view of Valley of Tempe 
The Valley of Tempe   
LONDON Printed for Nath: Ponder at the Peacock in the Poultry 1684.   

THE FAMOUS ROMANCE OF Tarsis and Zelie.  
Digested into TEN BOOKS.  
Written Originally in FRENCH, By the Acute Pen of a Person of HONOUR.  
Done into ENGLISH By CHARLES WILLIAMS, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for Nathanael Ponder at the Peacock in the Poultry, 1685.   

To the Right Honourable GEORGE, Earl of BERKELEY, Viscount Duresly, Lord Berkeley, Mowbray, Seagrave, and Bruce, Baron of Berkeley-Castle, Governor of the Levant Company, etc.  
MY LORD,  
SInce 'tis become modish to make Dedications of Books to Persons of Honour and high Quality, amongst whom your Lordship is worthily ranked one of the greatest in Eminency, I humbly make bold to Present this to your Patronage, being the Fruit of some spare Hours of Recreation, spent barely in the Translation out of the Original from which I have not Deviated; I hope to obtain your Lordship's acceptance, which I shall look on as a Signal Addition to your obliging Favours to myself, and several of my Worthy Friends both at home and abroad: My Design being chief to testify my Gratitude to your Honour, until I am capable to make some more effectual Demonstration of Real Services, who am,  
Right Honourable, Your Lordship's most Humble Servant C W. London, the 12 th'. of November, 1684.   

TO THE READER  
TElamon and Tarsis, two Sons of Alcidias, one of the chiefest of the Inhabitants of the Valley of Tempe, wherein he had large Revenues, called there a Shepherd, as were the Prime Nobility of that Region, having sent them to be Trained up in their Youth in Greece, in the Schools of the most Learned Philosophers, amongst whom, having gained great Repute by their Proficiency in Learning, they betook themselves to Foreign Travels, and then to Military Employments, when they changed their Names to Kion and Leonides, and under those Appellations signalised themselves in Martial Exploits, and Feats of Arms, Fight under the Banners of the Greatest Princes, then waging War against their Enemies, whom having Conquered, they retired into their own Country wherein they were Vanquished themselves by two Fair Ladies, Sisters, with whom they fell in Love, who called themselves Shepherdess's, Daughters of Leucippe, and the Grave Matron his Wife called Melicerte. Telamonius obtaining his end, Espousing the Eldest Daughter, who was Marvellously Virtuous, Tarsis endeavouring the same with the Youngest, though with much more difficulty would have succeeded in his Design, had not unkind Fortune frustrated it, and deprived him of his Fair and Beloved silly, whose Favour and Affection he had gained with the Approbation of her Parents, whose Filial Obedience and Modesty was as Wonderful, as her End was supposed Tragical.  
These Brothers who Reciprocally Embarked themselves, in the Success and Calamities of each other, acted a large part, and became the Subject of a considerable share in the ensuing Discourse, calling themselves Shepherds, were serviceable to many, once Potent Princes, who by Vicissitudes and Change of Fortunes, were agitated and tossed, betook themselves to these Brothers for Shelter, Succour, Advice, and Assistance, and obtained it.  
The Variety of the Passages and Actions both by Land and Sea, Discoursed of in this Treatise, are far too Numerous to be inserted in a Preface, and are as well pleasant as profitable. What Faults may have Occurred from my Pen or the Press, the Reader is desired to Correct, and put a favourable Interpretation upon.   

The Author to ZELIE.  
I Know not, my Shepherdess, whether you will not accuse me of Infidelity; and whether it be not Treachery to your Chastity to oblige you to appear in Public, in a condition where I promised you should only appear amongst your best Friends. They would not have seen you thus slighted, if you had believed you had been exposed to the Eyes of Strangers, you would have taken some care to appear Adorned, or you would have desired me, not to have obliged you to come out of Tempé, and to have left you in that delightful Desert, there to Enjoy the Society of your Faithful Shepherd, in the Delight of a Rustic Life, and in the Delicacies of your perfect Friendship. Will you not even tell me, that I have Conducted you into a Kingdom, where time out of Mind, the Shepherdesses were not accustomed to mingle themselves, or to have conversed with the rest of the World? and if any have appeared there otherwise with a Glimpse, it was that they were come in an Age, where Beauties were very Rare, and where Princesses and Ladies did no wrong to those of Shepherdesses? In Sum, with what Splendour can you hope to appear in this Day, in Presence of Cassandra Cleopatra, and which is more, in those of Mandane, and Clelie; Truly, my Shepherdess, it appears, that you have had great reason to be a Party in these Complaints against me: And perhaps I am the less excusable, that if I have in that done you such an Injury, they may allege that I have done yet a greater to myself. For if in short, you should have left that Reputation of being Fair, which you have so Auspiciously Acquired amongst our Shepherds, at leastwise they could not deny you those excellent qualifications of Modesty and Virtue: as for me, whatever Virtue, what Modesty, and what even Beauty you could have been Garnished withal, I foresaw they would not have left me blameless, to have fastened myself too much to a Shepherdess, and abandoned the most serious Employments, for an Occupation which they deemed no otherwise Pardonable, than have they of the Idleness of those who have no others. But notwithstanding all that, I cannot Repent of my Resolution; and after all, my Shepherdess, I suppose you ought not to complain yourself, if you should lose the Reputation of being Fair, you would have lost but that which you have always despised: As for me, what Imports it to be condemned, since I desire not to be known? it is not that I am uncapable to answer those who blame the Tie that I have had for you, which hath never diverted me, even one small Moment from those Occupations which they call the most Solid, and which have gratefully diverted me without any perplexity. But I have kept myself, my Dear Zelie, from any other thoughts, than those of Loving you, that otherwise were a Crime, that had need of some Justification; But contrarily, that of our Affection which I will make my chiefest Honour, as it hath hitherto done that of my Joy; And that is to Immortalize if I could the Remembrance I have for you, and to Proclaim it throughout the World. I would tell you that it is true, that I take Pleasure to trace to Posterity, even by the same Means, a Draft or Lineament of the same Spirit, and of the Qualities of our Incomparable Ergaste, to leave after his Decease, an Eternal Monument of that Excellent Friendship which united us during his Life, which serves me as a Ligament, which joins with your Hazards, and which declares, and speaks forth those of his, and to Publish that Admirable Talon which Rendered him so Dear to his Friends, and that Divine Science of Friendship, which he so perfectly possessed: But, my Shepherdess, it would be out of Season to renew your Tears, by the severe Remembrance, of the loss which we have sustained; what Grace or Comeliness you had in Tears: the Regret and Grief is Importunately Public, and its Beauty ought to be accompanied with Joy and Mirth, as one of the most excellent Ornaments of its Triumph.   



Tarsis and Zelie. The First Book.  
THE Sun had disappeared within the famous Valley of Tempé, and the incredible height of those Mountains, within which it is encompassed, had already withdrawn into the last Beams of that Planet, when the most Amorous, and the most Unfortunate of Shepherds which inhabited that Country, sweeting and raving on the brink of the River Pennée which divides it, was recovered from his fond Imagination, immediately he turned his Eyes from that side, and there appeared a Boat, wherein he observed one or two Persons; he could neither discern their Visage, nor yet their Attire, for within that Obscurity they resembled nor appeared other than Shadows. Nevertheless the Boat still approaching he heard one of those Persons thus speak:  
I bewail thee, my dear Tarsis, and thou shalt be surprised, when they shall bring thee this news; but in sum, neither the one nor the other of Us can be more unhappy than we are, and it were far better we were lost all at once, than to have the displeasure to find ourselves lost every Moment, as we have done for so many years.  
The Shepherd was too often haunted with that Voice, and had the Idea of the Person who so spoke, too frequently imprinted in his heart, to be a long time remembered.  
He doubted not, but that she was his Shepherdess, and although he understood not the meaning of her Words, yet the Loss wherewith she always seemed to threaten him, did so alarm him with perplexity and impatience, that he could not have leisure of attending the Period of this deplorable Riddle. silly quoth she; quite the contrary fair Zelie; what say you? with whom are you? or where go you? He had no sooner spoken, but instead of answering her, what she attended, he saw the Boat, which before approached towards him, and which yet was not far off, change its course, and return to the Place, whence it came.  
This silence and change of Course, amazed him more yet than all the rest; however, as People commonly flatter themselves in their Misfortune, he presently persuaded himself that his Shepherdess had not known his Voice, and that only having understood of some body, not discerning who it was, she would remove further off, to avoid discovery; Therefore all resolute, quoth she, fair Zelie, know you not the Voice of your Shepherd? these Words producing no other effect than the formers, he at once fell into a hundred times more perplexing Imaginations: but his principal persuasion was, that she had been hurried away, even his fair Zelie; And in this belief, he acted something worthy the excess of his Love. Hold, quoth he, hold you, who are so cruel as to depriv● me of my chiefest Wealth: And at the self same time without any other reflection, he cast himself into the River to swim after the Boat,  and all, with a Dart in his hand; for the Shepherds of that Country carry one instead of a Crook, having retained that Custom from their Original War. He presently overtook the small Vessel although she was at that distance from him, and though the Shepherd swum excellently well, he who steered the Boat ceased rowing. Immediately af●er this Lover had precipitated himself into the River, so that not being wafted otherwise than by the Stream, it was not difficult to to overtake her; As soon as the Shepherd approached, he there fixed one hand, and with the other stretching forth the Dart to a Man who discovered him, Hold thou perfidious one, quoth he, and at that Instant touched him with the end of the Dart, to advertise him that to him he addressed; The Man who before stooped, and upon knee in that Boat, presently raised himself up, and turning to him with an Oar in hand, Thou fool hardy, quoth he, withdraw, and beware that thou oblige and provoke me not to take the advantage in the state wherein I have met thee: Render me then silly, replied the Shepherd, out of thy Generosity. Thou hast certainly lost thy Reason, quoth the Person unknown. Who is this Zelie, seest thou not that I am alone in my Boat?  
The Shepherd who still held fast with one hand, in effect began to observe, that the same Man appeared only alone, and was astonished to find himself thus surprised. He looked on all sides as much as the darkness would permit him, to see whether he could not discover some other Boat, and seeing none, he was constrained to land to take Breath, and there to clear his doubts.  
But he did no other than increase them, for first as he went to a little House which was near the brink of the River, to have light and aid, he was met by an old Man, who in this obscurity took him for another: Is it you Alpide? quoth he, Whence is it that you come all alone? The Shepherd who had remembered Alpide to be near allied to Zelie, although had never seen him, believed that this rencontre might in some measure disintricate the other or himself. Wherefore going in, asked of the Man, and very diligently enquired or what cause, at such an hour he waited for Alpide, who dwelled so far off the otherside of the River, but he could have no other satisfaction, only that Alpide had promised to give him a visit, so that being only a little dried, he departed, much more dissatisfyed and perplexed than before.  
It seemed, that Fortune took pleasure in sporting with the disquietude of this poor Shepherd. As he went towards the Door to set out, an ill rub by hap hazard being before his Feet, constrained him to avo●d falling, to lean against a door which opened to a Chamber on the same side wherein he was; This Door being ill shut and opening in the middle gave way, there appeared to him from the light of a small fire, a young Maid, who had in her hands the Habit of a Man, whom she measured as if she would have clothed him.  
The Light was not clear enough to discern his Visage, and he could not be assured whether he were a Lodger or a Stranger. Therefore he seemed not to take notice of him. But being in a condition which rendered him suspect, and that Suspicion being yet increased by the Surprise, which she testified when the Door flew open, he designed to forbear going out of the House, and discover what might pass from abroad till the day appeared.  
He needed not so to attend long, he scarce had thought of going out of the door through which he should have gone, but was attacked by three Men, which sprang in with Swords in hand, even into the House, requiring the surrender of a Maid there concealed. Never was the like Surprise to that of the Shepherd. He doubted not but the Maid which they sought was Zelie, but knew not whether they thought to secure, or to take her thence, nor whether he should take them for Friends or Foes.  
He entered with them then for further discovery, and although he could not without difficulty contain himself, he determined for the future to study how to comport himself in this Encounter.  
Mean time these Men looking e'er where, of all sides, and finding none in the first Chamber, they passed into the second where the Shepherd had seen the Maid, but there could find none, she whom they sought being escaped through a false or trap Door, where she had heard them. They discovered her however, by favour of the Moon which began to rise, all three pursuing her flight with extreme diligence.  
The Shepherd followed with the like incredible speed, and all overtook this fugitive at her entrance into a Forest. Two of these unknown seized her.  
The third turning towards the Shepherd rudely demanded, What he would have of them, and the reason of his presumption so to follow them; The Shepherd was so impatient to know, whether this Maid were not silly, and so attentive to the sound of her cries, and the Words she spoke to those who so seized her, that he appeared only as if they had addressed to him.  
He persisted still in following them, when he who spoke to him with his Sword a-tilt menaced therewith to pierce him, if he immediately retired not.  
The Shepherd by these Words thus advertized, and by the glittering of the Sword thus brandished before his eyes, retired one pace, and stretching out the point of his Dart to this unknown, I will (answering furiously) know, who this Maid is, whom you thus carry away, if she be not one whom I seek, and what ever she should be, what right have you to offer this violence unto her? It concerneth not thee truly (replied the other) to propose us these questions, but shouldest rather ask pardon for thy Insolence; and at the same instant lifted up his Sword, therewith to smite him.  
The Shepherd perceiving this without loss of time, but gliding himself directly beneath, when he spied his Enemy lifting up his Arm, serving himself with his Dart instead of a Sword, so forced it into his side, that the one half was left there broken off, and with this first blow cast him stark dead upon the earth.  
The cries that this Man uttered in falling, made the two others believe that they were pursued; one came up to secure his Comrade: But the Shepherd, rather feared that if he joined this second, the third would bear away wherewith he was seized; so that shunning him amongst the Trees, under favour of the Shrubs and Boughs, made up his way to the third, and presented himself unawares before his face. This then believed, that both himself and Comrade were attacked before and behind, and seeing his Adversary so near him, quitted his prize for self-defence, and instantly with his Sword in hand set upon the Shepherd. This Shepherd though unarmed, was no whit moved, his stout Heart more worthy the name of an Hero than of a Shepherd, no otherwise then animating himself by this hazard, fended off the blow with the Troncheon or Staff of the Dart that remained in his hand, desperately joining the Soldier, cast him down, throttled him with one hand, and breaking his Sword with th' other, and with its point pierced his heart with that which remained in the other hand. In another Encounter this brave Shepherd contented himself to have felled him down, and disarmed him; but he had been here imprudent if under the necessity which he saw, to bear up under the assault of a third, he had left this in a condition to raise himself. He advanced also immediately to make up with him, all together amazed that he had given him that leisure. But when he thought to have encountered him, was much surprised, that instead of a Man, he saw only a Maid coming towards him with a Sword in each hand. Is this one of my violent Comrades? cried she, as soon as she saw him amongst the Trees, how should I be so happy thus to meet my brave Redeemer? By these Words he knew that she was the self same Person whom he had rescued; and indeed it was even the very same.  
As soon as she found herself at Liberty, instead of the flight which probably she might have attempted, she went and took the Sword of the first whom the Shepherd slew, and with the same, like the heart of a true Amazon, made up to him whom the Shepherd shunned, she attacked him so courageously, that having dangerously wounded him in the Arm and Side, which caused his Sword to fall, she constrained him to flight. She would not lose time to pursue him, but contenting herself to take up the Sword (for the Trees were not so thick in that place, that by the Light of the Moon she could not discern him upon the Earth,) she came to secure her Preserver, as we have said.  
It would be hard to express in what amazement the Shepherd was in at this sight, and a thousand times more difficult to express the anguish in which he was, when the sound of that Voice had confirmed him, that the Person whom he had rescued was not Zelie. However he concealed his displeasure, and only testified his admiration.  
Thou valiantly unknown, Replied he, I observe you are in a condition, where there is not any appearance, that any should have the vanity to say, That any other should be that of your Deliverer, than only yourself Its clear you have disarmed your Enemies, since you have their Spoils in your own hands, and all the honour that I can here pretend, is only to give occasion to yours, and to have in some small sort seconded your worth.  
These Words also instructed the Person to whom they were addressed, to doubt wherein she had accosted him; and as she knew, that from him she had received Succour: Ah bravely unknown (replied she) whoever you are, or may be, I must avow that to you I own my Liberty and Life, and although the deplorable Condition of my destiny hath nothing but what should render death itself desirable, I shall nevertheless beseech you instantly to declare the Name of my Preserver, nor to entreat you only that I may know, to whom my acknowledgements are due. Mean time, added she (after they both were gone a little further from the place of Combat to choose out one, wherein to speak with more security) I apprehend you came from performing an Action not only the bravest, but the most just which could give satisfaction to a good Soul, and who would one day render you nothing less than a Kingdom, if it were possible, to point out the acknowledgements of those Favours you have conferred upon me.  
The Shepherd judging by this Discourse, as well as by the Actions of this unknown Person, that she was without doubt some extraordinary one, and of eminent Quality, replied with wonderful respect and modesty. Madam, the name of a simple Shepherd as I am, is no way worthy your Curiosity, and the very small service I have done you, is over-paid by the honour I have had in being employed for you. Of a Shepherd, quoth she, you surprise me in saying that Shepherds have that capacity, courage and civility which appears in you; and if it be so (which I can hardly believe) the Shepherds of this Country do equal those of the most honourable, and the most generous, that are to be found in the Courts of the greatest Princes.  
Madam (replied the Shepherd,) you would be very injurious to the Shepherds of this Country, if you doubted, that there were not here, those who in all respects, were much more worthy than myself. He stopped there, because he sought no other occasion, than to finish this Discourse, and to remove, where he was importuned by perplexity and by his Love. Only he would willingly have known, in few Words, who this unknown was, to find out whether his Fortune had not disintricated him, in something with that of Zelie, when she answered him; I believe all the advantages, that may be produced in a Country whence you sprung: But you shall never persuade me, but that you are more than a Shepherd, and you handle the Dart too well then to make me believe, that you were born to no other than that of a Crook. However it be, refuse me not the satisfaction, and delay not to tell me who you are.  
The Shepherd was not naturally willing to speak of himself, but besides this natural repugnancy, he was so taken up by his perplexity and grief, that all other thoughts were as to him infernal. Notwithstanding he was too civil, with an ill grace to repulse that obliging Curiosity of a Person, who appeared a Lady of quality, and yet he was altogether as uncapable to tell his Name, but that in hopes thereof he might engage her to declare her own.  
That which he then did was solely to abridge the Discourse, and without entrance into the particularities of her Life, to tell him singly her Name, and to explicate also that of her Quality.  
Madam, saith he, since it's your command, I will declare unto you, that I am named Tarsis, and to assure you, that which is most considerable in my Person, it's in telling you, that I am one of the Shepherds of this Valley, I will add that our Original is French; and that there are Olympiad's, that our Fathers being sprung from the Gauls, (as have done for some two or three years, other Gauls, under the Conduct of the renowned Brennus) and having been very serviceable to the Lacedæmonians and also to the Thebans in the Peleponnesian War, the Greeks asign'd them, by the treaty of Peace, an habitation at the foot of these Mountains, with the Territories of some Cities that surround them, so that by this means they were rendered Possessors of this pleasant Valley. Now in the Division which these Gauls made, The Knights elected this here for their Habitations and Places of abode. And whereas in other Colonies, the Captains dispose themselves within the Cities, and give the circumjacent Land to the meaner and more inferior Soldiers for tillage and to be cultivated: These here in conformity to the Course and Custom of their Nation, do no more shut up themselves within the Cities, than do the meanest Soldiers, and choose out for themselves the Villages and Hamlets of this delightful Valley; As it abounds in Meadows, and hath its principal Revenue consisting not otherwise than in breeding up of Cattle, upon which consideration by succession of time, the Nobility which seemed to be born only for War, bend themselves solely to Pastures, so that they changed even the name of Knights to those of Shepherds, so that quite contrary to what in Ages past happened at Rome, where the simple Shepherds turned themselves to be great Captains, it appears here that Eminent Captains take complacency in being Simple Shepherds.  
Brave Shepherd, replied the unknown, there needs no further discovery, than what you have already made of yourself, nor to persuade myself better of you than you have said, or of your worth. But since you have taught me who you are, it is but just you should know also who I am; and besides, it may not (perhaps) be out of season, not to return so soon to the House whence we came, I find myself so much indebted to your Worth, and the Spirit of your Wisdom and Discretion hath so anticipated me, that I shall not dissemble, but confide in you the Secrets unknown to all the World besides. The condition also wherein you see me, will perhaps, reduce me to have further need of you, and this acquaintance will facilitate, the occasion, to continue me in your generous offices.  
On these Words having turned about to see whether any person followed them, she took him by the hand, and advanced further into the Wood, even into a Place more obscure and out of the way, where they might remain undiscovered. Tarsis in going marvelled at the Confidence which appeared in a Virgin so young, that would engage alone with a Man unknown, in the midst of a Wood, and in the Dark; and although the state of her present Fortune gave no place to his present curiosity, yet he impatiently attended the issue of this chance; because he knew not, as we have said, whether he should there find some manifestation of hers: When this unknown young Person discovered the amazement wherein he was, having obliged him to sit by her in the thickest of the Forest, she spoke unto him in these Terms.  

History of Damalecinte.  
IS it not true, Tarsis, that you find me a little too bold for a Maid, and that these Passages must render me ill in your Opinion? But be it known unto you also, such a one as you conceive, and that this Attire derogates from my Sex, and covers the body of a most unfortunate Prince, by so tragical an occasion and necessity, and by the most amazing Encounter, that hath happened within the memory of these Ages.  
Tarsis extremely astonished at this Discourse, replied My, Lord, that which you now discover me, is in effect very surprising; But permit me therefore to tell you, that I am less astonished, at a young Prince under the Attire of a young Virgin, than I was before, to see a Virgin as courageous as an Hero. And as he thus spoke, (out of respect) he would have risen up from the place whereon they sat, to put himself in a posture, which he thought, due to a Prince, but the Prince holding him by the hand, and in civil treatment, continued his discourse, thus;  
Have you known nothing of the Disasters, of the unfortunate Nicholas King of Chipre, the deplorable history of his House is too much proclaimed through all the World, to be unknown at Tempé. You doubtless know, how this poor Prince seeing all his Kingdom rendered desolate, by Argee King of Crete, his capital City and Metropolis taken, his two Sons and Brother Prisoners, and then slain by the Enemy, his Palace invested, and himself in peril, yet living to fall with all his House into the hands of his barbarous Conqueror; he took this desperate, or rather this noble and heroic resolution, to pile up within a Chamber all his most precious Movables, and therein to shut up himself with his Sisters and Daughters, and then to set fire and burn all together, that nothing should remain after his death, wherewith his Enemy might triumph  
Tarsis having testified him, the knowledge that the Renowned had published far and near, of this amazing Catastrophe, although with very little diversity; Now behold, the Prince continued, that which before without doubt you were ignorant of.  
The Queen Axiothee Wife to this unfortunate King than was great with Child, having gone seven or eight Months: That moved him to compassion, he would willingly have caused to perish his living Children, yet could not resolve to destroy one who never had lived, and believed it was not in his power to dispose of a Life that the Gods had not yet given. 'Tis very true, that this Design was founded upon politic reason. He had then no other than Daughters, all very beautiful and of competent state for Marriage; Their Sex, Beauty together with their Age, had exposed them to the mercy of a brutish and insolent Conqueror, which he could not brook: but doubting of the Sex of the Infant, whereof the Queen was big, he still retained some kind of hope of a Son, which should revenge his Quarrel; wherefore in conclusion, he persuaded the Queen to take care of herself, at least until she should see whether an Infant Male should be born, giving her liberty to use her pleasure, if she should be delivered of a Female.  
After a thousand adieus, or farewells, he caused her to embark by Night upon a small Boat, out of a trap-door, which from the Castle opened into the Sea; and seeing her part, half dead with sorrow, musing in the mean time of making a furious and bloody Assault upon his Enemies, and afterwards proceeded to execute his tragical Resolution, which reduced the rest of his Royal Family into Ashes.  
The Boat was no sooner gone, but that it fell into the hands of the King of Crete, who was highly pleased that he should revenge upon the Queen, his resentment and rage, for the escape of those delicate and precious Spoils, whereof he was insatiably anaricieux, without a politic consideration, which he yet retained. He had a Son aged nine years, and considered that if Axiothee should lie down with a Female, that might occasion the settlement of the Crown of Chipre on his House, by marriage of his Son to the lawful Heiress of the Kingdom; he appointed Guards to the Captive Queen, and set her to lie down in Crete. Gave order, that if a Male were born he should instantly be slain, and if a Female, she should be preserved. And for better security, appointed that upon the birth, the Infant should be brought, being willing to confide in no other testimony than his own Eyes. But what precaution soever is contrived by Man, can in no wise Impede the Decrees of heaven? A Woman which of a long time had waited upon the Queen Axiothee, and who they permitted always to be with her, was also big, even about the same time, who also was delivered with her.  
The Queen brought into the World a Boy, the Woman a Maiden, so that there being in the Chamber, no other than the Persons appointed, they made an exchange, they brought the Maiden to the Guards that attended at the Gate of the palace-royal, and these Guards having showed her even to the King himself, confirmed him in the Opinion, that Queen Axiothee had been delivered of a Princess. My life therefore was thus preserved by this innocent Stratagem. For it is I myself, Oh Tarsis! that was this unfortunate Infant, who durst not be born but in secret, and to whom Death seemed to be so much the more inevitable, that as a Boy I was condemned to die by our Enemy, I was there, for so I may say, abandoned by my Father.  
The greatest difficulty was by means of the Nurses, for it is hard to conceal an important Secret, when it passeth through so many hands. For prevention whereof the Queen my Mother desired the King's permission, that she might nurse me herself, which he in no wise opposing, so much overjoyed was he, in believing that she brought up a Princess for his Son; so the Daughter which had lent me her name, was surrendered to her Mother. I was also replaced into the hands of mine, and all by the care, and through the Fidelity of a Governess, whom she gave me, I was brought up by her as her daughter.  
The Queen discovered me this important Secret, ever since I was capable to apprehend, and conceal it, and to engage me the more thereunto, she manifested the peril to which it was annexed. And although I was not yet capable of so great Reason (being but nine years of age) I was not wholly destitute of an applicatory reply. Thus, what will it import me to be a Boy, if I am brought up and educated as a Maiden? And what relief can you expect from my effeminate Sex by the Education bestowed upon me? That you send me not to some King of our Allies, there to learn such Exercises answerable to my Birth, that I may at least manage a Sword, wherewith I may one day revenge the quarrel of my Father. My Son, replied she, I am ravished to see you capable of these Sentiments, and that under this Attire which you have, you retain a heart worthy of him who you are. I have heard say, that Achilles having also been brought up, as you, in his Youth, under the habit of a Maiden, ceased not afterwards to be the most valiant and the most Illustrious amongst the Greeks. And I take that which is said of him, as a good presage also of you; I have no design also to neglect that which you tell me, if I have not sent you hence until this present time, it's by reason I have been so narrowly guarded and watched, that I believed I could not attempt it with safety; but I avow you, that which I muse of at present, that I conceive they do not so observe my actions, as they did the first years of our Captivity.  
The resolution being made, and my Mother having taken these measures for this Design, she one Evening caused me to habit myself in attire conformable to my Sex, and caused me to be conducted by a Governor in whom she confided, in a Merchant Ship which should discharge at Rhodes. The morrow Morning as we were ready to weigh Anchor, I heard a great noise at the Chamber door, from the Poop where I was, and presently saw the Guards that would have seized me. I had a Sword by my side, and I would not that it should be said, that I would be the first that should at the first time unprofitably wear one. I therefore took it in hand at Rovers, as if I held myself capable to resist so many Men, and having testified that I would not permit myself to be taken alive, I wounded the first Soldiers, which were hardy enough to approach me, afterwards seeing myself ready to be taken, I cast myself through a Window into the Sea, wholly resolved there to perish, rather than to be retaken, and to fall into the hands of our Enemy.  
But all my precaution proved of no utility, some of the Guards had then seized my Governor and others of the Captain of the Ship, I well divined that we had been betrayed: I knew immediately afterwards, that the King having had notice of my issuing forth, by the perfidy of a Domestic of my Mothers, had sent these Guards to take me, and ordered the hanging of the Captain of the Ship, and my Governor by the Yards arm.  
As for me they brought me to the Palace Royal, where I only expected Death; for the means farther to disguise my Sex, which I had betrayed myself by my Attire and my Courage; in this imagination I supposed all lost; for the King when I was before him, coming to reproach my disguise, I who believed he would have spoken of him whom they had made to pass for a Maiden, I was ready to avow all; and notwithstanding (admire the effect of the prevention) it appeared he would have spoken of the habit, that I had taken to save myself, and that as this Domestic had discovered my departure, knew nothing of the rest of our Secret, the King believed that they had not counterfeited me, in a Boy, otherwise than to favour my flight after a multitude of Menaces, he in conclusion caused me to be vested in my first Attire.  
That being done, he sent us my Mother and myself into Prison, where we were straight shut up, and I can say it, treated as Captives, even to the hardest durance. But the Prince of Crete having attained the Age of twenty two years, and myself coming out of my sixteenth year, the King his father believed, deeming it high time to celebrate our Marriage, he came to see the Queen my Mother, even in the very Prison, to discourse her. I leave you to judge with what countenance she could hear this terrible Proposition, and what she could think in an occasion so strange, where she saw herself constrained to marry a Boy instead of a Girl. I saw constrained, for in the state wherein we were, the King's Will was it not, as to us, absolute necessity? and was there any other remedy, then exposing myself to death, to discover that which I was? She therefore dissembled her grief, and feigning an apparent joy, she only demanded time to sound me.  
Never was the like surprise, as that of mine, when she brought me this piece of news; I avow that I remained a little confused. For what resolution to take in so fatal a Conjuncture? To accept the Marriage that seemed not impossible; to refuse also a Marriage so apparently advantageous for me, and which seemed the only means to recover our Liberty and Dignity altogether, that could not be as I have said without giving the King cause of great suspicion.  
In all cases it was to irritate him by this rejection, it would be the prolonging of our Imprisonment, and by consequence plunge us in another inevitable Peril, to discover myself by time and by age.  
We could not therefore do any other, than condole my Mother and myself, wholly ignorant by whom to determine.  
In the interim the King pressed for her Answer, and he pressed her with so much the more instancy, because those of Chypre were already revolted the second time against him, and he saw no other than this only way to reduce them. After we had procrastinated the Affair a whole Month, by continual fits and turns, and always under different pretexts, after I had essayed a thousand times new means to avoid myself, in conclusion there fell into my thoughts a Project, which I discovered to the Queen, very near these terms.  
Madam (said I) we afflict ourselves, through an occasion which should rather rejoice us, and that the Gods had sent us (without doubt) to revenge the death of my Father and Brothers. Our Tyrant will give me his Son for to espouse; which is to say, unless he will deliver me another himself into ●ands, let us use our advantagae, since he thereunto doth force us. I accept of this fatal bridal, since he constrains me: but since he deprives me of the means, further to dissemble that which I am, let him know it, in the dispense of his own proper blood. I will furnish myself with a Sword or a Dagger, and hid it under the bolster of my Bed. It's with that within which I will receive his Son into my Arms, and 'tis so that I will revenge my Father, my Brothers, my Sisters and ourselves. Ha my Son (interrupted she all in tears) I will never permit that you cast yourself in so unavoidable a danger: that could not be that which would revenge me, no otherwise then to lose you, since 'tis only to preserve you, that I am reserved to so many evils.  
To make short to you, I persuaded the Queen, because she saw no other means nor day for our deliverance. She rendered the King an answer conformable to his desire, who set us at apparent Liberty, however still in effect, held us in a straight captivity, by the Guards that he set over us, under pretence of doing us honour, and that which is yet more marvellous; the Prince of Crete gave me a visit, even as to his Mistress.  
I must avow to you, although I was well prepared for that sight, she put me in much perplexity of mind, the habit of a Maiden began to rack me, after I had known my Sex. I thereupon found my actions all in compulsion, and it seemed to me, that by their observations, it would be impossible but that they should divine who I was; but this was another torment, when I saw myself reduced to personate not only a Maiden, but as they say a Lover in sight of an amorous young Prince, and to counterfeit friendship and obsequiousness, for a man whose birth was abominable and hateful unto me, however there was no means of avoiding it. He saw me, he courted me amorously, and on my part, I sported so well, or rather so unfortunately my Lot, that I appeared to this young Prince not only to be a Maiden, but also for a fair one, so that he became marvellously amorous of me.  
So that not only the Father, but also the Son pressed even without measure, this loathsome and vexatious Marriage. As for me, I used all the delays possible, for whatever resolution I had taken, I had always some repugnancy, to come to this extremity against a young Prince, which was not culpable as yet, of the Cruelties of his Father. I was a thousand times tempted to poniard the Father, with open force in the midst of his Guards, and should have done it without hesitation, if my Mother had not by all the cautions imaginable, impeded the execution of an enterprise, from the danger whereof she well saw it was impossible I should escape, and see if I spared any thing to dispense me to come to that cruel Remedy, to which our disgrace had reduced us, and if I forget any thing of that which would prolong time, in managing some other occasion to draw us out of captivity.  
I remember that one day the Prince of Crete, found me extraordinary melancholy, and having entreated me to tell him the cause, I spoke to him in these terms, according to the Instructions my Mother had given them. My Lord, shall I freely avow you the subject of my heaviness? Yes, I believe you too generous to abuse my Confidence, and I believe that when you know my resentments, you will find no other than so much more worthy of the honour that you do me. Know then, My Lord, that this long captivity wherein even to this present, I have led my life, hath not caused me to forget the Honour and Dignity of my Birth, and in the midst of the very Prison, I have conserved a frank heart, and uncapable of delight for the violence and tyranny. In the interim, my Lord, I dare tell you, that one is, that the King your Father exerciseth towards me, when he presseth me with so much impatience to espouse you. I know you are a great Prince, and that you have all the Qualities worthy of your Birth, and that there are those much more Happy and Fortunate than myself, hold them honoured in seeking or making after you; but the same honour that I would accept joyfully in Liberty, becomes the subject of my Grief, when I observe how they prevail upon the Condition wherein I am, to necessitate and constrain me. Is this a Marriage to which they have destinated me? or is this a new yoke which they impose upon my servitude? Is this a yoke that must be born, be not astonished that a free and frank Soul submits not thereunto without perplexity. But if it is a Marriage they offer me, let them give me time at least to know, and to love the Spouse to which they design me, and that I might imagine I had chosen him; for (in brief) my Lord, is it not in the Prison that they propose this my Marriage? Had I ever almost the honour of your acquaintance, and is not this the fourth or fifth time at most, that I have had to discourse you? it is not that in these four or five times, as I have said already, I have not acknowledged in you all the Qualifications, that may be desired in an excellent Prince: But, my Lord, friendship hath not its birth in a moment, nor yet esteem, but principally and especially when they seem to make it to be born by constraint and force. Let them permit me a little to sound and consult my own heart, in a liberty totally entire; Let them give me leisure to discern if I accept you through necessity or inclination, and that I may be able to let you know, that I yield not to my misfortune, but to the sole consideration of your worth.  
This discourse touched the Prince, and instead of answering me, I saw that he betook himself almost to weep, but the consequence made me observe, that it was debility of Soul and of Displeasure, and that I seemed willing to withdraw his joy, and not of tenderness and compassion. For although he promised me a little afterwards, that he would do what possible he could to prevail with his Father to grant me time I craved, I knew he pressed him privately the accomplishing our word, and that even he himself would remove all obstacles, upon condition that we should think to oppose.  
All things were then preparing for the solemnisation of these happy Nuptials, and I for my own part provided for that which to me was necessary for the execution of my Project; howsoever because that though the necessity to which they reduced me, would sufficiently justify my Design, I could not therefore resolve to kill a Man, which had been without defence, I who esteemed myself a Man as well as me Enemy, and in spite of the great inequality of our Birth, judged not myself inferior to him in force and courage; I appointed that they should bring me two Poniards instead of one, determining that when the one and the other of us should be retired into our Chamber, to shut the doors upon us, and then give him one to choose, and tell him that I was a Man, and to oblige him by this declaration, to decide amongst ourselves, by ways of honour, the ancient Quarrel of our Houses. This resolution and these preparatives being made, I remitted the success to the Gods, and intended no other than to appear calm and gay, as far as was necessary to avoid any suspicion.  
Never was festival Day more magnificent, and she in no wise was concerned for the bad Success that might attend her. The Evening they conducted me to my Chamber, the Prince rendered himself there, and all the company went to retire; when that we understood one of the Maidens which served me, to cry out Treason and Murder, and that we saw her approach to us, a Poniard in one hand and the other all bloody, they demanded what ailed her, and found that as I had thrust my Poniards, with so much precipitancy under the bolster of my bed, that the bed was in disorder. This Maiden to whom my intention was unknown, went to set it in order, and unfortunately meeting the point of the one, whereby she was wounded, as we saw her, immediately behold all the Palace alarmed, the Prince troubled, the King furious, all the suspected Domestics imprisoned; in fine, by diligent inquiries made through the Fields, they discovered that a Slave of the Queens had brought me these Poniards the self same day. Then behold all the suspicion fell upon the Queen and myself, they fixed us the same night in two different Prisons, and examined us separately the next day. Besides that it had been difficult to me, to dissemble that which was, I held it unworthy in me to deny a Design, which I deemed lawful. I avowed all, only the quality of my Sex, which seemed nothing neither as to my Crime nor to my justification, on which they interrogated me not. I contrived only how to save the Queen, and with very much tranquillity and serenity prepared myself to die. But how much soever my endeavours were to justify her, to bring the burden upon myself, so much essayed she to persuade them that she was solely culpable, who forcibly had inspired me with the design. Briefly, in all she endeavoured to save my Life to the loss of her own. Our cares were reciprocally of no utility, they served only to render us both convict, and not to perplex us by a piece-meal process, we were both condemned to death. I confess unto you, Tarsis, that the small virtue and resolution which I had vanished away, when I knew that Sentence was pronounced against the Queen. I did not only reflect on that part which was like to fall upon my own head, I abandoned myself totally out of the tenderness I had to her, resenting only her own Misfortunes.  
I had these regrets, when I heard the doors of my Prison opened, I believed they came to lead me to Execution, and had some kind of joy, for my Life was a burden to me, under the Pressures and Anguishes wherein I was surrounded. My sole desire was, that I might embrace my Mother before my death, and desired it of him who entered before he told me upon what account he came. But, good Gods, what reply! Let's pass I beseech you, O Tarsis, a place so mournful to my remembrance, I had not yet the courage to speak of so tragical and so lamentable an Encounter, he declared that he came from the Queen's immediate Execution, and that she died as valiantly as an Hero; and as form, the Prince had out of passionate love so far prevailed for a commutation of the Sentence, as that I should be transported into an Island in the Egean Sea; and believed he had done me a singular favour; I cried out, O hopeless I, go, go tell him, do I continue to address to him who hath acted his part? I will court none of his favours, and if any, it's that I may follow my mother. I would have added, and prayed the Person that I might have liberty to speak one only word to the King or Prince, having resolved to declare openly whatever I was, believing that I had nothing to stand in fear for, than for myself alone. But interrupting me, would not hear nor understand me, declared he was commanded to constrain me to departed without delay, the Vessel ready, and that he came to cause me to embark, immediately he led me, or, rather to say, compelled me by force, even to the Port. They by mere compulsion, in spite of all imaginable resistance forced me to embark, and conducted me to the Isle of Naxos, one of the Territories that belong to the King of Crete, and shut me up within the Dungeon of an old Castle, who had no other prospect than the Sea and the Rocks. I will not molest you with the relation of this ghastly captivity, nor with the Endeavours, that I unprofitably used to procure my Liberty, or deprive me of Life. I will tell you only, that the Prince of Crete had very lately some important and private Affair to dispatch Personally at Pidne, and passed through the Egean Sea, where the sight of the Isle, wherein I was, brought me into his Mind: and whether his wrath was appeased, or whether he had some Design which I knew not, it fell out that he landed here, and sent a Vessel to take me in at Naxos, with Orders that I should be brought to a City, situated in the entrance into that Valley of the Macedonian side, eighteen or twenty furlongs from hence, and I seemed to understand it to be called Gonnes. We arrived here yesterday, and in the Evening I took an occasion, which by chance happened to me, to steal away unknown to the Guards, who supposed that a young Maiden would not attempt flight, in an unknown Country so far distant from her own.  
I made up by chance to the house of an old Mariner, with whom you have found me here, who agreed to bring me to the first Port, where I might conveniently embark for Chypre. I provided me Apparel to departed with the most security.  
Then when I was surprised by these three Men, whom you have seen, which are of the Guards, which conducted me to Gonnes, and who without tracked me, and discovered the Place I retired to. But in fine you have delivered me, most generous Tarsis, and out of my resentment of so signal a piece of service, I have taken pleasure to tell you (at least) the name of him, whom you have so obliged, the justice of the Cause you have supported, and the unfortunate necessity, which serves to excuse me, neither can I at present, testify my acknowledgements otherwise than in words; that which I have to desire of you at present, that you would vouchsafe to instruct me a little, is, with the Card of the Country, as well as in the State, and interests of the neighbouring Cities, that I may accordingly take measures for my Retreat; for all that I can draw from this Mariner, doth not otherwise enlighten me, than to perplex and confound me, there being an impossibility to comprehend any thing from his dictates.  
Whilst the Prince thus spoke, Tarsis was strangely impatient, for he had as we have seen a perplexity of Soul, which rendered him almost uncapable of being sensible of that and of another's; wherefore he embarked not, throughly to understand the historical relation of the Prince of Chypre, but in hopes as all those ordinarily have, which are in trouble to learn on all hands, news of those whom they are in quest of. So that since the consequence of the discourse of Amalecinte, that the hazards of this Prince had no connexion with those of his, he had a thousand regrets, when he had lost the opportunity of hearing them, and left no means unattempted, convenient to reingage himself in his conversation. Howbeit the quality of the Person with whom he had been, permitting him not absolutely to conform to his passion, and the rights of hospitality suffered him not to refuse so great a Prince the Instruction he required, in relation to his Country. He strove to give him all requisite illumination, but it was with all brevity possible, and in these terms. My Lord, said he (after some testimony of acknowledgements and respects) you know undoubtedly that the Valley of Tempé is of Thessaly, as well as the major part of the Cities which are on the Thermaique Gulf, on the south side. Since Philip King of Macedon and father to Alexander the Great, this Province hath always been subject to the Kings of Macedonia, but I vow unto you, that I know not almost at present who are our Masters. For since the death of Alexander the Great, Macedonia hath changed so often and so suddenly so many Kings, that scarcely have they sometimes given opportunity to their Subjects to learn their Names. Moreover there are about two or three years, that Brennus to come and fall upon Macedonia, with that great Army of Gauls, which overwhelmed, as you know, all Grecia; Demetrius then King of Macedonia to whom our Original, communicated with that of our new Enemies rendered us suspicious, sent us here for our Governor, a Lord of Albania named Alcime to impede the Intelligences, that they feared betwixt us and them, and to impose upon us a new Oath of Allegiance. He appointed him also his principal Troops, to place them in Garrisons within our Cities: But by this means he became so Potent, that this Governor being a little afterwards in League with Lysimachus King of Thrace, and a little after with Ptolomee Ceraune, eldest Son to the King of Egypt, to drive away his Master from Macedonia; he advanced himself, as a kind of Sovereign. But Ceraune having in conclusion been defeated, and Antigonus son of Demetrius, being by that remounted upon the Throne of his Father; Alcime who knew that this young Prince prepared himself to come and punish his Treason; immediately used endeavours to conclude a Peace, at least to put himself under the protection of some King who might support him; and possibly it might be that, to transact something on this Subject, that the Prince of Crete should come to Pidne, where Alcime made his residence. But however it be, my Lord, if it be permitted me to offer the House of a Shepherd, to so great a Prince, I dare tell you that my Father, and one of my Brothers, have each of them one in this Valley, where you may continue as long time as you please unknown, and where you may at your leisure liberally take such measures as you shall judge expedient, for the success of your Designs. Amalecinte thanked him very courteously, and having testified him, what he judged convenient for their security, they embarked the self same night, and together took the way from the Mariners house, arming themselves for all hazards, each one with a Sword.  
They already found all this Family alarmed with the Accident whereof we have spoken, and it was immediately, that they were transported with such joy, when they saw the young Prince to return, that he absolutely lost all suspicion, which he had had that the people had betrayed him. However he was amazed, when he would have pressed the Mariner to departed, observing the old Dotard to recoil always with new excuses; so that the young Prince being by little and little warmed, in conclusion grew impatient, and so taking his Sword in one hand, and with the other seizing the good Man, compelled him by force to the bark, and made him enter it, with such precipitancy, that he had even forgotten to change Apparel, which before he resolved upon.  
Tarsis having seen him departed, betook himself to run here and there upon the River's bank, his mind still preoccupied, with the transportation of Zelie, and so alarmed, that he could not express himself. It was then a Season when the Nights are shortest, so that the day appeared immediately after, and with the Day light appeared, also three Shepherds, whom he had known to be, Telamonius, Ergaste and Celemante, Telamonius was that Brother, whose House he had offered to the Prince of Chypre. He was the most sagacious and judicious Shepherd of all the Country, and was bound to Tarsis in such a perfect bond of friendship, that it exceeded even their affinity. He had espoused Philiste elder Sister of Zelie, and was marvellously prevalent by means of this alliance to savour the love of his Brother. Inquietude had caused him to go forth very early in the quest of Tarsis, Telamonius very well knew, that at least by some extraordinary accident, he would not have failed his word.  
Ergaste and Telamonius, were both neighbours to Telamonius, who came from the next Village or Hamlet, driving together their Flocks to feed by the River's side, and that Telamonius had a little before joined them, to inquire of them news of his Brother. Telamonius and Ergaste entertained themselves yet together, when Tarsis discerned them, Celemante, played upon a Flute a few Paces behind them, after they had seen Tarsis, Telamonius ran to him very joyfully, and although he had embraced him, he ceased not afterwards to reproach him, for the perplexity wherein he had put him. Ergaste and Celemante approached him immediately afterwards, and Celemante who had checked him, betook himself even to jest with him, as if he had believed, that Tarsis had been retained by night, by deputation of some Shepherd. But they were all much amazed, when he made them all sad; by recital of his adventure. They could not doubt of the truth of some part of that which he declared them, because he had led them into the Wood, where were yet found the bodies of two of the Guards whom he had slain, but they could not yield, to that which he had related them of silly. For said Telamonius, they must either have conveyed her away, or must have caused her to be conveyed away by force. That she was carried by force there was no manner of appearance; because that besides the Words that we have recited you, she would not have failed to answer you, nor yet to have demanded your aid and cried out, then when you were mentioned to her. To believe also that she caused herself to be carried away, that supposition is absolutely repugnant to the virtue and incomparable Wisdom of Zelie.  
Dear Tarsis, replied Ergaste, shall I tell you my thoughts. That part of your adventure, hath the very face of a Vision, your imagination is forestalled by your Love, so that all that you see personates Zelie, all that you hear, seemeth to be her voice, and this is not the first illusion, by which an amorous Person, hath been deceived after this rate. Ha! through favour, do not jest Ergaste, replied Tarsis, for I am throughly disquieted by a thousand thoughts. I also jest not, replied Ergaste, do you not call to mind that which you have formerly learned in the Schools of Divine Plato, that our Memories do bring to our thoughts, the Ideas of all the things we have seen, and causeth so great an amass or heap of th●se that we have very often seen, and which to him are so delectable, that in the abundance of that whereof he is glutted (for so I express it) she represents herself sometimes contrary to our imaginations, it's that which abuseth, and makes us believe, we have seen the things that we have not therefore done? Ergaste added, still laughing Celemante, that which I have often learned in the Gardens of the great Epicure; that the Air is full of certain Images, which every moment comes forth of the body, and representing themselves to our view, form those Visions, which the Vulgar call Ghosts and Scarcrows. He still persisted in jesting, if it comes out of all Bodies, it must also come out of that of Zelie, and as Tarsis hath told us, that at the moment that he believed he had seen him, he was turned to the River's side, towards the hamlet of Calioure where she dwelled, 'tis no wonder that he saw some kind of Image come forth which resembled her. You may jest with me as much as you please said Tarsis, but would to God, that what I have told you, were not a very great truth. But my Brother, added he, sadly beholding Telamonius; is it possible that Lencippe and Milicerte have not advertised you of this fatal accident? I came out so early replied Telamonius, that I was not able to tell you the news.  
With the like Discourse they approached again to the River, whence casting their Eyes over to the other side, they perceived a great number of Persons, a little below Calioure, and they observed even in the crowd, Lencippe and Melicerte, Father and Mother of Zelie. When Tarsis had even till then doubted of his Misfortune, that which he saw would have done no other, than to have too much confirmed him, for it was easy to judge by their Action, that they were in some trouble, and it could not be doubted, but that it was for their Daughter. Ha! my Brother cried out immediately this desolate Shepherd, in turning himself towards Telamonius, all is lost, and without further discourse, betook himself into the first Boat he met withal, and went directly where he saw Lencippe and Melicerte; they were surprised at his approach, for as much as there was already some time past, that he had not further visited them for reasons, that hereafter shall be explicated, and their astonishment principally was augmented, when he enquired, whether his Misfortune were true, and whether they sought not for Zelie.  
And indeed, as it was that, that they were come, they knew the love the Shepherd bore towards her, the length of the research which he had made, the Obstacles that Lencippe there had brought, what resolutions are capable of a passion so extraordinary as those of Tarsis, and besides all, that a Man whom they had sent to Telamonius, had reported to them, that he went in quest of Tarsis, who had passed the night without the Hamlet, it was impossible, but that they should fall into great suspicion of this Shepherd. However the freedom and ingenuity with which he related to them, that which happened the preceding Evening, the tears which fell in abundance from his Eyes, and above all the knowledge they had of his virtue, effaced all these Impressions.  
Melicette declared to him then, how silly had been conveyed away without their perception, till the morning, and she related him all the circumstances which she knew, the tears in his Eyes, with the perplexity that might be imagined, on this occasion in the Mind of the tenderest Mother throughout the World. While she spoke, the Shepherd steadfastly fixed his Eyes downwards, and gathering together all the circumstances that he had learned on this occasion, he verily had good ground to believe that Zelie, had caused herself to be conveyed away. And because so great a love as his, is susceptible of all fear imaginable, a little jealousy made him apprehend, she had not done it, but that through the disposition of some new affection, and in effect he could conceive of no other cause.  
O just Heaven, cried he, in that thought, could it be possible that silly had forgotten so much virtue? and that the most retentive and discreetest of all the Shepherds, was become the most ....? The respect stopped him there, and instead of finishing; No Melicerte, added he, beholding her with tears still in his Eyes; I rather imagine some other thing, than to permit the least thought, to wound the virtue of the incomparable silly.  
In thus discoursing they descended along the River, and Melicerte recounted to Tarsis, that after some Weeks, that he had withdrawn from Zelie, that Shepherdess had lived in a retiring and extraordinary solitude, not suffering the company of any whosoever, except one Nephew of Melicerte, who lately was returned from a long Voyage, and who was named Alpide. At this word, Tarsis remembering himself to have heard this name Alpide, by the old Mariner, whom he had taken the preceding Evening for him, recounted that passage to Melicerte with some show of suspicion, which he began to conceive of him: and because he was there amongst those that sought after silly, Melicerte immediately asked him, to see whether he believed that he was the same, whom he had seen the preceding night in the Boat. Tarsis who knew him not, because that Alpide was not returned to Calioure, but since the Shepherd went not there, looked for him a long time, but besides that it had been difficult for him to know the visage of a Man, whom he had not seen but during an obscure night, being swimming in a River, and during the trouble and anguish of Mind, as we have described. Alpide himself also testified so much of anxiety and grief at the loss of Zelie, and he manifested so much concerned in her research, that his Action together with the near Affinity which he had with the Shepherdess, caused them to abandon also the suspicion that they could have had of him.  
Some time afterwards, Tarsis and Melicerte still descending, they arrived almost at the mouth of the River, and when they were over against a Boat which was there fastened to a Willow, Melicerte casting her Eyes there by chance, perceived in the bottom a great Roll of Papers, which he seemed often to have seen with Zelie. Tarsis to whom she shown it, ran readily to gather it up, and knew that it was a parcel of Letters and Verses, that he had formerly composed, upon the subject of their Love, whereof this Shepherdess had taken pleasure to collect together, and often carried with her. The Shepherd having often brought them to Melicerte, both one and another were so astonished, that they knew not almost what to say.  
After they had descended a little lower they found themselves near a little House, which reached or stood over the water, where Melicerte enquired for news, whilst Tarsis stood to question the herdsmen, which there kept some Cattle. She found the door open, and seeing no Person in the first Chamber, she called aloud to cause some one to come. At the same time came forth an old Woman out of another Chamber, who made signs with Eyes and Hands, not to make so much noise, and who approaching to her very softly said, that there was on the other side one sick who slept, and besought her not to awake her. Melicerte on these Words conceived some hope, she being much moved demanded who this sick one was, and declared her the subject of her anxiety, as of her demand. Then the old one taking her by the hand, led her out of the door, to speak with more freedom, and afterwards declared to her, that the preceding day about Noon, a Boat who carried four or five Persons, having been wracked at the River's mouth, her husband who was a fisherman had saved a young Maid of admirable beauty, who was named Hipolite, that her Parents, as she had told them, had sent into the Isle of Daphnides to be there a Nun. She added, that according to their small apprehension, this Maiden had no great inclination to proceed there, and that it was true, that the indisposition caused by her accident, had not permitted her to effect it; that she was at present lulled asleep, not having doubtless taken rest all the night.  
These circumstances being lively and properly declared by this Woman, caused Melicerte to judge that this unknown was no other than silly, however as all was to her suspect, she had the curiosity to see her. The old one therefore led her, as soft as possible, into the Chamber, where she reposed, and Melicerte had no sooner set in her feet, but was well assured she was her Daughter, for she discerned near the Bed, Attire which had no similitude to those of Zelie. She observed even what Papers were scattered upon the Table, there to be dried, and in approaching, knew that they were recommendations for this Maiden whose name she saw was that of Hipolite. She therefore retired without any further enquiry and returned, mixing her moans and regrets to those of the disconsolate Tarsis.  
In the interim, this tragical accident having been divulged of all sides, a company of Shepherds came to offer themselves to Lencippe, because he was one of the most considerable of the Country, and a multitude of Shepherds also came to make their Compliments to the wise Milicerte, and to the virtuous Philiste wife of Telamonius, who promptly came to render himself to his Mother, since she had advertized the accident of her Sister. Tarsis whose anxiety rendered the company so much the more insupportable, that every one on this accident cast his Eyes up, in regard there was not any Person to whom his love was unknown: insensibly stole himself from the press, went and thrust himself into a small Grove which was hard by, there to bemoan himself with more liberty. He there sat upon the Grass, his back leaning against a Tree, his Hat fallen over his Eyes, with his Arms across and in this state, having burst forth a thousand Sobs, he betook him again to perplex his Spirits with a thousand reflections, wherein he neither became more knowing nor yet consolate. But contrarily the torment and toil, which he gave to his Spirits, through so many melancholy thoughts, a hundred times reverberated, served for no other use, than to overwhelm him with despair. Now he doubted that silly had not been conveyed away by force, then that she had not caused herself to be carried off, and sometimes he fell into conceit that she might be drowned, and in that thought he was ready to precipitate himself in the same Waves where he believed her buried. After many confused reasonings and revolving on all these Imaginations, he meditated or contemplated this roll of Papers which he had set upon his knees, and opened them to see whether he should not there meet some writing or other of Zelies, which might enlighten him in the Design he had resolved upon. He therefore unknit the string which bond them together, and unfolding them before him, the first Paper which fell into his hands contained these lines,  

Of a Charm so sensible and so delicious,  
And of so many Pleasures the Soul finds itself ravished,  
from the first moment that they saw you, adorable Zelie.  
That she tastes here below all the Pleasures of Heaven;  
But amongst all the transports of an infinite joy,  
A poison so subtle and pernicious,  
Even from the bottom of the heart,  
Trickled down from the Eyes,  
That must soon or late cost loss of Life:  
So that by two effects in equal Prodigies,  
You make so many benefits,  
And cause so many Evils;  
That remaining confused in the doubt wherein we are,  
We cannot judge, if the Gods in displeasure  
For our Chastisement gave you amongst Men,  
Or if they had pity upon Us.   
Ha' Tarsis! thereupon cried this poor Shepherd, that this doubt is now explained, and 'tis this day easy to judge, that the Gods cause thee not to see silly, but to make thee suffer the most exquisite Torments that the most culpable are chastised with. After these Words, he remained a small space of time without speech, his Eyes fixed before him, however unfastned on any Object; and in such a manner, that it might be well seen, that all his apprehensions were contracted in him, and that he was solely taken up with his anguish. He returned in conclusion with a profound sigh, and took the second Paper which he found under his hands, which he did but run over slightly where there were these Words,  

Since thou wilt know, why thou seest me pale and wan, Melancholy and languishing.  
Learn Telamonius that I Love,  
And so much the more, because that I am absent.   

But alas it is but too little to tell what, or, who I Love.  
The Object that I love hath so many attractives,  
That there was never one of the same,  
Nor will they ever see any.   

Her Stature, her Visage, and her Eyes full of flame,  
Displayeth us a thousand treasures:  
And I know not whether her Soul,  
Can be more fair than her Body.   

A thousand and a thousand Shepherds  
adore this fair one.  
But they are all fair that adore her,  
thousands do sigh after her,  
Not one can cause her to sigh.   

Near her alone I have found some favour,  
She hath some kindness for me:  
Or rather 'tis too much audacity,  
She hath taken some pity.   

They would say; what suffers she herself in her own heart,  
The Evil or Sorrow with which mine is overtaken,  
And if the Shepherdess love me not,  
I believe that she at least condoles me.   

Demand not therefore why thou seest me languishing,  
Melancholy and grown wan;  
Since thou Shepherd knowest that I love thee,  
And that that which I Love is absent.   
Poor Tarsis, continued he, (for he remembered since he cast his Eyes on those Lines, of the occasion whereof they were made,) what Complaints oughtest thou not now to make, if thou so bemoanest thyself, in a time wherein thou wert happy? Thou wert absent, but it was to see silly again very speedily, and thou perhaps shalt never see her again. In thus speaking, he took a third Paper, wherein was traced what followeth.  
Tarsis and Zelie.  
My amiable Shepherd,  
it may be, I have in effect some wrong to afflict myself so much, and that I should comfort myself in all my Evils, only to think that you loved me. Therefore then conceive, that this second Voyage of Athens, wherewith they menace me, is at least a Month's absence.  
Certainly when I thereof think, I doubt almost, whether I am not to much solaced, because there are already two days that they discoursed me concerning that Voyage, and yet am still living.  
If I must yet abandon silly in that deplorable condition wherein you see me, I must relinquish Life, for of that Malady they never escape twice.  
TARSIS.  
Ha' Fortune! cried Tarsis, in putting up this Paper in some heat, wilt thou present me with no other than these things, or who speaks of the beauty of Zelie, to repeat the displeasure I have at her loss or by the memory of a light absence, makes me contemplate the difference that there is betwixt my present Evil, with that which is past, and how more unfortunate I am this day, than I have been in all the disgraces I have had in my life? At these Words, he finished impatiently running over all the rest, and having found nothing there of what he was in quest, he rebound up the Papers, so having gathered them, he drew his Hat again over his Eyes, leaning his head upon his two hands, both Elbows on his two knees; and in this posture, he revolved in his Mind a thousand mournful Designs, and without doubt would have executed some one of them in the Field, if one light beam of hope, which yet remained with him, which at this present juncture saved him from desperation.   
The End of the First Book.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Second BOOK.  
THE Valley of Tempè which should be the Scene of our History, and the famous Theatre of so many rare and renowned Adventures, hath in length about forty furlongs, that's to say, a little more than two Leagues. It commenceth at the City of Gonnes, towards the West, and following the course of the River Penée, which traverseth through the midst, she finisheth with it towards the East in the same place, where meeting the famous Helicon, they degorge themselves together within the Thermaique Gulf. The Mount Olimpio boundeth its breadth in the North, in the South it's with the Mount Ossa: the first is covered with a Forest of Birch and Laurel Trees, the second with one of Pine Trees, and you would say that Nature had enclosed this admirable Valley, between these two Mountains, as between strong and invincible Rails, for facilitating to its Inhabitants, the conservation of the most rare, and the most accomplished of its primest and chiefest Works. In effect they may say, that there is nothing beautifully form else where, which is not found within this small space. There may be seen Plains, Valleys, Meadows, quantities of Groves, an infinite number of small Rivulets and Fountains, the Waters whereof serve as a Sovereign Remedy against divers Maladies, and all that is so marvellously diversified and adorned, with such a number of fair Hamlets and small Villages, that it's impossible to imagine any thing more delectable. The most considerable of its Hamlets are Hipique, being the first, they meet on the left hand coming from Gonnes, descending a long the River to the Seaward; Cenome which appears on the same side, about twenty five or thirty furlongs lower; and Calioure which is on the other side of the River, more yet towards the Sea, and almost upon the brink of the Gulf. At Calioure was the habitation of Lencippe and of Melicerte, Father and Mother of Zelie, at Cenome, that of Telamonius and Philiste, and that of Alcidias' Father of Telamonius, and of Tarsis was of Hipique. As for Tarsis, he ordinarily dwelled with his Father, but he omitted not therefore to lie often at Telamon's.  
As for this last Night, he had not (as we have seen) lain at Telamon's, nor yet at Alcidias, he's so, that in the Condition wherein we have depainted him, reflecting upon the Words of Zelie, which he had heard the preceding Evening (That I bewail thee most dear Tarsis, and that thou shalt be touched, when they shall bring thee this news,) it came in his Mind, that this Shepherdess might have sent to Cenome, the habitation of Telamonius, or to the Hippique at the dwelling of Alcidias to bring a Ticket, to advertise him of his Design, and that not being there, they might leave it with some of the Domestiques, to deliver at his return. In this Imagination, he rudely risen from the place where he sat, repassed the River, and again took the way of Cenome, and having found nothing there of what he sought, he afterwards took that of Hippique, after he had discharged himself of the roll of Papers whereof we have spoken, and after giving directions to leave it with Telamonius or Philiste to keep it for him.  
He was already on the dependences of the house of Alcidias within a Valley, where the way on one side's Board's upon a Meadow, and the other upon a Pond, when he saw a Horse tied to some Branch under a Tree, at the entrance into the Meadow, and an unknown one sit near the brink of a Fountain which ran amongst those Willows, and which formed the Pond for the discharge of the Waters. This unknown was covered with Armour, enameled with black, raised up on all borders with a twist of Gold, the head-piece black and welt as the rest of his Armour, shadowed with some quantity of Feathers of the same colour, and his Shield was upon the Grass near his Dart, had for a Coat or Emblem, a Lance fastened to the trunk of a Tree, almost ready consumed with fire, the Flame appeared as though 'twere agitated by Winds, and beaten with a furious Rain which seemed to do it in spite, but unprofitably, although they used all endeavours to quench it, there were these Words above, It's too much lighted.  
Some Paces behind this unknown was his Squire, his feet also upon the ground, but standing upright his back leaning on a Willow, the bridle of his Horse passed within one of his Arms, which he held across, and his Eyes fixed upon his Master whom he looked upon, uttering from time to time long sighs, whilst that he, the Viser of whose Casket was advanced, who held in his hand a small Book, which he read with much attention.  
Although the posture wherein he was, permitted not Tarsis well to consider him, howbeit he saw enough, that his Visage was fair, the Countenance raised, the Port and Stature high, the Air melancholy, yet noble, and so observing him, found that in all things he should be an extraordinary Person. However this Shepherd who was pressed to terminate his Voyage, through impatience that he left no place to his curiosity, still hastening to pass farther, and was already one hundred Paces from thence, when he heard a great noise behind him, and having turned about his head, he discovered four Men on horse back who with Lance in hand, made up again upon this unknown. The cowardice of these Assassins who attached him, being in number so disproportionable, moved Tarsis to indignation, and as he had the most generous, and the fairest Soul in the World, he drew the Sword wherewith, as we have lately said, he was armed, and rashly returned to his Succour, who apparently was weakest. But this courageous Man, had therefore no need, for before that Tarsis was with him, being already mounted on horseback, he had with his Dart pierced the foremost of these Cavaliers, and selled him dead to the ground, he had cut the hand off of the following Comrade by a back blow with his Sword, and by this fortunate beginning, he had in conclusion so affrighted the two others, that being themselves contented Cowards, they threw their Darts to him a far off, and betook themselves to flight.  
The unknown would not continue there, but pursued them, Sword in hand, with all the speed he could, his Squire doing the same; so that the Shepherd who was on foot, not being able to follow, he soon lost sight of them.  
In the interim he approached to the wounded Person, and having taken off his Helmet to know whether he were yet living, he saw him open his eyes weakly, and heard him speak these Words with many repetitions. O unfortunate Pallante, Is that the fruit of so many Crimes, if you are just Gods, punish also the Traitor Menelas. Ah Pyrrhus! Antigone! you are avenged. Death cut off his Voice in this discourse, and the Shepherd saw paleness to scatter all at once upon his face at that last word.  
Tarsis had not always lived such a Shepherd, but that he knew, that the King who then reigned in Epirus was called Pyrrhus, and that that Prince was one of the Prime, and one of the most valiant Monarches of the World, so that this Encounter gave him great subjects of astonishment, but his Surprise was otherwise, then when he perceived lying at his feet, the same Book which before was read by the first unknown; and when these Words appeared to him, at the top of the first Page, where it was by chance opened. They skipped into his sight, (for so I may say) because they were in a very great Character.  

History of Kion and Leonides, written by Straton of Lamsaque, to the Prince Philadelphe.  
IT is not possible to express, what was the amazement of the Shepherd, when he saw these two Names of Kion and Leonides at the Frontispiece of this Work, he immediately took it up, to see whether he were not deceived, and having there yet read over again the same Words, and besides having slightly ran over some Pages, he found himself so surprised, that he began to doubt, whether this and the preceding Passages were not a dream.  
In sum, it's not possible to delineate or portray any thing more surprising than was that, which he had found written in that Book, as we shall see in its proper place. However he could not forbear to read it from one end to the other, and being only content by the beginning and the end, what the rest contained, he cried: Ah! the news I seek after, is not for Kion and Leonides, I would know none but that of Zelie. Ah poor Leonides, thy disgraces are pleasant in comparison of those of the unfortunate Tarsis! O Tarsis, why hast thou survived Leonides.  
At these Words, crossing his Arms athwart before him, he remained some space  all in a sweat, that the Book fell out of his hands without his heed. In conclusion, being a little afterwards come out of his sweat, he departed thence, and went his way towards Hippique.  
In the interim, Telamonius was on the other side in great trouble about Tarsis, and sought him every where, being accompanied by Ergaste, Celamante and another stranger that joined them also, and behold in what manner.  
Amongst the crowd of all those, which the accident of Zelie, had drawn together by the River side. A Man of thirty eight or forty years of age, addressing himself to Telamonius, said. May I know the reason, why so many People are assembled here together? Telamonius having beheld him, believed he had seen his face else where; and in effect by serious consideration, he knew him to be an Athenian, with whom he had formerly born Arms in the Service of the Thebeans. What Agamée, said he unto him (for he remembered that so he was named) Ha! who hath brought you here amongst us? Alas! Telamonius, (replied the other, who likewise knew him,) you ask me a thing which requires a long explication. All that I can tell you in one word, that is, that I fly my disgrace, and come to seek your repose. You see, replied Telamonius, that you take an ill time: for besides, that's, there is a long time past, that Tempé is no more (so to speak) itself; we are so alarmed, by the taking away of one of the most considerable Shepherdess of the Country, that we were never so much disordered and afflicted. And as for me, I am concerned more than any other; because that this Shepherdess is my Sister-in law, and one of my Brothers is so exceedingly amorous of her, that he is altogether disconsolate. I bewail his displeasure, more than I do his Fortune, answered Agamée; for I would that he apprehended only that of mine to consolate him, if he yet is capable of reason. He would see, that he could not be grateful enough to Fortune, if it could thence withdraw his disire to be married. But I should be obliged to you, replied Telamonius, if you could assist me, in giving him some comfort: for he so loved this Shepherdess, and I saw him so anxious, that I believe not, if the Gods have not pity upon him, but that he will die.  
In speaking so, he sought Tarsis amongst the Crowd, and not finding him, he called Ergaste, to know, if he saw him not on his side. Celamante who understood Telamonius, spoke to him and said: I also sought him myself, and began to be in pain, because a Shepherd lately ●nform'd me, that he had seen him to draw towards the little Grove, that you see on the left hand, and that his countenance was so sad, that we should do very well not to leave him alone.  
This discourse alarmed Telamonius, he besought Celamante to aid him in seeking him out, and demanded pardon of Agamée, if he should quit him; Agamée offered himself to follow him and Telamonius, having received his offer civilly, they went together towards the little Grove, where was entered Tarsis.  
In walking Telamonius said to his two friends, which was Agamée, with a summary Elegy of his Merits. Agamée on the other hand, demanded of Telamonius which where Ergaste and Celamante: and certainly these two Shepherds were not unworthy of her curiosity.  
They were sufficiently well shaped in body, and yet more excellent in Mind. Both the one and the other were, Good, Free, Generous, and if there were wherewith to object, in relation to this humour, it is that Ergaste was too prompt, Celemante a little too voluptuous; and besides many natural accomplishments, they had acquired a large addition of others in the Schools of the most Famous Philosophers of Athens, where they had a long time Studied, and there they were bound in such a degree of friendship, that those who knew them ordinarily called them the two Cousins, more in respect of the Union of their Minds, than for their consanguinity which was no other than very far off. In the mean time, it's not possibly to imagine the great contrariety of their tempers and inclinations. Ergaste was of a nature very fiery, and that appeared in the singular vivacity of his Eyes all sparkling with flame, and the most glittering that had been ever seen. His Choler would be moved for the least thing, and oftentimes without any heed he would be chafed in his own proper discourse, that when he believed he had spoken very moderately, others would have supposed, that he had been in very great wrath.  
But contrarily Celemante had a spirit sweet and temperate and it must have been a greater matter to provoke him to anger. Ergaste was melancholy, he took no pleasure very few things, but his Books or in the Society of his most intimate friends, and hated above all things new Acquaintance: Celemante in the reverse, diverted himself equally every where, and took pleasure at all times, to know all men. The first was exact and circumspect with his friends, and as he never came short towards them, in the least Obligation of Friendship, so he could in no wise brook their reciprocal disrespect towards him: the other did not so narrowly regard it, and as he was of humour in all points indulgent towards others, he expected the like treatment. In sum they were observed also to be almost always in dispute one against another, but never in one that was repugnant to friendship.  
That which Ergaste had moreover in particular, is that there was never a man, that was deceived less than himself in his Judgements, and in nothing less, be they Persons, be they Books, be it in other things within his verge. He had found both good and evil, with such exactitude, that the most tedious Contemplations of others, were uncapable to add any thing thereunto. Celemante yet gave out that praise of Ergaste, that he had never known man which would so well love him, to whom he pretended love, and moreover said, that if he knew himself to be a good friend, he had had an Obligation to Ergaste. But that this had been taught him, as a Master doth to little Children, that is to say, in reproving him, and in grumbling without intermission and almost with the Rod in hand.  
Telamonius said not so much to Agamée, he contented himself in letting them understand they were his Relations and near Friends, knowing that he would soon be sensible of all the rest.  
They were half way from the small Grove, where they went to seek Tarsis, when some persons informed them, that they had seen him repass the River and take the way to Cenome. They presently went there, but found him not. They stayed no longer there than the time of taking a small repast or light meal, because 'twas late, and thence went towards Hipique, following the Road as Tarsis had signified to them. Telamonius and Agamée, walked before, and entered together; Ergaste went sweeting behind them; and Celement walked by his side. But because his friend said nothing to him, and his naturally pleasant temper, could not suffer a moment's Melancholy. After he had unprofitably spoken of many things, endeavouring to fix some conversation with him, he began to sing a Song which he had formerly composed, and which began after this sort.  
Reign solely in my heart with freedom, tranquillity and joy,  
Wealth is not wealth without you,  
You are of those whom the Heavens have sent,  
The most solid and the most pleasantly sweet  
And the only one worthy of Us.  
Since he betook himself to sing, Ergaste returned to him with a serious Countenance, and lifting up his Shoulders, twice or thrice shook his head, to signify to him that he sung much out of Season, and in an occasion so unpleasing where he saw his best friends afflicted, Moans had been much more graceful than Songs. Celemante immediately held his peace, and without contest with his friend excused himself, that he not having entertained him in discourse, his singing had escaped him unheedily. But a little after Ergaste being set to raving, Celemante persisted also insensibly to sing without Dreaming the advertization of Ergaste.  
How Love flatters those who are Amorous, with vain hopes of Delights; it's most considerable Contentments are to the wise but places of Execution and Death. Did ever Lover live without uttering a Multitude of Sighs, without bewailing Inhumanity? its pleasure is even a pain, and if it were without pain, it would be without pleasure. Reign solely in my heart, with freedom, tranquillity and joy: Wealth is not wealth without you. You are of those that the Heavens have sent us, the most solid and the most amiably sweet, and the only one worthy of us.  
The sweetest passion is always a very great evil, if it be not an affliction, 'tis at lest an inquietude; the more vexation crosseth an Amorous desire, the more pleasure also abounds, but the greatest pleasure of the World, if it gives me Anxiety, it's no more a pleasure to me.  
Reign solely in my Heart, with Freedom, Peace and Joy, Wealth is not wealth without you. You are of those whom the Heavens have sent us, the most solid and the deliciously sweet, and the only one worthy of us.  
Celemante would have persisted, but Ergaste who had already looked twice or thrice upon him, to cause him to hold his Peace, without the heed of Celemante, observing that he continued without intermission, in conclusion he began to speak to him, saying, Without doubt, Celement, it must be avowed that thou hast but little judgement. For how indifferent soever thou art for thy friends, at leastwise thou shouldest use thy endeavours to conceal thy defaults, and to contain thyself when thou seest them in affliction; and 'twere better for thee not to offer thyself to Telamonius, than to come with him only to sing, and let him see by thy Actions how little regard thou hast to his displeasure. Celemante who (as we have said) without any reflection betook himself to sing, and by a kind of Habit of diverting himself in one sort or other, had no sooner perceived his fault, but joining his hands he turned to Ergaste and said. Oh! my poor Ergaste, I demand thy Pardon, and of Telamonius also. I protest unto thee I remember not hitherto any more of thy reproofs, and I thought no more of thy singing. Ergaste did not thus believe him, and as the kindness he had for him joined with a little inclination he had to reprove all that he disliked of, persuaded him easily to make him out some Lessons on his defaults, and on this Subject it was sufficiently long. Celemante took it in good part, for though the Reprehension was perhaps more earnest than he had deserved, he knew too well, that what Ergaste had done was through excess of friendship, but he would not therefore acknowledge that he was so much overseen, as he would have possessed him he had been; and he fixed himself thereon so much the more willingly, that he might thereby find means to engage him in some discourse. My Instructor, replied he then laughing, you blame me after all for a thing for which I think you aught to commend me; if I sing and if you see me joyful in occasions that are questionable in employing myself for my friends, believe not that this is a fault to interest myself in that which concerns them; but contrarily, this which I I do him of good Will, that I concern myself merrily, when I serve them without regret. Behold, a very fair conceit, said Ergaste: My Friend, when men take a share at the displeasure of their Friends, they have a like displeasure, and are sorrowful with them. I agree thereunto (said Celemante) but when this displeasure or sorrow seems of no use to our friends, they ought to do all that's possible to chase it away. See'st thou, dear Ergaste, friendship goes not to counterfeit the Postures and Faces of our Friends as do the Apes; to laugh when they laugh, and cry when they cry; it is solidly and effectually to secure them when there is an occasion, and to do it handsomely and with a good grace. The greatest number of such as thou seest sad, when they should comfort and serve an afflicted friend, it is not because they see their friend to be so: but where they sergeant themselves, or that they are effectually Melancholy, it's that they should do something which pains them and rejoice the Personage that displeases them; or in fine, because they may be sad for Company, and by reason of one only man, vexation is displeasant and irksome to all the Company. And know, interrupted Ergaste, that this of a man which sings is yet more to those who are really afflicted. I believe nothing, answered Celemante, for when I have affliction I am assured that my friends do me the greatest pleasure in the World, to come and make themselves merry with me. When I am gay and pleasant I have almost no need of them, because I sufficiently divert myself all alone, but when I am sad it's then that I have occasion of my friends to divert me. I see well (said Ergaste, persisting) that thou never hadst any trouble that was really and truly so. Thou oughtest to know that to make a man laugh who is desirous to weep, is as vexatious to him as to make a man weep, who would fain laugh. I believe nothing yet, added Celemante, and I declare unto thee that if thou ever seest me weep, I shall be much obliged to thee for the pains that thou shalt take to make me laugh. It's not but that after all, if I knew that my friends were offended to see me jocund, and that they therefore doubted of my friendship, I would not have done my utmost to abstain from being so. But as I am persuaded they ought to be very well pleased, and that my friendship to them is sufficiently known that exterior demonstrations are needless, I shall do more than endeavour to serve them, and comfort myself all at once.  
Ergaste and Celemante were so bend to this discourse, that they heeded not how much their Comrades were advanced before them, even so much, that there was a long time, that they had lost sight of them, than when they discerned them.  
And truly Telamonius and Ergaste were already in the little Valley, where Tarsis had met those unknown, whereof we had spoken, that Ergaste and Celemante were yet very far. Telamonius and his friend found the Body of this unfortunate one, who was there slain, and after they had considered of him, without knowledge of him, they perceived also that little Book that Tarsis had there likewise met withal. Telamonius was him who first had observed it and taken it up, and it cannot be imagined how it surprised him, when he knew its Subject.  
Agamée observing the astonishment of Telamonius, approached to see the cause also why it was, and taking the Book out of the hands of the Shepherd, (which he left him to carry away without speaking any thing, so much was he amazed) he betook himself to read it there, whilst that Telamonius returned to consider once again the dead Corpse, and attempt to know it. But his endeavours there were all to no purpose. He would willingly have had Ergaste and Celemante with them, to see whether they could assist him to replace its Ideas, and seeing these two Shepherds lingered so long in coming, Telamonius returned to press them. In the Interim Agamée remaining at his Book, read there what follows, without knowing that which had been necessary for him to learn, to render the Lecture more acceptable.  

