THE LIFE of the Blessed S T. AGNES VIRGIN and MARTYR, In Prose and Verse.  
By L. SHERLING.  
Tibi me virtus tua fecit Amicum.  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed by T. H. for G. K. 1677.   

TO the Worshipful ROBERT STAFFORD of Bradfeild in the County of Berks, Esq  
TO keep a mean as it hath always been very difficult, I know not in what it is more accounted so, then in that of writing a Panegyric. A Reflection which I question not, Sir, but you have heard me make, since I first had the honour of your Conversation. Not that I am of that severe or morose humour of which some men are guilty, who think every thing dull or nonsense which is so spoke of one, as that it may with as much justice be applied to another. Of the reasons which made me first imagine this way of writing so difficult one was, because I never saw above two (in my judgement) good: the one that of Pliny to the Emperor, the other that of our incomparable Poet Laureate to the Duke of New Castle. These have been the only men as yet, of whom we might not with Tully, say, (pardon the pedantry) his laudationibus historia rerum nostrarum facta est mendocior. The other reason was that I ever judged it as great an abuse to an Ingenuous Person, to say more of him then he deserves, as it would be to ourselves to say less. However, Sir, in writing to you, I am sure to avoid one extreme, since all my endeavours must needs fall short of delineating those Virtues, which a Dryden only can describe, and I admire. 'Tis only for such a Hero in wit to express what I have only a faint Idea of, and you would have as just reason to be angry with me, if I should attempt it; as Alexander had with those bold men, who durst presume to draw his Picture, while the skilful Apelles was yet living. Had I sooner been acquainted with you, (so much I find the  of one year,) I might then possibly ere this been able to perform it not unworthy so much goodness, and from yourself learned truly to express you: for if as most say Conversation teacheth as much as Books; I may (in a different sense than what is usual,) justly call you a living Library. But I own my mishap to Fortune whom you held so long your Debtor, till Providence as if it mistrusted the ill Dispensation of so fair an Estate, removed so many Heirs to give it to your management, and disposal. Nor indeed has it been deceived in its Choice. Your Charity being universal, and not only confined to your Lordship. The poor of which (being by reason of the largeness, very numerous) in your absence, expect your return with more Faith than the Israelites did their Manna, and are as certainly relieved by you. They call your coming (be it at what time of the year it will) a good time, and find little comfort in a Christmas, or Easters contribution, if you are not there to show at once an example of Charity and Magnificence, of which there are not only living Monuments: The rebeautifyed Church of Bradfeild, with those necessary and decent Ornaments given to it of your bounty, Ubraids our Puritanical Age with its irreverence, and tell it we have yet some true Sons of the Church left, who think God ought not be served more slovenly than the meanest Prince, and that Decency is no Let to Devotion. But 'tis not only your Charity we admire; how free are you from all those Debauches, which usally accompany a plentiful Estate, which to enumerate would be thought too Satirical. You Sir, as if Nobility only consisted in Virtue (although I know not any that can show a larger series of Noble Ancestors than yourself,) are as well known by your Virtues as your Manors, and seem wholly to employ your Estate, in correcting those vices, others of your Quality are guilty if. I could willingly expatiate of so pleasant a Subject, did I not fear I should seem to undertake that rash task, I but just now professed so much above me. I will now, Sir, give you an account why I choose this Subject of all others, to present to you as a Testimony of the resentments I have of all those endearing Obligations you have been pleased to confer upon me. It has been seriously wished by all your Friends, (among which you have been pleased to allow me a Title) that you would speedily settle your affections on some Lady which might deserve your Love, (and really, Sir, you are to injurious to that fair Sex, if you imagine there are not any which can deserve it; I could not therefore think of a fit expedient than this, to bring you into a good Opinion of those Creatures, which you never seemed to favour, without showing any great aversion for them. Here Sir, is a Lady presented to you, whom not to Love; would not only be ignoble but impious, and I doubt not (if you shall do me the honour to peruse this life,) but that the noble Agnes will revenge all those fair Females; whose charms you have hitherto so stoutly resisted: I do not hereby intent to make the  Saint a Bawd to any impure Love, (for although in her life time she professed Virginity, yet she never questioned the lawfulness of the Marriage Bed,) but only to animate you to the search of some Heroine, who hath all those Virtues you see that Sex is capable of: which (if our age be not too barren) that you may soon find is the Prayer of,  
Sir, Your most obedient Servant to command, L. SHERLING.   

THE LIFE of the Blessed S T AGNES VIRGIN and MARTYR, In Prose and Verse.  
THE Holy Catholic Church of our Blessed Lord and Saviour, had now almost defeated the Rage of its Persecutors, for the space of nigh 300 years, and Gentilism was now advanced to ti's last efforts of malice and cruelty, when our blessed Martyr Saint Agnes was disclosed to the world, in the Reign of Dioclesian and Maximian, or if you please to oblige them with those godly Titles of their own coining, Jovius and Herculeus. You might justly wonder that so sweet a Jewel was placed in so troublesome a Generation, did not adversity give a new lustre to all that is worthy and excellent. Those petty twinkling eyes of night, that so beautifully adorn the face of Heaven, when surrounded by obscurity, cannot so much as be seen, when the Sun approaches, and if you take away the Jet from the sparkling Diamond, you will rob it of the greatest part of those glories, that you see it adorned withal. So Holy a Virgin, so undaunted a Martyr, so  a Lady, in a word, so good a Christian, could stand the Shock of Ten Thousand Dioclesian's, and being supported by the Grace of her dearest Saviour, could still preserve her faith and honour, and remain as good a Virgin, as a Christian, maugre all the vain assaults of lust and cruelty. Her very Enemies, though unwillingly, extremely obliged her, and their very opposition, furnished her with matter for a Triumph.  
St. Agnes was Born at Rome, of a Noble Family, though the Names of her Parents I cannot possibly acquaint you with, nor precisely in what year of our Lord it was, St. Ambrose and all that have obliged the world with the History of our blessed Martyr, being herein unanimously silent, nor ought our curiosity to engage us in an unnecessary search of things of such indifference, and that when known cannot yield us any considerable advantages. The Nile enriched the Egyptians never the less because his head was undiscovered, And the Life of the holy Agnes may stir us to as great a piety, as if we knew her Patents most exactly. How she spent her Youth, her Pious Life, and most Christian Death, may give us reason to conjecture, though all the Authors I could meet with, have not spoke a word of it in particular; and since I dare not assume the liberty of foisting any in thing that the authority of St. Ambrose &c. would nor justify, I shall pass it over, and advance to the more important parts of her Life, where we shall make a full discovery of all those Beauties, Charms, and Graces that a Crucified Saviour can present us with, in comparison of which all our worldly pleasures must lose their relish, and a Heavenly Spouse be preferred to all out earthly enjoyments. But 'tis very certain that our holy Martyr, when she was very Young, had dedicated her Virginity to her sweet Redeemer, and made a formal Vow of perpetual Chastity, which may clearly be discovered by the sequal of this discourse, and therefore it would be very impertinent to insist long upon it.  
Pious Lady, Thou at those years hadst fixed thy thoughts on Heaven, and waste engaged in the contemplation of the Holy Jesus, which we commonly spend in gratifying our corrupt Affections, thou didst anticipate thy years, and without an absurdity, I may justly say, thou wast old even in thy childhood, and hadst the prudence and all that was to be esteemed of that age, without any of its inconveniencies. Who dare say she was Young and Childish, that was already ripe for Heaven, and had finished her glorious course of Christianity. She was now about Thirteen years of age, when all the temptations imaginable conspired to Divorce her from her Saviour. Love (that potent Passion, that hath occasioned so dismal effects in the world, that by a sweet insinuation betrays us to our ruin, and pleases into our destruction) was the first obstacle that was opposed to her flight to Heaven, and that endeavoured to retard her pursuit of a blessed Eternity; which was thus.  
As she was returning home from School, a Young Gentleman, the Son of one Symphronius, at that time Goverour of the City, young and handsome, and Master of all those excellencies that render one of his years accomplished, and that might have enslaved any Soul but St. Agnes', unfortunately chanced to see her: He saw her, he admired her, he loved her, all in an instant: That crowd of Beauties that Heaven had endowed her with, to render her fair body a worthy habitation of its fairer inhabitant, were not long in producing their effect. Ladies less considerable could not have done that in an Age, that her fair eyes effected in a moment. The Sun illustrates all the Horizon at once, and that Affection our Gallant had for Saint Agnes, at its first Creation (I can justly term it no other, that was a motion so instantaneous) was not any longer capable of degrees. In fine, he loved her, he doted on her, be preferred her to half his Heathen Deities, and in her fruition he placed his only felicity. He had not now opportunity either to spoke to her, or inquire of what Family she was, And indeed, had all the opportunities in Nature courted him at that time, he could scarce have made any benefit of them, being surprised with the greatest astonishment that can be imagined.  
However after some time having made enquiry who she was (a Star of so great magnitude could not possibly long be hid) he understood she was of a Noble Family, and born in that City, and what ever else he learned of her, from his intelligence, gave him all the satisfaction that his Soul was capable of receiving. She's Nobly Born, said he, clapping his hand on his breast, after a profound Réverie, and now I may justly Court her Affections; I may own my Love without dishonour, and my Father, my indulgent Father, will never oppose himself to my Intentions. But Villain (continued he with a great deal of vehemence) how was it possible she should be otherwise, or how could one imagine that the bountiful Gods, would throw away so many perfections on an ignoble Person. No, what ever her Family was, or could be, she would sufficiently ennoble it, and transfund an excellence into all about her; she must necessarily either find her Kindred Noble, or make them so. The most pitiful Rock in the Ocean can borrow lustre from its bright Native, the Pearl that grows upon it, and the most craggy Shelves can gain worth and esteem from their Diamonds, their Illustrious Inhabitants. Well 'tis so, and I have nothing to conquer, but the heart of that Fair one, to complete my happiness. Whereupon our young Inamorato, spurred on by his Passion, and armed with Confidence, that his Father's power in the City at that time, might extremely advance his design, he is resolved to address himself to the fair Agnes, and having signified the desire he had to wait upon her, with all the respects in the world, and humbly begged her permission, at last he acquainted her with his Passion in the most moving words that could be used in that conjuncture; and when he had said what he would, and expected her Answer; what hopes and fears was he then engaged in? But his eyes with their dumb Rhetoric still pursued his Petition.  
The poor Lady, surprised at this so displeasing a proposal, stood in the greatest amazement that ever soul was troubled with, and if I should tell you it was not unlike that astonishment which a poor Traveller resents, when at midnight he sees his fellow thunderstruckk just by his side, I should make you but a faint resemblance of it. But after some few minutes recollecting her scattered Spirits, and looking upon him with an eye that at once pitied and condemned his passion, she thus answered him.  
Remove (noble Sir) that Afffection, that will be equally troublesome to both of us. I cannot imagine how this Miserable Face should gain me that esteem, you are pleased to oblige me with; and I think more Charitably of all Men, then to think any one can be so much mistaken, and have forfeited their Reason and Judgement as to Love her, who may justly be contemned of all the World, and there to place an Obligation, where it would be counted an injury. In a word for that very Love's sake, you say you have for me, forgo it utterly, banish it, and with it all the train of Jealousies, Fears, Hopes, and other Distractions, that will undoubtedly pursue it. This, Sir, is the means to oblige me, and this is the greatest Testimony, I can demand of your Affection.  
Ah! Madam, replied our Gallant, how unjust you are in this demand? Should Love destroy itself, to show its sincerity? And is there no other way to manifest the truth of it, but by those Acts of indifference you mention? Stay Madam, for Heaven's sake, that— He was vehemently continuing his discourse, when the Lady interrupted him. No Sir, (said she) 'tis my final resolution, suspend your ardour, or if you will continue your Affection, which I cannot recompense; expect no mutual return from her, that avows to you and all the world, she is already disposed of, my Soul's too free and open to make use of Artifice, and draw you on into a Passion, that it is possible may ruin you; and I too much esteem that Obligation you have laid upon me, to think you a fit Person to be so deceived Be assured then, that my Soul is prepossessed, and being engaged elsewhere cannot comply with your desires; you are Honourable I must avow it, and Rich, and your Person is really Amiable, but since my Faith is already tied else where, these accomplishments and advantages, will prove ineffectual to shock my fidelity. Give over then in time and let your Duty comply with your Interests.  
No Madam (cried out the Lover) I must still Love, while you are still amiable; Blame not the excess of my Passion, while you are Lovely to Admiration. You may forbid me to hope for a suitable return, but know that despair itself cannot make me cease to love and adore you, and though others are the most happy, I may be the most faithful of your Servants.  
He was Retreating, having said thus, with a most profound respect, but in the most disconsolate condition that ever poor Lover was in, when St. Agnes pitying his misfortunes, wherein she found herself too deeply concerned, pulled him back and sweetening all that Rigour she had put on not long before; Stay dear Sir, said she, And pardon me that seeming cruelty, which you think me guilty of, my Soul is as capable of resenting, your favours as you yourself could wish. I esteem you, Sir; and will love you too, but as a Sister. Content yourself with all I can render you. Leave your Love, for God's sake, or place it on some more worthy Object, my choice cannot, must not be altered; He must have my whole Affection, that's only worthy of it; He must indeed, Sir, and you must no longer pretend to her, that will acknowledge no other Lord and Master, but him that Heaven hath already assigned her.  
Who ever that happy person be, replied our Amorist, let him not think that I will tamely endure his happiness. No, Madam, your Love cannot protect him. Since he hath the happiness to be beloved of the fair Agnes, he shall also have the honour to die for her.  
He spoke this with the greatest fury he could, and without taking the least leave away he fling, rolling in his Breast revenge on his unknown Rival. Whilst our holy Votary in vain recalling him, after she had bestowed a Shower of Tears on his Misfortunes, which though unwillingly, she was the unhappy cause of, she went into her Closet, seating herself in a posture fit for her Devotion.  
Sweet Jesus, cried she, thou art my dear Master, to thee have I dedicated my Life and Honour; Accept of this poor Sacrifice, which is my reasonable service. Preserve what my free gift, and thy gracious Redemption hath made thine, and let not the Devil withal his gaudy Temptations, pull me from thy sacred Protection, No, dear Saviour, he shall not by thy Help; I am in thy hands, and all the fury, the rage, as well as subtlety of Men and Devils, shall never remove me from so agreeable a refuge. My Virginity is now no longer my own, keep me chaste, and inviolate, and render me a fit Vestal for thy service, should I having tied myself to my obliging Saviour, desert him for a frail piece of mortality? And having tasted those preparations of Eternal Bliss and Glory, run after those dull and insignificant contentments that so abuse the world with their pleasing appearances? No gracious Lord, I'll accept of no Spouse but thee, and how unworthy so ever of thy Love and Favour, my sins have rendered me, I will in my Chastity Imitate thy Holy Mother. And though I cannot be at once a Virgin and a Mother, pure and Fruitful at the same Instant, which is the blessed Lady's Prerogative, I will be a Wife and Virgin and with thy holy consent too, nay and by thy command, preserve my Virginity even after my Espousals. Yes, blessed Jesus, I will by thy help and favour, nor shall either Love or Pity persuade me to any thing, that may offend my love to thee or my Duty.  
Having said either this or something like it, she risen extremely satisfied, and the holy Spirit furnished her with all those graces that were necessary for her in that conjuncture, which gently gliding through her Soul, ravished her with all the delights that Saints were ever blest withal.  
And then after sometime having paid her Devotion to Heaven, she reflected on what the Young Gentleman had said to her. Fond Man, said she, how do thy Love and Anger delude thee, to what folly alas do they betray thee; Thy Rival fears not what thy Sword can do against him, he will keep himself and me too, (if it be his holy pleasure) from those dismal effects of thy fury that thou so vainly threaten'st. Do what thy Rage shall dictate to thee, and at last learn to acknowledge that I had infinite reason to contemn thee, and dote upon so Gracious, so Almighty a Redeemer. You may very well imagine with what Vehemence the Lady uttered these words, and what sorrows she then was perplexed with, both in pitying the Young Lover, since she had been the innocent cause of his mirfortunes, and in deploring her own unhappiness; and you may (if you please) hear her thus expressing her resentments.  

