury soever I may have received from you, said he to me, it troubles me not that I have been the occasion that you are yet alive; but certainly, 'tis a visible example of Heaven's justice to reserve the revenge of your perfidiousness to me who have been most injured thereby. Reassume the confidence which the conscience of your crime seems to have deprived you of, and since I have seen you defend your life with courage enough against divers men at the same time, muster up all you have, to defend it against one man alone, and give me not occasion, by a feeble resistance, to blush at the defeat of a man of inconsiderable valour. Do not imagine I shall make use of the advantage I have over you, though the nature of the injury you have done me might very well induce me to wave that consideration; and since you have nothing about you but abare sword I shall put off this armour, which if I should keep on the engagement were unequal.  
With those words he cast off his head-piece and buckler, and was going to unhaspe his cuirats, when, looking upon him with the countenance of a man already overcome, and one that prepared himself for voluntary death rather than a combat; My Lord, said I to him, If these little remainders of life I have left me can any way satisfy your revenge, you may without any difficulty take them, nay, though I were much more in love with it then I am, you should never see me defend it against you. This is the second time that I receive it as your gift, and therefore present you with nothing but what was yours before, when I sacrifice it to your just indignation. Besides, should I endeavour the resistance which you would have me undertake, I have not strength to bear me out in it, for I sinned my spirits issuing out with my blood with such haste, that it is with some difficulty they afford me the leisure to speak to you; so that if you consider the condition I am in, you may well take a just revenge on me, but not expect an honourable victory. Nor indeed is it from the ruin of a person infamous for his perfidiousness and treachery that you ought to look for any glory, yet will it not be any reproach to you though you should without any further combat run your weapon through a breast which I lay open to you, and which I offer up to your indignation, without any other regret than that of an incapacity to make you better satisfaction for the mischief I have been the occasion of, and the injury I have done you.  
While I spoke to this effect, the Prince perceiving my countenance grew more and more pale, and that my blood ran down along my clothes in abundance, not only moderated his just displeasure, which would have armed him against me; but, passing from one extreme into another, with a generosity that is never met with in any soul but such as his, he seemed in a manner ashamed that he had been so ready to engage a man to sight that was weakened by so great wounds. Whereupon, compassion forcing its passage into that truely-royall heart through those barricadoes of passion which for some time had opposed it, he became tenderly moved at the wretchedness of my condition, and, looking on me with a countenance, wherein there was not any thing legible of his indignation; Volusius, said he to me, the injury you have done me is of such a high nature that it is not to be satisfied with light reparations; but it is not in the condition you are now in that I can take my revenge on you; nor indeed have I been wont to fight my enemies when they are weakened by wounds, and incapable to defend themselves. Far be it from me to take those remainders of life you offer me, since that though you had many whole lives to give me, 'twere but little by way of reparation for those cruel losses which I have suffered by your means.  
With these words, out of a miraculous excess of goodness, he commanded his Esquire to help me off my horse, to view my wounds and to stop my blood if it were possible, The officious Esquire immediately obeyed his Master's command, and having torn off some linen from his own clothes, he endeavoured to stop the blood which ran in abundance from my two wounds, and to recover me so far as that I might get hither, being not distant many stadia's.  
After I had received that assistance from him, turning to the Prince, who looked on the good office he did me without any expression of animosity; My Lord, said I to him, this miraculous goodness of yours does in a manner multiply my crime, and forces a grief upon me, such as I shall not be able to shake off, but by the hope I am in, that the arrows which the sense of my crime thrusts into my breast, will ere long put a period to my life. The gods know, that the remorse I conceived at that was the only thing which brought it into the hazard wherein you have seen it, and if I had not discovered to Tiberius a regret for the offence I had committed, and to Theocles a horror for his perfidiousness, they had never plotted that against me, which no doubt but this latter was to put in execution, as well to satisfy his own resentments as to obey the orders of Tiberius.  
The Prince interrupting me at these words, entreated me to clear up a little more that which I had said somewhat obscurely. Whereupon, to satisfy him, I made him abrief relation of what I have repeated to you more at large, as well in relation to the instructions we had observed in the carrying on of the treacherous design we had upon you, as to what had happened to me from my departure out of Mauritania to our then meeting. And when I was come to the close of my discourse, I showed him the perfidious Theocles, who had newly breathed his last, and whom the gods by the miracles of their providence had reserved to die by his hands, as a reward of the horrid attempt he had made upon his life.  