History of Kion and Leonides, written by Straton of Lampsaque, to the Prince Philadelphee.  
YOur Curiosity my Lord is worthy of you, and it becomes you well to know, the most rare Effects of a Virtue, to whom you own your name. As for me I shall take great pleasure in tracing you out a Memorial of the friendship of two Brothers. The single Picture whereof, I learn is so Famous, that it hath ravished you with Admiration; and to enrich Egypt after you, by a second Example, that all the Ages to come, will envy that of ours.  
Heraclée a City situated upon the Pont Euxin in the Kingdom of Pont, had after the death of the Great Euméne been peaceably governed, by its Senate under the Jurisdiction of old Antigonus: then when the Slaves rebelled against their Masters, and having chosen for their Chief, a Person of mean Parentage, named Clearque, troubled the Tranquillity of that City, and made it the Bloody Theatre of the most horrible inhumanities' that Asia had seen for many Ages. This Clearque was a man bold, violent and cruel in whom all Crimes held place as virtues, when they served the ends of his Ambition. He soon composed a small Army of his Slaves, and being by this means rendered Master of the City, he caused the Senate there to assemble, to deliberate upon some Proposal, that he would there treat of in order to a Peace. Having by this Artifice assembled all the Senators into the Townhouse, he caused them all to be Arrested, made some part of them to be Massacred upon the place, seized upon others whom he imprisoned, lading them with Chains, and afterwards caused them to be inhumanly put to death.  
This was no other than a praeludium to the Cruelties of this detestable Tyrant. He caused to be taken and executed by the like barbarism, all those of the City that were rich and wealthy, and by this general Massacre, having made Widows of all the Women of quality in Heraclea, he recompensed his complices, and by a sacrilegious Attempt, and beyond example, he put the Slaves into the possession of the Wealth, into the Offices, and into the beds of their Masters, the major part of the virtuous Women, not being able to brook so great Indignities, slew themselves upon the Corpse of their Husbands, and there were a considerable number of young Virgins, imitating their courage, sacrificed themselves also, upon those of their Parents.  
Amongst those, there was one named Olympie, who was passionately beloved by a young Stranger, of whose affection she had received great testimonials, and of whom she was greatly enamoured, but above all things she was exceeding tender of her Father and Mother, which would not permit her to survive them, nor yet to let them be unrevenged. She would have a thousand times given her Life to render them, this sad and deplorable duty, and you may well judge, that there was not any thing in the World, which she would not willingly have sacrificed in this design, by the strange and unparallelled Resolution, which her anxious and perplexed state had made her to undertake. She was tempted a thousand times to go herself personally to poniard the Tyrant; but after she had seen the impossibility of this Interprize by a young Maiden, after consideration had of an Attempt of this nature, without any effect, would serve but as an advertisement to Clearque, and thereby oblige him to hold himself well guarded, and precaution him against all hazards and events.  
She sent for her Lover, and having showed him the Body of her Mother, stretched out all bloody upon the floor of her Chamber. Kion said she, melting into tears, you see the consequences of the Cruelties of Clearque, and to what Extremities he reduced my Mother, after he had been the barbarous Executioner of my Father. That's to say Kion, that I must die, for you would not see me recompensed as a Slave: but also I must tell you, that it behoves you to revenge me, and thereby give me some illustrious Tokens of that Love you have so often times sworn unto me, and if my supplication is not yet so effectually forcible, thereon to resolve you, behold Kion, behold, how I command you. At these Words having drawn a Poniard, which she had hid under her Attire, and therewith twice pierced her heart, which he could not in any wise hinder, and immediately fell down dead upon the Body of her Mother, adding only these few Words: It's Clearque who hath slain me, O Kion, revenge me of Clearque.  
These Words pronounced from the Mouth of a dying Mistress, wrought a strange effect on this poor Lover, and the consequence made appear that he had too much love to survive her, if he had not courage enough to revenge her.  
This Stranger aged only twenty five or twenty six years, had a younger Brother than himself named Leonides, with whom he was bound in such a strict degree of friendship, the like whereof was rarely exemplifyed amongst men; I have never been able to learn their Country, nor yet their Birth; only I learned since, that they had both studied in the Schools of Plato, and that there was two years, that curiosity of Travels, had caused them to roam the World, and that they were returned from Gaul, whence they declared their Original was. Their design had been immediately to pass farther, and after they had seen (as they had done, the major part of Europe,) to run over all Asia: but the love of Kion and the delectable fellowship of Leonides, for his dear Brother had stayed them both at Heraclea.  
Kion being then come, as well as he could from the view and sight of that dismal and bloody Spectacle, ran towards his Brother, his heart pierced with Love and Grief; declared to him, with a thousand regrets and sighs, the deplorable piece-meales and passages of this tragical Accident, and in the transport of his Desperation embraced him, and demanded his Succour to revenge the death of Olympie.  
Neither the friendship nor the great courage of Leonides could not permit him to refuse any of the Supplications or Desires of Kion: And behold a resolution truly worthy of the Love of the one, and friendship of the other, and the courage of both.  
The Tyrant never walked but in the middle of two hundred of his Guards. He had the insolence to call himself the Son of Jupiter, and as a badge or mark of his Extraction, he caused to be carried before him an Eagle of Gold, and his Buskins or Boots all embroidered with precious Stones and Jewels. So that this Slave being apparelled with the Pomp, State and Authority of a King, made all Heraclea tremble, by the sole port and equipage of his Person, and of his Train and Attendants.  
All that which there remained amongst the Citizens, were Groans under the weight of his Tyranny. There passed not a day, that he perpeted and imbrued himself in some sanguinary Murder, there was neither Wealth nor Liberty, but only for Slaves, and in the mean time, these poor Citizens had their Souls so amated and dismayed, and their Hearts so violently quelled and born down, that they served themselves only with wishing the death of the Tyrant, without the courage to undertake it, and saw themselves so Massacred one after another, not one daring to revenge it. But this part seemed not possible to come forth from any other, than from the hand of some God, and there appeared not a possibility in Men to give a Death's wound to another, who never would leave himself to be approached, but across through two hundred Halberdtiers.  
However Kion and Leonides undertook it, and the honour of the deliverance of Heraclea from the most abominable of all Tyrants, joined to the Transports and to the excellent Movements, Agility and Disposition of love and friendship wherewith they were animated, they resolved without difficulty or hesitation, to expose their own lives, to render themselves Masters of his.  
They therefore armed themselves immediately each one with a Poniard, and went to the Palace, demanding speech with Clearque, under pretence of having some difference betwixt them, of some great Importance, which they would refer to the King, and being by this artifice introduced, and way made to the Tyrant, they took their time so opportunely, that in the very instant that Clearque listened to him who first spoke, the other drew his Poniard, and with the very first stab, wherewith he was pierced, this infamous Captain of Slaves, fell stark dead at his feet.  
Immediately the Guards ran upon them; but their number dismayed them not, and resolving to die, yet to sell very dearly their lives, they set upon the Soldiers athwart their Pikes and Swords, and ceased not killing, until they were in, conclusion, borne down with blows, they deferred putting them to present death, reserving them for a barbarous and cruel Execution; and in that resolution, they shut them up in the very Chamber where were the Corpse of the Tyrant, and they placed Guards upon them. In the mean time the rumour and ●ame of this Action, was spread, immediately throughout all the City of Heraclea. It awakened the courage of the Inhabitants, who running to their Arms, and impatient to have at least the Bodies of their Deliverers in the hands of those, by whom 'twas said, they were slain, came in Troops crowding to the Palace. And beleaguering it, they at last forced the rest of these unfortunate Slaves, who kept it to redeem their Lives in the surrendry of Kion and Leonides into their hands.  
It's in no wise possible to express the joy they conceived, when they found them living; nor yet to describe what Marks and Tokens, all the Popullacy sparkled and glittered forth in testimony of their grateful resentments. Some immediately seized the Corpse of the Tyrant, dragging it through the Streets, and i'th' end tearing it in a thousand pieces. Others sounded and echoed out Elegies and magnificent Triumphs, setting forth Trophies in memory of their generous and unparrallelled Deliverer, you had said they had been taken for Gods. They fell before them in Troops upon their knees, lifting them upon their Shoulders, and so pompously carried them to the public Guild-Hall or town-house, and through an extreme zeal, which they supposed to be more fatal to the lives of these two illlustrious Brothers, than the very hands of their Enemies, they for some time minded not but utterly forgot the dressing and healing of their own Wounds, by a kind of an indiscreet ardour they had, to render them the Honour worthy their acknowledgements. In an instant the face of the whole City was changed, the joy and alacrity pierced the hearts, and was visibly demonstrated in the Visage of the Citizens, when it had for a long time been banished and exiled; there was then seen no more heaviness, but in those of the Slaves and Kion.  
This generous and faithful Lover, could not survive his Mistress, and after he had executed his Commission, it seemed he would go and render her an account of it: neither reason nor prayers, could act any thing towards the mitigation of his Dolour; there remained nothing but Friendship and Amity could oppose the mournful effects of his Love.  
His brother and himself would willingly have been set in one Chamber; so that Leonides seeing the resistance that Kion made to all remedies: Brother, said he, I believe I have sufficiently testified to you, that I feared not to die with you, but I must also let you know, that I cannot yet live without you. Wherefore if you have resolved to die, tell me frankly and freely, that I may not give myself the trouble unprofitably to labour the conservation of a Life, which to me is of no value without yours. Upon these Words, he commanded the Surgeons to cease, and discharged them from further attendance, in expectation of his reply. Kion tenderly and gingerly looked upon him, and would have obliged him to let them persist, endeavouring to persuade him, that he had neither cause nor reasonable subject to hate his life: but Leonides having protested to him, that he would not permit any further care to be taken of himself, than should be seen that his Brother should take care of his own, Kion was in fine constrained to live, only to preserve the Life of his dear Leonides. It's true their care and recovery was very tedious and leisurely, because their Wounds were great and grievous, and for a considerable time almost desperate, so that it occasioned the world to believe that they were dead: but you will soon see, they were reserved for more strange Adventures.  
After the example of Heraclea, the major part of the Cities of Pont were also held by small Tyrants, who from being simple and petty Governors under old Antigonus, had erected themselves to be so many Sovereigns, shaking off the yoke of Tyranny and declared for Liberty: but in regard these petty Kings chased from usurped Thrones, were in League together to re-enter there, with Satire brother of Clearque, the Cities likewise united amongst themselves, and having levied Troops for their universal and common Defence, they elected for their Chieftain one valiantly unknown named Ariamene, upon whom they conferred all the Authority of their Arms, under the Title of Defender of the Liberties of the People.  
My Lord, I will not tell you any thing of this Ariamene, a whole volume would be necessary separately to recount to you the History of his high Feats.  
For over and above that, the Renown of them is manifestly famous throughout the earth, you will without any doubt have known, that he had defeated Satire and his Comrades in five different Battles, that in the latter, and that he himself with his own proper hands had slain three of these petty Tyrants, and in sum had acquired so considerable a Reputation of Valour, Liberality and Justice among the People of Pont and Cappadocia, that after having fought during the term of four years, for their sole Liberty, they had voluntarily renounced him, to submit it to Ariamene, and that they had crowned him their King, after they had had him four years for their Captain. But let's return to the History of our two brave Brothers.  
The People of Heraclea being united, and in league with other Cities of Pont, levied Troops which they sent to join with those of Ariamene, and for a badge of Cognisance towards Kion and Leonides, they remitted them to their sole Conduct.  
These valiant Brothers, so acquitted themselves of this trust and charge, that it exceeded the possibility of all Expectations: they declared to me, that the grand Ariamene had divers times confessed himself, that he owed a considerable part of his Victories to their Valour. Satire and his Allies having been defeated the two first Battles, craved assistance of the King of Thrace, and engaged him in their Succour, through hopes, that they would even make him King of Asia.  
This was, my Lord, at the self same time, when the King your Father did me the honour to send me his Ambassador in Ordinary to Lysimachus: and I learned by the way, that the King of Thrace had already passed into Asia with an Army composed of threescore thousand Men, against the valiant Ariamene. I was then obliged to find him in Asia, and I arrived at his Camp, only three days before this great Battle, which was the commencement of his Losses, the Success whereof, I writ the King your Father.  
It's certain, that when I arrived among the Thracians, the Reputation of Ariamene, how considerable soever it was, did in no wise obliterate that of Kion and Leonides. They were not only signalised by a hundred valorous Actions; their amity and friendship did no less contribute to render them Illustrious.  
They made it shine and glitter, even against Envy and Emulation, by a thousand remarkable passages, nay in their Habiliaments and Array.  
In effect they were seen always attired after the same Mode and Method, and armed in such sort, as was sufficiently significant.  
Their Heads were covered with Caskets or Helmets, adorned with the figure of two Men aiding each other to sustain and uphold one heart, in the midst whereof were plumes of Feathers of the colour of fire, sorting or issuing it in guise of Flames, to express the ardour of their friendly Amity. This Motto was engraven under their Hearts. One alone animates both. For on the Scymeter were seen the trunk of a Man with two heads, compassed and bound with a Crown of Laurel, with these Words on the bust, Amity makes but one. On their Bucklers was depainted each of them peeping into a Looking-Glass, which instead of his Visage, represented to him that of his Friend.  
Although these Portraits were small, yet that did not leave them, otherwise then to be marvellously resembling each other, and the famous Protogene their friend, had there so counterfeited the natural, that having even demonstrated their Amity upon their Faces, he seemed to have found the secret to paint their hearts. That was the Body of the Devise or Emblem, which they were not so solicitous to invent according to the Rules, but according to their Inclinations. For Soul there were these Words, It's myself.  
But if they signalised their Amity by these petty small exterior Marks, they rendered them much more illustrious, by the noble Actions which they did in this Battle.  
They there fought always one near the other, or rather to say, they fought one for another. For 'twas said, that Leonides had his eyes perpetually fixed on Kion, which made him as a second buckler of his Body, and of his Sword, and that when he saw any turn against this dear Brother, no Obstacle was sufficiently able to hinder him to cause the hands to fall which sustained him.  
Kion likewise warded off no other blows which were upon young Leonides. And of these two brave Lovers and Adventurers, there was not so much as one that dealt or warded the least blow for the defence of his own life. So that to see an Enemy fall under the Sword of the one, it was not enough to judge, that he had attempted the life of the other, and at this Encounter they gave such Testimonials and Tokens of their friendship, ghastly here to behold, by the number of dead Corpse wherewith they covered the Field of the Battle: But behold, my Lord, something more worthy your attention.  
Lysimachus having lost the day, and totally defeated in Battle, retired himself into Chalcedone, where Ariamene pursued him with such diligence, that he there enclosed him, and shut him up before he had dreamt of repassing into Thrace. Also Lysimachus believed not that they would presume to infest him, which was not separated, but by a small Ferry or Passage of the Sea, from the Capital City and Metropolis of his Kingdom. For as you know, Chalcedone is situated and seated upon the Promontory, at the Entrance and Passage from Pont-Euxin, and all over against or directly opposite to Bizance. On one side the Sea washeth its Walls, and the profound and deep Trench and Dike which encompasseth the other part, serveth as a Bed to a rapid River, which dividing themselves into two Arms, encloseth all the rest of its Circuit. This abundance of water is the cause that all the Neighbouring and Circumjacent Fields, are no other than Marshes, so that when they would make Trenches, they make unwarily small Rivers.  
Those difficulties notwithstanding did not deter, nor yet divert Ariamene from the Siege. He took Ships in the Neighbouring Ports, and filled them with able men, and upon the Sea stopped up all the Passages to Lysimachus, and as for the succour which he might possibly receive from Thrace, he caused his Army at the self same time by Land, giving such necessary orders and directions for the Siege, and having rendered himself Master of all the Frontiers and Outworks, in a few days he found means to approach the Walls with Ramms, by the favour of some Bridges of Boats, wherewith he covered a part of the Moats. I can speak experimentally of this Siege, in regard I was in the number of the besieged.  
The endeavours and devices of the Engines were not without Effect, and their Battery overthrew one Panel or piece of the Wall.  
The two Brothers put themselves in the Front of their Armed Followers, entered the first breach which was guarded well and defended by an infinite number of their Enemies, and having forced their way a cross Stones, against Arrows, Pikes and resolute men, they had in fine the pleasure of fight within the City.  
There were already of the one Party and the other many fallen, and the Swords of our young Adventurers had felled down so many men, that the heaps of the dead Corpse one upon another repaired almost the breach which had been made, and by an effect of Valour, which was contrary to them, they themselves shut up the Passage, in such sort that they themselves endeavoured to open it; when one of the Besieged accosted Kion, laid on him so heavy a blow, that he was constrained to rest his Knee on the Earth. Leonides who had taken no other care, than according to his Custom, to ward off the blows which were aimed at his friend, thought to die because he could not have warded him from the last. He fell furiously on him who had dealt it, and seeing him retired behind others, pursued him in spite of all such as opposed his passage. You may very well believe that Kion, who until then had not also fought but for Leonides, would not have withdrawn, or abandoned him, in danger where this here had not engaged himself, but to revenge him. He followed him through a thousand Swords, and because he whom Leonides pursued, still kept himself alooff, they engaged so far within the City, that they were found alone to defend themselves. In sum, the great number that oppressed and over-bore them, and all their worthy Actions, served to no other use then to render their Surprise more considerable to Lysimachus. The Besiegers were repulsed, being deprived of succour so advantageous, and the Thracians saw themselves at liberty to repair the Ruins of their Walls.  
In the mean time these two Valiant Brothers, who were but slightly wounded, for as much as the seizing them behind, they had in spite of them managed their lives and way; they were led and placed in two separate Towers, where the King of Thrace had caused them carefully to be shut up.  
You will observe, My Lord, that amongst those who had been slain by Leonides, was the eldest of the Children of the King of Thrace, and that which had principally animated Leonides against him, that he had seen his hand lifted up against Kion.  
That Prince was named Diomedes, and of all his Brethren there was not one for whom Lysimachus had so much tenderness as for him. He loved him with so forcible a passion, that he would have him perpetually as a Companion in all his Wars, dividing even betwixt them the whole Sovereign Authority; his own life was not so dear to him as was that of his Prince; and they astonished themselves how nature was so puissant on him who passed as you know for unnatural. Also when he knew of his death, he was more afflicted than if he had learned the subversion of all his Kingdom. His perplexity appeared visibly in his Visage and in his Actions, as well as in his discourse: and I can truly tell you, that his desperation manifested itself even through such and so many infirmities, as were unworthy a man. He deliberated not long upon the Revenge he would take: and seeing the Murderer Diomedes in his hands, he resolved he should die. It was in vain for all those that were near him or had any influence upon him or that were tender of his reputation, to represent to him the Laws of Honour and of Arms; those of his passion were more forcible, and even Theodore the Philosopher (the liberty or reputation of whose Sentence caused him to be Surnamed Athée, and whom the King your Father had sent Ambassador Extraordinary to him,) having presumed to contradict him thereon, the King was so moved that he menaced him with death. It was then when this Philosopher gave him such convincing Answers, as you have known, and all Greece hath so open Published, Thou shalt do to him no more than a Cantharide (or venomous green Fly) can do to thee. Lysimachus more irritated than before, replied that he would have him hanged▪ Reserve that Execution for thy Courtesans which fear it, replied he, as for me it's indifferent to die upon the Land or in the Air. These words put Lysimachus in such a furious fume against him, that if the terror of the King your Father had not restrained him, he would without doubt have executed and effected his Menaces.  
It was in vain therefore that they endeavoured to oppose his Cruelty; he had caused magnificent preparations to be made for the Obsequies of Diomedes, and would have his Hearse bedewed with the Blood of his Murderer. But the resemblance that there was upon the Harness of these brave Brothers, that having hindered the Soldiers to discern with which hand he had been wounded, Lysimachus knew not which of the two he should take. They had sufficiently assured him that the blow was from one of them: but they could not discern from which. Thus having fruitlessly Essayed to draw some clear Testimony from those who were there present at his death, and seeing none possibly able to instruct him but Kion and his Brother, he endeavoured to learn it from themselves.  
He gave Commission to one of his Captains named Evandre (and who was of his guards) to inform himself, and this Captain having been instructed in what Method he should proceed, he went to visit Leonides who had been shut up in a Prison separate, for they would by no means permit them the favour of being together.  
Evandre feigned that he came for no other intent but to give a Visit: and after some Civilities had passed, he told him, that he was not the person alone, that so much resented and shared in his misfortune, that all those who had been Witnesses of his Courage and Valour, could not but be concerned, and interest themselves on his behalf, and that even the King himself could not but be an admirer of him, although he had been fatal to him in depriving him of his Son.  
Leonides who would willingly give the honour of the Combat to his Brother, replied that the similitude of his Armour, had without doubt caused him to take him for Kion, and that the gallant Exploits he attributed unto him, could not be separate from that hand.  
Evandre imputing this Discourse to his Modesty, pressed him further on the same Subject: but Leonides comported himself so handsomely, that the other was altogether persuaded that Diomedes had been slain by Kion, and upon that consideration went to see him for further assurance.  
He entertained him after the same Method he had done Leonides: but Kion would by no means assume a Victory to himself, which he had not won, he who finding all his honour in that of his Brother, would not be less generous to accept of his own, in the like Encounter Evandre not being able to discover any thing, went to find out the King, where learning the ill success of his Commission, resolved to employ himself in the clear discovery thereof.  
The self same Evening he sent for them, and as he had extremely dissembled, he treated them with many demonstrations of friendship, and testimonies of goodness, demanding their Pardon for the bad Entertainment they had received. He protested to them, that it was not by his order that they had been so straight shut up, and that for the time to come he would demonstrate, that he did not consider them as Prisoners, and would let them know he had not sent for them, but to assure them, so much.  
With this discourse he made them insensibly pass with others, who seemed no less obliging, and told them he believed himself not a little recompensed for the defeat he had in Battle, by the prize of such two Courageous Men, and insensibly insinuating himself into the Subject of his Son's death, he addressed himself particularly to Kion, declaring to him that if any thing were capable of comforting him, it was only that he had yielded to none but the most Valiant Man in all the World.  
Kion not foreseeing his Artifice ingeniously answered him, that the Action which he attributed unto him came from the hand of Leonides. Leonides who would yield the honour to his Brother acted as abovesaid, and both the one and the other reciprocally yielding the honour of the Exploit as above related, Lysimachus lost all manner of hopes of being truly informed.  
What, said he then, was there so little honour in Vanquishing of Diomedes, that no person will avow his defeat? Leonides willing to purge his Brother from that reproach, and at once to set an end to their Contest; we have both my Lord, replied he, overcome him, and we have therein found so much honour and acquired so much glory, that we both Challenge it.  
The impatient Lysimachus was not appeased by or with this obliging Reply, but contrarily was in such a manner heated, that quitting his Custom, he could not any more dissemble his Fury and Rage: well, said he, so much the better, I shall then have victim upon whom to wreak my Vengeance, and you shall both die, since you are both guilty, and immediately Commanded the Soldiers who had led them there, to return them to Prison.  
Leonides presently changed Note and Language upon these words, and seeing of what Importance the Life of his Brother was, without further dissimulation, Ah! Lysimachus, cried he, we have both overcome, but it was myself that dealt the Mortal Blow to thy Son. Thou King of Thrace, replied Kion, my Brother's innocent, it's myself alone that have deprived thee of Diomedes. I leave you, my Lord, to judge whether or no Lysimachus was surprised, to hear them both at once change discourse, and that each of them did impute that to himself, the self same Crime from each which had so carefully and with so much solicitude freed himself.  
That made him believe that he should be sufficiently informed according to his own desire, and upon that account, he made sign to the Soldiers to let them further speak.  
Leonides having that liberty said to his Brother; What then, after having so long time disputed the Victory over Diomedes, must I yet dispute it against Kion? But tell me yourself, replied this, what have I done to you, my dear Leonide, who obligeth you to be willing to take from me the honour of slaying Diomedes? You have Vanquished so many, generous Brother, replied Leonides, do not envy me the honour of vanquishing one alone.  
Their Contest had lasted longer, unless Lysimachus perplexed with this discourse, discovered no other thing than their Amity, and therefore interrupting them, thus spoke unto them.  
Ha, hah! Which of both will appear the most Criminal? Ah my Son, I will avenge thee of both. The most innocent is sufficiently culpable, since he boasteth of thy death.  
Upon these Words, he caused them to be returned again without further hearing them.  
They put them again in the same Prison, that they might, as there was manifest appearance, then being together, might if 'twere possible decide the Contest; for what ever Lysimachus had said, without doubt it had been facile, not to confound the author of the loss with him, that had been innocent.  
I knew from the Captain who had them in Ward, that they recommenced again, their friendly combat in the Prison, and not being able to vanquish each other, in this generous dispute, they bethought them of attempting another remedy. They resolved every one in particular to write a Letter to Lysimachus, and as the King showed it to me, thinking to justify himself to the King your father, by this Conduct and management, behold a Copy I have drawn of each of them.  
Kion to King LYSIMACHUS, Health.  
My Lord,  
I Repeat and reiterate you again, that I myself alone am guilty of the Death of Diomedes.  
If my tongue hath rendered me suspicious to you, you ought to believe my Hand, for it's that which perpetrated the Crime. My Brother is innocent, all his Crime is no other, but that he was willing to share in mine, and when he accuseth himself of Gild, it's not as the Murderer of Diomedes, but as the Brother of  
KION.  
LEONIDES to LYSIMACHUS.  
SInce Valour passeth with thee for a Crime, I vow unto thee, that my Brother is more criminal than myself. It is not therefore to say that he hath slain Diomedes, for 'tis no great Exploit to have done no other than to have killed thy Son, for if he had done it, 'tis true he deserved to have been punished, and 'twould not have been a small Crime, to have profaned and polluted his valiant hands, in the blood of the treacherous and cowardly Lysimachus: but thou shouldst take it of me alone, for 'tis I only that have polluted myself. Revenge therefore thy Son, who had not courage to defend himself. This Action would be reproachful to others, as well as to the King of Thrace, and it would be a shame to take so unworthy an advantage of our Misfortune, but they will pardon thee, who wouldst nor couldst not have power to revenge, if thou givest us liberty to defend ourselves, use therefore without fear thy utmost power upon the murderer of thy Son. But confound not the Innocent with the Gild, if thou wilt not have all Men and the Gods also even for thy Enemies I reiterate to thee again, that I alone have killed Diomedes; and the Victory had not been so difficult, but for the carrying it away, some Succours must have come to  
LEONIDES.  
You see, my Lord, that the stile of these Letters are very different. Kion thought to obtain what he demanded of Lysimachus by gentleness and mildness, Leonides dreamed of nothing more than to exasperate him, to draw all his fury upon himself: but neither the one nor the other had the desired success.  
I was present when Lysimachus received these two Letters. He read that of Kion, which had been first brought him, not having produced any testimony of its effect upon his mind: but he often changed his countenance, in seeing that of Leonides, and after he finished its perusal, he was so transported with rage, that he could not forbear expressing himself in a furious tone and voice, he braved me, the small piece of insolence, that he is and would have conceived himself generous, in outraging a Son, who no more was in a condition to defend himself: but if Diomedes be dead, let him know, that Lysimachus is yet alive. He shall die, even that arrogant Leonides, and I design him to such exquisite torments, that I will make him repent of this Victory, whereof he so proudly vaunts himself. I will render him the desirable Destiny of Diomedes. He shall die alone, lest he should be consolated by the meeting of such an unfortunate one as himself, and since he will make himself alone culpable and guilty, he alone shall suffer the pains of both.  
But added he a little afterwards, that which he demands is, to die alone; and if I give his Brother his life, I should make myself a recompense for his Crime. No, it's so, that both must die, only one alone is not able, nor yet capable to bear all my vengeance, one Life alone would not be sufficiently durable to commemorate and resent all the Evils and so many Mischiefs. They shall both die, and that insolent Leonides shall not have the Honour to have saved the life of his Brother.  
He held a thousand such Discourses as these were, and spent above an hour, uttering forth nothing else, but menaces alone. In vain had the great Ariamene sent to him divers times to treat of their Ransom, we saw the fatal day that these two illustrious Victims should be sacrificed to Diomedes.  
The Scaffold designed for their Execution was erected upon the Walls of the City, in a certain place where they were so high, that they appeared without the Scalado, and so thick, that the endeavours of the Rams had been there of no utility, besides the swiftness and rapidity of the River, being much more deep and profund there, than any where else, rendered the approach almost impossible.  
He purposely chose out that certain place, that all the Camp of Ariamene might testify his Vengeance, and to distort and extend it, stretched out in some strange mode and manner even upon all his Enemies, for the sanguinary and bloody displeasure, that so dismal and deplorable a Spectacle, might be able to carry them. As if he had even apprehended that their eyes could not have given nor yielded them a sufficiently great certainty of this loss, he caused it to be confirmed to them, by some Soldiers to whom he expressly and premeditated purposely granted free liberty; and having caused a double Guard to be set through all the Quarters of the City, in conclusion, he commanded to draw forth these innocent Victims out of Prison, and to lead them where they should be sacrificed.  
They would have bound their Hands, but Leonides not being able to brook such an Indignity; What saith he, Lysimachus fears us yet disarmed, Go, go, saith he to him, who designed it, directing himself to him who approached for that purpose, cause us not to call to mind the treachery and unworthiness of thy Master, and let us believe, that we go of ourselves to die.  
At these Words they went forth, Kion and he, and walked together to the Scaffold, without any further instance made to bind them, for as much as the King had not expressly commanded it, and being alone and without Weapons, they could make no resistance.  
They knew by the preparations made for their Death, and by the report of those who led them there, that whatever Theatre Lysimachus had made, he contented himself that they should lose their heads only; and they knew also at the same time, that Ariamene advertized of their Misfortune, came to attack the City in three different places, but using all endeavours imaginable, to render himself Master thereof, he had been repulsed with great loss, all that was too true. This generous King, after having taken a little breath, advanced himself again even towards Chalcedoine, and recommenced the Assault with new ardour, when the two Brothers appeared on the Wall.  
That sight did in such a sort animate their Troops, that there was not almost one Soldier, who would not have some share in the honour of their preservation: but their generous emulation was of no utility, and all that it produced, was only to give some joy to Kion and Leonides, in letting them see the pains they had taken for their deliverance. However they prepared their death with so much speed, that they foresaw that what Success soever the Arms of Ariamene had, the City could not be so soon taken, that they were not in a condition to receive Succour.  
They stayed to cast their view upon the Camp, not desiring to be employed, but only to have themselves seen the small time that remained to them to do it. And Leonides being willing to prevail, and essaying yet once more to make Kion resolve to save his Life. If you were willing, said he to him, you would have done, even you only alone, more than the Army of the great Ariamene, for you should have been saved yourself; but there is yet time enough; disavow a Crime that you have not committed (since it must be called so) and fight not against yourself, as long as all our Troops fight for you. Ay my Brother (replied Kion) and I can do much more yet, if you please, since that I can preserve you yourself, even you. Preserve me (replied Leonides) Ah! that's that which we cannot do both of us, and if I should be so sufficiently treacherous, as not to die with you, I should infallibly die with shame and with regret, to have seen you die without me.  
He would have continued, when the Executioner interrupting them, advised them to put themselves in a condition to die, and first addressed himself to Leonides, he signified to him, that he had order to begin with him, Leonides appeared very willing, because he imagined that it would always give more time to succour his Brother. He then replied, that he was ready to die, and demanded no more, than leisure to give him his last embraces. There was not any Person that opposed, he embraced him yet another time, Adieu, my too generous Brother Adieu. He would have added something, But Kion interrupting him, replied, Say not unto me Adieu, I will not quit nor abandon you, my dear Brother, and am far from our separation, death unites us for ever. Leonides replied not to this discourse, but by a small endeavour that he made to embrace him, yet more straight and closely: afterwards unclapsing himself from between his arms. Oh Lysimachus! cried he, preserve Kion, or else thou goest to destroy in one day, a miracle of friendship and amity, that Nature could not repair in one Age. At these words he withdrew from him, to place himself at the other end of the Scaffold, where was raised a little Post or Beam, on which he should have lost his head.  
Kion followed him mournfully, his Eyes fixed, and was seized with so violent a pain, that there was little appearance, but that he would have prevented the office of the Executioner. The least noise he heard caused him to return his head, to see whether it were not some succour come to his Brother; but that served but to let him see, that he should expect none at all. For if he had cast his Eyes upon the Camp of Ariamene, he saw, he used but unprofitable endeavours, if he should fix upon the People, which assisted at that sanguinary Spectacle, he might see enough that bewailed him, but not one that would secure him, and if he looked upon Leonides, he saw himself assisting at his own death.  
In effect, he had almost stretched out his Neck to the Executioner, then when he testified, that he would willingly spoke one word to his Brother. He easily obtained permission by reason they foresaw not but that might be of the smallest consequence: however they observed that after he had spoken to him some words very softly, they ran both together, holding one another by the hand towards the edge of the Scaffold, which butted towards the City Moat or Ditch, and there precipitated themselves both together.  
This Action strangely surprised all those, who beheld it, for the Exsessive height of the Walls, and the impetuous rapidity of the River, even very frightful to behold, would not have permitted them to have fore-seen it. Also they immediately believed, that they have done no other, than changed the kind and manner of their Execution, and that by reason they would not fall by the Hand of the Hangman, they had not yet been able to escape death. But the River was not so cruel to them, as was Lysimachus, and after that by reason of the weight of their fall, they had been sunk down in the Water, it cast them up again upon the face of the River, not far from the place where they fell. Leonides was the first that appeared, and supporting himself by the motion of his hands and feet, he looked on all sides; to see whether he could discover his brother. It was not long but that he observed him acting and moving, as he had done himself, but accidentally finding himself nearest the Shoar, he would not in the beginning use any endeavour to advance forwards, until he had seen him before him.  
Kion in like manner would have kept himself behind Leonides, not being able to resolve to lose the sight of him in the danger, and that he might be ready to succour him, in case of emergency or necessity. So that as if he would have been ashamed to be the first out of danger, they remained some time there in Emulation, and their friendship seemed to them more mournful in this broad River, than it had been within the City.  
However they gained the Shoar in despite of a thousand Arrows, which they had shot against them from off the Walls, they saw themselves in a condition to revenge themselves.  
The Land afforded them immediately a Party of Forces, which the Water had debarred them from, and scarce had they recovered strength to walk, but taking each one a Sword, they ran without any other Weapons, as wet as they were, to the place where the valiant Ariamene had given the Assault.  
Their presence so astonished those who saw them, that some believed they had been alreay dead, and took them for their Shadows, that came to avenge themselves. In sum, their presence infused so much courage into those who began to grow weary, that after some extraordinary endeavours, having made their Enemies and their Walls to yield and give way, the great Ariamene entered the City victoriously. The Massacre was great within Chalcedoine, and though Ariamene did all that might be possible to hinder its pillaging, they revenged it more than they otherwise would have done, for the indignity they had there received: The Soldiers in the●r furious rage, made no distinction neither of Age nor Sex, and he who could not kill a Man, would force himself upon Woman or Child, whereby to die his Sword. The slaughter was so prodigious, and the Streets were so strewed and covered over with so many dead Corpse, that those last that entered, finding such great heaps to oppose and stop up their Passage, were more incommoded by the dead, than by the Living.  
The day ended before the disorder, and when the Shadows of the Night could conceal any one from the fury of the Soldiers, they created a new day by the fire they put into the Houses, and seeking their Enemies, by the assistance of this dismal and fatal light, they made the City to contribute its aid in the Massacre of its Inhabitants. However Ariamene who would have preserved it, dispatched such good Orders and Directions, that the fire was extinguished and wholly quenched. The Water there served not all alone, but the blood which ran down the Streets was therein employed; the dead had at least this fruit of their decease to preserve their Country, and the City by this blow, drew an advantage from the Massacre of its Inhabitants. As for Lysimachus, as he was Master of the Sea, it was easy for him to save himself, and I embarked myself to retire to Bisance with him. This ill success obliged and constrained him to treat of Peace with Ariamene; but, my Lord, I will not entertain you with this negotiation, for as your design is no other than to learn that which concerns our two Illustrious Brothers, I ought to insist upon none, but the Subject that imports them.  
Agamée was in that certain part of his Book, and he was thereunto fixed through such a marvellous attention, when a Shepherd came to interrupt him, and tell him from Telamonius, that he prayed him to excuse him, if he returned not to find him, and that he did in●ite him to go still to Hippiqué, where he should meet him, if he had not rather expect him where he left him; and behold what obliged Telamonius, to send him to make this Compliment.  
We have seen that Telamonius had abandoned Agamée, to return to Ergaste and Celemante, and to see the cause that retained them so long a time: but he had scarcely walked two hundred Paces, but he called for Ergaste, so that following the sound of his voice, he entered into the high way of a Wood, where he found them in an occupation which surprised him no less than the meeting which he had had near the Pond. Ergaste and Celemante assisted a Man who had mounted another, who had been sore wounded on horseback; and in the same place, he yet saw a third stretched out upon the ground as dead. Telamonius immediately judged that he whom he and Agamée had met a little beneath in the like condition, aught to be of the company of these here, and he was not deceiv●d. He whom they remounted on horseback was the self same Cavalier, who had been sometime before attacked by four others, so as we have seen, and who pursuing the fugitives even within the Wood, there had found four new Enemies in Ambush, who had put him in that condition: but they were all fled having seen the third to fall who was of their company, by blows which they also had received.  
The Squire of the bravely unknown was without any Wounds, although he had done all that was possible for the defence of his Master: but it was not at him that they aimed; and 'twas he who having seen these Assassins turn in flight, and not able alone to replace his Master on horseback, wounded as he was, had dissuaded Ergaste and Celemante, whom he had accidentally met in seeking some one to aid him.  
As it was not then time to think of satisfying their Curiosity on this Subject, but rather to secure that unknown; they dreamed of nothing but of remounting him on Horseback, and seeing that there was no appearance that with facility he might go to Gonnes, as he made account, by reason of weakness, and the loss of a considerable quantity of Blood by his wounds, Telamonius offered him the House of Alcidias his Father, as being the nearest. The unknown was not in a State of refusing it, and he even besought him that he would take care of that Cavalier who had been laid along in the same place, that they might see if he were yet in a condition to be succoured.  
Ergaste and Celemante did officiously undertake that care; and for Telamonius, having mounted the Squire behind his Master to uphold him, he Conducted both the one and the other to the House of Alcidias, walking on foot before them; He returned not through the place where he had left Agamée, because that from the place where they were, there was another way shorter to go to the House of Alcidias, and in that condition wherein the unknown was, there was not any time to be lost.  
The Shepherd repeated part of those things to Agamée, with the Compliment that Telamonius had sent him to make, and they may judge of the pleasure and satisfaction which that Athenian had taken at its reading, since that instead of being touched, with some curiosity for that new adventure, he chose rather to send to Telamonius, by this Shepherd, that he would expect him in a certain Alley that he perceived one hundred paces from thence, where he went to withdraw himself from the Highway, and there continue more reposed, in the reading his book, whereof he saw the sequel and consequence was such.  
The peace of Lysimachus being concluded, and Satire with his Allies seeing themselves destitute of his Succours, they were constrained to cast themselves under the protection of Prytanis, one of the Kings of the Bosphore Cimmerien.  
This Prince was then himself waging War against his own Brother, named Eumele, and the subject of their Discord was the partage or division of the Kingdom. The Embassy whereon the King, your Father, had honoured me with, and this having given me some reputation amongst the People of the North, I had been called to assist in composing that difference; and I should have been sufficiently happy to succeed therein, if Prytanis also had been so religious, as was Eumele, in the performance of his Word. But this league and confederacy with Satire, having made him entertain new hopes, the War recommenced more earnest and furious than ever before. Prytanis retired himself into Panticapee, the capital City or Metropolis of the Bosphorus Cimerien.  
Eumele laid siege thereunto, and Ariamene having known that Prytanis had taken part with Satire, took that of Eumele, and sent him Kion and Leonides with some part of his Troops.  
These two illustrious Brothers, soon made themselves known in the Army of Eumele, for as much as they were, that is to say, two of the most gallant Captains that were in all our Troops. They also yet more manifestly made it known to their Enemies, but the envious fortune of their worthy Actions soon interrupted the course, by an Adventure the most dismal, and the most tragical of the World.  
After five months' siege, Prytanis finding himself weak, in point of Soldiers and Victuals, demanded of Eumele a second Conference. This generous Prince assented thereunto, though he had Subject sufficient to reject it.  
For he had discovered two or three Conspiracies contrived to assassinate him, by the practices of Prytanis, who had caused the Guards of Eumele to be corrupted for that end; and all these Traitors had afterwards took refuge within the City. However Eumele would not that it should be said, that he had refused to conceade to a Peace, and these Kings saw one another upon a small rising, between the Walls of the City, and the Camp of Eumele, both the one and the other equally distant.  
Eumele (near to who I had dwelled after the conclusion of my Embassy) was willing that I should accompany him thither, and the two Brothers were of those of whom he desired to be guides. There is a very fair appearance that the Parley and Conference, was not craved by Prytanis, but to give occasion to his followers to sound and endeavour yet to corrupt, some of ours.  
For while they spoke together, there was one of the Principal Officers of his Retinue, who addressing himself particularly to Kion, said, that knowing his Merit and his Valour, as well as that of his Brother, he was displeased to see them engaged in so ill a bargain; and above all, that he was fixed to a Prince, who owing them so many obligations, had not placed them in the principal Offices of his Army. And if they had done half so much for his Master, in point of Services and Feats of Arms, he would have loaden them with Titles of Honour as well as Riches, and he persisted in amplifying the liberality of Prytanis, and that particular eem that he had both for himself and his Brother. When Kion had well observed where he was willing to come, and mortally pierced and thrust through, to see himself believed to be one capable of Treason, interrupted him, and with an incensed tone, animated with generous fury, said unto him; Your Master hath in so decent an Order, drawn unto him all the treacherous Persons of our Army, that he shall never for future meet with any one near to Eumele. But replied the other, They are no Traitors, but whilst they are amongst you; and since they are belonging to us, they cannot desire any thing more faithful. I doubt not, coldly replied Kion, but you have more of the recital and sympathy with such People, than we have with them. The other could not brook such an unanswering blow without a reply, so that after many stinging Words from one to another, in the conclusion, this dispute was so forcibly warmed, that the Cimmerian abandoning all mature and sober consideration, and ignorant of any further Answer, thought it became him to give a reply with his hand, but having been frustrated of his design, drew his Sword, and dealt a blow at Kion, who here having warded it off, stood upon his own defence, and as they knew not the subject of their quarrel, nor who had wrong, every one immediately taking and espousing the interest of his Party.  
And behold all those who had accompanied the Kings, betook themselves to their Swords, Prytanis himself not being satisfied with Eumele, began to cry out that he had broken the Truce, and called to the Gods for Witnesses, and handled his Sword as the others had done. This Disorder was incontinently observed both from the Camp, and the City, whence many Troops advanced at the same time, each one imputing foul play, or injury done or committed by his Enemy. In fine, the Conflict was so great, and sanguinarily bloody, that above two thousand fell there, and amongst the others Prytanis.  
This Prince having there wounded Kion in the Arm, had soon drawn L●onides upon him, and as nothing was able to resist the same, when he began to revenge for his Brother, he compelled Prytanis in spite of all his assistants, to give back even to the Walls of the City, and there deprived him of life by two blows with his Sword: but alas! this Victory cost Leonides dear.  
His Valour having engaged him too far amidst the Crowd of his Enemies, they by Troops set upon him, and having seized him, they drew him into the City, where all retired themselves.  
It is very certain that his Surprise, put all the Camp in a general Consternation, and the affliction appeared equally in the Visages of the chief Commanders, as well as the Soldiers, because he was universally beloved of all. But that which is unconceivable, is the dolour of his Brother. He hesitated not upon what he had to do; the self same night he slipped into the City, and by all ways imaginable attempted to see Leonides, in a Tower wherein he knew he had been shut up.  
Eumele on his side hearing the disgrace of these two illustrious Brothers, and well foreseeing that they would perpetrate some villainous Act upon the Person of Leonides, by reason of the death of Prytanis, resolved to apply thereunto all the Remedies imaginable, which might in any wise depend upon him, and to that end he sent me the second day with a Trumpet, that I might thereby spoke with the Wife of Prytanis then a Widow, and who commanded the City.  
The Gates were opened unto us, and we were introduced into Panticapée. But scarcely had we past two or three Streets, but we met a great multitude of People, assembled in a place in the midst whereof, they had raised a Block of an extraordinary height and breadth, and in form of a square Pyramid. We incontinently knew that this was to render the last dutiful Offices to the King, and conformable to the Custom of the Ccuntrey in the like disgraces, he who had slain him, aught to be burned with him. I leave you to think in what manner we were surprised at this discourse. We readily inquired if this news were certain, and seeing it was general, and that there was not any the least appearance of doubt to be made thereof, we immediately ran to the Palace, to see if we might learn some better tidings. But alas! our diligence served to no other purpose, than to confirm rather our Misfortune.  
We were not yet above half way, but we saw a great number of armed Men, who making their way through the Streets to make place, constrained us to put our selver under a Gate. They were followed by a bout one thousand more, which walked four and four abreast, at the falling of certain lugubrious and doleful Instruments, that their voice and tone, was almost as mournful as the Disaster, which they denounced and proclaimed. These People were half Pike Men, and the other half Hurlers of Darts or Shooters of Shafts or Arrows. The first carried their downwards, their points trailing along the earth, the others had each one a Bow, the Cord or String whereof was broke, and each two Arrows, with their heads or Irons taken off.  
These here contrary to the ordinary Custom, held their Bows with the right hand, and the Arrows with the left, and altogether they boar their Shields and Targets of Withy, negligently hanging at their Shoulders. Their Officers marched also on Foot, and at the head of each Company, whereof there were some four in front, every one making a File, and their Ensign-bearers carried their Banners or Colours dragging upon the ground.  
After these Troops, marched as many Cavaliers or Horsemen, all armed except the head, which they had all bare. The points of their Darts and Javelins were broken, with their Scutcheons in their right hands, upon the flanks of their Horses. They made a halt from twenty Paces to twenty Paces, and every time that they began to march, the Trumpets sounded in the Air so mournful a tone and noise, that in despite of endeavours, drew down tears from all eyes; four hundred Women, their hair dischevelled and falling lose, appeared following, who notwithstanding the rigour of the Season, carried in their Arms, Children all naked, whom they constrained to cry, by blows given them from time to time, that no Sex nor Age, might be exempt from grief, and that those who by reason of their puberty and youth, could not weep for the death of their King, should by other means be compelled to bewail it.  
We afterwards saw a Chariot hung with mourning, drawn by twenty Men all naked, only that they had a Callezon or Drawers made of Human leather, made of the Skins of their Enemies.  
In the middle of the Chariot was a Coffin, wherein lay the King's Corpse, and round about were Priests, which sang Verses, composed purposely in praise of the deceased. The Officers of the King's Household followed the Corpse, all mounted on horseback. These were the most desolate of all, as being those, who also had the greatest subject: for they were not only to bewail the death of their King, but their own selves properly and personally, the Custom ordaining that they and their Horses should be strangled about the Block; to accompany their Master, and serve him in the other World. Those of the Bosphorus had borrowed that cruel Custom from the Scythians their neighbours, who strangled them even upon their King's Grave.  
These Men therefore had their Visages, with their demenor, gesture and behaviour, very mournful, for they were magnificently decked, adorned and garnished, and mounted on excellent horses, most sumptuously furnished, as being those who not having lost any thing since they went to find out their Prince.  
Of all these Spectacles, it was this last that most moved me with pity and commiseration; but he who appeared last of all, touched me with a much more violent grief. I saw the poor Leonides (my Lord) coming, his head bare, his hands bound behind his back, and walking a foot in the midst of a Troop of Guards. In this dismal and deplorable estate, however I can truly spoke it, he rather caused admiration than pity. He walked as one in triumph, with a frank and cheerful Countenance, a Visage and Face modest and composed, and you would have said that those who follow him, to carry some part of his Chains were Prisoners, whom he drew after him as an Ornament of his triumph. They could never observe his heart to utter forth the least sigh unworthy the height of his Courage; his Visage demonstrated no kind of alteration, nor did his Mouth form forth the least complaint.  
As for me, I was a thousand times more troubled than was he; when I saw him in this posture, and making my way forceably through the press, I cried out, demanding them to surcease, and that they would bring me to speak with the Queen, from the King Eumele: but all that I could do, served me not to any purpose. I had fairly besought them and menaced them from the Prince who, had sent me. I had fairly said, that if the Queen had understood me, she would have revoked this cruel Arrest.  
They answered me, the Queen would do nothing thereon, and that she could not although she would have been willing, to repeal and abbrogate the Law, that was more puissant and powerful than herself. I ran to the Palace, and not having ever been able to spoke to the Queen, in regard they told me, that she would not permit herself to be seen all that day in her perplexed state; I returned to the place, and pressing through the Crowd, I endeavoured at least to spoke with this illustriously unfortunate one. 'Tis true I saw him at this time a little moved: but that was not occasioned by his death, it was through grief for his Brother. I found his poor Brother bound to his Neck with tears in his Eyes, moans and cries in his Mouth, speaking and uttering forth a thousand things capable of making one's heart cleave with pity. Leonides dreamt of nothing else but comforting him, and fearing by reason or for this dear friend, all that might inspire him with desperation, he earnestly besought all who were there present, to take care of the life of his dear Brother. I observed that he rejoiced when he saw me, thinking that his Supplications to me, might have a more prevalent effect, than it might upon others.  
He therefore repeated it to me, and when I had told him of the care that Eumele had for him. The King, replied he, hath too much respect for me: but if I had been so happy, as to have rendered him some Service, which merited the Honour of his remembrance, I would have craved all for my Brother. At these Words he turned towards the Block, and beheld it with a very steadfast Eye, and with a Countenance other than that of a Man going to Dye; he inquired whether all were ready, and knowing there wanted not any thing but him, he returned towards me, and seeing me all in Tears: Straton, continued he, showing me his Hands bound, I would have embraced you, if they would have given me liberty. I recommend unto you my Brother, Adieu, it belongs not to me to undertake to comfort a Philosopher.  
On these Words, he entered courageously in the Block, by an opening that they had left there, expressly in one of its sides, and stopping it immediately with much Straw, and presently afterwards the rest of the Ceremonies being finished, and the Officers of the deceased King designed to follow him into the other World, having been stranged round about the Block, they there set fire to its four Corners.  
Although the heat of the Flame constrained even them themselves, who were at a farther distance than myself, to retire further off, I was notwithstanding so afflicted, and altogether so full of admiration, by reason of the constancy of such a one dead, that I dreamt not of removing from the place where I had bid adieu to Leonides: but behold another Adventure which made me return to myself. Kion did no sooner see the Flames well lighted, but he very precipitatedly hurled himself therein. I presently flew to his succour, I drew him thereout forcibly, in spite of his endeavours, with the aid of some that seconded me, and from the apprehension I had of his desperation, I took from him his Sword. I would also have brought him with me to the Camp of Eumele, and resolved thereupon, but he stole himself from me at the corner of a Street by the favour of the Night, which then began, and through the crowd of People who returned from the beholding of that dismal Spectacle, and as I could never learn news of him since, I doubt not but that the amity which had so perfectly united his Brother and him, during their life, did not also reunite it by their death.  
Behold all that was contained in that Book, and Agamée finished its reading when he was accosted by Telamonius.    
The End of the Second Book.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Third BOOK.  
TELAMONIUS had, as we have said, conducted the unknown Wounded to the House of Alcidias. Alcidias was an ancient Man, of a ready Wit, pregnant judgement, and of a comely Personage, and although a Shepherd, had notwithstanding spent a considerable part of his Life in great Employments. His reputation had occasioned his being chosen amongst others, by the deceased King Antipater, to deal Sovereign Justice within the two greatest and most important Provinces of Macedonia.  
The sweetness and elevation of his Genius, having rendered him well known in that Employment, he had yet passed on, and made a greater progress, but the diversity of Factions, which he observed to be framed in that State, made him think of his retreat. Above all the death of his dear Wife, who during her whole life, was an illustrious and worthy Example of Honour and Virtue to all her Sex, having given some distaste in relation to the things of the World, he had banished himself, even as one exiled to his house at Hippique, there to terminate the last days of his Life, in the innocence of Agriculture or Tillage, and in a Sage and Serene meditation of death.  
He received the unknown, not only as one wounded whereof the disgrace invited him to give him some succour, but he received him as a Person, who was airy, whose Countenance, Features, Gesture, Visage and Physiognomy marked and betokened, I know not what, some thing more than ordinary worth and grandeur, and having caused him to be commodiously placed in a Chamber, he gave general Orders and Directions for all things necessary for his Cure. Yea he even caused a Chariot to be prepared to fetch the Bodies of the two others unknown, whereby the last devoirs might be rendered them, if they were not in a state to receive those of others.  
Telamonius in the interim, having inquired after news of Tarsis at the house of Alcidias, he knew that scarcely had the Shepherd entered there, but that he went out again; and that all those who had seen him, were astonished at the trouble, and almost the wand'ring and straying port wherein he appeared to them.  
This answer redoubled the inquietude of Telamonius, he gave order, that they should tell Ergaste and Celemante, if they should come in quest of him, that he would take his way towards Gonnes, by reason they had told him, that his Brother had gone from that side there; and for that cause he returned to take Agamée to the place where the Shepherd had informed him again that he expected him. Agamée had then finished the reading of his Book, and the dismal and tragic end of that History, had moistened both their Eyes with tears, when he was accosted by the Shepherd. Ah Telamonius! said he to him wipeing his eyes when he saw him, I am not the more astonished, by the surprise you had soon testified, in reading some pages in that Book; I am amazed that you could have power to begin it, without finishing it, if it be not that you had already known from elsewhere or from others, the tragic and marvellous Adventure of those two young and unfortunate Heroes, whose Lives are here described. Telamonius did not immediately answer, but only with a sigh, afterwards taking the little Book in his hands, and having opened it towards the latter end, to see only how far the History had continued, he immediately closed it, and said unto him, Oh Agamée! I can well be taught the disgrace of these two unfortunate young ones, of whom you have discoursed me, since even I myself have suffered a share, and do yet know more of news, than the Philosopher Straton himself; since that he learned the greatest part, from no other than my Mouth.  
Agamée comprehended not presently all the sense of this Discourse, and believing that Telamonius knew not these things, but because he had known Kion and Leonides more particularly than Straton, in the voyages that he had made: he said unto him, I esteem you happy, O Shepherd, to have known these two unfortunate Heroes, if the knowledge you have had, redoubled not without doubt the regrets that you also have at their loss.  
But however it be, pardon me, if I tell you, that I will not leave you patiented, that you taught me not, that which you said that the Philosopher Straton had omitted, in a History so full of Wonders. For in fine, I avow unto you, that I am enamoured with the virtue of these two illustrious Brothers, as much as I am concerned at their Misfortune.  
And I love them so much the more, that their union seemeth unto me, in some sort, the Image of that excellent amity and friendship, that I see between you and Tarsis, whereof you willingly would, that I demand of you also the same time the news. I cannot tell you any thing of Tarsis, replied mournful Telamonius, and I myself would demand of you, why or wherefore hath he done nothing more, than only to have passed by the house of Alcidias: but I will tell you of Leonides, if you please, in searching out for Tarsis, or rather I will declare unto both of the one and the other, since 'tis true that Tarsis is himself Leonides.  
It is not possible to delineate, how much Agamée was surprised, when he understood that Leonides died upon a Block, in view of so great a part of the World in Panticapée, and Tarsis is now yet living at Tempé, were not but one sole, and alone even one single Person.  
What Telamonius, replied he, joining his hands, and retiring two or three Paces, by way of recoil? That Leonides whom the Philosopher Straton saw, burnt with his own proper Eyes in Panticapée, is the same Shepherd whom we seek; Ah! the testimony of his death is too illustriously manifest, to make us suspect it to be a fable; and if it could be capable, yet it should not be addressed to make one to one so great a Prince as Philadelphe.  
Favor me therefore, and of courtesy tell me, how you understand it, and unfold or explicate me a riddle or mystery, which I would give to be done by Oedipe himself. The explanation shall be therefore, as well short, as facile (replied Telamonius) but let's not lose more time here, let's seek out Tarsis, and I will unridle you this Mystery in walking.  
Then returning fifty or sixty Paces the same way by which they had come, they met a small Town, where turning to the right hand, they took the way to Gonnes, and in the mean time Telamonius spoke to him thus.  

Here continues the History of Kion and Leonides.  
NOT only Tarsis is Leonides, O Agamée, but I myself am that unfortunate Kion, who was the Companion of all his dismal and mournful Disasters.  
This discourse having yet redoubled the amazement of Agamée, (although he was falling something suspicious in his mind, since he had understood that Leonides was Tarsis) he could not refrain himself from interrupting Telamonius. I thought (said he unto him) not to come to see the People of Tempé, but as illustrious Shepherds: but by what I see, I find myself (contrary to my expectation) amongst Heroes. I ought therefore well to foresee, Telamonius, that these illustrious Commencements of apprenticeship, that you did so young among the Th●beans, could have no other than such marvellous consequences: but I am too impatient to learn that which you promise me, to interrupt you for a longer time.  
Telamonius answered with as much civility, as such obliging Words deserved, and after he had told him that Straton the Philosopher, having been his particular Friend, he had doubtless taken pleasure, to set a much higher value upon his Actions, than they in themselves were worth, he continued thus.  
It's not convenient Agamée, that this great Amity which you have seen between Kion and Leonides should surprise you. For not only were we born, my Brother and myself of the same Father and Mother, but I will yet tell you, that if Fortune as well as Nature, had taken a task to render all amongst us in common, we had not even from our infancy, but the self same Nurse, the self same Sports, the same Exercises, yea and even the same Masters; and although there is some difference in our Ages, there hath not been almost any, in all the courses of our Lives.  
At the return from the Voyage of Thebes, which is the only one that ever I made without him, we went together to Athens to study in the Academy, where then presided Xenocrate the Philosopher. The esteem that our excellent Master had for Travellers, and Voyages gave us encouragement. I say, to me and my Brother, to spend some years in that Place, and the rather and more especially to see the Gauls, which we held for our Original Country.  
I will say nothing to you of the divers Accidents that happened to us there, you will know only, that being in the Capital City of the Gauls, we were challenged by two young Knights, with whom we had had some difference. Fortune gave us the advantage of that Combat, but the prosecution that was made against us, by the Relations of these two young Knights after their death, constrained us to departed from thence, sooner than otherwise we had done, and to change even our Names for our better security. We than took upon us these of Kion and Leonides which our grandfather's bore, and our paternals; and we were so well accustomed to those, that as 'tis ordinary enough with those who travel, to change theirs, we took those of others, in all the remainder of our courses. Behold Agamée, all that I will declare unto you, in relation to our Voyage from the Gauls, although that at our being there, we met with other considerable Adventures: but I pretend not as to the present, but to satisfy that of your impatience, which you had to know, how 'tis possible that Leonides should be living here, when as you have seen him, (for so it may be said) to die at Panticapée.  
For this end, you shall know that the Wife of Prytanis was daughter to Aristodeme, Prince of the Senate of Heraclea, before the Tyranny of Clearque. She had known our Names by our Misfortunes, and that strange accident which happened to us at Chalcedone, was no less come to her cognisance, than the History of the Deliverance of Heraclea. That which we had done for her Country, moved her therefore to some compassion for us, and the natural mildness and tractable courtesy of the asiatic Qualities and Conditions, which she could not forget, imprinted an aversion in her, against the cruelty and barbarity of a Superstition, to which she had never been accustomed. She knew that the Crime, that they imputed to my Brother, was called Valour in Heraclea, and that this was an effect and product of that same courage wherein her Country had received such signal and considerable Services. That Lysimachus had drawn upon himself from all Asia, the reproaches of cruel and barbarous, by a Vengeance almost in similitude, to what he would have taken for the death of Diomedes, and although this great Queen had all the mournful Regret and Sorrow, whereof a virtuous Princess was capable in the death of her Husband, she therefore knew how to distinguish the Crime of Tarsis, from that of his Fortune. So compensating in some sort, the Services which she had received from him, in the Persons of her Compatriots, besides the outrage that she had received in that of Prytanis, and considering that she owed the first to our Affection, and that she could not impute the Injury but to his Fortune, she was ashamed to sacrifice a Life, which had been so profitable to her Country, so that having but one Son, very young, the Tuition, Wardship and Custody of whom, rendered her the Regency, and conserved in her the sole and entire Authority, she had in design to save Tarsis.  
I avow that the Enterprise was great, and that the Execution appeared impossible: for she would also have saved the significant appearances and seeming signs, and given to the Memory, and to the Obsequies of the dead King, all the Honour and Solemnity that to him was due. Moreover when she had had in contemplation and thought to retrench something, that depended not absolutely nor solely upon herself; because she agitated in a Law and Custom invetterate, and of very ancient use and long continuance, of a Royal Prerogative, and of popular Superstition. What remedy then in an occasion of this nature, where it was in question publicly to burn a Man, in the view of all the People, and yet therefore not to cause him to die. What way to save appearances? what means to offer these Sacrifices, and not to immolate the Victim? Certainly I believe they were the Gods, who inspired, to him whom you go to understand; be it by reason they never abandoned virtue, and oppressed innocence; be it because that there having been nothing that more pleased them in Princes, than Actions of Clemency, for as much as it's principally from thence, that they imitate them, they would not leave the generous Compassion of this great Queen, without the satisfaction of an happy Success.  
The Corpse of the dead King being placed upon the height of the Block, to be exposed to the view of all the People; my Brother was entered, as you have read, through an opening place, that they had left on one side, and which they had immediately stopped up with some quantity of Straw. He found this Block empty and hollow within, but made no reflections thereon: and being lain flat upon the ground at his entrance, expecting when they would set fire thereunto, he dreamt of no other thing but death, with constancy worthy his Life; when he felt some certain one, who took him by the Arm, drew him, as if he would have made him to rise, and that having turned his Eyes from that side, he discerned by the favour of some beam of light, which penetrated through the roof of the Block, that it was a Man that waited for him there, and whom he had not at first perceived, by reason of the obscurity of the Place, and that he issued forth at Noon or light day.  
My Brother being raised up again in surprise and that amazement, that you may readily conceive; this same Man took him by the hand, by one of his own, and holding a close Lantern in the other, caused him to descend, by an opening newly made under ground, under a Vault, where he immediately felt an extraordinary freshness, all cool, he understood or heard even the noise of a soft murmuring very near that Place, and had no sooner made ten or twelve Paces, but he saw himself, through the favour of the light which his guide brought, upon the brim of a Pond full of clear and fair Water, which glided down along the Vault. Tarsis still in an incredible astonishment, thought to have demanded in the Language of the Country, of which he could speak a little, a solution of this passage of his Conductor: but that Man answered him only with Signs; so that my Brother having in conclusion found that he was dumb, disposed himself only to follow him. After they had walked about one hundred and fifty Paces, still under the same Vault, they made them pass through a male Gate, and ascend by steps very obscure into a Tower, where the dumb one shut him up, making him a sign, that he would soon come to fetch him. In effect, they came to take him away in the Night, and having caused him to mount into a Chariot all covered, they lead him into the Palace, and by a stolen Ladder, they introduced him into the Queen's Cabinet. He bowed himself his face to the ground in his entrance, conforming himself to directions prescribed him by an old Woman, who received him at the Gate, (for it was not permitted to look the Queen in the face) and he still remained in that posture, whilst the Queen so spoke to him in the Greek Tongue.  
Young Stranger, I believe that you are not ignorant, but that you should die occording to the Custom of this Country, and it is by a very particular Grace and Favour, that I have conserved you your Life, after I had received from you, the most sensible Affronts and Outrages. However, I am persuaded, that I may preserve it you with Justice, since 'tis not by Treason, but by the Law of Arms that you have committed the Crime, whereof you are accused, and 'tis with some kind of Solace and Consolation that I pay you, in that the Services you have done to the City of Heraclea. But abuse not that Life, that I so freely and liberally give you, and do not betake yourself to Arms afresh, against us, who after such an Action, can be no other, than Criminal. As for other Matters, conceal the theft I have made here against our Laws, for your sake and conservation, and betray not an Act of Grace and Favour, whereof you reappeal the Fruit and Benefit, and manage through this Secret my Reputation with care, as much as I have done your Life, and with these Words she sent him away.  
In the mean time, I was in so great grief and dolour, which cannot be conceived, and the affliction wherein I found myself, in contemplating how I had seen to perish my dear Brother, and to perish by so tragical an end, gave me no other hope of Consolation than only in death. Straton had once saved me from my desperation, but he had not appeased it. I stole myself from him through favour of the Crowd, in the intricazy of his going out; and I returned apace, resolved with my blood to water the Ashes of my dear Leonides, and to appease his Shadow, by a Victim which I believed, could be no other than pleasing to his Mind. In that design, I would have bought a Sword, because that Straton had taken away mine, and having chosen one out by the favour or light of a Lamp in the first shop that I met withal, I threw to the Merchant seller double of what it might be worth, being not willing to continue there to treat of the price.  
That precipitant profuceness joined to my Language, and the Mode of my Attire, which made me appear a Stranger, having occasioned some Soldiers, who were in the Shop, to look upon me very narrowly, who questioned with me, and my Answers having rendered me suspect, they seized me as a Spy, and brought me to the Queen. The Queen having known me by the free and frank avow that I had made, commanded me to be put in Prison, I was there carried immediately by her Order, and 'twas in the same Tower, where the dumb one had presently set Tarsis. I entered there even almost at the instant, that he was there also brought, at the coming forth from the Queens. I will learn you to apprehend, if it be possible, our joy and reciprocal astonishment, at this unexpected Encounter, but they left us not then, the time to testify it to each other. For after an Officer had made us swear Secrecy, and that he had received our Oath, no more to bear Arms against the Queen, yea, and not to return into the Troops of Eumele, nor of Ariamene, they made us both descend by a small Step from the Tower, under this same Tower, where Tarsis had been brought, and which we knew by an Aqueduct. Afterwards the first guide of Tarsis having caused us to walk a league under ground, he made us at last to go out through a secret Gate, in the midst of the Fields. Thus in few words Agamée, you have heard the narration of our deliverance.  
There we quitted the Names of Kion and Leonides, and reassumed our own, that we might fulfil the Commands of the Queen, who had engaged us to secrecy, to conceal ourselves, and to the Oaths she had so precisely exacted from us; and wearied with so many traverses that we had had in our Courses, we resolved to return and taste the repose of our Tempé, which seemed more preferable, than all that we could expect else where by Fortune. However in returning we remained some Months in the Siege of Mitylene, and rendered ourselves a little afterwards here; having been fully satiated, (by the many and divers unfortunate Adventures of our Travels) the curiosity of obliging us to departed hence. I will only add, that we knew by the way, that Eumele had victoriously entered into Panticapée a little after our departure, and that believing us to be dead there, he had avenged us by sacking the City, which he had put to the Sword and fired.  
Telamonius pressed himself thus to be cut off short, because that in the Moment that he had pronounced these Words, they had understood Ag●mée and him, those of a Man which bewailed himself very sadly very near there.  
Alas Erigone, said he, in a languishing tone, you would that I should die, and behold you are at the point of being satisfied. I would have chosen a kind of death more prompt: but the pleasure that you have always taken to see me suffer, hath caused me to believe that my Pains would be yet longer, and you would be yet more content. Your Husband had not been sufficiently revenged by a common death, and it must have had also one stranger than mine, to satisfy so extraordinary a Malice as was yours.  
These Complaints having administered them the curiosity to advance towards the place, where they had understood it; they perceived a Shepherd lain down all at length near unto a hedge, having all his Cheeks bedewed with tears, his Arms joined cross his Stomach, the head and sight turned toward a Shepherdess, who sat upon the Grass near unto him. The Visage of the Shepherd was pale, lean and lank, and fallen away, as if he had been newly recovered from some tedious Malady or Disease. Nevertheless in this bad plight, he ceased not to have something very agreeable and delightful, because all the lineaments of his face were regular, his eyes naturally fiery, yet were sweetened and tempered through a pining and languishing Affection or Amour, his hairs were clear, and of a Chestnut colour all curled; his Physiognomy deciphered him to be a Man of Mettle, marking out something of frankness and generosity, his pitch and stature as much as one could judge, neither of the tallest nor of the least, but they were better proportioned, and amongst other things he had (I know not what) somewhat of naturally passionate in all the air of his Person, which beseemed properly and very marvellously well sorted to the plight of his disgrace, and the shallowness and lankness of his Visage.  
That of the Shepherdess demonstrated itself a little broken and defaced, and yet notwithstanding she appeared wonderfully fair and beautiful. One might discern that she was not unsensible of the ill plight of the Shepherd, whatever reproach had been made him; for she also had her Eyes bedewed with tears, and she beheld him with marvellous significations of compassion. Telamonius judged that there had been no long time that they were at Tempé, because he remembered not that he had ever seen them, and because he had no other design to employ himself upon any other thing, than to seek out Tarsis, he returned to go on his Journey. When the Shepherdess discerned him, she called him by his Name, and said unto him, Wise and discreet Telamonius behold an Action worthy your generosity, by favour assist me to heal the languishing Spirit of this poor sick one, and ratify the opinion that they have given me, that nothing could be able to resist your Wisdom.  
Telamonius was so pressed with his own displeasure, that heno was not in a proper plight to interest himself in that of others: however he could not refuse a word of answer, to the request of the Shepherdess, so that approaching himself, he testified to her, that though he was not seasoned with so much wisdom to render even to himself the consolation, that was convenient for him, he would however, if 'twere possible, do something to serve her. I demand nothing of you, but for this poor unfortunate one, replied she. He hath resolved to suffer himself to perish and die with hunger in this certain place, where you now see him, and behold this is the second day that he is there, without taking any refection or nourishment.  
I know that your reputation hath given him a marvellous esteem for you, and 'tis for that cause I was emboldened to crave your succour for him, as being the most capable that I know to give it him. Ha cruel! cried the Stranger in beholding her. The Gods will doubtless revenge me of your hypocrisy. You feign and pretend to seek succour for me, and 'tis you alone that makes me die.  
At this Word raising himself sitting up, and addressing himself to Telamonius. Wise Shepherd, said he unto him, all the consolation that I could wish from you before my death, is that you would understand the Cruelty and Injustice with which this Shepherdess hath treated me these three years. It seemeth to me that I shall finish my Life better content, when I see that you will condemn her, and that my resolution shall have been approved of so honest a Man, as you are.  
Telamonius who had the care of his dear Brother in his mind and heart, thought good to dispense with himself in listening to this Man; although his strange resolution touched him with pity, and that at another time he went himself to seek the consolation, that he could have wished from him.  
He prepared himself therefore to speak to him only a few words, and all those were, what he imagined to be the most useful and capable to withdraw his Mind from the design he had to leave himself so to die, when a little Shepherd accosting him, told him from Tarsis, that the Shepherd that he had perceived about two hundred Paces from thence. prayed him to attend him some moments, and that he came to go to find him. This was a very great rejoicing to Telamonius, to learn this piece of news, and so much more, that he hoped that perhaps his Brother would tell him also something in relation to Zelie. He demanded therefore of this Boy where Tarsis was, with design to go himself before, and afterwards to return to satisfy the desire of the desolate Stranger, but this Shepherd answered him, it would be labour lost, and that Tarsis would not be presently at the same place, in regard that when he had found him this Shepherd walked very swiftly upon the trace and print of a Chariot, and of some Cavaliers. So that Telamonius judging from thence, that in seeking him, he should without doubt do no other than lose him, took this occasion to give the unknown Shepherd the satisfaction he wished.  
He therefore sat upon the Grass near him, under the shadow of the same Hedge, and Agamée did as much, but before he would hear him, he would have engaged him to take some nourishment and refection. The Shepherd appeared to it, that he seemed not that they could be able ever there to resolve him: however Telamonius knew him so well as to take him, and so artificially and pathetically did remonstrate him by candour and sweetness, that in the plight wherein he found himself, it could not be possible for him to make the discourse he undertook how short soever it might be. That the Shepherdess having on the other side deputed Telamonius a Judge of their difference, and given her word to yield to all those things to which he would condemn her, after having heard them both, in conclusion he inclined, suffering some to go to fetch Wine and Aliment wherewith to repair a part of his strength. He therefore took some small pittance, and as he was of a temper sufficiently strong, that which he had taken having put him in good plight to speak without pain, he began his Discourse in this manner.  

The History of Eleandre, and of Erigone.  
I Am very well pleased, Erigone, that you are found present at my Narration. You may at least interrupt me, if I speak something or any thing which is not true, and I add any feigning to the reasons I have to complain of your Cruelties. You shall know then, Sage Shepherd, that there are about three years and a half, that returning from Thebes, the Place of my Nativity, I was obliged to lie at Larissa, which is as you know, a City of Thessaly, distant from hence about one hundred and sixty paces. I prepared myself to departed the morrow morning and past through the principal Street to go to my Inn, when I perceived ro run towards me a Woman, whom I knew not, but she appeared to be one of quality, she had tears in her Eyes, Lamentations in her Mouth, her Hair loosely scattered, and was pursued or followed by a Man, who was likewise unto me unknown, and who had a naked Sword in his hand. After she saw me, and was near unto me, My Lord, cried she, stretching me out her Arms, save my Life. This sight moved me to compassion, and the cowardice and treachery of him who pursued her, having stirred me up to indignation and horror, I handled my Sword, and rushed into the middle of the Street to oppose and withstand his passage, thereby to give this Woman leisure and opportunity to withdraw herself and retire.  
This unhappy one, blind with choler and rage, instead of standing still cast himself upon me, and would have slain me, but thrust himself upon the point of myself, which pierced him through, so that he fell down dead upon the pl●ce. The noise that some People than made who beheld us, made this Woman to turn about her head, and she no sooner saw the Man fall down, but she burst forth into a great cry, and fell herself into a swoon. I ran to her, and assisted her to raise herself up, and come to herself again, and she had gathered up her Spirits, when casting her Eyes upon me, and known me to be him who succoured her, I found that instead of returning me thanks and gratitude, which I might have expected, she laid hold of my Arm, wholly transported, and with a thousand tears, conjured those there present to aid her, in arresting the Murderer of her Husband. At the same time I was laid in Prison, the next Morning the Judges were assembled, and I brought before them. Since that my Accusation and Indictment was form and preferred, all the People who knew how the Action had passed, began to murmur against the ingratitude of a Woman, who prosecuted me to death for having saved her Life; and even the Judges themselves appeared to be moved with indignation. Wherefore she risen up and drying her Eyes, which she had bedewed with tears, she began afterwards to speak with modesty and an admirable grace.  
My Lords, I would have believed that the murmuring which I heard, had not been against me, if we were in a Country, where conjugal love should pass for a Crime, and where it was prohibited a woman to love her Husband above herself: but since we live under Laws quite contrary, I apprehend not why they should blame me, if I have nothing in the World more precious, than the memory of mine, and which I should rather believe, to have owing more hatred to him who had deprived him of Life, or of acknowledgement and gratitude for the conservation of mine. The first duty of a Widow, is to revenge the death of her Husband, 'tis to be a complice and confederate in his death to spare the guilty, and it behoves me to have wished that I should believe I owed him some acknowledgement; I therefore, my Lords, crave your Justice, I will not diminish you his Crime; you know as well as myself, that he hath slain one of your Citizens, in the midst of your City in the open Street, in view of all the People, as if he would have erected that as a Trophy of his Crime. He will perhaps say I demanded his succour, but to crave his succour, is that to crave the death of my Husband? Can there be no other ways or means found out to appease domestic Disorders? Cannot Wives be otherwise succoured, than by killing their Husbands? And although I should have been so absolutely palpably and abominably wicked, as to have demanded this detestable parricide, should it have been Innocency in him to have thereunto with me accorded? What couly he thence infer, but that I should be one of his accomplices and confederate, and so we must have been punished both together? Ha, my Lords, it's left to you to judge, if Murder is permitted by your Laws; as for me, I know very well that those of mine, and my duty oblige me to demand from you vengeance, for the death of my Husband.  
There her Tears, Sighs and Sobs interrupted her Voice, and hindered her to proceed further, and finished her discourse, by a silence, yet more penetrating, and a thousand fold more eloquent than her Words. The Countenances and Hearts of the Judges appeared to be changed, and I do not conceal from you what I began to fear, in despite of all the confidence and security, that before my Innocence had given me. However I risen up, when they had made me a Sign, and made my defence in these terms.  
My Lords, I am no more astonished, that this Widow prosecutes me with this ardour and violence, now that she hath rendered you the reason. You have understood that she affected her Husband with so much passion, that the resentment of his death, hath smothered that of the conservation of her own Life; and it's no wonder that the same passion blinds her against me, since she blinds it against her own self. But, my Lords, as you measure not the public Interest by particular affections; and that on the contrary, you know well, there is more opposite to Justice, than Passion, I fear not that her grief will be more prevalent upon you against me, nor that you will judge me more culpable, by reason her affliction is so excessive. I passed by accident through a Street, I saw a Man that would have slain a Woman, I knew not that she had been his, and if I had known it, I have not heard say, that at Larisse the Husbands had the power to kill their Wives. That which I only knew, that it's the right of the People, and the duty of every one, to succour and relieve the oppressed, to defend the feeble and weak against the violence of the stronger, and he who being capable and able to prevent a Crime, and yet suffers and permits it, is no less culpable than he who commits it. I than would have repressed and given check to the fury of this barbarous one, I opposed his passage, and because he had a Sword in his hand I drew mine. For had I exposed myself armless to the fury of one already armed, I had not done it against him, but for myself, and if I would have done nothing against his life, I ought to be precautioned for my own. In the interim, he cast himself upon me, and would have slain me, but myself who dreamed of nothing but to appease him, and believed I should have served him, to hinder him in his furious wrath to commit so lewd and horrid a Crime, whereof he would have had cause to be the first action, and by which he would have been exposed, nay would have exposed himself to the severities and pains of the most rigorous and austerely inexorable Laws. All the People can testify, and are Witnesses of what I have done. He pursued me as a Man who attacketh, and I resisted but as a Man who defends himself. I was contented to ward off the blows, I also even recoiled and retired some certain Paces, and did not kill him in conclusion, but his fury precipitated even him himself upon my Sword.  
Behold, my Lords, the narration of the truth of all the Action, such as it is, and you see whether I am culpable. What have I in common with a Murderer, as they call me, I who had no other intention than only to save the Life of one of your Citizens, and to impede the same Crime, for so I may say, for which they reproach me? For it's convenient if it please you, my Lords, that you distinguish, betwixt what is my Fact, from that of his, who is dead. That which is of mine, is no other than a design to save the Life of one of your Women, and the honour of one of your Inhabitants; to hinder a Man to assassinate a Woman, and a Man armed a Woman disarmed. If the succour I willingly intended to both, hath not extended nor been profitable, but only to one, it's that which is through the fact of the dead and not through mine: and I have done much less against him, than it was permitted me; for being attacked for one good action, had I not reason to defend myself, and to repulse force with force? in the interim I would have done nothing, and he deprived me of the means of saving him.  
My Lords, believe not more of your doubt hereafter of my innocency, and I am assured that a longer Discourse would serve, but to delay and retard my absolution. I have said.  
When I had finished my Speech, they returned me to Prison, whilst the Judges went to deliberate and advise, and learned that the Affair was strongly weighed and ponderd upon, because the dead was one of the principal Men of Larissa, and that he had potent Friends. In conclusion the Justice carried it in favour of, and upon the credit of the Accusatrix, I was absolved and set (as formerly) at liberty.  
After I was out of Prison, my first care was to inquire for the habitation of Erigone (it's the Name of my Accusatrix, whom you here see present) and I endeavoured by all ways and means imaginable, to have access to her. For I avow you, I conceived not only an extraordinary esteem for her; but that which you will perhaps have hardly imagined, instead of the affection ordinarily born in the heart of others, which from the delight and complaisance, and amongst the pleasures and sweetness of joy; I was become amorous of her, through the obstinacy which she had had in prosecuting and designing my death, and through the Pains and Inquietudes of the Prison. I had learned that she had been married very young, to him whom I had slain, and although he was known to be extraordinary quick, ready and prompt to Choler: Wrathful, furious, jealous, and likewise subject to all violent Passions, however his relations sacrificed her, by reason he was extremely rich, that there had been but two years since their Marriage, that and in that time he had many times ill treated her, without cause or subject, that every one complained of him through out the City; that all the World admired the sagacity, moderation and wisdom of her Conduct, with a Man so devoid of reason, and that his last ill comportment had not sprung nor been produced, but that she returned a little longer than pleased him, from some Company to whom she had not gone, but by his order and direction. All that gave me cause to admire the virtue of a Woman, who in despite of so many subjects of Aversion and Hate, still conserved a friendship and amity so constant and generous for a Husband; and the marks and tokens of her Spirit and Grace, whereof I had been an Evidence, joined with the natural perfections, which brightly shone in all her Person, had given me sentiments of extraordinary esteem for her, that she could not but be passionately beloved. I therefore sought all occasions imaginable to see and speak with her, and no opportunity having been represented me, I fully took a resolution to make one my own self.  
I therefore put myself in sufficiently good order, and about three days after my Liberty, I repaired to her Gate in the Evening, and concealing my Name, demanded to speak with her. She was alone in a Chamber with a Maiden, and as she had her Eyes bedewed with tears; I believed, as it was true, that she yet wept and condoled the death of her Husband, she knew me presently, and appeared extremely surprised at this visit.  
As for me I approached her with all the submission and respect that I imagined might be possible, and said unto her. Madam, I have made my defence against our Judges, but will not defend it against you, and I now come to offer it you, that you may dispose of it all wholly as you please. She blushed at this discourse, and answered me. Eleandre (for our Process had taught her my name) you came to reproach my Ingratitude, and to insult upon my Misery: but however it be, I am assured, that I have done my duty; and although the Judges have determined, it sufficeth me that I am content of myself.  
Madam, replied I, if I had any thing to reproach you withal, it would only be the injurious suspicion you have of me, and if I were capable of accusing you of ingratitude, it could be no other, but because that while I have all the esteem imaginable for your virtue, you suspect me guilty of the greatest treachery in the Word. It seemeth to me therefore, Madam, that a Man who comes to you only as a supplicant, hath but very little of the countenance of a Man, who thinketh to insult on you, and he who would not but ask pardon, is very far from thinking to reproach you. See you, Eleandre, replied she, I flatter not myself, I know you have cause to complain of me, and if you do it not, it's through dissimulation or generosity: But before you condemn me, you must put yourself in my place, and that you see what an honest Wife could do for the Murderer of her Husband.  
It is not but that I persuade myself, but that your intention was altogether generous: but, Eleandre, they cannot but very little consider the intention, when the effects are so dismally deplorable; and a Woman who seeing her husband to be slain, is capable to reason or question the intention of him who did it, hath reason to desire to find Justice and Consolation in his death. I know Madam, answered I, that you have done all that a virtuous Woman ought to do, and when I made my defence before the Judges, you did not see me complain of you, and all the care, that I owed for my Life, was not capable to infuse into me one single thought, unworthy of your virtue.  
But contrarily I have commended it in secret, even then when it fought against me; I have admired a Woman that would so revenge a dead Husband, his Sword in his hand against her. Excellently Eleandre, interrupted she me at that Passage, reflect not on the memory of my Husband. If I have hated my Life, because that hath served as a pretext for his death, I would also hate my little virtue, if it would serve as an occasion to do injury to that of his. Let's blame, let's blame, rather together my debility and ill conduct, to have exposed him to so great and many Extremities, and thereby punish me for my Faults, if you find me not yet sufficiently punished. Ah! Madam, cried I, altogether transported with admiration and Love; Oh the means of finding to repeat in one virtue, so perfect. But through your favour Madam, what can I do, to repair or make a compensation for my offence? for in sum, I protest to the Gods, that if my death could render you, that which it hath deprived you of, I would surrender my Life with joy; and that I even now give you, with pleasure, if it can render you satisfaction, and that it might serve to make pardon my Crime. You know well, answered me Eriogene, that you are not Criminal, since the Judges have absolved you: But I dissemble you not Eleandre how innocent soever you are, you are always guilty as to me, since 'tis you who hath slain my Husband. 'Tis not that hereafter I desire your death; I had not demanded it, but by reason I believed it due to that of his, and since they have determined the contrary, I am not yet so unjust, that I would make him a criminal Sacrifice; yea I will even tell you much more, I am very well pleased, that you were not guilty against the Law; and that it was not possible for me myself to have an acknowledgement for you, that would have supplied my default, and defended you against my duty. But if I cease to wish your death, I do not therefore detest my Misfortune, nor yet complain of my unhappiness, and I do not dissemble to you Eleandre, in what manner soever you could receive it; how you are him whereof she hath served herself to be made the instrument of my disgrace, I cannot refrain to extend my hatred even as far as you, nor can I hinder myself to look on you with this kind of horror that we naturally conceive, and sometimes in despite of us, for all things that have been contributory, how ever innocently, in causing us some great evil, and have once wounded our Imagination. Yea I suffer, and more than I can tell you in your view, in the self same hour when I speak unto you; she re-opens the Wounds all bloody, and seems to fight me afresh my Husband in my very heart; his Image whom I there preserve, is the outraged by the presence of his Enemy; and since you seek my consolation, as you have said, I conjure you Eleandre to bear my debility and weakness, and to leave weeping in peace an unfortunate one in solitude; and spare me the displeasure of seeing you here any longer time. And as well it seemeth me on the other side, that this same sight accuseth me with ingratitude, without any intermission towards you; that she reproaches me with the same sentiments that I declare to you, and that my ill Destiny having put me under a necessity to be guilty towards my Husband or towards you, you render me altogether Criminal, both to the one and the other. Towards my Husband, in making me permit his Murderer in my house; towards you, in treating you as I do. Behold Eleandre, behold I avow it to you, remember well an Action to which I own the conservation of my Life: but if these offers and civilities that you do me, be frankly put out from a heart tru●y generous and sincere as I believe; you will not only pardon my displeasure, but you will also capacitate me to know even some good liking and consent of an ingenuous declaration, which signifies well enough, that which I conceive, that it is not poured out through a difficiency of a grateful acknowledgement to you, but only from the duty of a Woman, and the affection which she beareth to her Husband.  
Whilst she spoke these Words, the tears trickled down her Eyes in so great an abundance, that I was sensibly touched with a real pain. I could have resolved to have retired immediately, and I answered her; O Erigone, that you were not more pleasant when you prosecuted my death, than in this day, leaving me with life under these cruel conditions you impose on me. What Madam I shall live without daring to see you with your hatred, and as the object of your horror? What grace or favour do you to a Man, whom you acknowledge innocent, and how would you punish me then, if I were truly guilty? Eleandre, replied she, wiping her Eyes with her handkerchief, I have told you all that I can say hereon, and as congruity and good manners permits me not to chase you out otherwise from out of my house, and as my dolour also cannot admit of a longer time of my conversation with you, pardon me if I quit you, that you may have liberty to retire yourself.  
At the same time she withdrew, and past away into a Cabinet or Chamber, shutting the door after her, and left me in such confusion that I am uncapable to depaint it.  
Eleandre remained a little time in that same room to take breath, afterwards continued in this sort, I retired myself also a little after, but yet a thousand times more in Love, than I was ever before, and with a greater desire to see her again; although she had told me, that I should not only lose my Design, but my hope; I took so much care to converse amongst Persons, whose company she frequented; upon whom I had some considerable influence, I would not be discouraged. This was not therefore a thing very facile nor easy, for naturally she did not love Company, and especially since the death of her Husband, she made no Visits, unless it were to those of her near Relations; I insinuated myself therefore amongst others into the friendship of a Widow, who was of her Cousins, and one of her most intimate Friends, named Olonie, who signified to me the day and hour, she was to come to her Habitation: I arrived there a little after Erigone was there entered, at the first sight of her in the Chamber, I pretended I was surprised, and seemed willing to retire. But Olonie who knew my Design recalled me. Where go you then Elandre? said she. Is there any one here, of whom you are afraid? Erigone who saw me enter, rose up, and as she sought a pretext to shun me, she replied with an insolent and disdainful tone: It must undoubtedly be myself my Cousin, and therefore I go to leave you together. At the very instant she went forth, although her Relation did what possible might be imaginable to dissuade her, neither the offers I made to withdraw myself, nor any thing else could prevail with her to remain there. I did not retire myself nor would be repulsed for that, and being informed another time that she was to come after dinner to the same Relation, I first came there, my design succeeded not a whit better, but rather less, by reason the Domestics of Olonie knowing I was there, she passed away saying, she came only to excuse herself.  
I attempted three or four other times to accost her, but she precautioned herself still with so much dexterity, that she deprived me of all means or rather shut me up all the ways, but one which she herself did not defy, and which was procured me, in conclusion by the same Relation. Olonie had a fair Countryhouse the other side of Larisse, about forty furlongs from the City; and she engaged Erigone to spend there some certain days with her. We conceived it expedient, Olonie and myself, that I should go there to find them; but to avoid all imaginable suspicion, I pretended myself ready to go forth from Larisse to return to my own home; and as the house was in the way, I feigned to have been fled and dismounted in passing by, and that I would demand a retreat there, until I might be able to return, to make up my equipage at Larisse. That which we had accorded and conserted to, was put in execution, and two or three days before the Voyage of Erigone, having demanded a little audience of her to take my leave, the refusal she made me, prompted me to write her this Letter.  
ELEANDRE to ERIGONE.  
I Should be very angry that any other than myself should give you the good news, I have to tell you, I depart at last for Thebes, Madam, and thereby free you, from the sight of that unfortunate one, whom you so much hate, who persecuted you every where, and gave you so much and so many troubles to shun him. A Novelty so pleasing to you, doubtless merits your permission of my delivering it you vocalls, but you have refused me that happy consolation, by reason you had little or rather no regard to conserve the life, and therefore wish no other than the death of  
ELEANDRE.  
This Letter was given her, but I thereto received no reply. In fine, Erigone and her Cousin departed, and two days afterwards I mounted on horseback and arrived by night near the House of Olonie, by reason I conceived that certain time most proper for my design. I sent back my Servants and Horses to Larisse, with directions to wait upon me there, and as for myself I went on foot (only with one Slave) to the House of Olonie, and counterfeited the best I could my Personage, and even pretended that I had been Wounded, and put my Arm in a Scarf, so that in effect, Erigone was persuaded that I had been fled, and that I had only withdrawn myself to the house of Olonie, through hazard and necessity, and there to demand a place of retreat. So that I had the time desired to remain there, for as I had pretended the loss of my Equipage, and that Olonie had sent back through design her Chariot to Larisse under some pretext; I might continue there unsuspected, until I had recovered the Horses. To this feigned design, Olonie who was extremely jocund and merry, betook herself to with jest me the self same Evening, upon the account of my alighting; and as she had an excellent Wit, she pronounced a thousand pleasant Passages thereon, and I rejoined as pertinently as I could: but what ever we could do, that and the following Night, it was impossible for us to engage Erigone in our floricks, I would say frolic, and pleasant conversation; but on the contrary, she appeared to us still to be unconceivably melancholy. So that the third day she became sick, and from the commencement of her Malady or Disease, the Physicians conceived, that not only herself would be in great danger, but even also those that approached her. That caused Olonie to be surprised with fear, because that at that certain time, there was much discourse of the Plague; she abandoned her own house, to go into that of one of her friends, and left poor Erigone desolate to the discretion of her Domestics. And as I foresaw and observed the small Succour that she could have from those sort of People; I resolved to remain with her, even though my own life were endangered, I would not therefore that she should know any thing lest it might give her some disturbance. I contented myself to have an eye to all that was conducing or might be convenient for her, and gave order that nothing imaginable should be wanting. My cares were crowned with such happy success, that she recovered, and testified to me her grateful acceptance, when she had understood it.  
Then I found my Fortune a little changed, as in relation to her, but not according to my wishes, for all the change that there was, that she deigned or vouchsafed sometimes to listen to unto me, and in the end she came even to suffer me, to practise and use my endeavours, to divert her sometimes by sport and merriment.  
We continued there fifteen days after her recovery, and after the return of Clonie; Erigone being not yet fortified with strength sufficient to travel on the Road, I and still feigning some pretext, under which to dispense my departure. I would not slip that opportunity without declaring more clearly and manifestly the passionate I had for her Love and now behold the manner how.  
One day as Olonie was employed in giving some necessary Orders, I found myself all alone with Erigone, walking upon a platform or great hillock, where hence one might behold the fairest sight and prospect in the World, and whence one might view all the beauty of the House. Erigone understanding that I praised them after at a very high rate, and above all that I could not cease to hold my peace, with respect to the excellency of the fruit that we had there eaten, and less yet of the good reception from our Hostess in common. Indeed, replied she to me smiling, you have a very great deal of confidence, to cause yourself to fly here, and come to help us to eat our fruits, and a flight which hath led you to such a pleasant place, amongst such good Company, and who hath made you such good cheer, it's to me extremely suspicious. I conceal not from you, replied I, but that I have cause to complain, if I have been worse treated here then I expected, for I believed myself abandoned for my furniture and array, and I see well that 'twill cost me my Heart and my Liberty.  
She feigned to believe that this sweetness and pleasance was for Olonie, It's to therefore, replied she, if you believe them be lost, I would counsel you to take your flight; for I would find that you should pay your shot very dear, and that your Hostess would have worse treated you than she would have done thiefs. But, Madam, shall I reassume then what they have already lost, to what purpose then would serve the flight, unless it be yet in the loss of the hope of their recovery in withdrawing at a greater distance from her, who hath taken them from us. In this case, replied she, I have nothing to say to you; you know in what plight your Affairs stand, and it concerns you to consult yourself. It's very much rather to you, Madam, replied I, it's much rather to you, f●om whom I ought to demand counsel, since that upon you alone depends the state of this poor heart, and this poor liberty that I have lost. Erigone appeared astonished, turning her Eyes towards me, and recoiling one or two Faces. What Eleandre, saith she, Is it to me that you direct these words? and remember you well who I am? I remember it so well, Madam, replied I, that I have your Image before my Eyes without intermission, so that it's engraven in my heart, and tells me every hour, and in every place, that you are the fairest, the most spiritual, the most wise; in a word, the most accomplished Pers●n throughout the World. You believe it not without doubt Eleandre, replied she coldly and faintingly, in betaking herself to walk; for if you believed me wise, you would not thus discourse me. Madam, replied I to her, the love I have for you, is so respective and pure, that it cannot wound the virtue of the most scrupulous, nor yet the most austere Wisdom of the World. She paused yet a little at these Words and spoke. What you continue Eleandre? I should fear lest some one should hear you, for they would never imagine that you should have the boldness to treat of Love to the Widow of a Man, whom you have slain, at least that she would not have any conference with you. Ah Madam! replied I, this presumption also costs me very dear, for in fine, I must not flatter you it. There is six Months that I have loved you, there is six Months that I seek occasion to declare it you, there is six Months that I languish between hope and fear, and 'tis not but at the last extremity and upon the point of loss of life, that I hazard myself, to declare it you. Yea Madam I loved you almost from the moment that I had seen you; I had not sooner made that innocent, which renders me so guilty in respect of essay towards you, but that I was punished by the same Eyes, which were the Evidences of my Crime, in causing me to be arrested, detained and made Prisoner; you bond me in other bonds much more strong and ponderous than those of the Justice, and when you demanded my Sentence of Death from the Judges, you yourself prepared me one, whence they were in no capacity to deliver me. Eleandre, replied me, Erigone, I conceive that you have without doubt lost your Wits. There is no doubt thereof, Madam replied I, doubt not thereof; I have too strong a passion for you, to be able to preserve me my Senses, and I pride myself that I have lost them, since it depaints and marks out the violence of my Love. Well said Eleandre, replied she, it's convenient to pity you, and the sole pity that I can altogether consent to discharge my obligation to you, and to that of my Husband. I will have you reassume your Wits, and thereby let you see by good reason, how ridiculous and extravigant your Enterprise is, and hath been, and accordingly to capacitate yourself, in making reflections in order to your cure.  
Madam, interrupted I, foreseeing where at she drove, I have considered of all that you would have told me, and possibly something more: but of all that which is represented me, I can find nothing that can hinder me from loving you, because nothing can render you otherwise than infinitely amiable to me.  
I very well know, that I love a Person, who hates me, who regards me as her most mortal Enemy, and that I am an object of her Aversion and Horror, and who possibly would be glad to see my death, which she hath already wished and prosecuted, I know well that besides her aversion, she will oppose me with a thousand reasons, and those very pertinent and becoming. In a word, I very well know that I swim against a strong Torrent of Difficulties and Obstacles, and that I cannot almost expect any reasonable hopes; but I have very fairly had represented me all these things, I love, and it concerns you may Madam, to tell me a stronger reason which excuse me, from having been able to taste any. It's not that I imagine that I act with reason, I cannot then hope to convince you. For give me leave, Madam, to tell you this, wherefore this hatred, and this capital Aversion against a Man, who never had other than a tender respect for you? If you have lost your Husband, was not he even himself the primarily original Cause? What is there that I have contributed, but an innocent Will, and what but a design to save you. It was a furious Malady that possessed him, to precipitate himself in despite of me, upon his own ruin. If you hate all that was any way contributory towards his death, hate him therefore who was the principal cause, or rather hate the Gods that would have it so, and who by an extraordinary punishment have visibly chastised his Cruelty and furious rage. As for me, what have I deserved, but to be condoled? I went to expose my life, Pardon me, Madam, if I say so, it's not through reproach, for I should hold myself happy to have lost a thousand Lives in so fair an occasion, it's not but in my own justification that I speak. I went there to expose myself through a pure sentiment of compassion, and all my recompense was, that I have been put in Prison, convened before the Judges, treated as a Murderer, and as an Assassinate, exposed to an Infamous Condemnation of Death, and that which I most resent and am most sensible of, and a thousand times more rigorous than all the rest, I drew upon myself all your indignation. All the Judges, all the Relations of the dead, all Larisse concluded me innocent, and you alone have held me as guilty. Will you be astonished, Madam, if all your reasons have not been able to do any thing against my Love, since that all these that have convinced so many other Persons, have had no power over your hatred.  
She listened to me as long as I spoke, and I conceived she had taken pleasure, to find and feel that her soul was not any whit moved with all that I had been able to say. After I had concluded, disdaining almost to answer me. You have reason, Eleandre, rejoined she, I am a Woman altogether unjust, and I am astonished that you knowing me to be such, can yet find me lovely as you have said.  
She withdrew from me at these Words, and went to find out Olonie, to persuade her departure the self same day to return to Larisse, or to give her permission to go there all alone. As for me I remained so pensive, and sad, so confused, and with that stung and nettled with a violent vexation against Erigone, that I was amazed how I could continue to love her.  
But it's impossible to fly from Destiny: when the Heavens have resolved something, all that should appear to divert us from its end, leads us thereunto, and it seems to be pleased in changing, for that the ordinary effects of all causes, and in very deed this vexation was no other than a fire, which increased that of my Love, and instead of repelling me, I felt that my Passion became yet more violent.  
We returned to Larisse, where I found myself far more unfortunate than ever, for Erigone had found in the end, that my pretended flight, had been no other than an artifice, consorted and contrived between Olonie and myself, and therefore conceived such a sensible apprehension against her Relation, that she broke with her, and ceased any more to visit her. So that I lost opportunities of seeing her, and with this occasion, I lost almost all the rest of my hopes, in that state, I would make an effort or essay upon myself, and resolved to return to Thebes, to deface and raze out there, through better Fortune, and more desirable Ideas, that which caused me so many troubles and displeasures. I therefore departed from Larisse, and that which then extremely satisfied me, I went away omitting to take my leave of Erigone. If the Heavens had permitted, I had at Thebes wherewithal to forget this ingrate one, and wherewith to make me put in Oblivion, for my Father who there impatiently expected me, had accorded and provided for me, without my knowledge, one of the fairest and richest Ladies of the City, not any wise doubting, but that I would have held myself happy in the choice he had made for me.  
In the interim the sole proposition which he made, constrained me to think I should die with grief, and the change of the place carried nothing away towards my Love, but that its absence augmenting my desires, increased yet my Passion. My Father being dead at the same time, I found myself the Heir of a considerable Inheritance, and as I had always more of Erigone in my thoughts, I had a design to return to Larisse, where I imagined that the change of my fortune, and two years' time expired since my departure, might make me find some change in her heart I returned there in a sufficiently good Equipage. I saw her, but found her not a whit changed, and as she had a Spirit naturally lose from all manner of Interest, and that she despised the major part of that which flatters all others, the more I supposed she would value the advantage of my Fortune, the more she demonstrated an indifferency and insensibility.  
All these things inflamed me yet the more, instead of calming and cooling me. For I took them as so many marks of high and exquisite virtues.  
I discovered myself to some of her Relations, and discourse with those in whom she placed most confidence, and made them so well to resent my reasons, that they were persuaded; so that her nearest Relations, even those of her deceased Husband, (whom she regarded more than she did those of her own) spoke to her in my favour. But their counsels could make no impressions, nor have any influence upon her Spirits, and she even quitted Larisse, without telling them where she was going, to deliver herself, as she told me, from their importunities, as well as mine. We were for some time ignorant of the place where she went; at length I understood, that she was retired into this Valley, where she hath bought a little house, which you see before you.  
I repaired there immediately, not being able to live a moment without her; and finding that she resolved here to lead the life of a Shepherdess, I at the same time determined to lead the same kind of Life, and signified to her, that I renounced willingly all the Wealth I had at Thebes, rather than I would ever abandon her. But neither my pleasant and obsequious deportment, nor a thousand submissions, that I had newly practised to bend her, were of any efficacy, nor served for any other end, than to leave me hopeless and desperate. I knew there was no other remedy for me, but death.  
Behold the cause of my resolution wise Telamonius, for in fine, what should we think of, but only death, when we have no manner of content, nor pleasure in life? At least that kind of death, which I have chosen, would not it give her occasion to blame my desperation or precipitation; and I hope that the cruel one would have had some horror herself, by reason of her obduration, when she should have had leisure to contemplate the subject that I had unprofitably given her to repent herself.  
The unfortunate Eleandre finished this history in a manner, so pitiful and sensibly touched and concerned, that Agamée and Telamonius, were both melted and moved to compassion; and so much the more, that at the same time his Forces, the recital whereof had drained and exhausted them, the sensibility whereof he had not felt nor was diminished in the height of discourse, nor was he sustained, but only with pain, he was constrained to lie down all at length, and covered his very face with his Cloak, as if he said, Adieu in the day wherein he would wholly have renounced all, if Telamonius changed not the face of his destiny.  
Agamée not only beheld Erigone with some kind of anger and indignation, but as if he had not then too much subject to be satisfied with that fair Sex, he could not forbear to cry out: O Women, must the Gods have given you an Empire so absolute over the Spirits of Men, and must these Men assist yet their own blindness, to ma●e you the cruel Mistresses of their rest and of their Lives! Telamonius seemed to have taken no notice of this small transportation of his friend, but turning himself gently towards Erigone, he signified to her, that he was ready to hear all that she was desirous to speak in her own defence, in the difference wherein she should be willing he should be a Judg.  
Erigone did accord and consent in the confidence she had of the sincerity of Eleandre, and of all the recital he had made, but she could not accord with him in the opinion that he would have given in relation to their Judges, touching the injustice that she supposed they had made her. But on the contrary, she failed not to employ this eloquence, which to her was natural, to endeavour to persuade Telamonius, that all the injustice consisted in the obstinacy of Eleandre, and if the Shepherd was not convinced by her reasons, he could not defend himself from being shaken. Eleandre answered nothing thereunto, be it by reason of the weakness wherein he found himself, be it that he believed he had there given satisfaction enough already. So that being willing to desist from further speaking, neither to the one nor the other; it remained to Telamonius to pronounce sentence. But this wise Shepherd to whom the cause of Erigone appeared the least equitable, would not therefore use that authority she gave him to condemn her. He was willing that she should judge herself, and by that means convince her by reason; having then discovered that all her repugnancy proceeded from no other sentiment than honour, which prohibited honest Women, for any cause whatsoever, to entertain thoughts of espousing the Murderer of her husband, she knew so artificially to contend the scruples of her Spirits, by the difference that was made her betwixt the actions, which the intentions rendered criminal, and those that are justified by their proper cause; she knew so well to distinguish Eleandre, murderer of her husband, as she conceived him from Eleandre Deliverer and passionate Lover of Erigone; she knew so well, in fine, how to show him that it was not Eleandre who had slain her Husband, but that it was her Husband who would have killed Eleandre and she too, and who had even killed himself: and if then she changed not absolutely her obstinacy, at least she disposed of it so, as to give a beginning of some hope to this Shepherd and poor Lover, that he might take some care of his own life.  
After that Telamonius had thus laboured for the repose of desolate Eleandre, he reassumed his Inquietude for his dear Tarsis, or however as may be said to reassume that which he had never quite quitted. For although he had a little before heard some news, they had not omitted to hold or keep him still in suspense; and he was then alarmed so much the more, in regard that this Shepherd delayed his coming to find him, longer than he had expected. He spoke with Agamée when he saw Celemante and Ergaste to return, whom Telamonius had left, as we have said, to take some care for the transporting of the dead body of that unknown one, near unto whom he had met them.  
He knew from them, that they had been delivered from that trouble, by some Cavaliers who having placed the dead Corpse before one of them, was afterwards gone to take the same care of the other dead one, whom Telamonius had seen near the Pond, and was afterwards returned towards Gonnes. Telamonius inquired of these two Shepherds whether they had not met Tarsis, and as he spoke unto them, they saw him arrive. Telamonius ran immediately towards him, and impatiently demanded of him whence he came; Tarsis instead of replying him, demanded himself, Whether he had learned nothing of Zelie, and seeing that he told him nothing of news. Ah my Brother! cried he, there is neither hope nor consolation for me. Telamonius feared that this Shepherd had learned, after he had quitted them, some mournful news of Zelie; he therefore inquired of him yet more amply than he had done at the first approach, of that which the Shepherd had known, but he found in conclusion, that the subject of his despair was no other than the unprofitable success of their inquiry.  
Tarsis afterwards recounted to his Brother, but with a voice interrupted with Sighs, that which had detained him that long time. He told him amongst others, that at his coming out of Hippiqué, ranging one side and the other, endeavouring to learn something of Zelie, he had seen some Women pass a far off in a Chariot, environed with a numerous Company of armed Men, that his love having then made him doubt, whether silly might not be amongst them, he went in pursuit of the Coach or Chariot; and that as he was following of it, he perceived Telamonius, from a rising ground where he had past, and from whence he had sent him a Shepherd, that this pursuit had insensibly drawn him even to Gonnes, where he knew that these Ladies were the Princess' Troyade, Arsinoe and Antigonée, whom Alcime had detained Prisoners, and whom he had caused to be conducted from Pidne to Gonnes.  
Ergaste and Celemante having joined themselves to them, sadly signified to them the resentment they had for the inquietude of Tarsis. Agamée wished even that Telamonius would present him to his Brother, because it was almost Night, this wise Shepherd, who would not quit Tarsis, engaged him to come to lie at Cenome. They wanted not subject wherewith to entertain themselves by the way. So many Adventures presented them in so little time, that they seemed, Fortune had taken delight and pleasure to pile and heap them one upon another, sufficiently furnishing them, with ample Matter of discourse. Agamée above all, had perpetually in his Mind, the miracles which he had read in the history of Kion and Leonides: but Tarsis could not dream of any other than of one only one of all his Adventures. The loss of Zelie, occupied and took up all his thoughts. If he made reflection sometimes upon any others that happened to him, that was but there to search out the clear manifestation of that which caused the only subject of his thoughts.  
His Brother and Friends used all their endeavours to comfort him, and each of them according to his own Genius, one may say, that they essayed all the different and various ways imaginable. Telamonius who was tender and complaisant, entered into the sentiments of his dear Brother, and that was no other, but in dissembling his grief, that he endeavoured to mitigate and sweeten it. Ergaste who had his Wits more prompt and witty, opposed it openly, and would have convinced him by reason. Celemante having an humour more frolic, was desirous to make a diversion of his displeasure, and endeavoured by little and little to change their serious discourses and considerations, to more pleasant and jocund Entertainments. Agamée who was preoccupied and forestalled with his own proper displeasure, retired always to himself, and consolated him by his own example.  
Amongst other things, Telamonius said unto him, My dear Brother without doubt you have cause to be afflicted, but you must not therefore figure and frame things to the utmost extremity, after the Idea of your own troubled imagination, you know very well that silly is wise, and you also do not in any wise doubt, but that she loves you, and the very last words that you yourself repeated, are a very authentic and an assured testimony thereof. You ought not therefore to think that silly being prudent, would not do any thing of concernment and importance, without due and mature consideration, nor that she loving you, could take any resolution, which might wound the amity and friendship she bears you. That which I imagine is, that this Shepherdess not being willing to see you against the Will of her Father, and moreover, not being able to live so near you without your sight, she is possibly withdrawn to the house of some one of her Friends, and there to attend the change of Lucippe. However it be said Ergaste, I find Tarsis, you have no new subject to afflict yourself. How long hath it been, that you told us that you had lost hopes to espouse this Shepherdess, and that you are reduced even to that necessity to deprive yourself of her sight? In very deed, you ought to esteem yourself happy in an occasion which should finish the dissolution of your Engagements, and thereby rendered you free and at liberty, without which you had, it may be, been in some more than ordinary pains and trouble to have had a recovery. Have you not been not long since, in the most dismal and deplorable state imaginable? For I avow to you, for my part that of all the tortures and racking torments of Love, I find none so unsupportable, as to be near one beloved, and to be obliged to live, and to live as if they were separated a hundred thousand furlongs, and to be present and absent all at once; that is to say, to feel the movements of ardour and impatience, which represents the presence of the Mistress, and at the self same time all the regrets imaginable, all the inquietudes, and in a word, all the troubles and pains of absence.  
It must be avowed, replied frolic Celemante, if we were all very wise, we should never dream of having to do, either with love or friendship: and I say it all before thee Ergaste, than me the very first, I was very much a fool, when I went to engage myself to be thy friend. For tell me a little, if there be any thing more ridiculous than to see a Man, who hath still naturally more pains and trouble, than he can sustain, should he yet go and contrive and associate himself, and bring upon his own self the troubles of others, and that by example, that I should go and constrain myself to condole all thy displeasures and regrets, to be a Copartner and Comrade in all thy weaknessesses, and to suffer for all thy follies. But that which is worst of all, must it not be the loss of ones Wits and Senses to be figured, as I have formerly been, as if I could not live without thee, as if I had already lived there in times past, and as if there were not one hundred thousand others, with whom I might live without doubt much better? Ergaste answered him not, by reason he sufficiently divined what was his intention, and that he would leave him at leisure with Tarsis, to make himself applications upon these reflections.  
So Agamée began to speak: O Shepherd! said he, addressing himself to Telamonius, that you have reason to say, if we were very wise, we should never dream of Love, for can there be put into the Spirit of a Man, any thing more dangerous than a desire, to overpress and overwhelm ourselves with longer pine and impatient Consumptions, and which makes our destiny depend upon a feeble Sex, unconstant, capricious, petulant, and in as great an incapacity to command, as to obey. I can better speak than any other Person, because I know it by experience, and that I envy Tarsis, all the subject that he believeth he hath to be afflicted. Telamonius who sought no other than an occasion to take from Tarsis the application which had unfortunately seized his Spirits, had been very joyful to have taken these pretexts, and engage Agamée to make them a recital or repetition of his Adventure, imagining that he would not have made any scruple to tell it, since he made no complaints before them: and he demanded this repetition so much the more willingly, in regard he remembered, that he had heard him spoke before, that if Tarsis knew it, he might thereby be able to meet with reasons to consolate himself. But in regard they found themselves so near that Hamlet, and that it was likewise very late, and that Agamée had Affairs, which obliged him to retire to his Hosts house, he besought Telamonius, to remit the party or match to another day, and quitted them with impatience to rejoin them, which is not comparable, but to the extraordinary esteem which he had conceived for these illustrious Shepherds.    
The End of the Third Book.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Fourth BOOK.  
TARSIS reposed not all night, he wholly spent it in such regrets and alarms which are not conceivable; framing in his conceit a thousand dismal resolutions, the execution whereof was not suspended, but though I know not some remaining hopes, that he supposed or felt even ready to finish. He repast and went over again yet a thousand times more, all the circumstances of his disgrace: but the more reflections he made thereon, the more he found subjects and grounds of desperation. For though he had been willing to persuade his Brother, that assurance that he had to have heard and seen silly in the same boat, which he had over-taken by swimming the preceding Night, and where he also had not however found her moment afterwards; that meeting that he had made the Morrow of the same Boat, by the brink of the River, according as he conjectured by the roll of Papers which he there had found; this unprofitable search, that not only himself, but so many other persons whom he had still known, had made all the day by the orders of Leucippe and Melicerte, and above all, that resolution of losing himself once for all, what he had understood alleged by the Shepherdess, from her own Mouth, a little before he cast himself into the River. All these things (I say) seemed to ●im convincing proofs of a disaster, which he could not imagine alone without trembling and shaking with horror.  
After having finished the dissipating of these mournful and violent agitations of Spirit, the small forces that the wearisome teadiousness of the preceding night, and those which the day had left; in conclusion, sleep or rather lassitude and weakness had shut up (in despite of him) his eyes, and he slept some moments, only at the hour that the day light awakens others. Telamonius came a little afterwards to his Chamber, to know how he had passed the Night, but seeing it fast shut, and having heard no noise, he withdrew himself for fear of giving trouble to a repose, that he much doubted had neither been very long nor very quiet. Then when Tarsis who slept, but as we usually say, dogs-sleep, had heard him, he leapt out of his bed, and inquired whether he had heard nothing of Zelie. Telamonius seeing that he was awake, returned and came into the Chamber and asked of him how he did. Ah my Brother, answered the Shepherd, make you any doubt of the estate wherein I am, since you have learned no news of Zelie? And being almost already clothed, he besought him to go with him to Callioure to know that which Leucippe and Melicerte had understood. They had already entered into a Meadow, which extended itself from the South from Cenome to the River Penée. When he discerned an old Man on horse back, which came towards them upon a hand or rather a wild gallop, from the distance that he might spoke unto them, he demanded of them the way to the house of Alcidias. Telamonius and Tarsis presently believed that the sound of his voice was not unto them unknown, and they had the same conceptions of his Physiognomy: but when this Cavalier, who still approached them, was near enough to give them opportunity and liberty well to consider him, they believed him to be Straton the Philosopher, the self same whom they had known at Panticapée, and who had written their History to the Prince Philadelphé.  
Straton was no less surprised than they, when he had confronted them, but the opinion he had of their death, hindering him their knowledge, he admired only the similitude and resemblance, which he found of these two Persons, with those two unfortunate Brothers, whose memory were to him so dear, and this resemblance renewing in him the regret he had had of their loss, in bringing it to their remembrance, and he could not avoid speaking with a sigh, and lifting up his Eyes to heaven. O Kion! O Leonides.  
Although he pronounced those words very low, Tarsis and Telamonius (who attentively observed him) well understood them, and these words having finally decided some remaining staggering and wavering uncertainties, which held them in suspense, they made no further doubt but that he was the very self same Philosopher Straton. So that Telamonius first of all running to him; O Straton cried he, is it possible that 'tis you?  
Never was surprise so great, as was that of Straton's, when he had understood by Telamonius and Tarsis, that they were those two whom he had known. He hastily alighted from his horse to embrace them, and demanded of them a hundred times one after another, and chief of Tarsis, how it was possible that he could be living. Alas Straton, replied Tarsis, I am more astonished than you, although for different reasons for you are doubtless astonished, that I have escaped death, by reason of the condition wherein you saw me at Panticapée, and I am not astonished, but that I have been able to conserve my life at Tempé, where Fortune persecutes me with much more rigour, than ever it did else where. These words were accompanied with a thousand Tears, which made Straton believe, that the disgrace of which Tarsis had, was very strange, since it seemed that it defaulked and abated from that great courage, which so many other perils and dangers could not be able to move; for which reason he inquired of him the cause. But Tarsis not judging that time proper nor convenient to entertain him, prayed him to defer that discourse to another season, and besought him to tell him how he had been brought to Tempé, and above all, what had caused him to inquire for the house of Alcidias his Father.  
Straton understanding that Alcidias was father unto Telamonius, testified much joy, and that news brought to mind some marks upon his face, on which he had not seen, more than signs of some extreme grief, since he had inquired of him the subject, which had brought him to Tempé.  
O great Gods! cried he, lifting up his eyes towards heaven; I doubt not, but that you have taken a resolution to save my Illustrious Prince, since that in this disgrace, you have taken the care to fall into the hands of Kion and Leonides. Then addressing himself to them, I believe not, continued he, but that the misfortune which constrained me, to seek the dwelling place of Alcidias, was capable of any consolation, but it must be avowed that the Gods sent me more than I could be able to hope in so dismal and mournful an occasion, to cause me to meet you yet living, and in a place where I have such great need of friends, and where I find you so apt, fit and seasonable to favour my design, and that I may in consequence receive from you some marks of your Generosity. For in fine, I will not conceal from you, that Fortune hath since a certain day put (for so I may say) the life of one of the greatest Princes of the World, into the hands of Alcidias. But are you willing that I should unridle you this obscure Mystery? continued he, seeing their surprise, if it be convenient for you and your leisure will permit, conduct me I beseech you to the house of your Father; for although it was but yesterday in the Evening that I departed to go to Gonnes, it is in that I went astray in returning or coming from thence, and I will declare unto you in requital, by the way, the subject of all our mournful Adventures and Passages. Although these two Shepherds penetrated not the sense and meaning of this discourse, yet they judge that this meeting hath some dependence upon that of those Cavaliers, whereof the most apparent had been transported the preceding day, in so ill a plight at the house of Alcidias; and the advantageous Opinion, that both the one and the other had immediately conceived, not having been able to leave them, without a very great desire to know him, they were ravished to find so favourable an occasion, besides that which I invited them to another place. However as it was not simply to satisfy their curiosity, that Straton had besought them to go with him, but that he signified to them also, that he had need of their aid in an important occasion, and that it was neither becoming them, nor would it suit with their generosity to refuse him, they were then a little straitened. However Tarsis spoke to him thus freely. Straton if you absolutely have need of two Brothers, neither the one nor the other will hesitate nor deliberate in following you: But if one alone can suffice you, in the service you desire of them, I pray permit that they may be separated for some time, and that while my Brother goes with you, I go to a place, where most important Affairs do require us both. Straton understanding that they had Affairs, made an excuse for his own part, and would not only have declined even the acceptance of their offer, nor yet permit them neither the one nor the other to withdraw from their Affair, if it were his own sole and proper interest and concern that he went upon there; but as he acted on the behalf of a Person of high Quality, to whom he would give place, and for whom he had the highest esteem of any Person throughout the World, he did what he might possible be able to do, to engage Telamonius not to refuse him. Telamonius had would not have done it, though his life had been at Stake to have gone there, If there had been no other than his own interest that had called him else where: But as he acted in the service of his dear Tarsis, and above all, that in the condition wherein he saw him, he feared the consequence of his displeasure, he could not well resolve to abandon him. Tarsis did sufficiently remark and observe him, and doubting the subject and cause of his apprehension: My Brother, said he, let it not be said, that we have refused Straton the Philosopher the only service that he ever required, and that in our own Country. It's with grief that I see myself deprived by the disgrace you know, from that satisfaction that I would have had in rendering it him myself.  
Supply therefore for me, my dear Brother, besides you know I have not at present need of you; and I protest unto you my dear Telamonius (added he very softly embracing him) that I will have a care of you for Tarsis as long as you will have a care, for him to secure our common friend. Telamonius could not then dispense with the leaving him. Tarsis took leave of Straton only as for some certain hours, and continued his way towards Callioure, whilst the two others took that of Hippique. Telamonius would have obliged Straton to mount on horse back, and told him for that end, that it was very far from the place where they than were, to the house of Alcidias: but Straton would by no means do it, but led his horse by the bridle and walked side by side with Telamonius, and so entertained discourse on the subject of his Journey.  
I would not so liberally use your generosity. O Kion, said he unto him (for he yet knew no otherwise) if I were not assured that you will have the same joy to be able to contribute to the service of a great Prince, that Fortune hath in some sort committed to your care, and if I could not declare, that you are there in some respect obliged by an esteem so great and so perfect that he hath of you, and of your Brother, that the memory of Hermodius and of Aristogiton, is not more venerable to the Athenians than is yours, to the Prince whereof I speak. For in fine, I know not whether you have understood, that he was yesterday carried unknown very much wounded to the house of Alcidias your Father: but however it be, you shall know, that this unknown is the great Ptolomée Philadelphe King of Egypt. Telamonius was not a little surprised with this news, and although he was ignorant by what odd humorous events Fortune had taken pleasure to sport itself in the Destiny of the greatest of Men, how is it that it can be any wise imagined, by what accidents possible could the King of Egypt come to Tempé, and that he should be there in an Equipage so different, from what was convenient for the most puissant Monarch of the World. But as he had learned for what reason he had been carried to the house of Alcidias, since it was he himself that conducted him there; he signified to Straton, that although in part, by what mournful accident this great Prince had been wounded, he could not refrain from returning thanks to the Gods for the occasion, which procured his Father the honour to have received under his roof so illustrious a Guest, and made him hope to have the honour of seeing a Prince, of whom he had heard such magnificent things, and moreover that he should be able to do him some service. This occasion is yet more mournful than you conceive, replied Straton, and if the Ages to come will have difficulty to believe this rare example, that your Family gives all the World, of a perfect amity and friendship between two Brothers, they will perhaps have more to conceive the tragic effects of a fraternal difference, that all the Land of Egypt weep for a long season in the Royal Family. Telamonius had sufficiently understood what had been spoken of Ptolomée Philadelphe, that he was one of the greatest Princes of the World, as well by his virtue as by the Potency of his State: but that which he knew of his life, was not capable but to augment in him a curiosity to learn that whereof he was ignorant. It's therefore the cause, why he made no difficulty to explicate himself to Straton: and this Philosopher who had no greater satisfaction, than in publishing the glory of his Master, and principally before Persons so capable of being just Imitators, was well pleased to satisfy Telamon's desires, and he did it in such a sort, till continuing and passing on their way. But it was not however but still after Telamonius had satisfied by a few Words, the curiosity of Straton, in understanding how his Brother and he were yet living, afterwards the Philosopher contented also that of the Shepherd.  