A soliloquy.  
Tyrannic eyes; for so ye still will be,  
Cruel alike tother's, and to me,  
That with a guilty glance can storm a Heart,  
And in each ray convey a Cupid's Dart;  
Cease these your wild excursions, and no more  
Procure Adorers, as you did before.  
Procure Adorers, as you did before.  
No, to some higher happiness advance  
Then 'tis to be the Centre of a Glance.  
Lie in your Lids fond Lights, poor wand'ring Stars,  
That make the Heathens twice Idolaters.  
No, no, look out, but do not then do not then descry  
Base worldly cheats that gaudy misery  
Desert these meaner sights, and higher soar,  
That make the Heathens twice Idolaters.  
No, no, look out, but do not then descry  
Base worldly cheats that gaudy misery  
Desert these meaner sights, and higher soar,  
Where Love, this fatal Love, shall be no more.  
Here's noble work to do, that may suffice  
The proud Ambition of the proudest eyes.  
Turn Heavenly Captives, in those Fetters lie,  
Kissing those Chains they're th' only Liberty.  
To Heaven, to Heaven advance your glimmering sight,  
Your Light refund unto the Source of light.  
Now all your Charms collect, your temping graces  
And Court his Favour, that all else surpasses  
Not with a wanton glance or melting eye,  
O! these are not the Christians Armoury.  
'Tis not with such Artillery as this  
We please th' Almighty, when we force our bliss.  
Bring here a Still of Tears, a broken Groan;  
With Sighs, and Vows, and Lamentation.  
While others are advanced to Heaven by Fire,  
Whose fervent Zeal did upward still aspire,  
I'll weep a Flood, and in that Flood I'll be  
Transported to a blessed Eternity.  
And in a broken Sighs, I'll waft a Prayer;  
'Twill ne'er miscarry, sighs true Bearers are,  
Here Lamentations not fruitless be,  
While I deplore I banish misery.  
Thus shall my Soul to thee, dear Lord, aspire  
Fervent in tears: Tears make the Flames the higher.  
On Dust and Ashes cast an eye below,  
They're now notworthy, thou canst make 'em so.  
What can't thy blood sweet Lord, and merits do?  
He who for me turned Man, and suffered too,  
What after that, will he refuse to do.   
WHilst the blessed Saint does thus entertain her Pious Soul; let us see how our passionate Gentleman spends his hours, whose every minute seems an Age, in the absence of his Mistress: He went away possessed with the greatest fury that ever Soul was in. He stamped, he Beat his Breast, and did whatever a Furious Person is used to do in such encounters; He Imprecated his Heathen Deities to assist him in his Revenge. He vowed the utter ruin of his unknown Adversary, notwithstanding all the difficulties he might meet withal, and posting home with all the speed he could make, having locked himself up in his Chamber, he was fomenting the most dreadful resolutions, that ever can be conceived.  
Must I then be unhappy, said he, and live the most unfortunate Person that ever Breathed? Must I draw on my life in all the extremes of misery, to a period no less unfortunate? Must I do thus, and can't it be otherwise; No, it cannot, I must live and die a Wretch, and do all this, for an ungrateful Woman, and long of one perhaps less worthy than myself. He stopped here, and the vehemence of his resentments was better expressed by this silence, than it would have been by all the words in the World. He continued not long so however, when beating his Breast he forced his Tongue in some measure to unravel his thoughts. But since I cannot enjoy her, continued he, and I am doomed to my misfortunes, by a person notwithstanding all her cruelty; so dear and agreeable to me, that even Death itself would not be unwelcome when it proceeded from her: I will however have some Companion in my unhappiness, and involve my envied Rival, for all her Love and Favour, in that Calamity, she hath damned me to. I will do so, pursued he vehemently, Base and Ungrateful Woman, in spite of that Respect I have for thee, that troublesome Love and Respect that hath betrayed me into the worst condition in the World. But can I thus injure him (continued he, after he had been silent for some moments) that she is pleased to bless with her particular Affection? Yes, I can do more than injure him, that hath deprived me of the most supreme happiness, my Ambition could aspire to.  
I should be extremely tedious, should I trouble the Reader, and myself, with an exact account of all his Passion made him then utter. I shall therefore content myself to acquaint him that after a night's rest (if I can properly term that so, that was only a repetition of his former disturbances) he risen, and laid out to all he could learn who this Favourite of his Mistress was; But with what success you may easily imagine, though 'tis possible had there been any and he capable of discovery, he might have setved himself with the greatest Efficacy; since a Rival in such a case, as being most interested, was most likely to find it out.  
But after a tedious enquiry to no purpose, which though it infinitely discouraged him, as depriving him of that Revenge he had already promised himself, it did not a little encourage him, and gave him some hopes, that only out of Design, and Artifice she had told him so, when really it was otherwise. Having half persuaded himself to believe, what his hopes suggested to him, he reassures himself, ventures upon a Second Visit, which considering his Qualities, could not be well refused him. I shall leave you to guests what St. Agnes sense was of it, she trembled, she changed her Colour, but still for the better, and her very amazement and surprisal, did very much increase her Beauty, and rendered her more Lovely in the eyes of our Young Amorist, that alas was but too too Lovely to him before. She was in this condition when our Young Roman accosting her, assumed the confidence to tell her, notwithstanding he held her as infallible as his Divinities, who could not but be perswaded that she had abused into an error, which was extremely prejudicial to his repose, and that he had troubled himself with the fear of a Rival to no purpose, since he was the only person that Love had inspired with the assurance to lift up his eyes to so much excellence. Be pleased therefore Madam, continued he in an extraordinary transport, to rid me of this doubt, and assure me of a truth, than the knowledge of which nothing can make me more happy, but the assurance of your mutual Affection.  
He stayed his discourse here, and the Pious Lady not without some difficulty assumed it. Know Sir, replied she, you have still a Rival and such a one as all your Interests in Rome; how considerable so ever, cannot remove him, did you know what sincerity I always make use of you would not have doubted of the truth of that, which I assured you of. Oh! Madam, answered the Lover hastily, why should you so soon return me to my former Apprehensions, and disabuse me of an opinion so advantageous to my repose? I am not acquainted with those Arts, replied the Lady very sharply, that abuse Men into happiness. Know fond Man, thou hast a Rival; Know I Love him, and prefer him to all the World; and when thou knowst this, if thou wilt still pursue a fruitless passion, never expect any thing from me but scorn and contempt. Dismiss thy troublesome Affection, and retrieve thy Liberty. I conjure thee to it by all that's Sacred, by thy own Interest, and if that be of any force with thee, for my sake, desist to trouble me any more with thy addresses. Assure thyself this will be the greatest engagement thou canst make me receive, and which will equally conduce to thy felicity and my own.  
She was retreating then into her Closet, when our most disconsolate Lover cried out with some vehemence; I cannot cease to Love thee, for all thy cruelty, but my addresses shall no more trouble thee. I can Die to please myself, as well as thee, and my Death perhaps may give me as great a contentment, as it will thee, Cruel Creature; since it will free me from a Passion, that nothing else can Rob me of. He departed immediately huried in a most fatal grief. You may justly wonder he should so soon run desperate, and at his second visit abandon himself to so absolute a despair; but be pleased to know he had before made her several Presents, and spoke to her very often too, all which I omitted as having nothing in them extraordinary. The Gifts he made her, with which Ladies of her years, are easily deceived, with all his fair and foul Words, Promises, and Threats, could not persuade her to his desires. She despised them all, and continually told him what Noble Presents her Spouse would make her, which I shall not here reckon up, both because you may have them infinitely better expressed in the Divine St. Ambrose, as because I will by no means debauch those Christian expressions with that, which we of this Age call Eloquence; since they shine far brighter in their native Purity. As Adam and the first Woman were fairest, before they came to their Figg-leaves.  
If the Gentleman was afflicted, he left the Holy Maid no less; She poured out all her sorrows into the Bosom of her Blessed Saviour, for whose sake she was thus Cruel in appearances; She prayed for her Loving Enemy; She pitied him, but all was to little to break her Resolution of a perpetual Chastity. No, Blessed Lord, (would she Cry out oftentime) neither Loves, nor Pity, with all their soft Insinuations shall storm my consent to an Act, that would rob Thee of thy Right. My Vow, and my Virginity must be kept inviolate, and with thy Grace they shall, Holy Jesus, my poor and unworthy Sacrifice.  
Thus wast thou, Pious Votary, piercing Heaven with thy Pious ejaculations, while thy disconsolate Lover was engaged in a very different ployment. His Soul possessed with the greatest Grief, Anger, Love, and Fury, that ever the world saw, was traversed with all most contrary commotions, and those too almost incompatible, at the same Instant. He cursed his Stars, and yet in Spite of all his Rage and Fury, he could not so much as have an ill thought of her that in his Opinion, was the Cruelest thing that ever breathed. How often was he deploring his own Calamity, and then on the sudden enjoying his Rival's happiness, and perhaps scarce two Minutes after all this, complaining of his Mistress' unkindness. In so miserable a distraction as his Soul then was, his Body could not choose but partake of the common misery. Their was as great Revolutions in his humours as in his thoughts, and that profound Melancholy that had seized his Soul; gave but too dismal Effects not to be discovered. I shall wave those discourses he then made use of, both because they concern not so imediatelie our Holy Agnes, as because other persons in the same conditions might probably speak some thing like them.  
He was got into his Chamber, there to entertain his thoughts with the greater Liberty, where alas what felt he not, what said he not, and what extravagancies was not he then guilty of; But he was not long there before his Father was acquainted with his disturbance; When hurried on by that indulgence, he always had had for him, pursued him into his Chamber, and taking him by the hand, with the greatest tenderness, that ever Father yet discovered, He asks him of the cause of his Melancholy; he entreated him to cashier it, as he faithfully promises, he will endeavour to do the cause of it. And then seeing him in a deep Réverie he clasps his hand something faster, and with tears in his eyes, which expnessed his sentiments in their mute dialect, better than all the Elegance in the World. What means this silence, my Dear Boy; said he, why dost conceal thy misfortunes from a Father, that would sacrifice his Life and Interests to pull thee thence? for heavens sake tell me what powerful cause hath oppressed thee with so killing a Melancholy, Let me partake of thy misfortunes, as thou always most dutifully hast of mine. Make thy Father thy Confident, and assure thyself that I will omit nothing that may reinstate thee in thy former tranquillity.  
Thus did the tender Father, caress his Son, but could not yet extort a word from him; But continuing still importunate, when the Young Man perceived his Father would have an answer, with a Voice that easily showed, what the thoughts were he was to express with it. For the God's sake, let me alone, Sir, cried he out, and he pleased to pardon a disobedience that only my respect to my Father could have produced. He said no more, nor could the poor Symphronius make any probable Conjecture yet, whence his Sons misfortunes and his own proceeded. And after having made a Hundred (Questions, to no purpose, he was forced to leave him to his Solitude, where not long after he found him in a very vehement Indisposition, which gave him the most fatal Apprehensions, that he was ever capable of conceiving.  
Ah! Unjust Gods, would he often Cry out, and did that Piety I have always had for you, deserve such a recompense? Can not all my Incense, and Sacrifices divert your Fury; Was there not Jews enough, and Christians that scorn you, and all your Deities, to Plague with your Calamities, that you dispense them so prodigally on your most Religious Observers? Had you but that compassion you have planted in Human Breasts, and were you not either above or below it, (for I cannot tell which to term it) you never would have injured so much Goodness and Innocence; at least if you would but look upon him with the eyes of a Father, of so indulgent a Father as Symphronious. And thus did the unhappy Father make the Gods acquainted with his sorrows, which had it been directed to a Deity, that could have heard, and had any power to secure him, might have proved efficatious, for all his Blasphemies. But in vain he Cried, he Prayed, he Cursed; his Cries, his Prayers, and his Curses were like those of Romantic Amourists, that compliment the Woods, the Seas and Rocks, that they fancy are less cruel, than their cruel Fair Ones; sance they give them the hearing, which their Ladies will not do, and the complaisant Echo gives them a favourable answer to all their Petitions. But had not the careful Symphronious taken a greater care of his Son, than his Gods did, a Fever might have dispatched him out of the World, that was to fall by the immediate hand of the Almighty.  
Our old Governor stays not long this condition, but procuring the best Physicians that were in Rome at that time, he endeavours by them to learn the cause of his Son's distemper. They felt his Pulse, they consulted his Urine; but all their endeavours, according to the precepts of their Art, proved ineffectual, which rendered the Old Gentleman a mere Desperado, and I persuade myself that that grief which was derived to him from his Son, was of the nature of some plants, a slip whereof will make a more goodly Body than the Mother-stock, from whence it was taken: Since his Sons extravagant sorrows were moderate in comparison of his.  
The Young Symphronius still pinned away, and the Physicians being ignorant of the cause of it, durst not make use of any Remedies. The Loving Father was yet the more unfortunate, in that he was enforced by another's Pulse to feel for his own indisposition. The Physicians acquainted the Governor with all they had done, and avowed that the Soul was more disturbed than the Body, that it exceeded their power, to apply Remedies to that, they expressed their sorrow that they could not serve him, and protested that except his Son were better satisfied, it was impossible he should stay long in the World.  
You may give a guess at what Symphronius suffered at so unwelcome news as this, if you consider a loving and indulgent Mother, that was a little before made a Widow by the Death of her beloved Husband, attending the Bed of her only Son that she now tenderly dotes on, who just now in the Flower of his Age, and when she had provided some Loulie Lady to make happy with her chaste Embraces, lies engaged in a cruel Favour, which either over vehement Exercises or some Surfeit may, it's possible have produced; and just now expiring his latest Breath, which his good Mother stands ready to receive, and catches at his Soul in its excursion into Eternity. Thus stood the poor Old Gentleman, and 'tis possible something more afflicted, in that he had something yet left to fear, whereas the unhappy Mother was freed from so troublesome a Passion, and she had lost so much she need not any longer fear the fury of her enraged Fortune.  
But Symphronious rather than perish was resolved to do his utmost, to extort this secret from his Son, and thence learn the cause of their common unhappiness, and he used such address, that the effect could not well be otherwise then what it was. He sat him down on the Lover's Bedside, and takeing him by the hand with the tears trickling down his reverend Cheeks. Must we Dye then, my Boy, said he with a sigh, have Heaven and you decreed it so? He was going on, but a World of sighs broke off his discourse, and looking on his Son with all the marks of sorrow and compassion, he heard him with a low voice thus Answer him: we must die, Sir, when Heaven is pleased to call us hence. No, cruel Child, replied the sad Symphronius hastily, we must not die yet, the Gods will not have it so. I conjure thee, by all that Religion Esteems obliging, by that Duty thou ow'st me, by the consideration of thy own Interests, as well as mine, discover this secret, that will undo us all, if it any longer be concealed. 'Tis base and cowardly, 'tis impious and irreligious to die, when we can help ourselves, and to creep into the Grave for fear of our Misfortunes.  
He made a pause here, and looking attentive upon our poor Lover, seeing him in suspense what he ought to do. Out with it for the sake of the Gods pursued he; Publish that Enemy to thy Repose, Banish it thence, and lodge it no longer in thy breast, to thy utter ruin and my own. He spoke this with all the earnestness imaginable, and almost frighted the young man to a confession, that it's possible had never else been made. Ah! Sir, answered he, and sighed, why should you be thus urgent to know that, which when known you cannot remedy. Thou knowest not what an afflicted Father, in his extremity, replied Symphronius, with a great deal of precipitation, can do for a Son that he loves better than all the world. I can do any thing for my dear Child; my Love and Pity shall render me almost Omnipotent, and where my power shall prove deficient, the Gods shall second me, those Gods I have hitherto served with such Devotion. and that could never exert their power in a more glorious occasion than this. Good Sir, omit your importunity, answered then young Symphronius almost astonished. No Child, replied the Father. I must never omit it till I know, what it is afflicts you so. Will you know then, said the Lover very passionately. Know it at once, 'tis this; I Love. Is this that secret, cried the Father, with a smile, that must be extorted from you with so much violence? Hath this cost me so many tears▪ Hath this so much impaird your health, and disturbed my contentment? Yes Sir, replied the Lover, with a languishing tone, (for now he dare himself avow it) that love which I have preserved in my breast in the midst of all my sorrows, hath been the cause of all: But this is such a Love, as when you shall have learned its Nature, and all its circumstances, you will undoubtedlie pronounce it the most fatal, & me the most unfortunate Lover in the world. What some Coy Maid hath refused your addresses, said the kind Father, and you like a poor whining Lover must go and die for't? Is that all? Nay answer me. And is not that sufficient Sir, replied the Lover. But that's not all. She hath scorned me indeed and forbidden my addresses, but my ill Fortune hath led me further. She Loves, but not me; She says she's disposed of, and that to a person that she prefers to all the world, and Vows this Love shall, as she pretends it ought to be, be Eternal: And what now could render me more unhappy than I am? I Love, and must do so while I breath. She Scorns me, and will do do so Eternally. Now having learned this, Sir, trouble not yourself with him that is not only himself so unhappy, but will infect all about him with his unhappiness. No Son, answered Symphronius, I must not yet leave you, my piety shall yet find some means to make you fortunate. Only tell me who this fair Tyrant is, and then if there's no other way 'tis but dying afterwards. 'Tis, Sir, you may easily guests her, the Handsomest Lady in Rome, said the Inamarato should I name the most glorious Light in the Heavens, you'd immediately say it was the Sun I meant, and when I shall tell you she is the most beautiful Lady in Rome, you may easily imagine 'tis Agnes. The good Father was extremely satisfied, when he knew she was a Roman and no ignoble one, so that smiling, If Agnes said he be the Person that enslaved you, you shall see e'er long what I can do for you, and assure yourself I am not so much displeased at your Love, as the concealing of it.  
Hereupon he went out immediately towards the advancing his Design, and left our amorous Desperado in as great a contentment, as his condition was then capable to admit.  
He flattered himself with something like what we call hope, and though he knew no reason for it, and was confident that Agnes' resolution was unalterable. Yet however he comforted himself, since his Father was stirring in the business, and that in a place where his Interests might make him hope for all things from his help; where I shall leave him deluding himself with his pretty fancies, and see what Symphronius is now adoing.  
You may very probably conjecture what address and industry the Governor made use of, in a Design that so nearly concerned him. He searched out for the lady's Father and communicated his intentions to him, to make a perpetual amity between their two Families. He made clear to him the advantages of such a necessitude, and in a word did all he possibly could, to persuade him to what he said did very much conduce to their common happiness. The discreet Father of our blessed Votary, entertained his proposal with all the civility imaginable, and avowing to him, that it would be the most welcome thing in the world to him, to see his Daughter so well disposed of, assured him he would use all his endeavours to persuade her to it, and though she seemed to have a resolution never to Marry; he doubted not but he might induce her to it. But if I cannot prevail by this Fatherly method of persuasion continued he, you must excuse me, if I want the power to serve you, and content yourself with that hearty desire, I shall ever preserve, to favour both you and yours. And this, Sir, is my final resolution, and from which all the Arguments in Nature shall never be able to dissuade me, never to descend to any violent means; and force my dear Agnes to any Act, wherein her happiness is so highly concerned. The Governor was not extremely satisfied, with these last words of the discreet Father, and the joy that he resented at the first part of his discourse, was very much abated by what followed, considering what his Son had told of the obstinacy, (for so he termed it) of his beloved Agnes; Nevertheless not to betray the cause he was engaged in, I cannot choose, said he, after a small silence, but condemn that over scrupulous discretion of yours. Have you lived so long in the World, and are yet ignorant, that Maids must be forced to what they most desire, and that their formal modesty oftentimes makes them refuse that, which they pine and whine for ever after? No, Symphronius, I've often heard that piece of Raillery, replied the other, but can easily distinguish between that force you speak of, and which you say will be so agreeable, from that which hath produced so dismal effects in the World. Our Marriages still represent the rape of the Sabines; but they do but represent them; and there would not be so much jollity at our Nuptial Solemnities, were the violence as real as then it was, you may assure yourself, I shall oblige you with that personated cruelty, and will do all that a Father lawfully can, to favour the Roman Governor.  
Symphronius received his Civilities very Courteously, and after having once more conjured him to forward his Design, and protested it was the infallible means to make him his eternally; and it is more than probable, acquainted him with the danger his Son was in at that very Moment, and the cause of it; (which really seems to me, the most persuasive Argument that could be used in that conjunction;) he departed homeward, as fast as his Love could carry him, and coming to our languishing Lover, he cried out very cheerfully, Courage, my Symphronius, hope still. Thy Agnes must be thine, only live and recover, that thou mayst be in a condition to receive her favours. He spoke this with so much satisfaction, that the Young Gentleman raising himself from his Pillow, as much as his weakness would permit him, and Reading his Destiny in the Air of his Father. Do not abuse me, Sir, said he, out of an Opinion, that I fear I have too much reason to retain. Is it possible I should obtain my wishes? Can Agnes then be flexible, and pity one that her Divine Beauty has almost dragged to his Grave? Oh! answer me, Sir, but with Sincerity and use not any Artifice to appease my Passion, that must have real blisses, or it will never cease its cruelty. No, Child, answered the Loving Father, there is no need of Artifice, only confide in me, and mind thy recovery, & thy Agnes shall be sooner ready to receive thy Caresses; then thou to Embrace, and thank her for her Kindness.  