The son of Juba was very much astonished at the wickedness of Theocles, whose face he knew, though somewhat disfigured by death At last when I perceived that he was, what by my words, what by my deportment, persuaded I was truly sorry forwhat I had done, I am very unfortunate, said I to him, that I can do so little in order to any reparation for my crime, and all the favour I desire of the gods, is, that they would continue me the light of this life, but till such time as that I have acquainted the Princess Cleopatra and Prince Marcellus with the cruel abuse we have put upon them. I shall give them an account of the whole transaction, and will acknowledge it to all the World to my last gasp. In a word, I shall endeavour to restore you to that innocence, which I have been the occasion that you have lost in the opinion of men, and I wish my blood spent upon no juster an account then that of restoring you to that kingdom, which I sometime maintained so poorly against you. Accept, from a miserable wretch, of what you can get for the expiation of his perfidiousness, since you will not take those poor remainders of life he offered you, and which should have been sacrificed to your revenge.  
These words were accompanied by so many expressions of a real and sincere repentance, that the Prince, absolutely satisfied that I was truly sensible of the heinousness of my crime, was extremely moved at it himself by the discoveries I had made thereof. Whereupon having continued silent a little while, as it were to recollect himself, and to consider what he had to say to me; Volusius, said he, I heartily forgive you, the mischief you have done me, and am satisfied with the death of this perfidious subject, whom the gods, by a miraculous conduct of their justice had reserved to perish by my hands, when I least expected it. I refuse not the proffer you make me to give an account of my innocence to Cleopatra and Marcellus. I am confident they have already entertained some apprehensions thereof, and it will be your business to rid them of all those which may be yet remaining in them of the infidelity wherewith I have been charged. I imagine not but that my justification is of as great concernment to me as the recovery of my kingdom. I have made a shift to live without a Kingdom, assured of the affections of Cleopatra; but I would not be burdened with the keeping of a Kingdom, when I have been abhorred by Cleopatra. I shall entreat you to tell both the Princess and Marcellus, that I had deserved they should have made a stricter inquisition into my crime, and consequently been more concerned in my vindication before they had condemned me with so much severity; and that they should both of them have debated the business a little on my behalf, against apparences uncertain enough. How do I acknowledge myself obliged to the gods that they have ordered things so, as that, before my death, I may let them know, I have not been perfidious either to my Mistress or my Friend, and that, since I have recovered myself from their reproaches by truth, they shall never hear of those which I might make to them, merely out of the love and respect which I shall have for them to the very last breath. Only you will be pleased to entreat the Princess to remember herself, that, notwithstanding my innocence, notwithstanding my justification, I am no longer worthy to serve her, and that, though I might hope the recovery of her affections, yet durst I not presume to desire they should be cast away on a wretch, persecuted by heaven and a cross fortune, and one who hath not, all over the earth, any place he may call his own. Further, that time hath been I might, through the friendship and assistance of Caesar, have hoped to be restored to a condition not much different from that of my Ancestors; that after I had lost Caesar's friendship, I had recovered a Kingdom wherein she should have reigned, had the gods and my cruel destiny been so pleased: But that now, being dispossessed of all, all assistance, all protection, and all hope, it is not fit I should lift up my eyes on a Princess, whom the greatest Kings upon earth would think it a glory to serve, nor indeed so much as wish myself beloved by her, since she cannot affect me but upon a condition of her own unhappiness, by involving herself in the miserable destiny of the most unfortunate of mankind; That all I have to do now, is to die, so to put a worthy Period to this Tragedy, and that I shall be able to do, either by laying violent hands on myself, after the example of the King my father, or by Caesar's wrath, whereto I shall expose myself without the least fear, after I have offered up to my ill fortune a victim which I am obliged to sacrifice to her. That after that action, whatever may be the event of it, I shall endeavour to forbear disturbing the enjoyments of a person that is a thousand times dearer to me then the life which I bestow to further them; and lastly, that I make it my earnest suit to the gods that they never be interrupted by the memory of a wretch, whose remembrance might haply occasion some disturbance in the felicities I wish her. With those words reaching forth his hand to me, he bade me farewell; and having commanded his Squire to help me up on horseback again to come for Alexandria, in order to the cure of my wounds, he took another way, and left me, much more troubled at his discourse and the action of it, than I was at the danger and pain of my wounds.  