The History of Ptolomée Philadelphe.  
PTolomée surnamed Lagus King of Egypt, doubtless the greatest, and the most illustrious Successor of Alexander the Great, espoused two Wives, the first was Apamée Daughter of the old Artabase, whose eldest even Alexander himself had married, and the second was Berenice, who was then Widow of Aridée brother of Alexander the great, Apamée bare to King Ptolomée three Children. She had first a Daughter who was married to Lysimachus King of Thrace, and afterwards she lay down with two male Children successively.  
The love of the Egyptians for this good Prince occasioned him to call his two Children by the same, (even his own) name, in conformity to a public Decree, so that all his Successors called themselves Ptolomées, in memory of that illustrious Founder, or at least the Restorer of the Kingdom. But to distinguish them, the elder whose inclinations presently showed themselves impeteous, turbulent, and tending to confusion and disorder, was for that cause named Ceraune, from the Greek Word, which, as you know, signifies to thunder, and the youngest was named Philadelphe, which in the same language signifies, loving his Brother, for the reasons that you will see afterwards.  
When these two Princes were of age to come from under the hands of their Governors, the King their Father did me the honour to send and fetch me as far as from Lampsaque, and signify to me, that he would commit their education and instruction to my care and tuition; and to that effect desired I would dwell near him. I was not deceived in my conceptions, nor in the thoughts I had immediately of the young Prince Philadelphe; never was there a Nature more pleasantly fair, nor more happy than that of this young Prince. For besides his beautiful countenance, his Body singularly well shaped, as you will observe, he had variety of all great and commendable inclinations. He took delight in exercises of War and Feats of Arms, very much devoted to Literature, even to take delight therein, as young as he was, he soon addressed himself to take a pleasure in Libraries; he was Good, Liberal, Generous, Gallant; but that which was predominant over his Spirits, was an admirable tenderness towards his Brother. As for him he was of a Nature directly contrary; its true he was not ill made nor shaped in point of his Personage; but he loved neither the exercises of the Body, nor yet those of the Mind. All his diversion, was in being found in the company of young debauched Persons who applauded him. He was not able to suffer himself to be conversant with Persons that were Ingenious, and had good Parts; and more particularly, of Womenkind; because he was then obliged to refrain himself, by the different Port towards that Sex; and above all, he was monstruously jealous of his Brother.  
That which fomented it the more was, that all the honourable and ingenious Persons, made all their Courtships and Addresses to Philadelphe, (unless it were five or six debauched Ones,) and no Person could comport or bear with Ceraune. I did what in me was possible to reform and correct the Nature of this unhappy One; The King forgot nothing that depended of him, and that which he took to task above all, was to unite the Hearts of these two Brothers, as very well knowing that so good and fair an Union, is the strength, force and support of a Family Royal.  
But Destiny had otherwise appointed, and the fairest proof there is in the World demonstrateth, that there is no resisting of its Decrees, that is, that all the remedies that we can thereto apply, will prove unprofitable, and so were they.  
If we had any thing grievous, Philadelphe had yet more; he would frequently complain to me, as of an Evil, whereof he could never be consolated; I should take up whole days, to recite you the Cares, and the Complaisances with which he endeavoured to gain the good Will and Favour of Ceraune, and even to what point his tenderness and friendship would extend itself towards him. I call to mind, that amongst others, that one Night Philadelphe returning from the City somewhat late, was attacked and even wounded by a certain Company of young Ones, whose Counsellor his Brother had been. Some of them having been taken, avowed that the jealous Prince had engaged them to that Assassination: and the King was so incensed, that he not only resolved to have the Assassins severely punished; but he even caused Ceraune to be put in Prison, with great menacing Threats against him. Philadelphe having known it, immediately risen from his Bed wounded as he was, and went to find the King his Father, and cast himself upon his Knees, protesting to him, that he would not departed till he had obtained the Liberty and Favour of his Brother; and after he had gained that, he besought the same for the Assassins; because he knew the friendship that Ceraune had for them.  
But that which is strange, is, that he caused to be concealed from Ceraune, his so generous Actions; for he had such a furious bent of Envy, that he would not only be jealous of these marks of Credit which his Brother had upon the Spirit of the King, but also of his Virtue and Generosity.  
The Gods are my Evidences, I do not here aggravate the faults of the Dead, to give all the Honour and Glory to the Living; for as dead as he is; I yet love his Memory as that of the Son of a great Prince my Benefactor; and I do not declare you this but with Grief, and for as much as it is the Original and Foundation of this History.  
Philadelphe not being able to extinguish the furious Jealousy of his elder Brother, went to find the King, and besought him to banish himself for some time from his Brother; hoping that by little and little, he would be appeased and his Fury mitigated, when he should see him no more. And for as much as there was then no War in Egypt, where he could be serviceable, he demanded leave of him to go into Sicily, where Agatocle King of that Island who had espoused a Sister of Berenice was in Arms against Denocrate. The King gave him permission, and furnished him with a Ship; the Prince there Embarked, and Stilpon my Son had the Honour to accompany him in quality of his Esquire. But alas! the danger wherein this Prince cast himself, was worse by far than that which he thought to avoid.  
The first day of the Imbarkation was happy enough, but the following night, there arose so furious a Tempest, that after the Ship had been tossed and battered two days and nights, she was at length Wracked and Stranded against Rocks in the Ionian Sea. Of all those that were in the Ship, there was not one that could escape, but only the Prince and my Son; who having clasped in their Arms the Masts of the Ship, were cast fairly on the Land. It seemed to them that they had soon only changed the kinds of Death; for that certain place whereon they were cast, was a Desert where nothing presented them, but the sight of Rocks. In fine, after the Prince had unprofitably spent a part of the day, endeavouring yet to save some of his People, he was constrained to retire, and seek where to go himself, and towards the Evening himself and my Son met a Path a little trodden, all along which they marched a long time, mounting still between frightful Precipices. After they had walked about a Furlong, they found themselves almost at the point of the highest Rock that was upon that Coast; where they met an Adventure or Accident sufficiently surprising.  
Towards the Top or Knap of the Mount, there is a hollow place Natural, or by a kind of a Miracle, there is met a Source or Spring of Water so abundant, that scarcely such an one can be seen in the freshest Valleys; and this Water precipitates against the Rocks with a great Noise, to go and lose itself in the Sea. The Rock bending itself on high, is there form like a Vault, hung with Moss naturally, the entrance is shadowed even with some Trees, which take their nourishment and sustenance from the Veins of the Rock, and which renders that place one of the pleasantest and most delightful of the World. For from thence they may at all times in the noise of that natural Cascade, be out of the piercing of the Sun and falling of the Rain, and even sheltered from all incommodious Winds, see all that which passeth on the See, and with pleasure consider all the neighbouring Coasts  
It is there in that place, that Fortune conducted Philadelphe, and he was no sooner at his view thereof, but he there discerned a thing surprising enough. You know how the Painters draw Minerve, the head-piece or Helmet on the Head, the Corselet upon the Back, the half Pike in the Hand. The Prince saw at the entrance into this Vault, a Maiden in that equipage, who was sat upon a seat of Moss, which Nature seemed to have made on purpose, but a Maiden whose Visage was form with Drafts so delicate, and so well proportioned, whose Glimpse was so gl●ttering and admirable, that he was only capable of taking her for a Divinity. Her Complexion and Hue of an equal whiteness, in similitude equal to that of a Lily, she was animated as with Vermilion in the Cheeks, and raised with a little Mouth like a Carnation, that the most lively Limner or Painter cannot imitate. A peaceable, quiet and profound Sleep, which the Head ●ull'd along, had obliged to bend and bow and lean itself on one of her Hands; and such a quantity of Tresses of fair Hair lose, which hung apart upon her Neck, that there was nothing but their Beauty which could consolate Philadelphe to lose that, which they concealed and hid from him, and could not freely see the little that her attire left uncovered from so fair a Breast. It is very true, that he yet had wherewith to recompense himself by the view of one of her Arms, the whitest, fairest and the best framed of the World, by reason the posture wherein she held them whereby to lean her Head, gave occasion to the Sleeve, which being broad and large, fell and left it appear naked even to the Elbow; whilst the other wherein she held the half Pike being carelessly stretched the length of her Robe, displayed the whiteness, and just proportion of a Hand, capable to deface the shining whiteness of the Snow itself. But to paint and better delineate it to you in one word, my Prince often said unto me, that he was so troubled with this first view, that she was the D●●sse or Goddess Minerve herself, which was come to repose herself in that Rock; and that he felt himself by this fair One unknown in so profound a respect of Soul, that he was almost ready to prostrate himself before her to adore her. In conclusion, he resolved with himself to approach her a little nearer, whereby to judge better; but it was with all the circumspection imaginable, for fear of awakening her. Admire here the prompt, ready and violent effect of this sight in the heart of Philadelphe; he came from a sad, mournful and cruel Shipwreck, his Body all wearied with the agitation of a Tempest of two days and nights, his hair and Attire all moistened and wet of all sides, as you may think of a man which comes out from the midst of the Water; and although in that state, as if he had been smitten with a sudden Blow, he felt nothing but his Love, springing. He waited to contemplate of this fair unknown One, and instead of awakening her, to demand where he was, or to go at least to seek out some certain place, where he might dry his habit and repose himself, he turned himself to my Son, and striking him gently on the Arm, he said unto him, with a low voice, Stilpon, dost thou see her? Gods! What shall this be anon, if her Stature and her Eyes carries a resemblance to that which appears? And at the self same time, he betook himself to consider her, as if he had been fully resolved to wait there until she awaked, and as if he had nothing else to do.  
My Son, notwithstanding their disgrace, and in despite thereof could not abstain from Laughing at the Design of the Prince; and as for him, nothing hindered him, to resent the Incommodity of their Shipwreck. My Lord, said he to his Master, we will return when it shall please you, to see if the eyes and the Stature of this fair One is worthy of the rest: But for the present, you will permit me to tell you, that my advice is, that you think of going to a house, which I perceive is near this Place, to dry you and repose yourself.  
This discourse occasioned him in some sort, (I say Philadelphe) to come again to himself, he himself was astonished at his own Transport, and knowing well that the thoughts of my Son were then more reasonable, than his own, I see, well said he to him, laughing, that Stilpon is not so Gallant as Philadelphe, and that when he is well wet, he would pass never a day to consider of a fair One. At these words, he endeavoured to make himself retire; and parting from that place there, the softlyest that he was able, for fear of awakening this unknown One, he descended still following the same Pathway, towards a House, which my Son shown him in a Plain which is the other side of the same Rock.  
All the way they walked, the Prince entertained him almost, with no other discourse than that of the unknown, and they could not in effect frame to themselves by any reason, why a Maiden could be in that Place with those kind of Habiliments and Attire. They arrived a little afterwards at that House, and at the entrance, they met with a Man, of whom they demanded in the Greek Language, the name of the Country, and some Place where they might Lodge. This Man, being stricken or Inspired by the amiable Countenance of Philadelphe, and altogether as much with his disgrace, which appeared sufficiently by his apparel, answered him; As to the Country, that they were in the Island of Corcyre, appertaining to the Athenians, and as for Lodging, that there was neither City nor yet Village, from which they were not distant seven or eight Furlongs: but if he would be willing to pardon the incommodiousness of his Habitation, and would be received under his Roof, he offered him his House for a Retreat. Philadelphe made use of the Civility of this Man, who placed him with my Son in a Chamber.  
As the Island belonged to the Athenians who had not then a good understanding with the Egyptians, he would not there make himself known, and had he been in a Country less suspect, perhaps it would not have been proper for him to declare who he was, in so sad an equipage lest he should thereby be exposed to all the Hazards that insulting Fortune might toss him withal.  
So that he cautioned my Son, not to declare his Name, and to live with him, as if they had been equal and Companions of Fortune. The evening being come, their Host asked whether they desired that their Supper should be brought into the Chamber, or if it pleased them better, they should take Commons with the Family. Philadelphe had rather have been alone, but believed, that he would have incommoded him less and would treat him more civilly if he did eat with him. In going into the Chamber where the Supper was prepared, he saluted the Wife and Daughter of his Host, and was strangely astonished, when he having considered his Daughter, he knew her to be the self same, whom he had met among the Rocks, in the state and condition, we have said.  
She had not the same Attire, her Apparel was simple, but in this simplicity, she appeared yet a thousand times more fairer than before, and made it out clearly to be seen, that without any ornament she had need of none than of herself. If she seemed so admirable to Philadelphe being a sleep, it was very much otherwise, when with all that which he had there observed of charming him, he saw the grace and the freedom of a marvellous pitch and stature, animated with Actions majestic and modest, and above all, when he found himself solely dazzled with the glittering beams and vivacity of her incomparable Eyes. O! for that he felt a great redoubling of ardour at this sight, and which made in his heart a strange renewing of a Wound which was first given him, which had rendered the healing thereof very difficult; and he could not then refrain from giving some evidences thereof, as soon as he knew her, I know not, saith he, addressing himself to his Host and Hostess with a smile. It would surely make too well for me here in case the Sea had left me any thing to lose; for I do either deceive myself, or else this amiable Maiden, hath stolen the Visage of one Minerva that I have met among the Rocks, and if she can well dare rifle the Goddesses, I believe she will not spare Men. Stesicrate and Argene which were the Names of the Master and Mistress of the house, easily apprehended this obliging jesting and merriment; which was the cause that Argene turning towards her Daughter with a Countenance, which well witnessed the tenderness and love which she bear her: It is true Arsinoe, said she unto her, that I think you were a fool to be running so disguised, and they would have done very well, and favoured you much, if they had taken you for another in that plight. In truth my dear Mother, replied gracefully Arsinoe with a modest blush, I must also have divined that he should this day have made shipwreck upon this Coast, to fear being seen in the Desert where I went to walk. Whereupon Stesicrate recounted to my Prince, that the same day they had celebrated the Feast of Minerva throughout the Island, that in that solemnity all the Maidens were accustomed to be in the Temple in the like Apparel and Equipage, that Philadelphe had met his Daughter in, that Arsinoe being returned from the Ceremony something late, she had through laziness or idleness neglected to divest herself, and so went to walk in the place where she was fallen asleep.  
Although the lassitude of two days and nights painfully, as were the precedent, should have constrained Philadelphe to seek rest as soon as Supper was done, yet he had a thousand troublesome pains to withdraw; and for a pretext of continuing a longer space of time with his Hostess, he began to make them a recital of his shipwreck, after some other Adventures, that he forced to feign to accommodate them to the Design he had taken to disguise himself: in conclusion, he withdrew but rested not, the beauty of Arsinoe entertained him all night; the Idea or Image of her went not out of his thoughts, and she was represented unto him there so fair, so charming and adorable, that I believe he would then have preferred the possession of her, before the possession of what could be found on earth.  
He was well content to have made shipwreck, since that he had seen Arsinoe, and setting aside by way of reserve, the compassion he had for so many People drowned, I know he would have been ravished with delight, though some other tragical Adventure also, had procured him the opportunity of continuing a longer time, near where she was. But he had no kind of pretext▪ for the Capital or Metropolis of the Island being near, and himself in plight to go there, there was no appearance of an occasion that could constrain him to continue a longer time, to incommode them.  
So that the next morning he arose with an unconceivable sadness, when he dreamt that it was not but to take leave of Arsinoe. He resolved with himself notwithstanding not to departed without having at least the satisfaction to entertain her; and for that end he commanded my Son to counterfeit himself sick, and to keep himself late in bed, that he might in the mean time, seek an occasion to discourse her. He could not find one according to his wishes; for the young Arsinoe was always near to Argene, only he had the satisfaction to speak in her presence, and to give her to understand from that time, some part of his Sentiments. It is with great reason, said he, once amongst other times to Argene, that you have chosen your dwelling near to these Rocks, and that you have fortified yourself by these strong rails and ramparts, being to conserve a treasure so precious, as is that which you have in your house. My Lord, replied the Woman, smiling and looking upon her Daughter, in such a manner which might make one see the pleasure she took, in hearing her commended; in fine, a Child is in effect, always a treasure of the Father and the Mother; and it's without doubt that only reason, that ma●es you speak so of Arsinoe. Philadelphe replied, they accuse Mothers of being always blind, through the good Opinion they have of their Children: but if you speak sincerely yourself, I would accuse you of a contrary blindness; for I protest to you, that in all that I have seen in the time I have lived, I have not seen any thing ever so fair, as that which I saw in your house. Argene replied modestly to this discourse, and as Arsinoe still left Argene to speak for her, my Prince could not possible be able to cause her to speak, unless 'twere very little, nor yet to enter into this conversation, but in that little she spoke, he found so much gracefulness and promptness of wit, that he was much more charmed than heretofore.  
He had, as I have told you, resolved in the Morning to departed after dinner: but when the time was come, all that resolution was vanished, and he obliged my Son to continue the same pretext of their sojourning in that house, till the next day, imagining with himself that as he would have had more time to resolve to departed, he would find less pains in losing and disingaging himself. However on the morrow he felt himself there yet more indisposed than the first day. So that the courtesy and the generosity of his Hostess, seconding his intentions, and more yet a very real indisposition which unexpectedly concurred to my Son, by reason he found himself more unable to sustain and support himself under the wearisomeness, lassitude and pains of the late shipwreck, which the Prince did not feel, he continued fifteen days with them, without believing almost, that he had there spent one entire day. It is not possible to declare how much care he took in the mean time, to find a favourable & convenient opportunity or moment of time, where to entertain and discourse the fair Arsinoe alone: but be it that this virtuous Person defied, be it that it was by a simple scruple of her modesty, and of her shamfastness, pudicity or chastity; so that so many times as he sought occasions, so many times she took the trouble to shun and avoid them. In such sort, that he could never speak unto her, but in the presence of Argene or Stesicrate.  
However in despite of the compulsion, constraint and violence all this presence gave him, how many new pleasures, delights and subjects of love and admiration, did he not find in this charming conversation which discovered him so many rare, bright, fair and shining lights in the delicate Wit and Parts of Arsinoe, and which demonstrated him in the end, some part of those wonderful and marvellous Qualities, which adorned and garnished the Soul of this divine Person? Truly although that at every instant he essayed to prepare himself for the mournful time of departure, which he foresaw necessary: The more he endeavoured to dispose himself thereto, the less he found himself capable; so that although my Son was perfectly healed, if however Philadelphe had not been a afraid to render him suspect, by too much importunity, I believe he would never have been able to resolve to quit, and to take leave of the house of Stesicrate.  
In fine, Stilpon being healed, the Prince took leave of his Host, and he would in parting have left him some marks of his liberality. drew out for that end the fairest Diamond in the World, out of a little Casket, that my Son had by good fortune saved from shipwreck, and as he believed it too small a thing for the Father or the Mother, he presented it to the Daughter; Arsinoe refused it, she blushed even as if ashamed to have been believed capable to receive it, and never was it possible for Philadelphe to make her accept of it. His endeavours were also all in vain to Stesicrate and Argene, whom he unprofitably conjured to make them constrain their Daughter to take it, and he was forced to content himself with the acknowledgement of words alone.  
I will not exaggerate or yet aggravate you, the new effect that the generosity of Arsinoe made yet upon the heart of this generous Prince: but, this there was, that being parted from thence, he declared to my Son, that he was resolved not to go very far from that house, that he had not yet had the satisfaction to see again that amiable Person, and to entertain her once at least in particular, and for that purpose, he told him, that he would lodge in some neighbouring house, whence he might more easily spy an occasion. Stilpon, Stilpon, said he to my Son, still speaking of her, I avow that this Maiden hath neither the air nor the heart of a country Maiden. My Son who would divert him from this springing and rising Passion, whereof he fore saw not any good effect, answered to that which the Prince had told him: I avow it, my Lord, but she hath the birth, and that is enough to make you conceive she is not worthy of you, and that you ought not to remain here. What sayest thou my friend, what sayest thou, for the Son of a Philosopher? and thereupon he recited him these Lines out of a Greek Poet.  

In what Rank soever one may be born, Love knows how to equal Shepherds and Kings, and all those who conform to their Laws, are all equally Subjects to the self same Master. It decides all Debates,  
Of all Fortunes and Ranks, among those who assemble and unites them together.  
And there sets them equally at one, where be found them not so.   
After many Discourses of this nature, they met with the House of a Peasant very near them, and Philadelphe engaged him by a liberality considerable enough to lodge them some days without their discovery. There they confirmed him a thing, which he had already known at the house of Stesicrate; to wit, that Stesicrate and his Wife were strangers in the Isle, and that they had not been there above thirteen or fourteen years, but he could never precisely know neither their Country nor their Condition, nor yet their Fortune, only they told him they had lived there always a simple People, yet notwithstanding sufficiently well with much reputation and honour, and of general integrity and uprightness. They made him also a thousand Eulogies of Virtue, Piety, and an infinite number of fair and admirable Qualities met in young Arsinoe, whom he had too well known. They gave him to understand, that as young as she was, she had notwithstanding already been sought after and courted by the most considerable and potent Persons of the Island; but that hitherto neither she nor her Parents would listen to any, and they even said, that she would not be married. All this discourse was to no other use, for so we may say, but to cast Oil into the Fire, they did but inflame the heart of Philadelphe.  
They spent that Night incommodiously in that Cottage, but Philadelphe preferred it to all the Palaces of Egypt, by reason it was neighbouring upon that of Arsinoe. He went out early the next day, although he verily believed that she would neither be yet abroad nor out of bed, however he conceived some pleasure in endeavouring at least to review the Place and House where she was; and lest he might be rendered suspect, he resolved, that if he were there met by Stesicrate, or any others of the house, to pretend that he had lost his Diamond, and that he was returned in quest thereof. He designed to practise the same pretext even towards Arsinoe, persuading himself that when he should meet her, possibly she might fly from him, and that he could not otherwise do it without suspicion, and therefore would by that means endeavour to engage her in some discourse and converse with him. His design succeeded fortunately enough, he saw her after some time go forth from thence, and followed her undiscovered, to a little Temple or Oratory desert and half ruined, which was but a furlong from the dwelling of Stesicrate. He had trouble enough to retain and withhold himself from interrupting her Devotion: and when she went out of the Temple, he presented himself unawares to her, pretending himself to be surprised at her Encounter. He knew also that she was astonished, and even her Modesty and chaste Pudicity caused her to blush, to be found alone with him. Fair Arsinoe, said he immediately to detain her, I demand not of you, for what I am in quest of, for since I am so happy as to have met you, I will not only believe that I have lost nothing. My Lord, answered she, whatever you have lost, I would I were able to tell you news of it, and I will cause some to come to assist you in the finding it out. He thought to tell her, that she would better tell news of it, than any Person whatsoever, since he had lost but what she had taken herself: but he conceived, that if he should discover himself so soon, she would not fail to abandon him.  
Wherefore thinking of nothing else than continuing her, he answered her; But if you go so fast, you may put your foot on it unawares, and as 'tis but a Diamond, there needs nothing more to hinder me to find it. These words stopped Arsinoe a little, who prepared to leave him very rashly, with much precipitation. She slackened her pace, and choosing the certain Places whereon she walked, by this means gave my Prince some opportunity to spoke some words to her.  
But fair Arsinoe (continued he, following her, and therefore still pretending to find his Diamond upon the way) wherefore did you make so much difficulty to receive it? for I believe for my part, I had not lost it, but as a punishment, I had not left it with you. Rather say, replied she him, it's for a punishment, that in giving it me, you would have lost it. Amiable Arsinoe, answered he, one never loseth that which is given, unless it be to those who are ingrateful, and for the contrary reason, I believed that there would be very much gain, but to give you a very small thing. My Lord, replied she gracefully, there is no appearance that you had that thought; but however it be, I have also heard say, that to give, but to gain thereby, merits the loss of what one gives. There is therefore in my apprehension, replied he, a certain sort of gain that one may honestly wish to make with his friends. Should I be blame-worthy to endeavour to gain the esteem and favour of Arsinoe, if there were something worth m●rit in the World? Arsinoe then well perceived where he would come, and because she desired to break off short thereon; My Lord, said she, without other answer, I see that I do not any thing, but amuse you or distract you, and therefore it's convenient I leave you in quest of your Diamond. Then she mended her pace, and my Prince accordingly followed her; Amiable Arsinoe, cried he, I have already told you, I had much rather lose the Diamond, than your presence, and I protest to you I prefer it, to all the riches in the World. What ever he could say, 'twas impossible to detain her, and after some other discourse, he was constrained to return his own pace.  
Although he had no great cause wherewith to be satisfied with this entertainment, he told me he returned so content, that he could not express in Words the pleasure and delight he had received. It seemed to him to have had some new remarks of Ingenuity and Wit in those few words he had from Arsinoe, that the amiable beauties and lineaments of her Body, as marvellously fair as they were, yet they far short of those of her Mind, Parts and Wit. But this satisfaction was not that which filled nor which extinguished the desire, but on the contrary hers, did not but give him a far greater longing desire yet again to see Arsin●e, and there was so great an obstinacy in him to persist in this resolution, that notwithstanding my S●n dissuaded him by all arguments possible, that sought so carefully the opportunity, that three or four days from that time, he found one in the end, such as I am going to declare.  
The same day therefore, after he had a long time made several turns about the house of Stesicrate, and even the Sun very ardent, he posted himself upon the brink of a small River, which ran between two great Meadows, fifty or sixty paces from the house, in a place where he had learned that Arsinoe had oftentimes used herself to walk. He saw her come there in the Evening, holding in one hand a Cane, that's to say, in her right hand, and in the other a Music book, out of which she sang some Airs. Philadelphe who would not have her discern him, because he well conceived, that if she saw him at such a distance, she would quickly have retired, therefore hid himself in a little Grove of Orange and Citron Trees, whereof there are great quantities in that Isle. And by good fortune, before the Sun was withdrawn, and not yet gone down, she came in the shadow to sit under the same Grove, and scarcely was she sat down, but she sought in her Book a little while and began to sing, but with so sweet and melodious harmony, and a Voice so pleasant, that it's not possible to express it.  Come you young Zephirs from your sweet respirations, refresh the Bosoms of our Complaints; where the Sun hath ardently reigned all the day, it now retireth and gives you place, come take your turn and reign, the Night approacheth and chaseth you away. 
Philadelphe was charmed at the hearing thereof, and had he not been pressed through an amorous impatience to speak to her, he could never have resolved to have interrupted her: but he sought no other than a convenient and fit opportunity, to take or make use of time and this Prince singing passing well, resolved to return answer to what Arsinoe had sung.  Come you young Lovers out of the flames of your Fidelity, and warm the bosom of the fairest, where only cold hath predominated, even to this day, let that withdraw and give place, let it likewise come to reign and take its turn, Love calleth and chaseth it away. 
You may conceive if she were surprised with this Echo. She turned her head, rose from the place she sat, and at the same time discovered my Prince, who soon addressing himself to her with a particular grace, thus said unto her. Fair Arsinoe, it had been great pity, that so sweet and melodious a Voice should want an Echo to second it; in truth, that which did it, was much inferior to it; but in revenge it will be published else where, better than by another, that fair Arsinoe is inimitable, and there is nothing, but  in this amiable Person, unless it may be, that she had so much sweetness in her Soul, as she hath in her voice. Arsinoe all in confusion and disquieted to find herself with a Man all alone, was presently moved with anger against Philadelphe, verily believing that he came not there without a Design, and although she wanted not an esteem, nor, it may be, a favourable respect for him, she could not however refrain from giving him some marks of dislike: My Lord, said she, when I seek an Echo, I go to the Rocks, which are here hard by, and for this time I sought no other, than solitude, and as I likewise believe you sought it for your own part, I withdraw and give you place, that we may not frustrate the designs each of other. At the pronouncing of these Words she would have gone, but Philadelphe could not so resolve to lose so opportune an occasion, without a further explication of his Mind unto her. Wherefore the Prince fixing himself before her Passage, said. Divine Arsinoe, it is not solitude, but it's yourself I seek, and I pray you do not fly from me, as you have formerly done, until I have told you the design that led me here. I demand of you but a small moment of expressing myself unto you, and if there be a less thing that can cause you to repent your yielding me that favour, I consent not only that you make me do it during your life, but even to die immediately at your Feet. Arsinoe replied him. My Lord, I believe you are capable of no other than good designs: but how Innocent soever you are, in what you tell me, or have to say, you know it could not be to listen to it here, and if you have an inclination to discourse me, there's no great distance, betwixt this Place and my Father's House; On this expression; she began to advance further: but the Prince being passionately in Love, stayed her by laying hold of one part of her Vesture, with that Liberty, that the proportion of their conditions, and civility seemed to permit him; very well, fair Arsinoe, continued he, I consent to follow you there fair Arsinoe: but at least let me know henceforward, if I shall not there be Importunate, in going there to make you an offer of my Heart, and that with the strongest, the most faithful, and the most passionate of the World; my Prince pronouncing these words, observed a sudden Blushing to spread over the Face of Arsinoe, which he Interpreted, not disadvantageous to himself; and yet he found no great Subject wherewith to be satisfied in her Answer. I can answer you nothing, replied she, while you retain me thus like a Prisoner; for what advantage could you have by a word that you could not have drawn from me, other than by fear and Violence? Ah! replied the Prince, still holding her, you would err exceedingly if you should impute violence to me; Alas! Arsinoe, it's I that am your Prisoner, and from the first moment that I saw you, I found myself fastened to you, by so strong and powerful Ties and Ligaments, that I am more a Captivated Slave than I should have been, in the hands of Pirates, and that which is worse, I am not only ignorant of means to extricate myself out of these Bonds, but I find no disposition nor willingness thereunto.  
Complain not therefore Arsinoe, if I detain you for a Moment, you who detain me Captive for so long time, and undoubtedly a Captive during my Life. My Lord answered Arsinoe, using endeavours to escape; should I retain you, which I will never believe, it would never be through Violence, since you yourself say, that you will have it so; but can you excuse yourself, and must I not impute you  with offering Violence to me, since you arrest me, and detain me, in despite of what I can do; Truly my lord I shall have good cause to complain, if you shall refuse to dismiss me, after so many Instances and Supplications wherewith I have besought you? Yea I obey you fair Arsinoe, replied the Prince, but however at least, favour me therefore before hand with a Boon, which the most barbarous People do to their Enemies when they have vanquished them. Avow me for your Prisoner, and if I dare to demand more, testify to me that you will well use your Victory. I will so well use it, replied sharply Arsinoe, (yet with wonderful Grace) that I will now freely give you your Liberty for my own O Arsinoe! replied my Prince, it's difficult for you to give me the Liberty you speak of; Alas I am bou●d by Ligaments and Ties, that neither you, nor perhaps myself, could be able to unloose, were we willing: but it is not so much my Liberty that I demand of you, but a little of sweetness and pleasure within my Prison. This fair One answered him not, because the Prince dreading her displeasure, had let go her Garment; she presently retired into the House.  
He believed that after that time, it would not be facile for him to find her again, and that she would therefore for future, keep herself upon her Guard; whererefore he returned very sad to find my Son, whom he had twice commanded to let go all alone; fearing his presence might have abstructed his design. After he had declared to him the success of this interview, he signified to him he was in great Trouble how he should act for time to come, and asked his Counsel as to that Point. My Son who had already, as I have told you, dissuaded him as much as in him was possible, to Embark himself in that Passion replied him, with the Liberty he permitted him, because they had been brought up together; That which I Counsel you, my Lord, is to remember yourself of the design for which you came out of Egypt. Alas to what end or purpose will it be said, that the Prince Philadelphe shall vaunt and boast himself, of going to make War at Syracuse, a●d that all his Courage will determine in coming only to make Love and Court a Maiden in Corcyre? My Lord, they pardon these amusements for a day to those who take them, to relinquish and abandon them after the Victory, and as our Poets say, they excuse Mars to repose himself some moments, between the Arms of Venus: But that your first Actions and Attempts shall determine in Attacking and Combating with the Heart of a simple and contemptible Country Wench of Corcyre, and that so many Gallant Designs with which they have seen you to divide and share with Alexander, should, as may be said, be here Shipwrackt with your Vessel; My Lord, pardon me if I dare say, that this is a Thought unworthy and unbeseeming one of the Sons of great Ptolomée. This Discourse touched the Heart of the Prince with Grief, and some sort of confusion; he was not therefore angry with my Son, for amongst the qualities of this great Prince, there is this very admirable, that there's not in the World, that would receive with a better Grace than him, the Counsel and advice of his Friends. But after he had heard him; Stilpon, replied he, I well observe there is much of truth in some part of what you have told me: But there is yet therefore no long time that I am here, that they should reproach me for abandoning the Design for which I left Egypt. What? if it be permitted to relinquish it after a Victory, ought there not therefore a time of repose to be allowed after a Shipwreck? Go, go Stilpon, when I shall pass more yet eight days at Corcyre, I shall not have been a longer time, than there would have been necessity to repair our Ship, when we were saved from the Storm; judge and consider if having been wholly lost, my retardment was not an excuse lawful enough? my Lord, my Son asked him, What do you think to do in those eight days, that you are willing to spend here? I think, replied he, I may in some respect gain the favour of Arsinoe. And when you have got her favour, replied my Son, do you make account to abandon her? Ah Stilpon, cry●d he, that, as Treachery whereof thou oughtest not to believe me capable of. My Lord, answered presently my Son, avow therefore that you deceive yourself, when you think of being here but eight days more. But would they not also say, that you think not to go out of your Way, and Life, and that you set a bound here to all your Designs and Hopes? Think you only, neither of making up your Equipage and Furniture, nor of providing you a Ship or Vessel? as for the rest, what hopes is there for you to succeed, near to Arsinoe? you avow me yourself, that she flies from you; that she, will not listen to you alone, out of the presence of her Parents; and if you have been many days waiting to speak with, and discourse her once, when she did defy you, you will be some years without effecting it, now when she hath Ground and Cause, to precaution herself; In one word, my Lord, you are so hopeless on this point and subject, that you are reduced even to come to me to ask Counsel and Advice. I avow to thee, that that gives me trouble; replied the Prince, But wherefore should I not discover it to Argené nor to St●sicrate? What my Lord, continued my Son, you think to make a Father and Mother, Confidents of a Gallantry for their Daughters? Why not Stilpon? added Philadelphe, I have so pure and respectful a Passion for Arsinoé, that I am assured, that neither Stesicrate nor Argené can never find a reason wherewithal to oppose or gainsay it. But my Lord, continued my Son, you pretend therefore to espouse Arsinoé, for in fine, I believe not, that neither Father nor Mother, as Wise as they, can find Honesty in a Passion, which should have another reach. Thou pressest me too much, Stilpon, cried here the Prince, ask me not that which I do not yet apprehend myself. All that I can say unto thee, that is, thou canst if thou wilt, prepare all things for our departure: But whatever may or can arrive, or come to pass, I will yet once again speak with Arsinoe.  
My Son would not lose the occasion from the ensuing day, and forward he went into the Neighbouring City to make Sale of some Diamonds of those which he had saved; and from thence to the next Port where he hired a Bark to transport them to Sicily, and having made an agreement, he came to render an account to his Master.  
Philadelphe had spent that day in strange disquietments. For on one side, the sensibility he had for all the things of Honour, caused in him some shame, to lose time for a Maiden, when for Reputation and Glory sake, it behoved him to have a care of rendering an account to the King his Father; and on the other side, his Love dethroning and destroying all the efforts and endeavours of his reason, caused him to reject and pass by all that Glory and Repute, only for one fair Chimaera, and left him not the Solidity to consider, but only the pleasures and delights that he could hope for, in the Society of Arsinoe the fair. But that which Tyranized the most, that he himself did not very well conceive his Designs. For he well enough saw on one side, that he should not expect any thing from Arsinoe, that might invalidate her Virtue, and he loved her with so pure, true and sincere a Tenderness, that he himself durst not infringe it, nor yet desire it. He judged very well also on the other side, that he was neither of Age nor in Place, nor yet in a state, to dream of Marriage, and which is yet more, in despite of all the preventions of his Love, his reason still reproached him, with I know not what Treachery, or rather absurdity to be left so absolutely overcome and vanquished at the first shock or meeting of a simple Maiden, and who had obliterated and forgotten all, even to the honour and dignity of his Birth. In this Combat of Honour and of Love, he observed all the reasons on one side, but all his own proper Inclinations carried him to the other; and there arrived him in this encounter, that which occurrs to all those, who not daring to take the part between two puissant adversaries and willing to please and manage them both, render the one and the others Enemies.  
In sum, he resolved to finish his Voyage in Sicily, to go there and spend some years in seats of Arms, and signalise himself there, by some Exploits worthy his Name: But before hand to assure himself if it were possible of the Heart of Arsinoé to discover himself to her, and promise to return to her, when he had rendered his Birth that which he ought it, and even to do in time all things that might be conducible to the happy and laudable success of his Love. So he gave a shock to his Passion, in quitting Arsinoe, he shockt his Honour by the thoughts of an alliance so unequal, he exposed himself to the reproaches of Honour and of Love, he rendered them both Enemies, and instead of placing his Mind in rest and quiet, from one side or the other, he Cumbered and intricately entangled himself with both. He made these Resolutions, walking about the dwelling of Arsinoe, when he met a Slave, who approached him with a design to have gained him, and to engage him to carry some Ticket, but he was much amazed, when this Slave told him, that Stesicrate and Argené were departed the self same Morning very early, to make a Voyage some Months, in a place that this Slave knew not of, and where they had conducted Arsinoe with them. Philadelphe, presently believed (as it was true, and so much he understood afterwads) that he had been the cause of that departure, his Presence having given them some cause to suspect him, after he had made a discovery of his Love to Arsinoé; and its impossible to me to delineate or depaint, what the affliction of this Prince was, at the report and certainty of this piece of News. He failed not immediately to take a resolution to go in quest of her, for he verily conceived, that she could not be gone out of the Island, and doubtless he would have gone, if my S●n had not employed all that might be thought imaginable, in his Endeavours to divert and dissuade him. In short, Stilpon acted so well, that he obliged him to embark, and having made him quit all his amorous designs, and no more to dream of them till his return, they fortunately passed over into Sicily.  
Agatocle, as I have told you, was then waging War with Dinocrate, and my Prince went to find him in his Army. He offered himself as a Volunteer without naming himself, and would not then make himself known, but by his laudable and honourable Feats and Actions.  
I will here pass by the retayling of them, for in so doing his Merits would give us subject and matter sufficient for a long History: But all that being no part of (but quite besides) my design, I will content myself to declare to you, that my Prince did there so signalise himself, by such very extraordinary Exploits, that Agatocle immediately considered him, above any amongst all his Troops It cannot be expressed with what Honours he received him, when Philadelphe made himself understand by that which was, nor by how many Marks he signified to him his esteem and his acknowledgement. After the War was finished he would have made him make a solemn and public entry into Syracuse, and determined a kind of Triumph: but my Prince was unsensible of all these Honours, and although he had made the War, as if he had had but that in his mind, he had no other thing there than only Love.  
Arsinoé returned without surcease or any intermission into his imaginations, and that which is unceivable, as if he had had some Joy in those occasions wherein he signalised himself; it was not but that he dreamt, that he should be more worthy of Arsinoé. Will you not admire this effect of Love? Philadelphe as great a Prince as he was, yet notwithstanding conceived himself unworthy of a simple Maiden, whom he saw in a condition so disproportionable to that of his; and his Passion made him appear to her a subject of emulation, to make him to research with pleasure, the most difficult and perilous occasions in exposing himself. But this is yet much more strange, the War continued two years, and at the end of those two years his Love, that so many important and divers occupations should dissipate, appeared no other than much more forcible and violent. My Son was extraordinarily surprised, for he believed that that fantasy had been absolutely passed, because he had seen him so fixed to functions and feats of Arms, that one would have believed that he had forgotten all other things: but he soon made it appear, that it was a fire which lay hid under the ashes, and that it was not shut up, but to gather together all its forces, and to shine, glitter and beam forth in its time, with much more ardour and violent heat.  
Stilpon then was much astonished, when that some days after the return of Agatocles unto Syracuse, my Prince said unto him; Well Stilpon, do you now find that I remember myself of the Design, which made me quit Egypt, and that I have in some measure filled and satisfied the expectation, that thou didst conceive of a Son of the great Ptolomée? My Son who knew not to what this Discourse tended, answered him with testimonies of esteem and admiration, that all the Island of Sicily, had by his great courage, and by his gallant Exploits, observed his worth. And then the Prince reassumed thus; 'Tis too much Stilpon, it sufficeth me that I have done no more shame to the Name of the great Ptolomée, that thou reproachest me no more, but that I seek to relinquish myself before the labour, and that thou believest I have at least deseured some moments of rest, which I will go to take at Corcyre.  
My Son who immediately understood him, and who still apprehended for him that amusement would answer him; but Philadelphe interrupted him saying: Listen Stilpon, I have had enough of time to consult of that design, to tell me even to myself, all the things that thou canst represent unto me, and if they were to vanish, it would have done it after the endeavours, through which I have fought these two years: but I could never yet be able to take myself from the thoughts of my imagination, and I can only dream of joy not of rest, but in thoughts of making another voyage to Corcyre. After all this discourse, he commanded my Son to prepare all things in readiness for their departure, and some days afterwards, he departed from Sicily and made for Corcyre, leaving after him an universal regret, not only in the King, but all the Court. I cannot describe you the joy, nor yet the ravishments that he had, when he approached Corcyre, for they exceed not only Expression, but Imagination also. He made us to land at the Port the nearest could be to the house of Stesicrate, and without delay, he walked there alone with my Son, leaving all the rest of his Retinue in the Ship. He passed first by the house, where they formerly had both lodged, there to speak, and to inform them of the news of Arsinoe, and was much surprised to learn, that neither she nor Stesicrate nor Argene had dwelled in the Island; that astonished him so much more, because he expected there to find them, upon the report of a Man, whom he had sent there express from Sicily some days before his departure. Alas, what is become of them? demanded the Prince all abashed. My Lord, answered they, There are about fifteen days since they embarked themselves in a strange Vessel, and knew not well whence she was. But there ran a secret or heedless report, that it was a great King had sent to fetch Arsinoe. At these words, the love of the Prince failed not to put into his Mind a thought, whereof all others than a Lover had never been capable of. For he believed that this King, had undoubtedly sent for her to espouse her, and his jealousy immediately possessed him therewith, mixing it with his imagination. Ah Stilpon! cried he, it's doubtless a Rival hath carried her away; but however it be, he is more worthy of Arsinoe than Philadelphe, because he hath not treacherously hesitated, as he upon an imaginary inequality in point of Birth. Not so, my Lord, replied he who had spoken to him, for they said she was his daughter. The Spirit of the Prince was somewhat revived by this discourse; but I deceive myself, for he passed and went only from one Passion to another, of Jealousy, and incredible transportations and astonishments of joy. Arsinoe daughter of a King replied he much moved. I know not precisely nor exactly if it were a King, answered the other, but they said at least, that it was some great Prince. Philadelphe was sometimes in a sweat, then presently turning to my Son, Ha Stilpon, continued he, ●id I not still tell thee that Arsinoe, had neither the Heart nor the Temper nor Spirit of a Country Maiden, and that her great and marvellous Qualifications, deciphered the magnificence of her Birth.  
He endeavoured afterwards to learn from that Man, other particulars in relation to this wonderful Encounter: but not being further able to draw forth more ample Instructions and Informations, he quitted him, and went directly to the former dwelling house of Stesicrate, endeavouring to be more throughly enlightened, and further informed by those whom he should there meet withal.  
Never did so many different Passions attack a Soul at one time, and agitate in this Encounter the amorous Spirit of Philadelphe. He had some times an inexpressible ravishment, dreaming that Arsinoe was the Daughter of a King, and in a condition, which might reasonably approach them nearer both the one and the other, and consequently there might be a probability of their Marriage.  
Then again grief seized him and assaulted him when he conceived that in this condition, she should be exposed to other reserches also, and that the conquest of her would be infinitely more difficulty. Sometimes fear and inquietude seized him, in the ignorance where the Country and Kingdom was, where this fair Princess should be gone. He apprehended that it was with some great Prince at enmity with the King his Father; then supposing it was a friend, he apprehended he should be prevented by the demand of some other, whilst he was in quest of the place where he should seek after her.  
But that which gave him most trouble and confusion, was the doubt wherein he sometimes was, that that Royal birth was not a fable, and Chimaera that the Inhabitants of the Island, might preposterously frame or figure it; and in all that he had heard, there might be nothing of veri●y, but the absence or rather the loss of Arsinoe. With these thoughts he arrived at the house where formerly Stesicrate was lodged, he found there a new Host and new Informations, but still with new causes and grounds of trouble and perplexity. For he who Inhabited there was a friend of Stesicrate, who confirmed him, that there was some came to fetch away Arsinoe, with great and magnificent preparations of Equipage, etc. and although that Stesicrate had not had so great confidence in him, as to have imparted to him any more than half his Secret, however he had not left him so ignorant, but that she was the Daughter of a great Prince; that Argené had with her taken their voyage towards Egypt, and that they might hear tidings of them at Alexandria.  
All that Philadelphe could learn till then, had given him no other than an imperfect joy, because they had been always mixed with some considerations that troubled and perplexed him, but there appeared in this last none, than subjects and grounds of hope and some joyful ravishments. Arsinoe daughter of a great Prince, made no great disproportion in their birth; Arsinoe in Egypt and in Alexandria, left in him no great difficulty, or more doubt of their Marriage.  
He returned to his Vessel with a rash and furious pace, with much precipitancy, altogether transported with excess of joy impatience and love, and having no more of perplexity, than the thoughts of the great Prince, whose daughter this Arsinoe could possibly be. There was many in Egypt, because Ptolomeé had three or four Brothers, who had left a great number of Children, and there were even yet many of the Family of the ancient Kings. So that did not put him in any great trouble, because that amongst them, if there were any Daughters, there would not have been one, but would have thought themselves happy in being sought unto by Philadelphe. He therefore embarked in his Vessel and caused them with full Sail to make for Alexandria, and had no more trouble in his Mind, than only delay, and all Winds seemed him too slow and dull, and to second his impatience, it must have been almost necessary, that he were driven into Egypt by another Tempest.  
In fine, after a few days sailing, he arrived in the Evening at the Port of Alexandria, and the first thing he there made inquiry for, was after the Princess Arsinoe, and if they knew not whence she was. My Lord, answered one to whom he spoke, We must surely be very great strangers, if we should not know whence she was, and you may see her, if you please, even before you enter into the City; for behold there she walks upon the bank of the River with the King, the Queen Berenice and the Princess Antigone. In saying this he shown him a crowd of People by the Sea side, four or five hundred paces from thence, where Philadelphe ran or rather flew, transported with ravishing joy and content. The King, Queen and Princess were afoot, having alighted from their Chariots, which waited upon them hard by, and I had the honour to walk by, and then spoke and discourse with the King, and therefore I can declare to you the original of all that past at this Encounter.  
As soon as Ptolomée perceived the Prince his Son, he knew him, and was so fully transported with joy, that he advanced even some paces, towards him to embrace him. Philadelphe saluted the King, the Queen and Antigone, as a Father, Mother in Law, and a Sister whom he loved, with a respect and tenderness unconceivable. They reviewed him as the Person of the World, which above all was most dear. But Philadelphe principally was attentive in seeking after the sight of Arsinoe, and 'twas not long before he found her. For besides her beauty which immediately invited all Eyes to behold her, and those of the Prince were led and lighted by Love, he had no sooner embraced Berenice and Antigone; ●ut the Queen herself presented him Arsinoe. Come my Lord, said she unto him, come also, and embrace this dear Sister, and at the same time turning herself towards Arsinoe; my Daughter, quoth she, beh●ld this Brother which I promised you. Love waited not any long time to receive these Words of Berenice, nor caused them to be remarked by the Prince Philadelphe. They did not in an instant only penetrate his ears, but his heart, and this fraternity unexpected, so contrary to the Designs wherewith he flattered himself, dissipated in a moment all the of joy his Spirits, and also defaced and razed all the marks in his Countenance, and there left but only the Indices and evident significations of an incredible and unconceivable amazement and astonishment. He continued for some time almost confused, amated and , in that respectful Submission with which he approached to salute her. He had scarce the strength and courage to rise up, and those who a moment before looked upon his countenance, almost in a moment afterwards, did not know it. On the other side, Arsinoe appeared no less surprised, when having beheld this new Brother, she knew him to be the Stranger whom she had seen at Corcyre, who had there began to make her a declaration of his Love, and for whom she had also already conceived movements strong enough of high esteem and good liking. But this surprise caused in her heart an effect far different from that which was produced in that of Philadelphe. For instead of the grief wherewith he was perplexed, she was ravished with joy, in contemplating the fortune that was made her now, in having such a Brother; to resent these first and obscure movements of friendship and amity, that she had already conceived for Philadelphe unknown, justified by the duties of those of Nature, and consanguinity, and in one Word, she appeared a Sister that rebovered a Brother, and he a Lover which had lost a Mistress.  
All the Court observed their Emotion, they presently knew the cause of that of Arsinoe, but they knew nothing then of that of Philadelphe: and after the Prince, who never had heard say that Berenice had had any other Daughter than Antigone, except one who died very young had learned from the Queen, that she who was thought to have been dead, was she who had only been lost till then, by these passages she told him; this Prince too much confirmed in his own Misfortune, found himself obliged to pretend some indisposition, to have thereby cause given him to go and hid his displeasure, and so all at once to let his regret have its free course.  
From the time he retired to his Chamber, he dismissed all others, except my Son, and being at liberty to bemoan himself, he cast him desolately upon his Bed, and with tears in his Eyes he abandoned himself, to a thousand regrets, and so many marks of afflictions which could never have been expected from Love, of which was not yet quite declared.  
O Arsinoe! cried he, O Arsinoe! I lose you, and when I thought to have found you for perpetuity, I see that I have lost you for ever. I had a dread upon me, that you were in an unknown Country, that you had been under the power of some Prince, and an Adversary, where I was not prevented by any, or some Rival. I rejoiced to see you in Egypt, in the power of my Father, which is as much as to say, as in my own; in the mean time, I feared nothing that I apprehended, I had no cause of trembling, but of that which overjoyed me; I had nothing to doubt of, but my Country, but my Family, but myself. Alas must it be thus, that when I think I am delivered from all that which could bear away Arsinoe from me? must it be, alas, that I take her from my own self? must I be my own Rival, and must I make my own State more dismal and deplorable, than all the Men in the World could have made it be? my love was not but too forcible to make me triumph over all the rest; There is neither force nor powers of Princes and Kings whereof I had not hoped to have succeeded: But what shall I do against this improvident Obstacle, which I cannot make to cease, unless I cease to be Philadelphe? O Nature that thou didst not content thyself to give me an amity and friendship for Arsinoe, since that thou hast made her to be born my Sister, or wherefore didst thou cause her to be born my Sister, since thou wouldst give me a Love so opposite to that of a Brother? Why didst thou betray me, Nature, inspiring me a passion, which thou wouldst oppose? and wherefore betrayest thou thyself, in making me sin against thee? If thou wert blind, why hast thou not been so unto to the end?  
He stopped there to give passage to a thousand sighs, and thrust them forward with such violence, that he seemed they were so many endeavours to make his Soul go forth. That obliged my Son to approach him, to see if he should be necessary to him, and after the Prince had discerned him: Ah my friend, said he unto him, Thou art happy, and I emulate thy Condition and thy Birth. Thou art happy Stilpon, that thou art not as I, am Brother of Arsinoe.  
Some Obstacle that the Gods had put to my Love, at least there would have been none invincible; and this inequality of Birth and Fortune, that thou hadst formerly so much represented, and not kept me from the distance of that good Fortune of possessing Arsinoe in comparison of this too great equality, which is betwixt us. He stopped there yet a while; afterwards reassuming a little his discourse.  
But Stilpon, continued he, thinkest thou that Nature opposeth my Love, she who seems in duty bound to fortify yet by this new tye, whereto she fastens me to Arsinoe, why should it be against Nature, that two Persons form from the same blood, should have so much sympathy among themselves, as two strange Persons? Would not this be to second his intention and inseparably to bind together what she hath already commenced to unite?  
Something my Son said unto him, all he was able to frame or figure wherein to consolate him, but he could never come to an end, and the Prince spent the Night in so many violent agitations of Spirit, that it's scarce possible to be imagined.  
I went to see him the next day, and found him in his Bed, with a resolution there to spend the day, for fear of being obliged to receive Visits, or making of any; and above all, for fear of going to see the same Arsinoe, whose presence in times past, he longed afterand sighed for; for he found himself in no capacity to approach her, nor to consider her as his Sister, and he mortally apprehended a conversation which had not made▪ but renewed a mortal affliction. He concealed not his disgrace from me, nor yet his perplexity, and I avow to you I was sensibly touched; but I would not signify so much to him for his own sake, and as I knew, how much his Soul was naturally capable, to suffer himself to be governed by reason, I began to represent him the necessity of overcoming and vanquishing himself, with the most forcible arguments and terms that my affections could suggest; and attacking him in that part, through which I knew he would be most sensible, I represented him these remainders of Love, which he could not stifle nor suffocate, not only as a weakness, but as a great Crime. He immediately made me a reply very coldly: but on that which I pressed him with most ardour and fervency, he answered me.  
That great Crime that you blame so much, Straton, hath notwithstanding found a probation amongst the Chaldeans, to whom there is great appearance, that the verity of things present is known, since they penetrate even for and in things for future. Chrisippe that young Philosopher, for whom I have seen and heard you testify so much admiration, hath he not even pleaded and supported to you yourself, that love among Relations, was more conformable than contrary to nature? His Master the great Zenon, hath he not been of the same sentiment? So that if you must find Authorities in entire Nations, Arabia, Ireland, and a thousand other Countries, have they not practised, and do they not yet practise this Custom, to espouse their Sisters, of which Egypt hath advised and considered of only since some Ages to have it in horror? The Carians within the memory of Arthemise and of Mausole, do they not reverence and adore the Alliance of a Sister and a Brother? Do we not ourselves make so much within the Feasts and holidays of Isis and of Osiris, which we celebrate and solemnize every year? That love was it not innocent every where, and necessary even at the birth of the World? And Jupiter, I say, Jupiter the great, hath he not made his Wife of his Sister? Wherefore will they then that this usage be contrary to Nature? If that were, it would never have been just, for nature hath been from all times, and it would be prohibited throughout the World, for Nature is universal. I left him to say all he could, that so he might listen to me the more attentively, when he would have any thing more to object unto me; besides that, I admired his reasonings, and took much pleasure in harkening unto them, although I signified him nothing. After he had held his peace, I replied to him in these terms.  
Permit me to tell you my Lord, that all that you allege me of authorities and examples, are not good reasons, and that the sentiments of Zenon of Chrisippe, nor those of the Chaldeans do not justify yours. They might as well be deceived as you; and to show you that it's not impossible, but that even entire Provinces have been abused, that is that Arabia, Egypt retaining to this day, two Opinions so contrary, it must necessarily be, that one of the two must be deceived. However, my Lord, they may say, that they both have good reason; that there is nothing naturally just nor unjust: but that the Laws alone, with usage justify and render evil all Actions. So your love is criminal, since that neither our Manners nor our Laws cannot suffer it, and those of the Arabians cannot serve you to any purpose, since you live in Egypt. It is not but that there was some greater appearance, in believing that Nature oppug●s; she hath even given horror to the very Beasts; you may have read in Aristotle, that the Horses have precipitated themselves to be fallen into the like default, and she seemeth to apprehend in such a manner the incestuous union of the Brother and Sister, that when she engenders them together, she separates them from one Membrane, which is not found between two Boy's twins, nor between two Maidens. I did not convince him by these reasons, but in conclusion, I disposed him to rise, and go see the King, Queen and Princess.  
As to that of visiting the King, Queen and Antigone, there was yet no difficulty in the managing of that, but it's not conceivable with what emotions of Soul, nor with what troubles of Spirit he entered the Chamber of Arsinoe. He knew not where to commence his discourse, he knew not almost even how to name her: for to treat her as a Princess, as a Stranger that seemed him to be too cold to a Sister: to call her also his Sister, that was too repugnant to his love; as for Arsinoe, she had not the same perplexity, for as I have said, the esteem and friendship which she had begun to conceive at Corcyre for Philadelphe, served but to dispose her to receive a Brother with more joy. Her heart was not, nor had yet been preoccupied, as that of the Prince, by the thoughts of an Alliance, contrary to the proximity of blood, and all that the change of her condition had been surprise in her, ended and terminated in a surprise, pleasingly delightful and advantageous. So that she had in this Encounter, but a facile and delectable rejoicing in his Personage; and therefore from the first moment she saw him enter into her Chamber, where she was yet apparelling herself, she advanced before him with a very joyful Gay and jocund Countenance, and embraced him with a thousand tender respects, and with extreme demonstrations of joy. O how had these tender and precious caresses rendered him happy some days before! but the more he dreamt, that formerly they had been sweet and delectable pleasures, the more he then conceived of Regrets.  
It was a long time before that sweet name of Brother, that she had repeated him so many times, could draw from his Mouth any other than Sighs. The Princess discerned it, but imputed it to no other than his indisposition, that he had dissembled or feigned the day preceding, and 'twas therefore that she often tenderly asked him, what ailed him, and whether he were yet sick and indisposed. Philadelphe answered hre, No, but in so mournful a manner, that the Princess was much troubled and disquieted, and as she seared some disgrace had befallen him, and that the presence of her Ladies of Honour, hindered him to open his heart in the discovery, she made them signs to withdraw, and afterwards said unto him: What aileth you my dear Brother? for both my duty and inclination makes me to take so great a part and share in all that concerns you, that I conceive I should demand why you seem troubled, without signification of any indiscreet curiosity. By your good favour my dear Brother, free me from this inquietude and pain, and let me thereby see, that you consider me as your Sister.  
At these words, the Prince uttered a d●ep Sigh, then looking upon her with the eyes of Love and Grief, who unfolded and displayed themselves together, he replied: you ask me what aileth me? Alas Arsinoe? Do you not, even your own self tell me by the names of Brother and Sister, what you give to both of us? O Arsinoe! Added he, Arsinoé that you would bewail me, and that you would bewail your own proper misfortune, if you loved me as I love you.  
The Princess who knew not to what excess and extremity the love of Philadelphe had been, would produce or extend unto, and knew not yet the effects of a Passion, that she had not resented, was enough surprised at these Words; and however as she called to mind, how little the Prince had formerly expressed himself to her, and that as she had an infinite quick, pregnant, acute and lively Spirit and Wit, she omitted not to Divine of something; so that she answered him: O my Brother, What reproaches do you make me? I should have much more cause to tell you, that you love not your Sister yourself, being you will recover her with so little Joy, or at least, you love her not as you ought. I kn●w not, replied the Prince, if I love you as I ought: but I know I love you so well and so much, that I bemoan myself, and you ought to have Compassion upon me. For in fine Princess, the Prince Philadelphe hath the same heart, that that unknown One had whom you saw at Corcyre, and the Princess of Egypt hath the same Beauty, that this unknown Arsinoe also had. The Princess did apprehend this discourse with much facility; Wherefore beholding the Prince with some Sentiments of that Compassion be required from her: My Brother, replied she unto him; Philadelphe ought not to be here what he was at Corcyre, since that Arsinoé is no more, what she there thought herself to be, and he ought also to remember himself that these petty Passions of an unknown One straying out of his Country, are unworthy to be those of a Son of the great Ptolomée in Egypt. Alas! replied he, would you that the Prince of Egypt and that unknown one had not the same Passions since that I told you, that they both have but one, and the same Heart? O Arsinoé! that it's easy to you, to speak of this change, to you who have not had, but a change of Apparel and Condition! But that it is there to see myself reduced, me who must (for so I may speak) change Hearts, and to despoil myself of a Passion, rooted within my Soul, and which henceforth would make my Life full of all Hopes and Pleasures.  
In uttering these words the Tears trickled down from his Eyes, and though Arsinoé could not almost but apprehend a thing which could not be conceived, but by those who had proved it, she omitted not however to give him also some Marks that she was pliant, soft and gentle. That was some little Consolation to Philadelphe to see that she took part and share with him in his Grief and resented it; and after some moments he said unto her; At least my dear Sister, it is true that you now have some little friendship and kindness for me, and if I am so unfortunate that I must raze here, and blot out, a part of that affection, that I had for you, than you will have an affection for me, which you formerly had not at Corcyre? My Brother, replied the Princess, never doubt of my Kindness and Friendship, and be assured, that of all the new Duties and Devoirs, to which the change of my Condition obliges me, its him to whom I will tie myself the fastest, and from that I will never departed. These words gave some movements of Joy to Philadelphe, who kissed the Hand of Arsinoe to testify to her his Obligation and Acknowledgement, and having also on his part assured her of an inviolable Affection, and which should never terminate but with that of his Life, he betook himself to entertain her, after the same Rate, in which he had past all the time which had been slept since their first interview; and after his endeavours used to make her conceive to what a high Pitch, the Passion of Love he had had for her was mounted unto, he insensibly engaged himself to her in an apologetical Discourse, and after such a manner as will make me observe, how he was yet preoccupied.  
But is it possible said he to her, that nature obligeth me to quit so strong a Passion? as if by reason I have a double Subject to love you, it must therefore be that you were more indifferent. Ah my Sister, avow with me, that we are very unhappy to live in a Country where men are mingled to correct Nature, and where as if they did not yet commit Crimes enough, they have by new Laws, made us new occasions of Sinning. That the Gods did not cause us to be born amongst People less blinded. That love wherewith they have made us guilty of a Crime in Egypt, would be unto us a virtue amongst the Britain's, amongst the Indians, and in a thousand other countries'. But let's go there my Sister, and let's make it our Country. We cannot have a better than that wherein we shall be permitted to love one another.  
Philadelphe had no sooner pronounced these words, but that he well saw his Passion had transported him to say something which had not pleased Arsinoé. He knew it by her Countenance, and as he dreaded nothing more than her displeasure, he was ready to retract, when she answered him: Brother what is it you demand, and wherefore think you already ●o put my affection to such strange Proofs? Let's live here my dear Brother, the Gods will have it so, because they appointed us to be born here; and content yourself that I am your Sister; for all your displeasures can never make me to be more unto you.  
The Princess embraced him in finishing, without doubt 'twas to repair the ill he had done by his words; and afterwards taking him by the Hand, she would have had him pass into another Chamber where there was People, to interrupt afterwards that discourse and entertainment, which she would not continue.  
But Philadelphe which felt himself, in a condition not very well able to begin another, took leave of her, and retired into his apartment, altogether as sad as he came forth of it. He passed all the rest of the day in a Mood so mute and melancholy as is unconceivable, and that which infinitely Racked and Tortured him, that he could not dispense with the Visits that were made him, and which augmented his Pain, by the constraint and trouble they rendered him in this his affliction. Yea, he found that the sight of Arsinoé did no other than reinvenom his Wound, and that there was no means of Cure, in presence of her who had given it.  
All that which he imagined might prove a Remedy, was the hopes he had in the change of his Brother's qualifications, for whom he still conserved that wonderful Tenderness, he had had from his Infancy. He had not seen him since his return, by reason there had already been eight days that Ceraune was gone a Hunting fifteen or sixteen Miles from Al●xandria. Wherefore he went to find him there, with design to have spent some time with him in the Country: But he found little ground or subject of Consolation, scarcely had Ceraune seen him only arriving; he treated him with such Insolence, Arrogancy, Disdain, Fierceness, Cruelty and Inhumanity, not like an elder Brother, but an Enemy; so that poor Philad●lphe was constrained to return the same day that he was gone there. Make you I pray some reflections upon his misfortune, and observe how much he was persecuted by two opposite Passions. The hatred of his Brother constrained him to shun and fly him, and he was forced to shun and keep at distance from his Sister, in regard of his Love.  
In this necessity he well saw, that there was no consolation for him in Egypt, and he dreamt of nothing more than to seek some occasion to quit it a second time. He had the most honourable that he could desire. For in that time chanced the famous troubles which confederated and combined all the Successors of Al●xander the great, against the Kings Antigonus and Demetrius: Ptolomée levied a considerable Army to send into Sicily, where were to be joined all the Troops of his Party, and he gave their conduct to Philadelphe. It's here where I shall have opportunity, to recount you Things, worthy the memory of all Ages, if the tediousness of my recital, did not oblige me hereafter to abridge it, and lightly to pass over that which remains to be declared you, I will observe unto you only, that amongst all the gallant and worthy Actions that this Prince did there, there was amongst others, an encounter near unto Gaza, where he defeated one of the Armies of Antigonus, and there slew fifty thousand Men, and took eight thousand Prisoners with all the Baggage of the Son of King Demetrius. But the manner wherewith he used this Victory was unto him much more honourable, than had been the Victory itself. For Philadelphe returned to Demetrius his Baggage again, together with his ●●●ends taken in the Battle, with these generous Expression. That the Fight betwixt them, was not for all Things: but only for the Honour and the Victory. This noble and heroic Exploit produced very different effects. For as it had accumulated Honour, Glory and Renown upon Philadelphe, it envenomed the heart of Ceraune, with an incredible Jealousy. Although he knew that Philadelphe had not used it in that sort, but by the permission of King Ptolomée his Father, to whom he had sent a courier Express: however, he left it not but pass for an Intelligence with the Enemy, and highly decried it as a piece of Treason. The King would have had him to impose silence upon himself on this Subject, and therefore did frequently command him to sucrease, but the more he undertook to defend the innocent, the more he reported him Guilty, and was jealous he was culpable; and his rage and fury was come to such a pitch and point, that by a second attempt, he under hand subborned the Guards of Philadelphe, to Assassinate him in his Army.  
The Conspiracy was discovered, the Guards taken, who avowed all; and behold another admirable generosity worthy of my Prince. He did not make it seem, that he pardoned the Guilty, as at the other time, but as if he had believed them only criminal towards his Brother in accusing him unjustly, and not as if they would have Assassinated him, he sent them to him bound hand and foot to use them according to his discretion.  
After much time spent in divers Combats they came at last as doubtless you well know, to a general Battle near to the City of Ipse, where King Ptolomée would have personally assisted. I will not tell you the success, because 'tis known through all the World, no more than that which happened to Philadelphe in the War, that the King appointed him to make afterwards against Seleucius King of Syria. I will not dwell upon any Subject, but that which hath relation to the love and the misfortune of my Prince; There had been two years and some Months, that he had been absent from the Court, where they spoke of no other than his high and honourable Feats, when he received order from the King presently to come and meet him at Alexandria. The Prince immediately departed, although with altogether as much displeasure as he formerly had of joy to return there. For very far from feeling his Heart confirmed by a long resolution of thinking no more upon Arsinoe then as a Sister, he found himself more feeble and weak upon that point than ever before; absence nor time having been able to heal that Wound that I know not what fatality rendered Incurable.  
He departed notwithstanding because the Order was precise, and alighting from his Horse he immediately repaired to the King, who having commanded all people to withdraw, spoke to him after this manner. My Son, one of the greatest Acts of Grace, which the Gods confer upon Men, is in my Apprehension this, in granting them Desire and Leisure before their Death, to dispose of the Affairs of their Family, in the same manner they wish they may remain after them. I am in a condition of thinking to prevail with the Gods for this favour; so much the more, that the comportments of your Brother, reduce me to the necessity of not committing your Fortune to his discretion, nor yet to that of your Sister. I do not intent nor pretend to take from him the advantages of his Birth, nor yet the Rights and Prerogatives of his Eldership, although he hath given too great a cause, and that the Kingdom of Egypt, not being come to me by Inheritance nor Patrimony, but being the price of my Blood and Labour, it gives me Right and Privilege to dispose of it to my good liking; nevertheless the right of Eldership is an error in Law which I respect wherewith I willingly leave it and do rejoice therein, when the Gods shall have appointed me to give him place, provided, that he continue not to render himself unworthy. But in leaving him his Portion, it is just also that I assure you of yours and that I give you part in an Inheritance which you have so well known and conserve and extend. My Kingdom can be commodiously divided into two Parts; into Egypt Inferior and Egypt Superior. I intent to leave him one, and to put you at present in the possession of another. As to what relates to Antigone your Sister, you know I am in treaty of her Marriage. Behold my Son the Design for which I have sent to fetch you, and which I intent to put in execution, immediately after the next Solemnity of the Feast of Isis. This discourse gave Philadelphe much and many thoughts for many reasons: but the principal was, to see that Ptolomée had not spoken of Arsinoe, as if he would have disinherited her; and this thought troubling all the Sentiments of acknowledgements, that he felt in his heart for the King his Father, he could not refrain telling him instead of thanking him; My Lord the Princess Arsinoé .... The King apprehended his thought at the very first word, and betaking himself to smile; No, my Son, (said he interrupting him,) I do not give her any Partage, Share or Division, for I intent the contrary, that she herself shall be a Portion of yours. These Terms yet more intricated and perplexed Philadelphe. Ptolomée who would not leave him longer in Pain, expressed him and unfolded him his mind that she should by him be given him in Marriage. And to let his Joy have its free and liberal course, (for the King did me the honour to communicate me his Design, having known from me, the Passion which Philadelphe had) he made him understand that Arsinoé was not his Sister. But that she was indeed Daughter to Berenice, the Daughter of this Queen by a former Marriage with Aridée Brother of Alexander the Great. That the jealousy of the ambitious and cruel Olympias who was also Wife to Aridée, and the Empire which she had upon her Spirit of their common Husband, having brought that Prince to suffer Impunity; that Olympias undertook, and attempted upon the Life of these two Children that he had by his other Wives, that she might thereby transfer all the Love of the Father upon hers; Berenice had been constrained to feign that Arsinoe was dead as soon as she was born, and that in the Interim she had privately sent her to be nourished and brought up at Corcyre by Stesicrate and Argene his Wife, both her Domestics, in whom she had Confidence in expectation that the Death of her rival would permit her to be made known by Aridée. But Olympias having survived that Prince, she had never durst made it to be known; and that he had been a long time after her second marriage with Ptolomée without making it known to himself, by an awful Timidity, and scrupulous Bashfulness, as if she had apprehended, that that was not capable of giving him some Ombrages of her Virtue. That her maternal Love had in the end forced her to this confidence in him, and to recommend him her Daughter in a malevolent Disease wherein this virtuous Queen thought to die during the absence of Philadelphe, and that for him who was not ignorant neither of the furious rage of Olympias, nor the feeble Complaisance by which Aridée had left her to Sacrifice one part of her Family, and who yet better knew the Wisdom and the incomparable virtue of Berenice, he had immediately not only sent to fetch away Arsinoé from Corcyre, but that loving no less the Children of his dear Wife than those who properly were his own, he would have her also pass for his Daughter, whereby to assure her a part of his Wealth in recompense of those of her Father. For in the conclusion, pursued Ptolomée, I avow to you that I love Arsinoé no less than my own Daughter, and that it is to testify unto her that I have for her the Love of a Father that I will give her to my own Son. Philadelphe listened to all this with so much astonishment, so much Joy, and so much Impatience, that he almost lost the attention, and he cared not how the thing did happen, provided that it was so.  
After having signified and testified as much as was possible his Acknowledgements and Obligations together with his Joy, to the King his Father, he quickly and nimbly ran to Arsinoe, and ran there so transported with Love and ravishing joy, that he did not almost feel himself. I doubt not, but that you would take great pleasure to understand, after what manner he reviewed this fair Princess, and how he was received; If I should undertake to make a draft of the lineaments of this Picture, and to depaint all the most rare, and the most tender passions the World inspired them in this reunion; so fortunately happy, and so unexpected and unawares: but for that, it would be needful for me to have twice as much time, as undoubtedly remains to us to finish our course, since it seems to me, I discover from hence the house of Alcidias, upon that adjacent hillock or eminent rising. It sufficeth that you know that Arsinoe, who had been prepared by Berenice, for that interview, corresponded with the joy of the Prince so much, that he could exact and require it from her Modesty and chaste Pudicity and Purity, and advantageously repared and made up, in these first Moment's, all the displeasures, all the troubles and pains of many years.  
Eight days after the return of Philadelphe, they celebrated in Alexandria the Feast of Isis, pursuant whereunto preparations were to be made for the Marriage and Coronation of Philadelphe.  
The solemnity of this Feast, had something of barbarity, for those who knew nothing of the Manners and Theology of the Egyptians. For first of all, after a Sacrifice that the Priests made in the Morning with Cakes, on which there is the figure of a Sea-horse tied; they made a procession, in which four Priests having their hair and beard shaved, conducted the Ox (or as they say) the God Apis. Four others afterwards led the Dog Anubis with the like Ceremony, and all the other Priests followed after them, singing of Hymns, and all vested and arrayed with Robes of Linen.  
They walked so in order, to a large and hollow Fountain, which stands without the City of Alexandria, in which they drowned the Ox, and at the self same time the Gates of a little Temple, which is very near approaching, opening as of themselves, they beheld the coming forth of a new Ox and one Heifer. Every one of these Animals carried on his Neck a Maiden, which there is seated much in similitude to those that the Limners represent us in Europe upon a Bull, and these Maidens are always Princesses, or Persons of the highest Quality, because they do upon this occasion represent the Goddess Isis, for she that sits upon the Heifer, signifies Isis, then when being the Nymph Io, she was changed into an Heifer by the Artifices of Jupiter, and she which is upon the Ox there, then represents that being the Wife of Osiris and Queen of Egypt, she taught these People to cultivate and sow their Lands. They made them afterwards mount twice upon the Nile in a Vessel, which conducted them to an Isle in the Sea, some miles from its Mouth, and where there is a Temple of Osiris, on the Altar whereof is a Chest of Iron, where they said Osiris was shut up and drowned. They yet make there the sacrifice of an Ox, and afterwards all the procession return by the light of a thousand Torches, and at the sound of Flutes, Pipes or Tabers of Drums and Trumpets, which makes the Air on all sides to resound, ring and yield an Echo. At another time, I will explain you the Mysteries of that Superstition, as to the present it sufficeth; after I have explained you the order of that Solemnity, to tell you that the Princess Antigone and Arsinoe had been chosen to represent at this time the Goddess Isis. And to speak truth, they could not better choose, whereby to give a greater Idea to the Goddess, nor to imprint the respect and the veneration in the Spirits of these People; for they had both the one and the other such Beauty, as would draw and attrackt the Eyes and adoration of all the World.  
Certainly I can assure you, as having been the Witness of it, never was any thing so admirable, as they appeared that day, the one and the other. Antigone as the youngest represented the Goddess or the Nymph Io. Her Robe was of Cloth of Silver sown with Pearls, and her Hair was trust and tucked up under a Crown of Flowers: her white and fair Arms appeared decked and garnished with rich Bracelets of Pearls, and they saw on her a kind of half Moon blazoned in silver upon the forehead, in sign of the change of the Nimph. Arsinoe represented the Queen Isis, and that therefore was the reason why it was more magnificent and Royal, being all embroidered with Gold, and covered with precious Stones. Her head was covered with a Crown of Gold, in fashion or similitude of an Ear of Corn, interlaced with a great number of Emeralds, Rubies and Stones of divers exquisite colours, to signify the divers sorts of Herbs and Flowers, which spring up among the Corn, and instead of a Sceptre, she carried in her hand a Coulter or share of Gold, which they had made very light, lest they should wrong or over-press her hand with its weight. But scarce did they only take notice of these exterior Ornaments, as those which of hers were natural, and drew, enticed and alured the Eyes and Attention of all which beheld them.  
All Egypt which seemed to be gathered together and assembled at Alexandria, for the solemnity of that Feast, avowed that she had never seen any thing so worthy the Greatness, Magnificence and Majesty of Isis, and it seemed that Fortune envying our joy, took pleasure to redouble our acclamations and our congratulation, to render afterwards our Moans and Regrets more sensible.  
The Sacrifice being finished in the Isle, all the Court were upon the Port expecting, by the lustre and tansparent clearness of a thousand Links and waxed Torches lighted, the return of these two fair Princesses. The Prince Philadelphe alone went before them, in a little magnificent and gallant Boat made expressly, when a bark returning from the Isle with all diligence of the Rowers, reported to the King, that Antigone and Arsinoe were carried away by some People, hid in an unknown Vessel which lay behind the Island, and who had not appeared, but when they were ready to go to Sea. It is not possible to express unto you here the Alarm, nor the trouble that in one instant this news produced. Immediately the King gave order to hasten away after them, and caused all the Soldiers to be embarked, that could be found upon the first Vessels that were ready in the Port, or could be met withal: But very strange! of two hundred Vessels that were there, there was not found one in a readiness, or which wanted not either Ropes or Sails or Rudders, or other things necessary.  
There must something more appear to the King to be known, and that there was some Treason here under hid and concealed. He caused Pilots and Captains of Ships to be taken, but 'twas not possible to draw any thing out, unless it were they themselves were surprised, having believed all things in good condition. On the other side Philadelphe being, as I have told you, gone before the Princesses in this little Bark, which he had caused to be built, more for appearance than service, had no sooner received this fatal news, that he became like one thunderstruck so unawares.  
Never did pain nor grief make so sudden and so violent an effect and change, as was in him, and I believe that there had been no need of any but himself for his Princess which conserved him his life, and rendered him apart of his Forces, after he had almost lost them all. Ah my Friends! cried he, to them that were with him, all desolate and hopeless, We must perish or save our dear Princesses.  
Grief and pain permitted him not to discourse any more, and in the mean time without consideration of the little succour that they could receive from him, in the state wherein he was, he commanded the Mariners who conducted his Bark, to row with all their strength, although the night deprived them of all knowledge.  
But behold another Mischief, scarcely had this poor Prince advanced one Mile, that some pieces of his Bark being loosened, the one from the other, as if by set purpose, he found himself down in the Sea.  
Happy it was he was not far from the Island, so that he saved himself by swimming, with all those of his Retinue, one Mariner only excepted, whom they saw no more. But that which afflicted him a thousand times more than death, was that he found himself there without any means to pursue the forcible Ravishers away, and a nin impossibility of succouring his Princess.  
To what extremities was he not ready to expose himself in this Encounter? But above all, imagine you, that which became of him, then when he regained the Port of Alexandria, in an ill favoured Gondoso, which was ●ound by haphazard, and thinking to go upon some good Ship to seek after Arsinoe, he knew the state in which they were all found. Every one saw the Treason was manifest, but they could not, and they durst not almost suspect the Traitors, for the love of Ceraune, who was one of the Robbers, as you will soon observe, had not yet broken out.  
And besides he himself, appeared at Court with the Countenance of a Man, who took too great a share of the Calamity, to be one of them guilty of the Crime. But the Crime was too black to remain unpunished, and the Gods ought to indicte the Author, for their own proper Vengeance, since that having troubled the Ceremonies of one of their solemn Feasts, they themselves were there in some sort interested.  
You shall know then Kion, who by force and means of searches and perquisitions, had made serious Inquiry, they learned in the end, that Ceraune and Menelas Nephew of Ptolomée, and who had the Office of Admiral, were the Authors of this violent Robbery: the former being unfortunately fallen in Love with Arsinoe, and the second with the Princess Antigone. That which much conduced to their Discovery was their flight, for they disappeared the self same night. They knew that it was they themselves, who had secretly caused a part of those Vessels to descend, for fear they should be sent after those who had made the Rape; that it was they who had subborned and corrupted with Money, a Carpenter who had built the Bark of Philadelphe, that it might be made in that manner, as to fall a sunder, as it had done, in taking away only a Pin of wood (the which had been effected by that Mariner, who had disappeared a little afterwards) In a word, they knew that 'twas they who had caused those to agitate themselves, and to put them all at work, and act in this fatal Tragedy.  
The King had till then conserved and reserved some paternal tenderness for Ceraune, but it was not possible for him, more to resist the justice of his Wrath, when he saw this last Feat and Perfidy of this graceless and worthy Son; and his flight with that of his Accomplice and Comrade, having finished their conviction, the King caused that the Morrow their process should be made. Amongst other things he declared Ceraune unworthy and uncapable of the Crown, and because they should not take this Vengeance to be a simple Menace he put it in execution in such manner, that it hath without doubt, been known all the World over; but I will not omit to repeat it unto you, because you will be well pleased to be assured to learn by retale, a thing which until this time, never had an Example, and possibly may never have. He caused to assemble together, all Orders and Degrees throughout his Kingdom, at least those that were found in and about Alexandria, and having appointed Philadelphe to follow him to the public Place, where all the Soldiers were in Arms, and all the People attentive, and in expectation of what would follow such great preparatives, he there made a long Oration upon the affections, which he had always had for his People, and the cares he had taken to educate and bring up his Children, in an inclination and disposition of Peace, necessary for the better Government of his Subjects; from thence he fell to discourse of the different Manners and Qualifications of his two Sons, and putting again into the Mind and Memory of the Egyptians of the magnificent and famous Feats, and honourable Actions of Philadelphe, wherewith all his Subjects were very exceedingly satisfied and well pleased, he there afterwards those of miscontent and displeasure, which he and they had received from Ceraune. After he had aggravated the three fratercides, wherewith this cruel Prince would have caused his Brother to perish and to be destroyed, the violent ravishment and carrying away the two Princesses, his Confederacy and Treaty even with the known Enemies of the State, (for they knew he made one with Lysimachus, to assure himself a retreat into his Kingdom, after he had amplified and laid open at large all the circumstances of his Crimes, he at last publicly declared his Dissheirison, and thereby declared his Son Philadelphe his sole and only Successor.  
And that there might be no shadow, nor ground, nor cause of contest against his Title, I say to impede or hinder what possibly might be questioned after his death, and to take and deprive Ceraune from all means of embarking the People in Civil-War, and intestine jars and commotions, he added, that it was his Will and Declaration, his Resolution of putting Philadelphe in present possession of the Crown, and that he appointed and published him King of Egypt, resigning into his hands all his Power, Privileges and Prerogatives Royal, reserving only unto himself the Degree, of his Prime and Principal Subject, and Captain of his Guards.  
At the same Even the self same moment, having caused Philadelphe to approach, who had not followed him there, but against his Will, because he dreamt of nothing else but his departure in quest of Arsinoe, and was importunate against all things that might delay or any wise frustrate his design, the King repeated to him the precedent declaration, and having constrained and obliged him to sit down upon a Royal Throne, which he had purposely and expressly commanded to be prepared, he with his own hands placed the Crown Royal upon his head, the Sceptre in his hand, and then and there swore himself his faithful Subject, and declared and owned him to be his Master, his Liege Lord and Sovereign King.  
If this Oration and memorable Action which immediately followed it caused an astonishment amongst the Egyptians, it gave them ground, cause and subject of much more incomparable joy and admiration, for as much hatred and aversion as they had and conceived against Ceraune, even so much love, and respect had they for Philadelphe, But Philadelphe for his own self in particular, was so surprised and so confused, in receiving such marks and signs of deference and submission from a Father, for whom he had such obsequious and venerable respect, that he could not possibly resolve to accept these rare and illustrious Testimonies of a Love so Royal and Paternal. What wonderful Miracle was that not, that the Land of Egypt beheld not on that day? Certainly future Ages will scarcely have faith to believe it.  
It saw a great King which was the delight of his People, and the terror of his Enemies, voluntarily descend from the Throne, and there to cause his Son to ascend it, and I there saw the Son refusing to mount into the Throne, and use all his utmost endeavours, there to retain and hold his Father. In sum, so it must be, that Philadelphe yielded and gave place, unto the absolute Will of Ptolomée, but it was not by a deference; and it may be said, that he consented not to be King, but to give a pregnant demonstration of obedience, both as a Son, and as a Subject.  
In the interim do not in any wise believe, that this great change and transmutation of the condition and state of my Prince, made any kind of alteration in his love nor yet grief and dolour; believe not that he judged the gift of a Kingdom, was capable to consolate him, to balance the loss of Arsinoe. Ambition had not power to suspend, remove or discharge him one moment from the thoughts, nor perplexing inquietudes of his Love, and all that which Prince Philadelphe had resolved for the recovery of this Princess, Philadelphe the King would also execute.  
He had already sent to all Parts and Coasts to learn news of the two Princesses: but that was a thing that appeared to him, but little worthy of his Love, to seek after them by the means of others only, his passion defied him the cares and diligence of all others. He would therein employ himself, and in that very resolution and design, he would departed the following Night without speaking any thing to Ptolomée, knowing he would have opposed it. Only he resolved to leave a Letter with some of his People, to give unto the King after his departure, and began one in these terms.  
Philadelphe to King Ptolomée, Health.  
SIR,  
I a thousand times beg pardon of your Majesty, if I dare without his leave departed from being near her, and if it appears, that I acted the part of an ill Son, it will soon make an Apology for me to so good a Father. But Sir, one so good as your Majesty is, merits him the conservation of all his Children, so that if I remove one from him for some few days, I protest to your Majesty, it's not but to essay, to return them to you very suddenly altogether.  
I entered into his Chamber, when he was there with his Letter, and although he presently resolved not to discover his design, unless it were to those that to him were necessary, so it came to pass, that my presence and the kindness he had for me, tempted or prompted him to make me a participant. I was not surprised with that resolution, for I know the fervour and greatness of his Love. But as it seemed to me on this occasion, to be altogether blind, I took the liberty to tell him my Sentiments. I then represented to him, that Philadelphe King of Egypt, ought not hence forward to imagine himself yet to be Prince Philadelphe, that in receiving the Crown, he had well changed conditions and obligations. Think you my Lord (said I) that you are now to yourself, as you then were, to dispose of according to your passions and willing inclinations, and to run about the World, as a single and simple Adventurer, and to expose yourself to all the fantastical conceits, humours and capriccios' of Fortune? Know, my Lord, that you now at present are united by very straight ties and strong ligaments, and by indispensable obligations to your Estate; that you are accountable for all your cares and steps to your Kingdom; and that where ever you go, you carry along with you the sole and entire Fortune of the Land of Egypt, etc. Pardon me, my Lord, if I presume to tell you of it; would you not be ashamed unfaithfully to abandon your People, in the self same moment that you have so solemnly engaged yourself to them? and think you that the Prince your Brother, in quitting Egypt, hath not left some seeds of Division there, which will require your presence, and all your cares to smother it? But when, or if all these Important considerations of Interest and Honour should cease; after all, what think you to do, to go running at all Adventures, for so I may say, with your Eyes close shut after People, whose path-ways nor retreats you know not, and which 'tis possible, will be at one end of the World, when you go to seek after them in the other? for in fine, although they have told you, that they are gone into the States of Lysimachus, how know you it is not a false report, by which they think to give you a change? Dream not to retrieve the Princesses from out of their hands, you possible will go, and deliver even yourself into those of your Enemies? My Lord, it's much more to the purpose, and for your dignity and love, to send to all parts to seek out the Criminals, and in the mean time, to prepare Ships and Men to fetch them away by main force, when you shall have learned where they are, and if it be then needful, to chastise them as a King. Philadelphe had much trouble and pain, and was loath to yield; for he could find and feel that his Princess had been carried away, and that it was needful, that he should continue in the mean time at Alexandria. However I made him at last consider the necessity; so that he was contented to dispatch Men away to all Parts, to learn news of the Princesses; and of the Rovers, but it was not of utility, and behold wherefore.  
The truth is, that Ceraune had retired himself to the Court of the King of Thrace, but he had not led there the Princesses, for although the King of Thrace had espoused the Daughter of the first Wife of Ptolomée, of whom I have spoken unto you, and who was also called Arsinoe, and that Lysimachus was consequently brother-in-law to Ceraune. Nevertheless this same here, did not altogether put confidence in this barbarous Prince, who was naturally cruel and violent, even to the utmost extremity, as you know by too much experience. So that before the leading away of the Princesses there, he would make only a turn to Lysimachus, where was the Court of Thrace, in the mean time leaving Arsinoe and Antigone unknown in a City of Chersonese, under the tuition and guard of Menelas, without discovery to any Person whence they were.  
But this Voyage was longer than he presently was ware of. While he was in that Court, he became in love of this other Arsinoe, of whom I have told you, although she was his Sister by Father and Mother, and Wife of Lysimachus, and that Queen unworthy of the blood of the great Ptolomée, having correspondence with this criminal and incestuous love, they fastened together a Commerce which was plentifully fertile, and abounded in all manner of Crimes. I will not recount you the havoc and violent Ravage they made the one and the other in the Royal Family of Lysimachus, by the assassination and poisoning of many Children, which remained born by diversity of Wives, whom he had espoused. That tragical history is too well known throughout the earth, to stay me there. I will tell you alone in few words, that this wicked Woman fearing that Ceraune would not quit her in the end, to return to his first passion, caused to be rob by Night from Menelas the two Princesses whom he kept, caused them to be carried away from the Chernesesse, where they were in an Isle of Pont Euxin, and there privately shut them up, without the knowledge of neither of Ceraune nor Menelas. But she was soon punished by himself, on occasion of him with whom she had committed so many Crimes. For you know how Lysimachus having been slain incontinently afterwards by Seleucus, about the Subject of the Kingdom of Macedonia, whom the first had usurped upon the young Antigonus Son of Demetrius and Seleucus, having been slain afterwards by Ceraune in an ambush, which he had laid for him; Arsinoe remitted imprudently, not only a part of her Estates, but her own proper Person, and that of the two Children, which she had by Lysimachus into the hands of her incestuous Adulterer.  
That by this means Ceraune being made Tutor of these two Children, declared himself Regent, and in conclusion, crowned King of Macedonia, and that he had scarce known, that he should have more need of this Queen to reign, but he despised her, that their detestable union, had this sad and dismal conclusion, which never is wanting to punish criminal and disorderly Passions. In sum Ceraune having then discovered the place where she caused these two Princesses to be kept Captives he resolved with himself to disentangle and rid himself of her, and sent her to fetch the Prisoners. The jealous Queen had no sooner advice and Intimation, than she designed to prevent him. She dispatched Assassins to go and cut the Throats of the two Princesses, and prepared Poison to defeat Ceraune, but she was prevented by himself, for he was as well skilled in the Operation and Effect and custom of Poison, as herself.  
He therefore Poisoned her, after he had cruelly Massacred between his Arms, her two young Sons, and on the other side; he dispatched Menelas into Chersonese, to deliver the Princesses and to bring them to Macedonia. In the interim Ceraune conducted his Army against that of the Gauls, who then made desolate the Frontiers of that Kingdom, and there he fought that famous Battle, where, you know, he was slain. But I pass by all these things slightly, and cursorily run over them, because that besides those, there arrived in a little time the great and sudden violent flash, that they have made, nor permits it any person to be ignorant of them; and because that from elsewhere, as they are arrived almost at your Gates, you are far better instructed than myself.  
I return then to that which passed in Alexandria, and as the short way that we have yet to walk, obligeth me to abridge my repetition, content yourself that I yet cut short off all these things, how important soever they are, and that in a few words.  
It's impossible for me to delineat or depaint unto you, the Condition and State my poor Prince was in, Ignorant where he lived, during the time he knew not what was became of his Princess; nor with how much Grief and Sorrow of Mind he saw himself confined and fastened in Egypt, by a State and Condition that impeded him to employ himself in the research of Arsinoé. He learned News enough of Ceraune, but those News instead of consolating, did no other than redouble and reinforce his Anguish. For as he knew in conclusion that he was at Thrace, and there without the Princesses and then not knowing what was become of them, he was ready to abandon himself to a furious and violent despair, whereof all his Sagacity, our Endeavours and all the Tendernesses of the great Ptolomée his Father with all his Pains and efforts did not warrant him nor could. Notwithstanding all, that it was an admirable thing to see in what manner this Illustrious Father, and this yet more Illustrious Son, lived together; it was a Wonder worthy the curiosity of the People, the Philosophers, the Princes; it was a Spectacle worthy the Gods themselves. For this Father who of a King had made himself, as I have already declared you, the simple Captain of the Guards of his Son, took Pleasure to give the first examples to others of the devoir and respects that Subjects own to their Sovereign.  
This Son that saw himself against his Will, lifted up above his Father, forced himself to abase himself below himself, and descend (for so I may properly say) from his Throne to replace him there; so that they could scarce discern between them, who was the King and who the Subject. But the Gods soon envied Egypt the unconceivable and inexpressible content when it rejoiced in the view of this rare and incomparable Spectacle. Ptolomée the great died, and the unconceivable regrets which Philadelphe had, added so sensible an increase of Pain to his Dolour and Grief, that he found himself uncapable to resist his affliction, and as they had but one and the same Throne, it was almost requisite and needful to prepare them one Tomb.  
In short Philadelphe became extremely Sick, and very hardly the efforts and endeavours of the most excellent Physicians, and the vows of all the People, were or could be capable to mitigate or withdraw his Maladies and Grief. But great Gods what own we unto you, to have consented in the end to save him in Egypt, if you did not reserve him to more happy and prosperous Adventures than those, which are already arrived and happened unto him in Greece.  
I have told you that before Ceraune led his Army against that of the Gauls, he had sent Menelas into Chersonese from Thrace, to deliver the Princess Arsinoé and Antigone, Menelas went there, and brought them into Macedonia when he had heard that the Gauls having defeated and slain Ceraune, and had as you know, caused his head to be put upon the top of a Pike, and walked in that very Posture throughout the Camp, and that the Troops of this unhappy Prince were given to a valiant One unknown, named Sosthene.  
Menelas therefore not seeing a secure retreat for himself, at Macedonia, and not knowing where to rest his head, came into Thessalia to find Alcime, by the gaballes and intelligences of whom Lysimachus, and after him Ceraune were themselves seized of Macedonia.  
Alcime, who was then in trouble, how to defend even himself against these Gauls, and who sought some succour favourably received Menelas; not so much for the succour he expected from him, (for Menelas was not in an Estate to serve him, otherwise than personally, and of very few People that he had) but because he would be Master of the two Princesses, by the means of whom, he hoped in case of necessity to engage the King of Egypt to protect him.  
But before he sent into Egypt, he would try if an accommodation and agreement might be made with Brennus and so much the rather that young Antigonus having ascended the Throne, he well foresaw that he would have this puissant Enemy upon his Back. Menelas willing to render himself considerable to Alcime, undertook the negotiating his accommodation with the Gauls, and to that effect went to find Brennus, leaving in the interim, the Princesses at Pidne, in the custody of Alcime. Menelas made their Treaty: But on these Affairs the Gauls having been defeated at Delphes by that memorable passage or accident that you well know, that undid, broke and defeated all the measures which Menelas and Alcime had taken; and I avow you, that I do not yet well know, those which they had taken on this new revolution: But however it might be; The Princesses after they were brought to Pidne where Alcime made his ordinary Residence, they were there in much more incomparable Liberty, and far less shut up than they had been during the time that they were Prisoners of the Queen of Thrace. So that one day they found means to gain one of the Guards who observed them to send their News into Egypt, and to advertise the King my Master the place of their Retreat, and some certain part of the Accidents and Adventures that had befallen them. You may well conceive the ravishing Joy of my Prince at this piece of News. She healed him all at once almost with this Intimation, and after he had diligently informed himself of the State of Things, he caused six Vessels to be armed with all diligence imaginable, and having filled them with Men fit for the purpose, he undertook to come one night to surprise Pidne, which you know is seated upon the Sea. But alas he should not have confided in an Element which had been to him so contrary. In passing the Cycladeses the Vessels were surprised by a Tempestuous Storm, which caused them to be stranded for the major part upon the sides of the Island, and all the direction of the Mariners could not hinder, but that after a stormy day and night she aboard of whom he was, with myself and my Son was cast upon the Rocks which are upon the Coast of Thessalia.  
Very few saved themselves with us in our Skiff, but this misfortune did in no wise astonish the great and undaunted heart of Philadelphe. But contrarily forcing himself to infuse in us all the courage we had lost; The Gods said, he, gave me the first acquaintance with Arsinoe by a stormy and impetuous Tempest, and by another Tempest they will put me in possession of her.  
So having sent to buy Horses in the next City with the money that we had saved with us in our Skiff, he enterprised to come unknown to Pidne, to essay and endeavour a Conference and Parley with the Princesses, and accordingly to take his measures for their deliverance. At our arrival there we learned that two days before that, Alcime for some private reason had caused them to be conducted the following day to Gonnes, and Philadelphe expected me here hard by, in the morning during the time I was gone by his order, to spy the time that they should pass. I have even known that then they entertained themselves with the History of the wonderful beginnings of your Life, which another time I digested in Writing by his order, when he was unexpectedly attached by the People of Menelas.  
That perfidious Prince had been advertized by one of his Gang of the arrival of Philadelphe, and as he had a double Interest in seeking his death, first and principally because he was after him to inherit the Kingdom of Egypt, in the second place, by reason he was wonderfully amorous of Antigone the Princess, whose deliverance he doubted not but my Master was expressly come to attempt; he caused him to be sought after yesterday in the Morning by a number of Assassins', the first of whom Philadelphe, immediately upon his approach cast at his Feet, and put all the rest to slight. But O Gods that his own courageous valour was to him very dismal! In the pursuit of the others, he fell into an Ambuscado where Menelas expected him in person, and where that wicked One put him in that deplorable State wherein you met him. It's true that Menelas did not commit that execrable Parricide and Regicide upon his Liege Lord and Sovereign Prince with Impunity, for that perfidious Person paid with his Life, his own proper Treason. In effect I have heard at Gonnes where my Prince sent me yesterday in the evening to learn News, that Menelas there had been reported dead, by some of his: But on the other side, Alcime having understood by this means that Philadelphe was within his Territories, he sent to seek him out every where, and I will not conceal from you, what they told, that they were commanded this Morning to publish in Gonnes a Placaet to all Persons to discover Philadelphe dead or alive, prohibiting his concealment upon pain of death. So that you see the need we have of your Father, or rather you yourself whom we now have, for 'tis by your means that I hope and expect any aid or assistance from Alcidias.  
Telamonius answered Straton, that he did great wrong to Alcidias if he made any doubt that the same Shepherd would not of his proper inclination render all the services imaginable to the King of Egypt, whereof he were in any wise capable, and if he thought that the fear of Alcime who had in Thessalia but an usurped Power, he would not omit to show him and do him all Rights of Hospitality, and above all towards such a great King as Philadelphe. He afterwards asked him if Alcidias knew the Quality of his Illustrious Host or rather Guest, and Straton having answered him, that he durst not yet discover any thing to him, Telamonius said that he should be ravished with joy to be able to be the first that might give his Father the News which would be so Grateful to him; and a little afterwards they came to the Gate of Alcidias. But scarcely were they entered into the Court, but one of the Domestics of this Shepherd came all alarmed to tell Telamonius, that twenty Knights or Gentlemen, had a little before forcibly carried away that unknown Person in a close Chariot whom he had brought there the preceding day, and that they said they would carry him to Gonnes by command of Alcime, and that Alcidias had followed them, to know the reason of this violence, and the Order or by what Authority they should or would there carry him.  
What Philosopher then was Straton, his Heart nor Soul was not prepared to hear such Tidings. He expected to die through Grief, and carried himself, or rather lay the Burden and Blame and Gild of all this disgrace upon himself because he failed to return time enough. He ceased not therefore to bewail and bemoan himself, neither yet to examine how Alcime had discovered the place where Philadelphe was, for as he had been brought there but the day before even by day, it was not a very hard matter to discover it, but after having only embraced Telamonius, and again desired Succour for his Master, he rashly mounted on Horseback and betook himself to gallop away upon the Track of the people of the Governor.   
The End of the Fourth Book.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Fifth BOOK.  
TElamon found and felt himself engaged in the interests of the King of Egypt, by so deep sentiments of respect, and his generous soul had elsewhere so natural an inclination to take the part of those who were unfortunate, that he would not omit or abandon so Illustrious a Person, nor yet fail in this disgrace, to render him all the Services whereof he was capable. Although he was but a Shepherd, he was not without much credit at Gonnes, the Shepherds of Tempé being, as we have said, the Nobles of the Country, and that the Gauls called them Knights, amongst the Gauls in their own Country. His Family which was the most ancient, the employment which his Father had had, and above all, his merits, and his own proper and personal virtue, had procured him the most puissant and considerable Men of the City for his friends, and without the great number of Men of War or Soldiers that Alcime entertained there, the Family of Telamonius, might there possibly be able to despuite force, strength and credit with this Governor.  
He followed Straton there on foot, because there was no long way from Hippique, and entering in the City, he met him in the house of a rich Merchant with Alcidias, and this was near to Alcime, and altogether intimate with Alcidias.  
Telamonius had understood there, that Alcime had caused the King of Egypt to be shut up in the Tower of the Castle with his Squire, whom he had left there to serve him. Straton would have gone there to be shut up with him, to serve his Master, but Alcidias made him consider, that being at liberty, he would find more and better means to serve him, and after they had well deliberated of what was to be done, in conclusion, they took the best resolutions they could to set Philadelphe at liberty.  
A little afterwards Alcidias and Telamonius went to see some of their Friends, for the service of the King, and then in a little time retired, for fear of being rendered suspect by a longer conference, and they both together took their way to Hippique. Alcidias by the way asked news of Tarsis from Telamonius, who answering him in what a state he had left him, Alcidias said unto him: I doubt not Telamonius, but you give very good advice to your Brother, but it being so I am astonished and have good cause to be so, that he so obstinately persists in a Passion, which will be, as I did foresee, the ruin not only of himself, but his life. I have approved of him rather than of any other, as long as I believed that he could have any success; for I avow in the end, I could not find wherewith to contradict, in the Person on whom he had cast his Eyes, and that I would not have wished for any other Person, had I been to have chosen, I will not say among our Shepherdessesses, I will say among all the Maidens of the World. But we must not therefore be wilfully ohstinate wedded to our own Humours, conceited of our own Judgement, or frowardly persist in our own Opinion, in a blind design, where it may be seen, there is a manifest and clear impossibility to succced, nor have so ill Opinion of him, that they cannot believe themselves able to make a happy Destiny out of that state, which was first pitched upon by their fancy. As for me I am weary of speaking to him unprofitably, and to no purpose: but if you love him, as I believe you do, you ought to do all that may be possible, to withdraw him from this strong love, which is only imaginary, and you may tell him, if he will thereunto listen, that they spoke to me this day concerning him, pointing out for him, one of the fairest and the richest Maidens of all Thessaly. Telamonius listened to the discourse of Alcidias without any other reply, but that he had the very same sentiments with his Father, but he believed not that Tarsis was for the present, in a state to relish any such a proposition, but however he would use it according to the order and direction which was appointed him. They spoke of nothing else, almost all along the way, nor yet during the time they dined together, which his Father obliged him to take then with him, and sometime afterwards he dismissed him, and gave him liberty to return.  
The first design that Telamonius attempted, was to endeavour to rejoin Tarsis: but what ever care he undertook he could not find him till the Evening, when he perceived him walking by the River side.  
This poor Shepherd having unprofitably spent the whole day in the quest of Zelie, came to contemplate upon, and entertain himself with her loss in that self same certain place where it was done, and in the incertitude of what was become of the Shepherdess, he seemed willing to ask a clear demonstration in the very same place where the Witnesses had been.  
He rested there from time to time, placing the one end of his Dart upon the ground, and there firmly fixing his Eyes, and at certain times he also uttered some long sighs, lifting up his Eyes towards Heaven, bewailing his fortune, as a Man, to whom she had given the greatest subjects of distress and sorrow.  
Sometimes he seemed resolved to bring himself to think upon the subjects of Complaints, he believed he had cause to make of his Shepherdess, and how much she herself had contributed to her Misfortune: Ah! said he, It's not by reason of Fortune, that I have cause to complain, for Fortune would have rendered me too happy, if silly had not been to me more impitiable, than she forgot, let's forget this cruel one, who was willing to have ruined me, and for the finishing that satisfaction of hers, if it be possible, let's lose it till it come to be remembered. At the same time he began to walk faster, and more deliberate than before, and cast his Eyes here and there, to seek out objects which presented themselves to his sight wherewith to combat those, who came to offer themselves to his imagination. Now he looked upon the prodigious Mountains Olimpia and Ossa, who hid their Heads above the Clouds, and seem to serve as pillars of Heaven, and who bear Forest even into a Region, where the lightest Vapours cannot be lifted up. Then he cast his Eyes among the fertile and fruitful Meadows, which coasts and butts the River on all sides, and there considered the Shepherds occupying themselves, in retiring their Flocks and Herds, by reason of the approaching Night, and then casting his Eyes upon the River itself, there he beheld to float the Pictures and Effigies of the diversity of Clouds of sundry colours, which the Sun usually marks there, in its Declension and Setting, by the last trace and progress it makes of its light. But when we have some strong affliction upon our Spirits, every thing seems to bespeak our evil, the memory serving to take all occasions to represent its Misfortunes. For the excessive height of the Mountains compared to the Place, whence they are considered, demonstrated him in his own fancy and imagination, the difference of the honourable state, and his elevated past Fortune, with the profound or bottomless evils, where he found himself now plunged in and precipitated. Alas! said he, observing the Flocks and Herds, retiring from the Meadows, etc. all these Creatures go to take their repose, there's none, but myself, to whom the silent Night gives not a relaxation. The variety of the painted Clouds, diversified within the River, I did portray, delineate and shape forth unto him, the sundry Events and Changes of his life, and the floating of its billows and surges which changed themselves every moment, represented him the Image of that unconstant Fortune, which had never almost permitted him to see himself two points or moments succeeding each other in the same situation and form.  
He was occupied by sad and mournful imaginations, then when Telamonius approached him, and was there so profoundly buried, that he himself observed not that his Brother came unto him, until that Shepherd was close by.  
Telamonius found him so amated and defeated, by the lassitude and displeasure wherewith he had unprofitably tormented himself all that day, that another would scarcely have known him. He would not speak to him of the discourse of Alcidias, because he knew him well enough, judging that in the state and condition wherein he saw him, he had done no other than have doubled his affliction, and for that purpose it was necessary to take a more seasonable opportunity and convenient time. After he had understood by him the ill and unprofitable excess of his research, he would have entertained him with what he had learned on his part, yea and related to him, a part of the Adventures of the King of Egypt, hoping he might experimentally find from that recital, wherewith to divert his displeasure: but scarcely could Tarsis yield any attention there, his own proper disgraces leaving him no liberty to fix himself upon the concerns of others. In conclusion, Telamonius reconducted him to Cenome, where having spent together, some part of the Night within a Garden in discourse of Zelie. Tarsis finished the other in his Chamber in thinking of that Shepherdess, whilst Telamonius went to repose himself. Telamonius also slept very little, by reason of the pain and inquietude he had for Tarsis: but although he was up very early in the Morning, he would not go to his Brother's Chamber, as he had done the preceding day, lest he should wake him out of his repose; he therefore continued in his own, in expectation when his Brother would rise and go forth; and seeing upon his table the role of Papers, that his Brother had deposited him, one of the precedent days, he began to unloose and read over some pieces (for he knew that Tarsis would take it well) seeming to treat with the Author, whilst he was occupied about his work, and finding consolation, in bringing to memory a more fortunate and happy time, in reviewing the fruits which it had produced.  
As he saw these pieces were mingled pellmell, and that there was not one almost in its range and decorum, he undertook to place them, even in the same order wherein they were composed. That was not a thing difficult unto him, by reason that there was scarce one that Tarsis who kept not any secret from him, but shown it him the very same moment that he had done it, and he knew not only the time and date, but the occasion and subject, having always been the faithful confident and the principal mediator of his Love.  
Agamée whom desire and impatience had whetted to rejoin these illustrious Shepherds, had also awaked since the break of day, fearing lest by his idleness he should lose the occasion of losing them, as he had done the preceding day, surprised him in this occupation, and Telamonius not having concealed from him, the subject of these pieces, the Athenian also freely discovered to him the curiosity he had to see something. Telamonius could use the secrets of his Brother, as his own, and he judged that there was not any thing, but that he might freely communicate too, and confide in Agamée. Behold therefore the reason, why the Shepherd having testified him, that he should have the same pleasure to content him in that point, he took these Papers, and fearing to be interrupted, brought them into a Cabinet or Closet of his Garden, to read them with more repose and quiet, expecting the coming of his Brother out of the Chamber.  
As soon as Agamée and Telamonius were sat, the Athenian began to spoke, and said unto him: If you will do me that entire favour, Telamonius, it will be in reading that line or verse, and also unfold to me the occasion for which they were composed, for undoubtedly that should extremely contribute towards the enlightening of my understanding: and besides, I have taken so much pleasure in reading the life of Tarsis the Warrior and Hero, that I have an extraordinary Passion, that of Tarsis the Lover and Shepherd. I will very readily do it, replied Telamonius, provided we have so much time; for if I undertake it. I shall be constrained sometimes to make a long discourse, and as they said, the commentaries are longer than the text, but however it be, I shall not offer to refuse it you, provided you believe that that may contribute and add to your satisfaction.  
After the unfolding and extending all these papers in order by him, he reaussmed one and spoke after this manner.  

The History of Tarsis and Zelie.  
THese Verses that I hold are the first that ever my Brother made for Zelie. It was but a very little time after our coming from Panticarpée: for almost in arriving, I accorded with Philiste, although I had never seen her, because that the Memory that still I retained of the unfortunate Olimpie, had taken me off from all thoughts of Marriage, and my Relations which managed ours without me, fortunately spared me the trouble of a Choice, wherein humane Prudence when it is employed alone, faileth not sometimes to be deceived, now that was upon the occasion of my Marriage, that Tarsis saw Zelie the first time, and at her first sight he became passionately amorous of her, although she was then but thirteen years old. I am angry Agamée for the excuse of my Brother, and altogether for the Honour of our Hamlets, that you have not seen that Shepherdess, you would assuredly pardon Tarsis to be so soon lest vanquished by so many Beauties and this day to have so many regrets at her loss, and undoubtedly you would also take more delight in our Verses, because the Expressions that you shall see there in some certain places, in relation to a strong and violent Passion, have a thousand times more Grace, when they know the Subject of their worth. But to explicate you these here as you desire, it will be necessary to entertain you which possibly you will find too long; for I should tell you, that the Solemnities of my Marriage were performed in a time when they celebrate amongst us, that which is called the bloody Sacrifice.  
I will another time entertain you with the Subject of that Sacrifice, which hath something in it very particular, and the Nature thereof is now, the only use over all Greece; as for the present, before I do it, I will only declare to you they Solemnize it the two preceding days by Sports in honour of Daphne, Daughter of the God of our River, in memory of whom they also celebrate the Sacrifice.  
The first day is solemnised by the Maidens who have in this pre-eminence amongst the Men, because they opperate in the festival of a Goddess, and this Spectacle which is elsewhere very rare, hath something in it which hath much of delight and a sufficiency of contentment.  
In the midst of a great Meadow, which is a little below Calioure, on the Banks of the River Penée they erect a Scaffold where all the young Shepherdesses who are of the Sports, ascend one after another, and where every one of them shoot, let fly, or discharge at her turn an Arrow, or Shaft, until she hath shot three, endeavouring to pierce or smite some flying Bird that she lets go some certain space from thence. This sport is instituted with design to renew the memory of the exercises wherein is Conformed or disposed Daphne within our Valley, then when she was a mortal Maiden, for you know she was one of the Nymphs of Diana.  
They celebrate the second day by Verses which are composed and Sung by the Shepherds, in honour of the Shepherdesses, who have carried off the prize of the first day, and after they who are established to Judge of the value of the Compositions (which ought never to exceed six Verses by reason the great number of pieces would take up too much time to examine them, if they were longer) the same Shepherdess to the Honour of whom they are made, gives the Prize to him who hath best succeeded.  
There was a long time that we had not assisted at these Sports, because we had always been out of the Country, and my Brother had not even yet then desired to be found there, because that being always disposed to something more searious than Poesy, he knew not how to make Verses, and that by reason of a little natural Pride that Philosophy could not vanquish nor overcome, he would not go to a Festival where he believed not he should bear off the Prize. However the occasion of my Bridal and Wedding which was made at the opening of the Sports, engaged him as I have told you to assist there.  
After many of the Sherpherdesses had made their Shots and discharged their Flights according to the Order and Range which was given them by their respective Lots; They also saw young silly appear, I know not if I should say, whether to kill Birds or Men. I yet call to mind, she was attired with a white Robe, whereof the lower Part and Edges were covered with a Tissue of Flowers, which seemed an admirable piece of Embroidery, Her Vestment or upper Garment was trust and tucked up of the left side, a little below the Knee, which left appearing visible the Buskins of the same trimming and Livery. Her right Hand was armed with three Arrows or Shafts, and in her left she carried a Bow of Ebony, the string whereof was Tissued with Silk of the same Colour of her Attire. Her Head was adorned and decked with a Hat of Flowers whereof the diversity and variety of Colours mixed, made them infinitely delightful. But that was but a faint and feeble Ornament in comparison of that which is Imbued and died white, the most delicate and admirable of the World, with many black Locks, which hung negligently upon her Shoulders, and which form into many Rings, seem to enforce themselves to ascend again to their first and fair Original and Offspring. Be not astonished Agameé to see that I stay rather to describe you this, than her Pitch, Stature and Countenance; I leave to your imagina- to make out the Portrait of these Miracles, which cannot be depainted nor delineated.  
As soon as they had let go one of the Birds, she shot the Arrow so directly, that she smote his Head the very first flight, and made it fall down dead in the very midst of the Assembly. A thousand out-cries of Joy burst out at the same Instant, and they saw this fair Shepherdess with a Gaiety and cheerful Alacrity which is sufficiently remarkable, how much satisfaction she received to have had better Success than any of her Companions yet had done. Tarsis followed her with his eyes the longest he could, and had much regret, when he had lost her in the middle of a thousand other Shepherdesses, amongst whom she betook herself.  
The State wherein I then saw him, made me immediately presage something of his misfortune. Although he was naturally cheerful and full of alacrity, yet he was always sad until he had seen fair Zelie return again, and that by another Shot having deprived another Bird of its Life by a second Flight made after it, after she had let it go, she finished the taking away of the Shepherd's Liberty.  
She appeared the third time with the like success as she had done the two first, but her Consorts could not perform the same. The major part failed in their Shots and if I should stop at the Presages, I would tell you, that those of that day which was that of the Birth of her Love, were so unfortunate, that one Bird having been struck and pierced by a shot of an Arrow, ceased not to fly away to the great amazement of all the Assembly. After the Ceremony, we went to see the Shepherdesses; and Tarsis having saluted them all, he approached to Zelie in particular, with whom he had some discourse which renewed his Wounds and rendered his Malady incurable. In very truth fair Shepherdess, said he, you have born off much Honour, but however, complaints are made that you could not kill Birds without wounding of Men.  
I did not belive I had been so out of Decorum, or unseemly; replied she, with an amiable blush; and I so exactly observed the fall and descent of all the Arrows I shot, that I am very well assured I gave not any person whatsoever Ground, Cause or Subject to complain of me. You have not heeded replied Tarsis, nor known the ill that's done by the Flights and Shots whereof I speak, since possibly, you know not whom you have pierced. They ought therefore to pardon me, replied she, since it's without any design, that I have done the evil whereof I am accused. Also they never will reproach you, fair Shepherdess, replied Tarsis, and they who do it, do it less to signify their displeasure, than by boasting themselves to have had the honour of being wounded by you. She replied him not, and to dispense with herself she took an occasion by the arrival of some other Shepherdesses.  
The rest of the day was spent without any of his further declaring, otherwise than only the ill she had done him: But see the great Transmutation and change, that his love produced in him at the same Instant, and so forward since it carried him away not only to undertake to make Verses or Rhymes of the praise of Zelie, but even to make in public an Essay of a Trade or Calling wherein he never was concerned nor had intermeddled. Behold therefore Agamée what was the Subject of the first Elegy, that you now go to see, I do not remember myself that they were those of other Shepherds. I know some compared the direct Shots out of a Bow made by Zelie to that of Diana. Others, said, she had stolen the secret from Apollo as well as the glittering and shining cast of her Eyes. Others in fine said, that 'twas hard to judge to which she would serve best either the Arrows of Diana, or those of Love, but however it be, behold the Sizain or Dictates of my Brother.  