Thus did the obliging Symphronius comfort the drooping Lover, who though he entreated him to tell him his success, could by no means persuade him to it. Only his Father acquainted him with the greatest part of the discourse that he had with the Lady's Father, so much I mean as made for his purpose, but he did it, as it were unwillingly, or before he was ware, which made the abused Lover believe his affairs were in a better condition, then at first, he could hope they would ever come to. So that relying on his Father, and recommending his Love to him, and desiring him never to use any violence against the Fair Agnes, he desisted any longer to importune him, And the old Symphronius not long after left him to ruminate on his imaginary pleasures, and expected with all the impatience in the world, what answer he should receive from St. Agnes' Father; who was really no ill agent in the business, but pressed his Fair Daughter to a Marriage, that he told her was very advantageous to her. But meeting so uncommon a repugnance in her, and being at last acquainted with that sacred vow she had made of perpetual Virginity, he not only left off his persuasions, which he knew would prove useless, but also encouraged her to keep her Vow, notwithstanding all the violence of Symphronius. He promised her all the help, he could render her, and flattered himself into a fond Opinion, that he being of a Noble Family, and of no small Interest in the City; the Governor durst not assault either him or his. But the Sequel baffled his presumption, and hath left us a dreadful Example, of what a man is capable of performing; when hurried on by the sudden Violence of some domineering Passion. But I must not prevent my Story.  
The two Fathers not long after had a meeting, which doubtless was infinitely pleasing. At the first indeed their discourse was very obliging, but their common civilities once passed over, where Symphronius urged the other to some Positive answer, the brave Roman after some such short preamble, as we commonly usher in ill news withal, told him plainly his Daughter's repugnance to the Proposition, not out of any disrespect to the Young Symphronius: whom all the City for his many excellent accomplishments both Loved and admired; but out of a most fixed determination, never to alter her Condition. And would you rest satisfied with such an answer; replied Symphronius. How unkind are you to a person, that you were pleased once to call Friend, and to one that always most dearly Loved you? This was only a formal Piece of Modesty: why would you not use that power, that Heaven and Nature have furnished you withal? Why would you not treat her as a Daughter? She is all obedience, and a Father might persuade her to any thing. No, replied the other with some precipitation, I will never abuse so much Innocence, nor force her to any thing that would meet the most cruel of Deaths to preserve her Father. I promised you to do what I could by softness and persuasion, and Heaven knows I have exactly performed it, but to wrong so sweet a Daughter by forcing her Inclinations, and so consequently to engage her in an Eternal series of Misery, is that, which I shall never endure to put in practice against my dear Agnes. Cruel Friend, is this all you will do for me in this Extremity? Answered the Governor and sighed; are those all your endeavours to retreive my dear Boy from the Grave? For Heaven's sake desist not at the first repulse. She may at last alter her resolution, and you may save my dear Symphronius, and render me the most happy, as the most obliged, man in the World. Propose not such impossibilities for a manifest of my Friendship, cried out the good Father of St. Agnes, and let not that amity I have for you, Banish the Sentiments of Nature; let me continue a Father as well as a Friend, and have some consideration of my dear Child, my good Agnes, as well as of the Noble Symphronius.  
These things are not so incompatible as you imagine, replied the Governor; 'tis as much for her advantage as my Sons, and it will be your duty to dispose of your Daughter for the best, as well as an Obligation to succour a dying Son, and a distressed Father. Her resolution is but too just to be ever removed, said the other, and it would be too plain an injustice in me to oppose it; And since you will not otherwise be satisfid be pleased to know; She hath already got her a Husband, and such a one, as I cannot refuse. His worth, his Riches, his Virtues, his most Noble Love and Affection, are too considerable not to make him received. And I must avow to you, that my Agnes scarce Loves him with a greater Passion than myself. Falls unkind Man said Symphronius; And who can this worthy Person be, that you despise the Son of the Roman Governor for his sake? Whoever he be, answered the other very sharply, I do, and must prefer him to all the world. Nor shall my Love of Symphronius, nor all his menaces make me do any otherwise.  
They parted immediately upon this, and though the discreet Father of the blessed St. Agnes, had done nothing but upon Mature deliberation, he half repent of what he had said, and wished his Duty would have suffered himself to speak something more agreeable. But then remembering his. Dear Saviour, his Holy Daughters Pious Protestations, and that Noble persuasion, that it was better to have a Daughter a Holy Virgin, then to see her in all the pomp in the World. He immediately repent again, of his easy and inconsiderate repentance itself, and more fully resolved to further his Daughter's Piety. But Symphronius was not so much at rest: How many dreadful thoughts had he then in his Breast, what Designs was he contriving against the fair Agnes and her good Father: How often did he damn that Rival, that stood in his way between him, and happiness; But at last after many abortive contrivances, and a Thousand Menaces that came to nothing, he began to recollect himself, and considering what an infinite displeasure it would be to his Son, to hear such unwelcome news as this, he resolved to conceal it, and make him believe his Love Affairs were in a very good posture. And to this end, putting on a good Face, and suppressing that sorrow which was at present but too visible all about him, and looking as Merrily as he possibly could, he came to his Son, and assured him by a very Pious Imposture, that his Mistrisse's Rigour, and Maiden modesty was at last conquered; that so soon as he was recovered, he might take Possession of his own cruel fair one.  
The Young Man could not presently believe him, and the greatness of his happiness made him suspect the truth of it; but being it was his Father that told him so, (that Loving and Dear Father, that had so tenderly doted on him, ever since the first Minute of his Life, and had given such pregnant Proofs of his incomparable Affection so lately;) he esteemed it impious to suspect him of any deceit, and gave a blind consent to all he said, and with tears of joy in his languishing eyes, he tendered his humble thanks, and duty Ten Thousand times. Just so some Merchant's Darling dearly caresses his Loving Father, when he is after the absence of some Years, returned from a dangerous Voyage. When the Boy and his Mother are in a pretty contest, which shall best express an unfeigned Joy, and Loving Resentments.  
If ever the quiet of the Soul did extremely advance the help of the body, it was in our lover at that time, and those two familiar Neighbours, the Soul and the Body, did so equally share each others Joys, as well as Sorrows, that as soon as the Soul returned to its former tranquillity, the humours reassumed their temperament, and the whole Body insensibly recovered its strength and vigour. But his Melancholy had so weakened him, that he was confined to his Chamber for some time, where we shall leave him pleasing himself with God knows what thoughts, and pursue his careful Father, who is now employed to compass his design, and make good his word to his Son at his recovery.  
To this end, he made it his first business to hunt out this unknown Rival, or rather this too happy possessor of so fair a Treasure. He had spent some time to no purpose, when at last by accident he met a friend of his, who enquiring after the cause of his unusual Melancholy, and having heard at last the whole Story, surprised him with the strangest news imaginable. 'Tis no wonder, Sir, said he, if your Intelligence hath failed you; this is no such Rival as you expected, and to clear what I tell you, be assured from me, She is one of the Sect we call Christians, and being besotted with that foolish and ridiculous persuasion, she boasts that Jesus, their great Prophet, or their Divinity, or whatever he be, that they worship, that Jesus, that they say was crucified, and tell us a hundred strange Stories of, is her Husband, that she hath Vowed her Virginity to him, as many more of them do; and this Vow, she says, sheiss resolved never to violate. Now, Sir, if you can draw any thing hence for your advantage, I dare witness what I say, and will embrace this opportunity, as I shall all other, wherein I may serve you most willingly.  
The Governor could scarce believe this at first hearing, but being confirmed by Oaths, and Protestations, and those too the most Sacred that their Religion could furnish them with, he began to think, that some plot might be built upon this, and the thing being not very difficult, be resolved on it immediately; and thanking his Friend for his Intelligence, and conjuring him by their former Friendship, and what ever else he thought was persuasive, to keep all secret, and to be with him on the morrow something early, he departed, and laid all in readiness for his proceeding But he took all the care in the world that Young Symphronius should not know of it, who not dreaming of any thing else but his Mistrisse's favour, their Nuptials, and all that Train of Delights he might expect from thence, was enjoying his imaginary pleasures that never must have any other. Fond Men, how do we pursue we know not what, and place ourselves upon a Precipeice? Little thought he of a destroying Angel, or that Calamity that hung over his head.  
The Governor at the time of Judicature dispatched his Officers to bring the Holy Votary to his Tribunal, who, when they came to her Father's house, and demanded her in the Name of the Governor, would not perhaps so easily have got her thence, had not the Blessed Martyr herself been consenting to it. Her Father was providing for Resistance, and imagining what was the reason she was sent for, he could not easily be induced to part with his Pious, Obedient Child. The Mother's sentiments were not much diffetent from his. She wept, she lift up her eyes to Heaven, and with a thousand piercing Ejaculations, invoked the Holy Jesus to her rescue; she recommended her Child no longer hers, but his Spouse, into his Sacred protection; nor did her Devotion hinder her Endeavours. It was in the midst of these preparations that the Holy Saint was acquainted with the Officers demands, and persuaded herself that Christianity was the Crime she was to answer for, and then kneeling down most devoutly, and directing her fair eyes to Heaven. The hour is coming, Sweet Jesus (she cried out) when my Soul shall take its flight to Thee and Glory. Lord preserve thy servant in this my last encounter against our common Enemies. Continue thy Gracious Goodness, let me not faint in my last effort of Piety Preserve me to thyself sweet Jesus, I am thine, my Vow and thy Goodness have made me so; O do not desert me in my last Extremity, but be pleased to lead me from one Crown to another, from that of Martyrdom to that of thy Eternal Glory. What a sweet Joy and pleasure did the good Lady then resent; what an agreeable earnest did she then receive of a blessed Eternity, in spite of her Body, that clog to her ardent Soul, that hung on its Wings when it took any brave flight towards Heaven: In spite of it, and all its Passions, she was almost ravished in to Happiness, and saw her Blessed Lord even before her Matyrdom.  
But she stayed not long here, before she went to meet her ruin, as others would interpret it, but as her Pious Soul thought, her way to Glory. She found her Father in the midst of his Preparations, and looking upon him with a Face as gay, an Air as brisk and lively as ever she had in her Life. Stay dear Sir, said she, stay, and be pleased to remember that we call ourselves Christians. This is not that resistance that our blessed Lord hath taught us both by his word and his Example. He that could summon all the Angels in the Heaven, and make all the World assist him, died quietly, and suffered tamely the rage and fury of Men and Devils, He did so good sir, and let us for God's sake do not otherwise.  
The Father was very much surprised at so charming a persuasion, and was in a doubtful suspense how to behave himself, when his blessed Daughter pursued her petition. Ah! can you doubt, Sir, whether you ought to follow so glorious an example. Let us go and stem the fury of our Adversaries; but let our Tears and Prayers be the only Arms against them. Let me go, Sir, and be more nearly united to my dear Redeemer and let me testify to all the World, that neither Love nor Fury can separate me from so good a Master: wilt thou go then dear Child, and leave thy wretched Father, replied he with a languishing Accent. Yes. Sir, I will fly to my sweet Saviour, cried out St. Agnes. I will perform his holy pleasure with all alacrity, I have hitherto waited with patience for the happy hour, wherein he would be pleased to take me out of this miserable Life; but since the time is come, I will not by an un-Christian resistance, stop up my passage to Glory. 'Tis my Interest, as well as my Duty, that invites me to it, and your extravagant Love would be infinitely prejudicious to the, should it any longer oppose those Superiors, that God hath commanded us to obey. I must consent then, I see, said her Father throwing down his Arms, with an action wholly disconsolate, and taking my last farewell of my Dear, my Obedient, my Christian Agnes. Go then to that Glory, which thy Lord hath provided for thee, and leave thy Parents here in tears, while thou art advaned to a place, where all tears shall be wiped from our eyes. I should never have done should I tell all the passionate and pious discourses of the good Mother to her blessed Child, who hanging about her fair Neck, took a Thousand Farewells, and would never have left her, had not the Officers been urgent to hasten her delivery. At last they parted, but with no less pain and trouble then ever Soul and body did in the Rigour of Youth, after the familiour acquaintance of Thirty Years. Her Father would accompany her, though she expressed a great deal of repugnance to it, fearing lest his immoderate Love might hurry him on to some Violence, and make him endeavour to retard her Martyrdom.  
But go he did, and led his fair Sacrifice to her Stage of Glory, where the Governor sat expecting her, and according to the usual formality, (which was but too too common in those days; that is about the Tenth Persecution) demanding what she was whether a Christian or otherwise? She confidence avowed it, and that with as much courage and assurance, as if she had expected the greatest honour in the world, from her Confession; Symphronius seeing her Noble Confidence, began to show her the danger of her obstinacy, and with a malicious kind of kindness, advised her to desert it. He promised her she should be pardoned her crime, did she not continue in it, and alured her to this Apostasy by a magnificent promise of honours and preferments, and spoke really so obliginglie to the fair Martyr, that any Soul but hers, which yet had not arrived to her Thirteenth Year, would have been perverted. But she brave Lady kept her undaunted assurance, she firmly stood the Shock of all his Insinuations, & like a Christian Heroine looking upon her Judge with eyes that had prevented her words, she made him see but too visibly the effect of his persuasions. No Governor, cried she out, omit thy promises, unless thy Liberality could Enrich me with better things, than those thou mentionest. My God hath prepared a more Glorious Possession for his Servants, and though my Christianity must expose me to Death, with all it's terrible appendages, know, I will still preserve it, and when I have by all the tortures thou canst Plague me with, ended my miserable Life, to be Translated to a better; I will still hug my persuasion, and bless my Holy Jesus, that for so small a suffering is pleased to place me in an Eternal State of Glory; I'll expire my Breath though it be in the midst of Flames and Racks, and all those Instruments of Cruelty, that your Ingenious Villainy can possibly invent, with an incomparable joy, and a transcendent contentment; since I must die for my dearest Lord, who was graciously pleased to do more than die for me; Yes Sweet Saviour, I will, if it be thy Holy pleasure, and manifest to those Infidels, that all their Persecutions shall never divide thy Church and Thee. And since that if I lived with Thee, in my death I will never be divided.  
She said this, with so Heroic a boldness, that the people could not choose but admire her, and wish with all their Hearts she were disengaged of that bewitching piece of Follie (for so they called Christianity) that exposed her to so manifest a danger. But the Governor had very different thoughts of her, and called her Brave boldness, Sauciness, and Obstinacy, and said her Christianity had made her Beside herself, and since his Promises proved ineffectual, he resolved to take a rougher course with her, and see what Menaces and Threats would do. He esteemed all her Protestations as vain, idle Rhodomantadoes, which a few harsh words, and the very Sight of Tortures might force her to forsake. To which purpose, we shall, cried he, in a transport of Fury, see whether you will preserve this rashness in the midst of punishments, and what a firm constancy you'll present us with, when the Flames are about your ears. Know therefore my young Stoic of the long Robe, except you immediately Sacrifice to the Gods, and Abjure your Foppery, that hath troubled the world for almost 300 years, I will proceed against you according to the course of Justice, and revenge myself and the Gods on our common Enemy. Do, cruel man, replied the Fair Agnes very vehemently, abandon thyself to thy Fury, provide more and more exquisite Utensils of Cruelty, then have ever yet been invented. I will suffer all thou canst inflict, and in the midst of all, I will contemn thy Gods as much as now I do. Thou may'st rob me of this poor & transitory life, which is a thing I never valued nor esteemed, but thou shalt then, though unwillingly, advance me to an Eternal one. Thou may'st separate this Soul from its Body, but thou shalt join it then to it's Dear Master. In a word, what ever thou canst do to me shall never deprive me of my Source of Comforts. I will still hold fast my Belief of my Saviour, while I keep my breath, and when I have parted with that servant of life, and life together, I will still continue what I am, and glory to be called a Christian.  
The Governor was astonished to find so much courage in a Woman. He could not choose, maugre all his resistance, but admire her: He began his heart to disesteem the Regulus' Cato's, Rutullus, and Socrates, and those Prodigies of constancy, that the Ancients boasted of, to see a feeble Woman Rival them in their Glories, and be ready to march to the Flames, with a truer contentment, than ever Socrates drank up his Poison, or Cato stabbed himself. He then began to esteem her too, and to wish he could persuade her to save her Life at the expense of her Christianity; and considering his Son's happiness was very much concerned in her safety, he could not absolutely resolve on her Death, without the greatest regret that can be imagined. Besides the promise he had made his Son confounded him, and the bad success of his Intrigue; for he verily believed if he could but once make her cease to be a Christian, she would dispense with her vow, and immediately consent to his desires. He thereupon assumed a Milder Countenance, and banishing that fiercness he had a little before, he descends again to his Milder way of persuasion. Come you must live, said he, I cannot have the heart to doom so Brave a Spirit to the Flames. I will save you, in despite of you, and must have you leave your foolish persuasion, that tells you of impossibilities to come, and thereupon engages you to deny yourself all the pleasures of this present life. I will furnish you with more certain delights, and bring you to a love of that life, which now you so little care for. Do no more blaspheme our Gods, though they are merciful, they will at last revenge these injuries; but come and Worship them, and let your Repentance show your sorrow for your impieties.  
Peace unjust Governor, cried out the Saint, with indignation, and do no more strive to divorce me from my happiness, my Dear Saviour. Thy sly insinuations shall prove as useless as thy menaces, and both together, with all thou canst do beside, shall never induce me to abjure my Christianity, or to embrace a Religion that bids me worship Stocks, and pay Devotion to the work of Artists. I defy the Anger of thy Gods, go fright poor Ignorant Superstitious Fools with Jupiter's Bolt, and Neptune's Trident; I fear them less than thee, and dare blaspheme them with far greater security, than abuse the weakest of thy people. Let thy injured Divinities vindicate their honour, with all the power they can. I am protected, and dare bid defiance to them and their Idolators. She spoke this with all the vehemence she could, and struck a secret terror into all that heard her, who stopping their ears, and stamping on the ground, to signify they detested her Blasphemies, cried out, Away with her to the Stake, and let her punishment expiate her Impiety, lest the Gods plague us with some signal Judgement, if we let such wickedness go unpunished.  
Symphronius was very much displeased to see the people in such a disturbance, and to see himself almost enforced to deliver her to the Executioner. But causing a silence to be made. Romans, said he, content yourselves, you shall either see her die, or recant her blasphemies. The Gods will be better satisfied with her Repentance, than her punishment, and since upon better consideration she may alter her resolution, she shall be conveyed hence to prison, and here to morrow we shall expect her final determination, and thence proceed either in her favour, or to her prejudice. The Proposition pleased the people, and they expressed their approbation by their Acclamations, and solemn Euge's. Whereupon Symphronius addressing himself to the Saint. We give you this night to consider better on it, and hope your reason will persuade you rather to accept your life with Honours and Preferments, than a Death as Painful as Ignominious. That shameful Death, replied the holy Votary very brisklie, I prefer to all thou canst bestow upon me. You need not delay your cruelties, you have my Answer, which the fear of Ten Thousand Deaths shall never alter. She was proceeding, when the Governor gave order to have her taken away to Prison. She went without the least repugnance, and considered her Prison as the Praeludium to her Martyrdom.  
It will not be difficult to imagine how her good Father resented all this. He was going to speak in her defence a Hundred times, but considering it would be only an imprudence to involve himself in her Calamity without any hopes of helping her, he stood astonished; and in the midst of all his sorrows, a secret joy would often surprise him, to see his Daughters pious assurance, which he could not choose but applaud and admire, though he knew it would rob him infallibly of what was dearest to him in the world; his dearest Agnes. In this Condition he stood, when the Virgin was carried away, and though he was resolved to follow her, he could not go a step in her pursuit, and then it was when Symphronius chanced to see him, who coming to him said very mildly. Go, Sir, and persuade your Daughter not to throw away her Life. My Symphronius would be a better Companion than the Stake, and a Nuptial Torch, than a Funeral Flame. He said no more, but immediately left him lest he should answer unpleasantly as indeed with reason he could expect no other.  
He might have spared himself the trouble of this admonition, and the Loving Father needed not much persuasion, to do what his Love compelled him to. He presenly followed the Young Lady to her Prison, and I should give myself an unnecessary trouble, to tell you all their Holy Communication. Her Mother was not long absent, who being informed of all that was past, ran to the Prison. Never was such dear and obliging Discourses, such Pious Consolations, such Affectionate Tears in the World, as then that Prison was Conscious of. And I should never Have done, should I insist on the particulars. It shall therefore suffice to say, that at last her Parents withdrew, To leave her to her Devotions, which 'tis possible, no other consideration could have induced them to. What Pious Raptures had our Good Agnes, when she considered her approaching Martyrdom. Ah! good God, would she sometimes say, 'tis in vain they expect I should renounce my right in thee; they shall never force me to disclaim the Interest I have in thee. The more I consider thy incomparable goodness, the more I am confirmed in my holy resolutions, to Live and Dye a Christian; I did not embrace Christianity to desert it shamefully. No Dear Lord, I will never slain my former Life with so black an Apostasy. I will not, sweet Jesus, by thy gracious assistance, and Flesh and Blood, Durst and Ashes as I am, by thy help I will carry away the Victory from the conspiring fury of Hell and Earth. Then got long after in a deep Reveree would she be almost translated into Glory, and inticipate that Heaven she was going to possess.  

