THE HISTORY OF DIMAGORAS▪   

THE HISTORY Of the most Vile DIMAGORAS Who by Treachery and Poison blasted the incomparable Beauty of Divine PARTHENIA: interwoven with the History of AMORONZO AND CELANIA.  
By John Quarles, Gent.  
London, Printed by J. M. for John Stafford, and are to be sold at his house at the Sign of the George near fleet-bridge; And by H. Cripps in Popes-head-Alley; and by Stephen Chatfield, and Tho: Basset, in St. Dunston's churchyard, 1658.   

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER.  
READER,  
GRow big with expectation, Dimagoras is revived, and lays his old claim to the Throne of Love; Pride justifies both his Worth and Title; and Treachery promotes it. In this ambitious rage he either poison's Love, or betrays it; profanes it in his own affection, or stifles it in that of others: He scorns to die in Quarto's that intends to fill Volumes with his mischiefs.  
These Leaves are but a Portal to his more capacious fabric of confusion; A piece which importunity rather ravished from me, then design intended.  
Untimely Births do usually come forth swaddled in their own imperfections; such Issues of the brain, are more liable to defects than those of the body, wherein, through haste and importunity I am fallen short of expectation; I hope either thy candour will remit, or thy more pregnant fancy will supply; Let me be a Copy, though not a Pattern, and follow, where I cannot lead; but we usually say, Money is not base unless the alloy exceed the pure; and there may be good enough in these if there be so much good therein as to make them pass for currant, and though they obtain no praise, yet I hope they will incur no obloquy: Where defects are not watched, a little virtue may go far: Thine acceptance may raise my fancy as well as enlarge it, and will as much encourage (as my promise and resolution binds) me to the prosecution of the History.  
A Story but half completed cannot please beyond its proportioned measure; but when you shall with a pleasing horror read, and seriously perpend the mischievous designs of Dimagoras, and with a sad delight ruminate upon the obstacles of the sacred Loves of Amoronzo and Celania, than I question not but thy conceit may be thereby doubled, and therein, my recompense.  
Farewell.   

TO My Honoured Friend RICHARD Culmne OF CANALEE, In the County of DEVON, Esq;  
SIR,  
IF these my small Endeavours may find acceptance, I have the end of my desires; I confess they are the fruits of some spare hours, designed only for the benefit of recreation; therefore I hope you will read them for diversions, not Precepts; only let me advise you, to meditate upon the unworthiness of Dimagoras with detestation; upon the puissance of Amoronzo with admiration; upon the hospitality of Kalander with imitation; upon the Virtues of Celania with affectation: Thus if you can gather any delight from it, I am very well satisfied, desiring you to pardon what you find amiss, and no to disrespect it in being mine▪ So you shall engage me to be  
SIR, Yours to esteem yo●JO . QUARLES.   

THE HISTORY OF Dimagoras, Interwoven with the History OF AMORONZO AND CELANIA.  

BOOK I.  
WHen Argalus no longer could abide  
'Tis grief, not news to say, Parthenia died;  
Fates sad Decrees are not to be rever'st  
both lived, both loved, both dy'd, and that's the worst,  
But that which nonplussed most that troubled Age,  
Was that Dimagoras outlived the rage  
Or much incensed Argalus, whose fame  
For noble Acts, advanced his honoured name  
Almost beyond extr'ordinary, and made  
Conquest grow customary, yet 'tis said  
That poor perplexed Argalus lay dead  
Buried in grief, whilst vile Dimagoras fled  
Unprosecuted, and for this respect  
Some say Parthenia charged him with neglect;  
But 'tis well known that Authors may incline  
To errors, by mistake, and so does mine:  
But this suspected matter is best tried  
By real hearted Lovers that abide  
The like misfortune, for Parthenia's breath  
Blasted with grief was fading into death,  
And should distressed Argalus then go  
From his dear-dying Love, to seek a Foe  
He knew not where, alas! he was at strife  
Whether to lose Parthenia, or his life;  
Suppose he had, to prosecute his rage,  
Usurped a sad and groaning pilgrimage,  
And left his dear affections to the care  
Of her own thoughts, then crowded with despair,  
What then? at his return he might have found  
His labour lost, Parthenia under ground▪  
But I'll desist, and recollect my thoughts,  
That Love is only rare, that has no faults.  
'Tis not my tax to treat upon the dead,  
But to pursue Dimagoras that's fled,  
We know not where, yet close pursuit and time  
May bring reward to his unheard of Crime.  
My bloodhound Muse shall ransack all about  
Till we have found this worst of Villains out,  
And then we'll give what we can best afford,  
A pen oft times cuts deeper than a Sword.  
Frighted with his own fears, Dimagoras flies  
He knows not where, and in his flight he cries  
He knows not why, and in his cries, he vents  
A flood of tears, then deep-mouthed oaths prevent  
A further desuge, than a curse succeeds  
That host of oaths, and then he thinks his deeds  
Are so authentic, that he needs not fly,  
Nor fear, nor swear, nor curse, nor grieve, nor die;  
But having claimed the respite of a pause,  
He thus discoursed, Dimagoras thy cause  
Is just and good, disturb not then thy mind  
'Tis fit that men, when women prove unkind,  
Should be as cruel, 'tis well known, thy fame  
Thy worth, thy honour, might have laid a claim  
To her deserts, what though her beauty swelled  
Beyond a Venus, what though she excelled  
Her Sex in wit, what though her ample parts  
Did ravish, nay monopolise the Arts?  
Art thou not rich, and great? is not thy Land  
Unbounded, nay, and canst not thou command  
Armies to wait thy pleasure? and wilt thou  
Basely degenerate, and fondly bow  
Unto a woman's frowns, 'twas but a deed  
Proportioned to her fault, and wilt thou bleed  
These inward drops? come, contemn thy pain  
And grief, thou canst not act it o'er again.  
Did not her tender hearted Mother grieve  
To see thy sorrows, labouring to relieve  
Thy sad extremities, did not her care,  
Her skill, her wit, endeavour to prepare  
Parthenia's heart, and yet obdurate she  
Learned to deny, by importunity:  
Her mother oft would say, ah who can find  
The vast dimensions of a woman's mind,  
There's not a day, an hour, much less a minute,  
That brings them not an alteration in it:  
They're like unfixed Stars, that always move,  
They hate to day, what they to morrow love▪  
But if the influence of one single Star,  
Can so disorder man to make him jar  
With his own reason, nay, bid sense adieu,  
Oh! what will then a Constellation do:  
Thus walking, talking, pausing altogether,  
His heedless feet brought him he knew not whither  
But gazing towards the West, he soon espied  
The aged day was grown so heavy-eyed,  
That being almost destitute of Light,  
If shrunk away, and bid the world good-night;  
Whilst silent Vesper modestly expressed  
A speedy reason for approaching rest,  
To which Dimagoras yielding, soon reposed  
Upon his mother's virdent lap, and closed  
His slumbering eye lids, whilst the whispering wind  
And the conspiring leaves, as 'twere combined  
To grace his slumbers, but his panting breast  
Being grown Stranger to accustomed rest,  
Denotes an inward conflict; for each part  
Seems to disclaim the motions of his heart,  
And at the twilight of his dawning eye  
His ears were entertained with a cry  
Half drowned in tears, and then a drilling tone  
Would seem to be a treble to each groan,  
But at the last, these cries, these groans, increased  
Into a voice distinct, and after ceased  
Their wordless tones, and being well refined  
Into a speech they cried Oh thou unkind  
And most accursed caitiff, dost thou live  
T'out-brave revenge, or cannot vengeance give  
Reward to villainy, or hast thou got  
A countermand to contradict thy lot,  
Or are the Gods forgetful, can they see  
A vessel laden with impiety  
And yet not sink it, or did they create thee  
Without a Soul, and so forget to date thee?  