Madrigal.  
It's not possible to be weary of admiring your direct Aim, nor yet your incomparable even due Measure and just proportion of levelling Shots and Flights with which you infallibly Slay, even myself the first, I covet and desire it and therefore praise you; But silly in secret my heart disavows me, and saith you either smite or you see not.   
I well see that you desire to know what was the effect of the preceding lines, you see well he had not the perfection of a Poet, or that should be given to a good Poet and however it is, or be it how 'twill be by the favour of the Judges, be it by the grace in which he sings them, they carry the Prize, and Tarsis had the satisfaction not only to have most worthily praised silly, but which is more, that of receiving a recompense with his own Hands.  
The Prize was a Dart or Javelin whereof the Head or Shaft was guilt, which he went to receive upon his Knees, from the fair Hands of Zelie, and in its receipt he said unto her: Ah! Divine Zelie, you gave me Weapons too late, since it was not done but after I was vanquished and overcome.  
The Morrow was the day of the bloody Sacrifice, and as it is the first of the year, which gins amongst us, it's the ancient Custom there to make small Presents one to the other which we call New Years Gifts, Present, or Handsel. That was the Subject of the succeeding Lines, which behold have no great need of a greater explication.  

A New Years Gift.  
Shepherdess, Custom will have it that every Shepherd is disposed this day to give if he can, something to his Shepherdess, it's a Law and standing Ordinance established amongst us and accordingly observed which puts me in extreme Pain, for what have I which is not yours? you know even yourself, that I am yours, even I myself; but now to determine and put me out of Pain, permit me to give you a little Love for your New Years Gift, Shepherdess it's all my Wealth, suffer me to bestow it upon you, you have none neither and as for me I have more than any Person.  
After that Telamonius had yet read those Lines Agamée would have spoken to testify him that they were to his good liking, and was astonished they were the lines of a learner as Telamonius said: But the Shepherd who foresaw, that if the Athenian would also speak and declare his Sentiment of every Piece, he would advance but very little in much time; moreover he well thought that possibly he would not often praise them but because they believed that that might do him a Pleasure, he said unto him: I know well Agamée that your Complaisance and delight would oblige you to praise themselves, even those whom you possibly might find worthy; but as that would not make us some interruption in our design, I will tell you, that your Attention and your Silence would serve me instead of the greatest Approbation that you can give them. Agamée having promised him the one and the other; Telamonius persisted thus in taking a third Paper.  
You would not understand these here, if you did not unfold and explicate the subject a little more and longer, than I have done those of the last.  
I have told you that Tarsis did passionately love silly, ever since he had seen her, as young, and as I may say, as much a Child as she was: But silly did not in the like manner love Tarsis. but contrarily these lines had for a foundation a sufficiently pleasant kind of inquietude that she had, for that after my wedding, and all my Relations being returned to their own homes, she saw that Leucippe and Melicerte, had retained Tarsis with me, to continue some days at Calioure. For Tarsis in his new born passion, sought always to be near her, and to talk to her of some kind of worthy Feats and gallant pranks. Zelie who had not yet scarcely seen the World, found herself uncapable or unable to answer him: not that she had not already wit enough, as you may very well judge by her former answers, but she had not that boldness to express herself, which is not acquired but by the frequenting of company; and that diffidence which she had of herself, was accompanied with a little pride and loftiness, and even an esteem for the credit, honour and reputation of Tarsis, which made her yet fear to be faulty before him, so that as much as Tarsis loved to be near her, so much did she apprehend it, even herself. She was even ravished to see the Marriage finished, quite contrary to the ordinary custom of young Maidens of her age, who love nothing more than these bridal Feasts; and the reason that gave her this content, was that she hoped that all the Company going away, she should be delivered and rid of Tarsis. Therefore when she knew that he continued, she went all mournfully to bemoan herself to Philiste, and said unto her: O my God, my Sister, what are we going to do, I know not; behold, Tarsis continues still here, Alas my Sister, answered Philiste, ought you not to be very well pleased, seeing he is of so amiable and pleasant a dispotion and humour: amiable? replied silly, I never saw one more displeasing, grievous, troublesome, offensive, loathsome, wearisome and tedious, irksome, distasteful and importunate, and I avow unto you, were I my own Mistress, I would quit and abandon the house, all the time that he is here, or should continue here. In truth my Sister, replied Philiste, you alone are of your own and that thought. Tarsis did no other than laugh, sing, dance, make verses, and a thousand other pleasant things; is there any thing that can be more contrary to that which can give vexation and inquietude?  
silly had some repugnance of declaring the cause for which she was apprehensive, so that Philiste having asked her, she knew not to render her any other, unless it was that he talked too much. But, replied Philiste, when he speaks, is it not to the purpose, pleasantly and wittily? My Sister, my Sister, replied silly, you speak well at your ease and pleasure, you who have no ground nor find nothing of suffering, if he did not address himself to you, as he doth to me. But Philiste interrupting said, is it not a mark of the esteem he hath for you, and would you take it better, if he left you alone, as a Child? no, answered she, but I would therefore also, that he would not oblige me to answer him: for in fine, I so strongly apprehend him, that I tremble when he approaches me, and I am in such pain, when I shall answer to what he asks me, that I understand not the moiety of that which he speaks of. We arrived in the Chamber Tarsis and myself, then when Philiste laughed yet at this reply of hers. silly betook herself to blushing when she discerned him, and she would immediately have gone forth, after she had softly besought her Sister to tell us nothing of the subject of their discourse. But Philiste purposely staying her; in truth my Sister said she unto her, you shall assist me, if you please, in entertaining Tarsis, for I know well, that he would not continue here, but for your sake. These words redoubled the blushing of the countenance and visage of Zelie, and she afterward avowed to us, that she was never passionately enraged against any person or thing as then, against her Sister. But principally and especially when Tarsis addressed himself even to her in these terms. In effect fair silly, said he, I protest unto you, I would not contineu here, but for yourself alone, and I am not over joyed with the departure of the company that have quitted us, but because I hope to be at more freedom and liberty with you. Judge you, and assure yourself, that it was only for that consideration, that I have taken this course. Judge that it was pertinent there to make him a reply, also the apprehension that Zeile had of engaging herself in a new conversation with him, obliging her to seek some shift, excuse or evasion, answered him; Tarsis you have too much wit and discretion to delight yourself in the company of a Child, but I go to seek Leucippe or Melicerte, and inform them that you are alone.  
At the same time she attempted to go forth, but Tarsis staying her, said unto her, fair Zelie, if you desire not that I be alone, if you please, there's no need for you to abandon me, for saw you not that I went away when you departed hence? and these two married couple, are not good but each for other; very well, replied she, you will not be alone along time, I have told you that I went to advertise Melicerte or Leucippe, and I for my part, do assure you, replied Tarsis, that with Leucippe and Melicerte I should be much more alone than with you, and that it's not but to be near unto you, that I believe myself to be in company. Tarsis, replied she excellently, I never better saw that they would chase me away, than when they sport themselves with me, as you do; and then she yet made another attempt to withdraw herself and go forth. But Tarsis opposing himself thereto a second time and taking her by the hand; how say you, that I will drive you hence, replied he, since that I act even to incivilities to retain you?  
Whilst they discoursed thus, Philiste having repeated unto me the inquietude of her Sister, we laughed together to see her fallen unawares into the gin and snare, even at the self same time, when she thought to shun it. silly doubted, and did that but in her Sister's despite, and quick enough withdrew her hand from Tarsis, who had lain hold of it to stay her, when she would have gone, although her Sister could say unto her, what she did as before. We immediately recited her apprehension to Tarsis, who upon that subject gave her these lines or stances.  
I bemoan myself, that you thus scorn me;  
Seeing you so fair and fiery, and yet cold;  
And in the mean time fair Shepherdess,  
They tell me that you fear me,  
But tell me whence comes this fear,  
Is it from my esteem of you, is that the cause of your fright fair silly, is it for me, a subject of Joy and Complaint. Always the fear of what they depaint to us, accompanies a heart when it loves, alas friendship itself is in the heart which fears. But who knows not that the timorous Sheep trembles at the Wolf which follow it; that the Lark fears and flies from the flight, hasty course and speedy passage of the ravenous and violently impetuous Sparrow-hawk? That a Shepherdess advizing upon the pace of the Serpent, whose skin is speckled and spotted, is surprised with a speedy and sudden fear, and yet loves it not. But should it be so with fair Zelie, whose heart feareth even as it doth; feareth it, as it fears one whom it hates, feareth it, as it feareth one whom it loves.  
I will add unto you here, said Telamonius, that Tarsis shown me these lines, before she gave them to Telamonius, and I signified unto him, that I found them passable, but I did not counsel him him to give them unto her. He very discontentedly asked me the reason, and I answered, I deemed it expedient, for the success of his Love, immediately to conceal it from Leucippe and Melicerte, with all the care imaginable, because that whilst they believed him not in love with their Daughter, they would freely give him the liberty of their house, as my Brother: but from the first moment they should perceive his design, they would undoubtedly without fail, cause him to withdraw, as rendering him suspicious, because I very well knew their thoughts were upon a design of making a new Alliance.  
But my dear Brother, replied me, what will it serve me then to love, if they do not know nor discern that I am amorous of their Daughter? My dear Brother, replied I, be you prevalent by the success you have in their house, and with the reputation that you have acquired, make it there more discernably apparent, by the sweetness of your Spirit and Wisdom, and your other good Qualities, to make yourself to be beloved there. Gain the heart, without seeming to have a desire, that's the most effectual means to succeed well there, and better than to cause a defiance. You know they never surprise a place, when once they discover their design of attacking it; you have to do with Persons, who know how to observe and compare the nature of things; endeavour only to make yourself valued and prized by those on whom you set a value, and put yourself in a state and condition, where they may wish that you might be beloved, before its discovery. Ah dear my Brother, replied he, behold here are excellent counsels given, but by what means shall they be followed, think you that others have that opinion of me, that your friendship gives and advizeth, and what have I that can wake me deserve silly, but the pure and perfect love, whereof I make a Profession? My dear Tarsis, replied I, embracing of him, thou knowest not thy own worth; I say unto thee, take courage, and afterwards leave it to our cares, both in point of time, as well as with a due respect to thy good fortune.  
I left him therefore resolved, to be a little more reserved, in the demonstration of his love, and in the sequel made him sufficiently sensible, that I had given him good counsel; for you shall see, that of Leucippe only had any doubt of his design, he would immediately have used all his endeavours, to frustrate his design, and hindered him from seeing or entertaining his Daughter. The first thing to which Tarsis applied himself, it was to gain the heart of Melicerte; he did it for two reasons. The first, because that this Shepherdess, as she was one of the first Persons of the World, who had both wit and virtue, she was also one of those which made the greatest observation in that of others, and penetrated into the sublimest of all; and that he had effectively an esteem and veneration for her, who would have caused a research by all means imaginable, to have gained her good Will, though there he had had no other kind of interest. The second reason was, because that although that Leucippe did not permit herself to be governed by any person, she knew notwithstanding so completely and dexterously to manage it, that she still insensibly practised and contrived it to the end she designed. These Papers that you see are therefore divers tickets that Tarsis writ to Melicerte, then when he was returned to Cen●me, and which without doubt she gave in charge to Zelie, but I pass by what above, to return to our Lines or Verses.  
Behold they were made in an unpleasant and irksome occasion, but were by the event sufficiently advantageous to my Brother, and which contributed not a little towards the obtaining the savours of Melicerte, and even those of Zelie. One Evening they walked in a Plain which you may have seen below Callioure, towards the Sea side. In the midst there is a small River which glides along, and disgorgeth itself into the Gulf; it is deeply profound and sometimes large enough, and she passed sometimes upon two Planks or Bridge. In that walk, silly, marched before, singing and gathering of flowers, and Tarsis led Melicerte who went more slowly and leisurely behind. Be it that these two Planks or Bridge was rotten, be it that they were ill placed, so it was, that as Zelice was upon them, she fell down into the water, and into the River where the great Rains had swelled it to a most prodigious and horribly monstrous, dreadful and terrible Torrent, ghastly alone to behold.  
I leave you to judge of the horrid fright and amazement, wherewith Melicerte was surprised, for she tenderly respected and loved her daughter, but you could not imagine how poor Tarsis was alarmed. He ran out of his wits, and though the water was so frightful and ghastly as is before recited, he cast himself into it clothes and all, and acted so as that he rescued silly, and brought her up, and placed her between the Arms of her Mother, and upon the fall that he uttered these lines.  
My Shepherdess walking one Evening over the Water, as she was divinely singing upon a Bridge or two Planks, they fell under her, and sank down, and the believing Thetis through respect they gave place and yielded, the way which leads to his humid and moistened manor house, and out of great respect, the boisterous Billows abated from their impetuous violence, and made a bed to receive her with more veneration, round about her the flowing Element moved itself, and through a just pride they immediately swollen again. Our Shepherds dazzled and dimmed by the beams and clear shining of her piercing Eyes, observing her fall down there with so many flaming fires, believed the Sun to be gone and laid down in the waves, and from the bottom of the flowing waters, when she made a fortunate return, with much beauty she enlightened the day, and was taken for Venus, which reigns in the World. These lines were also received favourably, as they merited the service of Tarsis; and Melicerte herself gave them to her daughter. We must a little discourse and explain unto you the two pieces which followed; it's not that she was uncapable to understand them of her own accord, but I assure you, that that which I shall declare unto you, will make you take so much more pleasure. One day Leucippe being sick, we gathered together after dinner to divert him in his Chamber. Celemante who was there with Ergaste and some Shepherdesses, being in her ordinary mirth and alacrity, proposed us divers Sports, and Tarsis who yielded but little to the then mirth of Celemante, betook himself to the propounding of others, so that we were more in trouble to choose, thine to find out a sport. In conclusion, they began to play or sport with one, which they call a sport of Questions that Celemante had invented. That sport so pleasant and particular, which is accommodated so well to the humours of those, who sport, if they are serious Persons, they can then entertain them with a sport very serious, if they are merry, it shall be matter of nothing, but all mirth, It may be even both together, by the mixture of the divers humours of those there divert themselves, and you will see that although it be most facile for the simplest Shepherds to sport and play it, it will not therefore be unbecoming even the Philosophers. Behold how they sport.  
Each one at his turn proposeth a Question, of such a nature, as himself pleaseth, upon that question, he who hath proposed it, taketh publicly the sentiment of every one of the company. and afterwards declares his own, and if they meet not, nor concur to that of his good liking and approbation, he briefly refuseth that of others. This will better be understood by the example that I go to tell you. When it came to the turn of Celemante, to propose the question: As for me, said he, who dream of nothing, but living happily and content, I pray the company to tell me their thoughts, what must be done towards the attaining or procuring of that mirth and content.  
It came to my turn first to speak, and behold what I declared to him. Truly Celemante thou haste made us a very fair Question, I believe thou thinkest thyself to be yet in the School of thy Epicures. Shall we tell the in sporting, where were stranded and shipwrackt, the most serious meditations of the Philosophers? It is true, replied Melicerte pleasantly, that Celemante could not have made another question to the seven Sages: but in conclusion, satisfaction must be given to Telamonius, and to begin although my turn be not yet come, I will be the first that will answer him, That to live happily and comfortably, I believe is to be no other than Celemante, for I see none so contented as he, and I therefore persist that to be, that which he is not, that's to say, to be very wise, because the wise are content with all things. I believe continued Leucippe, who was sick, there needs nothing but health, for who hath that, hath all things. And as for me, replied or added rather Philiste, at or in her turn, I think there's nothing needful, but to fear the Gods, because those who fear them, receive with pleasure all things at their hands. silly said not a word, when it came to her turn, so that Melicerte advising her to speak; In very truth my Mother, said this amiable Daughter, that is beyond my Reach or shallow Capacity. Be courageous my Daughter answered the Wise Melicerte, we speak where we are so Hood-Winked and Blindfolded, that thou perhaps wilt better meet with it than either or all of us. And of a thing added Leucippe that they possess it not but almost at her Age. I believe therefore persisted silly, it's necessary to have all Benefits together, for I always have heard say, that to him who is destitute of any thing, he is not Happy; and thou Ergaste, demanded Celemante, it must be to be not unable to Love replied Ergaste, for Love and Friendship making Pleasure to be found even in evil itself, they can find it amongst all and every where; I think said one of the Neighbours that succeeded, there needs no other than to be a King, because Kings do all they please. There was another Shepherd there named Euriloque very amorous of Zelie, who being exceeding Rich was pleased in passing to give this Shepherdess an advantageous Impression of his Talon; he than said according to his Opinion, there was nothing needful but to be very Rich, because added he, he who hath Money hath all that he listeth; when it came to the turn of Tarsis, who was the last, he began to Cant and Sing what followeth, and that with an Intention to disguise or conceal his Love, as I had counselled him, and to seem to have no other Design, but to have Freedom and Content said, Our supreme Felicity depends upon nothing but ourselves, each one holds his Fortune of himself, the Richest nor yet the Wisest, are no more happy than am I, if I believe myself to be more happy and Fortunate, I am Born neither King nor Prince, I have neither City nor Province, nor almost any thing that they have, but possibly enjoy more Content; I am not all that they are, but I am that which they would willingly be.  
In vain without my Philosophy, a man during all the days of his Life will gather together, and accumulate Wealth upon Wealth, he would have whatsoever all that any or all could say, not to desire that which they have is to have all that which they possibly can desire: Every one found those Lines so much the more Polite and seasonably pleasant that unfolding the sentiment of Tarsis, they almost all, the rest reassumed the same. Ah wicked one, cried Celemante, after that Tarsis had finished, you have spoiled and bereft me of my thought, but in regard you have said it Poetically, I am now going at least to recite it in Prose; It's true then, continued he, that to be happy its necessary only to believe that one is so, because all happiness consists only in Opinion. And to demonstrate to you all, continued he, smiling that all that you have said is of no value nor worth; first Melicerte you have said, that to be happy its needful to be only what I am, but that's to tell us a thing impossible; for you know that the Gods have made me to be the only one of my kind. You have answered Telamonius, it's needful to be only what I am not: but all the rest of the World would therefore be Happy; for all the rest of the World as you know, is that which I am not; add therefore my Explication said I unto him; that's to say, that is, there's nothing needful but to be Wise, that which thou art not. Well therefore then replied he; to answer prudently to your Wisdom, I will yet tell you, that there is nothing which is more opposite to good Fortune, than to be Wise, because the Wise know too well the Evils to which Men are Subject, and its impossible to be happy, he who I say knows himself to be subject to so many Miseries. For you Leucippe, you believe it's only to be in Health: that is because you are sick. Philiste believeth there's not any thing needful but to fear the Gods: but she will speak therefore of the fortunate State of the pared or clipped Fields; for there's nothnig in this Life which so much troubles a poor Spirit as that fear. As for Zelie who will have all benefits at once, she demands too much ever to be able to have Content. As for thee Ergaste, it's but ordinary with thee to deceive thyself. Thinkest thou to make me believe that Love, Amity, and Friendship, make or render Happiness, after I have felt and suffered the ill of both the one or the other? That other Shepherdess that desires Royalty hath too much Ambition to be happy; and Euriloque with his Riches will pardon me, if by his Instruction, I send him to the good King Midas.  
Every one began to laugh when he finished, so that Euriloque who believed that it was he that had sent him to Midas (for you know that because of his jesting and flouting Adventure, that name soundeth something ridiculous) he believed himself obliged to answer thereunto; and he did it the more willingly, that his jealousy made him seek an occasion to oppose or set himself in Balance with the Sentiments of Tarsis. He had such a one as he wished for: for as Celemante saw that Euriloque said that there was a pleasing Happiness that consisted only in Opinion & Chimaera Celemante returned, the Tennis Ball (as they say) to Tarsis, & said unto him; that since he had the Honour of his Advice, it was also Just that he should have the trouble of sustaining and upholding it. Yea in good truth said Celemante, replied Tarsis, I will sustain it willingly, and I will defend it against thyself, if thou wilt, to demonstrate to thee, that I have not stolen it. Euriloque who had a Tooth against Tarsis, from something else, was ravished to have some Dispute with him upon this Subject. Well said Tarsis, said he, let's therefore see how thou wilt sustain and uphold that thy good fortune, which is but an extravagancy. But thou thyself, replied him, Tarsis tell us now, how thou pretendest it is one. Because, replied Euriloque, that one must be a Fool, to be able to be believed happy, if one is not so in effect. And as for my part replied Tarsis, I hold that it is to be very Wise, that one accomodates himself to his Fortune, and that is that, that I will say, when I say that there wants nor needs nothing to make one happy, but to believe one is so; for to believe to be happy and content with his Fortune, these are the things which are reciprocal, and I replied Euriloque, I say unto thee, that if one is not happy before it must be Visionary to believe to be so; for 'tis to imagine himself to be what he is not, and for one to imagine himself to be what he is not, it's a disorder and an irregularity of the imagination which ought not to represent us Things, but as they in reality are, and which by consequence is otherwise a Folly; Tarsis seeing that their Contestation took an air so searious, feared it would be vexatious to the Company, who were there but on design of Diversion and Mirth, and principally of the Shepherdesses. It's therefore that he would interrupt him, and for that effect said to the other: Euriloque, thou dreamest not it may be, that we are here but to Sport, and before the Shepherdesses, and that from the Sound that we take, we go to make a villainous Dispute in the Shool. Euriloque who was heated in good earnest, and who had undertaken to over-bear and outvie Tarsis, would notwithstanding force the thing more forward, and there to engage the Shepherd: But also replied he, when we intermeddle with the Reprehension of others, it must then be with some appearance of reason. But truly Euriloque replied Melicerte, it seemeth to me that Tarsis hath said enough unto you. What replied yet Euriloque, he will make you able to conceive that a Wise Man can believe himself happy, if he be not so in effect; Tarsis seeing that all the Company and Melicerte amongst others did cast their eyes upon him, as demanding an Answer, reingaged himself in the Dispute: but with Design to terminate it in short. Shepherd, said he, to him since that sticks so strongly in the heart, I pretend not that the Wise imagines himself to be happy, if he be not so in effect, for 'tis in effect since he imagines it to be so. Behold a strange and enigmatical Riddle pursued Euriloque; The Wise One, is he happy before he imagines himself so? or imagines he it to be so before it is so? for it must necessarily be that the one or the other precedes; for if he be happy before he imagines himself to be so, 'tis not then his imagination that renders him happy, and so the Happiness consists in another thing than the imagination; if on the other side, he imagines himself Happy before he really is so, he is no more a Wise Man, but a Fool; since he imagines that which is not. Well said! added Tarsis with a Design to finish, 'tis necessary to unfold to thee this Riddle. Thou shalt know that every one makes himself an Happiness after his Method and Manner, so thou seest that Leucippe hath placed it in Health, as thou hast done in Riches, Telamonius in Wisdom and others in Diversity of things, various all from each other; in the Interim, Happiness is not in effect in any one of all these things, as for example, if it it were effectually in Riches it would follow that all that were Rich were happy, and every one knows that that is not. In like manner there are many people in good Health, there are some that are Wise, and if you ask any of them, none of them will say that he finds himself happy. But as for that which relates to Wisdom, it is Happiness, that's for him who being Wise, placeth his Happiness in his Wisdom, for him whose Health is his Happiness, for him who being Healthy, placeth his Happiness in that Health, in what then consisteth the Happiness? It is not to be in Health, to be Rich, nor to be Wise: but in placing the Happiness in that of these Things which they possess, so that that Happiness precedes not the imagination, nor the imagination which precedes the Happiness, but the Happiness springing, rising first, appearing or coming into the World, from the assembling, closing or joining together, and from the concurs of the imagination with the thing which they possess, thou seest imagination agitateth when the Happiness riseth, and springs up all at the same moment. Euriloque feeling and finding himself vanquished and overcome, conceived such a despite and vexation, that not knowing how better to answer Tarsis, he had an inclination and desire to quarrel with him. All that thou hast said is ridiculous, said he unto him blushing, and an Happiness where there needs so much imagination, can be no otherwise than folly. Tarsis began to laugh when he saw him grow angry, and he only answered him; all the difference that there is Euriloque; it is that in folly, is when the imagination disorders, and irregularly governs the judgement, and that in the happiness whereof I tell thee, it is the judgement which regulates and governs the imagination. That was not ill said, as you see, but Euriloque who began to burst and cleave asunder, through despite and anger and jealousy, and principally because all the World applauded Tarsis, could not suffer that which my Brother said. Go, said he, they well see that thy imagination disorders thee, when thou speakest so, and since that every one should place his happiness in that which he hath, I approve the putting thine in the place of thy folly. You may very well believe, that Tarsis was not to remain without a forcible reply: but considering that he was in the Chamber of Leucippe, in the presence of Melicerte and Zelie, and that he had been to them very displeasing to see a sport terminate in a quarrel, he resolved to convert the thing the best he could into a merriment. Wise Shepherdess, said he, turning himself to Melicerte, let's learn for My honour, to Euriloque, our song yesterday in the Evening, and at the same time he began to sing the Verse, which he had made at table the day preceding, and the burden whereof was, To rejoice in being a fool, is to be wise, but I will not read it unto you, because I believe it hath run through all Greece, and I see not a Person that knows it not.  
Agamée having also signified that he knew them, Telamonius continued in searching for new Papers. This jesting caused Euriloque to be enraged in such sort, that step by step he came to the last or highest point of chollar and spleen. Tarsis never replying a word, but laughing: but yet in a pleasing and bold hardy manner both together, wherein he demonstrated at the same time, his despising and contempt of Euriloque, and respect for them that were present, and wherein Melicerte and others who knew his courage, admired a thousand and a thousand times, his discretion. And indeed Euriloque having himself acknowledged his fault, came to demand his excuse the succeeding day.  
Now as I have told you these two occasions, advancing well the affairs of my Brother, with the hearts and minds of Melicerte and Zelie; for that which he had done in her fall, extremely touched both the one and the other, in their sensible acknowledgements towards this Shepherd, and such as merited the service which he had rendered, and his moderation in this last encounter, caused them in an infinite esteem of his prudence and discretion. Also he was so well received at the house that then when he came from Calioure, Leucippe himself retained him often to lie with him, and as my Brother had there, that advantage which you see, he was almost more often there than at my Fathers.  
He always saw silly, as if she had been his Sister; and Leucippe and Melicerte did not scarce make any difference between him and their own Children. However he found himself nettled, wracked and tortured, because he durst not entertain her with his love openly; and as since the scruple which I had put in his Mind, he very well knew that 'twas my counsel, that procured him the advantage of living with Zelie without suspicion, and to be received as the Son of the house of Leucippe, he rendered himself very exact, not to give him any cause of diffidence or mistrust. He contented himself in conformity to my advice, to essay and attempt, to bestow his love without open demonstration, and to cause their wish, that he loved before he speak it, however he was not able to live without speaking in some sort to Zelie of his passion, and in that constraint, he had found a sufficiently pleasing means to entertain her. silly had a voice sweet enough, and Melicerte who very much delighted to hear her sing, testified her willingness that she should there learn. But there were no Masters at Calioure; so that my Brother (although he knew not very much of the Art of Music) said smiling, he would serve for one. He betook himself then pleasantly to give her some Lessons, and even to call her his Scholar, that he might always by the more familiarity introduce her by names. Now all that he instructed her in was songs, it was as many Verses, as he had made on the subject of his love, and these two great leaves of Paper that you see, are full of nothing else.  
Agamée seeing that Telamonius passed them; What said he to him, Is it that you believe that I know not to make myself read, skilled and acquainted with songs, that you do not read them unto me? In saying so, he took one of the leaves out of the hands of the Shepherd, and read that which followeth,  

In Prose.  
Go you Sighs, you light Spirits, that in a moment can carry my heart to Zelie, since 'tis my Love which gives you life; Of this same Love be you the Messengers; they serve to make you be born, serve to let them know it; thou who counselest me to love, my heart, how canst thou suffer, and yet hold thy peace, since thou inspirest me with presumption to do it, give me the courage at least to express it, and if I dare not speak it, let me at least have the liberty to sigh. Another, cease you diverting singers, and part not my Senses any more, by the consenting and concording charms of your Melody. The object which occupies them, hath many more repasts, I think of fair Zelie: you birds cease troubling me.  
That pleasing remembrance, which I am entertained with, makes the sweetest moments that I ever passed in my life. All other pleasures are to me superfluous, I think of fair Zelie, birds give no trouble. Another, Shepherds I love in two certain Places, and die for both the one and the other, at one and the self same time, but those two adorable places, are your Mouth and Eyes. They therefore seem enemies, one destroys what the other hath promised, demonstrate less of sweetness by your Eyes, or with your little Mouth give us a more favourable treatment.  
It's true I have vaunted myself, when I knew not the art of pleasing you, and that in despite of your fury, your heart, and my Vows, shall not be more contrary, I will not dedicate myself in opposition to your anger, I have said else where, and again it again before you, call me proud haughty timerarious, prepare a hundred torments with which to punish me, I know the art of pleasing you, you cruel one, for whom I go to die. You who see deserts as absent from Zelie, I mournfully spend my life, be you witnesses of my faithfulness and fidelity. Ah without ceasing I think of her, and possibly the cruel one never thinks of me. Is it not true Deserts, what of my sad moans, you even the Rocks have attainted and convicted it, and do bewail my torment, so many Echoes do they hear, which demonstrates that their hearts are more soft and tender, than archers to the sighs of her lover.   
Agamée would have continued, but Telamonius interrupted him; I counsel you, said he, that we cease these lines, to pass forward to the rest; What, replied Agamée, is it that you less esteem Verses, to carry the name of Songs? It must be so possible, replied Telamonius, and as there is nothing more difficult in well doing, there is nothing also more to be esteemed. For there must be very much sense and passion in a very few words, and you know the most sublime efforts and endeavours of Spirits, as well as of nature, is to shut up much in a little space and room. But it is as in beholding a so great Number, I had rather lend them to you to read them in your particular, because that you easily and sufficiently understand them alone. I will only add to you, touching these same Songs, that silly mistrusted much that they were made for her, and yet she counterfeited to seem to believe, that he made them not, but that there she should set her name instead of some other, because that otherwise she should believe herself obliged for good behaviour and courtesy sake, to learn them as she did. Tarsis was not angry himself that Leucippe and Melicerte had that thought, and for that end, often singing them in their presence, he there placed the name of Delie instead of that of Zelie, that he might still avoid the suspicion of his love. Sometimes therefore he made them so convenient for the subject, and looked upon her with so much passion in singing them, that they saw well, that it was her own proper person that was expressed, as for example, this here which he composed on that which he shown to this Shepherdess to sing.  
I have no otherwise said than loved, with a dying voice and languishing sound, with an all resembling Air, and a like Accent, my Shepherdess said the same, but I alas see well, that we understand it not. In the same words that I sigh, I see her sigh, just so as I did, I see her repeating all my proper wishes, that which I have said to her, she saith to me, must it be alas, that we understand not ourselves, admire my extreme audacity, I will teach you to sing, though I know not how to do it myself, but alas wherefore should I be astonished, you apprehend not how they love, and if you knew it not. All that which you sing is very just to the very last point, I am charmed at your understanding, that which I would have you apprehend, therefore you do not comprehend Gods: the fair port of voices, the sweet flection and bending one, shall never sing the same, but then when you say I love, better to enter into passion. The amorous Tarsis flattered a little therefore his evil by this address, and so much the more sweetly, that she served him the same time, for a pretext to be every day near Zelie. But he wearied himself therefore, in not expressing him otherwise than in Mysteries and enigmatical riddles; and I call to mind, when he would take an occasion to declare himself to her.  
One day he stood to behold this Shepherdess, who was attiring herself and coysing herself, and dressing her head in the Chamber of Melicerte, and was putting herself in the best posture that possibly she could, to go to a Feastival that was made in these Hamlets; she asked him if he found her well, Tarsis answered, that he found her v●ry ill for him. But as she saw that he said that smiling, she also smiling asked him, what that was which he had to contradict, and he observing Melicerte attentive about other matters, replied very softly: Quartian prepare as many flights, darts, arrows to reinforce and redouble your strooks, This Shepherdess is too cruel: alas make you not so fair and amiable, have some pity upon us.  
What Tarsis, replied she, ought you not rather to know me grateful, and essay, and attempt to have me fair that I might not be evil in your Eyes? Think you, replied Tarsis, that there is more danger in wounding the Eyes than the Heart, I protest unto you fair Zelie, that you have already so wounded mine, a long time since, that I know not what will become of me in the end, if you have not some compassion on me. She had no sooner understood this discourse, that as if she believed not that a Maiden should engage in that discourse, she broke off, pretending that she had lost something in the chamber, where she would hasten, seeming to go and fetch it.  
Since that in reading you these lines, I am insensibly engaged to make you an historical narrative or recital of the affections of Tarsis and Zelie, and that you as well have signified me your desire, and how much inclination you have to learn it, I will declare to you here in passing some particularities pleasant enough, which I call to mind, which will cause you to observe, to what a point and pitch of love, this poor Shepherd was reduced, and how far his strong passion carried him, both as to respect, fear, timidity and trouble.  
At this time my Father sent for him, and commanded him to go to Athens, to solicit a litigious process and great suit of law, and we came, Philiste and myself, upon the point of coming to establish our Affairs and settle them at Cenome and to abandon the House of Leucippe, where we had still lodged ever since we were Married. Although the distance was not great from the place whence we intended to remove as you see, yet it was a double affliction to Tarsis, whose love considered the smallest things as very important; first because it seemed to him that there was no cause of fear, whilst we were present, and saw all that past at the house of Leucippe and Melicerte; in the second place, because we should always serve him for a pretext, to be almost always at Calioure. But that which disquieted him the most, was the long Voyage wherein he saw himself obliged to go to Athens. The consolation wherewith he prepared himself, was that he should not departed at least, until he had clearly and manifestly demonstrated to Zelie, the assurance and reality of his Love, nor without sounding her heart to know if she would correspond with his desires and hopes. For although the services he had done her, were considerable enough to give him large hopes, however his affection and his modesty caused him to make very light of these things, that he trembled almost all times when he dreamt of declaring himself. That which rendered also the execution of the design difficult, was that he seldom or almost never saw silly, but in the presence of her Mother, before whom he durst not presume to discover it, and when he found her alone and thought to speak to her of his love, she had always some means, or found out some way to defeat his design, her virtue not permitting her to receive this declaration out of the presence of her Mother.  
In fine, he hazarded himself one day when Leucippe was gone into the fields, and it casually happened to be the same that two Shepherds came to visit Melicerte, to propose unto her another marriage for Zelie. For whilst they spoke very softly, our Lovers ignorant of their subject, Tarsis who believed Melicerte very attentive to what they said, finished some Airs which he sang before with Zelie, and said unto her with a very low and soft voice. My fair Scholar, tell us also, we pray you, our secrets in particular, since that others conceal theirs from us, for to tell theirs; also I know one that I am very impatient to let you learn: silly mistrusted in some sort, that which it was, and as she would not enter into this discourse with him; Tarsis! answered she very loudly, as I myself imagine that it was some good news, since you apply yourself to declare it to me, I pray you attend a little that my Mother may have a share thereof. Tarsis was angry in that he having spoken to her in secret, she had answered him so loudly, but that it was impossible they should not be understood. What? replied he softlier than before, it seems you conceive not, that behold other Persons besides Melicerte, will be able also to hear you. Pardon me, answered silly yet aloud, but it's no secret, nor have I any that I will conceal from any one. Tarsis well believed that what she did, was to no other end than to scoff or dally: but as he would not remain there; You will make these Shepherds believe, answered he still very softly, that I mistrust them. In speaking softly, replied she, in the same tone she had began, you would make them yet more believe it yourself. They may, continued he still softly, impute it to my discretion, and of the fear I should have to interrupt them. You had that fear so soon, said silly laughing, when we sang louder than I speak. He was sometime without answering her and in a sweat; afterwards he replied thus, still continuing to speak softly as he began and had done. It is not a piece of news that I would have you learn, but it is for counsel that I demand of you. Ah Tarsis! interrupted she, what I have need of for myself, I ask it of Melicerte. But added he, answer you me, that I may be able to discover it to Melicerte with security? As I know not your affair, continued silly, I cannot answer you to any thing: but if there were no security in telling it to Melicerte, there would have been no more in telling it to myself.  
You see well Agamèe, continued Telamonius, that it is not through aversion that she keeps herself so at a distance, but altogether on the contrary, she seemeth by all this discourse, to encourage him to discover himself to Melicerte: and in effect it was her design, for as she knew the esteem that this Shepherdess had for him, she doubted not but that he should be favourably received; but her scrupulous virtue hindered her to declare it to him more openly. If Tarsis had therefore thereunto taken good heed, he had seen that she had given him the best counsel that she could possibly, in making a pretence of refusing him: but he who took and apprehended it quite otherwise, he had an extreme despite to see and find that she would not only not understand him, and more than that, when he discoursed to her so softly, the more she affected to answer him very loudly.  
He accused her in his heart for some kind of ingratitude, believing that she ill corresponded with his love; but he had yet more displeasure, then when these two Strangers were both gone forth, Melicerte had made known unto him all she had understood; for she hath the Ear marvellous subtle, and a Spirit and Wit so quick and lively, that she can when she lifteth, be attentive to three or four things all at one time. What controversy had then Tarsis, therefore so soon with Zelie? said she unto him laughing; indeed it is an ungrateful Scholar thus to refuse the counsel of her Master. Tarsis blushed at this discourse, and found himself so surprised, that in lieu and stead of being prevailed upon the fair occasion he had to discover himself, he estranged himself by some defeat, which I know not was what in his imagination, which suggested or prompted him to in this ill time.  
Melicerte who had he Wit too penetrating, not to be already mistrustful and diffident of the truth, would not dig deep nor dive into its profundity, and though she was better intentionally to him, than he durst to hope, however as she took notice how he blushed, she made a scruple to press him. But she designedly administered him another occasion, yet more favourable than the former; for altering her discourse all at once, Know you well Tarsis, said she, that we are going to marry your Scholar, and that these Shepherds come to speak to Leucippe, but not having him, they have addressed themselves to me. You may judge, continued she laughing, if I went to engage the Scholar, without demanding advice of her Master. Admire this Agamée! Not only had, Tarsis very much vivacity, but he was even naturally bold, and hardy: and in the interim he remained in this encounter inhibited, enjoined to the contrary, and as one stupid; so much is a great and prodigiously respectful love accompanied with timidity and bashfulness. He grew pale, he blushed, and apprehended not well himself; he disintricated, disintangled, unpestered himself of this passage, as if he would have done from a trap and snare, that is to say, he attempted and essayed to delude and dally and content himself to know, (without seeming to make or take thereout a more particular interest) that Melicerte had answered that Leucippe was not yet resolved nor designed to marry his Daughter. He was even so blind, that after his being gone forth, he knew not whether he were willing to be discovered, undoubtedly he said to his own self. Melicerte herself being mistrustful of my Love, by the discourse which I had held with Zelie, hath not intention, but to sound me, and if I had left myself to have been taken or surprised by appearance, I should fall into the inconvenience that Telamonius had foretold me of. But after having had some time these Sentiments, he passed into others quite contrary. For making reflections upon the discourse of Zelie, and afterwards upon these of Melicerte, and above all upon the goodness, that this Sage and generous Mother had testified to him day by day; he there found wherewith to persuade himself very strongly, that it was impossible but the Mother and Daughter, had some favourable intentions for him, and that they desired but that he should or had discovered it to Melicerte.  
In that Thought he returned to find her; fully resolved to cast himself at her Feet, and whatsoever could or might arrive, to make her confident of the passionate Love he had for Zelie. He found Melicerte all alone, who wrote a Letter, and as the Designs which seem to us to be accompanied with some Perils and Dangers, are always full of so much Timidity, that there needs but one nothing to divert them, (and principally in matters of Love, by reason that Love being but a desire, is naturally mixed with Fear;) Tarsis was no sooner in the Chamber of this Shepherdess, but behold all his Resolution vanished away. That was not a Truth without a Pretext, for our debility and weakness still makes one or other: But see if that which should be capable to stay him, since that it was no other thing, unless that finding her occupied and taken up in writing a Letter, he believed there would have been some incivility in her Interruption. He did no other than pass through her Chamber, but scarcely was he gone forth, but he stopped, and making some reflection upon his little Resolution, he made a confusion within himself. He feared most that this Letter had some Relation to the Marriage of Zelie, and that it was an Advertizement that she gave to Leucippe, and that it was that which should encourage him the more, to make his Declaration, and thereby prevent some other engagement. As he reentered by one Gate, I entered there by another; so that Tarsis who was not prepared to see me there, nor yet to speak before me, made yet a pretence to his little Hardiness and Resolution. He repassed therefore only through the Chamber, so little knowing that which he did, that although in passing by him, I asked him where he went, he made me no answer.  
But he was no sooner in his own, then behold the Remorse which again surprised him. What, said he, I have not been willing to declare myself before Telamonius; Alas is it not all contrary, is it not his presence that should encourage me, since he was there, to confirm my Request? He returned a third time, being resolved to make his Declaration before me, but as I had observed Melicerte taken up and employed in Writing, I did no other than pass into the Garden, so that Tarsis found me no more there, and he met no Body there but Malicerte which came from sending her Letter. This will not seem strange unto you, the reason why Tarsis had been so soon interrupted in his Design, was because Melicerte was writing the second Time, that he found me present, At this third he found me not there at all, and Melicerte wrote not any more and in the mean time he durst not yet discover himself. But that which is most pleasant is that his Timidity was pretended upon Reasons all opposite to the formers: He whom my Presence had astonished began to find himself Weak through my absence, and the Letter of Melicerte being sent, he thought that since that was done, nothing did press him more than to discover himself; That which was yet admirable is, that Melicerte seeing him pass and repass so many times, could not refrain to ask him in conclusion what he sought for, Tarsis who found himself not in a condition, to Embark himself with her in Conversation, answered her to defeat himself, that he sought Philiste.  
Philiste who was then in a Closet very near, approaching, came forth at the same Instant, and asked him what he would have; whereupon Tarsis who sought her not effectually was so surprised that he knew not what to say to her. I have recounted this to you Agamée to cause you to understand how much he loved, since he feared so much, for it is certain that we form not unto you the great Peril, that the Proportion of the esteem had, that we made of the benefit of the privation wherewith it menaced us; in conclusion the day of departure and ours also came, and behold what was his only Consolation. silly and Philiste loved one another tenderly, and that day they were almost all in Tears, as if we were to go very far, and as if they were not to see one another for a long time. A little before we departed, Tarsis having perceived them alone in this mournful Estate in a Closet or Arbour of the Garden, went unto them, and whilst Philiste who also saw me arrive after him, came forwards towards me to declare something unto me, my Brother entered into the Closet, where seeing silly wiping her eyes, he said unto her: I should be happy my fair Shepherdess, if I could pretend some Share, Part or Portion in these fair Tears, and that I should find consolation in a departure where death only is able to give it unto me: If I had more Tears than I have, replied silly, I should owe all to the departure of my dear Sister; But if I had more remaining, and that that could serve you, I believe I have Obligations enough to you, not to refuse you so small a thing. Ah fair Zelie, replied Tarsis, if I have been happy enough in rendering you some Service, it hath not been but overpayed by the Honour, and by the contentment, that I have myself received, and you know not the price and value of your Tears, when you believe them owing to Obligations of this Nature. But silly I have suffered for you, and I very well see, that I shall suffer all the remainder of my Life in secret Pains, and such as you know not, which I can tell you; and you effectually own me some Acknowledgements which are well worthy of your pity and of your Tears; I have very much Trouble and Pains to believe it, replied silly, that I should be able to owe you something more important, than the Life that I own you: But whatsoever it be, you may believe that since I would not refuse you, that which you wish, that which you call light Obligations, I shall never be ungrateful to those that are greater. But replied he, If you had had a design to acknowledge them, you would have desired to have known them, but in the Interim, you never would permit me to let you know or learn them. I do not call to mind replied silly, the ingratitude wherewith you reproach me; But I avow you continued she, well mistrusting what he would speak of, That I shall not be angry to know the Obligations that I shall have, but when I shall be in a Capacity to acknowledge them. Alas Zelie! replied he, you are now in an Estate to acknowledge them since I have told you that for all Acknowledgements, I ask you but for a little Compassion and a few Tears. You see me already so afflicted pursued silly, that there would be inhumanity in desiring that I were more afflicted. But added Tarsis, raising his Voice a little, and uttering a lo●g Sigh, I have no part nor portion in the Subject of that affliction; and that which kills me, that I carry a mortal regret in quitting or abandoning you, and I see you not at all touched or concerned. You are very cruel Tarsis, replied she, to take a time when you see me all in Tears, to come and make me such reproaches. You are much more cruel yourself; replied Tarsis, to see me almost ready to die with Grief, and to refuse me one word of Consolation. Alas! demanded she him, What would you have me say unto you? I am so pressed with Grief, that I am not capable to give any consolation even to myself.  
I would have you tell me (pursuant to his former discourse,) said he, that I had some part or portion in the Cause and Ground of that Grief, and that after having given you all the Testimonies that I have been able of the most sincere passion of the World, you see me not to remove with the same eye which you would see the departing of an indifferent Person. Tarsis, replied she, I could not have an indifference for a Brother of Telamonius, for whom Leucippe, and Melicerte, have so much esteem, and to whom I myself have so many and great Obligations, so that, continued she, it is not but to Telamonius, to Leucippe, to Melicerte, and to a small accident of Fortune to whom I own this Favour; and yet all this Favour goes not but to be indifferent with you; But Tarsis, said silly unto him, do I not tell you what you demanded of me? No silly, answered he, to cease to be indifferent unto you for the Reasons which you have told me, is no other than a mark of the consideration that you have for your Relations, and out of your generosity, and I demanded for one that came from your inclination, and a little of your good Will for me. You are very difficult, added silly, but I tell you yet once for all, that you shall never find me ungrateful, when it shall depend but upon me alone, to testify you my Acknowledgements. At these words, he cast himself at her Feet, and signified her his satisfaction and his Love, by inexpressible Transportations. In fine, some certain hours after that, was made that mournful separation. He was above a year at Athens, and there was more Consolation than he thought, for he did that there which he could not do at Calioure; that's to say, that he declared himself openly and manifestly to Melicerte with the most fortunate and happy success which he could have hoped, and the Verses which were (behold) the occasion as you in proceeding will understand.  
Remember you well Agamée of that great Eclipse which arrived two years since, that they said were universal, and which caused so great an astonishment and amazement throughout the World; we we were gone at that time to spend some days at Hippique at my Father's House, two others of my Brothers and myself and Wife were there also with her Sister, Melicerte having confided in her. One day which was the Seventh or Eighth before the Eclipse I advised with myself to write a Letter in Verses to Tarsis. I made him a partaker of our divertisements, knowing well that that would consolate him at Athens where he languished very much by the perplexing process and litigious wrangling Suit of Alcidias, and principally because I would tell him News of Zelie. I made it in the name of the three Brothers and the two Sisters whom I obliged there to write some words each one a part, and to sign with me; There was none but silly alone whose scruples I did not overcome, and who would not sign it so that one of my Brothers signed it for her. But because his Sign Manual was ill counterfeited, he pleasantly cast a little drop of Ink upon it, so that all the Signature was almost all covered; one might sufficiently see some letters of the name of Zelie, but one could not discern whose hand it was. As it was not advised of, but to give Tarsis the joy, that it was his Mistress which had signed, he writ in the bottom, Zelie hath blotted her Signature. Behold the answer which he made us, which were in Verses, and I would have not told you that, but to give you the signification and meaning.  

Epistle.  
Amiable Tripartite company of Shepherds,  
Amiable couple of Shepherdesses;  
Amiable Sisters, amiable Brothers, who are shadows of your crocks,  
Live exempt from our Miseries, pass away your hours  
Lightly and pleasantly, under the shelter of all our dangers:  
Live in the famous Golden-Age, where Vices presume  
Not to appear, or rather to say, being to be born,  
Innocence yet reigns.  
Fair Troop, is it possible therefore, that in your champion, Plainy and Fieldy leisures,  
You interrupt the Pleasures which are relished and well tasted, in a peaceable sojourning.  
And dream you sometimes of me, and for you is a Man perplexed with cares.  
In a state of Tranquillity, and a quiet Hovil,  
There they can think on him without fear.   
Behold therefore, continued Telamonius, where the beginning and commencement is, where you see he addresses himself to all the Company in general, and then afterwards answers every one in particular.  
But that would be too long, I will only read you what hath relation to Zelie.  
I come to you young Shepherdess, or rather a fair rising Star, where other Beauties go obscuring themselves, as the appearing and rising Sun defaceth and blotteth out all the Luminaries of Heaven, by its bright and radiant light, when it commenceth its Career, Course and Race.  
Tell me wherefore your Hand by the shot of an inhuman Pen, deprives me of you, of my view thereof? Why set you down, and concealing yourself, hid under this dark and cloudy Epilogue? O Shepherdess do nothing, are you afraid of being known, then when you do me good? Why therefore this great and black vail, which hinders me here to see you there? Wherefore in this Assembly, the front open, why have you not appeared? is it not that you have believed, that a Virgin in public aught to be hooded and vailed?  
But what am I going to imagine! it's easy to divine, what's that here which is the effect of this Prophecy, wherewith the World hath been menaced.  

I see it in fine accomplished; and the Sun is eclipsed,  
But wherewith do you menace us?  
With a new and fatal Eclipse, the influence is it  
Mortal? shall I die alone? shall we all die?  
Is it towards me alone that it looks forth?  
Is it upon me alone that she lanceth her Darts?  
The Influences of an evil lot,  
Should it be to me so considerable?  
Or otherwise should I be so culpably guilty,  
That an Eclipse was necessary to foretell my Death?   
I was so much hindered, that I could interrupt you, said Agamée: But I would not, but I pray you now to lend me these lines to read them in particular, for that which I have heard, prompts me to a desire to read the rest. I have found them sufficiently excellent and polite, replied Telamonius, and therefore I will carry them with me, in returning my Sister to Calioure, to cause them to be seen there by Melicerte. And to take an occasion to discover to her the love of Tarsis, of whom I believed she had reason in all this time, to place some confidence and of whose real passionate love to her Daughter silly, I hoped she would well be assured, after so many signal testimonies. I took an hour wherein we were alone, and after I had read them to her; Well Wise and Sage Melicerte, said I to her, poor Tarsis shall he die? for I very well know, that 'tis you alone that I should consult withal alone for his Destiny. Melicerte at these Words betook herself to laugh, and answered me, you know the Eclipse hath not done so much evil as they think, and I believe not that Tarsis should only be more sick than others. I answer you generous Melicerte, replied I, that this poor Shepherd is in a pitiful state, and he doth no other than languish, and bemoan himself ever since he departed from your house. But I suppose you are not now to know his disease, and that there was no need of those lines, to make you know, how amorous he was of my Sister. Melicerte made not use of any kind of dissimulation with me; she declared to me, she was mistrustful, and to make it to you short, she testified to me, with all the goodness and generosity imaginable, that she had as much amity and friendship for me, and as much esteem for Tarsis, that she would serve him as a Mother, and would contribute all that might be possibly imaginable in her towards Leucippe, for the good success of our Interprize. I was not wanting immediately to make my Brother a participant of our entertainment and discourse, and behold the Letter which he writ upon this subject to Melicerte. In saying this, Telamonius took another Paper to continue his reading to Agamèe, then when Tarsis being come out of his Chamber came to find them in the Closet where they were. He was in some confusion, when he understood from them, in what they were taken up and employed in expecting him, and reproached his Brother for entertaining Agamèe so ill. Almost at the same time also arrived Argaste and Celemante, who were astonished and amazed to see the change, that the displeasure had already made upon the countenance of Tarsis, since the little time that there had been past, that they had seen him. O! Shepherd, said Celemante unto him seeing him, I believe also that you are in love with Zelie, for in sum, 'tis not Tarsis that we see there, and 'tis to do you a favour, that we take you for his shadow or his Ghost.  
Tarsis answered him not, but with a profound Sigh, that he made as he joined his hands, lifting up his shoulders, and casting his Eyes upwards towards Heaven; as if he would have said, that his disgrace was such, that there were none but the Gods that could give him some remedy or consolation. After some other discourse, Telamonius who had in his thoughts no other care than to divert him, or at least to mitigate and assuage the grief of his dear Brother, proposed them variety of Walks, and engaged them in conclusion, to go to the Temple of Jupiter Olympia, under pretence of showing that marvellous piece to Agamée; but it was in effect, because he called to mind that he had heard Tarsis say the preceding Evening, that he should be very well pleased, to consult the famous Oracle on the subject of his doubts. The Athenian and the Shepherds being of accord in that proposition, and concurring (which they could easily enough execute by reason of the proximity of the Temple) Telamonius gave them a Dinner with him, lest they should lose too much time in assembling together, and having taken their repast early, to have more leisure in this pleasant Journey, he made them yet call to mind at rising from Table, the shortness of the time, so that they walked altogether.    
The End of the Fifth and last Book, of the first Part.    


Tarsis and Zelie. The Second Part. The First BOOK.  
IN the beginning of the way, the loss of Zelie was all the Subject and Argument of their discourse and entertainment. For the desolate Tarsis returned without intermission to that discourse, although all others used all their efforts and endeavours to divert it. However their Conversation by little and little returned to be more pleasant, because Ergaste and Celemante, were of the Party, that they could never be a quarter of an hour together without contesting one against the other, and all their disputes always furnished, fitted and made ready some kind of Diversion to those who were present Witnesses. Ergaste for that time affected even to Jest and Flout Celemante, to change the Discourse and to divert Tarsis from the Application he made to his displeasure; and seeing that his Friend attempted by very serious Reasons, but very unprofitable, to bring some Consolation to Tarsis, he interrupting said unto him: Seest thou, Celemante, I permit all others to undertake the consolating of one afflicted; but thou interposest to speak of affliction, and I declare unto thee, that I cannot suffer nor brook it.  
Celemante who neither sought nor endeavoured any thing rather than to dispute against Ergaste, to divert himself the first omitted not so fair an occasion. He turned himself about towards that Shepherd and stretching forth his hand to him said: Well! my dear Cousin and controller, What findest thou, or wherein canst thou contradict any thing that I have done? Two days since thou didst reprehend me, for that I did not afflict myself with my Friends. Wiled thou not this day reprove and blame me, in that I afflict myself with them? So it must be, replied Ergaste: but I find reason to oppose in that thou intermedlest thyself in reasoning upon the Argument and Subject of an Affliction, thou who never hadst any, for there must have been had reason to speak, to be in a Capacity to consolate those that want it. That's that in which thou doubly deceivest thyself, replied Celemante; For first thou shouldst know, that since I spoke of Affliction, I only have cause for what I speak; and moreover added he, why should I not be capable to counsel others though I never have had any? Can one not be a good Physician, without having been Sick? I do not say so, answered Ergaste: But it is necessary at least to know what the Disease is, and thou knowest not what Affliction is; testify to us what thou hast said thyself, when thou so callest a light constraint, which must be made suitable to thy Humour to speak.  
I know not what thou callest affliction, replied Celemante: But whatsoever it be, I declare unto thee, I do not know any person so proper to Counsel others, than he who never afflicts himself, as I believe none is so good a Physician as he who is always in Health himself. That is good, added Ergaste, if it be for the effect of his Art that he is in health: But if it is naturally that he is not Sick, it's not needful for that to be a great Physician. Ha! what knowest thou replied Celemante, if it be naturally, or by address, that I defend myself from Affliction? Ergaste would have replied then, but Agamée interrupted him, and addressing himself to Celemante, he said unto him; Ah Shepherd! defend not yourselves neither the one nor the other; for be it by nature, or be it by the address, you are always too happy if it be true that you never afflict yourself, and I do no less esteem so rare a quality to come to the goodness and benefit of Nature, then when 'tis produced by force and strength of Reason. But continued Ergaste, the evil is, that it is not by force of Reason nor by goodness of Nature, that Celemante never afflicts himself, and that contrarily it's by the Vice both of the one and the other. It's by default of Nature, because 'tis by insensibility: That's through want of Reason, because he believeth, that 'tis a virtue to be insensible of affliction. Tell me Ergaste replied Celemante, believest thou that Affliction is a benefit, or believest thou that 'tis an evil? The difficulty is great! replied him Ergaste smiling, so great, replied Celemante, that I will give thee to choose for to disentangle thyself. For if thou sayest it is a benefi●, thou wilt say a ridiculous thing, if thou sayest it is an Evil, than Reason, will tell thee, that it will be necessary to defend it as much as may be possible. My poor Celemante, answered Ergaste, we are not to know if it be needful to defend ourselves from an Affliction; for who doubts? but we dispute if, as I have heard thee hold one hundred times, that 'tis a Virtue to be insensible. Now I till thee that 'tis a vice of Nature, and not a Virtue, and that as when they pinch a Man, it's a very ill Mark or Sign in him to feel nothing, even so when any Adversity pierces us, 'tis a very ill Sign to be therein altogether insensible.  
I deny not, but that it is needful to resist Affliction, as much as we can, but I hold unto thee that it is therefore needful to be naturally susceptible, that is to say, capable; that it must not be received as a Starve or dead Image, but as a Man: that is to say, that we must if it be possible, feel the Designs, the Purposes and Intentions of Grief and Dolour, but yet notwithstanding to oppose and overcome them with Reason. Celemante shaking his Head began to Smile and looking upon Ergaste, said unto him: But, however Ergaste, if it is a Virtue concurring with reason to defend ourselves from the feeling and sentiment of our Grief and Pain, as thou hast avowed; why wilt thou then, that it be not a virtue of Nature to make the same thing? Because replied Ergaste, that it is the Office of Nature to render and give us the sentiment of Evil, as it is that of Reason to take it from us. So when Reason chaseth and hunts away Affliction, it doth its Devoir: But when Nature undertakes it, it doth a thing opposite to its self, and that's a Mark and Sign that 'tis perverted. Poor Man! said Celemante; Wherefore should the Fancy, the Humour or Will have Nature wait for, and expect Affliction? Is it to have need of Reason to chase and drive it away? Is is not that as if we would have Evils and Maladies and Diseases to come and seize us, that we might have need of a Physician? Believe me Ergaste, there is no such thing as to be so naturally in Health, but that there will be need of Remedies.  
Telamonius seeing that Celemante ceased, began to take up and reassumed the Dispute and said: But Shepherd what say you to those Sages and Wise Men which went to encounter Affliction and sought after Adversity, (as we may see) that they might show forth and demonstrate the force and strength of their Reason? I say (sharply replying) saith Celemante, that they did as the Mountebanks and Quack salvers who make themselves great Wounds, and lay on Emplasters upon them, made with their Drugs, and by that means endeavour to gain themselves Credit and Reputation of the Populacy. Agamée, Ergaste nor Telamonius, could not refrain from Laughing at his Comparison; but Ergaste who delighted himself in hearing him spoke, readily began to say unto him: And thou Celemante, thou justly dost as those Cowards, who so dread being killed, that they dare not see the Face of their Enemies. For have I not heard thee say, that the fear of being afflicted makes thee fly, even from the smallest thought of mournful or sad Things? My dear Ergaste, answered Celemante, there is frequently more honour in flying than in fight; and the Retreat of ten Thousand acquired the Greeks more Reputation than all the Battles they had fought till that time. In fine what Hopes canst thou look for, or expect in Combating against Affliction, unless it be to vanquish and overcome it? Now I find it more short and expedient to shun it. For is not the way to vanquish it, to know how to shun it? Ergaste would have replied, but Agamèe approached Celemante, and then embracing him said; Ah Shepherd! I not only find you happy, but I admire you, if you are such as, Ergaste, you reproach him; and I should be more happy myself, if I were able to learn at your School to shun the Thoughts of my disgraces, as I have attempted to fly the Cause of them. At these Words, he uttered some Sighs, and his Discourse having made Telamonius call to mind the promise that that Athenian had made them make the day before, to recount them his Adventures, gave also subject to the Shepherd to summon and challenge him of his Word. Agamée signified himself to be very prompt and ready to ratify it: but his History although short enough, was notwithstanding too long wound for a Man who walked in very hot Wether, and who being to speak to four several distinct persons at a time, could not in walking make himself to be well understood of all, unless he extraordinarily extended his Voice. Behold therefore as they had elsewhere much more time and leisure, than was needful for them in so small a Journey, and that as they found themselves near to a Tough or Grove of Trees very pleasant, they engaged Tarsis to come and sit down there, with them under the Shadow; and elamon invited him to attentive to the repetition of something wherein he hoped to administer him some ground and Subject of Solace, on that discourse which Agamée had the preceding day entertained them with.  
But at the hour, that they intended to sit down there, they were surprised by an Adventure of more astonishment and amazements. And accidentally casting their eyes towards the Gulf, they discovered there from that place which was very high; two Vessels, who in their Dimensions in point of Bulk and Grandeur were very unequal, who attacked each other in a furious Fight and Combat; in fine the smallest fled, and seemed willing to come and save herself in the Mouth of the River: but the other gave her no opportunity nor Truce, but grappled her when she was going to enter there; immediately there appeared a Woman upon the Deck, holding a young Child in her Arms; if these Shepherds had been nearer, they would have observed that this Woman who appeared to have been no more than nineteen or twenty years old, was one of the fairest, most exquisite and excellently amiable and admirablest Beauties of the whole Universe. It is true her Visage and Countenance was a little wasted and pined: But that served to no other than giving her a certain kind of languishing Consumption, so touching, that never was any though in the best and salubriously, complete state imaginable, but would have been uncapable to act, with so much force and impression upon the Hearts of any Person whatever. Her Attire was of a soft, most mean and Simple: but her Physiognomy, her Action and all her Personage in fine appeared Royal and Majestic.  
The Child she held was not above two years of age at most, and seemed by its Nobility and in its smiling Visage with which it pleased itself in the Neck of this Mother, who should not have had any part in the Peril and Danger, nor have been exposed to that Violence whereof she was therefore the principal Object. When she saw her Vessel thus grappled withal and Attacked, she advanced herself and went forward upon the middle of the Deck athwart and over the dead Corpse wherewith it was covered, and showing this Child to the enemies who were on Board the other Vessel, and ready to enter hers: Perfidious Lacedæmonians, said she unto them, you are not contented with the Blood of your Sovereign, but you are insatiably Thirsty after that of his Wife and Son? Well done ingrateful and barbarous People; you must be glutted, satiated, cloyed and filled. But the cruel Amphare shall not have the Contentment to be the Executioner of the Life of that of my Son nor of mine, as he hath been of that of the great Agis; and I will save or spare Sparta the Horror yet to see another time her Walls imbrued and besprinkled with Blood, by one so abominable a Parricide and Regicide. At these Words lifting up her eyes towards Heaven; Great Gods! cried she, I do not ask nor demand that you should revenge me; Only act so that our death may be profitable to Sparta. In saying and uttering these words she ran aboard the Vessel, whereon she precipitated herself and Son. Two Women who were in the same Ship, imitated the generous Resolution of this Queen, and two or three of the small number that remained there, piercing their own Bodies with their Swords, also cast themselves into the Sea.  
At this spectle, the Enemies whom the words of the Queen had arrested and surprised, uttered into the air such terrible Cries, and so horrible, that the bruit, sound and noise thereof, pierced the Ears of the Shepherds. Although they discerned not all these things, but confusedly, and being also ignorant of that which was there the most astonishing, and most worthy of compassion in this adventure, not knowing any thing of the condition of the Persons, on whom Fortune had cast that cruel example of its Inconstancy: however they had seen enough to be touched with some horror, and there was not one present, who testified it not by some particular marks, the effect that this sad spectacle produced in him.  
Agamée had that of Pity; Celemante that of Indignation, Telamonius that of Grief, Ergaste that of fierce Rage and Choler; and desolate Tarsis, on whom the Image of the disgrace of another, yet rendered the remembrance of his own more sensible, represented forth the emotion of his heart, by the abundance of his sighs. Telamonius who assiduously sought on all occasions, one that might give some consolation to his Brother, would willing improve this, in some kind or other, and addressing himself to Agamée, without dissimulation, lying or deceit, said he unto him, What Injustice soever we have often received by Fortune, we ought notwithstanding to praise her for one thing, that is, whatever evil she doth us, she almost always shows us Persons whom she hath as evilly treated, as she hath done ourselves, nay hath worse treated them, and in respect of whom, we cannot refrain from believing ourselves happy and blessed. But our misfortune is, that we are ordinarily more unjust than she, and as we feel not the evil of others, we always think that ours is the greatest; because there is none but that alone, which makes us resent it as indeed it is. Tarsis well observed that Telamonius said that for him, although he had addressed himself to Agamée. Behold therefore the cause why he replied him: Ah my Brother! And you say well, that we are almost always unjust in the judgement we make of the evils of others; for we judge but by those appearances that smite our Eyes, and there is none so great a deceiver. We think that the Accidents which have in them something more of barbarity, and appear more extraordinary to our eyes, than others, are more rigorous to them who suffer them, because they are more astonishing to those who see and observe them. And in the interim, that which makes us afraid in the mifortunes of others, is oftentimes that which causeth Consolation, and it happens and occurs every day that we bemoan the unfortunate, because there is something more Sweet, Pleasant and more Supportable in their misfortune. Not so Telamonius, The great and heavy Strokes of Despair, do not consist in misfortune; that which you take for the Evil is the Remedy, O! that there are secret and private Regrets and Misfortunes, in Comparison of whom, the most savagely cruel death hath Sweetness! Telamonius would not contradict, for as much as he knew, that there is nothing that pains and stings an afflicted Person more than to oppose and combat his Grief with Obstinacy. This wise and judicious Shepherd contented himself to tell him so from time to time, uttering some words, to make him capable of reflecting upon the reasons wherewith he might Consolate him; And after he had yet made some certain Ones with his Company upon the sad Accidental Adventure, whereof they altogether had been effectual Witnesses, he caused them to reassume, and call to mind the curiosity or hearing an History that that Accident had interrupted, whereof he was in expectation as we above have said, whereby a little to give some Consolation to Tarsis, on that which had been promised by Agamée, ever since the Shepherds had taken places round about him, The Athenian spoke unto them thus.  