A soliloquy.  
FOnd man that dost with Fetters bind the Saint  
And keep fair Agnes in a forced constraint,  
How thou in vain expend'st thy cruelty,  
And throw'st away thy rage? She still is free,  
Free as brisk Lightning from its Mother Cloud  
Broke lose, and freed from its surrounding   
Fetter the sprightly Sun in's wat'ry Bed,  
When in Hesperian Seas he hides his Head,  
And let the Morning call him up to vain,  
The fettered Sun will soon return again:  
When this it done, the blessed Maid enchain  
She and the Sun will both break forth again.  
So did the Jews her Saviour once entomb,  
(A Virgin Grave he had, as once a Womb.)  
They sealed the Stone, and careful watches sent,  
His moving flight to hinder, and prevent.  
The Righteous Sunbreaks forth the Watchmen run,  
Or prostrate fell t' adore the rising Sun,  
Turned Persians without superstition.  
She Prays, she Sighs, and so transmits' her Soul,  
To her dear Lord, without the least control  
Fetter her Pious Thoughts, and Chain her Sighs,  
And seal that Lovely Source of Tears, her Eyes.  
Whilst she can Pray in vain you cruel are,  
Her Prayers make God her fellow Prisoner,  
There can no Prison be while he is there.   
THus did the Holy Votary keep the Vigil to that Glorious Festival of her Martyrdom, after the primitive custom of the Church, before Superstition or Profainess had debauched the true Christian Piety.  
But the Morning was at last come, and Symphronius at the accustomed hour seated on his Tribunal; commanded the Prisoner to be brought. He had taken infinite care to conceal from his Son what had past the day before, and left him now engaged in as pleasant imaginations as ever, while his own Soul, God knows, was traversed with the greatest distractions imaginable. Sometimes Piety prevailed, and presented him with the fair Idea of the  Virgin, tied to a Stake with the Flames all about her, and then starting up on the sudden, she must not die, would he cry out, that is so Louly in the midst of all her Sorrows. If the Sun shining through a watery Cloud dazzles our eyes, what would he do in a clear Heaven, and at his full Meridian. While pity thus wholly possessed his Soul, and controlled all his other Passions, Justice began to oppose it, he considered her then as the Blasphemer of the Gods, and then presently damning his guilty Pity; he resolved to see her die or hear her recant. And then the next minute he looked upon her as his Son's Mistress, in whose ruin he should infallibly bury his own and his Son's contentment; In such a distraction as this did he ascend the Tribunal, whither the chaste Agnes was not long after brought. I need not tell you her Parents accompanied her, since their former affection may make you very confident of it.  
She came with her former courage, and her Air so lively, and so nobly confident, did very well inform the Judge, and all the People of her Constancy. Her eyes proclaimed her no A postate, and a Tyrant after he hath waded through Seas of Blood, to acquire a Crown, never hug'd it with a greater Satisfaction, than she did her Persecutions. When Symphronius demanded whether she did yet repent of her impieties, and would accept her Life upon his conditions, you would have admired her Christian answer. The brave Heroine still avowed her perseverance in that Opinion, which he falsely called Impiety, she pursued their Gods with new Injuries, and after a noble Harangue looking upon the Governor with a Christian assurance. Thou hast my final answer, continued she, proceed now to my Condemnation. I am as guilty as Christianity can make me. I shall never accept my Life upon such base Conditions, as thou proposest; I scorn to court thy favour, my God if he please can protect me, and if he wils my Death, I will willingly and joyfully entertain it. Prepare those Stakes and Faggots now, expose me to the wild Beasts, and take away my Life the next moment, I will not disgrace my Obedience with a murmur; Thou canst but make me die, something sooner than Nature requires. All thy cruelties can give me but one Death, that's all thy tortures can at the utmost amount to. But that Death with all it's frightful adjuncts, shall never deprive me of my bountiful Saviour, that will instate me in Eternal Life and Glory.  
Symphronius was more confounded then ever, at so unparallelled a constancy, but staying some minutes in a deep astonishment, at last he risen up and looking upon the Saint. Since Death is a thing you so much desire, said he with a malicious laughter, you shall Live something longer. We can touch you in a more sensible part, and the Honour and Chastity you have vowed to preserve, and thereupon despised a person you were wholly unworthy of, shall be a Sacrifice to the fury of the Gods. Is this the last effort of thy Malice? Answered the Saint, and smiled, do, Prosecute thy Design, my God to whom I have vowed my Chastity, is able to preserve it. This is too weak an Engine to storm my Faith, and though I prefer my Honour Ten Thousand times to Life, and all thy gaudy Possessions, be assured that the fear of losing it shall never induce me to sacrifice to a Stone. My Chastity is in too safe hands for thou, or all the world to violate it. Since you are so mightily taken with this Honour and Virginity, said the Governor, go sacrifice to the Goddess Vesta, and so preserve both your Life and Honour. Become one of her holy Vestals, and direct your Devotion to its right end. If I for my dear Saviour, replied the Lady, despised thy Son, that lived and moved, and was informed by a reasonable Soul, and endowed with all accomplishments desirable in his age; think not thy Goddess, as thou call'st her, the Creature of some Workman, that neither sees nor hears me, that neither scent's your Sacrifices, nor is conscious of the Honours you do her, shall ever bring me to Apostasy. I contemn thy Gods more, than thee, those useless, nay more, those destructive pieces of Stone, and metal: Your foolish Legends of the miserable Niobe, and the unfortunate Actaeon shall never fright me into an Opinion, as Impious as 'tis Ridiculous. You must needs adore a whole Troop of Gods, though your Philosophers laugh at many Infinites. Nor really can I conceive a God of a circumscribed power, and jurisdiction. Broke down their Altars, then deface their Imagies, and convert their Godships, that have lain fallow for so many Ages, at last to some use; go pave the Streets with them, you need not fear what a Stone can do to you, and you may trample on them with greater security, then adore them; since there's no fear they should rise up to revenge themselves, but 'tis not impossible, that their Images, may, as Nero's once did, fall down, and destroy their Votaries.  
The Governor and the People were so exasperated at her saucy Blasphemies, as they seemed not able to contain themselves, they abandoned themselves to their fury, which at that time they thought was too just, and reasonable to be condemned. Symphronius risen up like a Madman, and cried out with the greatest fury in the world. We shall see how your God will protect your Life and Honour, that could not save himself from the Cross, And then without delay he commanded her to be stripped of all her , and then to be led Naked to the common Bordelli, and there to be exposed to the lust of all comers. Which command of the Tyrant was so readily obeyed, that the Holy Agnes had no time to make an answer. The Barbarous Ruffians had in a moment performed their Office, and left the Pious Creature without any covering but her Innocency. But her heavenly Husband did not here desert her, for her hair fell down so long, so thick, and shady, that not the least part of her Body could be seen. The People were amazed at the sight, and imagined it was a trick of her Witchery (for Christians at that time were commonly branded with the name of Witches and Wizards) and notwithstanding so signal a miracle pursued their Villainies. But be pleased Ladies to consider the chaste Virgin in this condititon.  