Is there no time for punishment; Oh thou  
That thinkst thyself secure, and wilt allow  
Of no contrition, know the time draws near  
When horrid-ill-shaped Vengeance shall appear  
Ugly, beyond itself, and shall express  
The life of horror in a lively dress,  
She's now attiring, and her robes shall be  
Flame-coloured, trimmed with lavish tyranny,  
Her hair dishelving from her flaming head  
Shall be hot-burning wire, which shall be spread  
Over her spacious shoulders; in her face  
Shall be black spots of envy and disgrace,  
Her eyes like fatal Comets, shall out flame  
Two Firmaments of Brimstone, and thy name  
Shall by the dreadful thunder of her tongue  
Startle, even Hell itself, and live among  
T'infernal Furies, and for ever be  
An adding plague unto their misery;  
Thy woes shall swell into so large a score  
That quick invention shall invent no more.  
Even as the weatherglass, which being pressed  
By a warm hand, its water cannot rest  
But shrinks away, and hides itself, as 'twere  
Within itself, yet will at last repair  
(The hand removed) into its proper place,  
Even such was sad Dimagoras his case,  
His Spirits shrunk away being touched with fear,  
His fear pursued with guilt, made him appear  
A senseless living statue, yet at length  
Receiving some of his declining strength  
He raised himself, and with a feeble tone  
Began to speak; had not a sudden groan  
Prevented th'inundation of his words  
He had proceeded, but his grief affords  
No speedy utterance, therefore he was forced  
To walk, and leave the matter undiscoursed.  
Thus walking to and fro his trembling breast  
Strongly inclined him to a second rest,  
But his persuasive fears would not allow  
The least refreshment to his willing brow;  
At last oppressed with a sudden gail  
Of sighs, his wearied feet began to fail,  
And in a melancholy valley, there  
Reposed Dimagoras, but not his fear,  
His fear instructs him that his eyes behold  
Strange visions, & his trembling heart grows cold  
For as the Sea which cannot be at peace  
Upon a sudden, though the tempest cease  
Even so Dimagoras, though the former blast  
Of his fierce rage was moderately past,  
Yet his innated violence was such,  
That like the living plant, at every touch  
He shrunk into despair, and here we find  
The dangerous Issues of a troubled mind:  
And thus the flames of his increasing fires  
(Blown by the bellows of his own desires)  
Consumes his reason, and his former deeds  
Present themselves, he raging thus proceeds.  
Oh ye immortal Powers, why have ye sent  
So much of trouble, and so small content  
Into my boiling breast, ah must my life  
Become a woeful labyrinth of strife!  
Why do I live? since every moment brings  
A thousand Serpents, with ten thousand stings  
To torture me, and whilst I study why  
And what I live for, I despair to die?  
What greater curse than this did ere attend  
Mortality, how often must I spend  
My sighs, my groans upon the idle air,  
And hear no other language but despair,  
Despair, and die Dimagoras, 'tis a death  
Nay worse, to live, go quarrel with thy breath:  
Didst thou not hear thy most unequaled Fate  
Thundered, nay worse, into thy ears of late.  
Yet dost thou dare to live, resolve, and die,  
And make the Devil guilty of a lie.  
Dost thou observe how yonder spreading tree  
Would fain be proud to bear such fruit as thee,  
Take courage in thy ruin, haste away,  
He feeds a danger most that love's delay,  
And he that lives for fear of being dead,  
Spins out his grief unto the smallest thread.  
What greater torment is then self-grief?  
And what more Charity than self-relief?  
Trifle no more, 'tis childish to complain,  
And easier far to die than live in pain.  
Courage Dimagoras, come, march towards that place  
Of speedy ease with a delightful grace;  
Dost thou relent, what has a sudden wind  
Raised a new tempest in thy stormy mind?  
Wilt thou recede, fie, fie, spur up thy will  
To a more certainty, why stand'st thou still?  
Let not the dull commands of flesh and blood  
Deter thy heart from so approved a good.  
Suppose thou sawst a wretch stretchd out at length  
Upon the rack, and having spent his strength  
In tedious groans, yet would refuse to be  
(Though much entreated) set at liberty;  
Wouldst thou not style him mad, and say his grief  
Was due desert that should deny relief  
So freely proffered; Is not now thy case  
The very same, thou know'st thou mayst displace  
Thy Sorrows in a moment, yet thy heart  
Combines with fear, and will not let them part;  
Resolve, resolve, and let thy speedy breath  
Express, 'tis better die, than live in death.  
Thus said, and thus resolved, he wastes no time,  
But with extended arms, attempts to climb  
The lofty tree, but ere he could aspire  
Unto the height of his too rash desire,  
His trembling arms disclaimed their idle hold  
And down he fell, and being down, his cold  
And much affrightned senses thought it fit  
To leave him reason equal to his wit.  
There lay new-dropt-Dimagoras, till a Knight  
And his enamoured Lady put to flight  
By adverse fortune, chanced to pass that way  
Where dead, (as they supposed) Dimagoras lay,  
But Fate Decreed it otherwise; for now  
His almost senseless thoughts were pausing how  
He came so low, nor could he think or tell  
How he climbed up the Tree, nor how he fell,  
But turning on his back, his dazzled sight  
Seemed to assure him that the armed Knight  
Was daring Argalus, and when his eye  
Observed the beauteous Lady standing by,  
His trembling heart enforced his tongue to say  
Oh Argalus, oh wronged Parthenia!  
And there he stopped, as if his heart had swore  
After Parthenia's name to speak no more,  
But yet the pleasure of her name did seem  
Like a reviving Cordial to redeem  
His senses from captivity, and thus  
Outrageously he cried, O Argalus!  
Oh most divine Parthenia, here, here, lies  
The perfect mirror of all villainies,  
'Twas I, 'twas I, conducted by the flame  
Of my own lust, and clothed with the shame  
Of my own crimes, that did attempt to do  
A deed, that none but Hell, advised me to:  
'Twas I, 'twas wretched I, that did commence  
A wicked suit against thine Innocence!  
Ah poor Parthenia, how did I delude  
Thy ravished mind, and barbarously intrude  
Upon thy privacy, and made thee know  
(Instead of bliss expected) perfect woe;  
Thy heart conceived that the joyful sum  
Of all thy hopes, thy Argalus was come,  
But all in vain, for thy deceived Love  
Met with a Serpent seeking for a Dove.  
Could I restore— And there his feeble voice  
Changed, and recoy'ld into a dreadful noise:  
With that the Knight being suddenly amazed  
Stood silent for a time, and only gazed  
Upon this dreadful object. but at length.  
Being bold in courage, he employed his strength  
To raise him from the earth, which having done  
Bold in a new attempt, he thus begun.  
What art thou, say what art thou, that dost thus  
Unman thyself to be afraid of us  
That would be courteous, and redress thy grief  
Wouldst thou be capable of our relief;  
Let thy dull reason credit what we say,  
I am not Argalus, nor I Parthenia  
Replied the Lady: At which words he raised  
His frenzy head, and for a while he gazed,  
And then his lavish tongue began to cry  
Oh Argalus, oh blessed Parthenia, why  
Why do ye thus torment a Ghost that strays  
It knows not where, these unaccustomed ways  
Prove dreadful to me, but methinks I spy  
By those pale looks yeare Ghosts as well as I:  
Oh do but hand me to the Elysian plains  
Where ye reside, and lead me from these pains,  
These racks, these tortures, oh what torments wait  
Upon the ruins of a cursed state,  
But stay, methinks I see— And there his eyes  
Decayed, and seemingly Dimagoras dies:  
The courteous Knight perceiving by discourse  
It was the strength of passion did divorce  
His senses from their faculties, grew sad  
To think no means, no medicine could be had  
To bring him from his trance, till at the last  
His charitable Lady that had past  
Much time in trouble, having heard the vain  
And strange effusions of his idle brain,  
Takes forth a glass, within whose brittle wall  
There was enclosed a Spirit could recall  
Revolted sense, then with a stretched out hand  
She calls her Page, and gives him strict command  
To take the glass, and presently convey  
Some drops into his mouth, and hast away:  
The trembling Page with an affrighted look  
(Obedient to his Lady's pleasure) took  
The proffered glass, and with a fearful speed  
Approached Dimagoras and performed the deed,  
Which being done, Dimagoras composed  
Of nothing less than reason, soon disclosed  
His buried eyes, and gazing round about  
(Puffed up with rage) his fury thus broke out,  
Ye dreadful Tyrants is there all extent,  
No diminution of my punishment;  
Must I epitomise your Plagues, did I  
To humour you, thus play the fool, and die  
Before my time, I thought in pleasing you  
To consummate those plagues which now renew:  
I'm licenc'd by my torments, and I'll chide  
Your damn injustice, were not you my guide  
That led me hither, did not you advise me  
To kill myself, and will ye thus despise me?  