Being gotten on horseback again by the assistance of his Squire, I took my way towards this City, much about the setting of the Sun, and came into it before it was quite dark, so weakened, that I was hardly able to stand. As to what hath passed since, I shall not trouble you. I was kindly entertained by Cornelius, who was my ancient friend, and seemed to be very much troubled at my misfortune; but it was not in his power to hinder me, out of any consideration of health, which he pressed very much, from leaving my bed, assoon as ever I understood, Madam, I might have access to you, to acquit myself of the charge I had taken upon me: and to clear to you and Prince Marcellus, the innocency of a Prince, who was never guilty of any thing but by the artifices of Tiberius and our combination, and who cannot justly b● charged with any thing either as to his Mistress or his Friend, but is the most constant and most generous of all men living. I acknowledge the goodness of the gods in the favour they have done me to acquaint you with this truth before I die, and humbly beg it of them, that this discovery, which, proceeding from a real repentance I now make to you, may in some measure be thought a reparation of my crime. It hath produced effects too too important, and too too deplorable for me to hope any pardon from you, though I have obtained it from him, who hath been the greatest sufferer thereby, and whom I had offended most; but I fear me, I have received my punishment from those that were my co-agents in it, and that I shall not long survive the discovery of an action which must needs make me abominable in the sight of all the World.  
Thus did Volusius put a Period to his discourse; and though that towards the end of it he observed in the countenances of Cleopatra and Marcellus more compassion and grief than resentment or indignation against him, yet, were it that he could not any longer endure the presence of persons whom he had so highly injured, or that his wounds troubled him, he would not make any longer stay in the chamber, and, with some difficulty, making a shift to rise off the chair he was sat in, after he had, by a gesture full of humility, and the expressions of his grief, taken his leave of the Prince and Princess, he passed into the outer-room, where he found the persons which Cornelius had left there to bring him back to his lodgings.  
It were no easy matter to represent what posture Marcellus and Cleopatra were in, upon this relation of Volusius. They were at the same time subject to such a distraction of thoughts, that it had been some difficulty to unravel them, and to make their confusion capable of some order. Yet is it certain, that their first apprehensions were those of joy, and that neither of them could, without being infinitely glad, entertain the news, that Coriolanus had ever been a constant lover, and a faithful friend, and that they could not any longer doubt of that innocence which they so much wished. They looked one upon another during this first apprehension, and in their countenances expressed their mutual satisfaction. Cleopatra, as the most concerned in the business spoke first, and letting the Prince read in her eyes what her heart was so full of; Well Brother, said she to him, you see that Coriolanus is innocent, and that it was not without some ground that I was satisfied of it, before I had understood so much from the mouth of Volusius. I acknowledge the indulgence of the gods, replies Marcellus, as great towards me in this, as in the greatest favour they ever did me; and I take them to witnesses, that what you and Volusius have persuaded me to of the constancy of Julia, hath not caused in me such a satisfaction as what I have understood of the fidelity of Coriolanus. How, replied the Princess, with a certain transportation not suitable to her ordinary moderation, it is then infallible, that Coriolanus, whose pretended infidelity cost me so many tears, hath ever been constant to his Cleopatra; and that Princess, who, by her misapprehension thought herself condemned to eternal afflictions, may now reassume those joys and hopes she had before broke off all acquaintance with?  