A Soliloquite.  
YOu that with Auburn tresses do ensnare,  
The captive Hearts of those enamoured are  
That with their glorious hopes your Slaves retain,  
They're Prisoners still though in a golden Chain:  
Hither your eyes convert, and here descry  
The natural use of your fair Tapestry.  
In vain they all her Ornaments removed,  
That but concealed her Beauty, not improved.  
If through the Cloud she did such light impart  
That never pierced the Skin, yet pierced the Heart;  
Now disengaged what wonder will she be?  
Her Charms no longer can admit degree.  
So stand the blessed Virgins force the Throne  
Of the Thrice blessed ever Three and One.  
They can't the holy Saint by force undress,  
She still preserves her Vest of Righteousness.  
Clothed without Clothes, and naked without shame,  
In what strange pleasing Labyrinths I am.  
She a good Heretic might justly seem,  
Who e'er would such an Adimite condemn?  
A Lovely Penitent she needs must be,  
Clothed in her Haircloth and her Piety.  
Thus she retrives the Golden Age, and is  
A second Eve, though out of Paradise.  
So Agnes stands at Eve in Edom then,  
Here's Serpents too, but ah! There's no such men.   
THus was the fair Agnes led along towards the place of dishonour. Whilst the People, even the most zealous among them, that is the most savage and impions could not choose but commiserate her condition. The Roman Ladies, though they were as great Sticklers for their Paganism, as their Husbands, raged and condemned the Governor. They blushed to see one of their own Sex thus exposed to the sight and laughter of all the world, and though they condemned her blasphemies, they could not think, that she deserved so cruel a treatment. However they said it was infinitely uhjust to punish the whole Sex, for the fault of a single Person; and after these considerations what lamentations, what distractions were amongst them? Nay those that were the most prudent and stayed Persons, could not moderate their Passions in so strange reencounter.  
Thus did the Ladies express their sentiments of their Husband's cruelty, but the poor Agnes was not the better for them. The savage Ruffians led her along for all the cries of the Distracted Matrons, though common modesty, and that respect her brave deportment had struck into them, had made the more civil part of the People to departed, or hid their eyes from so uncommon and unbeseeming a Spectacle.  
And now at last our chaste Votary was brought into the Bordelli. She blushed, she trembled at the sight of it, but after some minute's astonishment. 'Tis for thy sake, my dear Lord, she cried out, that I enter into this place of pollution, preserve thou my Chastity, thou that makest the Sun shine on a Dunghill without defiling it, let not my Virtue contract a stain from this place and be pleased to keep me chaste, where hitherto there was nothing but abomination. She would have proceeded had not the rabble disturbed her by their outcry. She was then led into her Chamber, which was formerly dedicated to uncleaness, but her very presence sanctified the place. The Sun can make day in Green-land after the night hath continued for Six Months together, and our Saint can transfund a Sanctity into a Bawdy House, where virtue was never thought of. Who would not wonder to see one on his Knees there to any thing but his Mistress? To hear Prayers instead of Oaths, and instead of a Damn, a Lord deliver me.  