Must plagues be my reward, must I be ploughed  
And harrowed with my torments, not allowed  
A minute's ease, are these, are the gains  
That I was largely promised from my pains?  
Oh Hell, and there his well-oathed tongue let fall  
A liberal shower, than he begun to call  
Upon Parthenia, oh Parthenia, thou  
That I abused on earth, how dost thou now  
Plague my abuses, oh that I could boast  
Of so much comfort, as to see thy Ghost  
And ask forgiveness, how content I'd lie  
In the dull shades of blind obscurity,  
I know, I know, thy patience would engage  
Thy Argalus to mitigate his rage:  
Alas, my sufferings much out run the power  
Of my distracted patience, every hour  
Brings every Plague, oh how I am oppressed,  
Parthenia's pardon gives Dimagoras rest,  
But ah in vain, with that his gazing eye  
Staring about did suddenly espy  
His former objects which rejoiced him more  
Than all his tortures tortured him before:  
It was that amorous Pair which only stayed  
T'expect the Issue, whilst Dimagoras made  
(After obeisance) more than usual speed,  
And on his bended knees did thus proceed,  
Oh ye immortal Ghosts that do inherit  
Th'elysian plains with a contented spirit,  
Deign to behold, and do not frown to see  
Your Prostitute upon his bended knee  
Craving your pardon, which if I obtain  
'Twill prove physician to a world of pain,  
Deny me not, but ah Parthenia move  
In my behalf, thy dear, thy dearest Love,  
Thy constant Argalus, let him not rest  
Till he has granted my enforced request:  
At which the Knight, turning his head aside,  
To break a long-keept smile; Dimagoras cried  
Oh Argalus do not remove those sweet,  
Those pleasing looks, but let my sorrows meet  
With thy calcining pity, pity take  
Though not for mine, yet for Parthenia's sake.  
Whereat the Knight (whose ears could not abide  
The fierce Artillery of his tongue) replied,  
Vain Self-deluder why dost thou divest  
Thy troubled Spirits of their liberal rest?  
Thy actions have informed me, and I can  
Declare, thou art no Ghost, nay scarce a man  
Forget thy folly, strive to banish hence  
Thy idle fancies, and recall thy sense  
Into its proper Sphere, and cease to be  
Deluded into cruel vanity;  
Come hither, take my hand, and you shall find  
That I am tangible, and that my mind  
Is troubled for thee, view me well, and see  
If thou canst call to mind my physnomy,  
Observe this tender Lady, and you'll know  
Whether she be Parthenia or no;  
Nay start not back, approach, such Ghosts will do  
No harm at all, especially to you:  
At which Dimagoras with a fixed eye  
Stared in her lovely face, and seemed t'espye  
Something he knew, but yet his troubled sense  
(Much discomposed) could not say from whence  
Those Fancies should arise, but yet at length  
Having arrived to a little strength  
Of long absented reason, he confessed  
His shameful folly, whilst he thus expressed:  
I am unghosted, and I now behold  
What my amazed senses lately told  
My heart ye are, and if I do mistake  
Pardon I crave for Amoronzo's sake  
Rare beauty: and if my request hall seem  
Absurd, oh Amoronzo stand between  
Your dear Celania's anger, and my breast;  
For if she frown Dimagoras lives unblessed:  
With that, much-pleased Amoronzo took  
Dimagoras by the hand, and with a look  
As steadfast as his heart, he thus begun;  
Unfortunate Dimagoras thou hast run  
A most preposterous course, for at this time  
Thy Land is in an uproar, and the crime  
Falls upon thee, the blood that has been spilled  
Cries out aloud, and testifies thy guilt;  
Return, return, and let thy warlike hands  
Mow down the courage of th' Arcadian bands,  
Thy absence gives advantage, every hour  
Thou stayest, thou givest addition to their power,  
Nay wonder not, nor do not stand to grieve  
Or shake thy head, but practise to believe  
Believe thy friend: And if thy low-ebbed Fate  
Wants those materials that become thy state,  
Thou hast a friend, a friend, that will impart  
The secrt Counsels of a faithful heart,  
And if my weak instructions will allow  
Advantage to thy will, I'll teach thee how  
Thou shalt redeem thine honour, let's repair  
To more conveniency, and ●'le declare:  
To which Dimagoras (being now supplied  
With an indifferent reason) thus replied;  
True Friend, your words distilling from a breast  
So full of truth instructs me not to jest  
With my own fortune, I confess, the late  
And sad disturbance of my inward state  
Hath made me much incapable to be  
A favourite to myself; but since I see  
Your liberal goodness which does truly tend  
To my advice, I'll own you as my friend;  
And if my future fortunes chance to fall  
In balance with my wish, I only shall  
Gaze at a distance, with a pleasing view,  
And look upon those fortunes through you;  
But since extremities does now require  
Action, not words, I'll cease, and we'll retire;  
But stay, I know not where, for since that day  
I lost myself, I never found my way,  
But hark, what noise is this that seems t'affright  
My new-come sense, come, let's provide for flight;  
Flight, oh most horrid, oh most dismal word  
That cuts and wounds much deeper than a Sword,  
(Replied the Knight) and if I meet with Foes  
That dare encounter, I shall dare oppose  
Could they command the Cyclops▪ to impail  
And guard them round, I'd die, or else prevail;  
Look here Dimagoras (taking by the hand  
His dear Celania, canst thou understand  
These speaking looks, whose very thoughts advance  
The dullest Soul above the reach of chance;  
But let's retire, for hark, the noise I hear  
Increases more, because it draws more near;  
Let's haste to yonder valley, where a while  
I'll leave my dear Celania to beguile  
The time with Prayers, and if you please, my Lord  
Dimagoras, but to favour and afford  
Your cheerful company to my divine  
And dear Celania, you will much incline  
My heart to thank you; and for thee my sweet  
And most indulgent Love, could I but meet  
With thy consent, how quickly would I fly  
Upon my Foes, and bring thee victory,  
But ah those silent streams that trickle down  
Thy too too liquid Cheeks do almost drown  
My hopes in deep despair, thy tears (my Dear)  
Are worse than poisoned darts, and do appear  
Like Seas (but more outrageous) for the flood  
Of thy moist eye is not to be withstood,  
And if the sullen world would learn t'invent  
A way to kill me, let it but content  
To woo thee to a tear, a frown, a cry,  
And let me see't, and then, I conquered die,  
Then clear those clouded Skies, and let me see  
The sunshine of a smile, and I will be  
More joyful than those Persians which adore  
The rising Sun, grant this, I'll ask no more,  
Nor canst thou grant a greater boon than this,  
For ah thy smiles, my Joy, are all my bliss,  
Ah do not speak in tears, nor let a glut  
Of sighs make sorrow cheap, each sigh does cut  
My very entrails, and my wounded heart  
Transfixed with briny tears begins to smart;  
'Tis in thy power t'extenuate my cares,  
Cure me with smiles, or kill me with thy tears.  