The History of Agamée.  
I Have been persuaded more than any person of the World that it was possible to take such firm and assured Measures in the choice of a Mistress, that one might find an absolute and complete perfection conformable to his Humour, and after the having met with it, all manner of Felicity capable in this Life, consisted in seeing themselves united together by Marriage. I was even yet in the same Error, Telamonius, when we left Thebes. This thought was the Cause, that I returned with precipitation enough to Athens; because I had left there a young Beauty for whom I had so great a Love, that no Man living can be capable of more; she wanted not a correspendency for me, and we were mutually engaged in an extreme affection; and so much the more easily, that we had almost been brought up together. At least we had lived these six or seven last Years in one and the same House (because my Sister had espoused her Brother, and taken him in Marriage) (and we both lived with them.) So that I believed I knew the bottom of her Heart, and even the smallest of all her Faults.  
For besides that she was exceedingly fair and beautiful, she had an admirable, infinite and excellently prompt and ready Wit, and that which engaged me the more, was, I found in her so firm and solid a Wit for a Maiden, so disengaged and unloosened from all kinds and sorts of preventions, so elevated above all common and vulgar Opinions, that she seemed to me to have nothing at all inherent, in point of the debility of her Sex. You may conceive, how much my passion was augmented the more, by the knowledge I had of her Amity and Friendship; for nothing in the World doth inflame a young Man more than the thought that he hath to be beloved. But there appeared to me a very great Transmutation, and strange change of Fortune, when I revisited her, and a●l that I formerly had of Joy and content was quite turned about and converted into Grief, Dolour and Bitterness. For when I thought to approach her with Testimonies and Significations of ravishing Joy where I was to re-visit her, she comported herself in such a frigid sense, and cold kind of strain like unto him, whom she would have had, as a Person throughout the whole Universe most unknown. And she afterwards took the self same care to endeavour to shun me, that we both of us took formerly to be together, for the entertainment of our reciprocal affection.  
This kind of welcome so different from that which I expected, gave me a displeasure, the like whereof I never had felt in my life. I spent all that night to make a reflection upon the subject, that I could have given her to treat me so; and not finding any cause in the review of all my actions, I soon imputed it to the little Stability and Constancy that is in a Maiden, whom the absence of two years had undoubtedly soon frozen or cooled, for a new Affection. The Morrow I went to see my Friends, and diligently and carefully enquired of them of the names of all those who since my departure had seen Telesile (that was her name) and, in one Word, of all the things for which Jealousy which began to torment me gave me that Curiosity. But for as much as they knew nothing of our Love, which we always concealed, they assured me that Telesile had the Credit and Reputation of affecting none nor loving any Body; that during my absence there presented variety of divers considerable pretenders of Affection to her, but she had Will to listen to none, nor would entertain any, and that it was enough to be Evil thought by her, only to make mention of any thought of approaching her by any kind of declaration of Passion. That made me resolve to endeavour to be enlightened by her own self upon the Subject and Ground of her Frigidity and Chillness and as I was very well pleased that we were at Liberty and in a Place where we were not interrupted, I prayed her to grant me an hours time to entertain and discourse her. She answered me with a very indifferent air, that she believed not I had any thing to declare to her that was of any Importance, and that although there might be there was no Person there before whom I might not speak what I had to say. I thus spoke to her at the taking away of the Table, my Brother in Law and Sister being there present, before whom I would not discover myself, because I had learned that both the one and the other had thoughts to marry Telesile elsewhere, and particularly my Brother in Law who had promised her to a Friend of his named Aristoxene. So I replied to her with a still Voice, as I had begun, that the Persons for whom she testified so much Confidence and Trust, were those whom I had most cause to mistrust. Whatever I said or could say, I could not obtain what I demanded of her, and she continued even many days to shun all opportunities with all the Care that she could possibly take, that I should not discourse her alone or particularly. That which consolated me was, that I could not see that she had any more Kindness nor sweet Complaisance for this Aristoxene, for although my Brother-in-Law would have made him pass to be of the most ancient House, and in Reputation to have very much in point of Wealth; however the Spirit of Telesile was then so forcibly strong and so well tempered with Metal, so loosened from either Interest or Ambition, that she considered him never a whit the more. But contrarily she esteemed him very little, because he had but little Wit and a shallow Brain, and that was it by which she took the Measures of her esteem and Valuation. I found no other Person whatsoever that was better treated than I, nor who could by consequence give me any Subject of Jealousy, so that I could not think but that the Treatment that she made me, came from another Cause, that from a scruple that came to her with her Age, or from that ordinary Error among the fair Ones, who believe that the most sweet and most amiable Sex of the World are born to be severe, and that they m●st feign and seem to be cruel when they have no such thing at all, so that I resolved with myself to Combat with, and oppose that Scruple and Opinion, and as they say, to recommence by her, upon a new Track or Method.  
We were then in Winter, and my Brother was lodged in a certain Place where every Night the Neighbourhood failed not to assemble themselves to sup together, sometimes with one and sometimes with another; after Supper they parted themselves, some sporting one way, some another, some by Hazard, Hap, or Lot, others diverting themselves in Conversation of Things of Wit. One night therefore, all the rest of the Company being left to play, we found ourselves no more than four for Conversation, to wit, the Wife of one Areopagite named Belialte, who was one sufficiently fair, bright, well made and of a comely Pitch and Presence, and having in her Mind and Spirit a certain medley Composition gaullimaufrey or mixture of Sweetness and Alacrity mingled with a kind of Ferocity, Insolency and Arrogancy, which in her was not ill becoming nor yet unseemly. That which some found Cause to Object in her, that she had as well as her Husband (who was otherwise a very Honest Man, and one of the most considerable of Areopage) a very great Inclination for the Sport, even to say oftentimes, that that Person who would not play was good for nothing. That night she played not at all, because that having been unfortunate all the day, she would hazard no more till the succeeding day. The second Person of ours, was Cotys, a very noble Corinthian, aged about thirty five years, although he was yet a Bachelor, of an ordinary Pitch or Height, but sufficiently well shaped, having a fair Countenance still smiling. The Dye and Colour of a Maiden, Hair brown, long, and well Combed, his Spirit Gay, Jocund, Free and Open, but a little quick and prompt, and one that Jested, and they flouted him, to be a very Prattler and Speaker, though he never spoke but much to the purpose, and that all that he said, was infinitely Spiritual.  
Telesile made the third of our Band, and I was the fourth; after some moments of Conversation, which was pleasant and merry enough, but to which none but Cotys could always furnish; they proposed some Plays of Wit, and Cotys taught us one that he called the Sport of Advice. In that Play every one speaking softly in the ear of that Person near to whom he was, asked him or her an Advice; the other gave the most convenient that he could to the Person that demanded it, after that the other demanded one for him or herself, his Companion in like manner gave him or her the most convenient he could choose, and so consequently round till the turn was made and finished; Every one repeated aloud the Advice which to him had been given, by the means of this Advice, they often said the very real Truth sporting and laughing, and without making any semblance of any thing, sometimes they made a profitable Advertisement of the Sport, but that wherein there was most Pleasure and Delight, was that in the Repetition aloud of all Advices received, you ordinarily saw one obliged even himself to publish his own Defaults and Frailties. As Cotys taught us the Play, it belonged to him to Commence it; and for that effect he addressed to Belialte, who was at his right Hand; Belialte said unto him softly (but in such sort therefore that 'twas easy to me to understand) pay me for the Pains that I took to instruct you, and by your favour give me some good Advice. Belialte who knew his weakness, and who was enough his Friend to be capable and able to Jest, answered him, my Advice is that you will retain this Sport, or let each one speak according to his Turn; Cotys very well apprehended the Jest, and he failed not to render it her; for when she interrogated him afterwards he made her a reply which I do not precisely remember, but I know very well that he sufficiently flouted and scoffed Belialte for her continued Passion and eager Desire for the Sport. It chanced afterwards that Telesile was also to ask for my Advice, and although I was but a very ill Poet, I spoke to her after this manner. Receive faithful Advice, 'tis not sufficient to be only fair and beautiful; for to retain and uphold a firm and solid Heart, 'tis most needful to be less Cruel, and not to have so much Beauty. I afterwards demanded hers, and she answered me; I give you Advice Agamée, that is, before you reprehend others, you examine if there be not any thing worthy of Reprehension in yourself. I did not immediately take these words in so favourable a sense, nor made that construction of them as I should have done; and as I knew that I had never come short in the Affection that I had pretended or promised to Telesile, I thought not, nor did expect that she would have reproached me, no nor even that she loved me so sufficiently well, for that purpose, but I knew it by the Consequence, as I am going to declare it you.  
The Play ended, we began another more difficult and more pleasant than the former. Every one wrote three or four words in a Ticket such as seemed him best, and pleased his own Fancy; afterwards they mingled these Tickets in a Hat, then having drawn one out accidentally, it belonged to all that were in Company each one to make a small particular historical Narration or Discourse upon the Subject of what was written in the Ticket drawn; the Ticket of Cotys was, I love Liberty; that of Belialte, I Love to play; I put in my Course and range, I blame unconstancy; and Telesile, I hate Ingratitude. That was hers which was drawn; so that it behoved every one to make a History upon the Subject of Ingratitude.  
Telesile was to begin, because they had drawn her Ticket: however as she testified by her Laughing, that she was to seek, and straightened as to the History which she was obliged to make, Cotys who had a pregnant and lively Wit, said unto her; Well Telesile, I proceed to make a commencement and beginning for you, and I am of Advice even for your Troubles sake, that you speak not till last of all. A little after he continued thus.  
There was a Maiden of Quality at Corinthia named Licie, and if I had not seen Belialte, and Telesile, I would have added that she had been the fairest that ever I had seen. She was observed by a young Corinthian of a comely and amiable Countenance, and of a ready and prompt Wit, if it had not been spoiled by the furious and passionate Love he had for her. I say furious, because it cannot otherwise be expressed, as you will judge by the Sequel and Consequence. One day as he was by her in her Chamberand discoursing to her of his Love, he besought her as they frequently and sufficiently do, who are in that strong Passion to make trial and proof of him: I should ensnare you well enough, and overtake, entrap and find you Tardy; Talbion, said she, unto him, if I had taken you at your word. Thereupon the young man who was named as above, reassumed and protested to her, that it would be the greatest joy in the World to him, to die for her if would so appoint it; and then Licie, were it only that she spoke it to him to laugh and jest were it that she loved him not and designed and would defeat him. Well, said she, let's see whether or no for love of me, you will cast yourself out of this Window. She had no sooner uttered the words, that although the Chamber was two Stories high, he cast himself out at the Window without replying the least syllable. This incredible Action, which is also very true and therefore undeniable, had not had such unfortunate success, as it would doubtless have had, if that Window had not jutted out over the Sea, but he fell but into the Water, and although it was in a place dangerous enough, he was quitted for designing to drown himself. Now, continued Cotys, behold and see if there were ever a greater Ingratitude, as the making so ill an use of the obedience of a poor Lover? Ay Cotys, continued Belialte, and you will avow, that that which I am going to speak of, is yet far greater. For I knew afterwards that the self same person, being gone to dwell at Argos and Talbyon having followed her there, that poor Lover continuing to discourse her of his Passion, and yet beseeching her to make further Trials and of greater moments; she took a little Pot wherein there was some Paint in which was some Poison whereof his Sister served herself (for you know that for her she had no occasion) and showing it him: Talbion, said, he, smiling on him, are you not yet content with that perilous leap? hold you have but to swallow down that for my Sake. She had no need of speaking of it to him twice; he immediately drank it off and was so violently poisoned that all the Remedies imaginable that were given and administered were impossible to save him.  
Belialte having finished, we lla consented that this piece of Ingratitude infinitely surpassed the first, not only because the effect had been more dismal, but for as much as Licie had not a greater excuse to have again exposed to so dangerous a Trial, the obedience of a Man whom she had already proved so blinded. However I told them afterwards that the Ingratitude of Licie might yet be excusable, in that she knew not there was any Poison therein, and that is not an Ingratitude, because there might possibly have been Ignorance; But behold an example where Ingratitude triumpeth all alone, behold a Crime which can have no kind of excuse nor Argument nor Pretence nor Colour.  
A poor Lover, the name of whom I forbear to tell you, passionately loved a Young Lady; 'Tis true, he had not signalised his Love by any great Services, never having had an occasion: but in that respect he was not to be but the more bewailed, for he would have esteemed himself too happy to have been able to have done it, and being displeased that he was deprived of that Honour, he had a continual Regret, which augmented and increased insupportable Evils to those of Love. He would have died a thousand times as Talbion to have given his Mistress some signal marks worthy herself, and would have had no cause to make use of Poison to die, if she had signified him a doubt his Grief and Dolour had been sufficient. But she had made him believe that she was content with all Testimonies, he had produced, in that she had been taught it from his Mouth and by his eyes. She was also willing to flatter him with some Hopes that she loved him, that she might engage him more and more, and oblige him entirely to abandon himself to that Passion, leaving him neither Remedy, Refuge●, Recovery or Succour, in the displeasures and Regrets that she prepared him afterwards. In fine, after she had reduced him to a State where he could not live longer but for her, and where she knew well that her change would cause him to die in the Languishments more cruel than all kinds of Deaths. This ungrateful One, abandoned him without any ground or cause, without pretence, without any new Lover, and by a pure effect of Ingratitude, and daily saw him pining away, and dying without being sensibly touched nor moved with pity and Compassion.  
In finishing I turned towards Cotys without any kind of seeming or thinking of Telesile, because I would not have my Actions bewray others, that which I very well knew she would sufficiently understand by my Discourse. In sum, neither Cotys nor yet Belialte apprehended my Intention, and I well observed that they looked one upon another, smiling, as scoffing me that I would have had them set a valuation upon an History, which unto them appeared so rude, vulgar and unpolished: But Telesile, far better knew and penetrated the bottom of the Design. I sufficiently observed a blushing which flushed in her Face; however she immediately revived and as she had an extraordinary Wit, and would not give others time to pierce or penetrate my Intentions, she also began another historical Narration, which she acquitted herself of the most gracefully becomingly and acceptably as could have been imagined: But I will not give you the trouble of hearing its Repetition, by reason it no way suits nor serves my Intention, and I even fear I have already tired you Patience and displeased you by those already recited.  
In the Interim, I well saw that the Method I had used to Telesile, had produced a good effect in her Spirits, and that she was very well pleased to have been so enlightened by my Sentiments; for from the very self same evening she began to look upon me with a more gracious and favourable an Aspect, than she had done since my return; and after the Company were retired, my Brother-in-Law, having given his hand to my Sister to conduct her into the Chamber, and having offered my Service to Telesile to lead her and follow them there: Agamée, said she unto me, very softly as we were walking there, you would have deceived us this Evening and you declared us a Fable or Fiction for a real History. Fair Telesile, replied I, I would to the Gods that your cruelty were no other than a Legend or fable, or that my Love were not as great and real a Truth! But speak you sincerely Agamée? replied she me; I could not but shut her Hand close instead or a present Answer, because, that my Brother having heard us speak, turned himself to behold us, and that being come presently into the Chamber, I was constrained to take leave of Telesile: But those few words which she spoke unto me having made me suspect that there was some other, or that there had been some other cause of my disgrace, than that which I had imagined, I took all the care, and used all the Art I could to be truly informed. In fine, she herself having given me opportunity of seeing her the succeeding day in her Chamber after many Plaints and great and tedious Interlocutions and Intercourses from one to another; I knew that during my absence, my Brother-in-Law and Sister, who partly by family Interest, and partly for the kindness they had for Aristoxene absolutely opposed our Marriage, and would have espoused Telesile to my Rival; and not content to have attempted by rigour and by the Authority they had over her (for my Brother-in-Law was her Guardian and Tutor and held the place of a Father) to divert the Affection she had for me, and made her believe by address, that I myself thought of another. In effect they had expressly writ to me of this new Mistress and by a strange persidiousness, when my Sister had received my Answer, she read it aloud to my Brother-in-Law, her Husband in the presence of Telesile as if it had been with design; and had read it in other Terms, and in Terms and stile absolutely different to what I had answered, changing all the Sense and Meaning of my Letter, and having made me joyfully accept that which I had effectually refused. And she had also used the same mode and method in divers other Letters that I had written, making me still say those things of which I had never so much as thought or dreamt of, and behold that which had irritated Telesile against me and of the falseness thereof I easily convinced her and that by clear demonstrations manifest and visible.  
This being explained, illustrated and cleared, I received more honourable Tokens of her Affection, than ever I had done: But notwithstanding all that, I was not a long time happy; Cleonime (which is the name of my Brother-in-Law) willing by all means possible to obstruct our Marriage, to conclude that of Aristoxene, conceived there would be no means to dis-unite our Hearts as long as we dwelled together: But because he could not put away his Sister from him, being her Guardian and Tutor, and because he could not in point of Honour chase me away, he made a show as if he had been or was a little indisposed and ill, and feigned and dissembled that his House was unhealthy, and that his Physicians counselled him to a Change, and in fine, he went and lodged in another place, wherein there was no more Room than just enough for the Lodging of him and his Family, that is to say also for his Sister. So that behold I was fairly reduced to seek a House for myself, and separate from the Habitation of Telesile. But that which accumulated and augmented my Misfortune, was that the House where Cleonime went to lodge in, appeartained to or was owned by Aristoxene, who being yet a Bachelor had not a Train sufficient to occupy it entirely and contented himself with lodging in some of the foreparts thereof: So that behold I was not only deprived of the benefit of being near Telesile, but my Rival possessed my Place, and I could not dispute more but only with that of the Heart.  
You may very well think that they did not dwell there and that all this leveled and aimed further of.  
Cleonime could not decently nor honourably shut the Doors of the House, but contrarily he received me better than ever: But every time I went there, they ordered it so that I could not see Telesile. Always they engaged her upon some new pretext directly to go forth of the Chamber of my Sister, and if I went to visit her there in her own, they gave order to declare she was not there or that she was Sick, or was so employed or taken up that she could not see any Body. They treated me so for some days, during which time they made her understand on the other Hand, when she enquired for me, that I had reassumed Thoughts of another Marriage, and for that cause and to that effect I came often enough to see Cleonime and his Wife, and that I did not so much as inquire nor ask for her. She who in effect saw me every day by reason the Windows of her Chamber looked over the Court by which I passed and over which I walked, and she having been elsewhere naturally inclinable to Suspicions, failed not to conceive something of them who did or would give her some Thoughts against my Fidelity. I Writ her many Tickets but they were not given her, Cleonime always hindering any of my People that they could not speak with her, and by this means causing my Letters to fall into the Hands of Persons who would always carry them to himself. That which gave more Weight to this Imposture and Deceit, that was, that all they would insinuate in the Mind of Telesile to my disadvantage was told her by a Servant Maiden of hers, whom she had always before even till then seen to be for my interests: But who had been gained absolutely by Aristoxene and Cleonime, and 'twas she that returned and diverted all my Tickets. So that what assurance soever Telesile had of my Fidelity and Kindness: Behold the Suspicion and Jealousy which re awoke in her Soul, and I will not conceal from you, that I was not exempt on my side.  
One Morning not knowing more how to speak with her, I resolved to wait and attend her upon the Way which leads to the Temple of Diana, where she failed not to go once every eight days. But behold a strange Perfidy; Cleonime who was informed by one of my Servants who was also at his Devotion, went also presently to the House of the Father of that Maiden, whom they would have had me marry, making Semblance that I would renew with him the Propositions which had been made for me; told him, that as I would not desire to be seen at his House till all things were adjusted, and determined that I would attend him at a certain Place that he designed which was the same where I expected Telesile, and that he was come to him, of set purpose to lead him there.  
The good Man who by Misfortune had more good me Will for than I would have had him had, presently bit, as they say, of the Fish-Hook, and they came and found me both the one and the other where I was, at the time when Telesile passed by there. On the other side the Wife of Cleonime aiding the Imposture, was gone the same Morning to find Telesile in her Chamber, and as a piece of News had said unto her, that my Marriage was made with that Maiden of whom I have spoken unto you, and that Cleonime was gone with her Father to find me to bring him and I face to face to confer together vocally, in a certain Place which she seemed to be ignorant of. Myself indeed who in very deed was ignorant of all that was as you may very well believe, much surprised when I saw Cleonime and this good Man, accost and draw near unto me. Cleonime advanced him first and before, to give me to understand that that old Man had prayed that I should come yet again to reiterate the Proposal of our Marriage, and even to manage a mutual Interview betwixt him and me; You ought not to know it unwillingly or take it ill, added ●he, it is a Token of the esteem he hath for you, who engageth you to nothing, and you ought favourably to receive it, and that with marks and demonstrations of Acknowledgement. Although I had no Ground nor Cause to confide in Cleonime, yet I was so far incapacitated to divine the Treason he contrived and conspired, and I was also so certain of the Affection which the good old Man had for me, that I found something of appearance of that which he told me, and that I would have believed to have made myself Brutal, to go and break him in the Helmet; however it had been easy for me to have known the Artifice, if Cleonime had left us to speak one to another at our approach, for it is very difficult, that two Persons who parley and confer of a Design contrary to that which hath been given them to understand, that they should not know the Circumvention, Fallacy and Delusion. But Cleonime who had his Wit very nimble, so well knew our former Civilities for one, and for another, and so well to manage the Colligation and Connexion and the entrance of our Conversation, that he made us insensibly to fall into the proposition of my Marriage without our apprehension, or that we could perceive either of us that it came from either our own part or from our Motion or his own; I regarded not nor did I heed this Imposture nor trick of Legerdemain; for I found all the Sentiments of this pretended Father-in-Law conformable enough to what Cleonime had told me: But I know not what he believed on his part then, when he saw the coldness with which I spoke unto him.  
Whatever it were, while we were thereupon Telesile came and passed by, and I would not that she should see me there with that good Man, because they had formerly told her of something in Relation to me and his Daughter. Behold the reason why I retired myself a little aside to finish our Conference speedily, and afterwards to go to the Temple of Diana, to confer and parley together: But see a little the fantasticalness, and conceited toy of my Destiny. Telesile who had discerned me at a distance between him and Cleonime according to the advice that they had given her, had no sooner observed that I had hid myself from her, that she doubted no more but that I was there for the Subject they had told her of; and behold the Jealousy and despite that immediately animated her against me after a very strange sort.  
Aristoxene being informed of all this Mystery, did not fail to come to the Temple with my Sister, not only as at a favourable time, to improve to himself by the indignation he would have against me, but further to design the obstructing me, and incapacitating me to make a clear Apology for myself with her, which they well conceived I would not have omitted, so that since I had defeated myself with the old Man, whom Cleonime had pestered me withal, as long as he could, and that I thought to go to Telesile; I saw her returning with my Sister, led by Aristoxene who had offered her his hand at coming out of the Temple. The Impression which she conceived upon this new Perfidy irritated her to such a degree, that she told me afterwards that she could hardly resist a sudden Qualm of Heart, which took her in the Temple, and notwithstanding as she was very fierce, she would not seem to be touched. And never had she a Countenance more cheerful than that which she shown then when I perceived her with Aristoxene. That joy that she testified with my Rival in a time where the Affliction in which I was, persuaded me that she had as much cause to be sad, as myself, also almost finished my assurance of her Unconstancy; chief and principally then when I saw this great Alacrity and Gayetey which appeared before she had made semblance of seeing me, to vanish all at once from the moment, which I had joined them, and Telesile to receive me with the last coldness. I could not dissemble my Grief, and because the Company of Aristoxene and that of my Sister held me compelled and constrained; I said not a word almost all the Way. But admire a little my Misfortune! my Melancholy goes yet to persuade Telesile that it was an effect of the tye that I had at the thought of that Marriage which she believed I came from the treating of, and not having been able all the day, to find a moment of Discourse alone, we both of us retired much less satisfied the one with the other, than ever.  
That which aggravated and exasperated us the more, was that Aristoxene and Cleonime had directed and appointed a bruit Noise or Report to be published and proclaimed throughout Athens, that I had espoused that Maiden whereof I spoke, and that Telesile married herself to Aristoxene, and they made us report this Noise to one and the other in all Parts. However I had always in my Mind, the Stratagem which they had another time already abused us withal, and how jealous soever I was, I yet conserved enough of Reason not to be willing to sparkle or glittler or make a fair Gloss until such time as I was more clearly enlightened. To that effect I writ yet again to Telesile, but a long Letter by which I challenged her amongst others; That I could not believe that she had so soon forgot the Fidelity she had promised me, while I still conserved for her so much respect and passion; that there must undoubtedly be our Enemies which she knew had yet practised some Impostures and deceitful Tricks of Legerdemain, to abuse both the one and the other of us, and therefore I besought her that we might have an Interview and Parley to clarify the matter by a mutual Conference together.  
That Letter was given into her own proper hand by reason I had ordered a Slave with whom I had given it in charge to attend and wait certainly even a whole entire day, that he might deliver it himself to herself in particular. What certainly soever that Telesile could believe to be of my Fidelity because she had seen it with her own eyes, my Letter began to give her therefore some diffidence and mistrust of my Enemies, and disposed her Mind to those Manifestations, illustrating of matters and things as I had desired her. She therefore said to my Slave that he should attend an answer, and writ me the most favourable that I could have desired by which she gave me time till the Morrow.  
Would you believe the malice of Cleonime, illustrious Shepherds? Whilst that Telesile wrote, my Brother-in-Law having understood that my Slave attented in the next Chamber, sent to fetch him under pretext of being willing to know and inquire after my Health, and after having directly drawn from him all that he could wish, he knew to take it in such a manner, at least that he corrupted his Fidedelity with Money and Promises, and disposed him to bring even to him the Letter or Ticket that Telesile had given him for me, and came and told me afterwards, that she could not read my Letter by reason of the Company that was with her: but that she had appointed him to return to carry back the Answer the ensuing day. I accordingly sent him with an Impatience which made that night seem to me as half an age; That Slave instead of going to Telesile, who had given no order (having given him her Answer the preceding Evening) returned to my Brother-in-Law to take new Instructions to abuse me; and Cleonime having since the Evening engaged the maiden Servant of Telesile to steal the Letter that I had written to his Mistress, tore it in a thousand pieces, put it into the hands of my Slave and sending it to me, with command from Telesile, that that was the answer that she was not willing to make before the Company the preceding day.  
It's true, I could hardly contain myself, being so transported with Rage and Fury by reason of those outrageous Marks and Tokens of her so despising and undervaluing me, and the thoughts of her scornful Dis-estimation and Contempt of me. At length I resolved to go there personally and see her the self same day, and to discourse her vocally, and if I could draw no satisfaction, I resolved to reproach her a thousand times and never to re-visit her. In entering into the Court, I perceived her at the Window, whence she briskly retired after she had seen me, but I omitted not to observe in her a cheerful and jocund Countenance and Aspect, she placed herself there, but to expect me, believing that the had delivered me her Letter, all her Joy proceeded from her sight of me, and when she so briskly retired, 'twas least that Cleonime and Aristoxene, who were with her and whom she could not be able to prevent nor defeat, that they should not perceive our Randezvous. In the Interim, when I enquired whether she were there, they answered me, no; and upon my alleging to them that I had seen her, they avowed me, that she was there, but was indisposed and therefore not to be seen by any; I further did reply I saw her very pleasant with a cheerful Countenance and thereupon, he with whom I spoke, confidently confessed to me, that she was well and in perfect Health, but the Truth was, that she had laid a command upon them, to make me this answer, because she was with Aristoxene and that she had prohibited them to declare it unto me.  
And indeed at the self same time, I saw Aristoxene laughing very loud very near to her Window, who being there with my Brother Cleonime on purpose, with a design, that I might come and find them there, and so continued and affected to brave and affront me with his manifestly, open and apparent Favour. There was then no further means to refrain my Jealousy. I would not however give my Rival the content of being a Testimony of my discontent, but contrarily retired wholly silent, affecting I know not what kind of indifferency, that they might rather occasion him to understand, that I rather came to visit Cleonime than Telesile; and on the other side likewise, howsoever, to satisfy the extreme desire of Vengeance, which I had conceived, and having shut up myself at home, I there wrote two Letters, both befitting the rage and fury wherewith I felt myself transported. I have almost some repugnance to repeat you what that was I wrote to Telesile, for you would possibly have difficulty to pardon me my transport, if you did not conceive that a Man the more he less Loves, is he capable to preserve reason and respect in his Jealousy, and if you cannot excuse the Follies of a man infinitely amorous, and who believes himself exceedingly undervalved. And behold the Terms.  
AGAMEE to TELESILE.  
THere was nothing more firmly and strongly tied and fastened me unto you, that would have occasion of so many Artifices to have set myself at so great a distance, and if you had less dissembled, I would have eased you of much Trouble; For future, seek none to conceal yourself from me, since I promise you, I will never take any to search after you, the only Passion that remains with me is the shame of having lost much time to do it, and all that I desire, is, that you will only not remember me, as I promise to Banish you for ever out of remembrance.  
AGAMEE.  
The other was a Letter of defiance after the same stile, which I sent to Aristoxene, where I remarked him, not as a Rival, nor as a Man whose fortune I would have envied, but I only considered the affected Insultation wherewith he braved me, and to do it at the House of Telesile, and 'twas simply for that I pretended that he should do me reason and give me Satisfaction.  
They omitted not to deliver my Letter to Telesile, for 'twas too conformable to the intention that our Enemies had to divide us. I did not then receive any reply, only I afterwards knew, that she fell into a Swoon with Grief in reading that Letter, and you will see what was the sequel.  
As for Aristoxene he fiercely answered me, that he had accepted my Challenge, but he had promised Telesile not to fight me, till he had first consummated his Marriage with her; and if I were in his place, I would not violently infringe so solemn an Oath, and that he promised and protested that he would afterwards give me satisfaction with the self same hand, wherewith he would formerly have received the Fidelity of Telesile.  
That Bravado, and unseasonable swaggering put me out of myself; I resolved to seek him out by all means imaginable to force him to handle his Sword, and gave him to understand, that where ever I found him, I would treat him as a Coward and a Person of no Honour. But be it that he apprehended the encountering of a desperate and despairing One, be it that he judged the Air of the Country was or would be necessary to Telesile for the restoring of Telesile to Health and recovering from that debility wherein she had been and was: in so much that Cleonime and his Wife, conducted her the succeeding day to a House in the Fields which they had some certain furlongs from Athens, where Aristoxene accompanied them.  
He held himself so confident of his Conquest, that he openly and publicly declared to all his. Friends, that he went there to despouse and marry her, and in truth and effect he carried a considerable quantity of Preparatives there, as if there he would have celebrated his Marriage.  
The Report thereof was already almost certain in Athens, and there were some who even believed that it was done. When in a Morning being yet in my Bed, they came and told me a Cook asked to speak with me, who having been introduced, rendered me this Letter.  
TELESILE to AGAMEE.  
THe outrage and injury you have done me, is too great to make me believe you had done it me with willingness of Heart, and the more I think thereof, the less could I have imagined that you had writ to me after that method and manner, if they not made you believe that I had given you Subject or cause it is true that even in this case, your Credulity could not nor ought not to be excusable: But in the Conclusion, I had rather Sin through or by too much indulgence for my Friends than to condemn them, as you have done me without understanding them. Answer me by this same Man whom I have sent you, and believe what ever they have been possibly able to say unto you, there never was change nor dissimulation in the heart of.  
TELESILE.  
I can in no wise depaint you, the great but pleasant Surprise wherein I was in the receiving this Letter, I considered her as a criminal to whom one should have given Grace and Favour; I kissed it a thousand times, with a thousand Transports, and having understood by him who gave it me, the fallacious Reports that ran abroad of the Marriage of Telesile, and how she had counterfeited herself Sick, to undeceive them all, I took Horse the same Hour, and having engaged that Man for my Interests, by a Liberality considerable enough, I went with him to his Cottage, which was in the neighbourhood of Cleonime. I had resolved to have sent him directly to Telesile, to inform her of the place where I was, and to have demanded a place of mutual Conference where we might treat together: but my ordinary misfortune would have it, that as I was come there on a Gallop through the impatiency of my Love, the Peasant who had overheated himself in following me, fell sick of a Pleurisy which having given him trouble enough to recover his House, constrained him upon his arrival to take his Bed. Behold me therefore disappointed; for this Man was so poor that he had no domestics nor menial Servants, I durst not confide in any Person within the Neighbourhood, the major part of them being Farmers to Cleonime; and moreover I had been deceived by so many Persons, that I mistrusted all the World. I knew not how then to do, I knew not; You will possibly laugh at the Folly that I am going to tell you of: But conceive for my excuse, that which Love hath caused the Gods frequently to do themselves. Hath it not often times made them change themselves into men? Hath it not made Jupiter to take upon him the ridiculous form of an old Man? Hath it not made them even carry themselves and hid and conceal themselves under forms much more strange? I will therefore say nothing unto you, I believe that will astonish you, when I recount you that my design being to Parley with Telesile, without discovery of that which was, and not being able to do it, but in the House of my Brother, where my Countenance was unknown to none there. I habited myself with the most tottering and ragged Apparel that I could find in the House of the poor Peasant, afterwards I girded thereon a Sword with a very ill gierse or piece of Leather, and having put a great Emplaster upon one of my eyes, walked as a maimed Soldier, even to the House of Cleonime. I stayed near enough in a Wood, which is over-right against the principal Gate, and which crosseth or thwarteth a long Alley, where the ordinary walk is; that there was also the place where the Peasant had told me he ought to give an answer to Telesile. I hide myself in a certain place, where I could commodiously see all those who came out and entered, and I had not waited there an hour, but I saw Telesile come forth, unready or undressed, with a Cane in one hand, on which she leaned as one Sick. Aristoxene followed her and I observed him frequently offering to present her his hand to aid her in walking: But I also remarked she still refused it, and even stayed there a long time without coming forward, as thereby denoting that she would not departed thence, till he was returned and would re-enter: But Aristoxene persisting and continuing obstinate also, more and more, in his Importunate Civility, I waited the event, with a strange palpitation of heart: for you may sufficiently judge how much more advantageous it had been for me to see Telesile come alone, than accompanied with my Rival.  
In fine, their Contestation was terminated by the arrival of my Sister, which obliged Aristoxene to re-enter, on the Supplication that Telesile had made her: But in recompense she would accompany her, not judging, but in the indisposition, wherein she had signified herself to be, she should leave her there to walk all alone. So that behold, my Case grew worse and worse, for if there were danger in my being known by Aristoxene, there seemed yet more difficulty, but that I should be known by my own Sister. However I left them to come forward, and when they were almost over right me, I came out from the Place wherein I was, and appearing in the middle of the Alley, I also went forward toward them with Hat in hand, kissing the other and stretching it out, and in the end, in't the posture of one whom we call an idle lazy, and lousy Vagabond Beggar, who asked an Alms. The sudden Apparition of my underground and odd lurking Posture, and Form; did so strangely surprise them both, by the fear wherewith they had been seized they turned to the one and the other, although that Telesile who before made a show of not being to uphold herself but by a Cane remembered herself not of her pretended and feigned Indisposition.  
They ran even so unto the very Gate, without so much as daring to look behind them; and met Cleonime and Aristoxene in the Court, to whom they recounted the terrible fright wherein they had been, immediately Cleonime opened the Gate to see me, and Aristoxene himself came there. They saw me yet in the same Alley, where I walked slowly, and where, all in Confusion and disquieted, in having lost that occasion of making myself known to Telesile, by some twinkling of an Eye or some other Sign as I had expected, I entered into some means of refinding anew. As soon as I saw Cleonime and Aristoxene look upon me, I feared they would advance towards me to make me some demand, for which reason I would have been well pleased to shun and avoid: but I dreamt that if I testified any kind of Propensity and Inclination to shun them, that would but have augmented the suspicion of my Sister and Telesile, and might make them think I was some Thief: behold wherefore that as far off as I saw them, I put off my Hat, and went forward even within forty or fifty Paces from them, still stretching out my Arm, in a supplicating Posture, muttering forth some Words as a Passenger which demanded or entreated their Charity, Cleonime took me for such a one, and because my Sister had assured him that I was some Hobgoblin, Ghost or ill Spirit, he betook him to laugh and jest, whilst he searched his Pocket; he took out some money which he gave to a Slave to give me. Aristoxene, who would have appeared liberal before his Mistress fumbled, groped, or digged and searched his, and sent me a piece of Gold by the same Slave.  
Some inquietude or disturbance which Passion caused in me the fantastical and toyish Humour of that Adventure, which made me have the Alms of my Brother and Rival, seemed to me to have something of extraordinary and so pleasant, that I had Pain and Trouble to receive it in a cool sense, however I counterfeited my Personage the best I could, and having said to the Slave with a Voice and Countenance the most Counterfeiting that I could possible, that I was obliged to pray to the Gods for them; I besought him to demand something for me of those Ladies, and to tell them that it was not simply for myself, but for Poor Marsias their Neighbour and my Brother, and whom I had found very Sick at my return from the Army. You will remark that Marsias was the poor Peasant whom Telesile had sent me; and I said this to give her some Diffidence or Mistrust of the Truth or at least some curiosity that she might speak with me. That Slave did them my Message, which failed not to produce in Telesile the effect I expected, not that she had any kind of Diffidence of what I was, but it seized on her immediately with an extreme impatience to speak with me to know if Marcias' had not had some Charge of a Letter from me to her. The difficulty was to be able to do it without giving some Suspicion; and my Sister herself was an occasion of giving Birth to one in her unawares, for as she was charitable enough, and knew this poor Man who was accustomed usually to go and ask an Alms of her, she sent word to me that I should come in the evening, and that they should give me some remainders of the Supper to bring to him.  
As for Telesile, she then sent me nothing, but privately gave order to one of the Servant Maidens of my Sister, for she began to mistrust her own to spy out the time when I would return, and to go and inform her. That Maiden who had received some good by Her means from my Sister, and was very ready to serve her, held herself so heedy and wary that she discerned me from the very moment when I first appeared, and as it was early enough, because I had done no other than to sink or thrust into the Wood without going further, it was found they had not yet sat at Table to Supper. Telesile having been informed and willingly desiring to manage the occasion of speaking with me all alone, prayed the Company to excuse her sitting at the Table at that time seeming willing to attempt a little abstinence which she supposed might be a Means to ease her.  
She went out even then when she saw them sat down, as fearing to be tempted to eat in seeing them so to do; and in the mean time having made a Turn in the Garden, she went out at a Postern and came to find me under some Trees where she commanded them to speak to me to expect her. The fear she had lest some of the Domestics should perceive her, hindered her to come directly to me; she took her Turn by a lower way, then returned within twenty Paces of me, as by accident, she called me without staying, and almost without beholding me telling me that she came with me, and went to cause to be given me what she had promised me. I followed her, I will not tell you, with what palpitation and emotion of Heart, turbulence or agitation of Spirit, for that cannot possibly be spoken; and as she asked me still in walking and even without looking behind her, how Marsias was in point of health, and since when he was Sick? Madam, replied I very softly, he was not in Bed but this day. But there is another Person Sick since a longer time, and fell Sick as well as Marsias at your Service, who hath much more need than he of your Care, and for whom I demand of you, a little Succour and Compassion. These words, and the sound and tone of my Voice, which I no more disguised nor dissembled, smote the Heart of Telesile; she turned about to consider me, all surprised, and she saw that I had taken of the Emplaster which had hid a part of my Face; She very soon knew the Lineaments and Features when she could not doubt but that it was I, that she was even at the point of crying out. However she refrained, and turning herself wholly towards me, she joined her hands together, and in the end began to smile to see me in this State. Madam, said I unto her, undoubtedly the Equipage wherein you see me surpriseth you: But 'tis that of a miserable One, who comes to do Penance for his Faults casting himself at your Knees to demand your Pardon, and to be subject to those Pains which your Pleasure shall impose. On these words, I would have effectually have fallen at her Feet, but Telesile considering more prudentially that I was not capable to conserve on that occasion, but that there might pass by some one, by whom I might be seen, retained me, and still casting her eyes now here, now there, for the fear she had lest we should be perceived: Agamée, said she unto him, This here is not the place where we ought to deliberate, return only to finish your motion of a Beggar, and the night being come, you shall be permitted to reassume that of Agamée. She added, that I should render myself firmly that very night at the door of her Chamber, by a small Ladder, or Stairs stolen which descends from her Chamber into the Garden, and that I should there hear News of her.  
I failed not at the time assigned, nor she to retire early under pretext of her Indisposition. I was introduced into her Chamber at the precise hour by that self same Servant whom she had already employed to inform her of my return. Good Gods! what pleasing Transports, and what had I not of ravishing Joy? expect it not from me that I should by retail recite you, the particulars of our Conversation, for I had too much emotion and agitation upon my Heart and in my Breast, to be able myself to heed all that which we mutually said. Only I know well, that after she had sweetly and softly lifted me up from her feet, where I left myself to fall at my approaching her, and after she had a thousand times justly reproached me, but obligingly in point of my furious Transportation, we at last enlightened ourselves interchangeably with the Cheats and Impostures and Tricks of Legerdemain, by which they had divided us; and we protested a hundred times, not to suffer nor leave ourselves to be any more surprised with the Artifices of our Enemies: We swore an eternal and inviolable Friendship, and we tasted in conclusion, whilst two hours lasted, the entertainments of all the innocent Pleasures of this sweet Peace, which reconciles two Lovers, after the alarms and transports of Jealousy, and who after some days of Division, reunites Friendship and Amity, to the degrees of the greatest Tenderness and Perfection.  
But fortune willed not too much nor would suffer, that I had so much contentment without making me pay dear enough for it. Misfortune would that Cleonime went very late to walk in the Garden, and seeing light in the Chamber of Telesile by the Windows that opened over it, he feared lest some ill Accident might occur unto her unawares, or, that she might find herself more indisposed than before, by reason that retiring herself so early, she had pretended it was with a design to go to Bed. He therefore went readily to the little Ladder or Scales, whereof I have spoken unto you, and finding it open he ascended and came and knocked softly at that of the Chamber of Telesile. Behold Telesile well alarmed, and I was little less than she; not for any fear that I had for myself, but only for the apprehension I had for her, for as much as I had rather have died than to have been the cause that her Honour and Reputation should receive the least Attaint. I counselled her not to answer at all, and the Counsel succeeded immediately because that, Cleonime not hearing any noise in the Chamber believed in effect that his Sister slept, but he went into that of the Maidens by a little Gallery which answers to the same Stairs, to demand of the Servant of Telesile why they saw a Fire in the Chamber of her Mistress. That Maiden from whom Telesile had concealed in the just mistrust of what we have said, answered, that she had there left it because that her Mistress betaking herself to read, had sent her away, and told her that she would unclothe and undress herself all alone when she would lie down. Cleonime fearing thereupon that his Sister sleeping might have forgotten to extinguish the Light, lest the House might be set on Fire, returned with that same Maiden to knock at the same door which he had done before, and no Body answering, he knocked more roundly and called Telesile to awake her. Behold us then in new Trances and Troubles. I risen up as softly as possibly I could and hid myself behind the hanging of Tapestry, whilst that Telesile, as if the noise had awaked Telesile, demanded who was there, Cleonime naming himself, told her the Subject of his Apprehension, and believing that she was lain down, prayed her only to quench the Fire, and afterwards returned to the place from whence he came, I returned smiling from the alarm we had had: but Telesile who had no more rest than she had seen herself out of the danger where she had found herself, ceased not to press me to be gone and at length dismissed me; I went out with a thousand Regrets, and having against all hazards replaced my Emplaster, I descended by the same Stairs by which I mounted; but it happened that Cleonime who had met or found the Gate which leads to the Garden open, fearing lest the negligence of those who had the care of fastening it, had made it fly open, he sent one of his Servants to lock it with the Key, and that Servant arrived there just at the Instant I was going forth. He had no light with him, but heard me by the noise, and asked who came there, I would have shunned him by favour of obscurity without a reply; This Man, who was both bold and powerful, seeing me betwixt light and darkness, or having had but a Glimpse of me and seized of my Neck; he repelled and indeavourd to force me back into the Lodgings, and as you see that I am not of those that are of the highest Pitch nor Stature, nor yet the strongest, he felled me to the Ground, although with pain enough even to the nether most Step or lowest; He cried out a Thief, on my resistance. I smothered as was possible his Voice, in placing my Hand before his Mouth, I prayed him to understand me and I would make his Fortune. But I gained nothing upon his inclination, he continued still to cry out, and I endeavoured to hinder the sounding of his Voice, by my hand, wherewith I shut his Mouth as well as I was able. By good Fortune these Stairs were at the corner of the Lodgings and answered not but only to the Chamber of Telesile and to that Gallery at one end whereof was the Chamber of the Maiden Servants; and for as much as the Gallery was very long that there was two doors locked upon it, to wit, that of their Chamber and that of the Gallery, and that at the self same hour so cried out that they also might possibly make some Noise, in so much that they might hear nothing of ours, and that the voice of that Servant almost smothered, losing itself on the Stairs, was not heard nor understood but by Telesile.  
Telesile therefore lent her ear there, and mistrusting one part of the Truth, she cast about herself a night Gown or Chamber Mantle, and descended all trembling, bringing a light with her. She found us both tumbling upon the ground, and as I ceased resisting, after I had discerned her, the Servant took hold of my Collar or Throat and lifting up himself from above me, he told her that I was a Thief whom he had then surprised and that he must bring me to Cleonime. Telesile, who then apprehended more than I did, that he might not bring me there, said unto him, that it was not convenient at such a time as that was, to give an alarm to her Brother, but that it was only needful to take from me my Sword, and to shut me up, in some certain place, till the next day.  
What difference soever that Man had with her, he would never thereunto consent nor accord with her, and he told her he was well assured that Cleonime was not gone to Bed as yet. As she saw that, she proposed to him to shut me up at least in some certain place, whilst he should go and inform his Master, remonstrating to him, that he was not strong enough to hale or draw me there forcibly in despite or against my Will, and that I might escape him. That advice seemed very pertinent and rational and very seasonable and good; she caused me herself to place me in a little Cabinet or Closet which was under her Chamber, where the Windows were withered or grated, and which she fastened with a Bolt before him: but while he went to inform Cleonime, she opened the Gate of my Prison (where I was with enough of inquietude to know by what manner I might be able to get forth, because that Slave had locked the door of the Garden even with the Key,) and without giving me time to speak any thing to her, she led me to a low Window of the Stairs, which she opened unto me, and by which she appointed me to retire. I easily leapt from that Window into the Garden, whence I went to the House of the good Man Marcias', with Subject enough of laughing at my Adventure, if the Regret that I had, for Telesile had not taken away all my Pleasure. The succeeding day I returned to Athens, where I understood the alarm that had been all the Night in the House of Cleonime, and that Telesile had directly cast all the fault of my escaping forth, upon the Slave, as if he had forgotten well to fasten the Bolt of the Closet, where she had caused me to be Imprisoned, so that they had not the least suspicion of the Truth.  
In the interim, I attended with impatience the return of my Mistress to Athens, and there had already eight days expired, that I was come there, more and better assured of her Fidelity and Constancy; when an Uncle of Aristoxene dying, left him Heir of the Inheritance whom all the World reputed so opulent, that they believed that he was become one of the wealthiest and richest of all the Men of Athens. All that alarmed me not, by reason I had known so much generosity in the Soul of Telesile, that I believed her uncapable of being tempted by the Riches, even of the King of Persia. Also she had assuredly rejected for my sake, Persons very considerable in her Youth, and undoubtedly much more considerable than Aristoxene formerly was: But it was as I have have told you in the time of her Youth, that she had done it, and her Soul had not as then the leisure to be left to be corrupted by the passions of Ambition and Avaricious Covetousness: Would you doubt you Illustrious, Generous Shepherds of this perfide? This generous and constant Maiden, from whom I had so lately received Testimonies and Assurances, so perfect of an Amity and Friendship so tender, that I would rather have doubted of my own  fidelity, than of hers; No sooner therefore knew she that Aristoxene was elevated to so high a degree of Fortune; but she all at once changed her Sentiments and Heart.  
She no more remembered neither my Love, nor her own Asseverations and Solemn Oaths; she left herself to be charmed by the hopes of an Imaginary Grandeur or Greatness: In fine, she quitted and abandoned me altogether, and sold herself (for so we may say) to Aristoxene. It must be avowed that never a change did so much surprise me as did that, and that the Marriage being made with much Precipitancy, and without the giving me leisure to prepare myself thereto; I knew it for two days without believing it, nor could I give credit thereunto. However I had more despite than regret, as I may so say, for I would not have had Telesile with all the wealth of Aristoxene, when once I knew her capable of such a high piece of Perfidy: So that I soon consolated myself, and I even rejoiced in the end to have been disabused of my error, before I had been engaged farther with a Woman so Treacherously Disloyal.  
And in very deed it is true, that I had yet the pleasure to be soon Revenged: for it was found that the Uncle of Aristoxene having intermeddled himself, and being crowded and pestered with so great a bulk and quantity of business and affairs during his Life. All his great wealth consisted, in effect, that he was only capable to Disintricate and Unpester and Disentangle himself; even in such sort that one great Merchant, who had been owing him great Immense and vast Sums, being come to be made a Bankrupt, all the high fortune of Aristoxene was but a dream of some Months at the end, whereof he was not a whit better accommodated than he had been before.  
But I made an Irreparable fault by not becoming wise by experience; and to believe yet after that repose or rest, may be fastened to the possession of a Woman after the having suffered so many pains and evils by a Woman, whom I had I apprehended so well tried and proved, and whom I believed to be the perfectest of all. In fine, Shepherds, I resembled those Travellers whom the rest of some few days makes them lose the memory of a painful and dangerous Shipwreck, and that without remembering themselves of the peril that they have gone through; they reimbarque inconsiderately upon the same Sea whereon they were so ill treated by a Tempestuous Storm. It is true, I resolved never any more to fasten myself, neither to the Beauty of the Body, nor yet to that of the mind, wherewith I was charmed by Telesile. I call to mind what I have heard say was spoken by our wise Men, commonly called Sages; That which is most desirable and pleasant in a Mistress, is not that which is most to be wished in a Woman: That the rarest Beauties become ordinary by custom, and that Helena for to be the Fairest and most Gallant of the Greeks omitted not to render Menelaus the most unfortunate of Husbands.  
I therefore fixed myself by the advice of my Friends to a Widow, named Esinie, the credit and reputation of whose wisdom, piety and Occonomie passed for an example of Virtue amongst Women. They told me she had lived well with her Husband, though he was neither well Conditioned, Witty nor Wise, nor whose humour rendered him any way pleasant nor considerable unto her; And in very deed, a good part of those things wherewith they vauntingly boasted, was very true; for 'tis certain that out of her Menagery and the Temple, she had had no other tye than for her Husband. All the time I saw her before our Marriage, there never appeared unto me an humour more sweet, more Complaisant nor more Commodiously apt and pertinently fit and convenient than that of Esinie. As for the rest, although she was not Fair, she had nothing Disamiable nor Unpleasant, and she had Wealth reasonably sufficient for the condition wherein I then lived. In a word, when I Married her, I thought I could have lived with her in a profound peace with much Tranquillity, and being loosened and disintangled from Ambition, as I was, I believed myself to have been one of the most happy and Fortunate Men in the whole Universe. In the Interim, (it is here Tarsis that I demand and require your particular attention, and these three words, that remain more for me to tell you, should or ought to make your consolation and all those Unfortunate Lovers) In the mean, I say I Espoused her, and found myself very far distant from my account. All my happiness consisted in hopes, and I soon knew the truth of what I had heard spoken to a great Personage, that its needful to espouse a Woman to know her; and as another Philosopher said, we must not Judge by the Shoe, because 'tis handsome and well made, since it is not but in the wearing of it that we discover whether it hurts us. It sits too ill upon a Man to discover the secrets of his homely affairs, to entertain you here by retail, our matters they ought to be mysteries, kept also as secretly as were those of Ceres: But that which I can tell you, that all Wise, all Pious, all Fixed to the interest of her Husband and his Affairs. In fine, all the virtues which seemed to meet in Esinie, she knew how to persecute me by an Execution and Torment of these fair and Lovely Virtues, in such a manner, that after six years' patience, she rendered my Marriage and my Domestics so sadly Unsupportable, that I was forcibly constrained to quit and abandon all, and I resolved to quit her for lost, if I could, even unto a remembrance, and never more have that object of Anguish and trouble before mine Eyes. In fine, Illustrious Shepherds, after some other Voyages which I have made, having heard so often speak of the Sweetness and Pleasure and of the Tranquillity of your Life, I came there to pass or spend some time amongst you, if you will consent to receive me there.  
When Agamée had spoken and finished his Discourse, Telamonius reassumed his Speech on behalf of all, to signify to him that they would esteem it a great honour to have such an Host amongst them, for he called to mind that whilst his discourse lasted to have heard say to some that came from Athens that Agamée had been made an Areopagite four or five years since, by the Suffrage of the Progeny of the Stock-race and Families, and that he was the most considerable of the Senate. Agamée had not in any thing intermeddled with or in his own History, because he despised all that strange Honour which came from Dignities and Offices, and that he was too much a Philosopher to make that a case which was derived from Virtue. Also he did honour to himself in estimating merit, because he extremely had it: for over and above that he naturally had very much Wit, had he Cultivated it by the Study of excellent Literature, and there were very few Sciences whereof both in despite of time and War, love and his office had taken it from him, he had notwithstanding the first and Principal Knowledges, Familiarity, Intelligence and Apprehension; His Age was but forty years, however his Domestic cares had changed the colour of his Hair, which being naturally black, began already to be mixed with white. His Temperature was Choleric and Testy and yet Melancholy; his Air fierce and furious, although his Pitch in point of height and stature was not great, and yet he was more in Discourse than Countenance. But it was not but with them whom he knew not, or with the great ones which he apprehended with contempt and scorn; with his equals and inferiors there was not any more facile nor more submissive, and as he could not hold any Person whatsoever above him, so he held none below him. In one word he knew no difference amongst Men, but those that merited and had Virtues. Also Telamonius contented himself, not only to signify to him the Joy which he should have, to see him amongst them: but he reiterated him the offer of his House, which he had already made the preceding days, and prayed him with new Instances to accept it. No, replied Agamée, at arrival I descended the day before Yesterday at evening at the House of the knowing Nephelocrate, who hath, as all Greece knows, flourished at the Bar of Athens in the reputation of a knowing Jurisconsult or Lawyer, and whom the desire of Rest hath alured and enticed amongst you for above two years. I shall offend him if I shall take any other Lodging than his: I will not be incomodious to any but him alone. As for tor others, I will endeavour to contribute to their Divertisements for my part, and I am already sorry to be to you of no Utilities; in causing Tarsis to see by an example so pressing, that we know not what we wish when we wish for a Woman, and that which we call an unfortunate success in Love causeth very frequently our sovereign Happiness. In saying this, he arose from amidst the place where he sat, and the Shepherds did like to advance on their Way.  
During all the Discourse of Agamée, Tarsis was always buried in profound and idle Fancies, and he had almost understood nothing of that History: But he awaked at the Close, when he heard himself named by Agamée, & he answered him thus: Pardon me Agamée, if I tell you that a particular example concludes nothing in things so general, and if we were to Combat and Contest with examples on the Subject of my Sorrow, I would make you see Women who lived so well with their Husbands and Marriages, so suited, matched & garnished in so perfect a mutual Concord, that you yourself would avow to me that Persons that so live, surpass in Felicity all the rest of the Earth, and that he, who loveth a Mistress, capable of giving him these Contentments, looseth all that which there is of the most rare and the most precious in the World. You say very well Tarsis, replied the Areopagite, that is all that there is of the most rare. For I pray you, where are those Mistresses, and who is able to be assured of finding one? you see enough of fair Women, you even see the most sweet and the most Complaisant for their Husbands: But the fair are Prattling and Proud Gossips, a fisking or flipperous Minx, the spiritual, Glorious or Fantastical, the Sweet, and the Complaisant have other faults and defects, which are not less, and who make their Virtue to be very dear bought.  
Never a Husband renders them any thing to their Liking, the Complaisance they have for him, and as they are ordinarily fixed to their Carriage, they would also that a Man had there the same Tie as they. It must be so that he renounce his Friends, his Acquaintance, and as I may say, even him his own self, to fasten himself entirely to his Wife and her Conduct; where all their sweet Pleasures and Complaisance converts its self into Acrimony, Exasperation and Aggravations, and wilful obstinacy. Now Tarsis I know very well, that they still seem better to be than they usually are, and I myself thought it the first, and thought it even so as you have been able to see with enough of appearance.  
In the interim, I have been deceived as others have also, and I can say that very many others are, and shall be as I. I would not therefore go far, replied Tarsis, to seek you out an example of these happy Marriages whereof I speak. I would not that of Telamonius, whom you see with Philiste: and this Marriage, Agamée, gives me occasion, and ground to pretend a semblable Happiness; for silly is Sister to Philiste, they are of the same Blood, they have had the very self same Education, & their inclinations, mode & manner, had a Sympathy yet more than fraternal.  
It is true continued, Ergaste, that I never have had a desire to be married but when I have seen Telamonius and Philiste in their Conduct and menagery of Matters. This pleasant Sweetness, this respectful Familiarity, and this mutual Complaisance, which they have one for another, hath made me to take them a hundred times for a Model of two happy Persons and I believe if there be any felicity in the World, it is in a Marriage such as is theirs.  
Ergaste! replied Telamonius laughing, you remember yourself no more of that which Agamée hath lately told you, that it is not necessary to confide in appearances. Think you that Philiste and myself go to show our ill Humours before you? seriously added Celemante, I would believe Telamonius and Philiste happy, if they could be so still in the Marriage State. But I am of Agamée's side; But yet howsoever, not for the same Reasons as he; for I believe not that it is so very difficult as he makes it, to find wise Women, and good Marriages: But that which I uphold, that even the Pleasures and sweetest Delights of the best Marriages, are pains incompatible and disagreeing with Rest and Pleasure. I speak not that it must be so, that a Man who will live in this State, renounceth, as he hath said, his Friends, his Liberty and himself, to give himself up wholly and entirely to a Woman, although these be the ordinary Reasons; for I very well conceive, that when one loves a Woman very well, one willingly quits all others for her, by reason that with her, he passeth easily by from all the rest. But that which I believe, is that this self same Love and this same Amity and Friendship which you call the happiness of Marriages, are even themselves the greatest Misery of the World. See I pray you two Persons who mutually love one another, as Telamonius and Philiste. One of the two, are either of them Sick, it must be that both suffer, the one through his Malady the other of that of his Companion; for love and Amity have that of Evil, that they make you Sick enough of the Malady or Disease of those whom you love: But if you are sick yourself they never make you whole by their Health, much worse, both the one and the other, are they in Health? You see them always in he apprehension that one of both falls again or Relapseth. The one is he more ruddy than ordinary? The other seemeth unto him to be Paler, Doth he sleep? Or Yawneth or Gapeth he, at an unseasonable time, or out of time? Behold the Inquietude that he is in who perceives it, and behold both of them sick of their folly when they are not of another evil. Tarsis it were better for him to do as I do: To live of himself alone, not only exempted from Love, but even exempted from all Friendship; if it be not that simple Friendship, which ordinarily they call good Will, which must be had for Decency, Comeliness, Congruity and Correspondency, nay even tor civil Society: I speak by experience, and as Jupiter and Juno had recourse to Tiresias to know which was most pleasant to be a Man or a Woman, because he had been both; It must also be so, that they come to me to know which it is to be best; Amorous, a Friend or Indifferent; for favours to Ergaste and to one of your Fair Ladies of Athens; I have been all three one after the other, and am returned from Love and Friendship.  
Agamée, Telamonius and Ergaste, could not refrain from Laughing, all the discourse of Celemante, and Ergaste replied thereunto in these terms; Were it even so, Celemante, That thou never hast had neither Love nor Friendship, but quite on the contrary, all that thou says there, made us see that thou never hadst had, neither the one nor the other; if it were not a false and counterfeit Friendship. For seest thou my Friend? It is of Virtue as 'tis of Coin; there is of that which is True, there is of that which is False: Both the one and the other have a Similitude, but there is much difference within, for as the true and real Coin is of Gold or of Silver within, and the false, is not but of Iron or of some other ill mottle or matter; so true Love is no other than joy and pleasure within, I say within even the very Inquietudes which thou blamest so much. There where, in that which is false, it's no other than pains and tiresome Lassitudes, Weariness, Tediousness, Vexation, Toil. For a man who intermeddleth, in giving me Lessons upon the subject of Love, replied Celemante, it seems to me, thou knowst little what it imports or meaneth; since thou callest Love a Virtue, that which is but only a passion: And that is truly, that in which thou deceivest thyself, replied Ergaste, for Love which is but a passion, is that very thing which is false and counterfeit; but know thou my poor Celemante, that there is another Love that is a Virtue, which is between a Husband and a Wife, and which also may possibly be between a Lover and his Mistress, when 'tis founded upon true merit: Now it's even this, which not only is full of Tranquillity, but which knows how even to change pains and vexatious troubles into rest.  
Without lying or dissembling, I find thee admirable, replied Celemante, to be willing to speak of the Tranquillity of Love; Thou who art always seen at every moment to be at discord with thy Mistress, and to whom thou pretendest Love, as others do to make quarrels; In very deed thy Love and Friendship are therefore very false and counterfeit, since that be it with Arelise, be it with me, they have always caused thee so much trouble. I avow it thee, replied Ergaste, but I have this consolation, that it hath not been my fault that they were not true: for thou knowest that which Love and Friendship saith, it is that there is correspondency between Hearts.  
Now I have not found this correspondence in either of the Persons whom I have Loved, because I have had an unfaithful Friend and an ungrateful Mistress; And therefore I have been able to make neither a true Love, nor yet a true Friendship. Listen, Ergaste, said Celemante, I say in this 'tis an ill sign to thee, that 'tis thou art he alone, who calls us unfaithful and ungrateful, and therefore both of us are met and assembled here to call thee thy very names. Celemante, replied Ergaste, The greatest number are not frequently those who are the wisest.  
In saying this they came to the height of a little Hillock, whence they perceived Philiste, who returned from another way, in the company of two other Shepherdesses; from that distance that Tarsis had perceived them, he readily ran towards them, to ask them if they had not had any news of Zelie, because he knew that they returned from Callioure, where they were gone to see Melicerte very early, and where they had dined. Agamée and the three Shepherds followed Tarsis, and in walking, the Areopagite besought Telamonius to tell him who were those three Shepherdesses.  
She whom thou sawest on the right hand, (answered Telamonius) who hath black Hair and is Hawk-Nosed, of a very lively Hue and Dye, yet the Air a little melancholy, is named Telagie, and hath been some years a Widow of my eldest Brother. When you have had a little taste of her Conversation, you will find that there are not many more pleasant and desirable, for with her melancholy Air, you will notwithstanding, find her Wit lively pleasant, on all occasions that may be offered, and yet at the same time the most solid,  
She on the other hand is my Wife; and the third whom you see the greatest and the most beautiful, and in whom you observe the Port and that Air accompanied with a Majesty, which might possibly rather become a Princess, than a simple Shepherdess, is named Aresile, and that is the Sister of Celemante, and the Mistress of Ergaste, whereof they now spoke. She hath Spirit and Wit infinitely sparkling and glittering and her clear shining Lights are more natural than acquired: There is not a better, more frank and free, more generous, nor more pleasant than she amongst persons who are correspondent and who please her. But it is not, but only among her Friends that she lets herself be seen in her natural Parts and Accomplishments; for with others she is Cold, Serious, Insolent or disdainful, and one may almost say excellently Glorious, yet Contemning and Negligent, uncapable to use Civility to Persons whom she esteems not to be of some Quality, or that they may be so. But she hath also the same incapacity of being Treacherous and Deceitful to any Person of what sort soever he or she be. She is brisk, lively, quick and testy, and sometimes transported when she is offended or made angry, and is not always of the same Humour. There passeth her some certain inequalities in her Wits of which she herself will be the first to make pleasant Jests of, and her enemies would have trouble to find in her more Faults and Defects, than she makes observable herself to her Friends. This dejected, amated, melancholy Air which you see on her Countenance and which discoulereth even this great Beauty, is not natural to her; it's not caused but by some extraordinary Afflictions, wherewith her Life hath always been oppressed and overwhelmed.  
That which were to be wished, would be, that she might be able to cure herself of the extraordinary bent she hath, at the Defiance and the Jealousy which her Detects alone cause and make, as well as her greatest Misfortunes: for she will appear more angry than she is or can be made. It is also true, that in her Intervals she pays them with Usury, the Pains which they have caused in her; for give her leave to return she is the first that will ask for Pardon, and also will do them a thousand kindnesses and friendships; and in fine, there is not a Person whose Affection hath more of reality, tenderness and jolidity than hers upon all occasions. As for the rest, she even herself very well knows her own Defects, and therein deceives no Person; for when she makes Friendship with any one, the first thing she doth, it is to inform them of her Humour, that they may not thereby be surprised. That which astonisheth us is, how Ergaste who is naturally prompt and ready to be exreamly impatient, should be able to fasten himself into so great and high a degree of Friendship with her; and one may say that Love is as well able to unite things Incompatible and disagreeing together, if ever these two should consort & agree together. Also as you have seen Celemante and him contest one against another, although that in the bottom and foundation they were the best Friends in the World; you shall see Aresile and Ergaste almost always in dispute, although they love each other infinitely, and it would be needful to have a Person to do almost nothing else than to put them at one, and to accord and unite them.  
As Telamonius finished, they were come near to the Shepherdesses, to whom he presented Agamée. He here was surprised in observing the admirable Beauty of this Shepherdess Aresile; for all Greece had not yet shown him any that equalled her; But he was little less ravished in seeing Philiste, the honesty, the modesty, and the marvellous pleasant Sweetness which appeared in her as well as in her Countenance and in all the air of her Person, and he well observed that she was the Wife of Telamonius, and yet that Shepherd had told him nothing of her Beauty. Although there might be more Beautiful and sairer Persons than she, it had notwithstanding been difficult to find any more acceptable, graceful and exceedingly delectable.  
After the first Civilities, Philiste informed them that they had been unable to learn any thing of her Sister, although Leucippe and Melicerte had carefully sent to all Parts, and she told it them with many significations and marks of an extreme Trouble; in sequel whereof, Telamonius having declared the Shepherdesses the design of their Voyage they willingly engaged themselves to be of their Party. They continued therefore to walk together towards the Mount Olimpie. Ergaste and Celemante went before with Aresile; Agamée was near to or fast by Telamonius and Philiste; Tarsis followed in a more leisurely Pace with Telagie, who attempted to consolate him. If Telamonius and Philiste had followed their Passions, they had not spoken, but only of the loss of Zelie, and of the Dolour of Tarsis, because they had no other thing in their Minds, and were extremely afflicted: But as they believed that would have been but an ill entertainment for Agamée, they did all that might be possible to pass into other Discourse; Ergaste, Arelise and Celemante very much encouraged them in that Design. After that Ergaste had spoken a few words to Arelise what he knew of the merit and of the condition and misfortune of the Athenian, Celemante immediately began to relate to his Sister the dispute which he had had with Ergaste, and the reproach, the ingratitude and infidelity wherewith they had upbraided one another, so that they omitted not to set themselves against Ergaste. They spoke so loud, that all the others could with facility understand them, and 'twas pleasant to see the wit and the wantonness with which they waged War; Ergaste pesisted to accuse Clemante of Infidelity; Clemante contrarily undertook to make out, that he had yet much more reason wherewith to convince and vanquish Ergaste; and he here reproaching yet the Ingratitude of Arelise, she also called him ungrateful herself.  
But that pleasure had been much better for Telamonius and Philiste, if they could then have been capable to take it, than for Agamee, although that they all three appeared attentive to the Discourse: But as this last was a Stranger, he knew not the ground or subject of their Affairs or Intricacies or Intrigues: and all that he could there apprehend was, that Celemante bandied or disputed against Love and Amity; that Ergaste spoke both against the one and the other; and that Arelise forming a third Party, praised Friendship, but that she declamed against Love. Agamee very much wished to engage them to teach him the cause of this acceptable Difference: I conceive said he unto them, that its requisite and necessary that you should have a Judge deputed to set you to rights, or to reconcile you, and if I were not suspected by any person, I would thereunto offer myself, provided I were instructed of the Subject of your contest; Ay Agamée, answered Ergaste, turning himself towards him and stretching him out his Hand; I accept of you with all my Heart for our Judge; and I also, added incontinently Celemante: But with a proviso, that you will judge us to the utmost and extremest rigour, and will not reconcile us; for I will have no Peace with Ergaste, and I denounce War against him during my Life. As for me said Aresile, smiling, I would have a little time to think thereon; for as I apprehend you have been all three this day together, how know I Agamée, if it be not here some Party made, or consederated against me? or at least if they would not have preingaged you in their Favour? Fair Shepherdess, replied Agamée, I warrant you, that your Brother and Ergaste are not so well concerted, nor have so great an Understanding together to be in confederacy against you, and moreover, Ergaste will tell you that there is nothing capable to blind those lovely and lively eyes of yours. Not so pleasantly replied Arelise, (remembering herself of that little that Ergaste had related her of the History of Agamée:) but I divine that you are not at present in too good an Intelligence with Love, and that's the reason why I hope that you will be of my Party and I will also (whatever I have said,) take you for my Judge. They then were very near the Temple, therefore Telamonius interrupted them to tell them that 'twere therefore requisite to refer that famous Judgement till their return, and that also as 'twas needful that each of them should declare his Reasons and plead their cause, it were also requisite to prepare themselves therefore.   
The End of the First Book of the Second Part.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Second Part. The Second Book.  
THE Temple of Jupiter Olimpie, is so named because it is Built at the foot of Mount Olimpie, there is even a part cut in the Rock, its form and Figure is round, and little enough, its Vault is not made but out of a piece of the Rock, which naturally is advanced above it, and is wonderfully wrought; but that which therein is most rare, is that above that Vault glides a small River which takes its Spring from the Mountain, and which in its descent, surrounds the Temple with Water: You would say with a Wall of Crystal which Invironeth it. There is but a very small space of room, that they have left free for entrance, and yet there are certain Sluices or Floodgates, by means whereof, when one pleaseth, they cover it entirely. The inner part of the Temple is very rich; there are amongst others, round about a rack of Marble Pillars all white, in which there are hollow Seats, where are Statues and Images of Porphiry, of Jasper, and even some of Massy Silver and Gold: Upon the rest of these Pillars are Engraven the Loves and Revenges of Jupiter, by the most Excellent Sculptures of Greece.  
They see in the middle of the Temple a Blossom of Chrstial, Garnished and Adorned with Gold of the height of a Buttress; and in the middle of the Circuit or Girdle of this Blossom, is a small, but admirable Form and Image of Jupiter, armed with his Thunderbolt, and such as was represented him, when he thundered the Titans. It is made of a precious Stone, placed in Workmanship, by the hands of the Renowned and Famous Phidias. At the foot of the Base, whereon this small Statue is placed, is the sacred Hole where the High Priest draws up the Prophetic Vapours, which form the Oracles. To excite and encourage them it is requisite, but to cast into this hole a Bowl of Marble, whereon he Carveth or Graveth the name of him who consults him, and at the same instant these Vapours agitated and wrought, form under ground Thunders: And they see themselves to be exhaled by the same Overture or opening Smokes, which the High Priest receiveth in opening his Mouth, and so holding it above. Immediately they see him fall into a Trance, and in one moment afterwards, lifting himself up, his Visage all inflamed, his Eyes staring and roving about, his Arms and Legs trembling, and as if transported with rage and fury, he pronounceth the Oracle. He had no sooner pronounced it, than he fell again, even as if in a Lethargy, out of which he came not but the succeeding day. The many Labours which he suffered within these occasions, made him apprehend Danger, and fly away with much care; and undoubtedly, though it was the Brother of Telamonius and Tarsis, he had not received him with so much Grace and Favour, as when he gave the visit to Agamée, and to his Troop, if he had not Immediately learned the reason. But this was not but at the end, that they entertained him, by reason, that after he had Pronounced the Oracle, he was not capable of any more Conference, or Parley all the day afterwards, as we have said.  
Over against the Gate of the Temple, there is another which enters into the Mount, that is the same which is the most Surprising: For as they enter into the Rock, they think to find there a Cave or Den, or hollow place very obscure; In the mean time, they enter into a Court very large, spacious and lightsome, which Nature itself hath form in the Mountain, leaving yet an opening more broad by the height, so that the Light entering there with facility, and gathering itself, or contracting itself beneath, it maketh there also almost as much Light, as in the midst of the open Fields. It is there where the Priests Apartments are. Their Chambers are all Arched in the Rock, and they have this advantage, that there must be no going out from their Apartment, to have a fair Walk; for this same Court is surrounded with a double row of great Trees, in the midst whereof glides a small Rivulet, which falls from the Mountain by degrees, with a kind of muttering and pleasant Murmur of the World.  
Also, Agamée he was surprised with the Beauties of this place, he was yet far more satisfied with the acquaintance of the High Priest: It was one of the Brethren of Telamonius, and of Tarsis, who was named Timothy. He was Aged but a little more than forty years, although there had been already ten that he was High Priest; Before him they had not received any so young: But they had passed by the ordinary rules in consideration of his merit.  
In short, he was amiable in Countenance, well shaped in Body, and his mind was enlightened with all the requisite Accomplishments, necessary to his Profession. He was very Profound in the Sciences of the Gods, and none had ever spoke with so much Knowledge, Eloquence nor Grace as he had done, when any thing was in question, as to the instruction of the People.  
After he had received the Civilities of Agamée, and that he had rendered those of his, he made him see all the Rarities of the Place, leaving the Women in the Temple, because it was not permitted them to pass further, and he accompanied this Divertisement with many curious observations, which he made him understand, in relating to the History. He shown him amongst others, that Famous Ladder of Alexander, which is a stair hewed in the Rock, by which they ascend even to that Altar, which is at the very top of the Mount Olimpie, so much elevated above the Clouds, that the Sacrifices which they leave there every year, conserve themselves there from one year to another.  
A little after their arrival, Telamonius observing some displeasure, that crossed and troubled the Complaisance of Timothy, he resented it particularly, and as he knew the Pains of those wearisome and vexatious Intrigues which he suffered all and every time that he should necessarily pronounce an Oracle, and the disagreement that was there: My Brother, said he unto him, is it not the inquietude and the desire of Tarsis which puts you in Pain? and hath it not already entertained you? Timothy answered him, it had not, and asked him, what then was his desire. At the pronouncing these words Telamonius called Tarsis that he himself in particular should explicate it to Timothy; and thereupon Tarsis related him with Tears in his eyes the strange Adventure of Zelie, which Timothy had not known from any other, by reason of the little Commerce he had with the World. Now, added he, in regard we can have no better recourse than unto the Gods in matters and things where the debility and weakness of Men, cannot contribute any thing; I come, O my Brother! to implore your assistance, or rather that of Jupiter's, and supplicate some enlightening in my Obscurity or Blindness, and some certainty and clear Resolution, in some abstruse Doubts which unto me are more cruel than Death itself. Timothy, answered him, Tarsis the Gods have in effect always a delight that we have a recourse and make our Application to them, and that by the succours we have from them, upon our request we render them the Homage of their Omnipotency, and avouch them our own Debility and Impotency: but if they find good and approve of our Supplications unto them, they are not willing that even our Interrogatories unto them, should be so frequent; that we demand not for any thing miraculous or extraordinary, nor that by an indiscreet and rashly inconsiderate curiosity, we so lightly and unsteadily tempt their Ability and Omnipotency.  
Do you know, Tarsis, what you demand of Jupiter, when you request from him an Oracle or divine Sentence? will you expect that they should disorder the ordinary and regular Course of Nature; that they should unridle and reveal to poor Mortals, that which by the orders of Destiny should be by them concealed and unknown; that they should give the Spirit of a God unto a mortal Man, or that they should suffer him or make him penetrate into what shall succeed or come to pass, by a peculiar privilege that he Jupiter communicates not always even to the Gods themselves? It is not but that in very important Extremities, that he permits to wish for Miracles, and that ought not nor should be, but in actions of great moment, where he agitateth in the lives of Princes, of the Subversion of a Kingdom, of the mischiefs, adversities or calamities, or contrarily the felicity, tranquillity and happiness of a people or Commonwealth. But what? but it seems your are amorous, and in pain two days, and in Love with a simple Maiden; think you that the Spirit of Jupiter, must descend and come down to the Earth, as if he had not affairs more Important? Certainly if it must be so that he come to make Responses to all peculiar and particular desires, he must then make account no more to inhabit in the Heavens above; and descend here yet once again and establish himself on the Earth here beneath. My dear Brother, replied Tarsis, it is not the pain of Jupiter that disturbs you. You know too well that his Spirit reigns throughout the Universe all at once, that he is altogether in Heaven and on the Earth likewise, that he listens, hearkens, and equally answers the desires of particular Persons, and that the lives of Kings and potent Princes, are no more considerable with him, than those of Shepherds, because that although they say he imprints, I know not what Radiant beam of his Divinity on the Foreheads of Sovereigns, they cost him no more the making than the meanest Men. I have learned all these things of you yourself Timothy, and so I very well see that it is not by any solid reason, but simple pretences you take to refuse me. I know the Subject that you have, the Agitations, the Toil and Vexatious Pains that you must suffer to conceive and bring forth, for so I may say, the Oracles: But believe not but that it is with trouble that I there expose you.  
You know how long time is past, that I have been in Love; how many crosses and thwart I have suffered in my love; how many years I have languished between hope & fear, without having made you the Supplication I have done this day. It is not but upon very great and urgent Extremity I have done it to you, and there is no middle between consenting to me or giving me my Death. Timothy was angry to see the obstinacy of Tarsis; and how in effect, his discourse had but only a pretence, to refuse him the satisfaction of a curiosity which he deemed light and trivial, and which he could not but yet impute to the Impatiency of a Lover, he endeavoured to dispense with him after another Method.  
My dear Tarsis, replied he, to show you the Scruples that I make myself, to tempt the Oracles of our great God; there is a Month and more past that I have had disquietness of Spirit, in the most pressing and Important manner, which possibly can be conceived, and which merits more than any other, the mediation of a God to draw me out, thereof, however I have not yet myself presumed to consult him; it is for that reason Telamonius, that there is a month past, that you have not had news from me, it is for that which I have since that time fasted and prayed; It is for that I have spent days and whole nights to turn over and peruse our sacred Books; and in fine, 'tis for that cause, that you see me thus Melancholy and out of Frame, whereof you have lately enquired of me the Cause. As he said this, Agamée and Ergaste, who restrained themselves: and by some steps from thence reproached themselves: But when they observed that Timothy spoke in particular with his Brothers, they willingly would have retired themselves, lest they should interrupt their Discourse.  
Timothy who observed them, called them, hoping that their presence would hinder Tarsis to persist any further in his demand. You may be there Agamée, said he, we have nothing of Secret to hid, neither from you, nor from Ergaste; and besides the disgrace whereof I spoke, is become so public, that necessarily all Grecia must be certified and advertized thereof. Agamée and Ergaste thereupon demanded of him with much urgency, the Subject of that disgrace; The day of the bloody Sacrifice draws near, replied Timothy, and we have no Victim nor Sacrificer; Agamée, who was but a Stranger, understood not, nor was instructed with this Sacrifice and who apprehended not the reason for which he called that a disgrace, so great and so public, and demanded some enlightening: and thereupon the high Priest (as he sought not but matter wherewith to entertain them and to spend away the day, and take away from Tarsis the means and subject of returning to the Request that he made him) conducted them into a great Tent or Tabernacle which was erected in the midst of the Court, and where there was a Chamber excellently hung with rich Tapestry, and exquisite Pictures and Memorials registered, which he began to explicate unto them in this method and manner.  

The History of the Bloody Sacrifice.  
ALl these Pictures Agamée contain the History of the Bloody Sacrifice, wherein you desire to be instructed, and they have depainted them, all at length in this Chamber, to serve as a Meditation to the Sacrificer, who usually came there every Year, waiting and expecting the day of the Sacrifice.  

The first Picture.  
See you in the midst of this Picture, this Hunter, who is in pursuit of this fair Nymph? This is Apollo, who having met her in Hunting, became all at once passionately in Love, and who ran after her to declare her his Love. Take you not Cognisance of this God, by his fair bushy Hair? by the Beauty of his Countenance? by the glittering and sparkling Brightness, which reverberates from all his person, and which seems to illuminate all the rest of this Picture? and of his Body which here alone is, that which makes no kind of Shadow? For although the Painters have usually accustomed themselves to shadow them as others, when they represent them, under the form and Shape of a humane Body: howsoever for as much as it appeareth here in an occasion where it will have its self beloved and make himself known to this fair One for what he is; and in that state probably did not forget any thing, which might render him amiable, the Painter hath Judiciously given him all the Brightness and Beauty which he was capable to receive from his Pencil. The Nymph and he have already crossed and passed over their Course, all over this Plain which you see behind them; and that is easily judged, by the Arrows and Shafts which are fallen from the Quiver of the fair Daphne, and the agitation of her Course hath dispersed through all the Quarter where she passed, her Bow and even her Quiver she hath cast off to disincumber herself to be more lighter. In the Interim, if you take exact notice thereof, some impatient desire will appear the God had to overtake and reach her, he ran not after her with all his might.  
As the places by which they passed are rough and craggy, they believed that he feared to precipitate the course of the Nymph by that of his own; and that in slackening his Pace, he would give her time to choose out the fairest way. In sum, is it not true that the Pace of the Gods, are only but a part of the extended visible Heaven, that the proportion of its Size permits it to give them? That his Body instead of bending and inclining a little forward to hasten the Course, seems to bear his Weight behind, to withhold and restrain it? That he Balances not his Arms on both sides, to give aid and assistance to the moving of his Body, he holds them extended forward, a little lifted up in the actings of a Man who is under some Fear? But behold his eyes they tell us naturally and properly that which he feareth! Consider how he has fastened and fixed them to the Pace of the Nymph, more than properly to his own; and as he openeth the Mouth of a fiery Face and Countenance, but Timorous to advertise her that she have a care of falling. But let us consider her now this fair Nymph, That is Daphne, Daughter of the River Penée. She hath nor can have more than lassitude, toiling, and fear. The lassitude or rather violent Agitation of her course hath caused all the parts of her Countenance to blush, which was naturally fair and white. Fear hath caused it to grow Pale, all those that naturally were of a Vermilion and Ruddy Colour. Her Forehead is all covered over with Sweat; her Hair scattered and dischevelled, her Robe in disorder, her Mouth painfully breathing. Her Body hardly able to uphold itself, all that it could do was to stretch forth the Arms towards the River Penée which behold before her. Her eyes, her Countenance, and all her Actions did naturally and clearly express, declare and pronounce the succour that she demanded of her Father! There are nothing but her Legs, which have almost any conformity to the rest of her Body.  
See you that the Colour is changed; that this white Skin, fair and delicate, that the opening of her Robe discovered a little above the Knee, is not beneath, but a simple Blanching or unrined part of a hoarish Green. The Toes of her Feet, go to lose themselves in the Earth, in the guise, form and manner of Roots; and behold already some Laurel leaves upon this new Stock or Stem, which marks out the Tree, wherein she goes to be changed. Astonish not yourself that Apollo testifies not of seeing any thing of this Miracle; it is hidden to him as you see, by the Skirt of the robe of Daphne, which is ungrappled and loosened on her Side in the agitation of her Course.   

The second Picture.  
Behold Agamée a terrible example of the wrath of the Great. When they cannot revenge themselves upon their Enemies or that they commit some fault themselves whereof they repent, it is the People who suffer by their Wrath. In effect, although Daphné had been changed into a Tree by her Father himself, he ceased not to become furious by a loss whereof he had been in some sort an Accomplice, and in the boiling of his Wrath he overwhelmed with its Waters, all our Meadows and Fields, and the large and spacious Valley of Tempé was converted into a great Channel. He drowned the Inhabitants with their Lands, and punished Men for the Faults and Defects of two of their Gods.  
The sole Draft and Picture of this Spectacle imprints even yet some Horror. For would they say that this Plain of Waters which you see in this second Picture, had been the delicious and delicate Valley of Tempe? would you not take it rather for an outrageous and tempestuous Sea? What heaps of dead Bodies or dying Men and Animals which are tossed and float Pel mel upon its Billows, with the wracks of Houses, of Hamlets, and even entire Towns and Cities! It seemeth therefore, that this Deluge hath not yet had enough to satisfy the great Vengeance of Penée. For cast your view at length by this Perspective between these Mountains. Behold that the Tritons and the Naiads, who labour to raise the bounds of their Streams and to open all the Cataracts and violent Falls, from the high and steep places of their Fountains! Here others make a Dike or Dam, for the opening of the Sea, there to impede the running and gliding of all the Waters through their ordinary Course. Are they not already joined together, both the Mountains of Olympia and Ossa even? those prodigious Mounts of Hills, appear they any other thing than a Causey or Bank, at both ends? There others trill and slip to the floor or foundation of a Vessel or Bark, where a troop of our miserable Inhabitants thought to save themselves, and there others endeavoured with their three forked Instruments, to overturn the Workmanship or Roof of a Tower, whereon a good number of People, had betook themselves as to a place of refuge. Behold these Neryedes who went to pump Water into the Sea, with their Pitchers to carry it yet into the River; and how there are none but these little Tritons, who by Complaisance for their Masters, who could not do worse in the debility and weakness of their Age, enforced themselves to repel in the Water with their Pitch-Forks or Prongs, a poor Man who endeavoured by swimming to Land on the Mount, whose highest and utmost top was yet uncovered.  
As for Penée he set not his Hand to the Work, that not becoming the Majesty of that God: But behold him who overlooks these Demigods from the top of Olympia, who appoints what must necessarily be done, and who animates them by his Voice and by his presence.   

The third Picture.  
For the understanding of this, here we must tell you, that those who could escape from this great Shipwreck, went to consult the Oracle of Delphos; and had recourse to the God himself, who had cast them into this danger. Apollo appointed them to build up two Temples, one at the foot of the Mount Olympie, to Jupiter Olympie his Father, and the other to the memory of Daphné, in the self same place where she had been changed; to enact and establish a College of Priests in the one, and a Company of Maidens in the other, to sacrifice every year a young Boy to the God Penée and to his Daughter, and after they had pierced him with a Dart or Arrow, to cast him headlong into the River, to revenge them from the outrage they had received upon the self same Sex that had done it unto them.  
The choice and care of that Victim was committed to the Priests; the right of that Sacrifice to the Daphnides, that is to say, to the Maidens consecrated to Daphné. As soon as a young Boy of the Country offered himself to the Sacrifice, he was Sacrificed and offered up; after all that was done, all the Waters were retired, and because this young Lad called himself Hercules, it's for that they read in the greek Fables, that this was Hercules who separated both the Mounts Ossa and Olympia in two, to drain the Marshes which did occupy all the Valley of Tempé. That is therefore the cause why you see again in this Picture, the Woods, the Hills and the Plains exposed to the view of the World. The Waters of the River are re entered within its Bed, and the World seemeth to be renewed again in this delectable and pleasant Valley. Every one there cultivates the Fields, replant there the Vineyards and there rebuild Houses: but the two Structures which appear above all the others are our Temple, which you will easily know by its Form and Situation; and that of Daphnides which behold is in the Isle at the mouth of the River Penée.  
You will possibly ask me why it is in an Island, having seen the Nymph metamorphosed upon the Bank of the River, and on firm Land? But it is that Penée retains the same place she embraceth with her Waves in returning, and reserves unto herself that space and distance to consecrate it to her Daughters. Now I pray you let us examine here, the admirable Architecture of these stately Structures, and how the three orders are there found artificially intermixed; admire the just and even Degradations of the Plain, in a word, how all the regular Rules of the Optic Vision are here marvellously exercised and contrived.    
Agamée seeing the high Priest in his Train and Retinue to be long, and observing the impatience of Tarsis, whereof he knew the design, was not willing that his peculiar and particular satisfaction should prejudice the Consolation and Content that the Shepherd expected. Which is the reason why he took occasion here to interrupt Timothy, and to say unto him, Wise Timothy its to abuse your Patience to give you the trouble to show me in Picture, the things that I can see and whereof I have already seen a part originally; and as for that which is of the overplus, which relates to the Sacrifice, I hope soon to instruct myself in assisting there, since the day as you say is near approaching. Alas! replied the high Priest, it is that which I have already said unto you, which makes me despair, the day is certainly approaching: But we have not yet a Sacrifice; as it ought to be voluntary, it hath been formerly to him who first offered himself. The place was no sooner empty and void, but it was also filled; and I have read this day in our sacred Annals, that since the Foundation of this Temple, the Chamber where we are, did never want to be occupied by a new Victim the self same day that it began to be empty. In the interim, there is near a year past, that we have not wherewithal to Sacrifice; and if Jupiter hath not pity upon me, I am in danger to see arrive, in the time of my Priesthood, a disgrace that so many ages, have avoided, and the thought thereof alone is capable to make me yield up the Ghost: But would to the Gods that there might only my Life expire, and that it might be permitted the Priests of Jupiter to dissolve and unloose themselves even as well as others. I should not be in pain for a Sacrifice, and would esteem myself happy and blessed, to die for all our people. But Agamée, we cannot dispose of ourselves, since we belong to Jupiter, and this jealous God permits us not to offer to the Daughter or Maiden of the River, that that appertains to the Monarch of all the Gods. Agameé and Ergaste, in the Spirit of whom these kind of honours and worships passed for cruel Superstitions, would have willingly made him something by way of Replication; But the respect they had for his Character impeded them. Agameé contented himself only to speak in the ear of Ergaste, that Jupiter would undoubtedly put the high Priest more yet in trouble than he was, if he took him at his Word. As for me, added Ergaste, I would as willingly have the River give itself the trouble to come to drown me in my Bed, as to give myself that of precipitating myself therein. Tarsis and Telamonius, had listened with more Devotion; also they testified their participating of his Inquietude. My Brother, said Tarsis, if the God will have Sacrifices, assure yourself that he will have a care to provide himself wherewith; since he will have none but voluntary ones, and it belongs only to the Gods to give the will. It sufficeth that you neglect not to receive them when they present themselves, and in all cases, if you had occasion to consult an Oracle in your doubts, it should not be that of Jupiter, but of Delphos, because it is he who hath taken already the care. But as for me, who should I address myself unto but Jupiter, in the particular Protection of whom we are? should I go to the strange Gods, as if ours were not good, not sufficient, and Omnipotent enough? And moreover, added Ergaste smiling, what God could better counsel us, in the matter of ravishing of Maidens, than he who hath ravished so many? very well Ergaste, said Timothy unto him, let's not turn into jesting these sacred things; Remember you, that Jupiter yet less suffers the Sacrileges than his Son, and can as well crush you to pieces under the Mount Olympia, as Apollo oppressed not long since the Gauls under the Mount Parnassus. In fine, Timothy, replied Tarsis, you believe not therefore that my Life is worth the consulting of Jupiter, and you refuse to a Brother, that which you consent every day to Strangers? Well then I will die then, since you will have it, and assure yourself that this is the last time that you shall see me living. At these words he would have retired with all the marks of a violent Despite and of great Grief. Timothy could not contain for or against the Compassion which he had, and appointed them all to betake themselves to Prayers in the Temple. He returned there again himself a little afterwards with all his Priests invested with his Ornaments, and a little Bowl in his Hand whereon he Engraved the name of Tarsis. He entered into the Balisters of Crystal, placed himself on his Knees before the Statue, and cast the Bowl into the sacred Hole.  
In the interim, Tarsis uttered forth this Prayer with a loud Voice. Thou Sovereign Arbitrator of the Destiny of Men, who in one twinkling of an eye beholdest all the earth, and who equally knowest the time past, present and to come; O Jupiter! if thou yet makest some account of the State of a Lover, or of his name, that thou hast not formerly disdained to bear thyself, if thou remember'st thyself, of the Inquietudes of Love, where thou wert when the fair Io was born away from thee by the artifices of Juno; and if thou canst in fine, take some pity of the Pains that thou thyself hast proved; by thy gracious Favour, tell me what is become of the fair Zelie, in what places I may be able to meet her, and if after so many years languishing and pining away by suffering, I may in conclusion find the end of my troubles.  
He had not uttered the half of these words, but one might have understood the confusion of a Voice, an howling, and even as frightful Thunders which coming out of the Earth made an Echo, and resounded all over the Vault, and filled the Spirits of all who assisted with a sacred Horror; They prostrated themselves with their Faces to the Earth, and after some time they heard the high Priest, who with a Voice so changed, that it appeared not his, pronounced distinctly these words;  Seek Death and thou shalt find it, 
This Oracle strangely surprised all the Assistants and they remained all as inhibited or interdicted. The first who risen up were the Priests, who went to take the high Priest to carry him on his Bed; Telamonius, Agamée and Ergaste risen up afterwards, and with them the Shepherdesses. They knew not how to approach to poor Tarsis, who seemed to become one of the Statues of the Temple, so unmoveable was he. It was not that he was astonished with the Death to which the Oracle seemed to resolve him: but he thought that since that Jupiter despaired of finding silly, for him otherwise than by Death, there was no doubt to be made, but that she was dead. For, said he within himself, it is not within the Arms of the dead, that one can meet with living Persons; and since I am out of hope of finding silly in this World, it must necessarily be, that she be there no more; Ah! if she be not there any more, O Jupiter! cried he in his Transport, which caused him this Thought: If she be there no more, I have no more need of thy Counsels to resolve me to die, it would rather necessarily import thee to employ thine Omnipotency to hinder me. He arose afterward, having yet given some time to the like reflections; after he had returned to himself, he came also again to join the Troop, with a more resolute Countenance than ordinary, and even mixed with Joy, so that they were all astonished. I demand your pardon, said he unto them, with a Countenance cheerful enough, if I have so many times made you wait; but I must render thanks to Jupiter for his good Counsel.  
Telamonius and the others had well had the same thoughts as Tarsis, upon the interpretation of the Oracle: but not a person would signify it to him. But on the contrary, Telamonius dissembling it; I avow unto you, said he unto him, that I find so much obscurity in this answer, that I know less of our doubt, than I knew before. Sometimes, added Agamée, we have seen the hopeless to find their Salvation in the same occasions where they seek for death.  
Telamonius feared, lest these Words should push forward the Spirit of Tarsis, to some tragical Reoslution, which is the cause, why he replied thereunto; There is little appearance Agamée, that the Gods should Counsel Men to be desperate, those who would that we should hope in them; and undoubtedly it must necessarily be, that there is in these Words some other sense than we yet do comprehend, but will be made more clear in the Sequel. Think you that the Gods will so soon discover us their Secrets, and that they content themselves that it costs us the Pains of ask them? No not so, they sometimes take Pleasure to punish our curiosity, in casting us into new Troubles. They discover us the Truth, but under Enigmatical Riddles or Mysteries, which we are unable to unfold, unless it be with much trouble and length of Time; they would even be angry, that we should believe we could understand them, the first time, as if it were easy for Men to penetrate into the Secrets of the Gods; and they divert themselves in observing, that after we have unprofitably laboured hard, a little successful event disintangles and unpesters all, and renders us astonished and confused with our own Ignorance. While they thus discoursed they went out of the Temple, and immediately after they had made, to one of the Priests, their Compliments for Timothy, they reassumed their Way to return to Cenome. The Shepherdesses did also as much as in them was possible, to turn the Sense of the Oracle, to the Advantage and Consolation of Tarsis; There was none but Philiste who could say nothing, so much was she afflicted herself, with the loss of her Sister, and of the little hopes that the Gods seemed to give her of resinding her. Ergaste also would not say any thing of his thoughts, by reason of the Priests: But when they had quitted them, Will you, said he, that I speak freely unto you? behold an Oracle which is as all others, that is to say, a free gibberish, Fustian Language, or Pedlars French. Ah! let us speak of sacred things with respect, replied Telagie: but let us speak also without Prevention, replied Ergaste, if you will, that we hold our Peace, in convenient time and season: But if you will intermeddle with reasoning thereunto, they must be examined with Reason. Now is there reason to believe, that the Gods so obscurely give Counsels to Men? Who ever speaks doth it to be understood, and in this case it is Ignorance in him, not to be able to make himself understood: either he speaks not to be understood; and in that case, 'tis either Malice or Folly. Now, Ignorance nor yet Malice nor Folly can be presumed in the Gods. This which possibly can be, it is two things, the one either that the Priests abuse us or that the Gods do mock us. Also of all these Oracles, is there not one alone which cannot square and suit with all sorts of Events? I can tell you a thousand strange examples, but there needs nothing than this here;  Seek Death and thou shalt find it. 
Behold truly, a very wonderful Prophecy! is it Death or is it Zelie that one shall find? if it be Death that great Miracle, that one finds in seeking it? if it is silly, it must also necessarily be, that one must meet her in seeking for Death, because she sooner or later must die, and be found in the common Rendezvouz of all Men. Ergaste having thus spoken. Telamonius replied him, I avow Ergaste, possibly there may have been abuse in the Oracles, but you cannot believe it of all. It is easy for the Priests to counterfeit themselves Prophets, so that there is but to pummel the eyes into the Head, to open the mouth more than ordinary, to counterfeit the furious and mad Man, and to pronounce equivocable false and double Words. But what will you say of that dreadful, hideous, and terrible Voice, of those underground Thunders, and even sometimes those Earthquakes which excite a little Stone, a word, a little Air agitated? assuredly these things pass humane Invention. But you have very well said, that the Gods can render themselves dark and obscure to sport themselves with our curiosity; and it is by that Reason, that we must never be hopeless on the answer of their Oracles, how disadvantageous soever they appear unto us, because that which appears to us at first sight to be moreirksome, is oftentimes by the success found to be that which we can desire to be most favourable. See you Telamonius, said Ergaste, if it be not needful to explicate you subterraneous Thunders, your Flames, and Earthquakes to destroy your Oracles, they would not be yet so well established, for in how many places do these very same things arrive naturally? witness one simple hole in Sicilia, where all that happens by the smallest thing, that at the very first coming is cast there, without any pretence that the Gods take upon them the trouble of intermeddling themselves. And if you will that I give you the reason, I will tell you, that the Air agitated by the Motion of the Stone cast in, enters and issues out by the concavities of divers Figures, and which forms the different Sounds and Noises that we hear, as that Air in those places there, is already disposed to take Fire, it's lighted by the smallest movement, and is that which causeth those Flames and Smokes, and that being already too close shut up in these low and profound places, this same agitation rarefies it and extends it so, that it cannot be more contained in its Prison, this is that which causeth the Earthquakes.  
But added Telagie, What will you say of the Oracles of Dodone, where the Pigeons and Trees speak as Men? what will you say of that of Ephesus, where a Statue of marble speaks as a Person animated? I will tell you, replied Ergaste, that Men can hid and conceal them within the Bodies of Trees, and make them appear animated with their Word. I will say that by the same Artifice they can make poor prevented Spirits believe that their Voice is that of Pigeons, that there do nest (if you will not better believe Hetorodoto, who saith, that these Pigeons were no other than Women, which boar the name and which meddled with Prophecies) I will say that of some subterranean Places, they can by the means of some Pipe, Quill or Reed, make their words pass by the Mouth of a Statue, and I will say, in a word, a thousand things more apparent, than to believe that a Marble, that a Pigeon, or that a Tree hath spoken.  
What Ergaste, said Pelagie, you would destroy all the Omnipotency of the Gods? of the Gods, not so! replied Ergaste, since they have created Man, and by an alone Breathing, they have animated a little Clay, they can make the same thing of a Marble. But I set a very great difference between that which the Gods do, and that which the Gods can. The Gods, Telagie, can do all manner of Miracles: But they do it not for that, by reason they judge it not to purpose. And in fine, to tell you my thoughts, I esteem that as it would be to do wrong to a Prince and accuse him of imprudence, to believe that he were at all times obliged to change his Laws at the Supplication of the meanest of his Subjects, and to transgress himself the Laws and Statutes, which he hath enacted and established in his own Kingdom; so it is to do wrong to the Gods, who have established and appointed a fixed, dormant, unrepealable certain Law in the World; and to think that they are at all Moment's obliged to change it in doiog Miracles, according to the capriciousness of Men who demand it. For to do a Miracle, is no other than to stray, and swarve, and wander out of the way, (if it be permitted so to speak) of the course of the Water.  
In truth Ergaste, replied Agamée, it is not necessary to listen to you too long time, to discredit our Oracles. But I would willingly also that Celemante would tell us his Sentiment. In saying this, Agamée turned his eyes about to seek him out, and not observing him; truly continued he, smiling, I am afraid that Celemante hath suffered himself to be drawn by Timothy, and that he be gone to render himself the Victim or Sacrifice.  
Thereupon Ergaste and Arelise began also to perceive, that he was not with them, and even to remember themselves that they had not seen him since he entered into the Temple; for until then they had been so occupied by means of all that they had seen, that they had made no reflection upon his absence, so that they were troubled for him, without considering the humour of which they knew him; they judged well that if he had quitted them, it would have been but better to spend his time elsewhere. In effect, behold that which was become of him. From the moment that Celemante had seen the Shepherds enter into the Temple, he stole himself from them, without saying a word, to go and see a Shepherdess whom he loved, although he would not avouch it. It is true, that he quitted them not but with an intention to return before they went forth of the Temple, and that he had no design to miss to act his part, as he had done, to evacuate and determine before Agamée, the contest that he & his Sister had had against Ergaste, & which he had taken the Areopagite to be Judge of But in that hepromised himself a thing whereof one may say, that his Humour left him not to be Master of.  
The Shepherdess whom he went to see, was named Corys, and she was a very fair Person, that is, not that the Lineaments and Features of her Countenance were the most regular: But she was wonderfully fair, and white, and clear, animated with the most amiable Carnation of the World, her eyes quick, lively and sparkling, of little Stature, but very upright, a marvellous complaisance, cheerful Spirit, full of Alacrity, of a certain kind and manner of living, free and disengaged from many Scruples, ordinary with Women and Maidens; wherein howsoever she lived with much Prudence, Wisdom, Retention, and very stayed. Her Humour above all, returned upon Celemante, and also that of hers, pleased Celemante exceedingly. And therefore if he saw her more frequently than any other, she would also more willingly permit him than others. Moreover, there was great Pleasure to see them together, for both the one and the other, had publicly declared against Marriage and Love; and however, there were certain times and seasons, that Celemante would very willingly had his liberty for Corys, and where Corys had quitted all things for Celemante; but neither the one, nor the other durst declare themselves, by reason that Corys had often said before Celemante, that she loved her Liberty even to hate the best of her Friends, if he only had but had the thoughts of espousing her: as Celemante had also frequently said in her Presence, that to make him hate the most amiable and fairest Person in the World, it was needful to do no more than to look upon her as his Wife. And in effect, it was the very thought both of the one and the other, then when they so said: But Love against which they were so strongly bend, and had both an Aversion unto, made them very soon repent; for in the sentiments, wherein they were engaged, they durst not make themselves further known, those which they had commenced to have as well for the shame, that they had to retract themselves, as for that there was not either of both, who believed not but that it had been to be hated by his or her Companion, than to testify that he had a love for her: so that in this extremity, and exigency, where they were reciprocally reduced, neither the one nor the other, daring to declare their Passion, they made out their love by a Stratagem extraordinary enough, in pretending and seeming to have none at all, and affecting to speak against those that had it.  
This Shepherdess dwelled not in the Hamlet of Telamonius: But at another which was between that and the Temple. Celemante went this way with much diligence, and yet notwithstanding, found it too long: so much he began involuntarily to be disquieted by the motions of an amorous Passion. This Molestation was not therefore in him, but a certain tickling and flattering, delectable Motion of heart, which reanimated and revived his Joy, without ever giving him the least Sadness, and when he entertained himself alone, it was not to afflict himself, as do the major Part of other Lovers, by the consideration of all that which may be vexatious in their Fortune: he dreamt but of that which might be delightful in that of his. Also they never did see alone but that he sang, if it was not but that he had some pleasant Thought, the entertainment whereof diverted him; and as (if they take not good heed thereto) the desires which are not satisfied, have always some thing which stings them, he never dreamt of those which gave his Love Birth and beginning, who in composing some Verses or some Songs on this Subject, to make a diversion of the same thing whereof others create themselves a pain and trouble.  
In going therefore to the dwelling of Chorus, he entertained himself no otherwise, but with the Pleasure which he should have by being with this fair Shepherdess, instead of bemoaning himself, as others possibly had done, of the Misfortune he had to Love a Maiden, who would not suffer Love, and in which, he could not hope to have correspondency, and the way though short beginning to annoy and trouble him, he began to compose and utter forth these lines.  
Stances.  
Take thou good heed my Heart, to tell me that I love without hoping to arrive to the point. Or levelly my Love extreme, I shall become Sad, and Wan, it may be I should even die, and that is that which I will not do. It were better to think that my Chorus is fair, that I have a hundred Pleasures to see her, that I am very well received of her, that she is not cruel to me, if always she will be such, Time will demonstrate it to me, let's rejoice in the mean time, for present without the fear of any thing that an Evil comes not to pass, that a sottish Fear goes to fain to us, comes not here to compel us, it will be too much time to bewail ourselves, when this ill shall come to pass: Let's remember ourselves, in fine, that a Man who knows to live, takes always time as it comes; of the present Pleasure he inebriates himself, if Evil comes to pursue him, when he can, he delivers himself, and if he cannot, he sustains and bears up, under it.  
He sang yet when he came into a Field near enough, to the Hamlet of Chorus, and when he saw this Shepherdess sitting under the Shadow of an Hedge, and singing near to one of her Companions, who also was sat, whilst their Flocks fed upon the Grass round about.  
From the time that Choris saw Celemante, and that he was near enough to hear her; she said unto him, you are very welcome, Celemante, but it is upon Condition that you will draw us from pain, and that you teach us the names of these two Shepherds. In saying this, she shown him with her Crook, two Shepherds, who passed by fifty Paces from them, and whose Air as well as Discourse, appeared very Melancholy. It was not that she heard them, but she might easily judge it by their slow Pace, their mournful Countenance, by their Arms the one lifted up to the Heavens, and the other held cross ways before him, in a word, by all their port and demeanour. Celemante knew them not: but at the same time they all discerned a third who drove towards them a Flock, and whom they knew for Philemon, I say, Philemon. Philemon was a Shepherd, aged about thirty years; his Stature was indifferent, his Visage shaped like an Egg, Oval, his Hue more white than ordinary amongst Men, his Hair of a clear Chesnut colour, and his eyes inclining to Black, but full of great Vivacity. His temperature appeared a little Melancholy, his Humour Cold, his Feature and Physiognomy subtle and Politic, spoke little, but always to purpose, with much reservation, without Heat, without Obstinacy, never assuring himself any thing, still listening to the sentiments of others before he would give his own Advice, and never proposing his own without doubt, by reason he believed there was nothing assured in this World, and that all our knowledge, was nothing but uncertainty and error. Also he had trouble to suffer those People who never doubt of any thing, and who make of all their Opinions so many Maxims. When he contradicted them therefore, it was without fixing himself to the contrary Party, it was not but to attempt to loosen and disentangle them from their own, that he might replace them in that doubt which he held for the first Principle of Wisdom and Prudence; and that made it to pass for dissimulation amongst those who knew him not well; for as much as seeing him so retentive in his Sentiments, or rather so indifferent to all Opinions, they thought that he would never discover his own.  
Although that his Temperature appeared not susceptible, nor capable of great Passions; and that doubt whereof he made profession, was a great Disposition to an indifferency: he was very strongly Amorous of Celiane, that is the name of the Shepherdess who was with Coris. Also that Maiden was also herself infinitely fair and amiable, not only for her Beauty, but for her sweet Temper and Discretion. She had even some Conformity with Philemon, in that her Humour appeared a little Cold, and spoke little as he did.  
Celemante doubted not but that Philemon knew these two melancholy Ones, because he saw him stop some Moment's to speak with them: But Philemon soon left them when he saw Celiane. He came immediately towards her, and that was Celiane herself which demanded of him the name of these two unknown. Fair Shepherdess, answered Philemon, I will not only tell you their Names, but if you please, even their Adventures and Occurrences, and if I make you not a very long discourse of that, for you will I believe know all that there is considerable, when I shall have first told you that the first is called Delias', and the second Pleon, and that they are both of them of Delphos, and that both one and the other, are both vexed and molested, and excessively afflicted, for two Reasons very opposite. For Delias' married a Woman whom he loved, yea, and loved Passionately, and found that she loved him not; and Pleon contrarily espoused another whom he loved not, and who by a Destiny loved him a thousand times more than he would she should. So Delias' is come here, and hath led his Wife there, believing that when she shall be far from Delphos and from her acquaintances, possibly she will better affect and fix herself to her Husband: and the other hath followed his Friend to deliver himself from the Importunities of her own.  
But the one and the other have been very much deceived in their hopes, for the first hath here made new Friendship, and the second hath followed her Husband here in despite of his Will. They put themselves all a laughing, for the fantastical and odd Disposition of these four Persons; and particularly Coris and Celemante, who for to make their Course, failed not both to take this occasion to speak yet against Love and Marriage. I think, said Celemante laughing, that this day here is fatal to make me see ill conduct. And when is that one can see good? added Coris. Thereupon Celemante counted them in three words, that disgrace of Agamée. I believe not, said Coris, that there is any more deplorable than these two here, whereof Philemon speaks unto us. For yet there is some Consolation when the Husband and the Wife love not one another, because they can abandon one another, and they may be at least at rest when they mutually see not one another: But when there is always one which loveth and the other which hateth, it is never to have Patience, and to be eternally miserable. But after your advice, Celemante, added she, which of the two, think you to be most miserable, Delias' or Pleon? behold a rare Comparison, said Celemante; is there any thing here equal to the mischief of this poor Delias', who so well loves his Wife, and who knows not how to make himself beloved.  
Celiane, seeing that Philemon replied nothing thereupon, said unto him laughing, Ha! would you suffer that Philemon? and that Celemante should have the boldness to assure a thing so affirmatively before you? Fair Shepherdess, replied Philemon, you have forced me a long time since to rank myself to that Party that Celemante hath taken; For although there is that whereof I complained to you, those that love and yet not beloved, be the most miserable People in the World? Oh how am I pleased! cried Coris, to have seen Philemon once in his Life consent to a Truth. At least he will avow us for time to come, that he hath no reason to uphold that there is nothing of certainty in the World. Philemon replied to her; Dear Choris, say not so that there is nothing of that of certainty; for I know not if in that which I say, I deceive not myself; for as I have never proved by Celiane, that the mischief of loving without being loved, I speak not but of that until it pleaseth Love or my Shepherdess to make me prove the other▪ Ah! Truly Philemon, said Celemante unto him, (who was well pleased to give the Shepherdesses, the diversion of a Dispute, for he well observed that they wished it) must it not be so, that we shamefully fall into the same advice, and if you will take mine I will quit it. And what or whose part will you then take? Philemon asked him. That which you would not answered the chuffy Celemante. I had said that Delias' was more unfortunate than Pleon: But if you accord thereto, I will uphold that Pleon is more unfortunate than Delias'. Philemon replied nothing to Celemante, but turning himself towards Coris and Celiane: Well said, fair Shepherdesses, said he unto them; See you not how there is nothing certain in the World, since, that in the first party, where I have believed a little of Certitude, I see myself contradicted by him himself which upheld it before me.  
The Shepherdesses betook themselves to laugh at his answer, and Celiane said unto him: You well see Philemon, that there is none but Celemante changeth party; and that which he doth is but to divert himself. Nor Celiane, replied Celemante smiling, I say over again I begin to find Pleon a thousand times more unfortunate than Delias', and if I were married, I would incomparably, rather have a Woman that I did strong affect and from whom I could have no Love nor was beloved, than to have one who loved me too much, and who I loved not. Thy reason? Philemon asked him? I have so many that I will over-whelm thee, answered Celemante; for behold at least thirty which comes to me all at once. First is, that Love is always of itself a Passion, much more desirable than hatred, for Love is a desire which hath not in it any thing but that which is fair and pleasant for an Object; whereas that of hatred, is still something of displeasure and sadness: if then Love is more desirable than Hatred, without doubt it is still much better to Love than to hate; for it is more amiable to have a pleasant Passion, than to have a vexatious One.  
I arrest thee with thy first Reason, interrupted Philemon; for we doubt not, but that it is much better to love than hate: But the mischief of Delias' is not to love, it is to be hated of her whom he loved. Now seemeth it unto you that there is something or any thing in the World so vexatious and irksome as to be hated by one whom he hath so well loved; Well said, I yield you that there replied Celemante: But what will you answer to this here? The ill of a Husband who loves without being loved, passeth from himself; for in fine, there is no Love so strong that disdain and time cannot cure: There where the Aversion which a Man hath from his Wife, makes increase but for a time, and by the Importunities which she makes him. And as for me, I arrest you at your second Reason, interrupted Corys, for I have heard say, that there is no Countenance so deformed and loathsome nor person so imperfect, whom one accustometh not with time, but one can never accustom himself not to be loved! Celemante yet seeing himself interrupted there, turned himself towards her and Philemon, and taking a Countenance more searious; Ha! when think you then that I have finished my thirty Reasons, asked he them, if you so interrupt me at every one? My poor Celemante, said she unto him, I counsel you to respite the Remainders for another time; also Celiane and myself are both of us weary already; and moreover as we will not be married, neither you nor I, we have no interest in this Contestation. You have reason fair Coris, replied Celemante: But howsoever what know we to what Fortune will reserve us, and what if we should become Fools as others? What should I have of Pleasure said Celiane, if I should ever see Celemante or Coris, amorous; or rather if I should be able to see them both such at a time. I answer for Celemante, that shall never be nimbly, repyed Coris, to see that which he would say. You engage yourself to be so when he becomes so, said Celemante to her, stretching forth his hand to her, yea with all my Heart replied Coris, setting hers into Celemantes; for I am assured that will never be. At least fair Coris, answered he, I ought to use my utmost Ability, that it be not with you: for I know too well, that that would make me be but hated, and to become one of the most unfortunate Ones, of whom we at present deplore and bemoan. A little blush sprung up into the Face of Coris at these words; and Celemante who was persuaded that she would not that one should love her, imputing it to a Cause altogether contrary to that which produced this effect; added, believing he should do her a Pleasure: Ay I warrant you it amiable, Coris, I will do my utmost to impede my loves of you; and if I love you against my Will, which shall never be if I can, but in a sort not to become a Fool as I see poor Tarsis of the fair silly. Thereupon they began to speak, of the Love of that Shepherd and bewailed all his Disgrace, in such a manner which made clearly appear the Friendship and Esteem they had for him.  
Now in the Delight that Celemante took in Coris, he forgot the Shepherds that he had left at the entrance into the Temple, and the Party that he had made, for their Return and the day passed insensibly away without his regard or heed. He remembered not himself of that which he had promised, but when he was not occupied in his Diversion. Then his Memory being refreshed and returned unto him in the close, he foresaw, that Ergaste would not pardon him and that the others waged War against him; which is the reason he refused to sup with Coris and Celiane, and going away, he betook himself to dream of some Evasion or Shift. As he had his Wit nimble, lively, pleasant and facile, he employed himself after his return, to write some Conceptions which came into his mind on that Subject, and there he passed all that Evening.  
In the interim, Telam●n and his Company being returned to Cenome and that very early before the day was spent; Tarsis unto whom the Oracle of Jupiter seemed to be clear enough on the Counsel which he had to take, sought nothing more than an occasion of putting it in Execution, and this Shepherd resolved to die, and that the Gods had taught him to be the sole means to rejoin silly; he had no other thoughts in his Heart nor yet any more hopes. It is true, that this had given him more Consolation than any other; for all other designs do still hold us in suspense, in inquietude of Soul, by the uncertainty of their success; but death leaves us nothing more to fear, nor yet to those who are determined and thereunto resolved. He wished for nothing more than to see himself alone, to be entirely at Liberty to give satisfaction wholly to the Command of the Oracle, and to his Dolour, and in the Conceptions he had, that silly was dead, he reproached himself every moment that he survived that Shepherdess. And for as much as he know with how much exactness his Brother had not omitted nor failed to observe him, for the little that he defied of his Intentions, he put all his Cares to deceive him at first, and to persuade him by a thousand Reasons, that he began himself to conceive some hopes of the answer of Jupiter. My Brother, said he to him, I call to mind to have seen enough and frequently compare the Sepulchers in the Deserts, and name Death a long night. The Gods would they not have me therefore understand, that I shall refined silly, during the Night and in Solitude, as it was in Solitude and in the Night that I lost her? He counterfeited also a Vision more pleasant than he had done of a long time, and passed even to make some Jest with Philiste, upon the perplexity wherein he saw she was disquieted in Mind, by reason of that Oracle. In fine, he dissembled so well, that he found means by little and little, to steal himself from the Company that they might not follow him, and going forth of the Hamlet of the side of Olimpia, he went to pass into that Wood which reacheth the length of the Mountain from Gonnes to the Sea.  
It was there that not being more seen by any Person, by whom he might apprehend himself to be witheld, and feeling himself free, he prepared to execute upon himself, that tragical Resolution which should put an end to all his trouble and pains. For that effect after some Reflections which he yet made to confirm himself in his Design; he looked to see if the point of his Dart or Javelin was whetted and sharpened, and finding it as he would have it, he there put the point of it towards his Heart, and lifting up his Arms: O Zelie! cried he, Divine Zelie! receive the sacrifice that I go to make thee with my Blood, and know that as I lived but for thee, since I could not live a moment after the hopes of my being with thee hath been taken away.  
He pronounced yet these words when two Women all affrighted passed, running before his eyes; and that which strangely astonished him, was that the first appeared to him to be silly by her Stature, and more by her Habit, which he believed to have oftentimes seen. He could not consider the Visage, by reason that they passed before that he had had leisure. His Surprise was such that he remained as  in the Action wherein he was before. But he soon retired, by the sight of a Wolf that he perceived: holding between his Teeth a Sheep which he had carried into the Wood or Forrest, and went upon the Track of the two Women. He well judged that it was undoubtedly that which made them afraid, and for as much as the Thought he had that one of them was silly, he had in a Moment changed all Resolutions into that of following her; and to enlighten and satisfy himself in so important a Doubt, he dreamt only of taking away the cause of their Fear, that he might afterwards have more Liberty and Opportunity to rejoin them. He advanced therefore towards that furious and ravenous Beast, who in seeing him, let fall his Prey and grinding his Teeth, menaced himself. But the Shepherd without fear or astonishment, turning against him the Weapons that he had formerly designed for himself, so directly pierced his Javelin or Dart through the Flanks and overthrew him, that he fell down dead. In the same Instant he ran towards that side where he saw the Women go; and in following them, he discerned a Veil or Scarf, which hung upon a Bush that a Thorn had hooked and stayed in passing, and torn away from the Head of one of those unknown. He diligently took it up, and considering it with Inquietude of all Hands, he knew and remembered it to be the very same of Zelie's.  
That was not difficult, because it was he himself had bought it by appointment of Melicerte, and it was all wrought with Figures of Gold, whereof he had caused it to be enriched, and where the Letters of his name were intermixed with those of his Shepherdess. Who could delineate the divers Motions wherewith his Heart was at that Instant agitated? The Joy, the Impatience, and the Fear all these Passions seized his Soul all at once: but that of Joy, ruled and reigned there above all the rest. For in fine, he made no more Doubt but that one of them was silly; and his hope confirmed by the circumstance of the moment in which it seemed, that the Gods had resent him there to hold Discourse, and to satisfy the Promise that they had made him to make to the Oracle, not leaving almost any more doubt nor uncertainty in his Mind. He kissed therefore a thousand times and with a thousand incredible Transports, this favourable Pledge of his good Fortune, and advancing himself still forward upon the way and course, that they seemed likely to have taken; he had no more of Apprehension, but that the approaching Night would too soon prevent him, and consequently interrupt the success of that important research.  
Whilst he was there employed, Agamée pressed by Impatience to understand the remainder of the Lines or Verses and the History wherewith Telamonius entertained him in the Morning and that their Voyage was interrupted; could not conceal from that Shepherd, that it was in part the desire of satisfying that Curiosity that he had reconducted him to Cenome. He besought him therefore not to delay any longer, the giving him that Content; and Telamonius accorded thereunto, so much the more willingly that he could not scarcely himself have greater. He returned to his Chamber to take the Papers that he had locked up there, and leaving Ergaste in the Garden to entertain the Shepherdesses, they went to seek Agamée and him, in a certain Place out of the way, to finish altogether their Lecture.  