A soliloquy.  
WHat do I see! chaste Agnes in a Stew?  
No, I mistake. It is not, can't be true.  
Though Stars desert their Spheres when guided thence  
By some extravagant Intelligence.  
And the bright Errand Sol disert his Line,  
And won't himself within his bounds confine.  
Saint Agnes still must be  
Not chaste, but chastity,  
The world may leave its order, but not she.   

2.  
She's there I vow, what shall I fix upon  
To reconcile a Contradiction?  
She's there, She's there herself, behold that Eye  
That inflamed Lovers, in a River lie.  
Which now advanced to Heaven you may see  
Measuring her Journey to Eternity.  
Behold that Louly Ray  
She does on Heaven display,  
Can if she pleased at Midnight make a day.   

3.  
Her pure and Virgin hands, that broken sight,  
And tears more Rich than th' Indian treasury,  
Her Prayer as humble as 'twas resolute,  
Bravely assured 'gainst Heaven to dispute  
By these I'm sure 'tis she, ay, ay 'tis she,  
They th' Characteristics of good Agnes be.  
She sighs, she weeps, she prays,  
Heaven ne'er heard sweeter lays  
From him that Loved, and does now wear the bays   

4.  
Strange Praying in this filthy place! Ah! no,  
While Agnes stays it can no more be so,  
Than Night can with its darkest shades remain  
When to our world the Sun returns again.  
The Tyrant does in vain express his hate,  
The Stew's a Temple by her Consecrate,  
Whilst others make the house of Prayer  
A Den of Theives, for so they are,  
Stews are made sacred, while the Saint is there.   
THus did she spend her minutes in that place of wickedness, her Pious Soul retained its native purity, & never entertained her Lord with more Devotion than at that time. Her piety I persuade myself was natural to her, and like all natural Motions moved swiftest towards the end. Her Martyrdom now approaching, her Devotion was more vigorous, and the piety of all the time she might have lived, had not the Tyrant robbed the world of so bright a Jewel, being contracted into so short a time, was infinitely augmented. She assaulted the Almighty with so agreeable a violence, that he showed his approbation of her petitions in a manner very miraculuos.  
While she was intent upon her Devotion, casting her eyes by chance on one side; she espied hanging on the wall a pure white Garment, whereas when she came in, there was none there, She was at first surprised both with the incomparable whiteness and pureness of it, and wondered how so much cleanness should come into so defiled a place. But immediately reflecting on her own Nakedness, she acknowledged it was the goodness of her Lord, that did not forsake her in that condition. She took it, and putting it on, with her bright eyes lift up to Heaven, Dear Lord, said she, how infinite is thy goodness, it still pursues me. Thou art pleased to secure thy poor and unworthy Servant in a Stew, and hast sent thy Holy Angel with this Heavenly Garment to cover my Nakedness. Lord make me worthy of these thy favours, keep me pure and immaculate, and translate me hence into that place of purity, where no fear of Stews, nor apprehension of Governors, with their Sons may molest me. Where in that Virgin Choir, whereof thy blessed Mother is the chief; I may carol out thy praises, and in a long white Robe be ever happy in the contemplation of thy Divine Excellence.  