Have ye not seen with what a watery eye  
After a shower the Sun begins to pry  
Upon the earth, as if his bashful ray  
Were grown ashamed to look upon the day,  
Even so Celania gazed on the face  
Of Amoronzo with a bashful grace,  
Before the lustre of whose eye there stood  
(Ready to be dissolved into a flood)  
Some crystal bubbles which eclipsed her light,  
And sometimes dropped, yet would not rain downright  
But at the last▪ poor Lover, she confines  
Her tears, and for a time she spoke by signs,  
But when she saw that Amoronzo went  
To arm himself, sad Lady, than she sent  
Both words, and sighs, and tears, whilst in her arms  
She held him fast, and thus begun her charms.  
Dear Amoronzo why dost thou deceive me,  
Pretend to love, and yet intend to leave me,  
Oh speak my joy, tell me my high-prized Treasure  
What have I done to merit thy displeasure?  
Alas thy poor Celania never knew  
Disloyal flames, and when she proves untrue  
To Amoronzo, may she ever be  
A Prostitute to lustful villainy;  
But ah (my Dearest) say what mean those Arms  
Those symptoms of departure, what Alarms  
Hath lately frightened thee to these extremes,  
'Tis too, too true, oh that they were but dreams:  
Thou shalt not go, oh pity my sad heart,  
I'd rather die, then let my life depart.  
The trembling wretch that's thrown into the deep  
Unsensible of what he does, will keep  
Fast hold of what he takes, as loath to die,  
Ah so does he my Love, and thus do I:  
Couldst thou but spell my sighs & read my tears,  
Thou soon wouldst apprehend how many fears  
Flow in upon me, for alas I know  
Nothing but grief (my Dear) thou shalt not go.  
Oh that my tears were manacles to bind thee  
Unto my Soul, then were I sure to find thee,  
Dear do not leave me, but let pity move  
Thy hand to kill, or else thy heart to Love,  
For be assured there's nothing can delay  
My speedy ruin, but thy speedy stay;  
But since thy pleasure must be done, not mine,  
Dear Amoronzo I must thus— decline  
And so farewell. Thus being almost drowned  
In floods of grief, she gently kissed the ground;  
With that the almost brokenhearted Lover  
Whose dear affections caused him to discover  
A world of sorrow, rai●'d her from the ground  
And with the balsam of a kiss made sound  
Her bleeding heart, and when he had divorced  
R●de Passion from her sense. He thus discoursed,  
Tell me my dear Celania, why dost thou  
Entail such sorrows on thy stormy brow,  
Believe me Dearest, if I should deny  
To love thy virtues, I deserved to die:  
The convertible terms of life and love  
Meet both in me, my Joy, and if I prove  
Unkind to thee, oh may all Plagues combine  
To meet in one, and afterwards prove mine;  
Dost thou not hear how danger does approach  
And will, if not prevented, soon encroach  
Upon our safeties, therefore, now, my Dear,  
Let lose my close-locked arm, and stay thou here  
Till my return, which questionless will be  
Crowned with the joy of happy victory,  
Sigh not my Dear, believe't, each sigh propounds  
Unto my Soul more than a thousand wounds,  
Come let this welcome parting kiss express  
And seal th'assurance of a good success.  
Farewell, farewell—  
— Dimagoras all this while  
Stood labouring, as it were, to reconcile  
Himself to his own thoughts, but wit and art  
Were in-sufficient to defend his heart  
From servile fear, his very Looks expressed  
The dismal horror of a throbbing breast,  
Although to him no danger could appear,  
He feared, because he know not what to fear,  
So he that should have taught Celania's heart  
To rest contented, caused his own to smart  
And with a trembling hand he smote his breast,  
He sighed, nay worse, he sobbed, and thus expressed.  
Shall trifling honour make me to dispose  
My life unto the pleasure of my Foes:  
Suppose that Amoronzo chance to fall  
In this encounter, how should I enthrall  
Both life and safety, for when they shall see  
Celania accompanied with me,  
Their present fury will be sure to light  
Upon my head, I'll therefore save by flight  
What I shall lose by stay, but if so be  
That Amoronzo should return, and see  
His dear Celania weeping all alone  
And I (Supposed her Comforter) am gone,  
What then? but I'll not stay, methinks I hear  
A thousand Swords now clashing in my ear;  
Farewell to Antique honour, 'tis at life  
I aim, I hate this honourable strife,  
I'll hasten to yond Cave, and there I'll lie  
And hug myself in blessed security.  
Dimagoras being gone, there seemed t'arise  
A glimmering joy, (which blushed through ecstasies  
Of grief and care) In poor Celania's face,  
Glad that Dimagoras had left the place:  
But this▪ this short-lived joy did quickly end,  
Her thoughts being busied on her absent friend,  
Her sad expecting heart begun to grow  
Into extremes, her pallid lips let flow  
A flood of language: If the Reader please  
T'observe the streams, they are most sadly these.  
Ah me, and then she sighed, alas, and there  
She wept, sad heart, and then she dried that tear  
With a succeeding sigh: Oh stormy weather!  
She wept, and sighed, she sighed, & wept together,  
The senseless rocks at each alternate groan  
Did seem to Sympathize, and sadly moan;  
My Dear, my Life she cries, my All, nay more,  
If more may be, oh how I could adore  
Thy empty shadow, but I wish in vain  
For that which is impossible to gain,  
He's gone, he's gone, & there she wrung her hands  
And tore her hair, whilst on her cheeks there stands  
The fruitful Issue of her brim filled eyes,  
To emblemise her real miseries;  
She breathed a while, but only to obtain  
The more advantage how to grieve again.  
Have ye observed a Tempest how it seems  
A present calm, yet suddenly redeems  
A greater force, and with a sturdy blast  
Gives satisfaction for the time that's past:  
Even so Celania musters up her fears,  
Prologued with sighs, and epilogued with tears,  
And with full-blasted sorrow she prevails  
Against herself, and thus herself assails.  
Her trembling hand tears off her flaxen hair,  
And smites her Ivory breast, as if it were  
Ordained for that use, and then she vents  
In sighs, the grandeur of her discontents,  
And then the tides of passion overflow  
The banks of reason, she resolves to go  
She knows not where, but yet the place seems blessed  
Because it entertained so sweet a Guest  
As Amoronzo, nay, the senseless ground  
Where he had sat, her silent eyes had drowned  
In briny floods, at last, her store being spent,  
Passion prevailed, and away she went;  
She went away, yet at a distant space  
She oft would stand, and gaze upon the place,  
Fueled with two extremes, her Soul did burn,  
First to depart, and after to return,  
If she departed, than her grief would stray  
Into a madness that she went aw●y,  
And if she stayed, sorrow would more ensnare  
Her heart, for Amoronzo was not there:  
Will it not prove a Paradox to say  
Celania stayed, and yet she went away,  
She had (poor Lady) when she did depart  
Progressive feet, a retrograding heart,  
But she is gone, jndg, Reader, how oppressed  
Being misfortunes sad, and chiefest Guest,  
What hand, what Pen can copy out her woe  
That knows not where, nay, hardly how to go;  
Is it not pity then to leave her here  
In a strange place, where all things do appear  
Like sad Conspirators and there conspire  
To make encroaching misery entire;  
Poor Lady I must leave her, yet I know  
Her pardon will pursue me, for I go  
To meet her Amoronzo, who is now  
Returned with conquest shining on his brow:  
But to relate the combat, or each blow  
His valour, and the courage of his Foe,  
Would prove too tedious, 'tis enough that we  
Find him returned with dear-bought victory.  
Accept kind Reader, what is now expressed,  
When time shall ripen thou shalt taste the rest.  