Here would she have taken occasion to open her soul for the reception of a passion, which, of a long time, had not had any entertainment there: but that joy was soon eclipsed by an interposition of grief, and a certain reflection which filled her heart with all the sadness it was capable of, when she thought on her cruel dep●rtment towards that Prince, the deplorable effect it had produced, as having proved the occasion of the loss of his Crown, and of all her hopes, and that fatal resolution which he had expressed to Volusius, that he intended to take, and whereof he had given her some notice at their last parting. In a word, being thus convinced of his fidelity, she could not call to mind the cruel entertainment she had made him at Syracuse, when, inflamed to the highest pitch of love, and thinking it a thousand times more glorious to be her servant, than what so noble a conquest, and the recovery of his Kingdoms had made him, he had passed through thousands of dangers, to come and offer her those very Kingdoms; she could not think on the cruel and injurious speeches wherewith she had received him, and the sad condition wherein she had left him, without a mortal wound in that heart which nothing but the love of that Prince could ever make any impression in.  
From that doleful reflection, calling to mind, how she had met him in the Woods of Alexandria, the day that he relieved her with greater valour than success, against those that afterwards carried her away, and lastly remembering the meeting she had had with him in the King of Armenia's ship, whereof she represented to herself all the particulars, after another manner than they had appeared to her, while she was still prepossessed by her cruel mistake, as well out of a consideration of that long swooning, into which her sight and words had put him, as the discourse, full of a generous confidence he had made to her, and the admirable resolution he had taken and gone through with, by sighting alone for her liberty, against so great a number of enemies, with such prodigious valour, and by the last words he had spoken to her at their parting, wherein, as well as in his actions, his innocency was but too too apparent. And from these things, whereof her eyes had been but too too faithful witnesses, diverting her thoughts to others that were of no less consequence, such as the loss of a great Kingdom which he had conquered for her, and which he neglected to maintain, through the despair she had reduced him to; that which he had expressed when he cast himself into the sea, because he would not survive his disgrace, and the shame he thought it, that he was not able to rescue her from her Ravishers; the miserable condition he was brought to, having no place of refuge, no relief, nor any comfort in the World, and lastly, the resolution he had discovered to Volusius and herself, of his unwillingness to have her any longer engaged in his misfortunes, and to seek out the remedies thereof only in death, which, for a courage, such as his was, it would not be hard to find; she could not fasten her thoughts on all these truths, which were but too importunate upon her memory, without giving way to such a grief, as neither all her own great constancy, nor yet the joy she conceived at the innocence of Coriolanus, were able to abate.  
After she had for some time smothered the disordered agitations she was in, being not able to hold out any longer, and conceiving she might freely disburden herself before Marcellus, whom she was confident of, and whose soul, during that time, was persecuted by imaginations much of the same nature; Coriolanus is innocent, said she, breaking forth into a rivulet of tears: But, O ye heavenly powers! such is my cruel destiny, that Coriolanus cannot be innocent, but I must at the same time be the most criminal person in the World. That Prince, the most amiable, the most generous, and the most virtuous of men, hath continued inviolately constant to me, and hath still persisted in the same perfect affection, which had at first taken in my soul; and yet, unfortunate wretch that I am, I have had the cruelty to banish him my presence as a Monster; I have had the inhumanity to see him in a manner expiring at my feet, and never could be moved at it; and I have at last reduced him to such extremities, as have proved the occasion of losing that Kingdom which he had designed for me, have made him a restless vagabond all over the earth, made him seek out precipices, and now make him resolve to seek in death a Period of these deplorable miseries, into which I, only I, have brought him. O Cleopatra, unfortunate Cleopatra! what pretence of joy canst thou find in the justification of Coriolanus, since it must needs expose thee to the most cruel regrets that ever persecuted guilty souls? It were much more for thy satisfaction, at least, if it were not for thy satisfaction, it would be much more to thy advantage, that thy Coriolanus had been found unconstant, and that thou shouldst be found innocent thyself; and since that thy innocence and his are things inconsistent, either he ought to be guilty, or thou have continued in the misprision which thou hadst been persuaded to. O cruel Volusius! cruel in thy malice, and cruel in thy remorse, thou art in both equally the messenger of death to me, and I find fatal poison in this appearance of life which thou bringst me, when thou tellest me that Coriolanus is constant to me. Let us then, till death, bewail the misfortune which attends us as well in the one as in the other condition, and never entertain any comfort, since that is a kind of happiness which guilty souls are never to expect.  