A soliloquy.  
WHat precious present does my Saviour make,  
Fit for a God to give, a Saint to take?  
Whiter than Snow, and what ere strikes the sense,  
White as her Soul, and Virgin Innocence.  
Now let our rigid Heretics appear,  
Who can hate surplesses, and see them here?  
Who was the Heaunly Artist, what the Loom,  
That Wove the Vest, that did the Saint become?  
The Angels did in such a dress appear  
Those early Guardians of the sepulchre.  
Those Heavenly Swans that from their Silver Throat  
Breathed out Salvation in a Louly note.  
She took the Heavenly present in her hand,  
Brighter than Diamonds, sparkling on the Strand.  
How many charms did in the Vest appear,  
And yet 'twas far more Heavenly, set on her.  
This Wedding Garment, would she sighing say,  
Had in thy Blood its spots all washed away.  
I am obliged unto their Cruelty,  
That left me Naked to be Clothed by thee.  
Yet cannot this thy Heavenly gift suffice,  
My lofty wishes will still higher rise.  
Not Heaven, nor Earth, nor all the world beside  
When thou art absent, can content thy Bride.  
O cloth me with thyself, and let me be,  
Reflecting still thy Sun of Majesty.  
Yet cant this present, Lord, unwelcome prove,  
Both cause 'tis Heaunly, and it shows thy Love.   
THus did she thankfully resent the Divine Goodness, and expressed her gratitude. And now what Censorious and rigid Christian would not consent to the Consecration of this Brothel-house, and make a Christian Church of a Pagan Whore-house.  
While the Saint was thus employed, the People were not engaged in so Pious an employment. They had not left the Stew, but stayed attending at the Door, lest she should make an escape, and I conjecture too, it was partly out of respect that they did not go in too her, till the Young Symphronius had had his desires. But some of the boldest of them came confidently in to look upon her, and feed their eyes with so unhandsome a sight. But they stayed not long there, for our blessed Saviour had invested his Saint with so heaunly a lustre, that they fell upon their Faces and retired with all the haste and respect they could. Thus our bountiful Redeemer was pleased to communicate his Heavenly Wardrobe, and wipe all tears from her eyes, or if any remained there, they turned into Christian Jewels, while the Glory of her countenance illustrated them. As the Sun turns an incomparable Jeweller, when it shines through a watery Cloud, and makes every drop a Diamant, resplendent in its native dew. Our bold intruders came out again, not so brisk as they went in, which gave the People a fresh cause of Admiration. They asked them a Hundred times what was the matter, but could not receive a word in answer; whereupon some bold Ruffians among them resolved to march in, and see if the Sorceress (for so they called her) would send them back in the same condition. But their confidence had the same issue, for they returned, as much surprised as the former, so that they desisted from such Intrusions.  
Go now, foolish Tyrant, pursue thy cruelty, deprive her of all her Garments; her God shall supply her; expose her to the lust of all the world, set the doors open, and invite all the Roman Gentlemen to the fruition of a Young and Handsome Lady, her God shall still preserve her, and her Guardian Angel defeat all thy projects against her. Yes Tyrant, in spite of all thy fury she still preserves her Chastity, even in a Stew, and remains there a purer Virgin, than thy Vestal Recluses are in their private Apartment. But thou alas art not now in a condition to hear good advice, thy cares are directed to a very different end, and instead of freeing the Innocent Lady, thou art now coining her some new Destruction.  
The Young Lover that had flattered himself for some time with the fair hopes of enjoying his wishes, was now in a condition to leave his Chamber, and take Possession of his Mistress, as his Father had promised him he should; He was thinking of nothing else, when Symphronius entered the Chamber, who looking upon his Son very earnestly. Go dear Boy, said he, and enjoy thy Agnes she cannot now oppose thy wishes, and thou hast all the conveniences in the world of making thyself as happy, as Agnes can make thee. The Young Man was so over joyed at so welcome a Proposition, that he could not find his Tongue immediately to thank his Father, and show with what willingness he would obey him; but after some time looking on his Father with eyes that languished with desire. Igo, Sir, said he, both because my own Inclinations invite me thither, and you are pleased to command me. He said no more but was leaving his Chamber to fly to the Arms of his Agnes, when his Father stayed him, and looking on him with more distraction than before. But you must enjoy her in a Stew then, said the Governor. Our Lover was confounded at so strange an advertisement. Is Agnes falls then? Cried he out, very furiously; has she violated her Innocence? and ruined her honour? that honour that she opposed me with for so long a time, and that though it hindered my happiness, I could not but admire. Is the Louly, Virtuous Agnes, turned a strumpet, and was she only a fair Hypocrite when she stood most upon her Virtue? Was all her Piety but a personated piece of goodness? Ah! Sir, 'tis impossible for the best of Women to remain innocent for a moment after the Beautiful Agnes hath left her Goodness by so shameful an Apostasy. No, Child, you mistake yourself, answered the Governor: Ay, I do mistake myself, replied the Lover hastily, 'tis impossible she should be guilty of such a wickedness, Villain that durst suspect her, and durst believe all the world to her disadvantage. Agnes can never be in a Stew, till it cease to be so, and it must first be made Virtuous before Agnes can be brought to it. As our noble part, the Soul, is never infunded, till the Mass of matter be furnished with convenient Organs for its reception. He was so transported in his Harangue, that his Father could not stop him, till he came hither; but perceiving him stay a little, he said. Your Agnes is indeed in a Stew, but she hath still kept her honour, and were Lust the only crime she could be accused of, she were the greatest piece of Excellence in the world. Good, Sir, abuse me not, replied the Lover something more mildly than before, with your pleasing Paradox: Though were that possible, continued he, you tell me of, it would be possible to none but my dear Agnes, and she would be the only person in the world, that could declaim Debauchery, and transfund Virtue into the Stews. His Father seeing him now something pacified and in a condition to hear him, assumed the discourse, and told him all that had past; he acquainted him with her Christianity, and what had passed, very faithfully. And at last looking upon his Son with all the fury in the world. Go revenge us, said he, on that fair Enemy of Heaven take thy satisfaction, Fruition is the same all the world over, whether in a Stew, or private Apartment. Stand not now upon your Punctilios of Honour: I conjure you to it by your duty, by that Piety you own the Gods, and the satisfaction you own yourself, and me. It would be impossible for me, sully to describe our Lover's confusion. He grew pale, and red again, he trembled, and when he endeavoured to speak, he faltered, and his Tongue could not then serve him, with that Office he required of it. His Father made use of his silence, and pressed him so vehemently to a thing, that were it not for some unhandsome circumstances, he desired above any thing in the world, that at last his reason retired, and his Passion hurried him on to the performance of it. How did his Father then embrace and caress him, and forthwith sent him out to the the accomplishment of what he so much desired.  
The Young Man no longer made any scruple to obey him, but entered into the Stew, as he would into that Elysium their Religion told them of. He entered indeed, for nothing now could stop him, but with the same success as that Roman Emperor, the Noble Julius, did into the Senate, to be ruined in that place, where he expected the crowning of his wishes. He was no sooner in the Chamber, but seeing his beloved Agnes, (he could not possibly mistake her, that carried her Beautiful Idea in his Heart continually,) he spied her Heavenly Vestment, and her surrounding Glory; he was surprised at this; but he reassumed his courage, and advanced towards his Mistress, and his Destruction. For the Devil by the Permission of the Almighty, strangled him. The Holy Maid was extremely troubled at it, but considering all this was done for the preservation of her Chastity, she blessed her Saviour for his wonderful assistance, and could not but admire his infinite Power and Goodness, that made even the Devil destroy their common Enemies.  

TOo fatal Love! how cruel art thou grown?  
Hate ne'er yet made a life Destruction.  
He's dead, his life, his hopes are fled away,  
While he poor Soul, dreamed of some other fray,  
Like Princes stabbed o'th' Coronation day,  
He came to find a Mistress, and there be  
Lulled into some sweet felicity.  
How his hard fate opposed his sweet intent,  
For a warm Mistress, a cold Monument.  
Hot Devils must caress our Paramour.  
Hot as his lust, nor then his flames more pure.  
His lust could ne'er with the  Saint agree,  
As Heaven and Hell have their Antipathy.  
How safely may the Saint her foes despise,  
The Devil himself destroys her Enemies.  
Lust, and Devil, do the Saint surround,  
Enclosed, her goodness does the more abound.  
Incompased with a Stew she Chaster is,  
Christians have their Antiperistasis.   
THe Lady continued in her Devotion, and the People out of respect to the Young Symphronius ceased their Incivilities, and seeing him stay something long within, imagined he was about his pleasures, and therefore entered not in for a considerable time. But at last seeing he came not out, suspecting by the success of the former Intruders, that the fair Witch (for they could not allow any better Title) might have killed him, they rushed in, and found the poor Lover cold and pale upon the Ground, and immediately cried out, the Sorceress hath killed the Son of the Governor: they all pursued to the Stake with her, to revenge the Gods and the Governor.  
This lamentable news presently arrived at the Governors' ears, who half Distracted at it, run furiously to the Stew, and approaching the Holy Agnes, Dam'd Sorceress, cried he out, why shouldst thou destroy a Person, whose only fault was his too well loving thee? Is this your Christian Conscience? And could his Affection render him so great a Criminel? Ah! cruel, ungrateful Woman! He was going on, when the good Lady extremely afflicted too hear her Innocence abused so, No Sir, she cried out, and interrupted him. I did not kill your Son, but that Master he served, the Devil; Blast not my Innocence, but impute the Death of your Symphronius to him, that was the cause of it. No, cruel one, said he, impatiently, thy Sorceries have produced it, and robbed me of the greatest comfort I had in the world. But why, for Heaven's sake, didst thou spare, the rest that came into the Chamber to thee, and only destiny my poor Boy to so severe a Punishment? The rest, said the Lady, came not upon so bad a Design as thy Son did, and the just God would separate the guitly from the Innocent. Thou liest, said the enraged Father. He was not guilty, he was Good and Innocent, and thou art the only Criminel, or if thou wilt clear thy Innnocence, and show what thy God can do, of whose power you talk of so much, give me my Son alive again, and I will pronounce thee guiltless. Christians talk much of Mercy and Compassion, show us now a Proof of it, and secure the most miserable Father that ever breathed.  
Though your Infidelity deserve it not, answered the Holy Saint, yet, to show the power and mercy of my dear Saviour, I will beg his Life, and doubt not but my Prayers shall restore him. But think not Governor of Rome, that I do this to oblige thee to rescue me. No, my Piety shall not be so mercenary. It troubles me that that fatal Love, which your Son conceived for me, should render him guilty of such a Villainy, and then deliver him up to be strangled by the hands of the Devil, and though I did not willingy produce that guilty Flame, and though I caused it, was the Innocent cause of it, yet I would have procured him his Liberty by any other means then leaving my blessed Saviour, and violating my most sacred Vow of a perpetual Virginity. I will therefore humbly entreat my bountiful and Almighty Lord to restore him to his Life again, and that ancient tranquillity he enjoyed, before my unhappy eyes had destroyed it.  
The Governor hereupon immediately retired, and left the Saint to her Prayers. It would be impossible for me to express her Pious Orisons, her Almighty Tears and Sighs, that could extort what she desired from her blessed Jesus. The Primitive method of Christian Devotion was then Vigorous, and Regular, and not capable to be desired by us that live in so profane a Generation. Her Prayers were not long, they were contracted, and therefore the more strong and valid; A Period was included in a Word, and a whole Discourse enclosed in a Period. Such powerful Petitions could not be long in producing their effects, as really they were not, for the Young Gentleman presently arose, and to prove that the Heathen only had died, and the Old Man been Buried in him, he Risen up to a Christian, and running out into the Street, where his Father expected what the Lady's Prayers could effect, he cried out with a loud voice there is only one God, and that God is the God of the Christians.  