Poor Lover, with what joy his hasty feet  
Approached the place with longing hopes to meet  
His dear Celania, but his nimble eye  
Lightning with flamy looks, could not espy  
His hearts chief Object, than his thoughts begin  
To be disturbed, and mutiny within,  
He now inclines to fear he knows not what,  
Sometimes he thinks on this, sometimes on that,  
But at the last with a dejected look  
He spies her glove, which he most sadly took  
And recommended to his lips, and there  
Sat down, and bathed it in an amorous tear:  
Thou consort of my Soul says he, what place  
Is now so blessed to entertain the grace  
Of thy delightful presence, oh that I  
Were half so blessed to be a slander by;  
Why stayest thou from me, and dost not appear  
Thou seemest far off, but yet I hope thou'rt near;  
Wrong not my hopes, let me not be forsook,  
For I am almost famished for a look,  
Appear, appear, and let no longer stay  
Affront my hopes (my Dearest) come away,  
Ah must thy longing Amoronzo sit  
Clothed with despair▪ why com'st not, what, not yet;  
Not yet, art thou asleep? Then dream my Dear,  
That thy beloved Amoronzo's here,  
He's here, and laden with as much distress  
As either heart can wish, or tongue express;  
I'll wait a while, perhaps it is thy will  
To steal upon me unawares, and fill  
My thoughts with sudden joy, thou dost me wrong  
For I expect too soon, thou stayest too long:  
With that, he cast his prying eyes about,  
Hoping to find his dear Celania out,  
But all in vain, for fortune which did mean  
To dwell some time upon this troubled Scene,  
Presented him an object, which indeed  
Caused not his eyes to weep, but heart to bleed:  
The wind, being then in love, did seem t'adore,  
And play with that Celania had tore  
From her distracted head, I mean the fair  
And bounteous wealth of her neglected hair,  
Which Amoronzo spying, with a mind  
Enraged he run, and snatched it from the wind;  
Half mad, because quite angry, he begins  
To take the wind with multiplied sins.  
Thou impious nothing, how durst thou (Cries he)  
Play with a relic of more sanctity  
Than can be uttered, if so be you must  
Be sportful, go, and want onwith the dust:  
But thus this Lover minding more the pleasure  
Of his own fury, lost his new-got treasure;  
For angry Boreas in a high disdain  
Enforced it from his trembling hand again,  
Away it flew, he gazed, and then begun  
To start away, resolving to outrun  
The winged wind, and for Celania's sake  
He almost lost his breath, to win the Stake,  
By this approved example we may find,  
The wings of Love, are swifer than the wind.  
After this first, short conflict, he retreats  
Unto his former station, where he seats  
His melancholy self, and then his heart  
Begins to fall into the second part  
Of his first grief, that sorrow, which before  
Spoke all by whispers, now begins to roar,  
Poor Lover, he despairs, for having found  
Her gloves, her hair, her partlet on the ground▪  
He falls from sighs, to words, from words, to tears  
From tears, to groans, and then at last despairs:  
Despair, that worst of evils, now sits crowned  
Queen regent in his thoughts, his thoughts abound  
With several contradictions, nay, the wind  
Is constant, if compared to his mind,  
Sometimes he thought, for fear, she had been fled  
Into some Cave; and then, he thought her dead:  
He looks upon her glove, and in conclusion  
He thought himself into a sad confusion.  
At last inclining to a serious pause,  
He then resolved Dimagoras was the cause,  
Then like a fierce Revenger, he pursues  
His name to death, whilst every thought renews  
Revengful thoughts, & with his sharp-edged wrath  
Wounds him with curses, stabs him with an oath,  
Accursed hour (Cries he) when first my eyes  
Observed that Monster of all villainies,  
Could not his former deeds instruct my thoughts  
To have a care, could not his latter faults,  
Juduce me to distrust him, well, I'll trace  
The world but I'll revenge this foul disgrace.  
But ah Celania how can I expect  
Thy pardon, that have used thee with neglect,  
unhandsome Fate, if Amoronzo live  
Heavens' grant it be to practise how to give  
A due reward to him whose very name:  
Paysons my Soul, and fills my cheeks with shame;  
I'll run, and ransack all the world about  
Not sparing, Hell itself, to find thee out,  
And question not but thy malicious fate  
Will still preserve thee to endure my hate;  
Good fortune be my guide I'll not delay  
Nor lavish time, but presently away:  
Where now we'll leave him, for Dimagoras cries  
To be discovered in his miseries.  
It so fell out that the Arcadian King  
And all his Nobles, (as a usual thing  
For relaxation of their minds) did ride  
One day a hunting, when there was espied  
A hideous Bear lie lurking in the shade  
Watching her prey, but that the Huntsmen made  
A near approach, and with a dexterous Art  
Did almost wound this Monster to the heart:  
The Bear thus wounded makes a speedy flight  
Being close pursued: The Huntsmen with delight  
Observed her windings, but half spent, she took  
Into a Thicket, and by chance forsook  
Her close pursuers, till at last betrayed  
By her own blood, the careful Huntsmen made  
What speed they could, and forced her to retire  
Into a Cave, whilst they forthwith conspire  
T'intrape their gain, making where she should pass  
A secret Concave mantled o'er with grass,  
Stopping all passages, that she must stay  
Close penned up in the Cave, or pass that way:  
At last she roared as able to affright  
The eager Huntsmen from their close delight;  
But on a sudden they unstopped the Cave  
Expecting by her speedy flight, to have  
The end of their desires, to which intent  
They watched the place & (more than usual) spent  
An hour in patience, and at last surrounded  
The Cave, and most confusedly they sounded  
Their several Horns, but nothing could express  
The lestre semblance of a quick success:  
At last th'impatient Huntsmen cursed and swore  
At their ill fortune, thinking to give o'er,  
But yet resolving first to seek about  
Thinking their ill-looked prisoner might get out  
At some concealed place, but when their eyes  
Had satisfied their hearts, they soon devise  
A new design, which questionless had caused  
Th'effecting of their wills had they not paused,  
Or rather started at, a sudden cry  
That seemed to be, they know not where, nor why;  
At last they harkening with a stricter ear,  
Being almost half astonished, did hear  
A dreadful noise, which issued from the Cave  
And made th'expecting Huntsmen madly rave  
And curse their Fate, forbearing not to swear  
It was a man enchanted to a Bear:  
Whilst they were thus discoursing, there appears  
A Monster (as they thought) composed of fears,  
Who, careless of himself, with speed came running  
Out of the Cave, perceiving not the cunning  
Of his amazed Foes, but quickly fell  
As he supposed, into the jaws of Hell,  
Which they perceiving, soon begun to ban,  
And vow the Bear was turned into a man;  
Yet for the better satisfaction, they  
Ran to the Cave, where they observed there lay  
The ugly Monster, buried in the flood,  
The little Ocean of her reeking blood:  
Finding her dead, immediately they went  
Unto the King▪ declaring the event  
Of their designs, who forthwith gave command  
That they in silence for a time should stand  
About the pit, and there expect that night  
The future Issue of so strange a sight:  
Th'obedient Huntsmen nimble to obey  
Their Kings command made present speed away.  
And so arriving at the place, they made  
Silence their friend, which suddenly betrayed  
Sad groans unto their ears, and doleful cries,  
Ballast with oaths, and winged with blasphemies:  
At last they heard a voice, much more enlarged  
And more distinct, which suddenly discharged  
Itself into these words, unhappy I,  
The abstract of unpatterned villainy,  
Why was I born, since all things thus agree  
To make completed misery in me?  