Here the tears interrupted the course of her speech, and fell from her in such abundance, that she was forced to allow them a free passage, and to let them express some part of what she felt within her. In that interval she repented her of her last reflections, and assoon as she was in a condition to reassume her discourse; I crave thy pardon, said she, with a voice imperfectly accented with sobs, I crave thy pardon, faithful Prince, for so unjust an apprehension, and what ever I may fear from my own remorse, and the reproaches thou mayst justly make me, yet must I needs acknowledge, that it is more satisfactory to me, nay a thousand times more satisfactory to me, to be found criminal by thy innocence, then to be found innocent by thy infidelity, for I set such a value on thy affection, that nothing can repair the loss of it, nor counterbalance the happiness it were to me to recover it. I am content to be thought guilty of all that the artifices of my enemies have occasioned me to commit, and shall not seek for any excuse, either in my error or my repentance, but only flatter myself with this comfort, that thou hast ever loved me, lovest me now, and wilt love me to the last gasp. It is not therefore in thy justification that I would be thought unfortunate, because then the guilt lies on my side; but I acknowledge myself unfortunate in the ingratitude I have expressed towards thee, in the misfortunes I have occasioned thee, in the irrecoverable losses I have caused thee, and the cruel resolutions I have forced thee upon. It was by my means, that, at Syracuse, thou wert reduced to those extremities that brought thy life into danger; upon my account hast thou lost a Kingdom, which thou didst design for me, thou hast spent thy days in wand'ring up and down the World with much misery, thou hast sought death among the Waves, and thou art still resolved to run thyself upon death, merely becase thou wouldst not, either by thy presence or memory, disturb the enjoiments thou wishest me. Ah Coriolanus, 'tis in that resolution thou art unjust and cruel, no less than I have been, and thou oughtest not, by losing thy own life, imagine to add any thing to my happiness, since it is from thee alone that all the happiness of my life is derived. Thou hast but little acquaintance with Cleopatra, if thou canst think the loss of thy Kingdom able to abate any thing of the value I set on thee; I have ever preferred thy person before all the Monarchies of the World, and, supposing the condition thou art reduced to as miserable as can be imagined, I would run fortunes with thee with no less satisfaction then if thou hadst the universe at thy disposal. Do not therefore court thy own death, Coriolanus, if thou dost it not to rid thy hands of an unhappy woman, whom for her ingratitude thou hast reason to abhor, or 〈◊〉 thou proposest to thyself greater felicity in death then in Cleopatra, let us go to it together, and know, that, as well as thy ●el●, I am come from a house wherein the examples of voluntary death are but too too familiar, for me to be daunted at any such thing.  
With these words she as it were opened the floodgates to that grief, which was ready to overrun her, and cast herself on her bed, after a most pitiful manner, insomuch that Marcellus, who had never seen her so unable to command her passions being astonished at it, and rising from the place where he sat, came to her with an endeavour to recover and comfort her. Is it possible, Sister, said he to her, that so unreasonable a grief should have such a powerful influence on your imaginanations, whom I have known with so much constancy resist the assaults of a just affliction; and cannot you entertain an account of Coriolanus' innocency with some moderation, who have supported his infidelity with so much settledness and resolution? Can it possibly come to pass, if the affections of that Prince were ever dear to you, that you should not, with joy, entertain this change of your condition, and that the remorse you conceive at the miscarriages that have happened through your misapprehensions should have a more powerful operation on you, than the assurances of a fidelity which you have wished with more earnestness than you could have done any thing relating to your own life? Ah Sister, if these must be the effects of your regretts, let them fall only upon me who am oreburthened with crimes by the engagement I have had in your mistake, for that it was upon my solicitation principally that you came to hate a Friend, who loved me beyond himself. It was I that traveled up and down several Kingdoms and crossed many seas to find him out, purposely to dispatch him, when in the mean time I was dearer to him than his own life, and that was it that all my attempts were bend to cut off, even while, by the force of his Friendship, he contributed to the execution of my design, by