SO raised! And by his Mistress too alone,  
This is a double Resurrection.  
She from whose hand, he could receive his death,  
Without a Sigh, and Smile, away bis breath,  
Does bountifully life and health confer,  
Now doubly welcome 'cause they came from her.  
From her sweet lips life doth new charms derive,  
And makes our happy Lover more than live,  
He lives, and does a Christian become,  
Born in the Grave, regenerate in the Tomb.  
Say Christians what a sweet divorce was this,  
How Louly such a Separation is!  
He died, but only died to live again,  
As he's regenerate that's a Christian.  
So after a debauch I've often seen,  
When sense and reason both were put out clean.  
A gentle slumber lock the heavy eyes,  
And steal upon the Soul by soft surprise,  
But when these pleasing slumbers go again,  
Then from the Beast there rises up a man:  
Ah! happy Soul 'twas worth the dying so,  
By Death to banish Death, and woe by wo.  
While from Eternal pains, short pains retrieve,  
And dying once thou dost for ever live.  
Baptised in Death, turned Christian in the Grave,  
What need he fear, that Death itself can save.   
PIous Martyr, thou for all his outrages and violence which his extravagant Love made him commit, dost graciously pardon him, and by thy holy Prayers, freest him from that Death he had endured, and deserved, to give him the hopes of Eternal Life and Glory, in making him commence a Christian. How Divine is this Act of thine gracious Lady, how well dost thou Imitate thy God in this? That oftentimes denies us what we desire, when we beg those things that may hurt us, and gives us what his infinite Wisdom knows most convenient. Thou wouldst not grant him, what his immoderate affection made him desire; thou woul'st not cease to be what thou wast, but mad'st thy Lover like thyself, a Christian, and mad'st him approve of thy blessed choice, and Love thy dearest Lord, almost as ardently as thyself.  
The People were distracted, at so strange an encounter. The Priests, being the most concerned Persons, were the first that demanded St. Agnes, and cried out, that her Sorceries and Blasphemies could no other way be expiated but by Flames, and then threatened them with the fury of the Gods; if such offences were left unpunished. The giddy Rabble seconded their zealous Priests, and all the City, almost urged the necessity of punishing St. Agnes. The Governor being now frighted by so many Signal Miracles, did all he could to retrieve her from those dangers he had engaged her in, but all was to no purpose. He could not resist the fury of an incensed Rabble. So that seeing his impuissance to rescue her, and perform his promise; which though the good Agnes never mentioned it, he still remembered, he forthwith retired, and committed the management of the business to his Substitute one Aspasius, that neither was willing to save the Saint, as being a notable Zealot for their superstition, and no friend to the Christians, and had he desired it the most in the world, he durst not have resisted the multitude. Where 〈◊〉 he immediately consented to her punishment without repugnance, and formally condemned her to be burn.  

COndemn her to the Flames! stay Tyrant, stay  
She hath no dross that can be purged away.  
She's pure as sprightly Seraphs that do prove  
No other Flames, but those pure Flames of Love.  
Flames of the Love Divine, that with perfume  
Only gild on'e their object, not consume.  
Why should you needless trouble thus pursue?  
The Saint herself would finish, what you do.  
Her servant Zeal, and Love might well suffice  
Alone to make her Love's sweet Sacrifice.  
If in your Flames she must her breath expire,  
Your Cruelty will but advance her higher,  
She'll scale the Heavens in a Coach of Fire.  
Brighter in Flames, our blessed Martyr is  
Then Caesar's in their Apotheosis.  
Her Soul without an Eagle climbs the Sky,  
Keeping her heavenly Quarry in her eye.   
'tIs to no purpose to speak any longer to the mad Rabble, and their madder Governor. They are not at leisure to hear any thing in the favour of St. Agnes. The buisy Priests think not themselves secure, nor their Gods safe at their Altars, till she was dispatched out of the world. The People apprehended strange Judgements, if such unheard of Blasphemies should go unpunished. So that the conspiring fury of Priests and People, hurried our holy Votary to the place of Execution; Be pleased to consider her Noble Constancy, she comes, her eyes shine brighter than those Flames that are provided for her punishment, and her Heart burns, with a noble ardour; but all these charms cannot prevail with the cruel villains, to remit her punishment: they persist in their cruelty, as much as she does in her Devotion, and here it was that she gained a noble Victory, and kept her Christianity with as much constancy as they opposed it: She was now brought to the Stake, and the Faggots placed round about her, but all could not tempt nor terrify this Heroic Martyr of Christ Jesus, she lift up her hands her eyes towards Heaven, where her Heart had rested more than in her Body many Years before. I come sweet Jesus she cried out; receive thy Martyr into Glory; while she was saying this, the People to stop her Mouth put Fire to the Faggots which immediately were all in a Flame; but the Pious Agnes still continued her Devotions, all the crackling of the Flames and out-cries of the People, could not distract her. So I persuade myself in that dreadful day of Judgement, thy Good Elect sweet Redeemer, will servently Pray unto thee, while all the World is on Fire about their ears, and the miserable Reprobates make the most woeful lamentations, that their despair and Anguish, and the worm of Conscience can suggest them. The Pious Agnes still prayed and sighed and recommended her Soul to Heaven, but her merciful Lord, freed her from the violence of the Fire. How were the Flames then divided and only warned the Saint, and then daparted, and what need a Christian, one that deserve that Glorious Title, fear and tremble when the Waters and Seas retired at the Prayers of a Moses, and the Fire at the Prayers of the Three Children, and St. Agnes. While she thus continued her fervent Ejaculations, the Flames were quite extinguished, and not one spark could be found in the Ashes.  

WHat ails this charming Victress of the Fire  
Whence do the frighted Flames in haste retire  
No Clouds have from their Wombs disclosed a shower  
That might retard their force, or quell their power  
'Tis so, the greater Flame or ' ecome the less,  
The Sun our weaker Fire extinguishes.  
Thy fervent Zeal, fair Sain's too great and high,  
To suffer any Fire to burn that's nigh.  
The conscious Flames first saw, then fled away,  
She destined was to purer Flames than they,  
Blessed Saint in this you more victorious are,  
Then those, that so before protected were.  
The first did with their Skins but gently play,  
It kissed them on, and never fled away  
Those gentle Flames, 'tis true ne'er burned the three,  
Thy civil ones, nor burned nor stayed with thee.  
Before  Agnes the swift heats retire,  
She that ne'er burned with Lust, may dare the Fire,  
If men turn Cruel thou know'st where to fly,  
Flames will indulge that safety they deny.   
ANd now the Fire was quite extinguished, and the Saint stood Pryaing in the midst of its Ashes, like some brave Hero, that stands encompassed by those Carcases, that his Victorious Arm hath made so.  
The People were so astonished at so manifest a miracle, that they stood silent for a long time, and had, I believe, scarce ever pursued their cruelties, had not the barbarous Priests imputed this miracle to her Sorceries. The Governor Aspasius seemed to favour their Opinion, and the foolish Vulgar as they are easily persuaded into any thing, embraced it, and suffered themselves to be abused into an Error as Ridiculous, as Damnable. Holy Agnes what were thy sentiments of their cruelty? How didst thou entertain those Scandals? And with what patience couldst thou hear thy purest Innocence so stained and blasted? My Lord, thou cried'st out in the midst of the Multitude, where thou than wast, with what ease and pleasure do I follow thy holy Example? They called thee Belzebub, and accuse me for a Sorceress: thou know'st my Innocence, thou my Master, to whom I must stand or fall. I can despise the living imputations of malicious men, when I suffer for thy sake, and nothing can be disagreeable to me, that so dear a hand as thine is pleased to lay upon me.  
Since their first effort of cruelty had failed the Villains, they resolved to make use of another, and after some deliberations fixed upon beheading. The Proposition was approved of the People, and without any longer delay they led our holy Martyr to the Scaffold. At last, brave Christian, have I brought thee to the place of Martyrdom, whence thy Pious Soul must fly into the Bosom of thy Saviour. Aspasius made use of the People's Pious Fury, and lest their minds should alter, commanded the Executioner immediately to perform his o●●●e, who after the Saint had recommended her Soul to the Almighty, once again (so good a deed could not be iterated to often by so good a Person) and laid down her fair Neck on the Block, with as much tranquillity, as she used to do on her Pillow, after she had spent the greatest part of the night in her private Devotions, he gave the fatal blow, and severed her Head from her Body.  
Thus fell that constant Martyr of Christ Jesus, the blessed St. Agnes, not yet fully arrived to the Thirteenth Year of her Age. You may justly now admire her admirable constancy at those Years. But she good Lady had prevented her Age, and become a perfect Woman, and most consummate Saint and Martyr, before other Ladies as Old as she then was, give themselves the trouble of one serious thought, or an hour of regular Devotion. Her Constancy her Chastity, but above all her Devotion, and all therest of her Christian Virtues were so admirable, and shone with so great a lustre, that it would seem almost as Ridiculous in me to show them distinctly, as to point out the Sun at Noon, or the Moon at Midnight.  

THus she from Torture does of Torture go,  
And what the falmes could not the sword must do.  
In vain the Pious Flames such mildness used,  
The Sword will give that Death, that they refused:  
See how her Purple drops came trickling down,  
Those Stars that must adorn the Martyr's Crown.  
Why should the Blood along her Neck appear,  
Nature, alas designed no Purple there.  
Nature from Grace how much you disagree?  
What that esteems a Grace you Vilify.  
From her wide Wound a Thousand Beauties flow,  
That please the heavens, and all but us below,  
Bad Judges sure! that ne'er discovered  
A charm in aught, but what was white and red.  
Thus do the Ladies handsome still appear,  
Roses and Lilies all our Beauties are.   
SHe ●●ed in the 300th Year of our Lord or there about, and the Church Celebrates her Festival opon he day of Martyrdom, which is the Twenty Frist day of January.  
And now to make this History complete, I should tell you, what became of the governor's Son, that was now very happily cured of his Passion, by the Prayers of the good Martyr, his dear Mistress. But really there is so little to be found amongst Authors, that I judged it better to omit it, then to bring any conjectures of my own, without any grounds for them in St Ambrse, etc. But it seems to be more than probable, that he lived a very good Christian ever after, and when he could not see his dear Agnes any longer, (for she was now without question more Lovely to him then before, since he must needs esteem those Christian Virtues before any of those accomplishments, he had before so much admired in her, though form●●ly he had injurously termed them Impieties● when I say he could not enjoy her holy Company, he still preserved her Memory very tenderly, and did still Imitate her Christian Virtues, which would open him an infallibe Passage to our fair Martyr.  
There is something more of certainty concerning her good Parents: they buried her pure and  Body in Via Numentana not far from Rome, where they commonly, according to the Primitive custom, came to perform their Devotions and lament the loss of their holy Daughter. One might easily pardon them without doubt for so just a sorrow, and he must needs be insensible that was not infinitely afflicted at so vast a loss as this. But our holy Saint to comfort her distressed Parents, was pleased to appear to them at her own Tomb, accompanied with a Glorious Troop of blessed Virgins all in white, and desire them 〈…〉 as ever she had done in 〈…〉 cease their useless Lamenca●●●. She told them, these irregular sorrows very much injured her, and made them seem to doubt of her blessed Condition. All the cruelty, continued she, that they used against me, hath turned extremely to my advantage, and that Death that extruded me out of the World, hath seated me in a Place of Glory; where if any thing could molest and afflict me, and Heaven could admit of any vexation, be assured your sorrows would effect it. And really I know not what can be the Subject of all your Tears and Sighs, and your Grief that is the cause of both, your Agnes still lives, and lives most Glorious in the Holy Company of these good Virgins, and in the service of our common Master the Holy Jesus. What Parent would shed his unseasonable Tears at his Son's advancement to a Throne, or if he needs must weep would shed any other than those of 〈…〉 Crown of Martyrdom I 〈…〉 the Caesars ever had, and 〈…〉 more August as well as ha●●y, the all the Livia's and Mesalina's, in the World; and might more justly seem (if there be any Justice in any thing that is vicious;) an Object of your Envy, than your Lamentations. For Christ's sake, therefore give over your more than unnecessary sorrows: weep not for Agnes, but bestow your Tears on a fit Subject, and wash away your Impieties that make our Saviour's Wounds deeper than the Jews did make them. In am happy, and those good drops of Christian Penitence will make you so, and securely bring you to the Beatific Vision of our Heavenly Redeemer. The Saint said thus and then immediately vanished away, and her Friends returned home, full of unspeakable consolation. And hence our Holy Mother the Church hath ordered the second Festival of 〈…〉 be kept on the Second 〈…〉 ●hich was the day when 〈…〉 her Parents.  
〈◊〉 here insert the Life of her good Foster Sister, St. Emerentiana, that was Martyred at the Tomb of St. Agnes, with the miraculous cure and conversion of Constantina, whereupon she built a Temple in the place, where the  Body lay, but it being my purpose only to bring the Lady to her Glorious Martyrdom. I shall refer you to the Authors, of the Lives of the Saints, and conclude this History with a Prayer to Almighty God of his Infinite Goodness to give us his Heavenly Graces, that we may Imitate the Holy Life and Constant Death of his Blessed Martyr Saint Agnes.  
FINIS.