Or else is life and death late grown at odds,  
Which shall torment me most? and are the God's  
Spectators of my woes? must I endure  
The Plagues of two such ills, and not procure  
The least refreshment? ah Parthenia, now  
Thou takest revenge at large, but when wilt thou  
Abbreviate my Sorrows, that I may  
See but the twilight of one smiling day;  
For now I am in Hell, but here I find  
No devil but myself, and yet my mind  
And Soul is tortured, nay I see no light  
Nor know no darkness, my distracted sight  
Possesses me with such a double being  
That I am blind in light, in darkness, seeing,  
And here I live perplexed with a doubt  
How I got in, but harder, to get out:  
How happy had I been, if I had stayed  
With sad Celania in the pleasing shade,  
Perhaps the Gods would then some pity take  
If not for mine, for their Celania's sake;  
But I, unhappy wretch, nay most unkind  
Unto my friend, whose goodness was confined  
To my distress, yet basely did I prove  
(Prompted by fear) false t' Amoronzo's Love  
His dear Celania; but alas too late  
I here bewail my miserable state.  
Now envy, hatred, malice, all contrive  
To do your worsts, but keep me not alive,  
Alas I cannot grieve for what is past,  
As fast as you torment, I'll curse as fast.  
Th'impatient Huntsmen, having thus endured  
Their King's commands, at length were well assured  
The voice was human, so, they having made  
Nearer approach, they thus begun, and said.  
What art thou, say what art thou, thus constrains  
Our hearts to pity? who is that complains  
Of his misfortune? If thou art a Man,  
Desire our aid, we'll help thee if we can,  
Starve not the issue of a good success,  
They're fools that must be courted from distress,  
Be free, and answer, let's not long expect,  
Favours prove curses when they find neglect:  
To which he (Harkening with a willing ear,  
Timorous to speak, because afraid to hear)  
At last replied: And can the Gods incline  
To so much pity? ah this heart of mine  
Dares not prove so much traitor to the state  
I am now in, as fondly to create  
The meanest re●sh of a hope, for me  
That am the copy of all misery,  
The Current of my woes are too too strong  
To be resisted, do me not that wrong  
What e'er ye are▪ as to persuade my breast  
That I shall ever be so fully blessed,  
As to be meanly miserable, no,  
My ebb of happiness, must never flow;  
But if the pleasing Streams of sweet relief  
Should drop upon me, 'tis beyond belief:  
Alas I dare not give so large a scope  
To my own thoughts, to credit my own hope;  
For 'tis well known (especially to me)  
The ground of hope is possibility:  
I'll say no more, he is excused to grieve  
That has no faith to hope, nor to believe:  
The close Attendants hearing this discourse,  
Being fully fraught, and laden with remorse,  
Descend the Pit, desiring him to be  
Assistant to his own felicity▪  
But he whose bankrupt hopes had lately found  
The horror of despair, could not propound  
The least of comfort to himself, the more  
He was persuaded, he the less gave o'er  
His hellish noise—  
— Ye Furies that are sent curse  
Cried he, to add unto my punishment,  
Draw near and hark with what a grace I'll  
And scorn these Plagues which cannot make me worse  
Could ye shoot fire and brimstone from your eyes  
Into my Soul, oh how I would despise  
Such trifling torments, go, and blush to see  
Ye are out-diveled by my misery;  
But stay, what strange, what new-created light  
Is this that courteth my amazed sight?  
What means this sudden change? or does a dream  
Possess my brain, can nothing but extreme  
Delight or grief assault me, since my Fate  
Is so much checquored, I'll a while await,  
And with a patient quietness expect  
Future events, but as for your respects  
That stand before me, if good fortune chance  
To fall upon me, I'll not fail t'advance  
The merit of your worth; for though I lie  
Locked in the Arms of tyrant misery,  
Yet my estate and ample fortunes are  
Exuberant to my wish, but I'll forbear  
This fond discourse, be serious, tell me then,  
Are ye not devils in the shapes of men?  
Pray tell me true? for they that go about  
To do me good, must strive to help me out  
Of this Infernal place, that so I may  
Once more behold the pleasure of a day:  
To which they said. Sir if you please to trust  
Your safety in our hands, we will be just,  
And by a speedy means we'll set you free,  
From this most sad, and blind captivity;  
Follow us then, and you shall quickly know  
That we intend your good, pray let us go.  
Away they went, and when the welcome light  
Had blessed their eyes, they all employed their sight  
To gaze upon him, in whose looks they saw  
That fear kept all his faculties in awe,  
Away they led him to the King, and told  
What they had heard, and how he did unfold  
The nature of his grief, and that his heart  
(For lost Celania's sake) endured a smart  
Extremely great, because as he expressed,  
He left her weeping woefully distressed:  
He mentioned Amoronzo, and his tongue  
Declared, 'twas he that did Parthenia wrong,  
Which words we plainly hearing thought it▪ meet,  
To bring him to be prostrate at the feet  
Of your renowned Majesty, that so  
You might by his confession truly know  
Where fair Celania (your dear niece) was fled,  
To which intention we have hither led  
And here we leave him, joyful that our art  
Procured this news to your contr●sted heart;  
At which the King with a delightful look  
Commands him to him, and when he had took  
A strict Survey of his most gashful face,  
He knew it was Dimagoras whose disgrace  
Made him so odious to the eyes of all  
The Standers by, that they begun to spawl  
And sp●t upon him, biding him confess  
Where lost Celania was, and what distress  
He left her in, and then they would incline  
To moderation, and with speed, confine  
Their present fury, but if he denied  
What they required, he should prepare t'abide  
As many plagues as mischief could invent:  
To which Dimagoras gave a free consent,  
And said. I saw (I must confess 'tis true)  
Both Amoronzo and Celania too,  
But where they were at present did exceed  
The power of his knowledge, for the speed  
Of his departure, made him not inquire  
Of their designs, nor where they would retire;  
But Amoronzo fled, I know not why,  
Nor to what place, whilst sad Celania's eye  
Drenched her discoloured cheeks in briny tears,  
And with a storm of sighs expressed her fears,  
But all in vain, for he, hard-hearted he  
Slighted her sad, her groaning misery,  
And so he left her (oh my heart did burn)  
Without the least engagement to return.  
He being gone, my weak endeavours strove  
To make her quit the solatory Grove  
Wherein he left her, and forbear to vent  
Such floods of tears for him that was content  
To leave her in distress, but all in vain,  
The more I su'd, the less she would retain  
The good of my persuasions, but did woe  
My present absence, that her grief might flow  
Without controlment, so at last I took  
Unwilling leave, and presently forsook  
The dismal place, and left her close confined  
To the strict limits of a troubled mind,  
Poor Lady, thus I left her all alone  
For ah her looks engaged me to be gone,  
And this is all my knowledge can relate  
Of her (poor Lady) too too ridged state,  
To which the King, with an enraged brow  
Replied, if this be all you can allow  
Our expectations, you shall be our guest  
Till time and torture make you speak the rest;  
Haste him away, our leisure shall compose  
A plot to make him speak the truth he knows.  
Where now we'll leave him & transplant our eyes  
From his, to more concerning miseries,  
I mean our sad Celania, whose distress  
May cost you tears to read, me to express.  
The end of the first Book.   

THE Second Book.  
COme sad Melpomene, it is thy part  
To teach me to decipher such a heart  
As sorrow never knew, nor envious Fate  
Could ever dare to boast of, till of late;  
Come, give me tears for ink, and ink, for tears;  
An iron pen, that may engrave the fears,  
The woes of our Celania: Come, be brief,  
A world of tears may drown a world of grief:  
And you sad hearted Ladies that have known  
Th'extreams of love, let now your tears be shown;  
It is, methinks, the least that ye can do,  
(For every word) to drop a tear or two.  
Sighs, tears, and groans, were ever known to be  
Loves proper Method, Cupid's diary  
Confirms this ruth, moreover, he declares  
That lover's hearts are circumscribed with cares;  
If any justly can this truth deny,  
'Tis Cupid's in an error, and not I.  
The Streams of Love run swifter than— but stay  
Hark, our Celania groans, my Muse, away.  