presenting his naked breast to me to satisfy my cruelty. Let therefore all those arrows of remorse be stuck in my breast, with all the care of the reparation we owe him, and take heed you do not incense heaven by not entertaining, with the acknowledgements you ought, a favour you have put up so many suits to the gods for. I entertain, Brother, replied the Princess this favour from the celestial powers, with all the resentments I ought to have for it, and cannot but acknowledge, that there is not any thing could be more dear to me than the innocence of Coriolanus: but Brother, after what manner would you have me consider the miserable condition whereto he is reduced, for my sake and upon my account, and with what constancy can I hear of the fatal resolution which he sends me word he intends to take, to run upon death merely to prevent his being any way a hindrance to my felicity? For what concerns his Fortunes, replied Marcellus, what lowness soever they may now be reduced to, it is not impossible but that they may be recovered to their former greatness, by such another revolution as that whereby they were ruined, and that either by open hostility, or th●●e other ways he practised formerly, he may yet reascend into the throne of his Ancestors. But supposing all this were nothing but pure matter of imagination, and should never come to pass, he hath those Friends who will never have any thing of fortune to dispose of, which they shall not divide with him, and will disclaim all they can pretend to in the world, if all be not common among them. For his fatal resolutions, we must endeavour to divert him from them: and since that he is not far from this place, hover hereabouts, in hopes to meet with Tiberius, I am in some confidence, that, seeking him out diligently, he may be met with. That care ought to be mine, and I accordingly take it upon me, and, in order to that design, I immediately take my leave of you, with this protestation that I will never return while I live, till I have met with Coriolanus, till I have obtained his pardon for the injuries I have done him, till I have acquainted him what favourable apprehensions you have for him, and have brought him to those terms wherein you would have him.  
The fair daughter of Anthony, being extremely eased and comforted by these kind proffers and expressions of Marcellus, would have made him some reply, when Queen Candace and Elisa came into the room, and, immediately after, the Princess Artemisa, attended by Alexander. Assoon as this company was come in, Marcellus, who was out of all patience to put the design he had undertaken in execution, withdrew without speaking aught to any one, and so, that the Princess herself could not otherwise than by a cast of her countenance express how infinitely she thought herself obliged to him for those good intentions of his. Though she had wiped her eyes, yet could she not hinder but that the three Princesses perceived she had been a-weeping: and in regard they all had a very great affection for her, and that Candace and Artemisa did not look on her otherwise than as an admirable Sister, and the Princess of the Parthians, as a person whose incomparable perfections had powerfully forced her heart and inclinations towards her, they discovered a certain emulation in expressing how much they were troubled for the grief she was in, whereof they saw the marks very fresh in her countenance, and with much precipitation would needs know the reason of it. Cleopatra returned them many thanks for those kind demonstrations of their affection, and after she had in few words expressed the resentments she had thereof, turning to the Princess Artemisa who was more particularly acquainted with the passages of her life than the other two, and had sometime seen Coriolanus, and pleaded very much on his behalf, and conceiving she might safely tell her what it was that lay so heavy on her heart, even before the two other Princesses, whom she had not the least suspicion of, and who were informed, though somewhat more confusedly, of the most important adventures had happened to her; Ah Sister, said she to her, (yet not without a little violence, to keep in the tears that would otherwise have accompanied her words) Ah Sister, how much were you in the right, when you maintained against me, that Coriolanus was not inconstant, and with how much reason did you take his part against an over-credulous person, and one whom her imprudent credulity hath made guilty of irreparable miscarriages! 'Tis very certain, Sister, he is innocent, and hath been cleared, even by those that were the authors of the calumny raised against him. All the crime and all the remorse doth now absolutely fall to my share, and if you have made any discoveries of grief in my countenance it was the effect of those just regrets which I could not but conceive thereat.  