The Sequel of the History of Tarsis and Zelie.  
IT seemeth to me Agamée, said Telamonius unto him, in unfolding of his Role of Papers, that we were stayed upon these Verses that my Brother wrote me from Athens, for answer to those I had sent him from Hippique. I declare unto you, that they served me as an occasion to manifest his Love to Melicerte and to obtain from that generous Shepherdess the contract I wished for so long time. Now Behold divers Letters, that he writ to Melicerte by way of Gratitude when I had signified to him with how much Candour she had listened to me, and the favourable hopes she had given me: But I stayed not there by reason that all those transports of Love, of acknowledgement and Joy, have not ordinarily any thing desirable, but to those who resent them or who cause them. I pass also by the same reason, all the other Letters that he writ to Melicerte, and to Zelie, in a second Voyage which he yet since made to Athens.  
Agamée observing that he so passed by all the Letters without reading them, interrupted him to say unto him: Permit me Telamonius here to condole myself of a Robbery that you would have me make. If it be not that in these Letters there be some Secret that all the World must not know. For in that case I shall say not any thing more; and 'tis for that sole reason that I have not presumed to insist this Morning, when you passed over so many others. It is not for that which I have done it, replied Telamonius, for there is nothing wherein I would willingly confide in your Discretion: But it is that I am persuaded that all the Letters when they are good, are not but for those to whom they are addressed; if there be not some moral Letters which contain Instructions for manners, or those for Persons who have been in public Negotiations, which teacheth us some important Point of the History. Yet the first are no other than the form and name of Letters, and they are to take them in the right sense, rather short Treatises and Treaties. As for all the others, one may almost generally say, that they are nothing worth, when they are good for Strangers. For you know that Letters ought not to be but a Picture of a familiar Entertainment, accommodated only to the Humour of the Person to whom they are written, to the manner that they have to live with, and sometimes of little Intrigues, and a thousand light Circumstances which are passed amongst those which writ and make Letters, and those for whom they are framed. Now all these things, being peculiarly and particularly between them, and unknown to Strangers, how can they Judge if they are good? is it not as if one pretendeth that a Person judgeth well of the goodness and likeness of a Picture without seeing the Original? It is not but as in the same Picture and Portrait, a Man versed in Painting will not omit to know or acknowledge the delicacy of the Hand of the Limner, and sometimes his Genius and Imagination; in like manner one cannot judge of the Style and Wit of him who writes by seeing his Letters: but assuredly a Stranger cannot see all the great Beauties. That which you say is in such wise true, replied Agamée, that I have seen Persons at Athens, after having acquired great Reputation by others Works, have wracked themselves by Volumes of Letters which they have given to the Public, although that they were elsewhere People knowing and of great Merit. And that is why I cannot sufficiently admire the inimitable Genius of this Callias, whose Letters they have given us after his Death, and of whose Reputation you are not ignorant, but well know. You there clearly see, that he hath not written but for the Persons to whom they are addressed, and in the Interim there is not any who ever he be, who takes not an infinite delight in reading them. But that hinders not I pray you, but let me see those of Tarsis. Well done! choose them therefore yourself, replied Telamonius; I should also be very much hindered to show them unto you in that order wherein they have been written. It seemeth to me therefore, added he. Behold the first that ever he writ to Zelie. It was afterwards that by my instant requests, I had in the end obtained the permission for him from Melicerte.  
TARSIS to ZELIE.  
Would you believe, my fair Shepherdess, that after having had so much pressing to demand the Permission to write to you, I found myself perplexed by that wherein hay consented to me? It is therefore true, that I know not almost how to serve myself. I think I have a thousand things to send to you, and yet I have found no more in my heart but one alone. Yet I know not if you will permit me to entertain you, nor if you will read that which you never would understand. You ought therefore desire to know it; and a thing so rare and perfect that my Love undoubtedly deserves to touch you with some Curiosity. From elsewhere my fair Scholar you who are so generous; apprehend you not that you are ungrateful towards your Master? And are you not afraid to love him less than you ought, by reason you know not how much he loves you? In reality, were it only for Gratitude alone, you ought to study to Love well, and not neglect a Science which is so necessary to you for the exercising of one of the principal Virtues. Also it seemeth to me that in quitting you, that all things that could render a Person accomplished, you are most Ignorant of that, and it would be a great blemish unto you not to be able to learn under a Master so skilled and knowing in that matter, that which all other Companies do learn without a Master. I can, if you permit me, give you hence Lessons; I will do no more than propose you the Love I have for you by example. Without Vanity, I defy the greatest Masters in giving you a more perfect Model than that there, and judge of that, which ought to succeed well, for a little Pains that you should take to imitate it, since I propose it to the most perfect and the most spiritual of Scholars.  
silly did not make him any answer, persisted Telamonius, but Melicerte had the goodness to write to him frequently; and behold that which this wise Shepherdess gave me to enclose in my Packet, I saw that Tarsis gave it likewise to Zelie afterwards, and that she kept it with her Letters. Agamée read there that which followeth.  
A Reply from Melicerte to Tarsis:  
IT is permitted to the Master to write to the Scholar, but not to give her Lessons of Love. That's a Science they wish not she should learn so soon, she must learn others well before that; and I have heard say that they never know but in confusion those which are showed before a seasonable Time.  
Adieu.  
Tarsis to the wise Melicerte, Health.  
I Cannot believe, most sapient and prudent Melicerte, that you have permitted me to write to Zelie, without permitting me to entertain her my Love. When they give any one a Liberty to speak, it is apparently to leave him to say that which he thinks, and to explicate it in the Language known. Are you ignorant that there is a long time expired, that I have no other thought than that of my Passion, and that I know no other Language than that of Love. If you prohibit my explication thereof, it were as well to condemn me to remain Dumb or Mute all my Life. I very well know that this is a Language that fair silly is not versed in, and it would be as well and as soon necessary to speak Arabic to her. But it's good to inure her thereunto by little and little gradually, as young as she is I am very well assured that they cannot instruct her therein too soon. There is no need to press the Spirits to such things wherein they have naturally a Disposition: But to correct Nature it's almost necessary to Commence with her. They never tame nor reclaim Bears nor Lions, if it be not done when they are young. Apprehend you not Melicerte that silly learns with time the Science that I will teach her. I am much more afraid that she knows it not soon enough; and you will permit me to tell you that that which we have hitherto seen justifies my apprehension more than yours.  
Tarsis to his fair Shepherdess.  
IT's a great Consolation to me to write unto you, but it's a little cruelty in you to make me never an Answer. Think you, fair Zelie, that is goodness to listen to an unfortunate one without deigning to speak a word to consolate him, and is it not rather a badge of insensibility than of Compassion? I well conceive your Scruple; you believe it would reflect upon your modesty to write to a Shepherd that which possibly you would not refuse to say unto him, and that Letters are something more than single words: but my Shepherdess, it's necessary to persuade you, if you please, that words spoken or written are but the same thing to a Lover who is discreet, and how indiscreet soever he may be, the sole difference that there is, that one may abuse words said in changing them, but one cannot change the others, because they always remain for a Testimony and Evidence of the Truth. However it be, it belongs not to Persons such as are you, that this difference should give any Scruple. That would be good for those who are not weaned from the Wisdom nor from the Discretion of their thoughts: But what have you to fear, my Zelie, you who never have been but to be so modest and so virtuous? You should wish your own proper Reputation, that all the World knows. These shall be so many Lessons of Honour and of Virtue for all your Sex; and of the Humour whereof I know you, I am assured that there will never be but ours, which shall not be able to profit.  
Tarsis to the amiable silly.  
ALthough they assure me of your Health, I cannot learn it without fear, but that you have been sick; and I am out of myself to think only of the peril and danger that you have run. They say that there is nothing so courageous as Love, and that when that animates us, there are no dangers which it makes us not to despise and scorn. But I know not where they that say so have taken it. As for me I find nothing so Timorous. How would he give me courage in sight of danger who makes me tremble at the remembrance thereof? Reassure me by your good Favour, my Shepherdess, and deliver me from a mortal Fear. The thing shall not be difficult unto you, there needs but four words from your hand to render me the most hardy, the most bold, and the most contented of Men.  
Behold, interrupted Telamonius, a Ticket that silly sent him for reply, that is therefore but a Copy which she kept, as you will see in the foot of the Letter. Admire the Circumspection of this Shepherdess. She would not hazard a word written to a Man who loved her, without retaining as much to have always wherewith to justify herself from all the Steps, Paces and Postures of her Conduct.  
silly to TARSIS.  
MElicerte orders me to write you that I am in a better State in point of Health, and that my indisposition did not deserve the Inquietudes which it gave you, I would not dare to say more to you: for you have asked from me but four words, and you already see that I have already passed much beyond the Bounds, which you have prescribed me.  
Adieu.  
Tarsis to his adorable Shepherdess.  
I Avow my Shepherdess that you have more of generosity than I boldness, I durst not presume to demand more than four Words and you have written me four Lines, but you must withal confess also, that you have much less Affection than I have. I could not write you a word without speaking to you of my Love, and you writ me four Lines and there is not one word of Friendship. You would even be very angry that I should believe that you writ to me through Affection, you would have me know that it is not but by order of Melicerte. Well done silly! It is needful to be innured to your Scruples. I will well owe all my good fortune to Melicerte, but diminish not before yourself the Obligation that I will have to her, and that I own her much, be not so retentive in rendering me some Signals of your Friendship and Amity.  
The afflicted Tarsis to his Divine Shepherdess.  
THey now tell me news that makes me desperate, the Judgement of the affair of Alcidias is suspended for a Month, and in a State wherein he prohibits me to abandon it, I avow to you my Shepherdess I believe not but that I shall die, all the force of my Soul is worn out and spent by the long time I have wasted here, and I shall have never enough to make more resistance against my Grief. It's true, on the other hand, that the hope of the revisiting the fair silly should reanimate the courage of the most amated.  
Ah! If it must be so that yet another time I shall revisit her in these divine Moment's so worthy of my Faith I reply you not any more for myself Great Gods! through the excess of my Joy, and amongst these Transports so charming and so sweet, I know not if I shall be able to believe that my Honour is yet less than your Glory, and that I am in greatness inferior, nor less happy than you.  
Agamée yet willing to retake others, Telamonius withholding him said smiling, Ah! in very deed Agamée, he goes there by your Compassion not to retain poor Tarsis a longer time at Athens by the impatience that you see he hath to come out from thence. Let's reconduct him I pray you to Tempé; and see only before a few Lines that his Impatience constrained him to make out.  
You know undoubtedly Erasistrate the famous and so much renowned Physician, not only by the excellent Experiences which he hath manifested by his Art, but by the profound and eloquent Meditations which he hath written above all that there is most concealed in the Nature of Man. Yea assuredly, interrupted Agamée, and I have admired a Hundred times amongst his Works, his Tract, his rare Draft of the Passions, where teaching us to know them, he teacheth us also to combat with them, and to cure ourselves of those Diseases of the Mind whilst he prohibits us those of the Body. That is the very same, replied Telamonius, you know the Friendship that the great Precedent of the Areopagites hath for him. My Brother who had need to hasten the Judgement of his process and litigious Suit; which was the only Obstacle of his return to Zelie, prayed Erasistrate to speak to him in his Favour, and because he deferred it twice or thrice he thus pressed him.  
I languish for some days of a Disease, which according to appearance, if I receive not some assistance, must necessarily take a course bad enough. This Disease is called Impatience which naturally still grows and increaseth and I see without speedy Succour, my Cure apparently hopeless. Famous Physician of Souls and Bodies, I ask not for those noble Efforts and Endeavours which render you famous from Gange even to the Gades. Only vouchsafe to secure me with two words, that I be not the first sick one whom you will have left to die. These words Telamonius pursued, produced two advantageous Effects to Tarsis. The first that Erasistrate effectually made him have a very speedy Expedition. The second that this illustrious Personage having tasted and sounded his Wit, would contract Friendship with him. Now behold another piece which makes me call to mind an occasion, where this acquaintance was yet of more Utility to the Love of Tarsis: But although they are both in the same Leaf, by reason they are for the same Person, behold the cause why others were made between them both; it will be good therefore that we read them beforehand, these here were made at another House in the Country that Alcidias hath a little off the other side of Gonnes. Melicerte and silly were come there to spend some time, and Tarsis was there with them. After they were departed and returned to Calioure he sent them these Lines.  
I was seized near to you, O divine Zelie, with a thousand Transports of ravishing Joy, but for these pleasant Moment's, I have sad and mournful days, and so pass my Life; did I think to recall your amiable Presence, by the deceitful Charms of a sweet Memory, all speak to me of your absence when I would think of you; go I to walk in the Wood where silly came to take the fresh Air, and the Shadow, unfortunate one that I am, all that I see there is, that the fair one is departed. Thou seekest her every where, my Eye with Care and Fidelity following that of my Love, the error which deceives thee; thou ●eest a hundred places where the fair one was, but there she is not. Thou hast but the Pleasure there yet to see the green Turf where silly leaned, after her Paces, thou knowest it by the bait of a hundred Flowers that she made there to disclose and open. All the Grass hath taken a new Life, in those certain places where the fair One walked, thou seest Drought and Yellow with desire, that which her Foot hath not touched. In some places, said they, that she came to appear, they see that of a fair Green, the Earth is painted, they saw the Trees through desire grow, the Cherry to ripen was much more prompt, and her Hands choosing the ripest of its Fruits, made the others to blush with shame, because they had not been gathered; they yet saw there things metamorphosed, a thousand prodigious and surprising Effects, and of the Miracles which she hath done, they yet see a thousand things, but what serves that to the happiness of my Life, all that's of my Dolour I conceal, and conclude that there I saw silly, but in fine, see her no more, let's now return to our Work. But before it be read unto you it's requisite to you to observe, that a little after Tarsis was returned from Athens, Erasistrate being fallen sick, caused himself to be carried to Tempé, there to take the benefit of our Waters whose Reputation you know is famous all over Greece. There were then a considerable number of Persons of Quality that by the self same design had there been conducted, and there was not one but would have been very willing to see and entertain Erasistrate. As he was indisposed and not in a condition to pester and entangle his Spirits with the Maladies of others, he had provided for that trouble in declaring at first, that he would not only not make but would also receive nor accept of any Visits. Leucippe who was also then sick a Bed, had an unexpressible Passion to see him: But he could not have that Privilege. Tarsis alone had Erasistrate who even in his Indisposition could not dwell Idle, wrote at Tempé a Treatise upon the Nature of the Light; and a little before he had finished it, he shown it to Tarsis, with whom he took pleasure to communicate his Works. Tarsis was so charmed, that two hours after he had quitted him, he sent him these Lines.  
Finish the principal of the Work to which none is comparable, make appear the day in its Supreme degree; give light even to light itself; and from new Beams, enlighten the Sun. God drew out of the Chaos, the bright shining Light. Do with thy Pen what he did with his Voice; and by the Divinity of thy learned Quill, draw Light out of the confused Chaos, a second time. Until now it's splendour scarce visible. The day to us is dimmed and dazzled, the more are we sensible thereof; and from its proper and from its bright Glimpse comes its Obscurity. But pursue thy Race, and persist in thine Exercise; and three of thy days Journeys, goes throughout the whole universe to give more Light, which the Sun hath not done since three thousand years.  
Although these Lines speak of the Creation of the Light more according to the Opinion of Moses whose Books my Brother had read which followeth that of the Greeks, who determine not that it was done with, or by a Voice, nor since what time the World hath been made: Howsoever Erasistrate unto whom this strange Doctrine was known, so approved of this Piece, found it so to his good liking, and so much obliging, that although he was at the even of his Departure he could not yet leave Tempé without sight of my Brother, and went to seek him even to Callioure in the House of Leucippe whom Tarsis caused to be seen by this means. After Erasistrate had examined this Sick one, he found that the Remedies that they had until then Counselled him were quite contrary, and that he should lose himself in continuing them. So that Leucippe ask him for orders, Erasistrate who saw that all the cause of his Malady was occasioned by nothing but his Melancholy, and who knew the naturally pleasant Humour of my Brother, said in pointing unto him, that he could not counsel him a better Remedy than that of Tarsis.  
Melicerte, who sought but an occasion to make him to be valued by Leucippe, omitted not to serve herself of this, and from the self same Evening, discoursing with him on the Subject of his Indisposition, she said unto him, that in effect she saw well that all his Malady was only the produce of an excess of Vexation; that she had divers times observed, That when my Brother came to spend some time with them at their House, he was always better in point of Health; and that that had made her wish to him, that the Marriage of Tarsis and Zelie might still fix him in their House. Leucippe whom Family Reasons had made to take other Reasons for the Marriage of Zelie, answered coldly, that he believed not that Tarsis had that thought, and as she answered him, that she believed not also that it was very far distant: But your Daughter, said he unto her; hath she not formerly signified to you, that she would it should be to Daphnide? Melicerte to whom these words seemed to be a good Presage, answered him, that that was a Fancy of Youth, that had undoubtedly passed from her. And I counsel you, replied he, to let yours pass also. She would not press him more at that time.  
But some Months after, Tarsis so importuned Melicerte to make a second attempt and essay, that in fine, she resolved thereupon. She generously declared to Leucippe all that she deemed most capable to induce him to consent to this Marriage, and amongst others she endeavoured to make him sensible, of the infinite deserts and worths of Tarsis, by reason it was from that solely that she considered him herself. As she at this openly amplified the advantage to Leucippe, he also openly explained his Thoughts to her.  
But it was very cruelly for poor Tarsis. For Leucippe signified to Melicerte that it was a thing that she must not dream of, and gave her a thousand reasons. He added above all the Interest he had in a new League of Friendship and Confederacy, and told her but with a very severe Tone, that there should nothing be any more said of the Marriage of Tarsis and Zelie; that the thoughts thereof displeased him, and that she should not for the future make mention thereof, and thereupon he quitted her in furious Wrath.  
Melicerte who is the most Virtuous of Women, and who mortally feared to anger him, was so sensibly touched with the method in which he spoke to her, that she had not the power to answer thereunto, and so retired greatly afflicted into her Chamber. Tarsis who impatiently expected the success of their Discourse, was there as soon as she arrived there; and presently seeing her there sat down in a Chair, the left Elbow leaning upon the Table, her head upon one hand, and a Handkerchief in the other, her eyes bedewed with Tears, he divined by so sad a Countenance a part of his Misfortune. Ah Melicerte! said he expecting that she should speak to him, I ask you not for the answer of Leucippe, I too well see that he will that I die, and that you have received some displeasure, by attempting unprofitably to save the Life of a miserable One. Melicerte answered him, thus I have yet more Sorrow than I am able to express unto you to have left you engaged in a design, where I foresaw so little Advantage and Satisfaction to accrue to you, and gives so much displeasure to Leucippe. And then she recited him a certain part of their Discourse. After this Repetition, they both were for some time silent. In fine, Tarsis reassuming the first Discourse said; I avow unto you, Melicerte, that which you now tell me would be capable to make me desperate; if I had not wherewith to oppose Leucippe: but the little Virtue you have painted in me to him, and by which you have endeavoured to Combat with his Aversation I am not astonished that you have not been able to vanquish him with so feeble Weapons, and the sole reason that he would have had to yield himself upon these Considerations, it is that they were represented him by your Mouth. But it is requisite, generous Melicerte, if you please to leave all there, that relates to the Virtue of Tarsis alone, and employ only the Credit you have with, and influence you have upon the Spirit of Leucippe, the kindness you have for him, and that which he hath for you, the Requests and frequent Instances of a Woman so generous and amiable as you are, and when this is done, you will see that you shall be Omnipotent with him. Not so Tarsis, replied Melicerte; let's not flatter ourselves. If Leucippé had yielded in some respect to my Inclinations and Supplications which were instant, he would have done it this day, for I have therein forgotten nothing. But Tarsis, will you that I speak to you as a Mother? I know very well that what I am going to say unto you will presently fell down your Passion: But it's requisite that you make a generous Effort and Endeavour upon yourself, and by the displeasure of some days you may spare one of many years. There is no Person or at least very few that hitherto know your Inclination; and as your diligence and research hath been secret, your Honour, nor your Interest, are not engaged by a Rupture, as they may possibly be, if your Designs had more of Persecution. Ah Melicerte! interrupted Tarsis; I see too well where you would come. You have reason to be repulsed and rejected by so many troubles, and thereby would deliver yourself from the Importunities of a miserable One. But allege not here mine Honour nor Interest for a pretence; My Honour consists in nothing but in adoring the fair Zelie, and my Interest is but to die, if I am miserable enough to lose her. Melicerte, replied to him thus. Tarsis, You ill interpret my Thought, and it seemeth to me, that by the manner that I act, you have no place to believe, that I repulse myself to serve you. Pardon generous Shepherdess, replied Tarsis, pardon the Transports of a miserable One; if in something of his Grief he escapes, who repelleth the acknowledgement he oweth to so much goodness. No Melicerte, be not weary and ensnare not, but rather oblige this miserable One, and your Generosity is gone even beyond that which it would have dared to pretend. It's also in this Generosity, that I place all my Hopes, and they shall never quit me, as long as you shall not have abandoned me. I will be to you still what I have been, continued Melicerte: But what can I do since Leucippe hath prohibited me to speak, and in the manner as you have understood? Will you have me yield him occasion to believe that your Interest is more considerable to me than his Rest? God forbidden, replied Tarsis, that I should have so unjust a Thought: But if Leucippe hath forbidden you to speak, he hath not prohibited your Wishes, and provided you would wish that which to me would be happy, it seemeth to me that I should not know how to fail to be so. Alas, replied Melicerte, what shall secret and important Vows be able to do, where neither my Prayers nor Reasons can effect nothing? They will be able to do this, replied Tarsis, that Leucippe calling to mind in the end, all that which he ought to do for you, he will have a great deal of Trouble to resist so long a time, your desires. They will make him, not to take it any more for a Fantastical transitory Passage, but a fixed Resolution supported by Generosity and Constancy, and if they produce not that Effect, they will at least wise cause me to die less unfortunately, when I shall see that you will not have abandoned me. He would have cast himself at her Feet in finishing those words: But Melicerte impeding him, said unto him; Tarsis since you believe it not requisite that you repulse yourself, let's essay what our Patience will be able to, and let us refer the rest to the Gods. In the Sequel she gave him some Counsel, after what manner and method he should live with Zelie, not to wound the Spirit of Leucippe, and above all, she recommended to him to take heed, that he should not be found with her Daughter.  
Whilst Tarsis and Melicerte discoursed after this manner, the young Shepherdess was in a corner of the same Chamber where she was retired to leave Tarsis and her Mother the Liberty of a Conversation, the Subject whereof she was not Ignorant, and where she therefore believed that Decency permitted her not to be present. Howsoever they spoke so loud, that it had been very easy to her to understand them; and as that amiable Daughter had since the avouching of her Mother followed with willingness enough, the bent of her acknowledgement and Inclination, which gave her some liking and kindness for Tarsis, it is easy to Judge that it was not without Grief, that she learned the resistance of her Father. Also her eyes were not without some Tears, when this Shepherd discoursed Melicerte, and although those of her Mother had possibly been the Occasion, she had notwithstanding given the major part by a disgrace wherein she had as well as himself the principal Interest. Tarsis approached to her in going forth from the presence of Melicerte, and accosting her with an Action very Passionate. Amiable Zelie, said he unto her, you see a Man who would be in the last Desperation, if he had not a Mother and a Mistress so generous, who is assured, that nothing shall be able to move or shake their Constancy, and will finish with Courage that which they have begun with so much goodness. Tarsis replied she, if you were not very generous yourself, you would not accost me but with reproaches, and 'tis a strange thing, that instead of an Acknowledgement of the Obligations I have to you, I should be the cause of giving you so much displeasure, But that you quit not also this unfortunate One, who seems not but destinated to do you Evil? and that you serve not yourself by the Counsel of Melicerte? What Zelie, cried Tarsis, you also give me those Counsels? Ah! I did not find them strange from a Mother who believeth not always a duty to enter into the Passion of her Children: But that you yourself should Counsel me to lose you, and to do worse by me than Leucippe can do, pardon me silly, if I say that in that I find you more cruel than he. He will do me evil: but you without Compassion take from me even Consolation itself, since I expect it but from you. You Transport yourself very easily, replied him sweetly Zelie. If I give you this Counsel, do I take from you the liberty of not following it? No replied he; but when one gives such Counsel to another, that is to say that one is very capable to take them for one's self. If I were capable to take them for myself, sadly, replied silly, I should not have had to do but to give them to you. For you know Tarsis that although there must be two Persons to make Friendship, there needs but one to break it. But also, added Tarsis with a deep Sigh, when one would not violate a Friendship, one Counsels it not to another; for there must be both the one and the other to conserve it, as there must be two to make it. silly was some moments without replying him; afterwards lifting up her eyes towards him, which she before had fixed upon the Earth; then when one better loves the rest of his Friends than his own proper, said she unto him, one looks not upon that which one would one considereth not, but their Advantage. It is true Zelie, replied Tarsis: but when we well love our Friends, we believe them not to be of greater Advantage than our Friendship, because we judge of them by ourselves. But replied she, (beholding him always with eyes where the Regret with which she had given him, this Counsel was well painted) when I see that this Friendship causeth you not but so many Evils, can I figure myself that you may have some advantage thereby? and is it not my Love to you, much more when that in the expense of my own proper Affection, I wish you another much more happy? no, answered yet this Shepherd passionately; Nor that Zelie, one cannot when one well loves his Friends to wish them a new Friendship, because one believes not, that another can equal that which we have for them, nor who is worthy of their Amity: But that which we should, it is to do that on our part, which may prove happy for them, in despite even of Fortune. For in fine, Zelie Friendship it's not of those benefits which depends of the hazard of their Success, all its Perfection consists but in our Heart alone, when the Heart is faithful and constant Friendship is perfect, and when 'tis perfect, it is still very happy. Alas Tarsis! replied silly, in conclusion with a Sigh, wherefore are you then unhappy? Tarsis well understood what would be said in these few words, and the Consolation which he had re-inflaming him with a new Ardour; My amiable Shepherdess, said he to her, I know your Fidelity and Constancy: But tempt no more also mine, and believe that I prefer my misfortune to all the Felicities of the World, provided that you would permit me to hope in despite of the Cruelties that Leucippe hath for me.  
Ay Tarsis, replied she unto him, I will hope that the Aversion of Leucippe will change, and I could wish that we would hope it together. What? replied Tarsis, you replace me therefore yet in the change of Leucippe, and I shall always be unhappy if he changeth not? Tarsis, continued she, if 'tis requisite for us, as you said before, to be happy, there needs but Fidelity and Constancy, you shall so find me as long as I live: But it concerns me not more to answer you to any thing, if you demand of me that which depends not but upon Leucippe. As she finished Leucippe entered into the Chamber, and surprising them both there one near to the other, though in the presence of Melicerte, he could not refrain to signify Displeasure, and passed into the Garden, not uttering nor speaking one word to Melicerte. This Wise and Virtuous Woman, as I have said, dreading nothing more in the whole World than to anger him, went there all disquieted after him with her Daughter; and I admired a thousand times the address, the sweetness, the complaisance wherewith she essayed to repair, restore, and revive his Spirits.  
In the mean time Tarsis had in his Soul many more regrets, and anxieties, than I can depaint, and principally, when he dreamt that his love having sparkled forth, he would always be rendered suspect to Leucippe, and deprived of that sweet liberty he had before, to live near to Zelie, in the familiarity of a Brother, and that consequently he should lose his very principal Consolation. 'Tis not that Leucippe did not continue to see him with a very good eye in the House; for as he knew by means of Melicerte and acknowledged a great Friendship for Tarsis, he had always for her that Complaisance to receive him civilly into his House: But he would no more permit him to have any Conversation with Zelie, imagining it was that which entertained their Affection, and thinking to repulse them by little and little by this Constraint. A great error, not to know that Love is a Fire whose Heat is the more redoubled by its being held shut up, and 'tis a Torrent which doth no other than swell greater by the Obstacles that one opposeth it; It is true Leucippe knew not that their Love was yet form or well knit, and he believed it to be but only Friendship as yet; In such sort that to hinder them to pass further he observed them with so much exactness, that Tarsis suffered infinitely: for to please him, he abstained not only to speak to Zelie, but it must be so that he hindered him to look upon her, unless it were with a kind of indifferency, and was constrained that for keeping his Court with Leucippe, he must also almost testify an Aversion against his Daughter. In such wise, that before Leucippe the two Persons of the World, which loved most one another to be in a Chamber without speaking, without approaching, yea even without looking one upon another, if their Amity did not sometimes steal a look, unprevented by the Father, but I more bewail silly than Tarsis, by reason that in this vexatious Constraint it was necessary that she should pretend Liberty and Joy, when Tarsis went and passed a long time, without sight of her. That was the time that she must manifest more of Merriment, for that was the time when she was most observed, and the least sadness she had miss not but to be imputed to her Affection. It is true she had a marvellous command over her Spirit and Wit, and she did so well counterfeit sometimes her Indifferency that Tarsis himself was sometimes thereby deceived, and she would make him reproaches. Now I have told you a part of all this to give you some sight and understanding of this Elegy that Tarsis made on the Subject of this Constraint.  
Bewail a little my Lot, adorable Zelie, give some Sighs to the misfortune of my Life, and refuse not the dolorous Complaints of a Lover, that which the least Evils easily obtain, you know the rigours of my sad Fortune, I demand not but that they may be to you common, can you be happy, and I alone unfortunate? I will only have all the Ills, but let's both bewail them. The Heavens which made you to be born in such an adorable State made you not so to be miserable, you would have had much less Grace, which gives not so much of it to those whom it loves not, but if it have not made you to be miserable, it was not also to be unpitiful, if it mixeth Tears in your eyes it hath so many enticements; Ah! it was to weep over the Evils, that they have done, they have done all mine, beloved silly, I should not have had without them such bitterness of Life, they would see me in Tranquillity and Free even to the last Point, and I should be happy for I should not love. But what do I say? Ah! Zelie! excuse this Blasphemy, if there be any one happy, it's he whom you Love; and since your eyes have deigned to charm me, I should be too happy, if I durst love you; it's not my Love whereof I have cause or place to complain, I complain much rather because they would extinguish it, and that an obstinate Father, will not permit me your heavenly Presence liberally to adore, in all places he spies me, and without Intermission, he takes notice of me, or if I accost you, or look upon you, one cast alone towards you is scarcely permitted me, if it be not one of those given to an Enemy or Enemies. What Torments, great Gods, what difficult Constraints, to be seen reduced to these cruel Pretences, and that uneasily great Passions can subject themselves to so many Afflictions? Alas! must a legitimate fervour lie concealed in the same Method that one would conceal a Crime, must a Man see himself so reduced to betray himself, and to love so much, and yet pretend to hate? I am not more able to do it, silly, and my Soul is constrained this day to finish this mortal Dissimulation, my Love goes to appear, and I go to discover it, silly, they go to see, and I go to die.  
Tarsis had taken a time when Leucippe was gone to fetch a Walk, to present the foregoing Lines to Melicerte and Zelie, and the Mother gave them her Daughter to read when the Rain unawares drove in Leucippe, and he found them in the Hands of the young Shepherdess. She was presently much surprised, and would rashly have hid them, but even that put an edge to the desire of Leucippe to see what it was, and I cannot tell you what complaints he made not to Melicerte, when he knew it.  
Tarsis and Zelie, for a very long time in this mournful manner led their Life: but in fine the Friendship of Leucippe for Melicerte carried him away by her Policy, so that by the generosity of this incomparable Mother whom we seconded Philiste and myself, by all our cares; Tarsis saw himself at the Even of his good Fortune after which he had sighed after so many years. I will not stay here to mark you out his Joy, nor his Transports to the change of so desirable a Fortune; for as you yourself have very much loved, you should better be able to conceive these things. I will only read you these Lines he made in that time of his Patience to press Leucippe to conclude this Marriage. He made them in form of a Request, and very much after the method of those that he had seen when they served the Senate at Athens whilst he was there, soliciting the litigious Suit of my Father.  
A poor and unfortunate Lover, humbly remonstrates and makes request, saying that the same days Journey that his eldest Son by Hymeneé entered your House, the younger was clapped in Prison. The unfortunate one without Defiance and under the fidelity of an Alliance came to the Solemnity of a Marriage contracted, and for this Ceremony, he led the Company, made the Sports, the laughter, the cheerfulness, the youth, the liberty, the pleasures, and the indifferency, and amongst the joy and delight, the Imprudent took no heed to the Snares and 'Gins that they prepared for him. When Love learned the mystery, and Hymen that had done it without having been contracted in this Divinity, the whole Destiny having conducted wholly this sacred Himenée. Then he became furious, Fire sprang up in his eyes, through despite he poured forth Tears, and arming himself with all his Weapons, he ran nimbly and lightly, and protested to avenge himself, and in his irredoubtable Fury without discerning the Guilty, for a Sacrifice offered up himself. The first he met withal, Alas! I was that miserable One. Immediately with a thousand or rather a hundred Darts he overwhelmed me. He emptied his Quiver, but I therefore resisted him; when I perceived myself that silly was of that Party also and perfidiously sent him the last Dart that he cast at me. This Arrow done to satisfy him, that which his own were not able to do, for immediately I was felled down, and even at the same Instant wholly overcome, and soon without Compassion he loosened the string from his Bow, and with a thousand inhuman Knots, binding my hands and Feet, delivered me as a Reward into those of the Shepherdess, who a hundred other blows gave me, and wickedly imprisoned me, but in a Prison so strong that it's not possible for me to get out, and that herself could not thence draw me though she would; for this Tragical Adventure was wholly done by Magic Art, and you only have a Right to undo the Enchantment.  
This therefore, considered my Judge, my Redeemer, Refuge, attended, that being innocent and for a long time languishing, it is not for your Justice to prolong my Torment: By your gracious Favour let it be appointed, that rest may forthwith even immediately be given me, and that for to make recompense and reparation for my Pain, within three days at most, the inhuman One for a punishment may be committed to my Discretion, to order a Correction, in effecting which you will execute Justice.  
Telamonius having finished the reading of this Paper, the Areopagite took it out of his Hand, and as it was in some respect one certain piece of his Occupation, he took Pleasure to read it over again. Leucippe also found it very much to his satisfaction, Telamonius continued the Sequel, and he was pleased to sign it with his own Name.  
So you see that this Marriage was wholly resolved on: But admire the misfortune of poor Tarsis; for the succeeding day Leucippe fell Sick. I know not whether it was through a purely natural Indisposition, or by the Vexation that his litigious Suit had given him, or by the Efforts and Endeavours that he had made upon his Spirits, to overcome himself on this Marriage: But so it was, that a high Fever seized him with such Malignity that in less than eight days he raved, and talked idly. There Desolation came and took place instead of the Joy, that prepared itself. Behold the prudent Melicerte who passionately loved him, grieved excessively, and silly in an Affliction inconsolable. For besides the Love she had for her Father, as Melicerte loved her Husband, that is to say, infinitely. Besides the Obstacle that she saw in the success of her Affection; that is, that Leucippe perpetuallly named them, she herself and Tarsis in his raving Fits. That was not strange, by reason that being fallen Sick, at the time that he had the Marriage in his mind, the fresh Impression and Smack thereof, might make him naturally speak more of that than of any other thing; even as those who rave, rage, ordinarily dream of the Thoughts wherein they were, when they fell asleep. In the interim, silly by a scruple of Friendship and Tenderness for her Father, went and put it into her Mind that she undoubtedly was the cause of his Disease, and that possibly she should be the cause of his Death. Behold her therefore in so great grief and trouble of Mind, that she also fell Sick herself with Affliction, and almost, even to Extremity, I will not however declare the Complaints and Moans and Alarms of poor Tarsis, nor yet speak of the care and good Offices that he rendered her during her Illness.  
She was fortunately restored, and revived before Leucippe. But however I know not if I ought to say Fortunately; for it was not but with a Resolution undoubtedly worthy of a high Virtue, but which cost poor Tarsis exceeding dear.  
Leucippe yet continued Sick, but however a little better when Melicerte, whose Cares, Toils, Troubles and Afflictions, that she had had through the indisposition of her Husband, was reduced to the necessity to think of herself, she came to walk on the bank of the River to take the benefit of the Air, and exercise herself a little. I gave her my Hand on one side, she with the other hold Philiste by the Arm, and my Brother aided the fair Zelie in walking, holding her by one Arm, and she held in the other Hand her Crook leaning on it, her weakness by her late Indisposition, constraining her to follow softly after us, not being able to go faster. During the time of the Walk Tarsis told me that he found her speak Idly and Fantastically; so that he understood not what she meant or said; and through the disquietude he had by reason thereof, he frequently asked her if her Disease reseized her. At length after much pressing, he saw her betake herself to Weeping. Tarsis yet more alarmed, impatiently asked her what she ailed, and seeing the first Instances served to no purpose, he conjured her by her Love, and by all he knew might have most influence on her, to declare to him the cause of her Trouble.  
At length silly having discharged her Stomach of the Hickhocks or Yexing which hindered her Voice, and seeing us so far, as not to to be able to hear her, resolved to speak to her thus. Alas, Tarsis, you press me to tell you a thing that I am much more desirous to let you know; But I avow you, I know not how to undertake it when I conceive that from the Moment that you shall learn it, you will be angry with me, and possibly will hate me. Tarsis was much surprised at these words and could not divine what they meant. For me to hate you, replied he, O Zelie! you must then tell me that you love me no more, and although you should tell me so much, I should rather die in the Field, but should never be able to hate you. I am yet less capable not to love you more, replied silly. There she stopped, and Tarsis seeing that she did not unfold him the rest, asked her what she had to say unto him. And as she saw her Mouth opened twice or thrice, ready to speak unto him and as often to shut it again, and to utter nothing but Sighs, behold him in the greatest trouble of the World. What is it therefore, fair Zelie? said he unto her. Make me not to languish any longer. For in fine, whilst I know not what it is, I fear a hundred thousand Evils which I imagine, and yet others which I imagine not. It is true, replied she, wiping her eyes, that I am a Fool thus to alarm you, and to believe you, and to believe you could be angry for a thing that you undoubtedly would find just, and even for the weal of our Friendship.  
At the uttering these words, she said unto him, with the fairest Colour that she could there find, that whatever Effort or Endeavour Leucippe had made upon her, his Aversation against their Marriage still continued undoubtedly, that it was assuredly that which had made him Sick, and which held him and entertained him in such perplexity that his Life was in danger; and that if he should die, she should never be exempted from that Conception, but that she had been the cause thereof that all the World would have the same thoughts, after they should hear any mention made of his Disease, and what he had therein sa●d, and of all that which had passed, she therefore besought him, to abstain a while from seeing her, for some space of time to observe what would thereby be produced in relation to his cure and recovery. Whatever proportion she had made to this discourse, Tarsis was so Surprised, that he remained all in confusion, and amated. His dart fell out of his hand, and left goal so that of Zelie, and judging by the cross of all the counterfeiting and dissembling which she had used, that her resolution was to infringe the course of their friendship and amity, and to sacrifice it to an imagination, that to him appeared Fantastical and Frivolous: he crossed his arms athwart his stomach, and held himself a long time in that posture, not being able to speak, only casting his eyes on her, where grief said a thousand things, that his Tongue could not express.  
In the mean time silly, who divined the state of his Soul and mind, not only by his countenance, but yet much more by the affliction that she felt in her own heart, was very willing to say something to him to cons●late him for the evil she had done him, and a hundred times she he sitated and stammered, to retract the word she had spoken and let go. But on the other side the Image of sick Leucippe, and sick as she believed by the displeasure that she had caused him, reanimated her virtue to combat against the tenderness of her affection; So that after having held for some time her eyes down upon the ground remaining silent, she thus re-assumed her discourse and said. I very well see, Tarsis, that that which I have said hath much afflicted you, and I am not much astonished at the effect it hath had on myself. For in fine its requisite you should know, that 'tis through the rude and churlish combat between my duty and my friendship, that I am reduced to those extremities you have found and seen me in. But it's withal requisite, Tarsis, that you make this reflection with me. You see the condition, wherein my father is; Will you, that I be, (I tremble to speak it, and only to think of it, but in fine it's that, which possibly may arrive) will you, that I be the cause of his death, and that I render myself the shame, and horror of my family? Ah! Tarsis, you would hate me yourself, if I were capable to suffer it, and if you punish me not by your hatred, the Gods would punish us both. I very well know that you will make my thought pass for a vision, and a Chimaera: but I have but one world to answer you. Either it is true that Leucippe will have us married, or it is true that he will not, if he will he will suddenly recall you, if he will not I ought not to think thereof any more myself. Have you said enough, cruel Zelie, quoth Tarsis, at that very passage; where or what more remains for you yet to say, to thrust on my despair any farther? Is it not yet enough that you have testified to me, that you would defeat yourself of me, without giving so many reasons which serves no other than to show me the premeditation, with which you make me despair, and the care you have taken to heap up wherewith to combat my resistance, and wherewith to ruin me? Are these then the fair meditations of your Malady, and is this the fruit of the vows that I made for your health? you come to tell me, and oppose me with the sickness of a father. But is it by his own order at least that you make me this fair, and Eloquent Oration? No Tarsis, replied she, but it is by the order of my duty, which is yet more to me than my father. Therefore cried he out all Transported. You oppose me with an Imaginary duty, though you have nothing more of a father to oppose me withal, and you come to make a pretext to betray my love, when Leucippe hath approved and confirmed it! You are born and carried away, Tarsis, replied the shepherdess with a thousand tears: But I am taken only in my own Mischief, and in a common disgrace wherein already I am undoubtedly the most unfortunate; I will yet see myself overwhelmed with all reproaches. O! Cruel one, said she unto her, these reproaches touch you but little, and you very well prepare yourself thereunto, and are prepared to make me this discourse. But believe not that I make you do it long, I will put myself very suddenly in a state where I shall never be able to make you do it. He became silent there, and continued his eyes a long time fixed upon the ground, sometime lifting them up towards heaven notwithstanding, where he stretched out his arms also sometimes as demanding vengeance, for the cruelty of Zelie. On the other side, these last words had also penetrated the heart of Zelie, the shepherdess, with so vigorous a pain, and gave her such an apprehension, that carried and bore her away to such a point of extremity, that she knew not where she was. At length she tore their silence asunder, and tenderly said unto him with a voice feeble enough: Well Tarsis, is this what you have promised me, not to hate me for that which I was going to tell you? At these words Tarsis looking upon her with eyes capable to cleave any heart with pity, and whence Trickled a Thousand Tears: Ah! Zelie, said he unto her, I do keep you my word too well, and if I could hate you, you should not see me in the Transporture, nor the despair wherein I am. Then he beheld the shepherdess grew pale, and in effect the fatigation, and faintness with the grief and pain joining themselves together to the great weakness wherein her disease left her, caused her to fall to the ground; and possibly it had not been without dangerously hurting her, so did all her strength abandon her all at once, if the shepherd had not upheld her in her fall, and caused his feet to lean at the foot of a tree very near them, grief and pain had toiled him, in such a nature, that he neither dreamt of calling us, nor yet to fetch water from the River, to cast in her face & cause her to revive, so that poor Zelie remained there a long time without speech, without strength, sense or motion, unless some affectionate amorous aspect which she piningly, and pitifully cast upon Tarsis, who with one knee on ground held one of her fair hands between his, and endeared them with an infinite number of tears.  
Never was Spectacle more touching, and Melicerte, myself, and Philiste were the mournful Witnesses thereof. For as we took notice that there was some time past, that we had not heard them behind us, I returned to see what was become of them, and we discerned them afar off in this lamentable condition. I advanced forward toward their Succour, and having made silly revive, we caused her to be carried to Callioure by some Shepherds where we followed them all very sad and mournful.  
The Morrow we returned, my Brother and myself, from this Hamlet to Callioure, to learn some News of the State of Leucippes' Health and of hers, when a little Shepherd gave this Ticket to Tarsis which is doubtless the Original which she kept. For see how many Lines she hath begun and blotted out afterwards, before she would determine with herself in what manner to write to him, see how many razings out and words changed and replaced, and all that marked out well; the trouble with which she was agitated! But behold what she writ in Conclusion.  
silly to TARSIS.  
THis is to reiterate you the Request I made you Yesterday, which I writ you this day. You may judge of the violence I suffered by the State wherein you saw me, and the excess of my Dolour ought in my Apprension purge me from your Reproaches, I hope that Leucippe will be touched, and that when his Life is out of danger, he will have a care of ours: But in waiting I demand and desire of you but three things; Not to see me till the State of our Affairs are changed to preserve yourself, and not to hate me.  
silly.  
The same reason which hath made me already pass by many other things, yet impedes me to stop me here, by the Testimonies that Tarsis gave of the grief that Letter had caused to fall upon him, and to declare unto you how many times he re-perused it, to see if he were not deceived, and if he could not find there some favourable word to disabuse himself: for if I should dwell upon these Particularities, 'twould be to have no end. When he was well confirmed in the Truth of what he saw, he was born away by a thousand Transports which cannot possibly be imagined. But in conclusion, he was forced to resolve, and having his Soul full of anguish, but yet at the self same time full of Love and Respect for Zelie, he entered into the very next House, where having taken Paper he wrote the answer that you see, and besought me even myself to give it to that Shepherdess.  
TARSIS to ZELIE.  
THere is so long a time past that I have been unfortunate, that I should thereunto be accustomed, and possibly also, constant in some Disgrace or other; but that of this kind is to me a Novelty; the same Hand who was wont to solace me, in times past, makes me despair this day. I have not, nor do find wherewith to contradict it, since it depends upon the Health of Leucippe. My Life is in such a Nature at your beck, that you have a right to redeem his, and not being capable to lose it at your Service in particular, I shall verily Sacrifice it for the Health of some of yours.  
TARSIS.  
You see Agamée that this Letter is in the end of all our Papers, and the last that Tarsis writ unto her. And there was the State of his Affection and of his Disgrace, there was not any thing left of change, unless it were that Leucippe was perfectly recovered afterwards, there remained but a little trouble, his Indisposition seemed to have added to his natural melancholy; when the conclusion of the Marriage between Tarsis and Zelie had been obstructed by the strange Accidents that you have known and understood.  
There remains no more to me to add you, but a Circumstance which will undoubtedly make you bewail him more than any other thing. Besides the accident which hath happened, Leucippe overcome by the virtue and complaisance of Zelie, declared to me even yesterday that although he had not any way signified to his Daughter, nor yet to Melicerte, any kind of thing, he was however resolved immediately upon his recovery, to accomplish the desire of these two unfortunate Lovers, with the Felicity that my Brother had so much desired.  
Telamonius having thus finished, Agamée resumed the Discourse, and signified to this Shepherd the extreme satisfaction he had received in their reading and his recital. It's requisite that I avow to you, wise Shepherd, said he to him, that what admiration soever, I had had for Tarsis, combating and performing so many rare Exploits and noble Feats with his dear Telamonius at Chalcedony, and at Panticapée, I have had no less an esteem for Tarsis loving at Tempe, and if I have infinitely bewailed him, in the Prisons of Lysimachus and of the King of the Bosphorus, he hath not made me less compassionate in the Shackles and Fetters of the Virtuous, but too delicate and too scrupulous Zelie. For in fine, if at present she were not possibly, rather in a State to be bewailed than blamed, I could not refrain, to have her taste the ill of this superstitious Imagination which had caused her to banish Tarsis so unseanably without doubt, (as you have said) as she hath done & and hath been the cause of all the misfortunes which have happened them afterwards. But I am no more astonished now at the strange Disquietudes of Tarsis to know what possibly may become of her; for I see not in all that you have taught me, any thing that can assist me in never so small a manner to divine what could have been the Subject or Ground which should cause her to disappear for so long a time. I cannot find any reason, nor do I imagine why she should flee from her Father's House, nor be disposed to fear she should be carried a way by any Rivals; since that by good Fortune, particular enough in a Man who loves so fair a Person, I apprehend not therein Tarsis hath been crossed and thwarted. I see well that it is the great stayedness wherein she hath been brought up and educated, the Prudence of Melicerte, and the small hope that they also found to walk upon the Track of Tarsis, which hath warranted her from so universal an Evil in Love. But whatsoever it be, the less I see the cause of the loss of this Shepherdess, and the more I apprehend some mournful Accident, whereof there is not yet any discovery made or distrusted. They afterwards had some discourse on this Subject, and as it grew exceeding late, Agamée took leave of Telamonius who promised to go and see him the next day.   
The End of the Second Book of the Second Part.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Second Part. The Third BOOK.  
THe amorous Tarsis continued in the mean time, searching her out with all the diligence of a Man, who saw his Salvation and Health fixed, in the discovery of that whereof he was in pursuit. He had soon crossed over a great part of the Forest, and judging well, that Women could not walk so many Steps in so short a time, he returned upon his first Track, and repassed twenty times by the same places, without meeting that which he hoped and was in quest of. In fine, weary of so unprofitable a search, and seeing the night began to increase and thicken its obscurity, and to take from him the means of discerning the Objects that presented themselves to his sight and view; he had recourse to the Voice, and made all the Forest resound and echo of the Name of Zelie. But nothing made him an answer but the echo of the Mount which he nearly approached unto: so that after having unprofitably run on all sides, he was in the end constrained, as well through his Grief as Pain, and by the want of Strength, to betake himself to the foot of a Tree, where he lay also smitten with displeasure, whereas he was before animated with Joy, there a thousand mournful Thoughts came crowding to dissipate those Beams of hope which had some Moment's before been re-given him in the day, and fear succeeding this same hope, it made in his Heart a new Combat, between these two Passions in which his reason was a hundred times ready to leave him. So that he addressed himself to things insensible, unto whom he spoke as if they had been able to understand him, and 'twas only occasioned, through the small effect of his Fear.  
Sometimes he complained to the Trees, accusing them by their thickness to have taken away the means of following the sight of his Shepherdess, than he would address himself to the Sun, to have too soon precipitated and hastened its going down, and reproached it to have formerly stopped its Course for a less important Occasion; and soon in returning to the Veil or Scarce of Zelie that he had gathered up, and approached it to his Mouth with Transport, he seemed to conjure it to tell him if it was not true that his Shepherdess was yet living, and to demand of it the cause of her absence and the places of her retreat.  
A profound Silence had succeeded these Complaints, and his Grief shut up again in his Heart, was not otherwise expressed than by Sighs which he was forced to burst forth time after time, when he heard the Noise of some Persons speaking, and having thereunto lent an ear, he judged they advanced towards him. Their Voices appeared to him to be those of Women, and with the attention which he thereunto gave, he understood that one said, I am not come yet out of my right, but it is time that we retire ourselves, to morrow we will come to seek your Veil.  
These words made Tarsis to judge that these were the Women he was in quest of; and indeed he soon understood the Person to continue after this sort. Without lying or dissimulation, yours is a sad Destiny, to be reduced to take flight from your Parents, to hid yourself in the Forests, and know not which to fear, either savage and bruit Beasts or Men. But is it possible that the Son of Alcidias hath not been advertized, that he hath not been touched, and that you have no News from him? These words seeming to be marvellously relating to those of Tarsis and Zelie, strangely alarmed the Heart of the Shepherd. He knew not whether it were better for him to speak and make himself known, or whether he should content himself, and softly follow these Persons and attempt to learn the place whereunto they retired. His Love growing Impatient, pressed him to name himself, and go to cast himself at the feet of her whom he took to be silly, and to go and make her see the injustice of a doubt, which seemed to him to be outrageous, but the fear that he saw them in, to be known, gave him apprehension that it would make them fly in his approaching them; and as one of the precedent nights, when he named himself to Zelie upon the River, the design of making himself known, had so ill succeeded, he had a thousand Fears to be no more happy in a second Attempt and Probation. In this perplexity he knew not what to determine, yet notwithstanding, he still risen up without making any noise, when he understood her who had not yet spoken, answer the other thus after sighing once or twice or thrice. Ah! Cousin, the Son of Alcidias shall always be the same that he hath been, as my Brother shall never be other than cruel and without Pity. It's therefore my Resolution having well thought thereupon, I believe it is better for me to embrace the Condition which I refused, and to give myself solely to the Gods, since there is nothing but Inconstancy and cruelty in Men. These Terms all obscure as they were to Tarsis, did not but too much enlighten him the entire doubt which held his mind in suspense. He very perfectly knew by that Voice that the Person who so spoke was not Zel●e, and that Fortune had taken Pleasure to abuse him by some resemblance or similitude of Height and Habit, and by an equivocation of words. It is not possible to express or conceive how much Pain and Grief seized him at the same Instant; he had before lifted up himself half, he had then but one Knee upon the ground, and his hand leaning against a Tree, at the foot whereof he was sat, making the last Effort and Endeavour, to finish the putting him in a condition either to follow these two unknown, or to go and cast himself at their Feet according as he should there determine by his last Resolution: but after he had understood these words, his Strength and his Hope left him all at once, and he fell again through weakness at the Foot of the same Tree, as at the felling down of a Man whose sense of feeling had abandoned him. He remained a long time in that state, and so much out of himself, that these Persons went away farther off without his speaking to them, nor had he any desire to do it. However he retook his Spirits, and in some sort came to himself, and Love which in a moment came to stifle in him all sorts of Curisioty, had no sooner let him lose the occasion of satisfying it, but it reflamed and rekindled to torment him afresh, and gave him a more impatient desire than ever before, to know what these unknown Ones were. The name of the Son of Alcidias that they both had pronounced made him see enough, if he had not some Interest in this Adventure himself, undoubtedly some of his Brothers had. But this consideration contributed nothing to the desire he had to rejoin them; his Love permitted not his Heart should possibly be sensible of other Motives but of those that concerned his Passion.  
He was not tormented, but by the Inquietude to know how this vail of silly was fatally fallen between the hands of these Strangers. He railed himself more unquiet than ever, and impatient to repair the fault which he had committed, in not enlightening himself, he ran with all his might to the place where he imagined those Women were gone: but be it that he understood them walking they hide themselves behind some Bush, be it that he took not the way that they had held, so that it came to pass, that it was impossible for him to find them again.  
That was then a strange redoubling of his disquiets, although that they were already such before that time, that it seemed that they could not augment, for this poor Shepherd sought in his mind, what he would have asked of these Strangers, and interrogating himself of the manner wherewith these precious Relics of his Shepherdess could possibly come into the hands of one unknown, he drew out the most dismal Conjectures, and of all that he had said himself, he said nothing but what would bring him to despair. It must not be more doubted, cried he, but that silly is dead, and it cannot be but by reason of her death these spoils could fall into other hands. Ah Fortune! Fortune! Wherefore delayest thou so long to assure me of the Death of Zelie. Oh Oh Fortune why dost thou take Pleasure to abuse me, and prolong my Life by such deceivable Hopes? But idle Shepherd! replied he, a little afterwards, it's of thyself that thou shouldest complain much rather than by that of Fortune. Had she not already sufficiently advertized thee of thy Misfortune? Couldst thou doubt of the loss of Zelie after all that had past that deplorable night, where she made thee understand out of her own mouth, that she had an intent to lose herself? Was not this enough to infuse Courage in thee to follow her? Was not that enough to incite thee to seek the Remedy, that the Gods have in the end, been obliged to Counsel thee themselves by their Oracles? and when thou hadst not been assured that silly was not more in the World, the sole doubt of her loss should not that have been more than sufficient to oblige thee a hundred times to die? Without doubt this was fortunately that his hand found itself disarmed in the time, that he abandoned his Soul to the Transports of his Grief; for if he had had his Dart, yet it could not longer have deferred to have put an end to a Life that he conserved but by regret, and which he believed he could not prolong without shame. The precipitation of the Course wherein he found himself engaged to follow these unknown Ones, had not given him leisure nor time to retire from the Body of that furious Bruit that he had slain, and the night permitted him not any longer, to disintagle himself from the place where he had left it, he was obliged to retire himself without doing himself at that time any more evil than those mournful and cruel News had given him. But his despair held not there a long time.  
The Morrow Telamonius arose very early in the Morning to go to see Agamée, as he had promised the preceding evening. Philiste who would go to render her Devoirs to the wise Melicerte, whom she saw every day after the accident of her Sister, clothed herself to take the Air, and chief, to take occasion to walk part of the way with her Husband, he would not go forth before he had made a turn in the Chamber of Tarsis, to learn why he retired so late the preceding night; and also to know if he would not be one of the Party to which he was very willing to engage him, whereby to have diverted him, he opened the door of his Chamber, and entering was very much surprised, to see him in all his  upon his Bed, which appeared not to be unmade; and much more yet when he observed his head uncovered, his Hat upon the Floor, one of his Arms hanging over the Bed, with some signs and marks of Blood, and the other folded under his Body in so odd and constrained a posture, that it could not have been possible for him to have had any rest or repose. But it was a much greater amazement, when he approached him nearer, and saw the Coverlet all be bloodied and poor Tarsis weltering in his Blood. He made a great cry, called for Succour, and all in confusion seeking and searching after the Wound of this unfortunate Lover, he observed that he was lain upon an Arrow, which the weight of his Body had broken, which yet he held under him with the right hand, the point whereof was sunk into his Stomach. At the view whereof, Telamonius thought of dying himself with the Wound of his dear Brother, and all his Wisdom could not defend him from the reach and stroke of the most forcible and violent Pain and Grief. Ah Philiste! cried he to her, seeing her enter, poor Tarsis is dead; and behold the Issue of this dismal Oracle, and undoubtedly the cause of this sudden and unexpected Joy, whereof we were all astonished yesterday at night. At these words poor Philiste appeared as smitten with a Thunderbolt.  
She immediately became pale, silent, and immovable, afterwards pouring forth abundance of Tears all at once from her eyes: O Gods! cried she, what have we done unto you, to over-whelm us all at once with so many Evils? At the same time she went to cast herself upon the Body of poor Tarsis which she watered with a Thousand Tears.  
Telamonius immediately sent to fetch a Chirurgeon to see if he had yet some life remaining, and in the mean while having himself uncovered his Stomach he began with his handkerchief to wipe off the blood which was round about the wound, and which was already all curdled. However he found yet some heat and warmth in his body, and which was the first thing that gave him any glimpse of hope, the Chirurgeon having considered the wound observed, that the point of the arrow could not have penetrated very far in, by reason it went sloping, and one might yet see one part of the Iron head without the Wound. He drew it entirely out by good Fortune, but the abundance of Blood which issued out or the Wound the same time, having hindered him to search and found it, he was constrained to content himself to apply Swaths to staunch it, and to attend a second dressing.  
The Consolation which he gave Telamonius and Philiste, was to assure them that Tarsis was not yet quite dead; and immediately afterward he gave them certain marks thereof, by reason they saw him open his eyes and began to retrieve his Spirits. Telamonius and Philiste were then at the Bolster of his Bed, whence they were not able to pluck him, and it was Philiste who having first seen him open his eyes, advizing him to retake a little Courage, in saying to him, how now my Brother: what do you thus abandon poor silly? At this word his eyes appeared reanimated, and he turned them softly round about on all sides to seek the Person whose name he had heard: but not finding her, he immediately closed them again, as if he had had no occasion of Light, since it could not discover him the Person in whom he took Pleasure and delight.  
They immediately unclothed him to put him into his Bed, and Philiste herself assisted in preparing him, saw the Veil of Zelie which this Shepherd had casually met the preceding Evening. He had for his Consolation brought it with him, and he was willing to die kissing those precious remains of his Shepherdess. So that they found him again bedewed with his Tears, and in that certain place where his Mouth before had leaned. Philiste was not long without remembering and knowing it.  
She immediately carried it to her Husband all astonished. Ah Telamonius! said she, what is that which this signifies? Behold the Veil of my poor Sister. See you these Letters intermingled? This is the very self same, that Tarsis brought her his last Voyage from Athens. Telamonius presently knew it, and was no less astonished than Philiste.  
In the interim, this deplorable Accident having interrupted the Visit of Telamonius, Agamée was weary of attending so long a time at the House, and went out to go before him. The little space that had passed whilst he was in Tempé, and the length of the way from Cenome to the House of Nephelocrate which was very far upon the Sea Shore, permitted him not yet perfectly to know the way. So as he was elsewhere more occupied in his Thoughts than attentive, or heedy in observing the places, he dreamt not at the first of the Corner of the place, but instead of going strait forward as he did, he should have turned to the left hand, so that he soon found himself out of the way. It is true the pleasantness of the way did comfort him, for when he was at the height of the Plain in a certain place whence one might discover all the City of Gonnes, and whence one might see all the River of Penée turning and winding to and fro in its large Channel, in the midst of that fair and rich Plain and level Ground, and receive the Tribute of a hundred little Streams and Currents of Water, who after having bathed and moistened the Feet of many Hamlets and a hundred delectable Hills, go to mix their Waters with those of that great River: he admired a thousand and a thousand times the Beauty of that incomparable Residence, and sound it more preferable and highlier to be esteemed, than all that of Athens, and even all Greece had not a more rare and a more splendidly sumptuous and stately; and believed it equal to all that that the Poets had imagined of the Elysian Fields. After he had advanced some paces he found himself in a way straight enough, covered with Hedges on all sides and which descended to a bottom. He thence discovered a Meadow crossed through the midst with four rows of Willows, which form three long Alleys, and which go to but at a young Wood which is on the other side of the Meadow. These four rows of Willows are watered by four small Streams which glide and gently flow at the foot of these Trees, and who reuniting themselves in one single Channel, at the end of the Alley, return somewhat lower almost to make them circulate the Meadow, forming a quantity of cranklings and wrigling, and frequently returning upon themselves, as if they had a regret, and were unwilling to leave that delicate and acceptable place. Agamée remained some time to consider this fair Prospect and although he sought as much as in him was possible, the Company to divert the thought of his disgraces, he could not however refrain to enter farther into a Solitude so charming. He therefore descended even to these Alleys of willow Trees, and entering into that of the midst, he remained there yet a while to behold the same Landscape, which by the difference of that certain place more elevated whence he saw it before and that wherein then he was, form a prospect or perspective all different, and yet more delectable than the former; for he saw himself surrounded with Hills on all sides, whereof there was not one single one, but had its riches, it's diversity and its particular Embellishment. The Sun was then already risen upon the Horizon, and its Rays and Beams regathered, compacted in the bottom of this Meadow, commenced to surmount there the coolness and freshness which naturally it received from the abundance of the Streams and Currents of Water. Behold wherefore Agamée who had already walked much, seeing that as well the hour that Telamonius had promised to come to him to visit him was passed, and that he should unprofitably return home, he resolved to go and repose himself in that little Wood that he saw at the end of those Alleys. In walking he saw a quantity of Figures, Ciphers and Characters on the Bodies of the Trees with the letters T and Z intermixed. He also discerned there even some entire words, and because he had then no other design than to divert his Grief and disappointment, he had the curiosity to read them. The Character was then already old, and the bark or rind of the Trees had even covered again some places: Notwithstanding he miss not, to discern clearly the names of Tarsis and Zelie in many places; there was one certain one, amongst others where he saw that under the name of Zelie, there were these two succeeding Lines, 
Her Name is graven on the Trees,  
And her Portrait is graven in the Heart.   
It was not difficult for him to divine who was the Author, the Love of Tarsis being known unto him; and that what Subject soever he had himself to bewail this Passion, he had his Heart very sensible and naturally feeling; he took Pleasure to see himself in a place, where a Lover was filled with the marks of his own. In entering into the Wood he met another small Stream, which followed the declension, and descending towards the lower part of the Meadow. The Water was fairer, and the bank or brink garnished and adorned with a most pleasant green Turf, able enough even to tempt a melancholy One. He could not refrain from sitting down in that place, if he had not perceived a little Closet composed of many young Trees planted round about, whose Branches intermixed above, framed a kind of Vault so thick that the Sun could hardly be able to penetrate it. The entrance of this Closet or Arbour served as an Issue to the Stream or Current which went out by the midst, leaving only on every side the passage for one person.  
Agamée being entered into that place, met there the pleasant Source and Spring of that Water. That certain place was elevated and raised up higher than the rest. So that descending a little from on high, it made a little noise which in despite of Fate, invited one to talk idly and fantastically. Above the Spring was one Tree bigger than the others, which seemed to embrace the Vein of its roots, and whose foot apparelled with green Moss, offered a commodious Seat to all those who came to the place. Although that Agamée carefully enough shunned being alone, because there was little but his Memory that revived and recovered him from the Ideas that he fled, and which gave him not a thousand disgustful Thoughts; howsoever he could not refrain himself for this once to take pleasure there, in a place which seemed to be made expressly to talk Idly: and the little time that he had been at Tempé had also already caused him sufficiently to see diversity of things, to give him wherewithal to entertain the Adventures and Accidents of others without afflicting himself by the remembrance of his own. He therefore sat at the Foot of this great Tree with a design to meditate there some moments; But he had not any thing to do to trouble himself, he should find wherewithal to entertain himself. Fortune there provided him a sufficiency enough. For first in sitting down he saw that the Stock of this Tree which was extraordinary big, was all covered over with an Inscription, fresh, recent, and new enough. It was very small by reason there was very much thereof: But as it was also fresh and new enough, and the Character very clear, he with facility could there read these Lines.  
The other day in this Solitude, one overwhelmed with Love and Care, bemoaning himself of his disquietudes, by these Lines the desolate Tarsis which made him go lose his Life; I die and I cannot be cured, but I die for fair Zelie, am I not too happy to die, O my eyes pour down no more tears to the rigour of Destinies which attend me: Death hath always too many charms when the Object that causeth it hath so many; there was no more than that upon the first Tree; but there were other two some what less near unto that there, upon every of which was Engraven, One of these two other fair Streams which my fair Shepherdess so often warms with her eyes, the Sun sees it, when it enlightens thee with so much Heat, and so much Light as they.  
What hast thou done with the portrait of the fair one, which in thy Bosom was so often graved? Ah! fair Water I am much more faithful, and my Heart hath much better conserved it.  
Agamée which loved the Fancy, and who was himself sometime entangled, having read this, drew his writing Tables out, with design to copy them out, wherein there was something appeared to him to be tender enough of; and in part also signified to Tarsis, (he hoped to see very soon, and whom he had not charged to divine the Accident) the esteem he had made of his Composition. But as he had finished to set them down, he felt something to pluck the Tables from his Hand.  
That which surprised him most, was that he saw no body about him, but the noise that he had heard, having obliged him to look athwart the Arbour or Closet, he discerned among the Willows a Man who had a Sword by his side, and who in flying made great burstings forth of Laughter. This Man lifted up even from time to time his two hands in the Air, in one whereof he yet held the Table-Book that he had plucked from Agamée; afterwards bending all his Body he leaned upon his two Knees, betaking himself to laugh more and more. Agameé was extremely astonished at this Eruption. He went forth of the Arbour to follow him; and because this Man returned from time to time, he had by this means the opportunity to look him in the Face: However he found not himself better enlightened, for he knew him not, and believed he had never seen him before. He therefore doubted that this unknown one had taken him for another, then when he saw him stop to read that which was in the Table-Book; and in the Sequel the same Man approaching himself to him with a swift pace, drew out of his Pocket a Paper which he presented him. Read that, said he, in a strange and incompatible manner and remark its Style. Agamée having by this means the liberty to consider him, came a little nearer and found I know not what wand'ring in his eyes which was suitable to the extravagancy that he had before demonstrated, and therefore caused him to doubt if the Man was very wise. And indeed he had great reason to doubt it; For behold who he was, as he learned immediately after.  
It was a Roman Knight named Marcel whom the desire of Travelling had brought from Italy into Greece. In passing by Callioure he became amorous of Zelie by having only once seen her in the Temple, and this Love having made in his Heart an Impression, worthy of the excess of so great a Beauty, had caused him to remain one or two years at Tempé.  
During that time, he had not only found means to introduce himself into Leucippe's House, but he had also demanded silly in Marriage; and the refusal that they had made him, had born him away to so great an excess of Trouble, that he was fallen very dangerously sick, and recovered not his bodily Indisposition but with a Malady in the Mind much more dangerous; in his Folly his Vision was that the Gods had destinated him to marry silly, so that he called himself, The predestinated Knight. He had even publicly sworn to carry away that Shepherdess; he had suborned People expressly, and extravagantly said every where, that if he could not compass his end by force, he knew the means how to succeed by sorcery. Although Leucippe took all that, as from a Fool; however he was alarmed, and sometimes was unwilling to suffer silly to go forth, lest she should be exposed to some affront.  
Melicerte had written a Letter full of Wit and Jestingly to Tarsis, who then was absent. That Letter amongst others, mentioned that after his departure silly could not go forth any more, that there was come a Knight a Magician, to Callioure who had held her in an enchanted Prison, and that he had besought him to consult some Oracle, or some other Magician to know how they might be able to take off the Enchantment. Tarsis had answered to this jesting by another in verse that he had addressed to Zelie, and in conclusion it was therein mentioned that Tarsis was upon the point of his return in effect, and sent her word he would soon come to deliver her. Melicerte having found these Lines sufficiently pertinent, had caused them to be seen amongst some of her Friends, and there had run Copies, one whereof had fallen into the Hands of Marcel. silly having therefore disappeared afterwards, as we have said. This Vision, Fantasy or Apparition put it into his mind, that it was Tarsis who had carried her away, and it was that wherewith he vaunted and boasted in his Verses. So that in this ridiculous imagination, he came to seek him to quarrel with him, when in passing by this Wood he had met Agamée. Immediately Marcel who knew that this Wood was not far from the dwelling of Telamonius, and that Tarsis came there frequently enough to walk, was not near approached to Agamée, but to see athwart the Arbour if it was not that Shepherd; and although that being near he had very well observed it was not he, however finding the Table-Book in his Hand, he omitted not through Extravagancy to snatch it away, and then to fly as we have said. But afterwards having rested and stayed to read that which was therein, he there saw these Lines of Tarsis, the Copy whereof Agamée had taken, as we have said before; and having found them so passionate for Zelie, and made in the name of Tarsis in a place convenient and beseeming the very Solitude where he met this Athenian, his Folly had in a moment, caused it to come and mount up in his Brain that Agamée was Tarsis, and was come from composing these Verses for Zelie: but having perceived him, fear had obliged him to conceal himself under another Visage, as he had read another time among the Poets that the same had happened to some certain Ones. Behold therefore the reason why he was returned so furiously to him, and he had presented him the Paper whereof we have spoken to let him know the Verses, for it contained nothing but the Reply of Tarsis to this enchanted Prisoner whereof Melicerte had written to him, and indeed Agamée having thereon cast his eyes he there read these Words.  
A Stanza to Zelie.  
I Have been advertised, fair Shepherdess, that by a casual Lottery, a predestinated Knight keeps you a Prisoner at your home, and that when you thought to departed, you could not go out but by a strange Adventure; you who made yourself to be feared, you now this day fear yourself and that your Prison avengeth me for that wherein you held me, that a Soul a little vindicative should receive the Consolation to learn in his true feeling, and sensible Apprehension, the disgrace which happens unto you; have I not a little Amity and Friendship, to be able to be without Pity. I would insult over your Pains, I would laugh at your Bonds and all your inhuman Evils as you have done at mine.  
There were also divers Lines afterwards; but as Agameé saw he understood nothing, because he was ignorant of the Labyrinth and Intrigue, they did nothing but consider the extravagancy of this Man, so that being unwilling to maintain Conversation with an unknown One, whereof he had this Opinion, he rendered them to him coldly, after having only read these two Lines, and in rendering them to him he said unto him, very well, and demanded of him his Table Book. How well? perfidious Tarsis! cried the other. Thou callest to me to deliver silly, than chargest me to have carried her away. Render render me silly, and in saying these words he seized him by the arm rudely enough. Agamée did but smile, and as he knew that it was requisite to treat some sort of People with gentleness, as he saw in what state he was, he took him only by the Hand, with the other he had laid hold on him, that he might release his hold in saying unto him, you take me for Tarsis, nor am I Tarsis, nor do I pretend to be the deliverer of Zelie, and I have never yet seen her. Thou dissemblest in vain that which thy Table Book makes me learn, replied Marcel; and thou unprofitably attemptest, thou cowardly and treacherous Ravisher, to conceal thyself under a false Visage, and under grey Hairs. As if I had not learned in a very good Author that Ulysses had formerly done so much to disguise himself from his Wife or Son; either thou must presently die, or thou shalt render me silly. In saying this, he would have put his hand to his Sword: But Agamée leapt upon him to take it away, and endeavouring still to disabuse him; that wherewith you reproach me, said he unto him, is impossible for a Man. Know you not since you have read Homer, that it was not Ulysses who had disguised himself so, and that he was not changed, but by the Power of Minerva? Ah Traitor Tarsis! cried he, even this furious One again, thou art not unprovided of the Gods who also take care of thee. Love that thou sayest in thy Verses, to be the deliverer of Zelie, hath well made other Metamorphoses, and he knows much more of all that Fact there, than Minerva. Render me silly I say unto thee, or render me my Sword that I may kill thee, Agamée who in the Interim, had disarmed him reylyed to him, As for Zelie I have already told thee that I know not where she is, and as for thy Sword, I promise to give it thee at thy home when thou shalt be there retired.  
The great Noise they made had drawn to that place some Shepherds, and some Shepherdesses who kept their Flocks there hard by. The Spiritual Ergaste and the chuffy Celemante were there amongst others with Arelise. They all three were much astonished to find two men, laying hold one of another with a drawn Sword. The two Shepherds approached to separate them; when Agamée who being seized with the Sword, and disintangled out of the hands of this furious One, he knew both the one and the other.  
Ergaste and Celemante betook themselves to laugh, at this pleasant difference, when they saw them conclude without appearance of Evil: and much rather when they knew how it was caused; but to disengage themselves from Marcel they assured him that Agamée was not Tarsis; and having appeased him, and well informing him of the Truth, they sent him away with his Sword. The first thing that he did was to seek that Tree where Agamée had told him he had taken a duplicate of the Verses, and having found it he there gave it a hundred strokes with the edge of his Sword, to break away the Bark and the Writing, afterwards he treated in the same manner all those where he perceived the name of Tarsis.  
On the other side Arelise, Ergaste and Celemante having separated themselves from other Shepherds, discovered the Riddle to Agamée, they told him who Marcel was, and the History of his Love which was known all over Tempé. It was Ergaste who made the Relation; and Celemante resuming the discourse, afterwards added: Well, said Agamée, see if one can too much hate Love, which makes Fools so importunate and foolishly furious; and if I had not yesterday much more reason to condemn it than had Ergaste to uphold it.  
Ergaste say I, whom we shall undoubtedly one day see even as Marcel. Speak no more Celemante, answered Agamée; you have lost your cause, since you durst not appear yesterday at the Assignation. Sincere and upright Agamée, replied Celemante, you are too just and equitable to condemn a Man without hearing him; and I am assured that you are not accustomed nor used so to do at or in Areopage. But replied Agamée; How can one understand a Man that flies? It's true, that I absented myself yesterday, replied Celemante: But you go to see that it was not but to think upon my defence. If I had not written this, turbulent Ergaste would never have given me the Patience to explicate it unto you. But hold Agamée, see now if my cause be not the best; I had taken with me the Paper, with a design to carry it to you this day. At these words, he gave him the same writing which he had done the preceding day.  
Agamée saw that there was this Title. A Manifesto of Celemante, against Ergaste, Ho! Ho! cried Ergaste after he had also read it; I well see that it's a great War that thou wagest and denouncest against me, because thou must have Manifesto's and notorious Evidences. Doubt it not, replied Celemante, I pretend to arm all Greece against thee; and Agamée shall judge if I have not as much ground and subject as Menelaus formerly had, to lead him to the Siege of Troy, since thou hast rob me of a Mistress. Ergaste who mistrusted what he would say, betook himself to smile and replied to him: In truth Celemante, I take thee even thyself, to be also as very a Fool as Marcel, and I put no difference thereunto, unless that thou art a pleasant Fool, and he is a melancholy One. They will not believe you, Ergaste, replied Agamée smiling also; let us see his Reasons. But it seemeth to me that it would be proper and to purpose that we were sat; for the Manifesto is a little long, and the Affair well merits to be examined leisurely. I would only that Telamonius and Tarsis were here, to declare also their Advice, because they were present at the breaking out of the difference. Arelise who yet knew not any thing no more than the others of the tragical Adventures of Tarsis, said it would be worth the while, and she should be glad to have them called because the Lodging of Telamonius was near, and that the Wood and the Meadow which they saw on the other side, appertained to him; and Agamée condemned Celemante to take the Pains, because that to justify him they assembled. In the Interim for reposing himself they went to sit with Arelise on the other side of the Wood on the edge of the plain, where their Flocks were, and they shown him the certain place where they would expect him. Although that Celemante had promised to return immediately. However after he was departed, impatience took them to see the Writing that he had given to Agamée, and they were well pleased to read it in his absence to speak their Sentiments with the more Liberty. They had no sooner sat down, but they saw Choris pass by who sang, and who sporting with her Crook went to see Arelise. Arelise who mistrusted it called her, and Agamée was ravished to know her, having understood that she was the good Friend of Celemante: they easily engaged to sit down with them, and to hear the reading of the Paper Celemante had left them. Agamée having opened it read there that which follows.  

The Manifesto of Celemante.  
THe bloody War, which Celemante declareth and denounceth against the unfaithful Ergaste, desire, that all Posterity which shall understand it, may also know the causes of their Rupture, and that they remit not to the Judgement of one single Age, the Decision of a thing so Important.  
Celemante studied at Athens in the Gardens of the great Epicurus, and from the very first year he was rendered more skilful than his Master. For he extremely loved Pleasure, exceedingly hated Grief and Dolour, sought but to give himself over to past time, and would consider of things no farther than they could contribute to his Joy. He lived exempt from all inquietudes and passions, not establishing sovereign Felicity but in the Health of the Body and Mind, and he was possessed of both the one and the other, when perfidious Ergaste made a Conspiracy against his Rest and Repose, that's to say, that he undertook to make him his Friend.  
It is difficult to imagine, for what Reasons; for there was little Sympathy betwixt them. Celemante was more peaceable and more sweet and gentle than a sucking Lamb: A great Lion is not more furious nor full of rage and Choler than Ergaste. However this Ergaste proposed to the other to band Friendship and Amity together: and Celemante replied to him in this manner. Ergaste, I esteem thee, I love thee, and I will serve thee with Pleasure sooner than any whomsoever on all occasions wherein I am capable to do it. If it be that thou callest Friendship, unprofitably thou proposest to me to make any, for that is already all on my side made, and thou hast no other than to use even the self same on thine, but if it be something more, I counsel thee not to demand or ask it from me, for I would not answer thee. Hast thou no shame, replied Ergaste, (already almost in a rage) to be ignorant what belongs to Amity and Friendship? and not to know the first and the most amiable Virtue of Civil Society? I would through Charity draw thee out of thy Ignorance. Know, Celemante, that Friendship first and principally, requires that we prefer our Friend to ourselves. Continue and remain there, Ergaste immediately interrupted Celemante, for I tell thee, that if I would make a Friend, I would make him by reason of my own self, and not doing it but because of myself, I shall always love myself more than he; I have a better Opinion of thee than thou hast thyself, said Ergaste; replied Ergaste, and since I have believed thee worthy to make thee my Friend, I will not that thou deceive me, listen therefore. This preferrence comprehends four principal things; to give in time of need all his Wealth for his Friend, to communicate him all his Secrets, to take a share in all his Afflictions, and even to die for him upon an occasion.  
Celemante believed himself falling from the height of the Clouds, so much was he astonished, when he understood this new and pernicious Doctrine: But much more yet when Ergaste continued so. These four things yet comprehend a great many others, which seeming to be more lighter are therefore yet more essential; to wit, not to please himself but with his Friend; to be troubled at his absence; liberally and freely to reprehend his Faults; to be afflicted for his least Evil. Behold too many, Ergaste! cried Celemante, interrupting him, and I declare unto thee without going further, that I am very much thy Servant, but I will not be thy Friend. And as for me, I love and am willing to be thine in despite of thee, persisted Ergaste, and I tell thee to begin, that thou art the laziest, the most treacherous, and the last and worst of Men, if thou correspondest not with my Affection. But my poor Ergaste, replied softly Celemante, what Chimaera of Friendship art thou going to place in thy imagination, and how callest thou virtue which derogates from Civil Society, and which is indeed capable to destroy all Pleasure? As for me I have always learned, that all the end of Civil Society, and the only secret of Life is to live happily, is there any thing more contrary or opposite to happiness than that thou hast told me? In giving all one's Wealth to another one becomes poor himself; in discovering all his Secrets to another, one betrays himself; in sharing in the Grief of another, one afflicts himself; and in dying for another, one destroys himself.  
I know well, Ergaste, that Civil Society, requireth not that we should live but for ourselves: But that which I know also, that it is requisite that one should live first for himself and afterwards for others. When I shall have no need of any thing, Ergaste, all that is not necessary for me is for thee: But that I shall take it away from myself when I shall have need of it to give it to thee; Ah! I understand not if thou lovest me more than thyself that would be to disoblige thee. When I shall have some secret, I will tell it thee willingly if that damnifies me not; but if that do me harm to tell it to thee, thou oughtest not to wish that I do something prejudicial to thy Friend. When there shall arrive unto thee some good Fortune, I will take part with all my heart in thy Joy: But thy Ills I will use as if 'twere my own, that is to say, I will do all that in me is possible, to consolate thee and consolate myself. Seest thou Ergaste; I have always heard say that he who would afflict himself for the evil that one suffers himself or his Friends, he should never be one sole moment without Affliction. That which must be done, is to set the Face towards the Weal, and never the Evil. If thou art Sick I will rejoice that I am in Health, if it be I that am Sick myself I will endeavour to rejoice that thou, art not so, if we are so both of us, I will yet rejoice that we have not yet greater Evils; if one breaks one of my Arms, I will count myself happy that one remains yet whole, and if they break both, I will attempt to consolate myself through the soundness of my Legs. It is so that one must use in all the remainder. For heed there Ergaste in all occasions wherein we are afflicted there resteth some things to us, wherewithal to rejoice; and that being so, we should be very Fools, if of two parts we did not take the most pleasurable.  
Celemante spoke to him therefore in this manner, and behold how he replied to him. As to what thou sayest, Celemante, there is something that I condemn. For if in thy misfortunes thou canst find Reason to consolate thyself, it's Wisdom therewith to serve thyself; and were it false, there would be even in that case Wit to know one's self to be well deceived. But there is one absurd and dreadful Senselessness, in the rest of thy Sentiments. Thou fearest to die, to impoverish thyself, to hurt thyself, to afflict thy se●● for a Friend: Alas! knowest thou not, that Virtue teacheth us to do all these things even sometimes for People most indifferent? In what consisteth Liberality, unless it be to Impoverish one's self for others? Freedom, unless it be to open our Hearts? Compassion, if it be not to afflict ourselves for their Evils? Courage, unless even to die in an occasion as did the renowned Spartiate for the Thermopiles, for the safety of so many thousands of Men whom he only knew not? If these little Virtues whereof thou speakest, replied Celemante, teach us all these things, there is yet another the greatest Mistress of all which instructeth us the contrary. That is Prudence, Ergaste, which informs us that Liberality is Prodigality; that Frankness and Freedom is Indiscretion; that Compassion is Debility and Weakness; that Courage in one word is rashness and precipitancy, and all for once is Imprudence when they prejudice us. We should go too far, replied Ergaste, if I should be willing to answer thee, to all that I could be capable to do thereon. For I would convince thee and make thee see, that the more the Virtue we exercise ourselves in prejudiceth our Interest, and the greater it is; since the despising of Interest is a second Virtue, and I can say 'tis almost the foundation of all others. But so it is that thou shalt avouch me, that we ought to do more to Friends than Strangers. If thou then confessest that we ought to do all these things for Strangers, when they prejudice us not, what we should then be able to act on behalf of our Friends, unless to perform it even then when they prejudice us? That which we will do is this, saith Celemante; we will prefer them to Strangers, but not above ourselves, by reason we ourselves ought to be our own best Friend. And as I would confide in a Physician that could not cure himself, I would not put confidence in a Friend who knew not how to love himself. A very fair Comparison, cried Ergaste, Friendship and Amity is quite contrary to the Art of Physic, Celemante the art of Physic consists in the knowledge of curing all People in the World equally. But Friendship consists in knowing to love unequally and peculiarly. But I will have but one word more to convince thee of this. Ah! do not declare it unto me I beseech thee, interrupted Celemante; for I tell thee in fine, that I will not be convinced; also should we be of one Mind thereon, we should never be at rest. Thou wilt that one take no Pleasure but with his Friend; and I hold that a reasonable Man ought to take it for all in general and every where thou wilt that one should disquiet one's self in his absence, and as for me I make a profession never to disquiet myself, if I can. In one word thou wilt render me a Fool, and I will be wise. Ergaste mocked Celemante, and after having only smiled at his Replication, he said unto him; I avow Celemante, in effect, I do ill to be willing to teach thee Friendship and sincere Amity, by reason, it comes not by Wit, it must have its Original and Birth in the Heart, and I will not instruct thee but by my own example.  
They quitted one another a little afterwards, and in the Sequel Ergaste spoke cruelly of Celemante; for there was no more need to dream of quitting him, to do any thing that Ergaste knew not, nor which is worse to do never so little to admit of Contradiction, without being terribly grumbled at. So that in the end poor Celemante, a little naturally a libertin, saw himself reduced to a strange Captivity. But much worse yet, for Celemante would always do his best and had done it, the other was never content Celemante should undoubtedly have taken all that for his leave: But Ergaste had in such a nature perverted the Sense, that he was no more capable to serve himself.  
At that time there came to Athens a young Maiden, of a competent Beauty: but had much Wit, and was very Pleasant, she was even skilful, so that her Actions were clearly demonstrated in open View and Light. The proximity of the Neighbourhood, and the Reputation of her excellent Wit, caused Celemante to enter her Lodgings, and they so pleased one another at the first encounter, when they mutually saw one another, that the morrow after the first Visit Celemante wrote her this Ticket.  
CELEMANTE to CELESIE.  
YOu appeared to me yesterday so amiable, that I know not what I shall do, if you permit me not to revisit you this day, I have not been able to spend away the night, and I had only the Consolation of dreaming. In the interim I should shun the sight of you, were I Wise, for I very well resent and feel that there is no assurance for me, and that I shall be constrained to Love you more than I would.  
CELEMANTE.  
Behold the Reply that she made him.  
CELESIE to CELEMANTE.  
IF you feel yourself constrained to will my Wealth, it's a violence that you do to yourself, I have nothing that forceth Will, and if you find any thing amiable in me, it is a pure effect of your Imagination. It abuseth you, it paints me or rather repairs me entirely, it's not myself that makes you love, 'tis a Ghost or Apparition, I am not astonished that 'twas represented to you in your Sleep; for that's the time to make Dreams, nor to give it more of Credulity, it having chosen a time when the Senses are asleep, by reason they would not have failed to contradict it: But come at what hour it shall please you to disabuse yourself. For what advantage soever, I can draw from your Error, I will resolve never to deceive my Friends.  
CELESIE.  
Celemante was charmed with this Letter, and he was scarce able to refrain himself from showing it to Ergaste, with whom he was reconciled: however he did it not then, for as much as he mistrusted always the little Complaisance of that Friend. In the self same thought he concealed from him, during a certain space of time, his Passion born for Cilesie, and the Tickets that he received: But in conclusion they gave him one on a certain day in the presence of Ergaste, who discovered him their Commerce, and engaged Celemante, confidently to show him all the others.  
Ergaste who was immediately well pleased to see his Friend in Love, because he was persuaded that this Passion, serveth always to bring to Perfection and completely accomplish a young Heart, when he ●● capable well to regulate and govern it; he had no sooner seen all these Letters; but he was nettled and stung with the long dissimulation which Celemante had used with him▪ and although he had naturally more respect for Women than any other Person, notwithstanding on that occasion, as if his Resentment and sensible Apprehension extended itself even against Cilesile; he pardoned not one of her Tickets, that's to say, there was not one single one, which he censured not, as well the stile as the thoughts. After he had blamed them all by Retail and Peice-Meal, he betook him to speak generally against the Women that would pass for skilful and expertly knowing, and particularly against Cillesie, although he yet knew no other than her name. It is not, saith he, but that it be very commendable that a Maiden or a Woman cultivate their Wits, and, that they should know something more than their common and ordinary Sex. But it is requisite that it be for their particular Satisfaction, and not to make an open profession and a kind of Commerce with the Public. It's requisite that they learn to render themselves capable only to understand, and not to distribute and retail; they should affect almost to conceal that which they know, which is far distant from vaunting and boasting themselves, and as it is very commendable in a Man to be handsome, but immodest to sting and nettle himself to be so, it is well becoming and seemly in a Woman to know, but infamous, ignominious, and dishonourable, to Nettle and Spur on herself to be known so. Virtues, added he, are divided among the Sexes.  
There are those that are common both to one and the other, and there are which are but for one alone. These here are Vices in that for whom they have not been made. And as they are almost opposite, who diligently seek after Virtues of or in a Stranger, ordinarily neglect those of his own. The Gods never bequeath it all to one alone, it must be either Man or Woman; and 'tis a Monster to be both. It appertaineth not, belongeth, nor is it becoming, to enterprise or undertake to practise in the Mysteries, Occupations or Functions of Men, but to extraordinary Persons, whom the excellency of their Genius elevates above both Sexes, as the incomparable Sappho, and to some others which are more rare than the ages. But that your Cillesie should intermeddle herself; pardon me if I believe her not of that Temper, Composition, Disposition, Mood or Humour.  
Celemante would not stay to contest against him, and contented himself only to conserve for Cillesie the same which he had conceived. In sum, he continued to entertain discourse with her, in maintaining the same Commerce both in Letters and Affection: But with so firm a Tie that Ergaste feared that this Love would in the end, steal away his whole Friendship.  
In this Apprehension, he said to Celemante one day, not any way signifying him his design, that he desired to be acquainted with Cillesie, and besought him to introduce him into her Company at her lodging; certainly Ergaste had reason, ground and subject to be the most satisfied of any one in the World; for as she knew that he was the friend of Celemante, she received him with all the civilities imaginable. In the Interim, when they were upon the return he began to make him a thousand Sports and Jests, infinitely Vivacious and Sprightful even to Truth● but that which touched more than ordinary Celemante, and he would never have ceased, if he had not interrupted him, Ergaste, said he unto him, it seems to me that it becomes not a Man, very well even to Scoff and ●lout at a Woman: But yet much less to a Friend to make him the Mistress of his Friend, what Celemante, replied Ergaste, making himself astonished, Cillesie is in very deed your Mistress; Ah! you have done very ill not to have well informed me of it sooner, for I would have done all that I could to have attempted to have found her fair, or at least wise to have found her less mishapen, ill-favoured, ugly, vile and loathsome, and for that effect I promise you that after the first time, I would not have looked upon her. Ergaste, Ergaste, said Celemante unto him, a little more Complaisance for a Friend; Ay aye by all means, rejoined Ergaste, I do assure thee that in thy Humour, thou couldst not make a better choice. Thou lovest thy Repose and Rest, thou hatest above all things Disquietude and Jealousy, and I think not that such a Mistress ought to give thee any. At least, replied Celemante smiling, that if she gives me any, it will not be you that will contribute thereunto. No I answer thee, rejoined Ergaste; in what State soever thou canst make it appear to thy Friends, thou shouldest not fear the Adventure of Candaule. He made him a thousand more Jests yet after this Nature, which Celemante suffered as from a Friend. In the Interim, the Passion for Cillesie increasing daily in Celemante, he in the end became so amorous, that he began to feel for her, all the same movements which Ergaste had given him, in the Lessons of their Friendship. For he had no other or greater Pleasure than in seeing Cillesie.  
In fine, the care of pleasing her, he made his Study afterwards; the Commencement was reasonable enough, for he was not angry with Celemante but ten or a dozen times a day: But when he observed that this here concealed himself from him, and began even to shun him, he could not in the end refrain himself from signifying to him, that he had conceived some jealousy. Celemante attempted thus to excuse himself: what wrong can the Love that I have for Cillesie do to our Friendship? these two are ties so different that there is nothing of them in common. I love in loving, and I love in a Friend; that's to say, that she hath all the foolish and all the blind Inclinations of my Heart, and you have all the reasonable ones. Unfaithful Friend, rejoined Ergaste, hast thou two Hearts? I know well I have but one, replied Celemante, but it is capable of divers Functions. If thou hast but one, added Ergaste, it must be that thou takest away from me a part of that which I have there, since 'tis easy to know thou givest all to Cillesie. After some other discourse of this Nature they separated themselves.  
In fine, Ergaste seeing the great Tie, and strict band which Celemante had for Cillesie, the anxiety, pensiveness, perplexity and anguish of mind which he signified, with all other the Opinion he had of the Fidelity and Constancy of this Maiden, the Confidence with which he vaunted to be solely beloved by her, and the courage and hardiness, that he had in mistrusting her himself to try her Fidelity; he took a resolution which he called generous and worthy of the most perfect Friendship, but that Celemante held for Treachery, Absurdity, Unworthiness, and for the Perfidy, the most notorious and infamous which had ever been seen, and that which he would leave to the Judgement of all the Earth from Generation to Generation in all Ages.  
Ergaste therefore by a feigned Complaisance for his Friend betook himself all at once to commend Cillesie, to render her many Visits, and although he had no kindness for her, he counterfeited however the passionate, as the perfidious one hath always but too much Wit, and when he pleaseth he Counterfeits the most amiable person in the World, he had soon made a great progress in the Heart of Cillesie, and advanced more in a Month than Celemante had done in six. This here was too amorous not to be perceived, and in perceiving it not to have any Jealousy. Ergaste pretending to take no heed thereunto, did on one side all he could to augment it, and whereas before he had exaggerated and aggravated the Faults and defects of Cillesie, he made her an Empress in her prayers, and to astonish himself of the ill Impression that he had at first conceived. He began even to write to Cillesie, as Celemante had done, and also to do the same as he, that's to say, he concealed himself sometimes. But one day having sent a Present and a Letter to Cillesie, he gave a charge to him who carried it, to come to him with an answer in the presence of Celemante, and to tell him confidently aloud, that it was by the appointment of Cillesie. This order having been executed, Ergaste made himself surprised, and replied to the Porter with an affected disorder, that he had mistaken him, and that he would say Cilene who was an Athenian of our acquaintance. No not so, replied the other who was instructed, it is Cillesie, which I have carried so many Letters unto, from you already and received some for you, and unto whom you have sent that Present. Ergaste feigning himself then convinced in despite of him, avowed to Celemante that he had truly out of Gallantry, Bravery and Frankness of Humour sent some Trifle, Toy or thing of small value to Cillesie, that she had made him an Answer, and that he himself having written to her divers times, he had received many obliging Tickets from her, which he shown him; he demanded pardon of him, if he had too long delayed in making him his Confident, saying that he concealed it not but least he should give him to ill purpose, some distrust, jealousy or umbrage. But thou wilt therefore have ill done to take one, added he; for besides that Cillesie is (as thou knowest) a faithful Mistress, constant and uncapable to Love any other than thyself: thou mayest think that for my part it is but a piece of gallantry and friendship, who as thou very well judgest, cannot prejudice that rare and inviolable Friendship and kind Amity which she hath promised thee.  
During this discourse, poor Celemante sadly spent his time, for Jealousy cannot torment a Soul with more alarms and violence than his was agitated with. Ergaste knowing him could not with all his cruelty hinder himself to be touched. I know not therefore if it was through Compassion or Bravery, but so it was that he said unto him, How now, go to Celemante, I have not yet but kindness for Cillesie, but to tell thee the Truth, I know not what can become of that: Wilt thou avow unto me freely, if that be capable to give thee some disturbance or jealousy, and I will yet break the course whilst I am yet the Master. I promise thee if thou wilt, I will never revisit nor see Cillesie, again. Never was a proposal so pleasing and acceptable to Celemante as was that; and he opened his Mouth a hundred times to avow his debility and weakness to Ergaste. He was quite ready to leap upon his neck, and to Embrace him a hundred times to testify him his acknowledgement: but he was withheld and I could not tell wherefore. For be it that he was hindered through timerousness, that this Great Empire that Ergaste had Tyrannically Usurped over him, had laid an Impression on him; be it that it was by a false complaint for him, be it that it was through shame, that he had to testify some doubt of Cillesie, after having so frequently Vaunted and Boasted of her fidelity, be it that it was by a little Jealousy he would try her himself: so it happened, that instead of confessing his Debility and Weakness to his friend, he would contrarily counterfeit the Confident and Dreadless one, and besought him to act in such sort that they should have but one and the same Mistress. But what effect or endeavour soever Celemante made and dissembled, I am well assured that he acquitted himself so ill, that it was easy for Ergaste to know, that he spoke against the Sentiments of his heart. However Ergaste was so Inhuman as to take him at his word, and made a new Progress in the heart of Cillesie. This Barbarous Man not so contented, but willing to conduct his Vengeance by the same Degrees and Steps by which he believed himself offended, he became so Assiduous near to this Maiden, that Celemante saw him not almost more than at her Dwelling, and could not see her but in his presence; he went yet much farther, and that Cruelty would not fall into the heart of a Scythian. He came one day to find Celemante, and said unto him, My dear Celemante, I will not longer conceal from thee a piece of news; that is, that I am desperately in Love with Cillesie. At this discourse a Blushing covered the face of Celemante, and he was all confused; but Ergaste not making any semblance or show of observing him, added, I do not demand thy pardon, for thou hast not only Testified to me that thou wouldst not be angry; but thou hast besought me that we might have, even one and the same Mistress both of us. After all, what part soever I have in the good favour of Cillesie, thou well knowest that thou shalt also have the first, and I will have there but that thou wouldst not also; I pretend not to be happy but by thy means, and as thou art the most Generous Friend in the World, I come to thee to pray thee to manage for me thyself, some place in the Grace and Favour of that Fair one; for if Cillesie had not more kindness for me than she hath had until now, I believe not but that I had died. During this discourse Celemante was agitated with divers motions, which combated one with the other that left him not Liberty nor Opportunity to unfold them. Now despite and rage Animated him against Ergaste, than he reproached himself with the Imprudence he had Engaged in the Love of Cillesie, and then he believed that Ergaste came to discourse unto him his Feigned Passion, that by reducing him to avouch his weakness, to demand his pardon, to try his mercy, and to request him not any farther to push forward in his Conquest. Celemante had too much for that, but to the quite contrary he counterfeited the Confident, and exhorted Ergaste, not to Rejoice, nor be Foiled, nor Rejected; in one word he promised him all that he believed himself able to obtain for him; that's to say, not to Endamage his Love. But the Subtlety of Ergaste knew well enough, that it was not any more in the Power of his Friend to do it, and that he was not come there, but that he was certain of her Favour.  
The same Evening in returning from the dwelling of Cillesie, he met Celemante, and although he very well knew that this same had not seen her since they both saw her, and spoke with her, and that Celemante had even promised to serve him: However he came to him as soon as he perceived him, with a Countenance full of Joy and Satisfaction, and Accosting him, my dear Celemante, said he unto him; I should be the most Ingrateful of all Men, if I did not publish every where that you are the most generous; for in fine you have saved my Life, and I am come from Resenting, so well the effect of your Recommendation to Cillesie; that having nothing more to desire, there remains nothing to me but to pay you for so Sensible a Favour, as the preserving the same Life, which is owing to your Conservation. The Thunder-Bolt that fell at the feet of Celemante, would not so have astonished him, as did these words, he thereunto replied with so much Disorder and Confusion, that being Ignorant of what he said, he sought an occasion to quit with the greatest speed he could the Cruel Ergaste; and having left him, he remained an hour in the street, without doing any other thing but going to the Gate of Cillesie, and returning to his own, without any possibility of resolving if he should enter into her House, or should never revisit her. Now he had a Design to go and reproach her a thousand times; then would resolve to signify her his Disdain, in Despising her, and leave her without deigning so much as to speak any more to her: now he doubted whether what Ergaste had told him were the real truth, and thought it Behoved him to be Enlightened by her before he were Transported; and as this last part had mixed some Hope that flattered him yet in his Passion, it was this that he Embraced; for there was not place to doubt a long Time the Infidelity of Cillesie. For first he observed, that he grew red and blushed, and appeared abashed, and out of countenance as soon as he entered, and he was in fine by a Thousand Signs and Tokens, so well assured of the Perfidy of his Friend and of his Mistress, that he was resolved to deliver himself for Ever from the Tyranny of both.  
Ergaste was yet so Cruel, that he would Insult over this Unfortunate one, and that some days after, seeing Celemante had altogether a Rupture with Cillesie, he came to rejoice with him, as if it had been some Great Happiness: he Vaunted himself to him, that this Breach, was the Production of their Friendship, and would have made it pass for an Obligation, so sensibly, that Celemante was therefore Indebted to him. See, said he, see Celemante, to what point I desire we be Eternally Friends; I never had a passion for Cillesie, and in the mean time I have been able to constrain myself, even to pretend Love for her, and yet to subject myself to all those small trifling things, by which one gains the heart of these sorts of Maidens; for to make thee sensible of thy Error, I would have thee see the wrong thou dost thyself to Abandon a Faithful Friend for an Unconstant Mistress, and the difference that there is between a Solid and Virtuous Friendship, and a Foolish and Unruly Passion. Go Ergaste, Go, rejoined him Celemante Animated with to much Just Anger, you yourself are the most unfaithful of all men; you are not only contented to betray the pleasant and merry heart of your Friend, but you have done it to betray him, yet for, or by Cillesie, and not content with your own proper Perfidy you have Inspired it into his Mistress. You should yet be more excusable if you had been in Love as you said it, and one could pardon all the Imprudence that I have seen to be willing to engage you therein, and at the Violence of a Passion, which primarily Tyrannizeth over us then when it constrains us to do evil to others: but to be there carried, there well tempered, settled with sober and solid Reason by a Premeditated Disign, by pure Malicious Envy to betray me, 'tis a Detestable piece of Perfidy, 'tis an Ambush prepared with a set purpose to entrap, ensnare, and deceive wittingly, and willingly: it is that which cannot find pardon among the Gods, nor excuse amongst men. I have two things to reply unto thee thereon, and to subdivide, rejoined him Ergaste smiling. First, Celemante, I avouch unto thee that there are certain sorts of Love, whic hought to be Inviolable, and as we so say, Sacred between Friends: but thou must not believe that of all. On the contrary there are others, where not only it is permitted us, but wherein it is our duty to deceive them. We own them Fidelity in all just and honest Love, but in debauched Love know that the Complaisance of a Friend is Criminal, and his Infidelity is Officious, Dutiful, Serviceable, Diligent, Courteous, and Friendly. In the second place I ask thee if thou didst not pray me, and engage thyself in despite of me to try and prove the Fidelity of Cillesie, and if thou didst not even as good as compel and force me thereunto? in fine, if thou hast not an Obligation to me to disabuse thee in an error, that would have made thee Sacrifice all to an unconstant Mistress.  
He added a thousand ill reasons more, in similitude like to those there: but Celemante had too much power to be overcome thereby, and his Liberty Captivated so long a time, reclaimed too highly against the Tyranny of Love and Friendship. He protested therefore both to Renounce the one and the other, to have no more Love than is necessary for the pleasure of life, nor of friendship but what is requisite for Civil Society.  
He denounced and declared a Mortal War against the other Love, and the other Friendship whereof are made so many Passions, and Tyrannies; and above all against the Perfidious Ergaste, who had given him so much Torment from the one and the other.  
So finished the writing of Celemante; and when they had ended the Lecture, they testified to have found it altogether Delightful.  
Another then cries who had as much right as he to pretend kindness to this Shepherd, had not possibly been able to refrain having a little Jealousy of this first and principal affection, or a few Alarms from the Resolution that she there had made him take, to have no more; but what disposition soever she had to receive his friendship, she had none to have any Jealousy, and yet less cause to be angry if Celemante had not loved her; contrary in that to Arelise, because Arelise would not that Argaste should have any Love for her; and yet she was Jealous she had it for others, and would possibly been angry if he had less Loved; thereon Chorus would willingly in her heart that Celemante might Love her, but she had seen him indifferent for her without despite, and Amorous of others without Jealousy.  
After they had all testified the pleasure they had received in the reading of this Lecture, Ergaste amongst others reassumed Speech thus: well said! Agamée must not there patience be had to listen so peaceably as I have done, a great Volume that Celemante hath compiled against me? and more must be to show you that I am not so prompt and ready as he hath rendered me; it is true, replied Agamée, that I would very much commend your Moderation, without being hindered by any thing. What then? replied Ergaste. Divine, said Agamée unto him. I know not how to Divine, replied Ergaste, if it be not so that this writing hath persuaded you against me, and that you could not resolve yourself to praise a man, of whom one hath told you so much evil. So much it must be, replied Agamée; it is that I find that Celemante hath written for you, and I would Condemn him upon his own proper Plea, not to have known to Correspond, with a Friendship so tender and so perfect as yours. And I said Arelise, I condemn them both; Celemante to be engaged so forward in so foolish a Passion, and Ergaste to be served of a remedy so dishonest to withdraw him. The one not to have avowed his weakness to his Friend, the other to have dissembled and feigned to be of his side, to deceive and cheat his own: the one of having been so Liberal in his Love, the other to have been too Imperious in his Friendship, and to have been willing to have exercised a kind of small Tyranny. Ergaste saw well that Arelise said not this without design, by reason she had frequently enough made the same Complaint of him. This Shepherd being deeply in Love with Arelise, and willing with too great Imperiousness, it seemed him would prevail upon the Friendship which she had for him, to oblige her to correspond with his Passion. A little even before having met Agamée, they came yet to have another management on this subject; and Ergaste Prompt, and Ready as he was, went not out without some sort of anger. So that when he heard Arelise who Condemned him; he replied her in Smiling, at the truth, but however with some kind of Despite, Sheepherdess, you are not of my Judges; wherefore find it good, that I tell you, that I neither will be Absolved, nor Condemned, by your Mouth. How, what! Said afterwards Coris, shall no Person speak here for this Poor Celemante? truly if I were of his Judges, I know what would be for him; not that I find he hath reason, but it makes me pity him, that he is so Abandoned of all the World. Arelise who well saw that Ergaste was angry, and to whom that would cause trouble and pain, through the kindness she had for him; the time was not long, but she sought to be reconciled to him; and to that effect Resuming Speech, and Addressing herself to Agamée our Judge; said she unto him, you shall not be quitted of so good a proceeding: you have Judged but of half the Difference; and if Ergaste hath gained his Process against Celemante, I pretend that he will lose it against me. I give it you gained already, replied Ergaste; afterwards turning towards Coris, I dream no more to gain mine, but near by this Amiable Shepherdess. He spoke this very far from his thought; but as he was angry with Arelise, because she would not Correspond with his Love, and that he knew how much, even in her Friendship she was Naturally Susceptable, Capable, and prone to Jealousy; he was well pleased to yield to her in making show of being Amorous of Coris, and to punish her there for the Evil she had done him; or rather he was glad to excite and kindle some spark in her Heart, well knowing that there is nothing more proper to kindle Fire, than is Jealousy. It was therefore for that reason, that he would pretend to Love Coris. This Shepherdess, who knew well the Humour of the one and the other, immediately apprehended the design of Ergaste, and as she was naturally merry and given to jesting and would not therefore give occasion of offence in the Company, she took a delight to endeavour to entangle the Shepherd, but he had a Vivacity wherein he disintricated himself pleasantly amongst all.  
This Shepherd having therefore said unto her, that he dreamt of nothing more against her, he replied him; what Ergaste? you would gain a process against me? Ah! I pretend not that we have it together. You will therefore accord with me in that which I demand of you, said Ergaste; if it be otherwise I am firmly resolved to make you one. Ha! what can you demand of me? answered she him. Your Heart, replied Ergaste, for mine wherewith I will make you a present; for yours? replied Coris; I would therefore demand of you myself that which you formerly demanded, Celemante, if you have many Hearts; for you have given him one, another to Arelise, I must therefore have the third. It is true, added Ergaste, that I had given it to Celemante: but you have seen that he hath rendered himself Unworthy. Arelise to whom I had made a Present afterwards, hath deserved as her Brother to lose it; behold therefore that I can now dispose thereof. But before it be accepted of, replied Coris, if it be they that have rendered it to you. For I do not see that Arelise accords, and I would not have the Wealth of another.  
Whatever design Arelise had to reconcile herself to Ergaste, this discourse changed in a moment the entire situation of his Mind; and this natural propensity that she had to Jealousy, having produced it's ordinary effect, they saw in an instant that pleasant and merry Air with which she recommenced the dispute, turned into a serious Tone, whereupon she replied to Coris, I declare you I pretend nothing at all to the Heart of Ergaste. Well done Coris, added readily the Shepherd, glad to see the success of his feigning to second his Intentions, you see that the one and the other are agreed and of one accord; for as Arelise declares, that she pretends nothing thereunto, you have seen also that Celemante hath rendered it me too. It's true, replied Coris: But will you that I tell you Ergaste? a heart that they so willingly render you, gins to make me become suspect. And since to tell you the Truth, I am a little vainglorious, and I will not have what others have rejected. Ha! say not so, Coris, cried Ergaste, for I go to demonstrate you that if I give you it at the present, it's a Sign and Token that I esteem of you more than I do them. I apprehend not how Coris. It is, replied Ergaste, that having been deceived twice by them it's requisite I esteem you infinitely, for having confided in you for a third. But added Agamée laughing, the question is if Arelise hath deceived you. But, continued he afterwards more seriously, I think that before it be decided, it would be good to see if nothing be happened to Celemante; for it seems to me that he is long in returning, since you said the House of Telamonius is so near. It is true he might have been gone and returned twice, persisted Ergaste, who also began to be in trouble for his Friend, and I know not what could have detained him, if it be not that he hath yet again sported us with a turn as he yesterday did after dinner. In saying this, they perceived this Shepherd who returned with a Countenance so far from that Jocundity and Pleasantness, wherewith his had always been accustomed to be animated, that they could scarcely believe he was Celemante. However Ergaste not imputing this seriousness but to some fantastical Humour which occupied him, cried out unto him at that distance whence he perceived him; Ho! ho! Celemante, darest thou appear before me, after the outrage thou hast committed against me by thy Writing! Truly I believed that the fear of approaching me had after that detained thee. But I imagined myself also, continued he, that Repentance hath surprised thee, and 'tis for that reason so serious and almost afflicted. Ah my poor Ergaste, replied Celemante, in approaching still towards them; I avow you I would have been willing to dispense my return, rather than to bring you such ill Tidings. Poor Tarsis is much wounded, and I know not whether there may be any reasonable Hopes of Life. These words, caused an incredible surprise and displeasure, not only of Ergaste, but also of Agamée and the two Shepherdesses, who understood them; and as they all had a kindness and an extraordinary esteem of Tarsis, it cannot be expressed how they appeared alarmed, they approached to Celemante, ask him mournfully how this disaster happened. Celemante related it them, with the manner how he had learned it from the Mouth of Telamonius, and declared to them that was the cause that detained him. After bewailing this Accident as a Calamity which was common to them all in general, and the most sensible, they all resolved to go to the dwelling of Telamonius; Ergaste and Agamée to testify him their resentment, and the two Shepherdesses to consolate Philiste.    