Bad tidings makes sad hearts, th'unwelcom news  
Of her unheard of sufferings cannot choose  
But raise a tempest in each tender heart;  
For she, poor Lady, felt th'increasing smart  
Of Amoronzo's absence, and her breath  
Proclaimed his absence was the present death  
Of all her comforts, and she wept, as 'twere  
By Patent, sealed with sad and black despair;  
'Twas she that taught the Turtle how to morn  
For her absented Mate, 'twas she, forlorn,  
Distressed Lady, that did first entice  
The twattling echo to the avarice  
Of imitation, every groan she spent  
Out of the storehouse of her breast, was sent  
Trebled into the world. The echo took  
Such pleasure in her name, that she forsook  
Her natural voice, but yet she was to blame  
So much to wanton with her amorous name  
Had Amoronzo heard it, earth had been  
Too small a circle to contain him in,  
Nay, and Celania too, would often cry,  
Who dare use Amoronzo's name but I;  
And thus this babbling Nymph would still proclaim  
And run division on his pleasing name,  
As if she had (for poor Celania's sake)  
Cried him throughout the world, but could not make  
Return of his abode, so by consent  
They both agreed to groan in discontent,  
Under the shadow of a spreading tree,  
Whose drooping branches made it seem to be  
A Nursery of grief, Celania placed  
Her melancholy life, whose presence graced  
The kindness of the place, which now seemed blessed  
In entertaining so divine a Guest.  
But by and by, there chanced to pass that way  
A greedy lion, roaring for his prey,  
Who gazing on Celania, made a stand  
(As if her eyes had given countermand  
To his designs) and stared upon her face,  
Whilst she, whose Innocency gave a grace  
To every look, undauntedly expressed  
A welcome entertainment to her Guest:  
But see what graceful Majesty doth lie  
Within the circuit of a harmless eye;  
The lion seemed so satisfied, that he  
Forgot to hunger, and began to be  
As 'twere enamoured, and would not commence  
His bloody suit against her Innocence,  
But fawning on her, seemed to express  
An inward sorrow for her sad distress,  
Sad Lady, she amazed at the sight  
Begun as 'twere to take some sad delight  
In her Companion, and would gently clap  
His sturdy head which in her tender lap  
He softly laid, by which we truly see  
The lion and the Lamb may well agree:  
Nor yet could this strange accident remove  
Her wandering thoughts from her endeared Love,  
But still her tears were sadly subsequent  
Unto her sighs: at last away she went,  
Leaving (as she supposed) her fawning friend  
Locked up in sleep—  
She had not paced much ground, but she espied  
Two, which in running towards her, had descried  
The plenty of her beauty, which enforced  
Their speedy stay, who staying, thus discoursed.  
'Tis not to court you Madam, nor to stray  
Into vain words enforced us to this stay,  
But 'tis t'enjoy our pleasures, therefore do  
What our persuasions shall advise you to,  
Or else we shall (to shorten our discourse)  
What you deny to yield, command by force,  
At which the Lady (half distracted) cried  
I will not yield, nor can the Gods abide  
So much impiety, but they will send  
A speedy vengeance, ere ye can befriend  
Or satisfy your lusts, the Gods are just,  
And hate, although it be well worded lust,  
Therefore desist, except ye will proceed  
Unto my death, for that's the nobler deed;  
Kill me, and welcome, but defile me not,  
Lust is a living stain, and death no blot:  
To which they both most desperately replied  
They that resolve to do cannot abide  
The least persuasions, yield, and so deprive  
Danger of sad effects, nay do not strive  
Nor cry, for know, this dismal place affords  
No ears to entertain imploring words,  
Yield then without compulsion: Give me leave  
Replied Celania, ere ye do bereave  
And rob me of my treasure, but to take  
A silent leave of what I must forsake,  
And then I shall submit unto your lust,  
Or yield myself a Sacrifice to dust:  
She stepped aside, and cried, heaven be my shield,  
I neither dare, nor can, nor will I yield▪  
Look up, look up vile Creatures, and behold  
A swelling Cloud even ready to unfold  
Itself in vengeance, for ye may be sure  
The God's will not behold, and yet endure,  
Desist, and let your passions be allayed  
For they will shield what they themselves have made,  
I mean mine innocence, and therefore know  
I will be chaste because they made me so,  
And they which truly call upon the Gods  
In their distress, have more than treble odds  
Against their Foes.—  
— You rather blow the fire  
By this discourse, then quench our hot desire  
They both replied, come, come, we have done wrong  
To our desires in keeping them so long  
Without their natural food, nay do not strive,  
Let virtue die, but keep yourself alive:  
Nay leave those tempting cries, for know, that ear  
You call unto, is deaf, and will not hear;  
Heaven is a great way off: 'Twill so appear  
To you in mercy, but in judgement, near,  
Replied Celania; for I'm sure, and know  
The Gods are just in all their actions— Oh,  
And as she cried that Oh, Oh they descried  
A roaring lion which did soon divide  
Their thoughts from their intents, for they begun  
To leave their base beginnings and to run  
To save their lives, repenting of their crime,  
(Strange alteration in so short a time!)  
But she, poor Lady, laden with remorse  
Did, whilst her time permitted, thus discourse.  
I grieve, said she, to see the state y'are in,  
Heavens couchant judgement, finds your rampant sin,  
Think not t'avoid by running what ye'll meet  
Your hands are now more useful than your feet:  
'Tis truth, they both replied, and now we must  
Jointly confess the Gods are good and just:  
But see ou● Executioner draws nigh,  
And we must yield, for 'tis in vain to fly;  
With that the Lady (being pity struck)  
Observe, says she, I'll charm him with a look,  
He shall not hurt; for know, the Gods can be  
To pity, as to punish equal free;  
With that, as if her eyes had sent a charm  
Into the tyrant's heart, he did no harm,  
But gently laid him at her feet, to show  
The humble meekness of a Convert Foe.  
Even as the wretch condemned, that finds reprieve  
Cannot at present well forget to grieve,  
But with a quivering heart, does first display  
The colours of his joy; even so did they  
(Both timorously joyful) thus proclaim  
The goodness of Celania, and their shame.  
Admired goodness, that can thus engage  
The angry Gods to mitigate their rage  
To us, that by just judgement were decreed  
To speedy death, but by free mercy, freed!  
For which (most divine Lady) unto you  
(After the Gods) we must acknowledge due  
The mercy of our lives, for our attempt  
We here confess, most justly might exempt  
Your heart from pity, but in you, we found  
A sovereign balsam, in ourselves a wound,  
A deadly wound, which to departing breath  
Is far more harsh, more terrible than death,  
We see our grim-looked marshal, how he lies  
Subjected at your feet, and dare not rise  
To execute that fury which is prone  
To him by nature, but doth now disown  
Nature itself, converted to fulfil  
The gracious pleasure of your virtuous will.  
Oh what a sudden alteration's bred!  
Here lies a lion, but his nature's fled!  
But Madam, since 'tis so, that unto you  
The worthless tribute of our lives are due,  
Command us what you please, and you shall find  
Us ready, nay, and winged like the wind  
To execute your pleasure, Madam, these  
Are only words, command us what you please,  
And by our quick obedience you shall see  
The true effects of our integrity,  
Enjoin us to some penance, that we may  
T'expiate our crimes be forced t'obey,  
For (pardon our boldness Madam) we descry  
Hard, and mysterious Characters in your eye,  
Which we, by your permission, will unfold,  
And tell you that which never yet was told:  
We'll take the liberty without consent  
To say, we know you groan in discontent,  
And so does he, that is the daily food  
Of your affections, Madam, 'tis not good  
To dwell upon delays; in short, we know  
You love even to despair, and that your woe  
Is bleeding new. And that it may appear,  
Madam, believe, that Amoronzo's here,  
I mean in wish, I would not have him nigh,  
Except his dear Celania were by,  
Whom we suppose you are, or else his tongue  
By false description, Madam, did you wrong;  
For 'twas our hapless fortunes to be near  
Unto his groans, when we did sadly hear  
The thunder of his passion (oh hard hap)  
And then a sigh would usher in each clap  
Like flames or lightning▪ sometimes he would say,  
My Dearest, oh divine Celania!  