Artemisa seemed to be very much moved at this discourse, and made answer to the Princess with very much earnestness; But I pray Sister, said she to her, what certainty have you of the news you tell me, what stronger arguments can you have received of it, than those you might have derived from the discourses and actions of Coriolanus himself, and in a word, what is it that hath so strangely convinced you of a thing, whereof you would not before admit of any satisfaction? Candace and Elisa, who, among other remarkable adventures of Coriolanus, had also heard of the pretended infidelity laid to his charge, thought themselves concerned in his justification, no less than Artemisa was; and Alexander, who had ever had a very great friendship for the person, and abundance of respect for the virtue of that Prince, seemed to be no less desirous to understand the truth of that business. The fair Cleopatra thought it but justice to satisfy them all, and perceiving there were only those persons in the chamber, she gave them a brief relation of all she had heard from Volusius, insisting more particularly on those passages that were of greater consequence. So that having by that discourse satisfied the noble company present of the innocency of Coriolanus, they were all extremely troubled to understand what a deplorable condition that Prince was reduced to, and the sad resolutions he had taken thereupon. The gods have the praise, cries out the Princess Artemisa, for that they have been pleased to confirm a truth which I have ever maintained, and whereof all virtuous persons were obliged to wish a perfect discovery: I had ever observed in all the actions and words of that great Prince what remorse never permits in guilty Souls, and I would have hazarded my life upon the confidence I had of his innocency.  
The Queen of Ethiopia, and the fair Elisa discovered for the vindication of Coriolanus, a joy and satisfaction not inferior to that o● Artemisa, though he was, as to his person, utterly unknown to Elisa, and that Candace had not seen him, but for some few minutes in the combat wherein he had fought with Artaban against the companions of the Pirate Zenodorus. But Alexander was absolutely overjoyed, as well out of a consideration of his Sister, as that of a Prince whom he had ever infinitely esteemed; and having understood from his Sister the design which Marcellus was engaged in to find him out, and so to divert him from his tragical resolutions he proffered to go along with him, and entreated Artemisa to give him leave to accompany Marcellus in so noble an enterprise. Artemisa was content he should, though she could not look on his departure without some regret; so that Alexander immediately went out of the room, with an intention to find out Marcellus, and to join endeavours with him to recover Coriolanus out of his despair, and to rescue that Prince out of the danger which he might fall into by coming too near so powerful an enemy as Caesar was.  
The three Princesses, remaining still with Cleopatra, endeavoured to persuade her out of a grief whereto she seemed to be inclined beyond all reason or moderation, and to convince her that she ought ●o be more satisfied with her condition as it now stood, then as i● was some days before, since that the cause of her most just an● sensible grief was taken away. To which, when she would represent to them, how it troubled her to the very heart, that she had treated with so much rigour a faithful and innocent Prince, and had brought him from a throne, into which he had recovered himself, to the wretched condition he then was in; Candace assuming the discourse, Madam, said she to her, the very regrett you discover for your harsh treatment of the King of Mauritania, is, no doubt, reparation enough to him, and there needs no more to satisfy him and all the world, than to consider the apparences whereby you were deceived, and which might indeed have deceived the most subtle and circumspect persons upon earth. And for his condition in respect of Fortune, which you seem to bewail so much, besides what you may promise yourself from the Friendship which Marcellus hath for him, I dare proffer you both, in Ethiopia, not only sanctuary, but absolute and sovereign Authority. For when the Prince, whom you know, shall once come to reign there, as I am much in hopes he will, I am confident he will not think it much to divide, with you, the power he shall have there, and think it not impossible but that with the assistances of his men and person, he may put Coriolanus into a condition to get once more into a throne which he had made a shift to recover without the helps of his Friends.  
Cleopatra made answer to this obliging discourse of Candace, with the greatest acknowledgements that could be, embracing her with the greatest affection imaginable. And the Princess of the Parthians, who could not make her so absolute a pro●●er in the dominions of her Father, till they were fallen under her power, made a protestation to her, that if ever it should please the gods that she had the sovereignty there, she might assure herself of no less authority in her dominions than in those of Candace.  
The incomparable daughter of Anthony was, not without reason, very much raised up and elevated by the discourse and proffers of those fair Princesses, and they would thereupon have fallen into a long conversation, if Agrippa had not come into the room, after he had before sent in his desires of admission. Being come in, he told them, that; by a letter he had received from Caesar, he understood that he would be the next day at Alexandria, that all things were putting in order for his entertainment, though he had not sent any notice that he expected a more than ordinary reception. He told Elisa in particular, that the King of Media, was gone to meet him the day before, and that he was just getting on horseback with the same intention, attended by all the Roman Nobility, that came along with him to Alexandria. Whereupon h● took leave of them and particularly of Elisa by a passionate look, as ●aving not, in that company, the opportunity of a more private conversation.  
FINIS.