Tarsis and Zelie. The Second Part. The Fourth BOOK.  
IN The Interim, the news of this sad Accident being spread over all the Valley of Tempe, every one came from all Coasts to know it by Retail. Leucippe and Melicerte omitted not to send there. They permitted not any Person to speak to him, lest that any Emotion might cause a Fever: but he who came from Lucippe having delivered his message so loud, and so near the Chamber, that Tarsis understood and knew the Voice, the poor Shepherd was very urgent to have him enter. My Friend, said he unto him with a feeble Voice, as the condition wherein I am will undoubtedly please Leucippe, I was willing that thou shouldest see me, that thou might bear the News thereof, the more assured, but tell him, however that I die his Servant; and as for Melicerte, the sole Regret of whom that I carry with me, Sorrow to die without Testifying my Willingness to show my Respects, and demonstrate the Obligations I have to her, which I would have acknowledged. Telamonius besought Tarsis to speak no more, because the emotion might do him harm. My Brother, replied Tarsis, that which you tell me, is proper for a man who desires to Live, but not for one who desires to Die; and upon these words he would, yet as he had already attempted, many times with his hands to take hold of the Swaths, and Bands, to tear them off in the Presence of this Domestic of Leucippe. But Telamonius perceiving it with held him; and Philiste melting into Tears, and closeing in her hands one of his: My Dear Brother, said she, have Pity and Compassion of the Grief and Dolour of Telamonius, and myself, and preserve yourself in the Name of the Gods. They have appointed me to die, replied Tarsis. Their Oracle, answered she unto him, speak not of seeking Death, and you have but too much satisfied therein; leave them now to finish the rest. He would have replied, but Telamonius resuming discourse: my Dear Tarsis, added he, if the God's Will that you should die, they are Potent enough to bring it to pass, attend therefore Death from their hand, and in the doubt of their Will, prevent not their Order, and take not from them the Means to Render you the Amiable silly. Tarsis replied not but with a Great and Deep Sigh; after which, he signified a willingness to resign himself in some sort to the Decree of the Gods; afterwards turning his head to the other side, he put himself in the posture of one who would Rest.  
However a moment afterwards, she called Telamonius again, this Shepherd omitted not Immediately to come to him, and asked him what he wished for; he saw that Tarsis was in trouble to know what should become of the Veil of Zelie. I pray you, Brother, cause it to be sought out for me, for although Fortune hath not let it fall into my hands, but to give me the last assurances of the Death of Zelie; however it is a pledge which unto me is very precious, since it hath been hers, and it's almost the only thing which remains with me, that belonged to that Shepherdess. Telamonius had no little Impatience to know how it fell into his hands, but he durst not ask him, fearing he should make him talk too much. Howsoever, for as much as he persuaded himself, that possibly Tarsis would draw it to ill purpose, from such evil conjectures, by the sole propensity which Naturally the major part of those who are in Love have, to unfold all to the disadvantage of their Passion; he could not refrain (after he had assured him, that Philiste had took it up) to say unto him; My Dear Brother, it must be on the contrary, for you ought to take this as a sure Sign and Token, of the Life of Zelie; and you ought to believe that the Gods, by these petty Institutions, begin to prepare you for greater. How know you if it be not she that left it there unawares, in the place where you found it? Ah! My Brother, replied Tarsis, I am but too well assured that it is not she. After some endeavours made by Telamonius, he could not hinder him from relating to him, how this Veil came into his hands, nor tell him the reasons of the Dismal Consequences that he had drawn.  
Telamonius made a Judgement wholly different from his Brother; he believed that it might possibly be, that silly was retired into some Cottage thereabouts, with the two Women, of whom Tarsis had spoken, that she might possibly have lent her Veil, to her who had lost it; and what ever it was, he will still hope, that at the least, if they could find again one of those unknown, they would not fail to draw forth a clear Manifestation. He would not however stay to contradict Tarsis, and retiring himself from him, he besought him to seek to take some Rest.  
Afterwards, having made a sign to Philiste to follow him, they went forth of the Chamber both together, and passed into their own. They there met Agamée, Ergaste, Coris, Arelise, and Celemante who waited for News of Tarsis. Telamonius Communicated them, that which he had learned from him; and Philiste shown them the Veil, and she had it yet in her hand; they all fell into the thought that he had had, that these unknown ones might give them News of Zelie, and that 'twas requisite to do all that possibly might be to refined them. Coris alone having mused a little while, and yet considering the Veil that Philiste shown them, said unto her: There is not any person, Philiste, that can better know it than myself, for I was with Melicerte then when Tarsis brought it from Athens, and by her leave he presented it to Zelie; we considered long enough together, the Stuff, and the Figures, and very much commended the Invention. But, Philiste, I know not if I ought to tell you the rest, and if the Clear Manifestation that I can make you, upon the trouble and perplexity wherein I see you will not rather contribute to augment it, than to put an end thereunto. Philiste wholly moved, besought her not to conceal any thing of what she knew thereon. So that Coris continued; It is said she unto her, that yesterday morning passing by a small House, which is near approaching here to the declension of the Forest, and returning to our Hamlet, I met twenty or thirty Paces from thence these same Women undoubtedly of whom Tarsis hath spoken to you. I was deceived as well as he, at the resemblance, the pitch, height, port and attire of Zelie, and that was the cause that I approached them. The Veil above all which was on the head of the youngest of the two, in whom I observed this conformity, aided me yet the more to persuade myself that she was silly. But having known by their Visage that I was abused, I make them an excuse, told them what had deceived me, and took thence an occasion to entertain them in discourse to know who they were. The elder answered me, they were of Gonnes, and that the other was of Thessalonica and her Relation; I might or could well have seen this Veil, with other persons than these, by reason that her Cousin held her by mere accident or hazard, having found her on the River side, where they were on the Grass together, clasped the self same day when they said that a Shepherdess of the Country was lost. Behold all that I have learned, and I would not have said any thing unto you, because I much doubted myself would not any way assist nor add to your Consolation.  
After that Coris had thus spoken, there was not one of the Company that remained not persuaded, that the Grief of Tarsis was not so blind as they had believed it, and that he had been more clear sighted than they to foresee even immediately all the truth of his Misfortune. Telamonius re-heaping together all the Circumstances of that which had passed in all this Adventure; the Boat that fatal night, wherein the Shepherdess had disappeared, Tarsis having found none but one person after he had there seen two. This roll of Papers met the next day in the bottom of the same Boat, according as they could judge; this vain and unprofitable search after so many Persons, during so many days, and after all that this last which he learned from Choris; Telamonius, said I, making a reflection on all these things, could not disavow, that if it was not certain that silly were drowned, there was at least great cause, ground and subject to apprehend it. After that he abandoned the design that he had had to cause to be sought out these two unknown Women; for what could he desire after that Coris had made him her report? her discourse sufficiently enough unfolded him the same who was the Son of Alcidias whom Tarsis had heard them name; because that Telamonius had a Brother, who had a long time resided at Thessalonica, whence he learned who was one of these unknown ones, and that he could not doubt but that they would speak with him; as for Philiste she was so troubled by the sole thought of the evil that she apprehended, that she was no more able to shed Tears, nor capable to give reasons. Agamée, Arelise nor Ergaste could avoid the same fears as had Telamonius. Celemante alone resisted the reasons they gave to create troubles to themselves; and finding little to comfort them, he represented them to that for the little that there was. The least reason to conserve a good, ought still prevail above all those which would force them away.  
Agamée judging well that a long Visit would serve in such an Encounter or the like, but to pester and molest Philiste and Telamonius, took leave of them soon afterwards, and gave his hand to Arelise who also would retire, and was followed by Coris, Ergaste and Celemante.  
As it was very late, Ergaste whose House was the nearest, invited the Areopagite to dinner, and would also retain there Celemante and the two Shepherdesses. Agamée and Celemante thereto consented: but Arelise was too much animated against Ergaste to do him that Favour, and it, must be very likely that she had some prejudice against Coris, to have served though innocently, the occasion of her Jealousy. She found that she did her Injustice in that, by reason that Coris had been very far from contributing willingly thereunto: but her reason could not resist the natural propensity of her Humour, and she must be constrained necessarily to use some endeavour, to pray that Shepherdess to go and dine with her.  
Ergaste who as we have said was willing to give her cause of Jealousy by Design and Project, forgot not any thing which was necessary to augment it, and as if he had not been willing to fix the faction of the Dinner, but because of Coris, he used all his Efforts and Endeavours to retain her. But Coris who had as much kindness for her Friends, as she had Wit and Merriment, knowing well the trouble that that would give to Arelise, if she stayed to dinner with Ergaste, would never consent thereunto. She therefore replied to Ergaste after her ordinary, pleasant, merry manner: Ergaste I have already lately told you, that I would not have the leave, and offals, and remains of Arelise; and as I would not have a Heart that she rendered, and left to you, so I will therefore not have nor accept of a Dinner, which she hath refused. My Mistress, replied Ergaste, I well observe that you will try and prove me, and I avow, that it is not just, that I receive Favours from you, from the first day which I could not deserve nor merit, but by years of Services.  
Although that Celemante was not present, nor had been at the birth of the Jealousy of Arelise, and that the Accident of Tarsis had occupied them in such sort, that they had scarcely spoken of any other thing, after they had learned it: however he soon knew the Anger and Vexation of his Sister, and the design of his Friend, by the discourse of the one and the Countenance of the other. However he did not immediately seem or make any show of perceiving it, and staying himself only on Ergaste his calling Coris his Mistress, he said unto him; It is therefore by design, Ergaste, that thou wilt also carry away from me all my Mistresses. Mine enemy, replied Ergaste, expectest thou quarter from me, after the War thou hast so openly declared against me? Celemante would have replied, but Agamée resuming speech added, And moreover Shepherd, is it not you that would never remember Love more, that would renounce all Mistresses and all Love? I have truly renounced Love, answered Celemante: but remember yourself Agamée, that is passionate Love, but not that which they call Gallantry and frankness of Humour, without which one never saw a decent and honest Man; Well said Celemante, replied Ergaste, it is easy to accommodate us; you shall be the Gallant, and I the Lover of Coris. Shepherds, said the pleasant merry Coris unto them, make out always your course, and I will tell you afterwards if I will resolve to enter there; at these words she quitted them to go to dine with Arelise whom Agamée would bring back to her dwelling.  
Ergaste and Celemante ran also after Coris, and presenting the Hand with desire to conduct and lead her, told her they could not make out their course, progress, nor Treaty without her. She placed herself between them both, and giving each of them one hand, Well said, said she, let us see whether we can agree. First Celemante tell me a little the difference, that you pretend there is between a Gallant and a Lover; it is so great, replied he, as the day is different from the night, for a Lover is one that sleeps not, that eats not, laughs not, who seems nothing but Tears and Sighs, and the sight of a Mistress, which will enrage him even from morning to night; and a Gallant is a Man who sleeps, eats, laughs as others, that sees nothing but Joy and Pleasure, and who seeks not but to divert his Mistress, in diverting himself. They could not refrain laughing at the Picture that Celemante had drawn for them, and Arelise who smiled as did the others, and who essayed to dissemble her anger as much as she could, replied to him; Thou hast reason, my Brother, to say that the day is not more different from the night, as the Pourtraits and Pictures which thou makest us there are one from another. But as the Night and the Day cannot accord together, how can a Lover and a Gallant accord together? I pretend not that they accord, replied Celemante, but on the contrary I pretend that the Gallant chaseth away the Lover, as the Day doth the night. That would not be just, said Agamée, but as the night succeeds the day, the Gallant and the Lover may have their turn one after another; to tell you the Truth, said Coris, I know not well yet if I shall be able to accommodate myself with either of both: But if I were a Shepherd I know well which I would be; Ah! my Mistress said Ergaste, I know well you would be the Lover, and in despite of the false Picture which Celemante hath drawn us, you would never intermeddle with loving that you would not do it in its perfection, and that a Lover will say. Well Ergaste, replied Celemante, hold, not to that: it will not be difficult to accommodate us. Amiable Shepherdess, when you shall be a Shepherd, you will rather be a Lover, as Ergaste; But you will prefer your Gallant, as long as you shall be the fair Coris. With the like discourse they arrived at the House of Arelise, where the Shepherdesses being entered, Agamée and the two Shepherds took leave of them and returned to dine together at the Habitation of Ergaste.  
At going from the Table they returned to Arelise's House, where they learned, that the two Shepherdesses were already gone forth. They followed the same way they heard they had taken, and repassed by the House of Telamonius, where they asked again about the State of the Wounded Celemante, perceiving the Shepherd Philemon, who came out addressed himself to him. Although these two Shepherds had much Friendship, and moreover the last esteem they had one for another, they notwithstanding always waged War, by reason of the Opposition that there was between the two Sects of Philosophy, whereof they made a Profession; For Epicurus, who had been Master of Celemante, preferred pleasure to all things; and the Philosopher Pyrrhon, in the opinion of whom Philemon was Naturally met; however without understanding it, and almost without any other guide than his Natural Sight, doubted whether Pleasure was preferable to Pain and Grief. He held all things so uncertainly, that he, not only sported at the Error and Vanity of Sciences, but he would not that one should Confide, even in his own proper Sense. Epicurus on the contrary, said, that we ought not to doubt of any thing, when our Senses had assured it us: and he held the Mistrust, and Diffidence of Pyrrhon for a childish, Trivial, and Ridiculous Scruple. There was probability in the one, and in the other, and it may be, that one doubted too much, and the other doubted not enough: but whatsoever it were, they both were the Sects, which then were the most of the mode, and, Celemante, and Philemon took pleasure to uphold, even to Desire, and Emulation, each one, his own; and made a perpetual matter of Sporting one at the other.  
Celemante had there in some respect more Advantage, because he had much more Studied than Philemon had; who for the little reputation that he added to the Sciences, had almost wholly Despised, and Rejected them; but Philemon omitted not also, to take great advantage upon Celemante, who in Certain Encounters, he made him see, that by the Purest Natural Lights, he was capable to Destroy the certitude of the Rarest Experiences, and Skill which this had acquired with much Time and Explication.  
Celemante having therefore perceived him ran unto him, and though he effectually took as great a share as he could, in the Misfortune of Tarsis; however, as he sought not but to divert an unprofitable Sorrow, for the healing of the wounded, he said to Philemon; I am Ravished that I have found you, Philemon! I pray do not refuse me some of your Lessons, and I pray also that you would teach me to doubt. Philemon having asked him wherefore? It is, replied Celemante, that all the world assures me here, that this poor Tarsis is much wounded; and as he is one of my Friends, I should be very glad to doubt it for my Consolation. My Friend, replied Philemon, with his cold Sense, when I shall have showed thee to doubt, thou wilt not thereby gain as much as thou thinkest; for I could not refrain myself from teaching thee, at the self same time to afflict thyself, more than to doubt, only if thy Friends are in danger, thou knowest it not, although thou holdest thyself assured. It Imports, nor matters not, replied Celemante, if thou wilt teach me these two things, it will depend upon me alone to retain, only that which I would, and I have a faculty clear enough to discern to choose the Good, and leave the Evil; and I, replied Coris, I, replied Philemon, I declare thee that I will not have a Scholar, who shall not Confide in his Master. But persisted Ergaste, if it be needful to doubt of all, must there not also doubt be made of that which you shall tell me?  
Agamée, and Ergaste Interrupted the Sequel of this Discourse, because the last had said to the other who was Philemon, he had a desire to approach and know him: they went all out of the Hamlet together, and entered into the Plain on the East side. After having Advanced there about Fifty Paces, they there perceived Coris, who walked with Arelise, whom she held under her Arm, and they saw a little nearer too other Shepherdesses, who walked also, and whom also they Incontinently knew, the one for the Discreet Celiane Mistress of Philemon, and the other for Al●e Friend to Celiane. What Resolution soever had made Ergaste to continue the Feigning, by which he had resolved to possess Arelise with Jealousy: it was not possible for him to dissemble it any longer time, it is too difficult to make a long violence to Powerful Inclinations; and of the manner wherein he loved Arelise, he could not do it with so little pain, but he made it a thousand times more unto himself. Therefore he could not longer delay to make his Peace, and for that end and effect, leaving his company, he Advanced himself towards Arelise, and presenting her his hand, said unto her: Fair Arelise, there no means to constrain myself any longer, and it is an Enterprise more difficult than I thought of, to dissemble a Love so strong as mine. Arelise did not make any show of understanding him, and having contented herself to cast a look upon him, with some sort of Disdain, she returned towards Coris, and said unto her; let's go my Comrade, let's go, to give the good night to these two Fair Shepherdesses. Immediately she would Advance towards Celiane and Alice, from whom they were not very far. But Ergaste putting himself before her, said unto her Amorously: Dear Arelise, I request you be not angry with me, if I have failed this Morning, am not I punished enough to have lost ever since that time the pleasure of speaking to you of my Love? Ergaste, replied she, very coldly, those faults put you in very little Pain, but I am very glad to let you know, thai I also very much scorn, and despise your Repentance; and I, replied Ergaste, with an Air much more passionate than before, I protest to you, that there is not any thing in the World, that I apprehend or dread so much as your Displeasure, and if I were so wise as I would be, I would never give you any Ground, Subject or Gause? but what will you Arelise? think you to find Lovers Wise, and would you reform the World? no, replied she fiercely, and it is for that also that I will have none. Well Arelise! continued he, receive me not as your Lover, but pardon me as your Friend. At the time that he said this, they were very near to Celiane and her Company; to whom also were joined, Agamée and the other two Shepherds. The Athenian who had not yet seen Celiane saluted her, and afterwards rendered the same civility to Alce, Alce was a Shepherdess who was not very fair, but had wit, and whom a certain Air of Freeness, and Frankness made her beloved of those who knew her, and above all to Celiane. The Sun was then upon its Setting, it seemed to have no more Beams but what was requisite to enlighten Delectably the Company, and areigning Zaphir, or Planet throughout all the Plain, rendered this hour the Pleasantest, and most Commodious for walking; after some other discourse they continued the walk, in taking the way of Ceris, and Celiane to reconduct them: and every one without choice, having offered his hand to the Shepherdess, nearest to whom he found himself met, Ergaste amongst others met with Arelise, and Celemante with Celiane, Ergaste soon recommended his first converse with Arelise, who could not so soon return from her Displeasure, continued still to refuse him her hand, and even to endeavour to withdraw farther at a distance from him, not willing to listen to his Excuse. The Shepherd who could no longer support himself, nor bear her fury and rage, seeing all his Words and Speeches too feeble to Mollify, and Sweeten her, at last casting himself at her knees and tenderly embracing them, Fair Arelise! said he to her, must you also yet be more Inexorable than the Gods, who in spite of the Offences, that we commit against them every day, are always ready to pardon us, from the Moment that we crave Mercy at their hands; you see that I make you all the submissions, that I could be able to render to themselves, I confess my Fault, I demand your Pardon, I put myself upon my knees before you, I embrace yours; and that there may be nothing wanting to the Satisfaction I owe you, Impose upon me what pain you please for my Default, and I promise you, and protest you, I willingly will submit thereunto, provided it be not that of seeing you a longer time angry with me: Arelise not any way heeding this discourse, but disintangling herself out of the hands of the Shepherd, she returned to join Coris, to whom Agamée gave his hand. Celiane who knew nothing of their affairs, and intricacies, and on the contrary, understood the great kindness that was betwixt them, was astonished to see the coldness of Arelise, and demanded the cause of Celemante. Amiable Celiane, answered he her, when you shall see Ergaste and Arelise, without being angry together, demand of me then the Subject and Cause, for then there must be something very extraordinary: but what can I say unto you, when they do but what is usually done every day, and what reason to render you of a thing, which is not but Natural to them? Celemante made her this Reply so loud, that Ergaste heard it: and for as much, that he saw well, that the hour of his Reconciling himself with Arelise, was not yet come, that the Humour which he knew her to be of, he should lose his Labour, and thereby make her more obstinate then at that time, and therefore must leave her to come to herself; he used his Endeavours to conceal his Vexation, and dreamt only of fencing himself from the Jests of Celemante; he therefore, to that effect came up from the place where he had been on his knees. However at the time, when he thought to speak, he was interrupted by Celiane who answered Telamonius: Shepherd, you are Malicious, for I know that there were never two Persons, that loved one another better than did Ergaste and Arelise. I say, not the contrary, replied Celemante, but you must know Fair Celiane, that it is their particular manner of Loving. Some do believe, that to live together in Unity, and Peace one by another is Love; and they hold that it cannot be done, but only in War, and Contention. See, you Shepherdess, that Love is an Ape, which always counterfeits the Natural Qualification of all those he meets. It is peaceable in a Sweet Temper; a Quarelour with one Naturally Prompt and Hasty, Merry and Pleasant with those Persons who are given to Sports and Rejoicing.  
Ergaste, who still Intended to speak, when Celemante had finished, seeing that he prepared himself to continue longer yet in discourse, Interrupted him at last, and addressing himself to Celiane, said; Amiable Celiane, if Celemante knew the Nature of Love, he would give you a better than that, to what you have required of him. Love, Fair Celiane, is a kind of War, where every one seeks nothing else, but to Conquer his Adversary; That is, who shall surprise him, shall wound him, shall surmount one another; and it being so, should you be astonished, always to see both Parties in Strife, and Division? Ah! I accord with thee, cried Celemante: undoubtedly, Ergaste, Love, as thou managest it, is a War; and I should so be persuaded, if I were Arelise, I would not approach thee, without putting on my Headpiece, and array me with my Armour, Helmet, etc. Cap-a-Pe, from head to foot at all hazards. Ergaste who apprehended what he would say, rejoined him smiling: Celemante, it is a War where no blows are dealt, but what are received, and felt with pleasure, and provided the Adversary pleaseth, there is nothing but pleasure in being wounded; that's the reason why thou seest, that they will give to truth, the offensive Arms to the God of Love, as well as to that of War, and that they paint him with a Bow and Arrows, as they do Mars, with a Sword: but thou seest also, that they give him not therefore any Defensive Arms, as to the other, and that on the contrary, they paint him all naked, as if he were afraid, not to receive all the Shots that they had Aimed, and Leveled, and made against him; and lest he should lose one in his Attire. Celemante had replied, but seeing that Celiane would speak, he yielded her Place, and Precedency, by Civility; so that the Shepherdess replied thus. That which you speak, Ergaste, is Gallant and Comely: but however, I do not well understand, how you compare Love with War, since that contrarily, Love in my apprehension tends not but to Peace, and Union of hearts. And War, Amiable Celiane, replied Ergaste, tends it to any other thing than Peace? Celiane not answering any thing, Celemante took up the Cudgels for her, and said; no Ergaste, not so; Wars arise from the Disunion of Heart, and thou wilt avow me, that Love Ariseth and Springeth from Union, and Correspondency. That is that in which thou deceivest, and cheatest thyself, replied Ergaste. Love, as well as War, Springs yet from Disunion of Minds, and Spirits, and Tempers. At this Discourse, Celemante betook himself to laugh, and turning himself to look after Philemon, said, Philemon, behold here is news for you; for what shall we be assured of in the world hereafter, if Ergaste goes to make proof unto us, as he saith, that Love Springs from Diusunion of Hearts, and Minds? that is not very difficult, replied Ergaste. Is it not true, that Love is no other than a desire? now all Desire, comes from the absence of a good we wish, and as we may say, from its Disunion with us; for if we were United in the thing we Desire, we should surcease, wishing for it, being impossible to Desire that which we are in possession of already, and with which we are United, therefore thou must necessarily Avow me that Love, being a Desire, and Desire Springing from Disunion, Love Springs likewise from the same. Celemante would have replied, but Agamée Interrupted him thus; I believe Ergaste that you would say as our Poets, that the Man and the Woman, were not formerly, but one and the same person, which were Disunited, and Separated in two halves: and to hold upon this Foundation, that since that time, one half dreams of nothing else, nor seeks to Unite themselves as do the Parts of a Serpent cut in two prices, so that when a Man loves a Woman, or that a Woman loves a Man, it is that they have both refound the half, whereof from they had been Disunited. Celemante having commended the thoughts of Agamée replied him: if that which you say should be true, Agamée, it would still be true, that Love did Spring from Union, and not from Disunion, as Ergaste said. For this Inclination of two halves to resemble themselves would not come to pass, but from that which other while, they would have been United. But also it is certain that Ergaste Dreams not, nor Conceives, nor Apprehends what he says, and that if the Spirits should not Unite, before they Loved one another, they should never be capable of Affection. Hast thou sometimes taken Notice, Ergaste, of this Fatal Moment which giveth Birth to Love? hast thou observed that which passeth in this first Interview of a Shepherd well shaped, who meets with a Fair and Amiable Shepherdess? I know well, that they frequently long, will look upon one another, before they will join in Love, and that other times, they will never Love, and that even many times, they will conceive an Aversion one for another: but also you will sometimes see, that their Eyes are no sooner met, than they feel themselves Inseparately tied one to another, and so Love one another. That is certain, said Erg●ste: but what conclusion dost thou draw, or infer from thence? that Love, replied Celemante, never Springs, but from Union of hearts. My Poor Friend, replied Ergaste, I see not but that returns too much to that which thou wilt show us, more than thou believest, said Celemante. For these different effects from the first interview, come from this, that Certain Spirits, which commonly go out of us, as the Beams go out of the Sun, mingle themselves in a Moment one with another; almost after the same manner as thou seest the Atoms, and Motes fly from the Air. And as thou seest yet these same Motes to meet one another, to knock one another, to recoil sometimes one upon another, sometimes to pass beyond, and not to touch one another, and sometimes to grasp one another together; it arrives in the self same manner, in the Medley, and Mixture of Spirits, sometimes they are long before they fix together, and Unite together. Whence it comes that it is a long time before they love one another: other times in meeting, they knock and justle, one another; and thence comes the Aversion: sometimes, they pass further without touching one another, and from thence Springs the Indifferency. But also sometimes they do no sooner touch, they grapple one another, as one may say, and they Unite together; and 'tis thence that this sudden Love ariseth, which takes Birth at the very first Interview. So thou seest that Union is always the Sole, and True Cause of Love. O Celemante, cried Coris, all that is unknown to us! think you, that we know what is of the Spirits, and what they are, and that we can Imagine, how it is possible that the Spirits Unite, and as you say, grapple one another. Dear Coris, replied he, concieve you how that happens in the Body? undoubtedly, replied Coris; and I think that there needs not much skill to apprehend, how a thing which is grappled and clasped, is fixed to another thing, in the like manner how a clasp or hasp holds to a Buckle? how a Stone remains, in the Iron Head of my Crook which is hollow? nor how, in fine, how a Body which hath a Figure, is fixed to another which likewise hath a Figure and Frame, which is proper to it? But how will you that I comprehend that of Spirits, who have neither Body, Frame, nor Figure? Amiable Coris, said Celemante unto her, behold you are therefore more Skilful, and Expert than I am, since you conceive that in the Body; for, in fine, the bodies, and the Spirits are but one and the same thing, the sole difference is but only in the Name. They call those Bodies that are Gross, Ponderous, Visible, and Composed of many others. They call Spirits, Small Subtle bodies that are Simple, Light, Imperceptible, and whereof others are Composed. But in Truth, they are equally of the Body, and the smallest of all have their Frames and Figures, even as others. Truly Celemante, replied Ergaste, it Admirably becomes thee, to speak here of these Small bodies, and so to Act the Doctor amongst Women! Friend, replied Celmante, that here is but a Doctrine of Love, and I believe that he is not a Gentleman, but would very readily Learn, or Teach, how it is to Love such Fair, and Amiable Shepherdesses.  
Agamée who was ravished with joy to hear him, said unto him; They would pardon you, Celemante, if you did not also leave us in the same doubt where we were, concerning that which hath given place to your Contest. For we have told you enough how two Persons Love, how they are indifferent, and even how they hate, but you teach us not how two Persons who Love one another, are angry together, and do sometimes the same thing as if they hated one another, and in the mean time it is that which hath caused your dispute to arise. It is true that I have not told you, replied Celemante, but what need is there that I explain that unto you Agamée? See you not that Ergaste and Arelise, who do all they are able to teach you? The Science is of much utility and unprofitable, where experience is so common. They all began to laugh at the Reply of Celemante.  
Philemon himself had taken great Pleasure to listen to them, and although the variety of their Opinions and of their Reasonings, served not but to make him admire more the uncertainty of all things, and to confirm him in the Opinion that he had, that all the Science of the Philosophers was nothing but Vanity and Error, (however he would not have spoken until then, lest he should interrupt them.) But when he saw they did nothing but laugh he begin to speak thus, Well Celemante, you think you have acted Wonders that it is not true which you think, that there is less assurance in the Oracles of Jupiter than in the Science of your Moats and Atoms? not so, replied Celemante: but I think that there is always as much as in the doubts that thou makest; O poor Boy! replied Philemon; if thou hast no other than that to answer me, thou must necessarily be a very Fool, to have lost thy time in a Science whence all the assurance terminates in saying that thou knowest as much as I, who make a Profession of knowing nothing.  
Celemante would have replied, when from the foot of a small hill, where they than were, they heard a great noise as if People had cried. Almost at the self same moment at the top of that rising a Shepherd with a Dart in his Hand haling with the other hand a young Maiden whom he held by the arm, and they also perceived an old Woman who striking him with an Hook or Crook, endeavoured to force and constrain him to quit the same young Maiden. Agamée advanced to know what it was, and the rest of the Company did the same. Ergaste knew this Man to be a Shepherd, who was lately come to inhabit amongst them: But as he knew not the ground nor cause, that he had so ill to treat a Maiden, who although she was simply habited, appeared admirably fair and beautiful, he asked him the cause. The other, replied him, that she was his Slave, that fled away from his dwelling. Thy Slave, replied the old Woman, thou wicked Person. Say say, that's a free Maiden whom thou forcibly hast ravished away, and by the Laws of Justice, thou oughtest to be condemned thyself and made a Slave to her. Agamée seeing that they mutually complained one of another would needs know who had most cause. He softly took the young Maiden by the arm, and taking her out of his hands, whom they had accused to be her ravisher away, he demanded to be clearly and duly informed, and what she or he said. This Man who was tall and shaped well enough, but whose Physiognomy marked him out to be very violent, and naturally ill tempered, churlish and malignant, looked fiercely upon Agamée, and presently scorned to give him a reply, seemed to consult if he should attempt to compel him by force to execute his enterpize. In fine, the number of those who were present amazed him, so that he began in part, to satisfy the demand of Agamée. All that I have to say unto you, replied he, is that that Maiden was a Slave, I have bought her to be mine. This Woman whom you see, did conceal her in her house, I retook her there hence, and remanded her to my dwelling. Ah, generous Shepherds, replied the old Woman, (for she also took Agamée to be a Shepherd,) be you I pray you, a Judge of this difference; and you will see and find that this wicked one, would ravish from me my Niece by the blackest and most abominable Treachery. What wicked Woman! replied the other, wouldst thou deny that I bought this Slave? I deny it not truly, replied she, but it is by the crime by which she is become so? Whilst they so contested the young Maiden fixed her eyes upon the ground, and a thousand Tears trickled down her fair Cheeks. She durst not almost through confusion and fear look upwards, nor speak one word nor pronounce a syllable. The Shepherdesses looked upon her with an extreme Compassion, and admired her dismal State, the excellent Features of her Face and the whiteness of her Hue, and the others those of her Teeth, and the form of her delicate Mouth, her sweetness, port, modesty, and comely pitch, and gesture. The Shepherds also said one to another, that she appeared to be born rather to make Slaves, than to be one herself, and that assuredly Nature had not form such delicate arms to carry Chains. They were on this discourse, when they saw come towards them, a Man, who ran with all his might, having a Javelin in his hand. His pitch in point of height was but ordinary: but considerable for its excellent Proportion. He had his hue and die brown, as was his Hair, his Eyes black, his Nose like an eagle's bill, usually called a hawked Nose, much sweetness and majesty in the Face, mixed with some kind of Fury. The old Woman no sooner had seen him, but turning her self to the other: Tremble, tremble, perfidious One, said she to him, behold him who will punish thy Crimes.  
These words caused the young Maiden to lift up her eyes, and from the time of the coming of him whom she knew one might observe to dart and beam from her Face a sudden Joy, which gave her a thousand new Transports and auspicious Delights. The first of these unknown appeared much moved in seeing him, and his Hue and Colour which naturally was red and high, was yet kindled with a new flaming Fire. However his Emotion seemed not to be mixed with Fear, and he attended with great Resolution. In the mean time the other approaching him, and judging by that which he saw the Obligation which he had to the Company of these Shepherds, he saluted them all civilly, and afterwards looking upon his enemy with an eye full of indignation, he said unto him? 'Tis against me, thou Traitor, thou treacherous One and Coward, that thou must dispute the Possession of Eliante, and not shamefully to carry away a Woman. It becomes thee well, replied the other, to combat with me by force of arms, and thereby I will render thee thy Desert, for flying away with my Wealth. But I will not omit to accept thy challenge, nor to dispute my Slave against thee, but to punish thee to have durst undertaken to debauch her. At these words lifting up his hands he would have made up to his enemy, to smite him with his Dart, and this prepared himself, with an excellent Grace to receive it, when Agamée and the Shepherds put themselves betwixt them, and so hindered a disorder which the Women were already all alarmed at. Agamée having a little remitted them, demanded of them if there were no means to know their difference, and the first having told him by way of answer that he had already unfolded it to him, the other replied, that if they would have the Patience, he would relate them the Justice of his Complaints, adding that he would that his enemy would refer it to their Judgements. This after he had considered and mused some time, said he would willingly do it, provided they would listen to them the one after the other; so there being a content on all hands, they descended to the foot of the Hill, where there was a kind of Bank, and there they sat down. The two Adversaries chose a certain place opposite to speak in the hearing of their Judges Orally. And for as much as he who first spoke had already alleged his Pretence, the other replied in these Terms.  

The History of Alceste and Eliante.  
I Should be happy, generous Shepherds, and wise Shepherdesses, if the Gods had always made my Destiny to depend upon the Justice of Laws; and that they had given me Judges, such as you are from my Infancy, to punish the first outrages which have been done me, as they seem this day to have miraculously sent you here to do me reason, for the last that I have suffered before your eyes. You will be astonished with the variety of events, and diversity of the Circumstances which I have to relate you, but if you have Astonishment, I am assured that you will yet have more Compassion for us, and yet more Indignation against our enemy, when you shall know our misfortunes and how they are happened to us, and above all when you shall see that the sole right, wherewith my Rival pretends to serve himself against me, is not sounded but on the Crimes of his Family.  
We are all time originally descended from this Valley, I will tell you, the young Eliante that you see, Perinte that is our Enemy, and I myself: but there is so long a time past that our forefather's are gone out and expired, that it is difficult their Memory should be traced down to you. It was from the time that Alexander the great passed into Asia. They enroled themselves all three in his Army, and being in all the Battles that he fought against Darius, they there acquired such Reputation, and so enriched themselves with the Spoils of the Persians, that the Fortune that they made in a strange Country, made them despise their own where they had one more competent.  
After the death of Alexander the great, they married themselves in Babylon: but after some years my Mother and that of Eliante, being dead almost at one and the same time, our Fathers who loved them with an unparalelled Tenderness, conceived so much Grief that they could not longer dwell in Babylon, nor suffer the sight of those places which at all times would renew the memory of their Loss; as they we trained up in arms, they resolved there to finish their days, and for as much more they sought not but honourable Occasions to lose a Life that their regret had rendered unsupportable, but because each of them had a Child of their Marriage, and that myself who was eldest of the two, had not attained above twelve years of age, and Eliante but six. They made a Will and Testament before their departure, by which they named and appointed the Father of Perinte our Guardian, and Tutor, and besought him to bring up Eliante and myself in a Friendship and amity one for another, which represented that of our Father, and to marry us together when we came of age and for as much as the Father of Perinte had also a Son and a Daughter, and that these Friends over credulous, would leave them marks and tokens of their Friendship, they added in their Will and Testament, that if it happened I should die, they desired that all my Wealth should appertain to Eliante, on condition and always, provided that she would marry the Son of our Guardian and Tutor. If I should survive Eliante, that I should have all her Wealth, provided I would marry his Daughter, and if we refused these Conditions, he would give him the Liberty to dispose of all their Inheritance.  
The Father of Perinte, therefore received the Will and Testament and Pledge of these two Friends: But I pray you to see in what manner he executed their Wills and Testaments. He no sooner saw their Children and Wealth in his hands, but he designed both the one and the other for his own Family. Instead of educating Eliante and myself in a kindness which might dispose us for Marriage, for which our Fathers had both a willingness to unite us, or rather by which they were willing to unite themselves in the Persons of their Children: he employed all his care and thoughts on one side to divide our minds, endeavouring to animate us one against the other by small Jealousies to nourish amongst us by these questions, which one sucks often as one may say Enmity even as milk, and on the other side to insinuate into me for his Daughter, all the affection I owed to Eliante, and to imprint in the Heart of Eliante for his Son all the good will which I had right to hope for by the last Will of her Father.  
But be it that Love irritates itself against all the designs, which opposeth itself to her Liberty, be it that the Gods take pleasure to overthrow enterprises, so treacherous and so full of Perfidy: so it is that they found it always, that all that this perfidious one practised to endeavour to make me have a kindness for his Daughter, that it always made me have an Aversion, that Eliante had the same Sentiments for Perinte, and to the contrary there sprang up among us both, I know not what desire of loving one another, by the constraint that they would have imposed upon us to hate one another. The Father of Perinte caused his Son, to learn all that could be Imagined, to perfect him in all exercises, which might Capacitate him, to be rendered Amiable, and Delightful to Eliante. He caused his Daughter to be Educated and brought up, with a Care all alike, that I might the rather leave myself to be Dazzled, and a Mist cast over my Eyes; and as for Eliante and myself they abandoned us both, the one, and the other, her to her good Nature, and myself to all the Defaults of mine. But all the art in the World could not put in the Sister of Perinte, the least part of those Natural Graces wherewith Eliante Shone, and Sparkled in mine eyes; and my good Fortune would have it, that she had an Higher Esteem of me, than of Perinte with all that he had acquired.  
A Success so contrary to the Designs of this Wicked Tutor, and Guardian, S●angely Irritated against us. We perceived even Eliante and myself as young as we were, that they conceived a Displeasure, when she and I were together, that they testified nothing but joy, when they saw us make any Love or Caresses to their Children, and that they punished us, but for the Faults that I committed against his Daughter, and the Divisions which sprang betwixt Eliante and his Son. If we would obtain any thing of him, we must feign to quarrel Eliante and myself, and it came even to such an excess of Jealousy, betwixt us two, that we durst not speak together, unless we were resolved to draw upon ourselves, some ill Treatment from him. On the other side we could not Live, neither Eliante, nor myself, without testifying our Affection, and when it was needful to wipe away a thousand Dolours, Infinitely beyond those which were Invented against us by our Persecutor, I would have Despised and Rejected them, to have only the Pleasure to tell Eliante how much I Loved her. But because in giving us this satisfaction, we exposed ourselves, Mutually to these hard Persecutions, we obliged ourselves to Manage it for the Love of one another, if we would not do it for ourselves. Love is a Great Master, and Infancy the most Simple, and the most Ingenious one, becomes Expert and Skilful, when it comes to Instruct, not daring to speak together, we advised one another to write all that, which we would have made known to one another. The Negligence that they had affected to make us Instructed, was cause that we Immediately drew to ourselves Evil enough: But Love soon taught us that, which the Masters had not done. They observed us so strictly, that we could scarcely make, or hold our Tickets. now we would give them one to the other in passing, than we would slip them in our ; now we served ourselves of Certain Lurking Holes, which were convenient for us, where I put my Letters, and where I went to fetch her Answers; we oftentimes changed the places, lest they should mistrust us, in seeing us go there too often. We passed some years sweet enough; and although it were to us a great Evil, as that we durst not always speak; I found it on the the side by the kindness that Eliante had for me, and this kindness was to me so great a Treasure, that I thought to have had yet more subject to praise myself, than to complain of my Destiny. But Fortune in the end betrayed all our Precautions, and Perinte having casually found one of my Letters in the cloven of a wall, where I had put it, and where Eliante should have taken it, his Father thereby discovered our Commerce. Unfortunately for us this Letter was the most tender, and the most forcible, that ever I wrote to Eliante, for after having reiterated her all the assurances possible of my Love, I there bewailed the Perfidy of our Guardian. I there spoke of the aversion I had against his daughter, I declared her that I impatiently expected the age wherein the Laws would leave us to our own conduct, to press her to execute the Will and Testament of our Father. In conclusion I there Discovered, all that the Interest of our Love Obliged me most to hold our Peace to our Cruel Enemy. I cannot nor could not better Delineate you, how much he was Incensed, then by the Strange and Cruel Resolution that he took. He spoke to Merchants who went to Traffic towards the Pillars of Hercules; made an agreement and bargain with them to carry me so far, that I should never return; and afterwards made me departed, not Advertising me two hours before, and made me believe that he would send me to spend away a Year in Greece, there to learn my Exercise.  
I do not tell you of my Surprise, nor my Grief at the Order of this Terrible Departure. A Clap of Thunder had not Rendered me so Confused as I was, and I believe I had learned news of my Death with more Constancy and Resolution. For in fine, although Eliante was then but thirteen years of age, we were however yet she and myself depending on his Condition, and all my resistance served not, but only to render us both more Unfortunate. But conjecture you what was also the astonishment of Generous Eliante, when I went to bid her adieu, she had yet known nothing of this sad news, and I also found her thereunto very little prepared; but what shall I say, what other preparation must there be on the like occasions, than the Testimony of the last Grief; is there any thing that better cuts asunder, then that of the seizing of hearts, the disorder of the Spirit, and the abundance of Tears? it is that which I observed in this fatal moment, in the Fair Eliante, if otherwise, or notwithstanding, I dare say I was myself in a condition to remark something. In fine, I parted, and we came and Embarked upon the Mediterranean Sea. In the sixth day after our Sailing, our Ship having been a long time battered with a Tempestuous Storm, they perceived they had sprung a leak, or cloven asunder, and not being in a Condition to bear so great a weight any longer, they must Necessarily perish, or discharge the Men, and Merchandise without Diligence. Compassion is a Virtue unknown to Mariners. They have no Laws but for Interest, nor yet any Maxims but those which inspires into them their Avarice. They hoped for a profit for their Merchandise, they waited upon none of the Traveller; so they resolved to put off the men, and to preserve the Merchandise. In this Design they chose people unprofitable to themselves, I was of the Number, and designed to be cut off. By Casualty we had been cast near to an Island which is but a days journey from Crete, alias Candia, but very far from the ordinary passage of Ships. It is an Island Desert, to which I think there is not so much as a name given, and where there are but Birds and Serpents for their hosts, nor for retreat but only Woods and Rocks. But yet it was a Good Fortune, in an extremity of this Nature, it was a Port of Safety for the Unfortunate, who without that had been cast into the Sea. The Captain of the Ship made us there to go and land, and by much Favour, gave us only a little Bread, with Bows, and Arrows, and Darts for Hunting, that we might thereby be able at least to Subsist for some time, waiting till he might, return to retake us in as he Promised us, or that we should have some succour by some Vessels passing. But we well knew, that he promised us the one but to deceive us, and that we durst not attend the other but by Fortune: we were thirty that Disimbarked there. They say, that the Miserable Consolate themselves together, but I experimented wholly the contrary on this occasion. I was a thousand times more afflicted by the Complaints, by the Cries, and by Despair of my Comrades, than I was by the apprehension of Death; it is true I Imputed not to my Courage the Disdain I made, the absence of Eliante had put me in an Estate to wish Death, rather than to fear it. Also of all that was Affrightful, and Terrible in this Island, nothing did so much Terrify me as that I should never see her again; we had soon ran over all the Island its Circuit, not being at the utmost but sixty, or eighty Furlongs. There were some Birds, and a great number or Serpents, we slew the one to eat the other for our own Defence. We Roasted our Viands by the Sun Beams, and when it was Cloudy Wether, we were obliged to eat it all Raw; we spent the day close to the Sea side to see if we could see any Ships: the night we retired ourselves into the Hollows of Trees, or Caves of the Earth; that which was Incommodious, was the want of Water, we had none sweet, and if there were any that were not altogether salt, they had so ill a taste that they excited us to Vomitings. The Bread which they had given us, could not long suffice so many Mouths, we were forced to have Recourse to Roots, and to supply the defect of Fountains by great Pits which we made in the lowest places, there to gather together the Water of the Rain. There was no means to subsist any long time in this Dismal kind of Life. Some Died with Hunger, by and near our Viands, others with Thirst near to the Fountains; there were some Poisoned sleeping, by the biting of the venomous Serpents, and there was not one, only one in the end, but fell sick by ill Nourishment or Pain. It was there that I learned the condition of the Treatment that the Father of Perinte had made with these Merchants, to leave me in a place whence I should never return, and I knew it from one of my unfortunate Comrades, who had heard it also spoken to the Pilot; but it is time that you should know that which passed in Babylon, whilst I languished in this deplorable Desert, and for as much as I have not been instructed but from the mouth of Eliante, and that I might possibly omit something I pray you that you will permit her to relate it herself.  
Alceste (for that unfortunate Lover was so named) ceased then to speak; and immediately all the Company cast their eyes upon the fair Eliante, and expected from her the recital of what followed. She would gladly have been excused, because her modesty rendered her Timorous, and her pain and grief had also taken almost her Speech from her, and the discourse of Alceste renewing the Memory and Remembrance of so many Disgraces, had also renewed her Tears, that she could not stay them. But as she saw herself, in fine, pressed by the silence of her Lover, and by the impatient desire that she saw upon the Faces of those round about her, she betook herself to speak, addressing to the Shepherdesses, who had made her to sit down in the midst of them.  
I know not, fair and wise Shepherdesses, why Alceste would that I should recite you myself, the State wherein he left me after his departure from Bayblon. It is all that which hath been hitherunto the most difficult to depaint you in this historical Narration, and it is that which I am almost least acquainted with. For in fine, when I saw the manner wherein they made him departed, without any Speech thereof ever in my hearing before, without advertising him thereof, and under a pretext, the feigning and dissimulation appearing very gross, (for what appearance of care should they take, to choose him Masters in Greece when they would give him none in Babylon?) When I considered, I say, all these things, I divined immediately that it was an Artifice to separate Alceste from me to force me in his absence to espouse Perinte, and I fell into a condition that I knew not well what would become of me. I was obliged by the last Will of my Father to consider and love Alceste as a Spouse, which he had designed me by his own Choice, and I will not dissemble to tell you in his presence, that his Virtue and Merit, had made a desirable necessity in me, to perform my duty. My Regrets also tormented me, with so much the more Empire, that they were authorized by the order of my Father, and I permitted so much more willingly Pain and Grief to seize upon my Soul, that no scruples should combat my Heart, and that it was my duty as well as my inclination.  
My Guardian (but can I give this name to my mortal Enemy?) This cruel one, said I, used all Artifices imaginable to dissemble his barbarous design. He published amongst his Friends that he had sent Alceste to the School of Athens, as he had made himself believe, and he whom he could not suffer before, he dissembled, notwithstanding his absence gave him trouble and regret. He even affected to testify it before me, be it to gain me by this Complaisance, be it to take from me ground and cause to mistrust his Treachery. He treated me with much more kindness than he was accustomed, and of his Persecutions I had not any greater sufferings than the Pressures of his Son.  
In fine, one day I saw him come into my Chamber with a Countenance more sad than ordinary. He said nothing unto me, but appointed his Son, who there was to follow me, and when they were upon the Stairs, he said unto him as in secret, yet loud enough, that I could understand him, that Alceste was dead, that he had received the news thereof, and notice was given him that the Ship whereon he embarked suffered Shipwreck, and however he must not advertise me thereof. He said this unto him, without thinking to approach so near as he did to the Truth, for he had not since heard any thing from the Merchants, with whom he had agreed, and knew not the extremity of Alceste: but he would by the design which you see, falsely persuade me of his Death, thinking to disabuse me by the extremities of the World, whereto he had exposed him. I who effectively believed that Alceste was dead, beheld me alarmed as you well may imagine. Grief so seized on me at once, that Perinte returning to my Chamber, found me there swooned. I will not urge you to believe the Complaints I made when they made me return to my Sentiments; I will tell you only that I immediately doubted that the death of Alceste, was a premeditated Design of the cruelty of our Enemy, and I saw well that it was to oblige me to marry his Son, or in case I refused to seize on our Wealth; and indeed there passed not a Month but he made me this Proposition of this fair Marriage, for although he believed that Alceste would never return from the place he had sent him, however he would make precautions against all hazards, there was nothing more assured than the attempting quickly to conclude our Marriage.  
This was then, when I no more made any more doubt of the Perfidy of the Design, whereof I had only a mistrust. Until than I had but a simple Aversion against Perinte, as we naturally have of all things where we see they force us: but when the Grief which I had for the Death of Alceste was joined with this Aversion, when I saw that they would have me become the price of his Blood, and the recompense as I may say, of his Murderers, than I had neither Father nor Son but horror and abomination, and to say all at once, I considered him as the cause of the death of Alceste, and the other for his execrable murderer and parricide. In vain did they think to gain me by the consideration of Wealth. Let him take, said I, let him take my Wealth provided he gives me my Liberty. Poverty shall be much sweeter to me alone, than all the Riches of the World with his Son. Let him seize on the inheritance of our Fathers without scruple; it is far less Crime to take away Wealth than Life, and flight cannot cause Horror in a Murderer.  
It was not in secret that I made these manner of Complaints, I freely discovered it to all Persons whom I saw, because that after the loss of Alceste, I believed I should have no more cause to fear my Enemy. And in reality, I would willingly have relinquished the Inheritance of my Father which Joy, provided he had left me at liberty to fly where I might never more hear of him nor his Son. There was in Babylon a young Persian of quality, with whom Alceste had contracted a most perfect Friendship. He was named Oxiarte, and was near about the same Age As he dwelled in the Neighbourhood, one might say that they had almost been brought up together, for a long time he conceived a great affection for me: But for as much as he knew that of Alceste, he had so much consideration for his Friend that whilst he believed him living, he would never speak of his Passion. He thought he could discover it me when he believed him dead, and that without being his Rival, he could demand of me a place that the other was not capable to occupy. If I had been in a state to listen to a new Friendship, I had possibly been unjust to resist his, for there was never one accompanied with more generosity nor sincerity, nor yet discretion. But Alceste had carried away all my Affections with him; and of all Passions, I was not capable of any thing but hatred and aversion, that I had for those who I believed occasioned his Death. I would not however reject him. But on the contrary, endeavouring to engage him to serve me, in the design I had to draw myself out of the hands of my Persecutor. Oxtarte, said I unto him, I am in a trouble where my Soul is not capable to dream of new Engagements, and also in the hands of a Man from whom you ought not hope to draw a consent, contrary to the design which he hath to Sacrifice me to his Avarice. That which I can say to you notwithstanding, that I have so much horror for that cruel Enemy, and the Marriage he designs me, that there is nothing honourable that a Man can hope from me, who shall have the courage to draw me out of his hands, and set meat Liberty but I will testify my acknowledgement unto him.  
There was no more need of disposing Oxiarte to undertake all, he would but know in what place I had fixed my Eyes for a Retreat, I told him I had always heard say, that my Father was of Tempe, and that he had yet a Sister, and some Relations whose Names I knew not, but I hoped to discover them there, when I should be there personally present, and I signified to him in fine, that I had designed that place for my Sanctuary, and place of Refuge. Oxiarte did not ponder upon my Proposition, and too well content with the only shadow of the hope I gave him, he made all our necessary preparatives ready, the most diligently and the most secretly that in him was possible. He had a great Patrimony, and Inheritance which he enjoyed, having neither Father nor Mother. He sold it all, and having by this means made a very considerable fond of money, and capable to repair the loss which he had Abandoned, he so very well disposed all that which was necessary for our departure, that we, in conclusion went out of Babylon by night, and having in few days gained the City of Tire, by the means of Chariots appointed by turns on purpose, we prosperously Embarked ourselves on the Sea, before they had leisure to overtake us. It is true that I Imagined not that this good Guardian would make any great Diligence to Arrest us. For I had with me but one Maiden, at my wealth remained in his hands, and that was the sole aim of his wishes, I believed no otherwise, although he would also afterward tell me that he was not soon consolated, for what affection can I ever Imagine tn a man, who treats me as a Slave? and hath done me the Outrages which you have seen.  
As Eliante was there, Perinte who had scarce the Patience to refrain himself to Interrupt her divers times, willing to say something, but the Shepherds having interrupted him, and having signified him, they would hear him at his turn, as much, and as long as he pleased; he left the Fair Eliante the liberty to continue after this sort.  
We Rowed most Prosperously the first day, after our Imbarkation, Oxiarte without ceasing or Intermission being always by me, and although he had in his heart for me a passion such as you will see by the sequel, nevertheless as he saw my Grief all fresh, and how many regrets I had for the Grief of Alceste, and the Affection that I Conserved for his Memory, rendered me the thoughts of a new Friendship unsupportable; he had the Discretion to withhold himself, and to hold his Peace, as much he was able to refrain his Passion to flatter and dissemble that of mine. About the fifth day at the last watch of the night, we heard a great noise upon the Deck, and that having obliged us to rise up, we found all the Mariners there occupied, in considering with much astonishment, a great fire which appeared very far, the cause whereof they could not Conjecture, the major part verily believed, that it was some Ship burning; and our Pilot who was more humane then ordinarily are all those sort of People, caused them to steer towards it, notwithstanding not too much to go out of our course, to see if there were not some Miserable People who wanted secure.  
In Advancing forward, they knew that this Fire was much farther and greater than at first was apprehended; you would have thought it had been the total burning of an Entire City, but it was in a place where they knew there was none at all. So this Spectacle increased their astonishment, augmented their curiosity, yea even gave them fear. We omitted not to approach. In fine, being much nearer they began to discern it was a small Island in the Sea wherein there was a Forest burning, and by and by, we observed even some Men on the Sea, who stretched their hands towards us, and by a supplicating posture, seemed to call us to their relief and succour. Generous Oxiarte was the first to press the Mariners to go to them, and he was Forward, Zealous, and Ardent in all acts of Humanity, he was of those who leapt into the Boat to fetch those unknown ones ashore. They there found only three Men, lean, lank, scraggy, looking like Ghosts, that had nothing but Skin, and Bones left on them, having their Faces as it were dressed, or tanned, their Eyes sunk in their heads, Men rather like Hobgoblins, and Ghosts then Men. He made them enter into the Skiff, and turning to one of them to inquire of him the cause of that great burning fire that they saw in the Isle, he astonished himself, that the same Person casting himself about his neck, and Embracing him very straight, and closely, said unto him: O! My Dear Oxiarte, is it possible that it should be you? can you bring me no news of poor Eliante? these words and the sound of that Voice, soon instructed Oxiarte who it was that spoke thus. He however looked upon him again, to see if he decieved not himself, and having at last known him to be Alceste, he let himself fall upon his neck quite confused, without being able to say, or speak one single word to him. Alceste redoubling his embraces, and impatient to hear some tidings of me, he asked again if there had a long time past, since he came from Babylon, and in what condition he left me there: But Oxiarte Transported with Sentiments, which I cannot very well express unto you, never answered him but by Sighs. At this silence Alceste persuaded himself, all that his fear could suggest unto him, the most dismal, that he could imagine. He believed that his Friend would not declare any thing unto him, because he supposed he had none to tell him, but what was Mournful; and in that belief, transported by an excess of Grief; Ah! cried he, I see too too well how matters are. Eliante is Dead or Married to Perinte, and you will not declare it to me, because you well know, that will give me a Mortal Wound. O Gods! did you not conserve me from so many evils, but to reserve me for this here, the greatest, and the most terrible of all those, to which you have exposed me, and the only one where I cannot any more expect a remedy? But Eliante! it shall not be said, that I survive the news of your Marriage or Death, nor that I conserve a Life which possibly serves no more but to separate myself from you.  
At these words he turned to the edge of the Skiff, to precipitate himself headlong into the Sea: but Oxiarte returning to himself withheld him, and straight clasping his hand into his own, and crushing it said, unto him; No Alceste, Eliante is not Dead, and you are going to see her even in our Ship. He would have added something: but from the first Syllable, a blushing came up over all his face, and Alceste observed him to shut his mouth again, and look downwards with his Eyes, with some Signs, and Tokens of Confusion. All that gave him Incredible Alarms, and as he knew the kindness that Oxiarte had for him, it was impossible for him to Divine, that which could so moderate the contentment, that the like encounter, should in truth semblably bring to this Dear Friend, nor that which held him so in suspense between Joy, and Grief. He therefore pressed him the third time to declare to him in what condition I was, conceiving at least that I was undoubtedly seized with some dangerous Sickness. In fine Oxiarte said unto him: Reassure yourself too happy Alceste, there is no cause of fear neither for you, nor for Eliante, there is no cause of fear, but for Oxiarte. Ah Oxiarte! replied Alceste, there can be no peril to you, unless there be peril to me also. On these words he began again to press him anew, and instantly prayed him, that he would no longer leave him disquieted.  
Whilst all this passed, the Skiff reapproached our Ship, and I was not a little astonished to observe from the Deck, all these Embraces, and all these Demonstrations of Friendship, and Familiarity, which had appeared between Oxiarte, and one of those Men. I will not however conceal from you that a certain palpitation of heart, seemed to advertise me that I had concernment, and some part in that encounter: but the Death of Alceste, whereof I was persuaded, and which I had always before my eyes, too much preoccupied my mind, to leave me some disposition to divine such an event. I looked in the mean time from the Deck of the Ship, with unparallelled attention, upon all that which is passed between them. I attempted afar off to observe the Face, and the Lineaments, and Features of the Countenance of that unknown one; but the nearer he approached, the more his great change made me farther distant from the knowledge of the Truth. I observed only when they were near, that Oxiarte had his cheeks covered with Tears, and after having Embraced him to whom he spoke, in showing him the Ladder that they had cast out unto them to ascend; Go to, O Happy Alceste! Go and take a place which the Gods have Reserved you; whilst that I as for my part will return to take that which they have prepared for my Misfortune.  
It is a thousand times easier for you to imagine the effect that these words produced in me, than for me to express them unto you. For this great disguise which hindered me before to know Alceste, disappeared in a moment in mine eyes, and my Imagination giving him me again, in the same instant all the former Features in which he had formerly appeared to me so amiable, I felt myself wholly seized with an astonishment of all the joy that could transport an Heart in encounters so delectable, auspicious and casual.  
I knew Alceste, in a word, and cried as if I had been out of my Wits, Ah Alceste! is it possible that it should be you? I could not speak more, for Joy so dissipated all my Spirits that there remained not force enough to sustain and uphold myself, and I was constrained to suffer myself to fall into the Arms of a Maiden, which was near unto me.  
On the other side, Alceste had no sooner perceived me from the Skiff wherein he was, that yet far more transported than I was, he ascended or rather flew into our Ship, without any more heeding what Oxiarte said unto him, and came to cast himself at my Feet. But, amiable Shepherdesses, I insensibly engaged myself in declaring unto you, more than you have demanded of me. Behold all which passed in the absence of Alceste, it concerns him now to finish the rest, for he was there present with me, and he can acquit himself much better than I shall be able to do.  
In saying this, she modestly and gracefully cast her eyes upon Alceste to signify him that she yielded him precedency and place of Speech: but Alceste having replied her, that she must necessarily know more than he did, and knowing the recital that she made to him was very acceptable, and pleasant from her mouth, and all the company, having also signified her the pleasure wherewith they heard her, she was obliged to continue, which she did in these words.  
Whilst Alceste and myself were in the Transports of our Joy, they informed us that Oxiarte who remained in the Skiff, refused to ascend into the Ship, and that by a Despair, the reason whereof was unknown, he would have them row him to the Island again, and that they left him there whence Alceste came; this news strangely surprised us both: As for me I was not long in Divineing the reason; and I thought, Wise Shepherdesses, that I have sufficiently testyfied you the Love he had for me, to let you conceive this design was in effect of the Grief, and Despair in observing that the return of Alceste ruined all the pretensions of his Love. But Alceste to whom this passion was unknown, could not Imagine the cause of this strange resolution, he enquired me thereof all amazed, and having apprehended it, by three or tour words I had let fall, I saw in an instant a fire breaking out in his face, and a paleness succeeding that ruddiness soon after, even in an instant, and I observed in his eyes all the signs and tokens of the last pain and grief. O Gods! Cried he, so many pains, and crosses, deserve they not very well, at least a moment of consolation without bitterness? at these words, he desired my permission, to quit me for an instant, and running to his Friend he forced him by his Embraces, and request, to abandon his wild, and blind design, and to return with him to our Ship, the Pilot presently steered again our former Course, and Alceste and myself with the Mournful Oxiarte, retired ourselves into a certain part of the Ship; whilst all the others interrogated the two others, whom they had delivered with Alceste, on the subject of their Adventure, and of the burning that still continued upon the Island, they in like manner declared us the cause thereof, and after having told us how he had been put ashore, and left in that Island (after the same manner as he hath already declared you) the sad, and deplorable life, that they had led therewith his Comrades, the Persecution that they had suffered by Serpents and by hunger, the Miserable Kind of Death, who of thirty persons that were there, had reduced them to the only number of three: he added, that in fine, having devoured all the roots, and green things capable to nourish them, not seeing any to pass by, Vessels either great or small, and not knowing how to have any farther succour; they advised amongst themselves to set the Forest on fire, hoping the flame thereof by being seen at a Distance, might draw and allure the Curiosity of some Sailing on the Sea, to come to, and succour them. He told us that to that end they gathered all the leaves they could find amongst the Rocks, that were exposed to the heat of the Sun, and having made them very dry, they brought them into the Forest, and taking some Flint Stones, they had beaten and knocked them against one another, out of whom came sparks of fire, which kindled these leaves, whereon they cast branches of Trees, which they had made exceeding dry on purpose, and by this means set them on fire in the thickest part Of the Forest which they had so burnt.  
After he had declared us this, he would for the satisfaction of his curiosity have us tell him wherefore, and how we were gone out of Babylon, and I cannot possibly declare you how he was concerned and sensible of the generosity of Oxiarte when I had declared him how he had abandoned his Country, quitted his familiar intimate Friends, sold all his Inheritance to secure me, and follow me, wheresoever I would go. Although he very well and sufficiently saw, that he ought not impute this generous Resolution, but to a passion Enemy of his own, yet he a thousand times embraced him not as his Rival, but always as a generous Friend, with an ardent and sincere Affection, and with all the Expressions that he deemed capable, to administer him any little Consolation. Oxiarte on his part did what in him was possible to answer the Caresses and Love of his Friend, and one might very well see that his Soul did within it, use all its Endeavours to overcome a certain heaviness and burden, wherewith he felt himself oppressed, and to conceal at least his Sadness. But one might also see that his Sorrow was still more and more, and that the Combat that was in his Heart between his Passion and his Friendship; Oxiarte alone remained overcome. If there appeared any Joy in his Countenance, it was but an imperfect Joy, and in Similitude like to the weak Beams that the Sun casts forth, sometimes out through the dark Clouds, who no sooner appear than they are dissipated. If he thought to open his Mouth to speak a word, he would immediately shut it again and utter forth nothing but Sighs, and we knew not what he would say, but by the Pains and Repugnancy which he felt in declaring it us. In fine, he broke this long Silence, and after he had a little disburdened and discharged his Heart, of the Vexing and Hickhocks which suffocated it, he took the hand of Alceste, which he tenderly crushed in his own, and looking upon me the same time with some sort of confusion, he said unto me: What will you think of me, Madam, to see me in the Grief and Despair, where I am at the time I recover the best Friend I have in the World? and what will you say of a Man, who sees not his Friends revive, but with the Affliction which others have in seeing them die? That I would apprehend that you would not believe me guilty towards you, if you knew less the value and the worth of that, you return to carry away from me. I love you, my dear Alceste, and I take and call Eliante to witness that the Sentiments that I have conserved for her, have never violated the Duty of my Affection, and if ever I declared myself her Lover as much as I could believe myself to be so, without becoming your Rival, I will tell you very much more; for in fine, I affirm and attest to the Gods, that at the same hour that I speak to you, I have yet for you all the kindness and friendship that I own you, and that I have so many times sworn to you. But Alceste! The greatest Kindness and Friendship finds itself feeble, when it comes to oppose itself in a Love founded upon such legitimate Hopes, when it must tear itself, for so I may say, or violently root up its Heart to make it a Sacrifice to a Rival, and that such a one, who would lose his Life for his Friend with Joy, finds itself frozen when he must lose him for a Mistress. Whilst he spoke, the Tears trickled from his eyes. I believe there was nothing but his Vexing and Hickhocks, hindered him to proceed further. Alceste could hardly withhold his, and I very well saw that it was not without making within himself a very great endeavour that he rendered himself, capable to say unto him. I have not withheld myself from complaining to you, generous Oxiarte, I know that it would be to give you occasion to reproach me, that at the time you came to save my Life, and to preserve me and my Mistress I come ungratefully to interrupt and trouble your Rest and Peace, if you were not just enough to impute to your Friend the Capricio or possibly the Injustice of Fortune. But in this unhappiness where I cannot bewail you, permit Oxiarte that I bewail this Fortune, who having so cruelly lost a Friend and a Mistress, doth not return them unto me both but by a fatal Accident, who obligeth me to be unfaithful to my Love or ungrateful towards my Friend. Ah Oxiarte! that all your Sentiments are highly justified by those of mine; and that I am persuaded, that the loss of a Life is a small thing in comparison to that of a Mistress. They spoke a thousand things like these, and so tenderly that they drew Tears from mine eyes, and they were yet in the like Discourses when a new noise Sprung up upon the Deck advertising us, that there appeared a Vessel or Ship that our Pilot judged to be that famous Corsario or Pirate called Pantauque, who ordinarily coursed and ranged upon that Sea. They caused all the People of our Ship to arm themselves immediately, and prepared for a vigorous defence.  
As for me all affrighted, I prepared myself only to second the courage of Alceste and Oxiarte by my vows and prayers, that was the sole arms that I could employ for them. But alas! they were ill heard. The Enemy's Ship approached us and attached ours, the Combat began, our Ships grappled one another and boarded. I heard Pantauque himself say over and over, that Alceste and Oxiarte, did there act so gallantly, as was almost incredible, and if there had been two such others in our Ship, we should have remained Victorious; but they were not seconded; we were overcome, Alceste overpowered by a great number before and behind, was seized and made Prisoner, and that which was most dismal in our defeat, we there lost the generous Oxiarte. He could have saved himself if he would, for our Enemies having forced him to one certain place in the Ship, cried out a long time to him to render and submit himself, and would themselves have spared him: but he sought nothing but to die or Conquer. And indeed and in lieu of defending himself, he cast himself amidst the thickest of them, and having given them opportunity of attacking him on all sides, he fell down with a hundred wounds, and in pronouncing the names of Alceste and Eliante, yielded up his Life and breathed his last. The Fair Eliante could not pass from this relation, without shedding some tears at the remembrance of that unfortunate Lover, however she remained not long there, but resumed her discourse thus. Behold us then Alceste, and myself in the hands of a Pirate, who caused us to be laden with chains, and going out of one danger, to fall into another, mere Ghastly and Horrible. For although, that until then we had conserved our Liberty: but what Destiny can one Imagine more terrible, then to see one's self a Slave to a Barbarian, and an Impitiable Corsario and Pirate? the loss of our Liberty was not however that which seemed to us the most rude, the regrets which were caused us by the Death of the Brave and Generous Oxiarte, did yet more sensibly touch us; and more than that, the Inquietude that I was in for Alceste, tormented me with a thousand cruel Pains, as also his, for my Condition rendered it most dismal to me. Although we were in the same Ship (the Corsarios' having according to their custom sunk our Ship, after they had taken out of her all they found necessary to preserve and put into their own,) yet they separated us one from another. They had put him amongst the Men, and as for me they shut me up with some Women that by a misfortune like ours, had fallen into their Hands, and not having seen one another since the Combat, each knew not whether the other were alive or dead. We passed a long time in that condition, without having News one of another. You expect not I know, wise Shepherdesses, that I depaint you the trouble we were in. Alceste hath told me that all he had formerly had not yet equalled that which he resented then, because he had not been apprehensive but for himself, but now he was concerned and terrified for me. As for me I will avow you, that I was in a State where I emulated the Destiny of Oxiarte, and esteemed him much more happy than were we, although I omitted not to bemoan him.  
In fine, I learned that Alceste was living, by a Soldier who I supposed pitied my Condition, and by his means twice or thrice we knew how it fared with each other. There had passed many days that I had heard nothing, when one morning they drew me out of my Prison, with some other of the Women who were also Captives; and having made us enter into the Shallop, they carried us to a City who appeared on one side, near to which the Ship whereout we went was after some time in the Road. I heard them name the City Paphos and the Island the Country of Cyprus. As soon as we were on shore we saw divers sorts of Persons as well Men as Women to come to us; and there was one amongst many, who remained a long time to consider me; after she had very attentively looked upon me, I understood that she demanded of them who conducted us there, if they would sell me, and after having treated and agreed upon the price they appointed they should lead me to her House, they also yet sold some of my miserable Comrades, and brought back the others into the Ship. I felt then more than ever the mischief of my Captivity, for I knew that I was altogether a Slave, and that as such a one I had been sold to a Mistress whose conditions, humours, manners and humanity, I was ignorant of. However that was yet but the least of my Pains; the inquietude I had for Alceste, was augmented from one moment to another. There was above eight days that I had no news of him, all my hopes was, that after they had sold the Women our Pirate would also expose the Men to Sale: but even in this Hope, I was afflicted by another fear; for I dreamt that possibly he would fall into the hands of some cruel and inhuman Person, and I suffered already in my heart all the ill Treatments that I could for him.  
The House where they had led me was upon the Port, as the Mistress unto whom I had been sold, having some visits to make, was not so soon returned to her House, she had appointed that in expectation of her, they should shut me up in a Chamber. The Windows opened towards the Sea, and I could thence discover not only all that passed upon the Port, but also who came from and went to our Ship. I was then attentive, to see if they did not disimbark some Prisoners and was very much surprised that after they had returned the Women aboard, whom they had sold on the Shoar, I saw the Mariners weigh the Anchor, haul Sails and went out into the open Sea. It was at this time I thought I should never see Alceste again.  
Whence could I ever expect hereafter this good Fortune arrive unto me? I knew he was a Slave in the hands of these Corsarios, the Vessel where he had been made Prisoner was gone, and I could not doubt but they would sell him in some other part. I recommenced or re-began to weep more than ever, to utter forth a thousand cries, in a word; to be wholly desperate. I was in this condition when I understood that the Mistress of the House was returned, and commanded one to fetch me and bring me to her Chamber. As soon as I heard the door open, and looking upon him who entered, I knew the Person who came to me to be Alceste.  
If ever there was an accident so surprising, I believe you will Judge that this was it. I came from beholding the Ship, whereon I supposed he had been departed in her, with all the reasons Imaginable. I thought him to be in the open Sea, I would consider him, for so I may say already in some Barbarous Country at a great distance, and at the same time, when I was aifflcted with these Imaginations, I saw him in the same City, in the same House, and in the selfsame Chamber. As for him he appeared not much surprised, and his Joy seemed not to me, to be mixed with Astonishment. That made me believe that he had already been advertised that I was there, and I deceived not myself. After having made one another the Honest, and Honourable Caresses, that the time permitted us, he told me that as there was many days already that the Vessel of our Corsario, was in the Road of the Island, there had been eight wherein he had been brought to land, with many other Prisoners, and that he had been sold to an old man, in whose house we were: that he had been happy enough in obtaining his good favour, that the Master had a daughter a Widow who nourished him, that this daughter having need of a Slave, he had told her there were many aboard our Vessel, and that amongst others, there was one whereof he had heard a thousand Commendations. That he had already notwithstanding spoke of her as one unknown unto him, for fear of being rendered suspect that, that had given her occasion to buy me, and we contrived to avoid all suspicion, that we would not make any show of knowing one another. All this was expressed me in fewer words than I deliver them to you, for the least delaying or lingering, would have given cause of mistrust, and it was our great interest to shun it. To make short, I was brought before my Mistress, her Father was then with her, they saw me and considered me, and I was Interrogated by both of them, and I was happy enough not to displease the daughter: but unhappy enough also in pleasing more than I was willing, the fancy of the Father, although he was approaching so great an Age, where they say, that men are Virtuous through a kind of necessity, and where it is believed, that Vice quitteth those who have not had the Courage to abandon it: however he had an extraordinary inclination to Women, and one might say that he had yet all the foolish passions of youth. It was not long but I perceived his inclination, and from the very first time I omitted not to advertise his daughter thereof. She prised the method I had used to preserve myself, and appointed me to tell her of all that passed and was said. From the moment she knew it, she aided me to cut off all occasions of discourse with me, & above all to be found alone with me. She was very exact in having me with her where ever she went: the passions of this good man were increased by the obstacles that were applied, and the more he found of difficulties, there the more obstinate he grew to make his Attempts Successful. He would not however have his daughter take cognisance thereof, and also, knew not any thing of my having made her acquainted therewith. Behold wherefore he sought a Mediator, and that which was also sufficiently pleasant in our misfortune, he made Alceste his Confident. That was a conjuncture to us favourable enough, for heretofore we durst not speak almost together, he nor myself, and when we designed it we were forced to conceal it from the old man and his daughter: but the one having of his own accord furnished a pretext to see us, and to entertain ourselves frequently in discourse, we had but to steal ourselves from the sight of one single person. We passed so many Months, during which Alceste to prolong his confidence, and that little Liberty that we had, was obliged to entertain his Master with a little hopes, Dissembling from time to time, that he hoped he might make some Impression upon my Spirits, taking such measures as he Judged needful. But in fine, he could not still abuse him, and he did it not also, but with some kind of regret, and by a necessity to which our Misfortune, and Unhappyness reduced us; because of a certain scruple of freedom and Ingenuity with which he was born, gave him an Aversion to the most Innocent Deceits. In fine, he said to his Master, that there was nothing would prevail with me, nor could he make any Impression upon me. This would not make him recoil, for still he pressed him to be Instant with me, and urgent upon me, even to come so far as to make her a promise that he would marry me; Alceste did all that to him was possible on this occasion, and what was his duty to do, and represented him the wrong he would do his Family, and undervalue himself to Marry his Slave, and essayed as much as could be to divert him from that design. His Master hated him not, but contrarily, as Alceste spoke to him with much sincerity, and he saw well that all his Remonstrances were very reasonable, he received his advice as so many Marks, and Tokens of his Fidelity. It is true he also received them without any Benefit, or Utility, he praised his Counsels, and yet notwithstanding did quite the contrary. He contented not himself to make him speak to me, he pressed and solicited me himself. We spent a whole year in this new Persecution; in fine, I conceived myself obliged to advertise his daughter thereof, I told her Ingeniously all that which had passed, and the Proposals of Marriage, which her Father had divers times, and oft solicited me Personally to conclude upon. She was amazed and promised me that she would apply thereunto a remedy, and truly she also was as good as her word, but it was very sad, and injurious unto me. There was made a great Traffic of Women, and Maidens for Slaves, and as the Isle, and all the City of Paphos is Consecrated to Venus, they make by this kind of commerce a kind of Religion. They come therefore from all parts there to buy Maidens, and there are certain Feast Days Destinated thereunto, where there is an Incredible number of persons, and my Mistress omitted not to expose me to sale to the first that presented. We than expected nothing less, for as much as she had not spoken any thing to any person, for fear, lest her Father advertised should thereunto oppose himself: it would be infinite here to stop, here to tell you of the Grief of Alceste, and of my own, I knew not of his till afterwards, for he had not so much as the opportunity to say adieu. Mine was such as can scarce possibly be believed, and undoubtedly worthy of our affection, but it passed almost into despair when I knew into what hands Fortune made me fall. You shall know, Wise Shepherdesses, that during all these changes, and varieties of our Fortune, there was also arrived others at Babylon in the Family of Perinte. His Father seeing himself delivered from Alceste and myself, and having all our wealth in his hands, he had no other apprehension, but that in returning we would some day, come and oblige him to render us what was our own. The return of the Merchants to whom he had consigned Alceste, had sufficiently assured him that he was in a certain place whence in all appearance he could never come out. As for me he was ignorant of the place of my flight: but in fine, he knew it was impossible for us to return, nor yet that we could find one another, Alceste and myself, and that in Marrying one another, we had no right to demand the Inheritance of our Fathers; to prevent that he took a resolution to retire himself out of Babylon, and to transport his Wealth, and his Family to the Country where he was born, that is to say at Tempe where he thought not we would come to seek him. He disposed of all his affairs for the execution of this Design, and put himself in the way with his Son for his Wife was dead a considerable time since, and his daughter deceased after my departure, he came the ordinary Road, and Embarked in one of the Ports of Syria, came near to the Isle of Cyprus. In his Voyage upon the Sea, he was arrested by a disease which Augmented from day to day, and reduced him to such extremity, that when he was near to Cyprus, when they believed there was no other remedy than to disimbark him, he went on shore at Paphos, but very unprofitable for him, in that he died there a few days afterwards. That happened at the time of one of their Feasts of Venus, whereof I have spoken unto you, and just then when my Mistress would resel me: Perinte who had performed his last duty in the Funeral Obsequies of his Father, and who was upon the point of his departure, had the curiosity to see this Market: he met me there, if he was surprised I Marvel not at it, if he had any compassion, it is that he would fain have you believe it, but I believe he could never persuade you to it. He bought me; were it to make me free? how can he be able to say so, since he pretends that I am at this present his Slave? he went upon the Sea, caused me to Embark with him, we arrived at Tempe.  
On● the other side the master of Alceste, having understood that I had been resold, readily sent to inquire to whom, and gave him charge to redeem me, at what price soever it was; Judge you a little with what Joy he accepted this Commission, but they had given him notice too late, we were already departed: all that he could learn of those who accustom themselves to expose Slaves to Sale, was, that I had been sold to a young stranger, who had lodged in an Inn they directed him to. He ran there, the Host told him that he had heard that man named Perinte, and that he understood him say, that his Father who died there in the Island came from Babylon, and returned to Greece the Country of his Birth. If this News gave some enlightening to Alceste, you may Judge also how many Alarms it might cause in him. He returned, carried it to his Master, who learning my departure, and the cheat his daughter had put upon him, conceived such anger and fury against her, as he was Naturally Furious and Violent, and likewise Old and Decayed, he fell into a disease, whereof he died eight days after. And dying left all these signs and tokens of his Indignation against his daughter, as on the contrary he left Alceste, all those that can be imagined of his affection; he disinherited his daughter, gave liberty to Alceste, and made him the Heir of all his wealth: but for all that Alceste esteemed not any thing but Liberty, which left him the means of seeking me out. He believed it not just to reap profit by the Indignation of a Father against his daughter, who had not offended him but upon a Principle of Honour, he remitted into her hands her Father's estate, and of a Considerable Inheritance, he only took what was necessary to departed, and to come after me.  
There is but eight days that he h●●●●en arrived here, and there is already more than a month, that whoave been. I will not conceal from you any thing that Perinte● himself can tell you for his advantage. I avow you, that during the Voyage, he hath not made me any ill treatment, and that since he arrived here he hath divers times proposed me Marriage, and offered me Liberty on that condition. But was I obliged to pay so dearly for a Liberty, which is due to me, and that I had not lost but by the crime of his Father? if he hath redeemed me, is it not at the expense of our wealth which he hath seized upon? I avow you then, that since I have been here, I have used all means possible to get out of his hands, and could not have been able to do it, but by the diligence of Alceste. He learned in arriving here that Perinte lodged at Gonnes. The exactitude wherewith I was observed, not yielding him any Liberty of approaching me, he found means to convey me a Ticket, by which he advised me of his arrival, and besought me to give him opportunity to discourse me. I was so shut up that I could not give him any. But forasmuch as I knew that my Father had left here a Sister, I prayed him to answer me by informing himself, hoping that by her means we might see and speak together. Alceste hath lost no time, and by his diligence hath discovered that she is yet living, and lives within the same City. In effect; this is my Aunt whom you now see.  
He instructed himself presently, by the particularities of our Fortune, and having convinced him by all the Circumstances, that she reported him, it would be convenient, they seemed that she must Commence my Deliverance, out of the hands of Perinte, and seek me a retreat in waiting, that we might dispose of all that was necessary; for the proof of the Truth, and to make myself, declared free in Justice, and oblige him to tender us the Wealth of our Fathers. My Aunt hired for my Sanctuary, a little Cottage, which is some Furlongs from hence towards the Sea, amongst the Rocks of Mount Olimpie, she hoped I would be hidden more there, than with her at Gonnes, and that I should dwell there more in security, against the Violence of our Enemy. Alceste being assured of this house, would at the same time by Violence out of the house of Perinte have carried me, and my Aunt had a thousand fears opposing herself against this counsel, which his courage and affection prompted him to. But in Conclusion, he constrained him to consider, that the way of procedure would make too great a noise, and might prove of ill consequence, and that in an Encounter where there was need of secrecy, it was far better I should take my flight out of the house of Perinte by night, and that I should retire to my Sanctuary that my Aunt had found me, that hath been accomplished this morning before daylight. I had continued there ever since without going abroad, and there I was yet soon with her, whilst Alceste was gone there hard by to put some things in order, which he found requisite for the further execution of our design, when Perinte who caused me to be sought out in all places, having himself discovered me, did me that Violence which these Generous Shepherds opposed. Behold, Wise Shepherdesses, the Historical Narration of our Misfortunes; there was scarce ever a Life more thwarted than that of ours, b●●hose two particulars, and I believe that you will Judge, tha● 〈◊〉 was never a more unjust Violence offered to any one the●● hath been done to me by Perinte, and would yet do.  
Eliante having held her peace, all the company admired not less the Variety of so many rare Events, Adventures, and Hazards, then that they were Charmed with the Grace, wherewith the Fair Persian had repeated them, and bewailed, and bemoaned the disgrace of these two Unfortunate Lovers. Above all E●gaste as the most Ardent, and the most Faithful Friend in the world, made also most account of these Generous Friends, could not sufficiently condole the death of Poor and Gallant Oxiarte, nor withhold himself, his temper being Furious, and Fiery, already to condemn highly, and with Indignation, the Treachery, and Perfidy of the Father of Perinte, who had given occasion, and been cause of so many mischiefs, and the Violence of the Son who would Authorise, Ratify, and Confirm them. Celemante declared himself also openly for the liberty of the Fair Eliante, and for the Repose, and Contentment of Faithful Alceste. Even Agamée himself, although more accustomed than the two Shepherds, to the form of Judgements pronounced already in his heart, the Condemnation of Perinte, and had pains in an occasion, where the crime of this accused appeared so visible, remembered himself that the first Principle of Justice, is never to Condemn any Person without hearing him. In fine, every one murmured against this Stranger, there was but only Philemon, who always Suspended his Judgement, by the profession which he made to find doubts, and uncertainties, in things that appeared most clearly and manifestly.  
He alone considered this man of a Countenance cold and equal without inclining to one side, or another, when Perinte spoke unto them thus.  
Upright, Equitable, Just, and Sincere Shepherds, If that which Alceste; and Eliante have declared you were true, there might possibly be Justice in their complaints, and wholly innocent as I am by their own proper confession, of the evils they have alleged to have suffered, I should howsoever have an ill grace, to seek to profit myself by the Mischievous, Pernicious, Depraved, and Corrupted Faith of my Father. But of this fair and tedious discourse, that they have made you, all that which is true, it is that I am Originally of this Country, born in Persia, but in coming here, and returning, and passing by the Island of Cyprus, I found this Maiden a Slave at Paphos, she pleased me, that I bought her at my own proper cost; and that this unknown who gives himself the name of Alceste, and whom I had never seen but these last days, is a man who hath debauched her from me, by conspiring with this old Woman: all the rest that they have told you is a sable without foundation, and without proof, and they have concerted together. Also see you, that Alceste remembreth not himself any more, and he hath been constrained to leave the finishing of the recital to this Maiden; who by good right, as you see it, hath possibly a greater part in acting this Invention than he hath. What appearance is there, that my Father would seize upon the Wealth of two young children, entrusted with him, and left to his good Conduct, and Faith by his two best Friends? If he would have done it would he have been contented, to send this young boy into a strange Country, as if it had not been easy for him to return? above all, would he have attended until he were come to an age where he were never in a possibility more to take from him the knowledge of that which he was? would he not rather have chosen a time nearer to his infancy? but what being their Tutor and Guardian, was he not in some sort master of their Lives? Men are wicked by halves, and whoever hath not horror for Flight-Robbery, or Treason, commonly makes no great conscience of a Murder. Crimes cannot be assured, but by Crimes. When Polimnestor King of Thrace, would have had the Wealth of young Polydore, who also had by him been deposed, he contented not himself to send him (as they have told you of this) towards the Pillars of Hercules, whence he could have returned by Land and Sea, he sent him into a Country whence they never return. And indeed where is the true Semblance of the Fabulous Adventures of this far Voyage? A Ship should spring a leak or plank open at Sea, an Island should be found there express to receive this unknown one; that of Delos was not more born to purpose nor more Wonderfully for the Goddess Latone. It is as he saith a Desert Island, where there is neither Food, nor Subsistance, nor Habitation, and in the mean time dwelled there, and nourished himself there a very long time. All his Comrades dead, there is but him alone living, in the conservation of whom you would say, that all the Gods were occupied, and employed: he dwelled in the midst of Serpents, as if he had Charmed them with Medée; he set a Forest on fire, in a place where was no fire; would you not take him for a new Vulcan, at the subtlety with whom he invented it? at the self same hour a Ship passed by there, as if there was a Rendezvous; that is yet nothing: it is justly his Friend, and his Mistress, which met him there in this Ship, and thence conducted him away. But how this day, this Friend appeareth not, and how you could be able to demand of them what is then become of him? they have not failed to cause a Corsario, or Pyrot Ship to be found there expressly to defeat and take them. It would be very much too tedious for me to stay here to examine all these Ridiculous Adventures: the rest is not of the same stamp and style? they were sold at different times, bought by different persons, and notwithstanding they Miraculously met Slaves in the same house, and of the same Masters. An old decrepit man in an instant Amorous, and in Love with this Maiden, who made his Slave his Confident, disinherited his own Daughter, and made his Rival his Heir. What Fable? this generous Rival quits a considerable Inheritance, of importance in Cyprus; all the Wealth toucheth him not, it is above all his Interests; and in the mean time, it is to have my Wealth that this disinterested Man comes as they say, to commence a process and litigious Suit against me. But how dares he accuse me, after that which this Maiden hath told you herself? she is my Slave, and in the mean time, have I treated her as a Slave ever since she came into my hands? have I not considered her as free, as my Sister? hath she not told you that I had the goodness to make her my Wife? Is there any thing that can rationally be expected from a Man? Is there any thing which is convenient for the good manners of a Man, whom they would fain have pass to be a violent one, to seize upon the Wealth of others, to treat free Women as Slaves? In very deed and truth Shepherds, it is to have a strange Opinion of your Minds to pretend to abuse you by the like Suppositions. For yet if they did bring you some proofs? if they show you the Will and Testament of their Fathers or this Testament of their Master? but they have but their bare word for all their Evidence; if it be not that you accounted for a great proof, the opinion of this old Woman, whom they have first deceived and who even she herself knows them not. In fine▪ Shepherds you cannot doubt but that this Man is an Impostor, this Maiden a fugitive Slave, and since they with one accord confess that it is I that have bought her, you cannot refuse me her as her Master.  
This discourse accompanied with the assurance and with the urgency and fervour with which this Man pronounced it, did not make a small Impression and effect, in the minds of all those who understood & listened to it. They looked one upon another with astonishment, as avowing that they were a little precipitant in their first Judgement and determination, and that the Face of this Affair was very much changed. Above all, this old Woman who was so easily persuaded that she had been Aunt to Eliante began to blame herself of over much credulity; and looking upon Eliante and then upon Alceste, she seemed to demand of them successively one after another, a proof of that which they had told her. Eliante all ashamed and confounded, to see herself accused of Imposture, appeared to avow by her modest Silence, that she had no other proof of all that which she had declared, than her own self, nor for evidence but her Conscience; and Alceste who expected nothing less than a disclaim, that Perinte had done all that he knew as well as themselves, lifted up his eyes and hands to Heaven, and besought of the Gods, a punishment whereof the conviction appeared not in his power. However afterwards having paused thereon, he desired yet a little attention from the Shepherds, and said unto them. I avow you wise Shepherds, that I have been surprised with the answer of Perinte, and that whatever ill opinion I should have of him, I believed not that he had or could have, so much impudence in the Crime and artifice in his Imposture. He hath had reason to tell you that one is not scarce wicked by halves, and that one cannot assure Crimes but by Crimes: But that which he hath told you for his justification, discovereth you the reason of his boldness and impudence, and causeth you to see that he disavows not the Truth of our misfortunes, but because it would otherwise be impossible for him to excuse himself, and that he well perceives that his violence cannot be covered but by his lies. Our condition is very deplorable I confess it. We are unknown, and Strangers in our own Country; We are deprived of Relations, of Friends, and of Wealth, and the only Evidence that Fortune hath left us of our condition, and of our Estate, is he himself that contests it against us. He demands of us the Will and Testament of our Fathers, and 'tis he alone which can have it and who retains it, as the Son and Heir of our Guardian. He opposeth us with the multitude and the cruelty of our disgraces, which puts them almost above their true Semblance and Apparency, and 'tis his Father and himself that have caused them. So that he makes his defence by his Crime, and accuseth us by that which ought to make his own Condemnation. But I draw notwithstanding a great advantage from his own proper Reasonings. If our disgraces are so difficult to be imagined, how could they be of our own Invention. Eliante is not with her Aunt but since this Morning; I have been absent from her almost all the day, before that I was not able to accost her, nor so much as to discourse her since my Arrival.  
In what place, in what time then could have conserted together so many fair Imaginations? The more they appeared extraordinary and beneficial, the more time they would and must have required, to have invented them. But let us say the more they seem incredible▪ the least they ought to be suspected. There is nothing which affecteth so much the true appearance and resemblance as the Lye. It endeavoureth to have the least appearance for him, by reason she hath against him the real Truth. He knows he cannot deceive but in being imitated, and as he strives but to have belief surprised, he never seeks any thing but what is credible. But it is quite and altogether contrary in Fortune; it sport's itself in the humour and fantasticalness of Events; Chances and Hazards; as it doth all without reason, it regards not to appear in what it doth: It laughs and makes sport of true Resemblances by reason it establisheth itself enough by Authority, and because it's Empire is Tyrannical, and that in like manner as Tyrants it seeks, not but to administer Terror and astonishment to be rendered terrible and to make itself feared, it affecteth nothing but cruelty, and to be wondered at. And indeed, what need had we to invent so many subtle Evasion, and cunning Shifts to defend the Liberty of Eliante? Was it to give more Credibility and Reputation to our Recital? but Perinte you say that it is that which renders it incredible. Would we have taken so much pains in imagining in ourselves, that which could not serve, but hinder us to be believed, had we not a defence already and much more easy! We had not but to maintain that Eliante is free. You say that I have no proofs; I also need none. We naturally are free born, and presumption is always for our natural free Estate. It imports and behoves you, to bring clear proofs and evident Testimonies of her Slavery, you who pretend to reduce her to a servitude which is contrary to the ordinary right of our Birth. In the mean time where are the evidences you bring? you have bought her say you, where is the contract? where are the witnesses, will you say she avows it? but if you would serve yourself of her Confession, you cannot change her. She hath said the truth that you have redeemed her, but it is by, and with her wealth whereof you are seized, but from a Slavery, where she is fallen into by the crime of your Father. Either leave there her Confession, or take her in her entire, for, in fine, she cannot be divided. After all; can we not better oppose you, your Confession, by yourself? you have said you have not considered her here but as free, but as your sister: you have not then held her yourself, as for your Slave. So it lies, and depends on you to bring Proofs, and Evidences of your pretention; you who find her in the possession of her Liberty, you who violently ravish her out of the hands of an Aunt, you who would, in fine, reduce her into a condition wholly contrary to that in yourself which you have acknowledged. For us yet once again, we want no evidence of her Liberty, it is enough that you only would have destroyed it, and we need no other Title for our Liberty, but that of our Birth.  
Alceste held his peace on these words, in expectation of the Judgement and Determination of the Shepherds; Perinte would have made some reply: but the reasons of his Adversary, and likewise the Testimony of his own Conscience, pressing and urging him; he pestered and perplexed himself, he grew pale, and annihilated by his own contradictions, a part of all that he had said before. His Confusion and Disorder did not a little assist the Shepherd, to determine a contest, which from him did appear difficult enough. It is true the Freedom, and Ingenuity which appeared in the Countenance of Alceste, the sweetness, and modesty which was seen in that of Eliante, and withal, that the Favour of her Liberty, Finished the Determination in their Judgement. Agamée was he who pronounced it in the Name of all. He therefore declared Eliante Free and at Liberty, and remitted her into the hands of her Aunt and Alceste. They determined nothing concerning the Restitution of their Wealth, because it was not sufficiently cleared, and they had not been declared Judges of that difference. Perinte having heard the Judgement, returned towards Gonres all in Fury; Alceste and Eliante, on the contrary retired themselves, with all the Testimonies imaginable of their satisfaction, and with all the acknowledgements whereof they could be capable in the condition of their Fortune, and left very much esteem and friendship for them, in the minds of all their Judges, whom the night separated also a little afterwards.  
The following day after that Tarsis was awaked, they made Provision for the searching his wound. The Chirurgeon assured them that it was less dangerous than they had believed, and if there happened not some unexpected accident, he promised in a very little time an entire and perfect cure, provided that Tarsis would aid himself. In sum, he passed all that day without any Fever, and that which infinitely consolated Telamonius, that it retook him not also the third day. The House of Telamonius was at all times full of Shepherds, who came to inquire of the Health of Tarsis. Ergaste above all, was there at all hours, and it must even be so, although one may well say that he entered always into the chamber of the wounded. For his Nature Fervent, Ardent, and Unquiet, for his Friends permitted him not to content himself with the news he had learned from the report of others, Celemante was not less careful to come to know, but as for him he was not angry, that they refused him the gate: and Judging well that in the state, wherein the wounded was, his pretence would be to him more Incommodious than any way of Utility, he was himself very well pleased to be dispensed with the Grief which reneweth always the sight of a sick Friend. For, in fine, he lived upon that Principle, that all the Wisdom in the World consisteth but in shunning the unprofitable evils, and to maintain his mind in a sweet and pleasant Tranquillity. Agamée, and Philemon came there, and Timothy sent there also every day. The Fair Arelise seeing to what point Philiste was touched, did scarcely quit her at all, no more than did Celiane, Coris and many others, to whom her affection was so sensible, that her Virtue was to them in Veneration. Eliandre came there also sometimes, and although he knew not Tarsis, but by his reputation, however that knowledge joined to the Obligation he had to his Brother, the  hopes, by which Erigone had even as regiven him a Life, interested him so in the cure of the Shepherd, who had been there as appeared no less but much more disquieted than he. It was not but that this Fair Widow, had yet altogether yielded, her Virtue still entertained some remaining scruples, and there continued yet enough, to protract the good Fortune of Eliandre, but not enough to destroy the hopes which made him Live. In fine, there was not any considerable persons in Tempe, who made not demonstrations by some marks and tokens, the esteem they had conceived for Tarsis. Also the Gods took a particular care of a Life, to which it seemed that that of so many persons was fixed and tied, and there passed but very few days, but that they saw a great amendment in him.  
After that Telamonius saw his Brother in a better condition, he thought that it would not always be becoming still to receive the Courtesies, and Civilities of Agamée, without yet making him a visit: Behold wherefore he departed, one morning very early to go to see this Areopagite, and to prevent him before he was yet gone forth, His Way was to pass by the River's side, or rather the Sea bank, and he scarcely arrived there, but lifting up his eyes towards, or on the Gulf, he was so Drawn, Dimmed, and Dazzled by something so Glittering, and Sparkling, that it was a long time to Divine what it was. In fine, he observed in approaching towards that side, that it was a very little Ship, but who in its smallness appeared something much more considerable then in the greatest. All the wood was painted, and garnished with a very great number of threads, and broidered Works of Gold, that the Glittering of the Metal was to be discerned but in some few certain places. The Masts were all Guilded, the Sails of Fine Linen died in Purple, and all the Cordage tissued, wound and interlaced with Gold, and Silk of the same colour of the Sails, at the top of the Mainmast there was a Pavilion, or Standord of Stuff, woven with White Silk, hemmed round, and welted with Gold Fring? in the midst whereof these words appeared, Written in the Phrygian Language▪ and in Characters Gild with Gold.  Love is my Pilot; Obey Neptune. 
It well appeared notwithstanding that the Sea had not had any great respect for the Ship. Some of the Sails were rend and split, as well as some part of the Cordage, and it was almost laid down on one side. But that which principally detained the sight of Telamonius, was a young unknown one, who appeared upon the Deck, and who stretching forth his arms towards another great Ship, who was farther distant in the Road, and forced himself by his cries to draw some one to his succour. He there did unprofitably endeavour it, for this great Vessel was at so wide a distance, and likewise the Waves of the Sea which were agitated run high, and were so much swollen, and made so great a Noise, that the others could not hear. By good Fortune this unknown one, was not so far distant from the Sea Bank, that the Shepherd could not but hear it, and knew not even that he was all armed of all pieces, but arms so fair and so rich, that it seemed rather, that it was for the preparation of a Festival, than for necessary Defence. In fine, all his Armour was Silver, Gild with Gold, whereon were an infinite number of Precious, and Costly Stones of Various Colours, displayed, and excellently exposed to open view, even beyond desire, the advantage which they had above the most precious of Metals. The Helmer, or Head Piece of the same Metal, were also garnished, and decked with Rich Precious Stones, and shadowed, with a quantity of Feathers, the Colour of the Fire. The small part of the Cassock, or long Coat, which appeared under the Arms, as that which passed the edges of the Armour, for Back and Breast was so covered with Embroidered Gold, whereof even a part was hid under Pearls, and Precious Stones of great value, which was difficult to find in the Stuff. The Guard and Hilt of the Sword was of Gold, the Pommel of a Great Ruby, and hung in a Rich Scarf Belt, Embroidered with Gold, Sowed or Powdered with Pearls and Rich Stones. Telamonius could not in reality presently discern all these things: but he could sufficiently see that he was, and might be Judged to be a person of very high quality, and his natural compassion joining itself to this Consideration, he readily leapt into the first Bark, which he perceived, and conducted him to the succour of this unknown one. He was much more surprised at his sight, than he had been at his equipage, for he found him so fair and glittering, that in effect, even Love could not Figure, nor Frame a Form more Delectable, and Pleasant. His Stature was small, but straight, all the Features and Leneaments of his Countenance, were form in a most Admirable Proportion.  
Although the toilsomness of the Sea, had a little diminished the brightness of his hue, he had however all that whiteness, and all that delicacy, whereof the Poets and Painters have form the Visage of Venus, his eyes black, well proportioned, and full of sweetness, and his hair of the same colour, which fell, and hung in great curled locks upon his shoulders accompanied so well this Fair Head, that one could not Judge if they received more ornament from his face, than they brought to it themselves.  
Telamonius having joined the small Ship, the young unknown leapt into the Bark, followed by one man, who remained, and with him gave thanks to the Shepherd for the succour he had brought them; and certainly it could not be more to purpose, for they were not yet distant, above half a Furlong from the little Ship, but a Billow or Wave finished the overwhelming it, and it entirely disappeared. They gained the Land with all diligence. Scarce were they there, but the unknown demanded of Telamonius the name of the Country where he was, but gave him not scarce leisure to reply thereunto; for at the same time having seemed unto him to know the countenance of the Shepherd: either I deceive myself, said he unto him, or else I have seen you somewhere. My Lord, replied him Telamonius, I had not yet durst to discover you my thought: but either I deceive myself, or you are the King of Lesbos. And where think you to have seen me? rejoined he. My Lord, replied Telamonius again, I believe I have had the Honour to serve under the deceased King your Father, and to have born Arms with you in the Siege of Mitriene. The Prince then looking upon him more narrowly: O Gods! cried he! should you not be one of the brave Shepherds of Tempé, who signalised themselves so gallantly at that Siege, who first ascended into the breach, and were the cruse that we retook the City? That action my Lord (modestly replied Telamonius) deserves not that so great a King should conserve it so long in memory, and we received honours from the mouth of the deceased King, much above all that which we should have, or did expect. The King then casting his arms about his neck continued thus: O Telamonius (for never shall that name go out of my memory) I see well that the Gods have not yet altogether abandoned me, since they have taken the care to let me fall into your hands. But what is become of your brave Brother; Alas my Lord! replied Telamonius, he is in a deplorable estate, he related him in few words his Adventure, which the Prince extremely Condoled. But my Lord, continued the Shepherd, should I dare to demand of you myself a thing much more important, and by what misfortune, or rather by what good Fortune for me, the Gods should favour me with this happy encounter? notwithstanding, my Lord, it is more seasonable to think of your rest, than any other thing, and I beseech you, above all the rest, not to refuse the offer that I take the Liberty to make you of my house. The King accepted it, as well for the Friendship which he had for Telamonius; as for the necessity which reduced him to the present state of his disgrace, and leaning on the arm of that Shepherd, and walked with him towards his Hamlet, therefore Telamonius was thus obliged to return by the way, and finished not his Visit that he intended to Agamée.  
Telamonius (said the Prince to him as they were walking) you see a poor King hunted out of his Dominion by his Subjects, battered by the Sea, and persecuted by Fortune to such a Degree, that the Earth and Waters have scarcely furnished him this day with a place of security. I will not conceal from you the particulars of my Misfortunes, and if you would I will Voluntarily cause you to understand it more at large. But above all things I have to declare to you, that since you behold me here at Tempé, I am by consequence upon the Territories which depend upon the Government of Alcime, one of my greatest Enemies; and that if I had not the last Confidence in your Discretion and Curiosity, I would not repute nor account myself, safe in your own House. Telamonius having assured him of all the Fidelity, that he could wish or desire, in the most obedient of all his Subjects, they continued to walk towards the House of this Shepherd, followed by that Man who accompanied the Prince.  
They had not gone above a hundred Paces, but they entered into a corner of that Forest which from the top of Mount Olimpie, covereth it almost wholly and entirely, and which extends it  from one side even to Gonnes, and on the other side to the Sea Bank; scarcely had they entered therein, but they were stayed by a lamentable Voice, which they heard near enough to them. That having occasioned them to walk thitherwards, they perceived a young Female unknown, sitting at the Foot of a Tree who held her left hand against her Stomach to staunch the Blood, which gushed out in great Bubbles out of a Wound which she had there received. There were eight Men that lay there dead before her, and it manifestly appeared that they had been all slain by her hands, because she yet held in her right hand a Sword all bloody. The King and the Shepherd were as much more concerned at this sight as that this young person appeared one of high quality, was exceeding fair and amiable, and marvellously well shaped. That which amazed them the more, that she had a belt girt and the Head-piece or Helmet on her head, and this Attire suited, and became her so exceeding well, in despite of the deplorable State wherein she was, that she seemed to be a young Amazon. A noble arrogancy, disdain▪ and fierceness appeared in her eyes, and her Pain hindered her not to have something so Majestic in her Countenance, as might administer as much admiration, as her Misfortune appeared worthy of Pity. The young King of Lesbos above all, by I know not what Instinct, was extraordinarily moved with this sight, and his own proper disgrace hindered him not extremely to interest himself for this Stranger. They approached and asked her who those were that brought her into that State and Condition, and what she would say of those lamentable remains of that little Combat. But they saw her Strength to fail before she could give them an answer; so that all that Telamonius could do, was to go even by appointment of the Prince to bring succour from a House, that was there approaching, and charitably to cause her to be brought to his home. His House composed of two rows of Lodgings, was so great and spacious, that he there assigned a Chamber very commodious for the King, and there was yet another convenient to lodge the Young and fair wounded one. The Prince was so toiled and wearied with the Sea, that he had more need of rest than discourse, and the wounded one was in no condition but to endure the labour of a Chirurgeon.  
After that Telamonius, had therefore sent to fetch one, and that he had taken charge of this Stranger, with all the care that his generosity inspired him with, and that he had also besought the King of Lesbos to command his house with an absolute Authority; he retired himself into the Chamber of Tarsis, to know of him how he did and to make him a participant in these two encounters. This poor Shepherd that they had forcibly plucked as one may say, out of the Jaws of Death, had such an indifferency for all the things in the World, that nothing was almost able to touch him. He was so perplexed in his Mind for the Death of Zelie, or rather to say he so feared it, that he could not disbelieve it. And to tell truth, all the appearances did not but too much authorise his Fear and Persuasion. In this Estate, he framed nothing but Vows of Death; and though the Reasons or rather the Prayers of all his Family had taken from him the resolution of giving it himself, they could not take from him the desire of receiving it.  
Telamonius entering into the Chamber of this Shepherd Philiste, who was there also, made figns to him to walk softly because she believed he slept. However having immediately heard him condole himself, they thought he was awake, and they both approached his bed. This was without noise howsoever, and Telamonius only opened his Curtain to demand of him in what State he was: But he knew that he yet slept by his eyes, which were shut and by his breathing; which was stronger than of a person awake, and he also observed that he had even all his Face covered with Tears, who although his eyes were close, found a passage through the eyelids. He also caused it to be observed by Philiste, and that having made them judge that he bemoaned not himself, but in raving or talking idly, they were exceedingly concerned to see how much, even in his very Sleep, he was tormented by his Grief. They held themselves both for some time there to look upon him, with an Air so full of Compassion and Tenderness, that they also made themselves to be almost as much pitied as the Sick One. In retiring themselves, afterwards they yet heard this poor Shepherd pronounce some words, and having thereunto attentively listened, they heard that he said: Ah cruel Zelie! that this Virtue hath cost both of us very dear! he held his peace there, and afterwards they heard him reassuming Speech a moment after, he cried, silly, silly, silly, and in saying this, he moved in his Bed, as having his Spirits very much tormented. That constrained Telamonius to run to him and even to awake him, to interrupt the mournful Ideas of a Dream which disquieted him, and drew him out of a Sleep which did nothing but disturb him. The Shepherd appeared much amazed, and in confusion at his first waking, as if he had returned out of another World, and uttered many Sighs, to discharge his Stomach, which were yet all oppressed with the Vapours of the Grief, that these vexatious Imaginations had excited. My dear Brother, said Telamonius, I demand your Pardon, if I have disturbed your Sleep: But I had seen you so disquieted with your Dreams, that I believed it would be better to awake you than to leave your mind disturbed and agitated as it appeared. Ah my Brother! replied him Tarsis, in mournfully turning his head and eyes towards him; I know not almost hereafter, that which is best for me to sleep or to be awake, nor that which should more afflict me either the Truth or Dreams. Telamonius would not demand nor ask him, what had so obliged him to bemoan himself, for that would have been but to renew his Grief. But contrarily as he sought but an occasion to tell him some news to divert him from his thoughts, he omitted not finding him without a Fever, to give him a Narrative of the two Encounters of the King of Lesbos, and the unknown one.  
The one and the other of these two Adventures, deserved undoubtedly the curiosity of these Illustrious Shepherds, and were worthy to exercise their reasonings, and to cause them to make their reflections thereon. For this Magnificent Ship, and that rich and Pompous Attire wherein Telamonius had met the King of Lesbos, was no way suitable to the deplorable state of a King, Chased as he had told him out of his Kingdom, unless it be those Kings in Playhouses, theatres, and public Games, where they are arrayed in Sumptuous Attire for outward appearance and show. It was not less difficult to divine who this unknown one should be, found in an equipage also as surprising as the other, surrounded with an heap of dead men, and as Triumphant in the midst of them, although she had not apparently a Destiny little more happy. Also Telamonius was long enough discoursing thereupon with Tarsis: but this here had very different thoughts in his heart. For as Persons truly afflicted, will not think but on the subject of their Affliction, he supported even with Vexation all that which could direct his, and found himself Stung by all that which they thought to be a means to divert him. So that instead of fixing himself to the Reasonings, and Discourses which Telamonius made him to endeavour to penetrate into the secret of these Adventures, he wholly thought of no other than his Misfortunes, or if he made some reflection on that which his Brother had said unto him, it was not but to admire how many extraordinary things had happened at Tempé, since the loss of his Shepherdess, and to think that the Gods, as they are accustomed to do in great change, had affected to mark out this Dismal Time by Events which adhere to the Nature of Prodigies.  
In these interchanges they came to tell Telamonius, that some Strangers sought to speak with him. In order thereunto he descended, after he came into the Court he saw three men arrayed like Soldiers one of whom was about threescore years of age, of a Countenance comely enough, who undertook to speak for all, and told him after great signs, and tokens of Grief, that they had understood that he had had the Charity to cause a wounded person to be brought into his house, and besought him to tell them in what condition she was, and to give them leave to speak with her, by reason they belonged to her. Telamonius who knew them not, asked them such questions as Prudence prompted him to do, before he would confide in them, or discover unto them where she was, and he even endeavoured to know of them her Name and Quality: but these men having answered, They could not declare her Name without her leave, and that all that they could say unto him, that she arrived there the preceding night, in a Vessel which was there in the Road, towards the Mouth of the River; and Telamonius Judging it to be that other great Ship, which he had there seen, he sent to the Chamber of the young unknown one, to know her will. Although there passed not a long time, that she was returned out of her swooning, she Commanded that it was her Pleasure they should speak with her, and having given them some orders with as much Vivacity of Wit and Presence, as if she had not been wounded, she caused two to return to the Ship, and retained the third to serve her. Telamonius Judging she was a person of quality, by the care and respect they had for her, had more and more curiosity to know who she was: but although the retreat he so Generously gave her in his house, put him into some right to satisfy himself on that subject, he would not however testify any urgency, he contented himself to learn of one of her Soldiers, that she was a strange Lady of Quality who had been forced into the Gulf by Tempest, and being come to Land to refresh herself, had been attacked by some Thiefs, who had put her into that condition where he had met her.   
The end of the Fourth Book of the Second Part.   

Tarsis and Zelie. The Second Part. The Fifth BOOK.  
ALthough Telamonius had as much as wherewith to occupy himself at his own home, he omitted not to extend his care at places, very much farther distant: and it seemed that the Gods had committed to his Prudence and Generosity, the preservation of the greatest Kings of the Earth as well as he, the most Illustrious of Shepherds. There scarcely passed a day, but he would send to Gonnes to hear news of Philadelphe. He expected even that very self same day, the return of a Shepherd to whom he had given charge to go and find Straton as from him, and to bring him an account of the Prince and what condition he was in; Then when they told him that the wise Philosopher was arrived at his Gate, and asked for him, Telamonius readily went to meet and receive him. Well Straton, said he unto him; Will you tell me better news of the King your Master, than are those that I have to tell you of poor Tarsis? That which I have to tell you of the King my Master, replied Straton, it is that he is not only better recovered of his Wounds, but it is that which possibly surprise you more, that he is almost▪ at Liberty. That I very lately went out from him, and in the Knowledge he hath of your affection whereof I have rendered him a good and authentiek Evidence, and in the extraordinary esteems that he hath both for you and your Brother, he hath given me Commission to come to know the news of your wounded one, the misfortune of whom he heard not of till last night.  
Then he recited to him, that the next day that Alcine had caused Philadelphe to be imprisoned, he had caused him to be taken out of the Tower and fixed him in the fairest apartment of his Palace; that there he came to demand pardon of him, for the Violence which he seemed to have done him, and there would have made him pass by an Artifice gross enough, for an order that he had given to his Men to come and take him at the house of Alcidias, and transport him into the City, only to the end that he might be better attended and waited upon, and dressed there. That by this dissimulation, he would have made him believe that it was unawares unto him that he had been put into the Tower. That since that time he had tendered and rendered him all his Cares and all Civilities imaginable, permitting him to speak with all those he pleased, so that the preceding evening Alcidias himself had seen him, that it was by him that Philadelphe had learned the misfortune of Tarsis, and that this Prince having at the self same time known from Straton, that Tarsis was that brave Leonides, the feigned Death of whom he had so much bemoaned, and whose Life he so much the more admired, he had charged him to go and visit him as from him, and likewise also to tell him and signify him as to Telamonius, how much he interested and concerned himself, in their Grief and Misfortune.  
Telamonius having replied to the discourse of Straton, as well for his Brother as for himself, with all the marks, signs and tokens of Respect, and of the acknowledgement he owed for the Honour that had been done them by so great a King, signified to Straton, that he had heard with extreme Joy the advantageous change of his Master, and which those whom he had sent every day to Gonnes, had indeed already made him a report of something, but it was so imperfect that he durst not assure himself thereof. He informed himself afterwards more particularly, if Philadelphe had seen the Princess Arsinoe and Antigone, and whence he thought that sudden change from Alcine could come; seeing it clearly and manifestly enough appeared that his first intention had not been to make any good Treatment to the King of Egypt. Straton answered him that Philadelphe had seen the Princess Arsinoe and Antigone: And as I will not undertake, added he, to depaint unto you with what Transports he had seen them, I will no more declare you the astonishment, the Joy, and the divers and variety of Sentiments that they had in seeing him, and to see him in the hands of Alcime; for all that would merit and require more time, than we undoubtedly have both one and the other for that Repetition. I will only add unto you to answer you, as to what you demand me upon the Subject of the sudden change of Alcime; that I have known that some news which he hath received, put him in terrible apprehensions from the side of Antigonus, and it is apparently for that that he attempteth now to insinuate himself into the favour of Philadelphe, and to treat with him to make him in case of need a Protector against the King of Macedonia. As for the rest, he hath not been displeased at the Death of Menelas (as you possibly will have thought by reason of the colligation band, knot, obligation and connexion of Interest, which seems to be between those two Princes) but on the contrary, some Union that appeared between them, however as the wicked have never any true Friendship, I have known and understood, that they have been extremely mistrustful one of the other since the death of Menelas. I know not yet by what Intrigues, for I have not yet been able to unpester, and disentangle, and disintricate the Secret. They have told me notwithwithstanding, that some one had made Menelas believe in his Life time, that Alcime had had the thought to seize him, and send him bound hand and foot into Egypt, thereby to engage Philadelphe, whom he there then believed him to be, to take his protection against Antigonus.  
On the other side, they said that Alcime had been very well advertised that Menelas had secretly sent towards the King of Macedonia, to treat with him; that he had offered to seize Alcime, and to replace him in his hands, that Menelas before his death for that purpose, had caused secret Practices in Gonnes, and that he had even already some intelligences in the City of Pidne, that it was to dissipate these Factions by his presence that Alcime returned some days since to Gonnes; because he found himself in no security at Pidne. Behold that which I have confidently learned and known, from one of the principal Officers of Alcime.  
They were there when they came to advertise Telamonius that Ario●arzane, came to give him a Visit. At this word of Ariobarsane, Straton asked Telamonius, if it was that Ariobarsane so renowned all over Greece by his excellent moral Works, and so formerly known in the Court of old Antigonus and of Demetrius, under the Title of Father of the great Ariarte? Telamonius replied that it was that Ariobarsane himself. So that Straton who passionately wished to see him of a long time, served himself of this occasion to know so rare a Person.  
He therefore saluted him civilly, testifying unto him the esteem that he had conceived for him, upon his Reputation alone; and Ariobarsane having known the name of Straton, signified him likewise in the most cruel Terms, and the most obliging that he could choose, the joy he had to see a Man, who passed for one of the wisest in all his Age. In the Interim, whilst Ariobarsane spoke, Straton considered and listened to him with much attention, and observed in his Physiognomy all the Features which bespoke him, and presumed him to be a Man of admirable Wit and great Wisdom and profound Reason. Although that Ariobarsane was in an age, which had much changed his Visage and Size; one might there observe notwithstanding, all that could be judged to be done in his Youth, and had been past, he had been very well shaped. But Straton did not concern nor stay himself so much upon the exterior, but only what might possibly serve him to know his inside and excellent Parts. He took Pleasure yet to observe in his eyes where age had not extinguished any thing, the vivacity of his Wit, and to read the Tranquillity of his Soul, in that which appeared in his Countenance. It is not howsoever, that Ariobarsane was naturally so moderate, but on the contrary, he was of a Temper very Testy and Choleric, and as Socrates ingeniously vowed to his Friends, that he was naturally ill inclined, if he had not corrected it by the Study of Wisdom. Also Ariobarsane ingeniously confessed that he was naturally Choleric and Testy, and agitated by violent Passions; but that he had rendered himself Master by his Study and by his Philosophy. There appeared yet something in the sound of his Voice, and something in his Action: however that served but the more to make known his Wisdom and render it more apparent. And the same that the impetuousness and turbulence of a Horse, serves not but to make one admire the Skill and Dexterity of him who retains and tames him: So the impetuosity and passion, for so may be said of his nature, serves not but to make admired the Empire, that his reason had taken upon him.  
Ariobarsane neither could not be weary, neither looking upon and considering Straton the Philosopher; although that this here held that other quality of Socrates, that he had not all the advantages of a Physiognomy which corresponded with his high Reputation. But be it that Straton made h●msel● (as so I may say) a new nature by his assiduity and labour, though that nature itself had been willing to show by that example that it subjects not itself to any rules: in so much that Greece as Flourishing as it generally did then, and as Famous as it was, had not produced men which did more honour than he to his Country, not in his Age. At the self same moment that they were together in the house of Telamonius, there arrived there a third who was very well worthy of the esteem and knowledge of both. It was the Shepherd, or rather the Philosopher Nephelocrate, the most of Agamée, and one of the most skilful, knowing, and experienced Men of all Greece. He had particularly applied himself to the study of the Laws, wherein he had been one of the most Principal Luminaries, of the Bar of Athens: but this Science had not set bounds to the vast extent of his knowledge; there was not scarce a point, but he possessed, not by memory singly; as the major part of others, but by his first principles. And the Philosopher Metrodore, to whom they had through his excellency given the name of knowing, ordinarily said, that he never had a Master so certain as that there. And that he had never consulted Nephelocrate upon one matter or thing, without being fully, completely, and entirely Instructed.  
Telamonius whom this Shepherd came to see, was ravished in being capable, and able to assemble in his house three Persons so extraordinary; and for as much Straton, and Nephelocrote had never came to an interview, he named them both, the one and the other, and was the band of their knowledge. Ergaste, and Celemante arrived there also, soon after coming a●ter their ordinary manner to learn news of Tarsis, and they joined themselves to the Company.  
After the first Civilities they entered all together into the Garden with Telamonius; and after three or four turns made in walking; Nephelocrate; Ariobarsane, and Straton began a Conversation very serious, and worthy the Wisdom of those three Great Philosophers. They fell casually on the subject of the retreat of Ariobarsane. Straton asked him amongst others how he could quit the Court, where he had remained so long time with so much esteem, and reputation to retire into the Country. Ariobarsane who would not engage himself by a long recital of divers reasons which had obliged him thereunto, and yet less to that of the Occupations wherein he was employed since his retreat, replied him merely thus: It had been rather necessary to ask me how I quitted the Country to go to Court, I who have from my beginning of my Infancy renounced Loftiness, Arrogancy, and Ambition. It is true, replied Sraton, that the Court of Princes, is seldom the Dwelling Places of Philosophers, and that there are very few that can accommodate, and suit themselves as well as did Artistippe. And the reason is, that ordinarily there they are very ill welcome, and that they hate them there, as Public Comptrollers, or Masters of Discipline, or Punishers of Disorders, as Public Reforms of Dissimulation, Flattery, and all other Vices that Reign more than the Kings themselves. But this reason is not for you Ariobarsane, for I know that all the World Loved you. There Straton interrupted Ariobarsane, I have not been there beloved more than another; but I have not there had envy, by reason I have neither made, nor sought after a Fortune which should serve to draw Envy upon me. That is in what, replied Nephelocrate, I am astonished so much the more that you have quitted a Life that you had so well known accommodated to the Tranquillity, and Wisdom of Philosophy. For although they tell us of Aristippe, and what manner soever they represent at the Court of Dennis in Syracuse, I have never found him Happy, nor yet Philosophical. First of all, how could he be happy to study himself, to make the Court of a Tyrant, and to be exposed to his Insolency, even until he saw they spit him in the Face? for the reply he made to him, who bemoaned him in Rejoining him, that if the Fishers suffer to be wetted with the Sea to take a little Fish, he could well suffer to be moistened with spittle to overtake a Whale; shows▪ that if he suffers all that, it was not by this Spirit of Constancy, which makes the Wise to find Felicity in the disdain of Injuries, but that this was not but for a pure Motive of Interest, and Avarice. For Philosophy he was yet much less. For there was never Man more subject to foul and nasty Sensualities, voluptuous and vile Passions, and who there left himself to go with so many Prostitutions, and Proscriptions? and never man did more injury to the Philosophy of his Master, who as Grateful as he was before, rendered him shamefully Mercenary. So that I consider not Aristippe as a Philosopher, who had known how to accommodate himself to the Court: but as a Courtesan who would counterfeit the Philosopher. And I find that when he reproached Diogenes who being a Philosopher, he knew not to live as he with the Princes. Diogenes had had much more reason to scoff formerly, than since that Aristippe boasted himself to be a Philosopher, he lived so well with the Princes. In the interim, replied Straton; Aristippe hath made many more Philosophers than Diogenes, Diogenes hath decried his profession in living poor, Aristippe hath there given Sway and Authority in heaping to the Court by his means great and abundant Riches. See you, Nephelocrate the sole example, that they call good at Court, it is that of a man who made Fortune. Every one endeavoureth to imitate him, every one proposeth him as a Model and Pattern, and every one studies him with more exactness, adssiduity, and care than they have ever studied Diogenes, or Socrates himself. In sum, continued Ariobarsane, the Prince that is educated, and brought up by a Virtuous Man, that is the most effectual means to make all his Court resemble him. When you see that Piety, Religion, or some other Virtue Reigns there more than ordinary, believe not that it is because there is less Corruption in the Court, than there was formerly: but hold only for a certainty this, that some one is become greater by this means. The Prince deceives himself if he believes, that this is enough to give good example to those of his own, as to live Wisely, and Virtuously on his part, he must also do good to the Wise and Virtuous, for none proposeth to himself to imitate the Virtues of the Prince, by reason that in imitating them, none can hope to become so Virtuous: but one studies the Virtues of him whom he Loves, and to whom he hath done, and doth do good, because one hopes to receive benefit by the same in following him. I avow you, that it is a thing that makes me compassionate, said Nephelocrate, to see that not only at the Court, but also throughout all the World almost, every one is fixed to that which they call a making of Fortune, and scarcely do they see a man tempted by that Rest, and that inward Tranquillity wherein consisteth notwithstanding all the Happiness, and Felicity of Life. Every one despiseth it, by reason every one can give it himself; and all the World is so blind, that he loves rather to be made happy by others, than by itself. In the Interim you know how every one is therein deceived, when we desire others to make us happy, we desire that which is not in the Power of Kings and Princes to perform, and we refuse that benefit from him who alone can give it, when we neither ask nor Desire it of our own selves.  
From this discourse, they passed to examine all the Principles of the Cirenaicque Sect, whereof Aristipe had been the Author and Founder, and in fine, so far engaged themselves in that discourse, that they insensibly spent there near two hovers. Telamonius listened to them with so much satisfaction, that he durst not almost to speak, for fear of interrupting them, and he found all their Sentiments so worthy of their high Reputation, that he Judged it yet beneath one of so great Merit and Desert. It was not but that if this Wise Shepherd would, he might have caused himself to be listened unto them by them, with a very Reciprocal Admiration. For besides the application that he had at other times given, and that he every day gave to the Study of Wisdom, one might truly say that he naturally possessed all the Principles: and whereas the major part of Men are obliged to appear Philosophers, to regulate their Sentiments, by what they have learned of their Masters; as for him, he had not any occasion, but only to follow his own temper and Genius, which always naturally led him to the same end, where Study and Labour had led all others. But he held his peace here out of respect to these Illustrious three Aged Men; and because he also esteemed, that what advantage soever one had to speak, there was still much more in hearing those from whom one might learn. Ergaste was in like manner charmed by their discourse, and above all he was Ravished to know their Sentiments on the Subject of Aristippe, that a Famous Author who would have passed as the perfect model and pattern of a Wise man, in a book that he had entitled by the name of that Philosopher, and which he had given to the public already some years past. But as for Celemante, if he spoke not a word, it was only for fear of protracting a discourse whereof he began to be weary and toiled; if notwithstanding his temper rendered him capable to be. But for as much as his free humours wanton and frolic, and enemy to all constraint, made him impatiently desire the end of a conversation so serious, he was willing the company should even be separated. It was not but that he had all the esteem imaginable for Ariobarsane, Nephelocrate, and Straton, not that the Solidity of his Spirit, was not capable of all their reasonings: but the respect that young people own to old age, gave I know not what Torment to his natural Temper, and Liberality, and he so shunned sadness and pensiveness, that he hated them even unto things that were too serious, because, said he, that there is a great similitude in things that are serious, and things that are sad. He could not withhold himself from dancing once or twice whilst they discoursed, nor nor softly to ask Ergaste if he intended to continue long to listen to them, and if he would yet again take a turn, and treat of Philosophy.  
Wherefore, when the company separated, he and his friend being gone from the house of Telamonius, and walking together out of the Hamlet, Ergaste said unto him: Hast thou no shame, Celemante, not to be capable of a moment of serious conversation, and presently to fall a dancing when there is no discourse of trifles? my dear Ergaste, replied Celemante laughing, I am very sorry that that displeaseth thee: but thou shouldst know, that there is nothing so natural as to dance when one is sad. But, replied Ergaste, oughtest thou to be grieved to listen to three of the Wisest, and most experienced Men in the World? why not? replied Celemante. Seest thou, Ergaste! Wisdom is good in our actions, and Sciences in the Schools: but in Conversation I make a greater account of a grain of Folly, which makes me laugh, than of all the Sciences and Wisdom of the Philosophers. My child, seriously replied Ergaste, with these Sentiments thou wilt never pass but as a Fool. If thou wouldst not love the serious ones, it would be requisite to seem to love them, and to remember thyself, that in that consisteth this day all the Wisdom of the World. How many Fools thinkest thou that pass for Wise, only because they know how to conceal their Folly under a serious countenance? but what ever it be, it is necessary to be so among persons that are so. All the Science of Living consisteth not almost but in Complaisance, and to know how to accommodate ourselves to the humour of others; in a word, the Abridgement of Wisdom, is to know how to constrain ourselves. And as for me, replied Celemante still laughing, there are none but Fools obliged to constrain themselves. For to speak to thee also seriously Ergaste, I know but two sorts of persons in the World, one sort are subject to Vicious Passions, there are others that have none but Innocent. I call the first Fools, for there is not a greater Folly than the unruliness and irregularity which carries men away to commit Crimes, and it is therefore why that it's requisite that they constrain themselves, if they will pass for Wise: but as for those who have all their inclinations Innocent, as they are naturally Wise, they would become Fools to constrain themselves.  
Very well reasoned, said Ergaste. My Friend, there are things that are not criminal, that are not to be done for all that. And without going any farther, although it is not a Crime to dance, nor to testify to some one, that which he saith grieves us; thou must avow me that that is therefore prohibited by the laws of good manners and civil society. I will not avow it thee, replied Celemante; and I will hold against thee to the contrary, that it is a very great Treason in Civil Society, to seem to take pleasure in hearing something, and to be grieved and vexed in one's heart. Why wilt thou that I commit such a piece of Treachery to make a man believe that I am ravished to listen unto him, when I would with all my heart that he were at a further distance? Ergaste! there is nothing so faithful as not to Dissemble. Thou findest wherewith to contradict that one signifies that he is vexed, and I would that one should even speak it Ingeniously one to another, when one disdains or despiseth, when one is angry and furious, and when one hates. I would desire the truth that one constrains himself to endeavour not to hate, nor to despise any person: but if one cannot refrain, I would that one should freely and frankly discover it. After thy Sentiment, demanded Ergaste, canst thou bear good Will to a man that should come and tell thee he hates and despiseth thee? A thousand times more, replied Celemante, than to hate me, and say nothing. For in fine, when a man hath those, and the like Sentiments for me, if he conceals them from me, it is not but for his proper Interest, for fear I should bear him ill will, or possibly the better to surprise me: but if he declares it me ingeniously, I should at least hold myself or keep me upon my guard, at least even in his hatred would he do towards me a Friendly Action to declare me my Enemies. And how many thinkest thou after all, are there of hatreds, and enmities which continue not in our hearts, but lest we should dare to discover them, and which they would discharge themselves of, in expressing them, as they do for the most part of all other Passions? Ergaste replied, behold very fair imaginations, Celemante, but they are such as are not customary, nor used in this age of ours. To whom should they then be held, interrupted the other? Friend let's begin to practise them, and we should introduce them into a mode. It is true that that is justly thy action, continued Ergaste smiling, for I have always heard say, that they are Fools that invent them. Ay, ay, replied Celemante: but as they say that the Wise follow them, I hope I shall be a Fool followed by the Wise, and if thou dost not as do I, than thou shalt be a Wise one, who shall not be followed but by Fools. And to demonstrate thee, that from the present time I will Live with this Freedom, it is I declare thee that I begin to be very weary of thee, and go to seek to divert myself elsewhere. At this saying he took leave of Ergaste, and went forward singing, towards the middle of the Plain, where he saw a considerable number of Shepherds, and Shepherdess's assembled together.  
Ergaste looked upon him sometimes walking, smiling, and admiring in himself the humour of this Shepherd: afterwards as the Extreme Love which he had for Arelise, conjoined to his temper, which was as Melancholy as that of the others was airy and merry, made him rather to seek Solitude to meditate, than Company where he might divert himself, and instead of following Celemante, and going to the Assembly which he saw, he turned on the other side to go out of the way of that Company.  
In the mean time Celemante went still forward, observed that that Assembly were intent in looking upon Shepherds, which exercised themselves in a Race, and he saw two who disputed Emulously, from whom the first carried a Dart which was fixed in the Earth, near three hundred paces from the place whence they began to run. The Shepherdesses were sat upon the Grass, eight or ten paces aside from the Dart, and one of them with a smiling Countenance held in her hands, a branch of a wild Olive Tree which she plaited in form of a Crown, to place it upon the head of the Victor. Celemante immediately knew that Shepherdess to be Coris, and that was enough to make him double his pace, although he walked already with speed enough. He arrived by or near her, just at the same time when the two Shepherds had finished their Race, and that the Victor who was named Olcite demanded the Prize. Celemante opposed himself thereunto, and told him after his ordinary frolicksome joaking; I yield thee all that there is of Olive Trees in Tempe, but take it for good, that for the Honour of Coris, I only Dispute thee that little branch which she hath in her hand. Olcite would answer, when Coris also still frolic and jocund, replied: wherefore say you, Shepherd, that it is for my Honour, that you would Dispute the Prize with Olcite? aught you not to do it only for yourself, since it is indifferent to me, as in relation to myself, to whom I give it? Fair Shepherdess, replied Celemante, I said it because that it being for time to come, more for you than for me, you have more interest in my Honour than myself, and since when are you mine; then replied pleasantly Coris. It is requisite that I be very Rich, to have one in similitude to him there, and yet am not perceived. But rather Fair Shepherdess, replied he, it seems you make a very small account, not to remember yourself as yet that I gave all these past days to you, to be your Gallant. Coris being soon put in mind of the Discourse which they had had on that Subject, the day that Ergaste feigned to be her Lover, rejoined him thus: Ah I remember once, Celemante. It is true, that you offered yourself to be my Gallant; but Shepherd, I also remember me that I would not receive you. Amiable Shepherdess, replied he, it is true that I was not altogether received, but yet I was not wholly rejected, and a Gallant who is not rejected, hath right to believe that he is received. Let us not dissemble, Celemante, replied Coris, I think that you will never give yourself to any person, and each of us find ourselves so well to be each one for him or herself, that there never will be any more seeking for another Master. I find myself so in very deed; continued Celemante, and that is that wherein you have a greater obligation unto me, that I do not as do the Slaves, who will change a Master because they have a bad one, but that I quit one who to me was one of the best in the World, wholly and purposely because I would give myself unto you. I have great fear, replied Coris, that it was rather through unconstancy, and as those servants who change when they are too well, because they cannot continue at their ease. Will you that I freely declare unto you the truth? replied Celemante. I quit a good Master, because I believe you will not be yet a better Mistress. And I, replied Coris, I declare unto you I will not have a Servant so Licentious, and such a Libertine; for he would without doubt even quit me, if he should think of finding or having a better. But, replied Celemante, be so good unto me, that it be altogether impossible to find a better. Coris would reply, when Olcite who grew impatient, having had great pains to let them speak so long a time, interrupted them in the close, and as he was Rude, Clownish, Blunt, and Brutish: it is well worth the question, what all these Compliments signify, said he. Celemante! declare without making me to give any longer attendance if thou wilt run with me, that if thou wilt do nothing, this Shepherdess may give me the Prize that I have gained. All the Company betook themselves to laughing at the rusticity and incivility of Olcite, who seeing that, thought to mount up in Wrath. Celemante said to appease him, I desire thy excuse, my poor Olcite, but I thought to do thee a pleasure, to take time to fetch Breath. Immediately Olcite having answered him, that he had took too much, replaced his Dart in the ground, to place himself with Celemante at that certain part, where they should begin their Race.  
They parted both of them at the signal given them by the Shepherds there present; Olcite, who was more high and vigorous than Celemante, doubted not but that he should bear away the prize from this Shepherd. He was careless at the beginning until that seeing himself to be exceeded and outstripped by Celemante, he well judged that he should have need to gather up all his Forces to overtake him, but Celemante outstripped him still in Agility and Celerity; the other had such a despite and made such great Efforts and Endeavours to rejoin him, that he ran all out of Breath at the end of the List or Tiltyard. Immediately Celemante who had born away the Dart, went gallantly and cast himself upon his Knees before Coris, and showing her with his hand Olcite who lay stretched out with his Belly upon the Ground, panting as a Man who could do no more: my fair Shepherdess, said he, I know not if it be permitted me to come to demand of you the prize of the Race; for as they say the Cocks who die fight are the most generous, will you not find here that all the Glory is due to this poor Olcite who is almost dead hereby by his violent running?  
During their Race, Arelise and Ergaste were arrived at the same place. Ergaste thinking to go aside to meditate solitarily, as we have said, having seen this fair Shepherdess▪ who coming out of the Hamlet, walked towards the place, where she saw Coris her good Friend and many others of her Comrades. Ergaste who notwithstanding all their petty differences, loved her with a most fervent Passion, had immedidiately quitted all other designs, for that of going to rejoin her, or rather he had changed that of going solitarily to contemplate of her, for that of going to entertain a discourse with her; and as they were then reconciled Arelise engaged herself easily to follow him. They arrived immediately time enough, to see poor Olcite fall and to listen to the Jests that Celemante had made. Arelise had some Compassion to see this poor unfortunate One insulted over; and to consolate him she took pleasure to extenuate and diminish a little the savage, arrogant and insolent Frolicksomness and Jocundity of her Brother. Howsoever she said nothing unto him: But as she knew that Ergaste was more proper for that than any Man in the World, she made a sign to him to deal with him; and as for her she sat (not seeming to be concerned for any thing) near to Coris, after she had saluted her and her Company. Ergaste failed not of rendering obedience. After he had also very civilly saluted all these Shepherdesses, he sat a little behind Arelise; and having understood, that Olcite had run another Race before that with Celemante, he said unto his Friend: behold a great exploit, Celemante, that he hath surpassed Olcite, who had run two or three Races, and that a fresh Man hath overcome one already wearied. Ho, ho, Ergaste! replied him Celemante, is it for that end that thou art returned back here to control me? Come run with me, if thou art so bold and hardy as to dispute with me the Victory: or hold thy peace, if thou darest not to dispute it with me. Thinkest thou, replied Ergaste, that I would run against thee that art already wearied and toiled? I who blame thee to have so acted against Olcite, and who I deem not capable to cope with me, although thou hadst still thy utmost Strength and Ability. Ah! replied he in raising himself up from before Coris, where he was upon his Knees; Victory never wearieth a courageous Man, and that which would have wearied thee hath done no other than given me Breath.  
Although that Ergaste as well as Celemante, was of a size which gave him much advantage in these exercises; however as he was of a melancholy and serious Temper, this mistrust and diffidence had not engaged him, if he had not in the Countenance of Arelise observed something wherein she seemed to desire he should run against her Brother. He thereupon resolved more by Complaisance for her, than through any emulation; and rising from the place where he was, he deposited his Dart into her hands, and besought her to keep it while he ran.  
How melancholy soever he was, he did all things notwithstanding very gallantly, and said unto her when he presented it to her: fair Arelise, will you willingly be halfs with me together, and that I give you the care of keeping my Weapon, whilst I go to gain a Crown which I will come to lay down at your Feet? And immediately turning to Celemante who pierced the point of his into the Ground to serve as a Mark or But, he added smiling: Shepherd Coris hath a Crown for the vanquisher; but I have given my Dart to Arelise, to punish the vanquished One. Celemante returning himself about at his Voice, replied him, I unerstand thee Ergaste! That is to say, that thou hast a desire to die by the hand of Arelise.  
At these words, they went to place themselves side by side at that certain place where they should begin; the Signal being given, they parted both of them with wonderful Fleetness and Celerity, and having come up to the middle of the Race, that one could not observe any inequality between them: but a little afterwards Celemante having met with a little Stone, which made him stumble, Ergaste presently got before him, and still conserved his advantage, until that being come up within three paces of the Dart, which they should bear away, a little Wind which arose, casually blew off the Hood of Arelise from off her head, and cast it almost at the feet of Ergaste. That Shepherd soon left the Dart and ran to take up the Hood of the Shepherdess. But as he could not do it without turning himself out of his way. Celemante by this means boar away the Dart; immediately he turned towards his Friend, and showing it him with a Countenance full of Joy; Ergaste, said he to him, thou shalt have content, and if casually the Dart, which thou hast given to Arelise was born away, behold I will lend thee one in case of need, and at the same time being cast down upon his Knees before Coris; My Shepherdess, continued he, it's now if you please, that you crown me without dispute, whilst Arelise punisheth this indiscreet and rash Ergaste. In saying that he presented her his head bare; to receive the Crown which she still held in her Hands: but Ergaste who was also near to the Shepherdesses; to go to present to Arelise her Hood which he had took up, pushed very gently, Celemante addressing himself to all, and said unto them; Fair Shepherdesses, you see that it's I have overcome in two respects, and for to have been more ready to run, as having advanced before Celemante and having been also most prompt and ready to serve fair Arelise; at this word he placed himself upon his Knees also by the side of Celemante, and likewise presented his bare head before Coris. Celemante seeming surprised at the Discourse of Ergaste, and looking upon him with a serious Countenance; What, said he unto him, thou pretendest yet to dispute with me the prize? But thyself, replied Ergaste, hast the impudence to demand it; Celemante replied him, nothing but addressing himself to Coris, fair Shepherdess, said he, as Ergaste seethe well, that he ought to die by that peculiar Law which he himself hath imposed upon the vanquished, I think that the fear of Death hath already troubled him, and that is it which hath thus made his Mind and Spirit to rove and go astray. Brother, replied Arelise unto him, knowest thou that these Shepherdesses nor myself find not that Ergaste hath so little reason as thou believest, and that we do doubt all of us, but that is he who hath gained the Prize? What Arelise, said he unto her, the slight. piece of Service that Ergaste hath done you, hath already so forcibly gained you, that you would also doubt that I have not born away the Dart. Thou hast indeed born it away, said Arelise: but that's by reason he rejected it to take up my Hood, and to do that which thou shouldest have done thyself if thou hadst been before him: Ah Shepherdess, replied Celemante, we ran not for your Hood, we ran who should bear off the Dart. It is true, replied Ergaste, that that was the first that we proposed: but Fortune having offered us a more honourable One, in casting down before us the Hood or Veil of Arelise, we should have left off the first and not have taken any more care of the second; Thou mockest thyself, said Celemante. Say that Fortune made me meet a Stone in the midst of our Race, was then willing to give thee an advantage, and cast the Veil of Arelise before thee, as another Stone as one may so say, cast at thy Feet, thereby to render me that which she well saw it had unjustly taken from me. Wherefore thinkest thou that they ought rather impute unto me, that to have been stayed by a Stone, than for thee to have been stayed by a Veil? is it because I stumbled not but against my will, and thou didst it by a voluntary delay? altogether contrarily, one ought not to reproach me with a Mischief that happened me against my will: but thy delay proceeded from thy own default, because it was voluntary. Thou wilt perhaps tell me, that good manners obliged thee to do as thou hast done, but we were not to dispute good manners, congruity and correspondency, we were to dispute who should overcome in the Race, it was requisite first and primarily, to attempt the gaining of the Dart, and afterwards to take up the Veil of Arelise, the Service had been much more considerable, to have been done by a victorious Person. But however it be, 'tis a mischief for thee, if thou hast thereby been obliged to stay thyself, as it was for me to have stumbled. Casualties make a great part of the Sport and Victory. Dost thou not call to mind, that in the Races that Achilles caused to be run in the Funerals of Patrocle, although the Gallant Son of Admet ran best, he notwithstnding lost the first Prize because his Chariot broke in the midst of the Race? it was a misfortune to him, as one of his Comrades told him. Thou shouldst have besought the Gods, that they would not send thee this Misfortune. Art thou yet ignorant of what happened in the Famous Courses of Atalante? she had surpassed Hippomene: but she lost the Victory, because she stayed to gather up Apples that they cast in her way, it is here even the same Ergaste.  
Take the meeting of the Veil of Arelise, for a Fortune, or for an Unhappyness, and if thou wilt not, that a stone hath cast Fortune upon thee, Imagine that it was an Apple of Gold, wherewith the World have tempted thee: but since it is a hazard, or casualty that hath stayed thee, that I have carried off the Dart, see that by consequence therefrom I have Vanquished thee.  
After that Celemante had finished, Ergaste replied him, having always a knee on the ground before the Shepherdess, as had also Celemante, I cannot be sufficiently amazed at thy impudence, Celemante, to presume to dispute me the Prize of a Victory that I have gained from thee, in the clear view of so many Just, and Equitable Shepherdesses. If the advantage of a Race, depends upon the Agility and Celerity of those who have Ran, as thou canst not deny, have I not surpassed thee in Agility? I who advanced many paces before thee? To what design had they fixed the Dart, unless it were to assist them to Judge who Ran best. If I have▪ than demonstrated that it is myself, and have had more Advantages, Signs, Marks, and Evident Tokens, what had I to do with that there? It is a Misfortune for me sayest thou, that this Veil hath stayed me. God forbidden that I should take for a Misfortune, which occasioned my serving the Fair Arelise, nor that I bewail me of performing a more acceptible Office, which could be rendered me by Fortune. But suppose they call it a Misfortune, that Misfortune should it take from me an advantage, which my Agility (if may dare say so) hath acquired me? dost thou not call into Memory, that in the Courses of Achilles, whereof thou spakest unto me, although the Son of Admet arrived not but at the last, at the end of the Race, or Tiltyard, he omitted not however to carry off the Prize from all them, even them that Advanced before him, because he had an advantage over them, when his Misfortune stayed him? well said Ergaste, interrupted Celemante, there needs no more. I yield thee also the second Prize, and demand of Coris but the first, and whence would you then that I took, or should take the second? seasonably and handsomely demanded him that second. Amiable Coris, replied Celemante, if there be but that, it will not be difficult to reconcile us. Place upon my head the Crown that you have, and Arelise shall Coyf Ergaste with her Veil, since he hath found so much Honour in taking it up, he will undoubtedly find more to wear it.  
They could not all refrain from laughing at the pleasant imagination of Celemante. Ergaste smiled himself and rejoined him: Shepherd? neither thou nor myself, are worthy to wear that which hath been upon the head of Arelise●, but if I deceive that Honour, doubt not, not only that I should esteem to have gained the first Prize, but that I should make even a greater account thereof, than of all the Crowns in the World; during their contest all the Shepherds which were present at the Race were come to hear them, and took so much pleasure in their dispute, that they apprehended not any thing, but that it would too soon be decided. Arelise and Coris were very well pleased to let it continue, and that is the cause why the Shepherds prayed them immediately to judge them; they refused a long time to give, or to declare their advice. Arelise excused herself, because the difference had not sprung but on the subject of the Service, that had been rendered her by Ergaste, she well saw that she was in some sort suspected by Celemante. Coris defended herself handsomely on what she alleged, that agitating her in so Importunate a matter as a Crown, was of too great weight to be left to the judgement of one Shepherdess; all the rest of the Company dispensed themselves, also in referring the, Honour to the judgement of Coris, because she had chosen upon her to give the Prize. However they agreed all together at last to give their Sentiments, and after Celemante and Ergaste, had yet added some reasons on their own parts respectively, Coris having taken advice of the Company, they judged that Celemante had gained the Prize of the Race, but that it was not therefore Just, but that Ergaste should have a recompense, and Arelise because she had a Branch of Myrtle in her hands they appointed that she should therewith make a Crown to put it upon his head, whilst Coris placed that of hers on the head of Celemante.  
Whilst this Fair Assembly spent the day in these Diversions Telamonius and Philiste Generously employed all theirs to secure their Unfortunate, and Illustrious Guests, from time to time he went to know if the King of Lesbos wanted any thing, they sent likewise to inform themselves, of the state of that Fair Unknown one, whom he had met in an equipage so astonishing and deplorable in the corner of the Forest: he stirred not the rest of the time to be near Tarsis, and went out yet one of the next succeeding days towards the evening, when that self same man, whom the unknown one had retained by her, came to inform him, that his Mistress desired to speak with him, and besought him to ascend into her chamber. He immediately repaired thither, and she saw him no sooner enter but she drew one of her Arms out of the Bed, and stretching forth her hand, said unto him: I well see, Telamonius, that your Family is in possession of me, and in preserving my Life, and I begin to hope well, since I have known I am fallen into your hands; Telamonius was much astonished at this discourse, answered he; I have reputed it a great Honour for me to have occasion to render service to a person, the sole view of whom hath made me conceive so great an opinion, and if this same Honour, had formerly happened unto me, or to some one of mine, the which I knew not, I would have esteemed myself much more happy.  
Then the unknown one made a sign to the servant maid, to retire out of her chamber, who was there to serve her, and having also appointed the man, whom she had sent to fetch Telamonius, to leave them alone, she spoke to the Shepherd in these terms. If they have not deceived me in the Particularities, that they have taught me from your Family, you are the Brother of the Shepherd Tarsis, and he might possibly have declared you the obligation that Amelicente had to him. Telamonius who had understood from his Brother the Adventure of Amalecinte, not having doubted by these words, but that it was he who spoke so to him; admired how Nature had given such a Beauty to the Countenance of that Young Prince, as if it had made him expressly for that Personage, whom Fortune alone made to sport and jest withal; and as he was but eighteen years of Age, he found in his youth so great a delicacy, a hue, and die so little beseeming, or becoming a man, that he scarcely believed him to be he whom he was, if what his Brother had not formerly spoke of him, had not prepared him to that credulity. He then spoke unto him, with much astonishment and respect: What, my Lord, is it possible that you are the Prince Amelecinte, and that your Embarking hath also had so mournful an Issue? Ah it is indeed, it is true that I should esteem myself happy, to receive into my house a Prince for whom I have conceived such a Veneration and respect without knowing him; if the estate and condition wherein I see you, my Lord, did not almost dissipate all my Joy.  
Amalecinte replied obligingly to this Civility, and Testified him that he would enlighten him in this last Adventure, but beforehand, added he, I will demand from you, news of your Brother. Telamonius told him the accident in few words, and this Prince who had already known something from those who served him (for it was by that which he heard of the name of Telamonius, and of the accident of Tarsis that he had Judged with whom he was) signified unto him that he had received a very sensible displeasure.  
The Shepherd would have retired himself after that for fear of giving him to long occasion to speak, and some curiosity that he had to learn by what Course, and Sequel of Adventures, was found at Tempe with a Ship so soon after he had been parted a Fugitive, and without a thought of returning there: however he did all that he could to oblige him to conserve his rest, representing to him the evil that the Emotion could cause him in the state wherein he was. But Amalecinte to whom they had made or put the third preparation, and who felt himself very much better, replied him, That it was of importance to him to take Counsel of him, upon the consideration of some affairs wherein he had need of his succour, and it was for that which he sent to fetch him. And as he was a young Prince, of an active and lively Spirit, and who tormented himself for the rest, when it was necessary for him to defer the execution of things that he had projected, all that the Shepherd could do, it was to obtain of him only that he would attend till the morrow, when having sent again to fetch him he spoke unto him after this sort.  

The Sequel of the History of Amalecinte.  
YOu have understood by your Brother, after what manner I Embarked upon your River▪ and by what necessity I undertook to cross the Gulf, and even the Sea with one Boat-man alone, in a single Bark, and a simple one too. The weather was favourable to my Design, the Waves quiet and calm, and we rowed in the Gulf with all manner of good Fortune, but we had no sooner doubled the Cape, which is at the entrance, but we saw ourselves chased by a Corsario who held himself sheltered under one side, and we were taken. I will leave you to Judge of my Grief to see myself fallen into that Captivity, then when I thought to shun another.  
This here seemed to me notwithstanding less dangerous than the first, and that which I did regret the more, was an occasion that I had lost by my precipitation, to change the habit of a Woman who disguised me, and who could assist to make me known, and to replace me in the hands of the King of Crete, or of his Son.  
I bewailed myself with so much the more displeasure, that I imputed the fault to myself, without thinking, that all this made itself by a peculiar order from the Gods, who take pleasure to confound Human Prudence. I was tormenting myself thereupon when I saw the Captain of the Ship enter into a wicked abridgement where they had put me, and approached me with all the Marks and Tokens of a deep Respect.  
Madam, said he, I a thousand times praise the Gods, who of a Corsario as I was have possibly made me the restorer of Cyprus, and the deliverer of my Princess. Truly, the life that I led deserved rather their punishment, than a favour of that Nature. But undoubtedly, they considered that I have not chosen this kind of Life, by a free election, but by pure necessity, and I hope they will make all the pains to fall on the King of Crete, who thereunto constrained me. In the mean time, Madam, begin here if you please to Reign over your Subjects, and be persuaded that I will be the first, that will in all things obey you. I was so surprised with this compliment, that I knew not almost whether I should believe my own eyes or ears, when he taught me more at length that he was of Cyprus, and that he named himself Pantacule.  
At this name this Shepherd who understood the History of Alceste and Eliante, by reason Ergaste had recited it unto him, called to mind that he here so named the Corsario, who had also taken them, and doubted not but this here was the same: but as that was not a subject to interrupt the Prince, he only made a reflection in himself, and left Amalecinte to continue who was thus persisted. This Corsario said unto me, that he had for a long time served under the deceased King my Father, in the command and charge of a Captain of a Ship. That it was he who had been one of the Authors of the two Revolts, which had happened in the Island after our Captivity, and that the King of Crete having proscribed his Head, for that Reason he had been reduced to the necessity of making himself a Corsario. He added that for him, he would not have presently known me, not having ever more than once seen me at Crete in a Voyage, that he had made there unknown: But that there was in his Ship two or three Native Inhabitants of Crete who had told him my Quality, and principally, added he, That Cypriot who is fallen into my hands since some time. In saying that, he presented me a Man, whom I knew to have been the first Squire of the deceased Queen my Mother, who returning to Cyprus after her death had been taken by these Corsarios.  
The sight of that faithful Servant, whom the Queen had always loved made me shed Tears from my eyes, in renewing in me the sad and cruel remembrance of her Death: but between these Tears of Grief I cannot deny there were mixed some of Joy, when of a Captive and of a Slave as I thought I had been, I saw myself Master, or to say better, a King of that little Kingdom floating, for you shall observe that there were a hundred and fifty Men in that Ship, all expert, Three Natives and Inhabitants of Cyprus whom the like necessity as that of their Captain had reduced to the like kind of Life. All these People having heard that I was the Princess of Cyprus were run together with great Vehemency, and smothered themselves as one may say in the Press one amongst another to see me and testify their Joy, in such a manner that 'twas requisite, I should go upon the Deck to give them that Satisfaction. As for me I can scarce do any other thing than admire the Providence of the Gods, who seemed to lead me even as by the Hand to my Liberty, amongst Rocks, Shoals and Precipices. In fine, after I had told them all in general and particular, some obliging things to testify then my Friendship and Acknowledgement, and principally to their Captain; I retired myself into his Chamber or Cabin which he had readily prepared for me, and made variety of Reflections on what I had to do in this Encounter.  
All knew my Birth, but not one my Sex, I doubted if I should not discover it unto them, not having more, as seemed me to fear of Inconvenience, and dreaming on the contrary that if they knew I was Prince, my Sex would yet give me more Authority, and them more Courage and Affection to serve me. Notwithstanding, I thought on the other side, that I was in the hands of people whom I yet knew not, and who knew me not themselves, but upon the Faith of a Prisoner, and of two or three proscribed Persons, who had not seen me but very few times, that in the prevention wherein they all were that there remained but one Daughter of our House, I should infallibly by some doubt refreeze them coming to discover myself for a Man; or at least Wise, I should make some scruple to spring up in their minds that it was all that could make the People well confirmed, than to know the Miracle or believe the Wonder, for so I may say, of my disguise, and that not having any present necessity of disabusing them, it were much better to enjoy in peace, the occasion that the Gods had offered me, than to hazard a Loss in being to undertake too much, and all at a time. So I resolved to pass always in their minds, as the Princess of Cyprus, until I saw a greater necessity and security to discover myself. Before night, the Captain came to demand me, where I would desire to be conducted, and I was thereupon a little discouraged. He made me understand, that he had been caused not long since to revolt a third time in Cyprus: But I was not assured of the State of things, nor if they were not appeased, briefly if there would be imprudence, to expose myself there with the few Forces I had, I therefore said that they should only ply in the open Sea, and that I would determine the next day with his Counsel, but Fortune took care to determine me itself.  
At the break of day, the Mariners discovered a Ship who had a Standard, and who was the Prince of Crete, and for as much as we had then fixed the Standard of Cyprus (for the Corsarios have all the Kingdoms to serve themselves with, according to their need) he caused a Skiff to be manned in the Sea, and sent to know who we were. That Prince as one of his Dependants gave me to understand afterwards, had finished his Negotiation at Pidne, with the Governor of that Province, and had concluded a Treaty with him, by which he was obliged to furnish him in a little time, with four thousand Men to make War against the King of Macedonia. That Negotiation had been so quick, that I had been happy to escape from his Guards that Evening when your generous Brother succoured me, for that next day he was come to Gonnes to take me there, and to bring me back with him to Crete; they told me that he had not heard of my escape but with great Fury, and that the third of his Guards, whom I had wounded and put to flight, having told him of the Death of his two Comrades, he had drawn his Sword to kill him, in that he had not died with him rather than to let me escape. In fine, that Prince having understood of my embarking, he quickly put himself under Sail in quest of me; I know not well, if it was his Passion for me that made him use such diligence, or if it was not the fear he had, that my going to Cyprus would there second the Revolt: But so it was that having seen our Ship, and then and there also the Standard of Cyprus, he had sent to know who was on board, and make us strike the Flag.  
I would not have had them dissemble, and knowing well that it was difficult for him to have as good men as were ours, instructed by length of time and experience in Sea Combats, I shown myself to the Enemy upon the Deck, and answered that they might make a report to their Master that I was the Princess of Cyprus, who expected him. Undoubtedly I committed a rash and indiscreet Action, for he had two great Ships and we had but one; and immediately I very well saw that the Captain was not too well content. But I could not resolve myself to fly from my Enemy, and imagined with myself that the Gods who had so manifestly protected me, would not send me but to deliver them into my Hands. I than betook myself to my Bow and Arrows, I girt on my Sword, put on my Head-Piece, after the Greek mode, and in that Equipage I made a small Oration to our Men to encourage them. My brave Soldiers, said I unto them; behold the fairest Opportunity that ever you had to signalise your Courage. There is a long time that you have lived wand'ring and roving as Fugitives upon the Sea, and that you daily expose your Lives to Combats, and the Mercy of the Waves, without any other hope but to get some small pillage, and to subsist in a Life always accompanied with fear and toil. This now is another different Fortune that calls you: you agitate not now upon, or with petty Merchant-ship for booty, but now you are upon the Spoils of a Prince, who holds your Country in Irons, and to make himself a Slave, and set his Kingdom at Ransom to Redeem him. He agitateth to Revenge the Death of your King, the Matricide of a Great Queen, the Massacre of all the Family Royal, he agitateth to revenge you himself. You go to see, and have your Queen, to go to witness your actions, and not only to witness, but to go and be of your Company, astonish not yourselves therefore that you have a Maiden to command you, the Gods have given her the Courage of a Man, and I demand of you alone nothing, unless you are ashamed not to be able to do as well as she. I so animated them by this small discourse, that they breathed out nothing but long for Fight: to make it short unto you, after a shower of Arrows shot on both sides, our Ships Grappled, and there was a horrible slaughter upon the Deck of that of the Prince, where I had commanded our men to fasten themselves; I was the first that leapt on board, and sought him to fall upon him. And on the other side he leapt aboard ours to find me, and seize me. Now there happened an other Adventure rare enough. For whilst he was in our Ship, his two which grappled ours, sunk her down, who finding himself sunk in the Sea, and drowned by his own men, who were the best of those that had followed him, few of ours were lost in the Shipwreck, because they had leapt with me into the Enemy's Ship, and that we there became the strongest. Some of ours would cry that the Prince of Crete was dead, and that he had been sunk down. That was out of design to Alarm the other Ship, and Terrify them: but I hindered it, not only because it was out of design to advertise them to endeavour to save the Prince, whom yet I saw labouring in the Sea, but principally, because something fell into my thought, to whom the error of the Enemies served me extremely, I commanded ours to seize upon the Rudder of the Ship, where we were, and to get off at a distance, as much as might be with all speed from the other Ship of our Enemies, that having separated them one from the other, that we might finish, and absolutely become Masters of one of them, to return afterwards, to charge furiously upon the other. On the other side I caused them to hoist the Skiff into the Sea, to go to save as many of our men as they could who swum. Also those on the other Ship, believing that all this was done by order of the Prince of Crete their Master, and seeing that it was their Skiff who Rowed in the Sea, pursued us not, nor shot against those who went to secure our men, thinking that it was their own. In such a manner that we finished in a moment, to render ourselves entirely Masters of the Ship, and saved the major part of our men, only ten, amongst whom was the poor Boatman who conducted me. Immediately I made them return to charge upon the Enemy, and I leave you to Judge of their astonishment, when they dreamt of nothing else, but to come to congratulate the good Success and Victory of their Prince, they were taught that they were overcome, that their Prince was dead, and that we prepared to charge them. This news astonished them in such a Nature; that they had not so much as the Courage to oppose us, and betook themselves to flight. I gave them chase two days, and so many nights, and undoubtedly they had not escaped me, but by means of a Violent Stormy Tempest, which after a long time tossed, and agitated us, cast me again into the Gulf, and obliged me to come to refresh ourselves in your Road. Whilst they repaired our Vessel which sprang a Leak, by means of our Furious Fight, and the late Tempest, I would come to set foot on shore, and walked without dreaming of the advice that had been given me by one of our Prisoners, whom the Prince of Crete had yet left there amongst others to seek me out there, in case that the advice of my Imbarkment was not true. I went accompanied only with two of my men, through this Wood where you met me, when I was attacked by eight Soldiers, who immediately fell upon me. I put my Sword in hand, which I still have carried since the day of our Naval Combat, and seconded by the two men that accompanied me, I so well defended myself, that we put our Assassins to Flight, and six others out of a Condition to attack me. But this could not be, without seeing before my Face to die my two Seconds, nor without falling myself into a condition where you have so Generously Succoured me.  
So Telamonius, if Cyprus hath some interest in my conservation, I can safely say that it ought to look upon you, your Brother, and yourself as hath its two Titulary Originals, and I protest unto you also, that if I have ever there any power, the names of Telamonius and Tarsis shall be there also known, as those of Aristogiton, and Harmodisis, are both in Athens. In the mean while as it's apparent, these People who attacked me were not alone, and that I am from elsewhere in the Government of Alcime, an ally of mine Enemy, you see how it imports me not to be known here, but you judge also well, Telamonius, that I ought to sleep there, whilst that the Death of the Prince of Crete will apparently prove true, and made great changes in Cyprus, and in the States of the King his Father.  
Which is the cause wherefore I will send with the first opportunity some of my People to Cyprus, there to confirm the Truth of his Death, and to dispose the People there to receive me. I will even departed with the soon to be there, ready to profit by this occasion. And there to second by my Presence, and by my Courage, that which shall be found of good disposition in their minds. But as there is not a moment of time, to be lost here, that my Ship where I make account to Embark, cannot be repaid but in some days, and that in the mean time, it is of importance, that those whom I send to prepare their minds should departed before me, I have for that end present need of another Ship. I had since yesterday sent to Gonnes to contract for a Ship in that Port, but I have understood that since Alcime is returned, there is prohibition made to let none departed without his express order signed with his hand, and that there is a thousand difficulties to obtain Passports, at least to be known. Now you see the interest that I have, ought not to be made known to a man in Alliance, and Confederacy with my Enemy. So I have need of your Credit and Generosity, Telamonius to endeavour to obtain one with the soon, and that is the request that I will make you.  
Whilst he thus spoke, Telamonius on one side admired the Courage wherewith this young Prince framed his designs, for the Conquest of a Kingdom, in a condition wherein he had not only the strength to rise from his bed, and on the other, he had not the Ability of Apprehension, that the agitation wherewith he had spoken, might enkindle some Fever within his Body, which naturally appeared to be in a temper all of fire. He therefore besought him not to give himself any further trouble, in any thing that he had commanded him, and promised him that he would go there the same hour, to give order. Immediately he took leave of him, but at the instant he thought to go out, Amalecinte recalled him, and said unto him: Generous Telamonius, the care of my affairs hath made me forget a thing which possibly may regard yours, and which have made me call to mind the name of that Shepherdess, of whom you have lately told me, that her loss hath reduced Tarsis into that condition you have related me. It's from the first day that I embarked here, as I would have demanded of my Boat-man why he had so much desired to recoil in parting, until he had even constrained him thereunto by force; he told me for a reason, that he expected a Shepherdess, whom he named as seemed to me, silly, as you have done the Mistress of your Brother, he added that he should by the same occasion conduct her I know not where, and that it was to do service to a Shepherd named Alpide, who I should also have come with her. Ah my Lord! cried he Immediately, I mean Telamonius, it is the same Shepherdess whom we seek; and thereupon as he saw that the Prince could not instruct him further, he retired to make some reflection on this last news, which more occupied his mind than all the rest.  
In sum, that which his Brother had related him the day following, of the loss of Zelie, of that Mariner whom he had taken in the night for Alpide, and the Great Assiduity, that the same Alpide had signified to her, after that Tarsis had no more seen her, had already given them much cause to suspect him: however he could not make any certain Judgement thereupon, because that Alpide had not disappeared with Zelie, but otherwise was her Cousin German, and moreover, for that he was more concerned, pressed for her more than any other, and did much regret this Shepherdess. But after he had learned that from the Prince of Cyprus, there was no place left for him to doubt, but that Alpide was the Author or at least an Accomplice in this misfortune, as so many others have followed.  
It was almost night when Telamonius went out from Amalecinte, that Shepherd not being there gone, but very late after dinner (by the counsel of the Chirurgeon) to leave always so much time with the Prince, as to repose himself, before engaging him in a discourse, which he well Judged would be of some time. In going out from thence, he deliberated whether he should direct this piece of news to Tarsis. He was presently tempted thereunto because he thought that it would still be some Joy to that unfortunate Lover, to know at least a way by which he might be assured to be able to learn, what should become of Zelie. But he immediately also well Judged afterwards, that in thinking to regive him thence some hope, he should not fail to renew his Inquietudes, and to cause in him strange Alarms, that it would be to hold him all the night in impatience, which would be a means to hinder his rest, and might possibly cause some seaver to seize upon him by so great a Commotion, or Violent Inclination of the Mind. So that after having been only to see him, to give him in secret the contentment, with which he well knew that this Shepherd would learn news of the return of Amalecinte, he retired into his Chamber, where he writ to Gonnes to have a Passport for the Prince of Cyprus, and having given his Letter to a Shepherd with order to carry it the next day to his Friend, to whom it was addressed, he went to bed that he might rise at break of day to go to Alpide, and endeavour to surprise her at his house.  
On the other hand whilst Amalecinte made his recital to Telamonius, the King of Lesbos informed Philiste Accidents, and Adventures which were much more surprising.  
That Prince had always appeared so Melancholy since his arrival at Tempe, that he would scarce see any but that Wise Shepherdess. He was charmed with her Sweetness, Modesty, and Conversation, and found in all her discourse a certain clear singularity, and simplicity, and Spiritual Goodness, which he preferred before all the utmost Gallantry that he had seen in his Court. The Shepherdess was all in Confusion for the urgency which he still signified to see her, and her scrupulous Virtue not permitting her to go into the Chamber of the King all alone, she came to pray her Husband to go for her, to go and keep Company with that Prince, either willing to excuse herself under some kind of pretence, or at least to come there with her. Telamonius who rather doubted of his own proper Virtue, than that of his Wives, took pleasure to Jest with her, and besought her himself not to refuse that Consolation to the disgrace of that unfortunate Prince. Notwithstanding all that, she shunned all opportunities and occasions of seeing him, as much as the King sought it, insomuch that the Prince having also perceived it himself, he resolved to take from her that Scruple. And to that end, from the very first Moment that he could find himself alone with her, having under some pretext, sent those who served him out of his Chamber, he said unto her; Virtuous Philiste, I well see that the King of Lesbos is suspected by you. He paused there some minutes to attend the reply she would make him; and seeing she answered him not but by a silent Modesty, accompanied with Blushing, which commenced to spring up into her Countenance, he continued thus to speak to her. But, wise Shepherdess, tell me by your good Favour, may the Queen of Lesbos hope to have a little more Interest in your Friendship and Kindness? At these words an admirable and gracious shamefacedness, Chastity and Pudicity, finished the springing up of an amiable Blushing, in the Countenance of this incomparable Shepherdess, for yet she saw not to what this discourse ultimately tended, and forasmuch as she believed that the Prince would speak either of his Mother or his Wife, not knowing if he were married, she replied him; My Lord, the Queen of Lesbos would not deign to cast her eyes, upon such a simple Shepherdess as I am, and I would esteem it too great an Honour, that she would accept of my Respects and humble Services. The King of Lesbos, replied her, Amiable Shepherdess, it is howsoever the Queen of Lesbos desires to know it. Philiste taking these words for a continuation of Jesting, replied not thereto but with a modest Smile, so that the King persisted thus: You believe that I Jest, Philiste, but it is a certain Truth that I am therefore going to declare you, which will surprise you much more. It is I that am the unfortunate Queen of Lesbos. Philiste was so astonished with this discourse, and knew not how to take it, when she had a Confirmation thus; Ay, Philiste, I even I, am the unfortunate Queen of Lesbos, and Judge of the Opinion I have of your Virtue, because I will place my Confidence in your Secrecy, which I will conceal from all the rest of the World. But that you may not doubt of what I declare you, come and receive the Confirmation between my Arms.  
At the same Moment opening unto her half her Neck with a virtuous Modesty, because the necessity of her Condition forced herself that Violence; she stretced forth her Arms to Philiste, and gave her Liberty to see the fairest Bosom, and most clear white snowy Pair of Breasts that ever Nature had form in a Maiden.  
After that Philiste had signified her great surprise and admiration, and then how much she felt herself obliged by the Confidence wherewith she had honoured her; the Queen of Lesbos (for we will for the Future give her that name more convenient for the Truth of her Sex) would testify a Confidence wholly and entirely in that Shepherdess. It is true that which principally obliged her thereunto, was that finding herself in the House of Philiste and Telamonius her Husband, destitute of People and Counsel, and in a Condition where we shall see her hereafter; she judged she might dispense with the discovery of herself unto them, at least than to renounce to all, the Services whereof she had occasion, and in whom she might be forced to employ them. Thus that Queen having caused Philiste to sit down by her, spoke unto her in manner following.  

The History of Philetere Queen of Lesbos.  
YOu are happy, O Philiste, to be born in the Condition of a Shepherdess! That the Liberty and Repose of your Life is preferable to the Arrogancy and Vanity of those of the greatest Queens; and that we are unfortunate, we unto whom it is not only permitted to live as we list, but to whom it is frequently prohibited to be that which we are. No, Philiste, we dare not sometimes come into the World, such as the Gods have form us, and when Fortune pleaseth not to avow ourselves that for which Nature hath framed us, it is absolutely requisite that we disguise ourselves unto it, that they tranform us, for so it may be said, and to be what she would almost have us cease to be ourselves.  
Behold, wise Shepherdess, what is the Image of my Destiny, and of my Misfortunes in an Abridgement, but to let you understand them by Retail or Piece-Meal, you shall know that there are some Olympiades' since which Eriane Queen of Lesbos being dead at Mitilene, the Metropolis of the Island, the People were so ill satisfied with her Government, that they made a Decree after her Death, in hatred of her Memory, by which they appointed that the Kingdom should not any more fall into a Distaff, or into the Feminine Line hereditarily, and that Women should be absolutely excluded from the Royal Supremacy, and Sovereign Dignity and Authority.  
It is true, that this Decree was not accompanied with all that which would have been desired to render it entirely Solemn; for the two nearest Heirs of the Crown, would not thereunto give their Voices, neither the one nor the other, having then in all but two Children, each one a Maiden. My Father was the eldest of two; and this Prince the most penetrating and the most politic that ever was, having had in his Life time even from the Queen some advice of what was projected after his Death, was advised at my Birth to make me pass for a Boy, which unto him was then easy, the one and the other Sex being yet equally capable to succeed in the Kingdom. For that end he even gave me the Name of a Man, and made me be called Philitere, as was he; it is not but that he pretended still to dissemble that which I was. He only thought that in the design that he had to oppose himself to that Decree, his Opposition would be so much the more considerable, then having apparently a Son, he would appear disinterested, and he dreamt that in all cases, if he could not hinder it in the first Movements of the general Aversion, that the People had against the Government of Ariane, he could at least whilst he should have the Helm in hand, find a day to cause it to be revoked.  
His Stratagem had not neither the one nor the other, the success which he imagined, for he could neither hinder the decree, nor being become King cause it to be broken. It was then requisite to continue by necessity the disguising which had been begun by Artifice, and the better to succeed therein, from the time I had a little Strength the King my Father caused me to learn all the exercises convenient for a Prince. But as he judged well that the difference that Age hath accustomed to put between the Countenances of Boys and those of Maidens would not fail one day or other to betray his Intention, and that the People would be astonished at the conclusion, not to see born on my Cheeks, the ordinary Marks which serve to discern betwixt both Sexes; he feigned I know not what Accident by which he caused deafly and dumbly to sow a noise, that they had been obliged to abandon me to the hands of Chirurgeons, and to reduce me to the condition of those People, to whom the Persians do commit the Guard of their Wives and their Treasure. The fair Queen could not speak this without using some violence to her Modesty and Pudicity; and the redness which appeared in her Face, finished the explaining to Philiste that which she would have her understood. After that that Blushing had vanished away, she thus continued her Discourse.  
The King, as I have told you, did not however sow this Noise, but confusedly and with some kind of uncertainty, to sound and fathom only their Minds and Dispositions, and to dispose them one day or other to receive it and believe it, when it was needful; for he was not ignorant that the major part of the Greeks, have as much Misprision for or of these sort of People, which I have spoken to you of, as the Persians have them in Veneration. They will have Kings, which can be able to give them Successors, and are ashamed to obey Persons whom they put in the rank of Monsters, rather than among the number of Men, so he would not hazard this noise with so much certainty, but that he was still the Master to revoke or confirm it at his own Leisure. Whatever it was, the King my Father reigned peaceably enough, during the first years, and during the minority of a natural Son that a Brother of the deceased Queen had left, but when the Son was grown greater, some discontents were buzzed in his ears, that the Kingdom appertained to him being Nephew of the Queen, and my Father being but a Relation distant enough, and as there was not a precise Law in the State by which Bastards were excluded from Succession, he did so well that the Estates were convoked or assembled together, to judge of this great difference.  
The King my Father carried it, but not by all Voices. The Bastard Prince did not render himself to the Judgement of the States, he would decide the question by force of Arms, and as he had a very strong Party we saw our Army less than nothing, at the Gates of Mitilene. What say I, he was Master almost as soon as he appeared there, by the means of intelligences which he there practised, and my Father who was not then mistrusted was reduced to fly from his Capital City. It is true, that it was not but to re-enter therein with more Honour afterwards, for when he had had Leisure to Levy his Army, he reconducted it before Mitilene in Person, he there gave Battle to the Enemy, and having vanquished them in the Combat, he besieged him and took him in the same City. After this manner, all the War was ended in a very little time. I pass over all these things lightly, O Philiste, not only by reason that that's nothing but Wars, which are not convenient for our Sex, and where you could not take pleasure, but also forasmuch as you undoubtedly know all that which passed there most memorable, since that they were Telamonius your Husband and Tarsis your Brother-in-Law which did them. Philiste having replied, that she had heard them sometimes speak thereof, but after a different manner; I doubt not, interrupted the Queen, that their Modesty hath supplanted their Honour: But it is however true, wise Shepherdess, that these two Brothers who traveled, then being happy for us met in our Island, and having offered their Service to the King; bore up alone on a small Bridge the effort of a Battalion, who had put a part of our Men in disorder, and routed them, and having given them time to rally themselves, they were the cause of gaining the Battle. This is not all, in the Siege they were the first that ascended scaling, and having cast themselves alone into the City, as they say that Alexander the great formerly did at Tire, they foiled the Troops destinated to the guarding and keeping of the Wall, gave opportunity to ours to follow them, and caused the taking of Mitilene. Also there were not Honours enough by which the King attempted not to acknowledge due to their Valour, and I remember (for this Prince would that even at the Army, I was always near him) I remember I say to have heard him say, that to pay well for such a signal Piece of Service, it was requisite to offer them a part of his Kingdom. He did all he could to oblige them to continue by him, by the offer of the first dignities; but all our Court had nothing capable to tempt them, and I am not astonished, for assuredly Telamonius would have found nothing there, in comparison with Philiste. The Shepherdess not having replied to this obliging Discourse, than by a respectful Inclination of the head and by a modest Silence, the Queen persisted thus; the taking of Mitelene was soon followed by a ●reaty of Peace. But alas! the King did not long enjoy it, for he died soon afterwards, and left me in an Age young enough, over burdened and oppressed by the weight of all the Kingdom. I was Crowned King of Lesbos without any contradiction: Because the Fidelity of those whereof the Ministry had been employed to conceal the secret of my Sex had been so great, that until then no Person whatsoever, had so much as a mistrust or diffidence of what I was. It is not but that Demotime, that is the name of the Bastard Prince, had not been well pleased to hurry, confound, and disorder. But my Father in his Life time, had given him some employment by which he had, as I may so say, honourably banished him out of Lesbos. For in that time Lysimachus King of Thrace having had Phrygia for his part and share from the Spoils of old Antigonus; This Prince, to whom my Father had rendered the Signal Offices in this War, would testify unto him his acknowledgement, and by a Confidence extraordinary enough, but which merited undoubtedly the quality of those Services which he had received of us, he sent him the Provisions in Blank, from the Vice-King of Phrygia (an important Province, and which is not separated from Lesbos, but by a very little Ferry over the Sea) to fill them with the Name of him, whom my Father would have gratified. The King my Father to oblige Lysimachus by a Signification of the esteem which he made by this Present, filled them with my Name.  
Howsoever reserving the Title to me, he gave the employ to Demotime whom he sent to command for Lysimachus, in that great and important Province; so then Demotime being occupied elsewhere, did not then thwart nor cross my establishment in the Throne. But behold the Commencement of my Misfortune.  
My Governor had a Son, whom my Father had made my great Chamberlain, he might then have been about twenty two years old, and one could say that he was almost one of the best shaped Men in the World. His Countenance amongst others was so very fair, that all the Ladies of Lesbos, envied some his eyes, another his mouth and teeth, and all the clearness and purity of his Hue. As for his Wit he had it vivacious and full, but his Soul was without Religion and Fidelity. He was ambitious, arrogant, insolent, vain and presumptuous, to the last point, so full of a good Opinion of himself, that he imagined not but that the most virtuous Women, nor yet the wisest could resist his amiable Countenance, and he believed not any thing could (in a word) be above him.  
That which increased his audacity, was that although he was of Nobility, fresh and hue enough by his Father's side, he notwithstanding vaunted himself, by reason of some distant Alliance on the Woman's side, descended from the ancient Kings of Lesbos. My Father having known his Wit very much repent himself, and that many times, that he had put him in an Office which so nearly approached my Person, the exercise whereof obliged me in some sort to confide in him. But his Father by an abuse, which is too common in the Courts of Princes, had obtained this Office for him from his Youth, and before one might know what he would be, and since there was no other means to dispossess him by the apprehension that we had of hurrying, or giving a check to my Governor, on whom we had made in some sort a participant of the knowledge of our secret. I had shunned all manner of confidence in this young man, as much as to me could be possible, and for that end I would not that he should lie in my chamber, as those are accustomed to do, who possess the like Offices in the Courts of Princes; I would neither lie down, nor rise up before him, and I attired myself always particularly: but as he saw the affectation which I had to deprive him of the best, and most Beneficial Deuce of his Office, he could not refrain from speaking to his Father, to learn the reason. It is true, I ought here to complain of myself, as well as of my Governor, for he came to propose it to me, before he would discover it to his Son, but he made me find so great a necessity in Confiding in him, and as a Father is almost always Blind for his Children, he answered me so absolutely, assuring me of his Fidelity, that I gave my hands to what he would. In the Interim, see, Philiste, the strange success of his Counsel.  
Olearque (this Chamberlain was so named) being a participant of my secret, it was necessarily requisite that I should show him a good Face, and Pleasant Countenance, and that by some particular marks of Esteem, and Friendship, I engaged him to Silence, and to the Fidelity whereof I had need. His Natural Vanity failed not immediately to play his Game: he put himself in his own head that, I loved him, and that the Testimonies of Goodness, which I gave the sole Services of his Father, and the necessity of my Destiny, were so many effects of my Springing Passion. I entered then into my Fourteenth Year. It must necessarily be altogether deformed, misshapen not to have in that Age acceptableness, and good liking, and principally when one is Queen, and when one appears in the eyes of one Ambitious. My Youth, his Ambition, and his Vanity therefore inflamed him, or rather made him to lose his Judgement.  
I so little mistrusted, or was diffident of his Audacity, that I was a long time without perceiving myself, I did not impute his Assiduity, his Cares, nor his continual Looks and Regards, but to the Address of a Courtesan, who will comply with the Queen: I attributed not his Sighs, which he reiterated frequently enough, but to some vexation or to some strange Love, and was so Innocent, that when they Jested him to be in Love with some Fair One of Mitelene, I Jested also as did the others.  
As for him, who in his Vanity believed me pre-occupied, he thought that I understood him very well, that the manner wherewith I treated him, was a  Approbation of his Love, and all that lost in him his Wit more and more. In fine, I began to perceive him myself at a Tournament that I made at Mitelene (for I affected those Divertisements of Men, to entertain the Popular Error) the Spectacle lasted three days, and at every time, those that were of the Tourney were obliged to appear with Liveries, and of different devices. As for him at three times he put an Eagle in his Shield or Target, with this Diversity only, that it was an Eagle Flying near the Sun, and a number of other Birds under a Cloud, which hide them from the Light; for the Soul, there was round about, as one worthy to see him without Clouds and Shadows, at the second day, it was yet an Eagle which steadfastly looked upon the Sun, with these words.  My Eyes would Disdain a lesser Light, 
And in the third, there was yet an Eagle carrying in his Beak, a Thunder-Bolt with these words,  This is my Art. Or this is the Art of mine. 
The morrow of the Tournament, every one being placed before m e to discover the Devices that they had seen, and to Explicate them, all consented that they had not well apprehended those of Olearque, and it was of him they would demand the Signification, or declare it; I will never tell it but to the King alone, replied he, and yet that shall not be, but in case his Majesty Commands me to do it, upon Pain of his Disfavour. That which he said, gave me yet more Curiosity to know the Explication, for I was so Estranged, and so far at a Distance, as I have told you, to think of the Folly that he had put in his Mind, that I should never have been diffident of it. I passed then laughing into my Closet, and there I asked him the Explication in particular, and in way of Merriment, and Sport only. But I was much surprised. when in explicating it, he gave me to understand, that in the first device, those Clouds which hid the Sun from other Birds, was my disguise which stole the knowledge of that which I was from all my Subjects, and that it was he, that would willingly Figure himself to be that Eagle, who alone had the clear View, that by a part of these same things, he would mark; in the second that he would only believe me worthy to stay his Eyes; and that in the third, by that Eagle which carried the Thunder-Bolt, he would have me understand that being, as he Vaunted, Descended from the Ancient Kings of Lesbos, the Sceptre was not above his Legitimate Pretensions.  
It is impossible for me to express you the Amazement, and the Indignation I was in, and principally when I saw the Audacity, and the Insolence wherewith he durst so to discover himself unto me, as if he had esteemed, and accounted, that I should not, or ought not to have found it strange. If I had believed my Fury, I think I should have sent him Prisoner from the same place, but in the State and Condition wherein I was, a Maiden, in my Minority, and in my Kingdom, where I had not mine Authority founded but on a Fable, I depended in some respect on him, and on his Father; it was then requisite for me to serve myself, of all that Power that I had over me, to use Dissimulation, and I contented myself, to answer him with a Sound, wherehe might however mark, and take notice of my intention, and vexatious despite: You have done well, Oliarque, to say nothing of all this before the World; for you would have made yourself Laughed at, Mocked, and Scorned, and there is none but myself can, or could excuse such an Extravagance. Immediately I passed into my Chamber, but with so much Confusion, that he could not possibly avoid the observing it. In the mean time he recoiled not, nor would be repulsed for that, and although he saw that after that time, I spoke to him less than ordinary, and that I never did it, but with even a Serious, and severe Countenance, he gave not over hoping but that he should succeed in his Designs. He redoubled his Cares and Assiduities, and his respects, and I would have had too much Subject of being Contented, if I had not known the cause. All that not giving me again Encouragement to be with him, nor that Familiarity which I hod done, he counterfeited to be Sad, Penitent, and even to be Sick; in fine, I thought he had in his heart, that which he testified without, and I believed he would become, or had been more Wise, but I was very soon disabused.  
One day he engaged me to go to Supper to one of his Houses in the Country, where he caused to be prepared, a Sumptuous Feast under an Arbour of Trees, in the Branches of which hung an infinite number of Lamps, of Crystal, which seemed to brave the number of the Clear Shining and Glittering, and Sparkling of the Stars. Under the space or distance of the Trees, he had caused to be Enchased, great Tables, or Pictures which served as Walls, ramed after the manner of a great Hall, or put us under, and Veiled from the Winds.  
After the Supper, he made us take three different Divertisements. The first, was of a Dance, where they represented the Loves of the Moon, and of Endymion. The second a Comedy of Loves of Venus, and of Adonis, and the third, the explication of those Pictures, which three or four Actors came to interpret the Subject, in Verses, in Form of a Dialogue, and it was found they were the Amours, or Loves of Cephale and Aurore. That Affectation in all these three Subjects, which represented the unequal Alliance of three Goddesses with men, made me well Judge that that was not but with some Design, and principally because in the Verses, be they of Balls or Dances, be they of Comedies, be they of the Explication of the Pictures, there had been the greatest part in Praises, and Commendations of the Generous Passion, and Disinterest of the Goddesses, and the Fidelity that they had found in Men more than the Gods. But possibly he believed, that I yet apprehended not the end sufficiently, since that, the next day all the World having very much commended the Order, and Oeconomy of the Feast or Banquet, and all that which had followed, and seeing I said nothing, he asked me if it could be possible, that he could be so Unfortunate, that I should find nothing there that pleased me. I answered him coldly enough, that his Feast was not too orderly, and that I was angry he had been at that great expense. My Lord, said he unto me, I have not hoped for your approbation of the Feast, and it sufficeth me if your Majesty refused it not at the Action of the three Great Goddesses, who have had the Honour to direct you. He said that unto me aloud, but with the Equivocation that you see; that those before whom he spoke unto me, might believe that he understood the speaking of the representation of their Loves, and he well Judged, that never any one of those who were present did not comprehend him after another manner. But as for me I had already the knowledge of his intention; I well saw that he otherwise understood it, and I knew it better, by the manner of his expectation of an answer, looking steadfastly upon me with a suspended Action, as I may say, betwixt Joy and Fear, and with eyes who sufficiently enough declared his thoughts. I did not at all seem to comprehend him, because I should have been obliged to testify him in the Country my resentment and my Anger, I answered him only that the Dancers, and the Actors had very well done. He who would not leave me in doubt, replied unto me; Your Majesty at least, approves of the Goddesses as well as the Actors. I could not hinder myself from blushing at his Impudence, although I very well knew, that no Person but myself could understand his true meaning, and unless I had explicated it to others, I had then testified him all my Indignation, But I contented myself to reply him with a cold and severe Countenance; Olearque, it becomes not men to Judge of the Actions of the Gods; but I believe Women of Heart would never do that which they impute them. At the Instant lest he should continue that discourse I reassumed another.  
The occasion which he had to be all the day near me and speak to me made me well believe that to take one away from him, I was not precautioned against another, for time to come. That was because I would break the Course of all the designs he could have to seek any, I was resolved to advertise his Father.  
I took him then one day particularly, and after I had made him remember the Protestations with which he had answered me, in relation to his Son, complained to him of his Audacity, and conjured him to employ himself in making him more wise, with all the reasons that I could possibly call to mind. The Father was astonished at the folly of his Son; he protested me he knew nothing of it until then; and after he had asked my Pardon a thousand times, he returned to his own house where he read a Lecture to this young Man, both as a Father and as a Master, that is to say, with a Lenity mixed notwithstanding, with very severe Threats, if he profited not himself by this first remonstrance. But that which should have rendered him wise, cast him into the last excess. For in fine, he conceived so strange a despite, and of the complaints that I had made him, that by a kind of Desperation, he went to find the Prince Demotime in Phrygia, and after he had prepared his Mind for the Design he would inspire into him, he discovered him what I was, and declared him that acknowledging him to be his only and Legitimate King, he could not resolve with himself to contribute a longer time in this kind of Treason.  
Demotime who conserved always in his Heart, all the Sentiments of that Ambition which had formerly obliged him, to take up Arms against the deceased King. My Father, received this News with the same Joy as if they had already set the Crown upon his Head; He embraced a thousand times the young Olearque, and excited him by the hopes of the most high and vast Recompenses, if he could in any kind convince him by reason, or demonstration, or action, make him believe that that was really true that he had declared. There was no need to use Arguments or make so much difficulties, to carry Olearque from any or all undertaking, and would make good his Declaration. The despite in his Heart was so joined with Love and Ambition, that in that condition there was not any thing, whereof he felt not himself capable. What shall I say unto you more? He engaged Demotime to make a Voyage to Mitilene, under pretext of coming to give me an account of his Employment, and there to make his Court: he promised him that he would give him an opportunity of seeing me in the Bath; and in effect, having corrupted with much Money, those which were necessary to his design, he caused Demotime to conceal himself in a Corner of my Chamber where I bathed myself, and (I am in confusion only in calling to mind his Insolence,) this Perfidy betrayed my Secret, and my Chastity, and acquitted himself of his word to Demotime. This same here cleared from his Doubts, dreamt a long time in what manner he should make known to the Public what I was. He well believed that it would be a difficult thing, if he did not comport himself therein handsomely, because there was so little appearance of the Truth thereof, that the very small Semblance thereof would only render the Proposition ridiculous, and might take away all credulity from his words. Behold his first thought was to put it in the People's minds that it was requisite to press me to marry, to assure Successors to the State, dreaming of the refusal that I would make, would be the beginning of a Conviction against me. My Father had thereunto in some Respect made Provision by the noise that I have told you that he had dumbly and deafly caused to be spread abroad, and which might serve me for some kind of excuse: But howsoever that noise had been so uncertain that they knew not certainly whether it were a Fable or a Truth. Demotime himself well judged that if this excuse should be ill received of any to whom the sole Doubt, that they had had might have given an occasion of making Insolent Jests enough, so that he thought that that would be to him, but a small advantage, if he obliged me to have public recourse to an apparition or dumb show, which would cause my Person to be despised, and would alienate in some sort the minds of my Subjects, from the respect, affection, and allegiance, which they ought me.  
So although I was yet very young, it might be insinuated into their minds, that it was therefore requisite to press me to choose a Wife, to produce an Heir to the Kingdom, and as his Interest therein would appear contrary, in the pretention that he could be to succeed therein, that would make it be thought, that he spoke not but for the good of the Kingdom, and that which he said, would make much more Impression. And in truth he in fine, persuaded the necessity of this Marriage to so many Persons, that I understood not of any other thing spoken than of these Propositions.  
He himself was always urging me thereunto, yea he so persisted in it until my Subjects expressly deputed some to invite me thereunto, poposing me a Princess named Aremise who being fair, of my Blood, and of my Age, seemed not to leave me any pretext to refuse her. I have told you that the two Princes, who opposed themselves against the establishment of the Decree, who declared the Daughter's uncapable to succeed to the Crown, had each of them a Daughter.  
I was the Issue of the eldest; Artemise of the second. The People very much affected this Princess, because her Father during his Life had been extreme Popular, and she was very much herself. She had moreover a thousand very amiable Qualities, a penetrating Wit, agitating to the very utmost point. But even all these advantages which rendered her so commendable and praiseworthy, made an unfortunate effect against me, by reason the more amiable she was, the more they would astonish themselves if I made any difficulty to espouse her. I notwithstanding dallied some time with the artifice of Demotime, in temporizing and excusing myself with the youth fullness of my Age; without my belief that his urgency was an Artifice. For as I knew not that he had any knowledge of my Sex, I thought not also that all this was done by an evil intention. Only I astonished myself that Demotime who was married, and who had Children, was so affectionate for my Successors that he would forget his own. In fine, the success of his Stratagem seeming to him too slow, he believed it would be necessary to advance it, by stronger and more violent Remedies.  
At that time Lysimachus King of Thrace having at the solicitation of Arsinoe caused the last of fifteen Children, which he had by another Wife to be poisoned, and who all were perished by some kind of Tragic Death; That Parricide rendered him so odious to all his People, that there was not any of his Provinces, where he had not caused some rising; I hindered it as much as I could in Phrygia in his Life time, but immediately after that Lysimachus having been killed himself, and not having left any Legitimate Heirs, I believed that I ought not to let pass that Inheritance to Strangers, nor lose the opportunity of uniting that great Province to my own Kingdom; that was the cause wherefore in the Confidence I had yet in Demotime, I not only pressed him to return there to put things in order, but I gave him four thousand Men which I drew out of Lesbos, to aid him to preserve Phrygia under my Obedience. Demotime omitted not to do all things necessary for that effect: But the Sequel made me well know, that it was for his Interest that he had there so carefully laboured. For after all things were there pacified under my name, after the having established strong Garrisons in all the Cities, he confederated with the great Ones, the Men of War and the People, he corrupted all the Governors of Places, even with the Money that I furnished him to render them affectionate unto me. He caused them to swear in his name, and having by his Emissaries combined by secret Practices even in the principal Places, and with the principal Officers of Lesbos, he reimbarked himself one night with the same Troops which I had given him to go to Phrygia, and appeared the next day at the head of four thousand Men, at the Gates of Mitilene. Immediately he caused himself to be proclaimed King by his Army, sent his Emissaries into the City, who cried to the People in the Streets; Long live Demotime. They noised every where that I was but a Maiden, and that it was not but for that, that I would not espouse the Princess Artimese. You may Imagine in what alarms I found myself; for although I had had in the end, some advice of these Confederacies, and that I minded to put some order thereunto convenient, I did not notwithstanding believe them so ready to burst forth. I caused the Guards to be doubled in Mitilene, and sent to all parts to inform myself of the Countenance of the People. I assembled my Council, one whereof was the Father of Olearque, whilst that his Son was at the Head of the Troops of Demotime, and was a long time irresolute what design I should take.  
In sum, imagine with yourself, what I could determine upon. It was not that four thousand Men, were capable to force me in Mitilene: But besides that I could not confide in my principal Officers, after the Treason of young Olearque, and that I knew not if there would be not many in my Council of the same Party. The Citizens moved by the noise they sowed of my Sex, began to assemble together by Bands, and although they declared not themselves yet for the Rebels, howsoever I could not also assure myself that they were for me. Those whom I had sent to inform themselves in the certain Quarters, reported to me from other Places, that the minds of the People were very much troubled. They told me that every one in reality was ready to die for my defence, if I was their legitimate Prince, but all ready also to shed even to the last drop of their Blood, to uphold the Laws of the State; howsoever they reported me yet, that some of the most affectionate of my Party being willing to say I was not a Maiden, and excuse the refuse which it seemed that I had done to marry Artemise on the other Apparition and dissimulation whereof I have lately spoken unto you; many were yet carried away, even to say that it were yet better, that I was a Maiden than not to be of neither Sex. So that there was little certainty in an occasion, where the minds of People were already all moved, to go to hazard a Declaration that they saw so ill received. In these perplexities, I took a resolution bold enough without doubt, for a Maiden, and that which will astonish you, that was which I took on the Advice of the Father of Olearque, although that in reason he ought to be also rendered suspect, as you may very well Judg. But that good Man appeared unto me so afflicted, and so Unworthy of the Perfidy of his Son, he demanded and cordially begged my pardon, and in effect was so faithful to me, that seeing from elsewhere the way which he had Counselled me to be, the only one capable to appease the Tumult, and the minds of the People, I made no difficulty to follow it. I mounted therefore on Horseback, I went through the Streets, and made myself seen of all the People; I remonstrated to them, that the Noise by which they was abused were an Artifice of Demotime to uphold his new Resolution; I made them remember from the first, to Demonstrate how much they ought to believe him capable to do it a second time. I exhorted them to conceive, if there were only an appearance of the false Noise which he had caused to be sown, and boldly added to them in fine, that if they doubted, I was now quite ready resolved to show the falsity thereof, by espousing the Princess Artemise; I knew well besides, that that discourse was able of itself to take from them the Impression which did damnify me, the affection which they had for that Princess, would not fail to give great weight to my words.  
I was not deceived, the People by this discourse of mine, shown themselves very ready to obey me. They sent to Demotime, and commanded him to lay down his Arms, or that they would run upon, and oppose his Troops. Demotime replied them, they were abused; that the proposition of Marriage wherewith they were flattered, was a Stratagem only to make him lay down his Arms, and mock him after that they should see him disarmed, that that which he knew was not upon the Faith of others, but of his own proper knowledge, which he openly declared. That to demonstrate the Veracity of all that which he published, they had but to require the accomplishment of my Promise, and if I durst perform my Word, he solemnly protested, not only to obey me, but he would be ready to come, and place his head between my hands, to do with it according to my pleasure; after my Marriage, the Deputies of the People returned, almost persuaded themselves by the answer of Demotime. Immediately the Tumultuous Populacy, who desired but trouble and disorder, and to whom nothing is so sweet, as to give Laws to their Sovereign, cried, that if I were their King I ought not to refuse immediately to give them a Queen.  
I avow you that I saw myself then in an ill case, and strangely perplexed, for the thought of old Olearque had been even as mine, that the proposition of my Marriage, having appeased the Tumult, and forced Demotime to Disarm, I could then afterwards take my measures to Chastise the Seditious, and his Son himself (against whom he was more Irritated than any other) assure myself of Demotime, and should, in fine, be able to hinder new disorders. But the urgency of the People prevented us, and I confess unto you, that I was in Fears, and in Unconceivable Terror, by reason we could not apply any Remedy thereto; howsoever after having composed my Countenance the best I could, I shown myself again, from a Balcony or Terrace before that Populacy who assembled, by, or at the Palace, and with a Tone the most Severe, and most Fiery which my Fury could Inspire into me, I answered them, That I well saw, that it was not so much of Demotime as of themselves that I had to complain, that it was their Insolence, and Infidelity, which rendered them Bold, Arrogant, and Proud, and that it was not for my Marriage they asked, but my Crown, and my Life. That they might very well Judge, this disorder was not the preparation, nor a dressing for a Marriage, that it was unheard of that the People should force their King to Marry himself at the head of an Army of Rebels, and that it was an Indignity, and a Shame which I would never suffer. That it was a wicked pretence for them to apprehend, that I would not keep my word, as if the sole doubt which they made, had not been another Crime, that in all cases it were requisite then to wait and bemoan themselves, that I had refused the Execution, and not to come Seditiously, to Beseige their King upon a Chimaera, and Diffidence, inspired by a Revolted Subject. In a word, I declared them so many things, that in the end as they were to me at other times sufficiently affectionate, by reason of the Mildness, and Lenity wherewith I had always treated them,) they sent again to that Prince, protesting that they would with Weapons in Hand, fall foul of their Troops if they would not presently Disarm.  
Demotime seeing himself so pressed, was obliged to Capitulate, he testified he was ready to retire from Mitilene, but that he could not yet disarm so soon after that which had past; that they ought not to wish it themselves, since that being hereafter the sole Descendant of the Kings of Lesbos, it was also he alone was interested in the execution of their Decree. That they would see that Decree Repealed, and Abolished in spite of themselves, when there remained no more a Prince to uphold them. That they might take me at a time, wherein I could perform my Word, and Solemnize my Marriage, and if I did it at that time, then and there, he promised to Disarm; that if I would yet defer it, they would well see themselves, that they were deceived. That as to the rest, his Arming ought not to be to them suspected, since that they very well knew, that with so small a Force as he had, he could not do any thing without them, and that they ought not to be any more mine, since that I should still be Omnipotent, if I should still have the People on my side; that after all, his Army was not his own, but theirs solely and properly, since that he protested, that he would not serve himself therewith, but to uphold their Decrees.  
But to be short, I will tell you that four or five days passed in this Negotiation, and that I saw myself, in fine, reduced to Capitulate with Demotime. The Capitulation was, that I promised to Espouse the Princess Artemise in a Month, that in the mean time Demotime should incessantly make his Troops to withdraw off from the City, under the Conduct of Young Olearque; that the Prince should have Liberty to come there during that time, and for his security the People should take him into Protection. You would have reason, Philiste, to be Astonished, that I would suffer the strange Capitulation, if I had been in a condition to do better: But I had not in Mitelene all the Militia in Warlike Discipline, but the Regiment of my Guards, whereof Olearque had even Debauched or Corrupted a part, and Mitilene being a City very great and well Peopled, the Burgesses or Citizens there, were absolutely the Masters. During all these things, Artemise would not forget any thing to testify to me, that she had not there any part, and in truth, I am assured that she did not at all contribute thereunto, although there in some appearance, that her interest hindered her to be very angry.  
As for me I dissembled the best I could, and as if I had been effectually resolved to espouse her, I visited her and even counterfeited to be in Love with her. But in the mean time Attale and Tumne, who were two of my Brothers Maternally of my Mother's side (my Mother having already been Married once before she had espoused my Father) took care so as the Father of Olearque, to treat with the Governors of Phrygia, to cause some Troops to come to me from the Frontiers, and to make them secretly draw out towards Mitelene, their advice was not but to amuse the People. I made a show of espousing the Princess, and even caused to be made Preparatives; and that in the mean time I might amuse Demotime by some particular accommodation, (which was so much the more easy to me, as that this Prince had of himself made me a Proposition to repudiate his Wife, if I would espouse him) and when my Troops should be come, that I should cause in one Night the Soldiers to enter into the City, cut the Throats of the most Seditious of the Citizens, and that I should seize into my hands Demotime.  
I had presently set my hand to that Counsel: But our Sex, Philiste, is not proper for violent Erterprises, and whatsoever Courage or Boldness we have at the present Resolution, our Valour fails us at the Execution. I had horror and terror at the Cruelty of this Remedy, and I could not determine to shed the Blood of a People who are not in effect deficient, but in being willing to follow the Laws of the State. With much Endeavour to practise Artemise, I knew that as generous and altogether disinterested as she was, she was not therefore without Ambition; and that Knowledge persuaded me, that with the Greatness of her Courage, the Strength of her Wit, and the Affection she testified to me, she might be capable of another Design which fell into my Thoughts. I resolved therefore to discover myself unto her, and after having prepared her to the opening of it, which I went to do to her by all the Reasons and Demonstrations of Friendship that I deemed capable to dispose her thereto; I freely declared unto her my Sex, and proposed her to share and part the Royal Authority together under the appearance of a feigned Marriage. Artemise appeared to me extremely astonished, not only upon the Acknowledgement that I made her; but of the Proposition of a Design so great. I will not tell you what was the Retail of all our Discourse. But for as much as her mind, who seemed to recoil at first, being accustomed thereunto by little and little, and that we fell, in fine, to an Agreement, as well as the Accomplishment, and Execution of it.  
I well see, Philiste, that you yourself are astonished at the Novelty of this Project, but you should be yet much more by the Sequel: for, in fine, the Solemnities of the Marriage, or Wedding were prepared, and this Rare and Marvellous Marriage, was made as we had agreed. I leave you to think what was then the astonishment of the Prince Demotime, when he saw me (a Maiden as I was) Espouse another Maiden, with so much resolution. He still expected that I would refuse to come there, and that when the time would be expired, I would either feign some pressing Occasion, or some Sickness, or in fine some other pretence to differ. He had prepared all their Minds thereunto, in assuring them, that I would never come there, and the Vigil, the Evening of the same Wedding. Day, as he saw his Friends begin to doubt of the Truth, of that which he had so much assured them in relation to my Sex, he yet told them, that they should not put themselves in pain, and upon the Peril of his head, he promised them I would make to spring some Obstacle before the Morrow was passed. Judge then, what strange Surprise, and what Confusion he was in, when he saw not only all our Wedding spent in Joy, and Solemnity, where they have accustomed themselves to spend, and pass away such Festivals, but than that the Morrow, and the following Days he saw us united: Artemise and myself, by the most absolute Friendship, which possible could be between a Wife and her Husband.  
After divers reflections, he well Judged in fine that which was, but he saw no more means to persuade him. That which they had seen of our Marriage, had made him lose Credulity, Belief, Faith, and Trust in the Minds of People; there was no other remedy for him, but to obey by Favour, or to retire himself into Phrygia. But he well thought that I would not fail to pursue him there, if he retired there Armed with Weapons, and his Affairs there were not yet well enough fortified, and consolidated to hold up his head long against me. He therefore took other measures. He knew well that our Sex is more easy to be surprised by Submissions, and Protractions, then by Resistance and Obstinacy, and as he knew my goodness elsewhere, and my Natural Facility, or rather to say my Credulity, and my little and small Experience, he took a way wholly contrary to that which he had formerly held, and employed not almost any thing more than an obedience, and Complaysance to betray me. He interposed his Friends to treat a Peace, he made me a thousand requests for Pardon, and having in the end obtained security to come to see me Personally, he gave me a thousand feigned significations of Grief, Sorrow, and Repentance. I well believed that it might possibly be some new Artifice to deceive me: But I was very well pleased to retain him at Lesbos, and hinder him to return into Phrygia, as well because it was more easy for me to be assured of his Person at Mitelene, but that those whom I had secretly sent into Phrygia, might, during his absence re-establish my Authority in that Province, which alone is much bigger, and more Important than all the Kingdom of Lesbos.  
It was therefore requisite for me, for that to feign and dissemble on my side, I did it the best I could, and not being able to oblige him assuredly to disarm by force, I endeavoured to reduce him thereunto, in taking from him all occasions of diffidence.  
But if I mistrusted, or was diffident of Demotime, he was yet more diffident of me, moreover that he could not be vanquished, but that I was a Prince, the contrary being to him so well known; that is, that Ambition is not taken away, or quitted in laying down Arms, and that they never lose the thought, nor the desire of Reigning, when they are once flattered, he made a show, and seemed to dismiss and discharge a part of his Troops, and to return the rest into Phrygia, whence he had drawn them, but in effect he gave Order to the Soldiers in Disbanding themselves to glide or slide insensibly into Mitelene, where all sorts of People were drawn by the Spectacle of the Jousts and Tournaments, and the Divertisements which were made there for the solemnity of our Wedding, and which should continue a Month yet after our Espousals. In the mean time to take from me more and more all diffidence and mistrust, he dissembled and feigned to me all the respect and obedience of a Subject, however he conspired, and confederated underhand, and not only at Lesbos and Phrygia, but he sought to make me Enemies even Strangers; he sent into Crete, he sent into Macedonia, he sent even here, to treat with Alcime, resolved to push things to the utmost extremity, and to perish, or else to compass his Designs. I espied his Actions, I had advise of his Intrigues, and conferred with Artemise, and with some of my Counsel. We all Judged, that as long as he was at liberty, he would never cease to move and stir, and that we ought to assure ourselves of his Person. His Party seemed not too great, to undertake to destroy an open Force, or rather, I was too timorous. I would after the ordinary manner of our Sex use Artifices, and as it had been perilous to miss the blow, which we were resolved to attempt, I would not hazard it but with great precautions and forecast.  
There is a little Island near to Lesbos, about four Furlongs into the Sea, where the Famous Pisistrate Ancient King of Lesbos, formerly caused to be built a Castle so strong and so fair, that it could serve him altogether for security, and for his delight, and Recreation.  
It was there where we determined to arrest Demotime; for we were too well advertised of the succours that he had in Mitilene, to believe that we should be able to execute there the Enterprise with Success. Among the Spectacles, by which the Solemnity of our Nuptials should be finished, there was a Combat upon the Sea, where all the Court, divided into two parts, should Form a Naval Combat, in small Ships, that every one caused to be built expressly and of purpose, with Characters and Devices in the Standards and Flags, with all the Magnificence that could be possible. Artemise there should give the Prize to the Vanquishing Party, who were Victorious; and as the place of this Combat should be between the Island, and Mitilene, I caused a Magnificent Banquet to be prepared, and a great number of Tables in the Island, there to treat all the Combatants. On one side I caused a great number of Soldiers secretly to be concealed in the Towers of the Castle to serve me in case of need, and for the same design, I caused others to be placed upon the edges of the Island, under a pretence of hindering by that means the People should not come there in too great Crowds, and thereby make some disorder. I thought the having drawn Demotime there, who should be one of the principal of the Combat (for I had done it the better for reconciliation) to arrest him in the little Island at the Banquet, and the apparent confidence, by which he had abused me on his part persuaded me, that I should so come to an end, and that he would not any way mistrust me. But, Philiste, I soon knew the irreparable Fault which I committed. Demotime, informed of the great number of Soldiers, that I had caused to pass into the Island, doubted not but that it was for some Design which I had framed against him. However he seemed not to take any notice thereof. But contrarily, instead of being troubled, he testified more and more confidence in me, and found means of benefiting himself.  
He well observed, that in Fortifying the Island with Armed Men. I should Imprudently Disgarison the City, and to oblige me to enfeeble myself more, he proposed himself to make new Companies, to pass there, as if he had believed, there would not have been enough to hinder the confusion. For my part, I mistrusted not his thought, because I believed not that he had any suspicion of mine, and for as much as I esteemed I could not have too many Forces in the place where I projected the execution of my enterprise, I voluntarily took the occasion, that himself gave me to transport there two or three companies more yet of my Guard. The hour of parting came, I conducted Artemise into the Ship which was prepared for her, and afterwards went myself into another small Ship, which I caused to be painted, and guilt and fitted for our Combat, and which was garnished, and adorned with some devices on the Subject of my Love to the Queen, to which I seemed to be entirely occupied. Demotime who should have chief of the opposite party ascended also into his, and our little Ships to the number of one hundred, and more being ranked on both sides in Form of a Battle, the Trumpets sounded the Signal, and we began to engage Pell Mell. But behold, Philiste, an accident very strange, instead of preparing ourselves for an imaginary. Combat, we found ourselves insensibly engaged in an effectual Fight; for you shall observe, that Demotime having caused Arms to be concealed in the Ships of the major part of his which he had gained, and even those of some of my Troop, whom he had also drawn into his confederacy, he had made them engage from the beginning of the Skirmage, so that those of our side being not prepared for this Attack, we were obliged immediately to dissipate ourselves, and think of making a Retreat.  
That is not all, while we were in that disorder upon the Sea, he made a far greater one in Mitilene. The Soldiers whom Demotime had caused to enter there suddenly, seeing themselves the most Puissant by reason of those whom I had removed, began to range themselves in sundry places by Companies, and to chase away, and kill those remaining which I had left there, and, in fine, rendered themselves absolute Masters of the City. I learned this accident by one of mine, who came to join me with a Bark at the time when I thought to retire there; but this is nothing as yet: Behold a third accident, which finished the sum total of my Misfortunes.  
Demotime had assured himself of three of the best Ships that were in the Port, and had filled them with armed Men at his Devotion; with these Ships he cut off my way from the little Island where I might have refuge yet for myself. This was that which I thought to do in my little Ship, where I was with fifteen or sixteen Men at most, when I perceived these three great Ships before me. What Equipage was mine, or in what Posture was I to resist them? there remained in me nothing but hope to save my , and to make my escape in the Crowd. I mixed myself amongst all others, who were dispersed, and seeing myself still pursued, at length I caused them to shape their Course off into the open Sea. The Enemy who were nearest us shot at us, we returned them also some Arrows, even some of those they had discharged at us, and which we gathered up upon the Deck, for those we had not, having been prepared but for the feigned Combat, had all the heads blunted. For the last Misfortune, they killed twelve of my Men, and the Pilot who conducted me. In fine, it was impossible for me to shun them, if the Night favourably approaching had not stole me away in the sight of my Enemies: but what did it import me to shun Enemies, since that in the condition wherein I was, I saw not any hopes of safety upon the Sea? There I rowed all Night, at the sole devotion of the Wind, without knowing from what side they pushed at me. Imagine you, Philiste, in what Alarms, for it's impossible for me to express them unto you; neither can I conceive them my own self. What Refuge? what Succour? what Hopes for a young Maiden fugitive? almost alone, at the Mercy of Fortune, and of the Sea, without Counsel, without a Guide or Conduct, ignorant almost what to desire; I than wished to fall into the hands of Demotime, because I feared him less than the Waves whereunto I saw myself so exposed. In the mean time to finish my despair, there immediately arose such a furious Tempest, that I thought all the Winds were unchained, and I expected not any thing less than to see myself at once swallowed up in the middle of the Sea.  
O Gods! What shall become of me? then certainly I cannot tell you; for I know it not myself. I fell in a Swoon in the Vessel without feeling motion or knowledge, and I doubt not but the Gods would not permit so to conserve me my Life, but that the fear and despair had undoubtedly taken it from me. For, in fine, Judge what should have been the Violence and Furious Rage of that Stormy Tempest, since that almost in one only Night I saw myself cast from Lesbos, into this Gulf where I found myself in returning from a sleep, that toil and my extreme weakness, had made to succeed my Trance and Convulsion; it is true that the Winds had no great Labour to thrust forward so little a Vessel as was mine: I am astonished, only that it could be able to hold up, and resist the Violence of the Waves in the open Sea. The tempest having cast it on a bank on that side, we found ourselves there in a new danger: not only because the Vessel remained there almost over set, but also forasmuch as we had not there any Skiff to carry us to the Land. Two of my Men having been willing to attempt it by swimming, perished there one after another, by the following and rolling of the Billows, which were not yet appeased. So that one man alone being left with me, and not seeing from whom possibly I might have succour or recourse, but that a great Ship which the Tempest had cast upon that selfsame Coast, but who was too far distant, to permit those who were therein to hear my cries. I almost dispaired of my safety, when the Gods took care to send me to be succoured by Generous Telamonius.  
The Fair Princess having surceased speaking, Philiste reassumed discourse, to signify unto her all the respect, the inequality of their condition, and qualities obliged her unto, how much she had been concerned, and touched with Admiration and Grief by the recital of these Misfortunes, and in telling her modestly, that she knew well that it was not for a Shepherdess, to undertake to consolate a Great Queen; she omitted not however, handsomely and becomingly to tell her things on the Subject of her disgrace whence she received all the consolation she was capable of in the mournful conjuncture of her Fortune.  
It was so late when the Queen of Lesbos permitted Philiste to retire, that there was some time that Telamonius was lain down and gone to bed with a Design which he had the next day to surprise Alpide at his own house before day, and that this Shepherdess being entered into her Chamber found that he was already fallen asleep.  
The fear she had to awake or disturb him, obliged her to slide into the Bed as softly as he could, but forasmuch as her Imagination was still full of those Wonderful Accidents and Events which she had heard repeated, she could not hinder herself from employing a part of the Night to pass them in her Memory, and could not almost fall asleep, but that it was near break of day. She had not but began to take her rest, when Telamonius finished his, and that he awoke through the extreme impatience he had to seek Alpide; that design appeared to him of such importance for the enlightening him in the Adventure of Zelie, and the rest of his dear Brother, that he thought he could never execute it soon enough; and although Alpide concealed not himself, his affection made him take the same precautions to find him, which he would have had need of, if the other had sought to shun it, and that he had held himself upon his Guard. He had the same circumspection for Philiste, as she had for him the preceding Night, he arose without making any noise, and went out of his Chamber, and even out of his House, before any Person was there awakened. Aurora had not yet appeared, but that he was already far off distant from his Hamlet, and the first Rays of the Morning began not to appear and peep clear, but that he arrived at the River. He walked some paces along the River side going towards Gonnes, until he had found a Boat, wherein he entered to pass to the other side; for the House of Alpide was far before, on the other side, and almost at the foot of Mount Ossa. After he had crossed the River, he fastened his Boat to the Branches of one of the Trees which were by the water side, that he might come there again and take to it, and afterwards continued his way towards Ossa. Fifty Paces from the House of Alpide, he found a Domestic of that Shepherds, of whom he enquired News. That Shepherd answered him, that his Master was not at home, but that he was the precedent evening gone and departed to Gonnes, whence he was not yet returned, Telamonius fearing that this Slave had not told him the truth, went even to the House, pretending to have some business with him, which did oblige him to stay and expect him there. But as he met no Person there, he returned to find this Shepherd, endeavouring to make him speak, and to draw some demonstration from him. He had soon known, almost more than he would, since that he had learned things, which had been advantageous to him, to be ignorant of still. In effect, Telamonius after some other discourse, having pertinently asked him divers questions concerning the Places, and Persons that frequented his Master, after the time that silly disappeared, that Man replied: I cannot resolve you, nor yet declare where he goeth, nor whom he seethe, for I concern myself only with the care of his Flock, and do other things which he appoints me, without informing myself of things that import me not.  
It is not but that I begin to be in pain, for that which is happened unto him. For there is very near fifteen days, that he prepared all things to make a great Journey, I know not where, and I believed him departed one evening by reason he gave me divers Orders for the conduct of his House, and management of his Affairs during his absence; when I saw him returning the same Night, but so sad, and besides himself that I could hardly know him.  
Since that time his affection hath only increased, he neither eateth, nor doth he almost take any Rest, and spends entire Days, and Nights in walking, and bemoaning himself amongst the Rocks of Mount Ossa. I was wholly astonished, there is not two or three days past, but att the time that I kept towards these places, there in a certain place, where he believed me not to be, I heard him in the Wood which is near where he bemoaned himself, saying: Ah! Miserable One that I am, must it be so, that my returning to Tempé, but that 'tis to be the cause of this Misfortune: my Amiable Maiden, cried he afterwards, must the pain of the Crime fall upon thee? and that the Innocent suffereth the torment and execution of the Guilty I soon believed that there was some Maiden with him to whom he spoke, and that was the cause, that I had the curiosity to advance me forward very softly to see who he was: but I saw him lain along upon the Ground, and as he had his Face turned towards the other side, and that he saw me not, that made me to continue a time long enough to contemplate, and ruminate upon him. I observed that from time to time he wiped his Eyes, as if he had wept, and I heard what he yet said: but I am in the wrong, Great Gods, to accuse your Justice in the punishment of a Criminal. No, no, You are not therein despised.  
And you, Divine Zelie, you are not to complain, since that you have not without doubt lost this Miserable Life, but to reassume another much more happy. But what Torments are equal to the anguishs which devour me? the Gods, can they deliver me, or can they deliver me to Executioners? more cruel than my Pain and Grief? and if thy Fair Soul can be beaten and made flat, by the sweetness of the Vengeance, should it not be too fully satisfied? he accompanied these words with a thousand Hick-hoxes, and as since, about twelve or fifseen days that he hath been in his affliction, his Visage is so changed, that he could not be known, I am still in pain lest he should fall into some furious Malady or Disease, and I would that some one, had the goodness to give him a little Consolation. He departed yesterday in the evening with one of his Friends, who led him to Gonnes to divert him, as I believe, from his Grief, and I know not when he will Return.  
Whilst that that Shepherd so spoke, Telamonius applying all the Circumstances of what he had recited him to those which he already knew of the Accident, or Adventure of Zelie, received (as one may so say) so many Mortal Wounds in his Heart, as he heard words, there not being one which confirmed not in him more and more the death of a Person, who to him was so dear for her own self, and for the interest of his Dear Tarsis.  
What Obscurity soever could remain in the manner wherein this dismal accident happened, he found but too great a Demonstration of the certainty of this Loss. He knew not if it was the effect of the Crime of Alpide, or that of a simple accident casually. He saw well by the discourse of the Shepherd, that his Master was not Innocent, since that he had accused himself. But the means of thinking that Alpide, who was a near Relation to Zelie, would have attempted at the Life of that Illustrious Shepherdess; by what Interest, by what Passion would he have suspected to have undertaken that Dreadful and Heinous Murder? sometimes thinking of the extreme Beauty of Zelie, and of the great and extroardinay Passions, that she was capable to inspire, he doubted, whether Alpide were not become in Love, and if he should not be carried away to those cruel extremities by some Transport of Jealousy: Notwithstanding, besides the Proximity of the Relation that was between him and this Shepherdess, Defaced, Razed, and Abolished all the appearances of that Love, whence Alpide could be able to take any Foundation of Jealousy? possibly that some days before Tarsis had been able to give him some, but then Tarsis was Banished, she had not seen him since the Return of Alpide. Telamonius therefore saw from thence that it was impossible, that this Shepherd was the cause of the Death of Zelie, if it were not by some casual accident, and he Judged in gathering together all the Circumstances of this Adventure, that this accident could be no other, unless that this Shepherdess being with Alpide in the Boat where Tarsis had heard it, the Night that she had disappeared she was unfortunatly fallen into the River, whilst he attempted by Swimming to approach, and to come to her. Three things clearly demonstrated that she was fallen into the River, viz. The certainty that Tarsis had, to have seen two Persons presently in the Boat where he had heard her, and there to have found but one alone, although that Boat had not approached, nor arrived at any Place; this Role of Paper, that they had met there the next Day, and her Veil found taken hold of by some Reeds of the River, and taken up by one of these unknown ones. And it appeared yet rather, that it was Alpide who was then with her by that which Amalecinte had repeated to him of the old Mariner who attended at that time there Alpide and Zelie, by the neglect with which that same Mariner taking Tarsis for Alpide had asked him, why she then did come alone: In a Word, by all that the Shepherd had recited him, of the Preparatives that Alpide had made the preceding day for a Voyage, his unexpected return that self same Night, his sadness, the Regrets that he had made for the Death of Zelie, and the blaming himself for her loss. It was not but that he had yet something that he could not spread a broad, and explain, and which left him some Ray, or Beam of Hope.  
He asked amongst others of himself, how it was possible that she was drowned, that they had not found her Body upon the Bank, or in the River, or in the Gulf wherein so many People had been Employed in her search, during so many days, and where the Water never faileth to cast forth and expel, all and every Person that there is Lost; then that a second Shepherd chanced to come in, drew Alpide a little aside and asked him, Knowest thou not how that Maiden is called, which about twelve days past, thy Master found her dead Body upon the Bank of the Gulf, and whom I assisted to bring hither?  
Although that that Man appeared to have an intention to say this to the other in particular, notwithstanding he spoke not so low, but that Telamonius heard these words very distinctly.  
They smote him all at once, both in Ear and Heart, and as he gave attention to what followed; he heard that the Shepherd of Alpide having demanded of the other, of what Body, and of what Maiden he would speak, the same here replied him: What then, is it that thy Master hath told thee nothing? at these words drawing him a little more out of the way or aside, he continued to speak unto him, but so low that Telamonius could not hear nor understand. One could not depaint, nor express the trouble of Mind, wherein this poor Shepherd was, nor the impatience which he had in his Grief, to hear the Sequel of the discourse, the beginning whereof had so strangely alarmed him. He was ready two or three times, to interrupt them for his own enlightening: nevertheless he dreamt, that since they did it in secret they would make some difficulty to explain it unto him one before another, and that he should be better pleased to draw out what he would in particular.  
And for as much as he, thought that the Shepherd of Alpide would possibly be more reserved by reason of the interest of his Master, he retired himself in a place whence he could see when they departed themselves to go to rejoin the other at his Passage. He waited not long, before he saw the second Slave reassume the way by which he was come. Telamonius accosted him so directly, that joining some Liberality to the Pertinency of his words, he obliged him to discover himself openly. My Lord, said that Man, I do belong to the Shepherd Nephelocrate, and I ordinarily dwell at a certain place, or piece of Land which he hath out of this Valley, and which I make of value to him. There may have been fifteen Days that I came to render him an Account of some disorder which happened there, I parted hence at Midnight to return, because that in the time wherein we in the Nights, as you know, find more conveniency to walk in than the day time. In passing towards the Mouth of the River, I heard a Man who wept and despaired upon the Bank, and being approached, I saw that he essayed to lad upon his Shoulders a Dead Corpse, which I knew to be of a Woman. He besought me to assist him to carry this Corpse to his own House, and told me it was a Daughter of one of his Relations. We carried it therefore, even near to that House, the Master whereof I have known since calls himself Alpide. He went there to fetch some Clothes, wherein he wrapped the Dead Corpse, which was already stiff, and having told me that his People were coming to help him, he dismissed me after he had given me , which I sold in the day time in my way to Persons unknown. Yesterday being returned to see my Master, I knew that one of the principal Shepherds of Callioure was in great trouble for his Daughter who was drowned, and that he had promised a considerable Sum to them who should carry him News of her.  
The Hour and the Place where they said she was lost, and even the relation that they shown me she had to Alpide, have made me very well observe, that she was the very self same that I had aided him to bring hither, and I came to assure it, with this Shepherd whom I know long since to give advice thereof to this Poor Father, to whom I well see that Alpide hath not said any thing: I see that he hath not spoken to this Shepherd. However, he said he well remembered that his Master being returned there very late, went forth again immediately afterwards, and was a long time without returning, and that in effect having since understood him to condole the Death of that Shepherdess, he heard that they Named her silly, which is the Name of the Daughter of that Shepherd of Callioure.  
Whilst that Man made this recital, a Rivulet of Tears trickled down the Cheeks of Telamonius, and his Heart was pressed with so much Grief, that he could scarce fetch Breath. He then Judged that he had yet till then flattered himself with some remaining hopes, that he needed no more ask this unknown one, with whom they had seen the Veil of silly had also apparel like to hers, and that the Death of that Incomparable Shepherdess, was, in fine, a thing but too true and assured.  
The tenderness which he had for this Shepherdess, was considerable, and touched him with the last Grief and greatest Pain, but that which afflicted him so much the more, was to think of the Despair, or that Death would bring to poor Tarsis. For, in fine, he knew well that whatsoever belief this Shepherd had before, he had not notwithstanding extinguished that last hope, which with so much pains he had kept up the unfortunate One.  
But at this encounter he saw nothing of mitigation nor of recovery. He remained some time in these Mortal Reflections, Sad, Mournful, Unmoveable. His Eyes and Arms lift up towards Heaven without ability to express his Affliction, but by Tears and vexing. Afterwards smiting his Stomach with his two Hands: Ah! Poor Tarsis, cried he, what Account am I come to render thee here, and declare these dismal and dreadful Tidings? afterwards he passed with his Hands before his Eyes, two or three times to wipe off the Tears which gushed out and blinded him, and having afterwards asked this Shepherd some questions with incredible Trouble and disorder, he quitted him with a Spirit so strangely oppressed and overwhelmed, that he scarcely knew himself, neither what he should say, nor what he should do, nor whither he should go.    
The End of the Fifth and Last Book of the Second Part.    
FINIS.