Here, here, thy tortured Amoronzo lies  
Bewitched to death by his own miseries:  
Do not believe thyself, if thou shouldst chance  
To think me cruel, let thy thoughts advance  
To better notions, ah my Dearest, know  
The Gods can testify, it is not so,  
Heaven knows I love thee— There he stopped, & then  
Even like a Torrent he broke forth again  
And thus expressed.—  
— What Love-sick-God hath made  
An errand from the Heavens, and thus betrayed  
My Dearest from me, oh it was unkind  
Unkindly done, to leave me here behind  
To weep her absence, well, the Gods may frown  
But I'll unseile the Heavens, and reach her down;  
I cannot breathe, for she that is my breath  
Is ravished from me, and is now my death,  
And there— oh what, replied Celania, what  
If it be death, be sparing, name it not,  
Such stories please me not: Then Madam, know  
There he left off to speak, but not to flow  
In floods of tears, he being thus distressed,  
We ran unto him, made it our request  
To know the reason of his grief, but he  
With a mixed look, replied▪ do ye not see  
Can ye not spell my miserable state  
(Far easier to endure, than to relate,)  
Perplex me not with questions, but be brief,  
And tell me, can you mitigate my grief?  
Can ye inform me, where th'indeared Guest  
Of my now widowed, melancholy breast  
Makes her abode, if this ye can assure me,  
y''ll prove physicians, and for ever cure me:  
Within the fatal confines of this place  
I left her with a Villain, whose disgrace  
Black Hell does seem to blush at, nay, and I  
(The woeful author of her tragedy)  
Am buried in despair, oh horrid truth  
Dimagoras was a Villain from his youth;  
But I'll pursue the traitor, nay unhinge  
The Cerbrean gates, and bring him to revenge.  
Murder does nonplus Hell, which knows not how  
To get provisioary Plagues enough  
To punish it, but stay, behold, oh see  
These are the grounds of my just misery,  
(Showing Celania's Partlet, Gloves, and hair)  
Then judge, have I not reason to despair  
Says he. Thus having lavishly expended  
His profuse rage, he tore his hair, and ended,  
And there we left him, Madam, having now  
Expressed the truth we know, we further bow  
To your commands, believe it, we assure  
Ourselves, that you do equally endure  
The like misfortune, neither do we doubt  
By your permission but to find him out,  
Or else we'll lose ourselves in the pursuit,  
Then let your Faith increase, and be not mute,  
Your silence tells us that you love, and we  
By our own confidence resolve 'tis he,  
'Tis him you love, then please for his dear sake  
To be persuaded, and some pity take  
Upon yourself, believe't, those blushes do  
Confirm, what we have told you, must be true,  
Nay, and the more t'establish your belief,  
We'll tell you what we are—  
— Then know in brief  
We are Arcadians, and from thence we came  
Being impowered in your uncle's name  
(Our royal King) to ransack all about  
To see if we could find Celania out;  
We had not long pursued, but by a chance  
We heard which way, and how you did advance  
With Amoronzo, so we soon forsook  
Our lazy pace, and suddenly o'ertook  
Your most renowned Lover, whose report  
For feats of arms, shall spread about the Court  
At our return, although it much redown  
To our disparagement, to heap renown  
Upon a Stranger, and eclipse that glory  
Which ought t'advance the credit of our story;  
If Mars had come in person to oppose  
And give encounter to so many Foes  
So well appointed, he had quickly known  
Th'unhappy Fate of being overthrown;  
For Amoronzo (much like lightning) flew  
About our ears, and in a moment slew  
Our stoutest Leaders: Nothing could assuage  
Or quench the fire of his consuming rage;  
Our lives were only saved, but not by slight,  
Or feats of arms, but by a timely flight,  
So that we must confess our lives were due  
To Amoronzo first, and now to you,  
For which, as duty binds us, we shall be  
Faithful to you in this extremity,  
But Madam, let us crave, before we fall  
To our intentions, that you would recall  
Those ill opinions of us which do rest  
Within the Realm of your disturbed breast▪  
Believe us then, we did it but to try  
And prove th'effects of your known chastity,  
And if this be not truth which we declare,  
Then may your grim-Attendant cease, and tear  
Our perjured hearts: Now Madam, if you please  
To walk to more conveniency, and ease  
Your wearied body, we will forthwith try  
Our chiefest skills, to bring a quick supply  
Of comfort to you, and we hope to find  
A balsam to refresh your troubled mind:  
To which Celania without further oath  
(Made confident by knowledge of them both)  
Replied— extremes of grief and care hath made  
This alteration in me, and betrayed  
The freedom of my Spirit, yet I dare  
With confidence assure myself, we are  
Relations to my Uncle, whose severe  
And more than usual passions, made me fear  
The weight of his displeasure, which you know  
Falls heavy: Heaven protect me from a Foe  
So wrapped in fury, that he is by odd,  
Far more implacable than the Gods,  
Nor do I think it possible for Art  
T'allay the flames of his incensed heart,  
And were it in my choice, I'd choose to die  
Rather than feel the lightning of his eye;  
Therefore, as I suppose, 'tis much in vain  
To waste your time in labouring to obtain  
The renovation of his Love. What thing  
Can be more fierce than an incensed King;  
This lion, if compared to him, may be  
Esteemed a Lamb, experience let's you see  
That he is pitiful; therefore, return  
And leave me here alone, that I may burn  
In my own flames: Thus let us end this strife,  
Who brings me Amoronzo, brings me life:  
The noble Knights (for so they were) replied,  
Madam, this truth, is not to be denied,  
Which you have uttered; but since your distress  
As we conceive, requires a quick redress,  
Be pleased t'accept those proffers which will tend  
To your advantage, Madam, do not spend  
More time, in more delays, the homely place  
Of my abode, is not above the space  
Of half a League, which by our help, you may  
Quickly approach to, Madam, let's away,  
And be assured that you shall command  
As free an entertainment as will stand  
With my estate: Celania, heavy-hearted,  
Consented slowly, slowly, she departed;  
Where now we'll leave them for a time, and treat  
Upon Dimagoras, who is now complete  
In his distress, being businessed in a strife  
Whether to kill himself, or lose his life  
By condemnation; for it so fell out  
That the Lyconians gave a total rout  
To the Arcadian Army, and pursued  
Their victory, until they had subdued  
Their chief Commanders, and at last they sent  
Unto th' Arcadian King, to know th'intent  
Of his proceedings, whether he would yield  
To their desires, they having won the field;  
To which th'enraged King sent this reply.  
Know ye Lyconians that I much defy  
To yield, till death requires, nor is it all  
Your strength can make me yield unto your call,  
As for your Lord Dimagoras, who is now  
My Captive, I will quickly make him bow  
To my commands, his head, his head shall be  
The prophecy of future victory  
To my recruited Army, therefore know  
I am your hearty, your undaunted Foe,  
KALANDER.  
Having dispatched this Message, he retires  
And (as his speed commands him) soon requires  
Th'Assistance of his Council, to advise  
Which way to steer in these extremities;  
Who being met, considering well the speed  
Of their occasions, gravely thus proceed:  
Most sacred Sir, perpending well the state  
You now are in, we boldly thus debate,  
And first grave Sir, we humbly do propose  
Life for Dimagoras; because your Foes  
Being fleshed with victory, will quickly be  
(If not opposed by potent policy)  
Upon your quarters, therefore we'll prepare  
And make the best advantage of his fear,  
We have already, strongly noised about  
That you have lately gave a total rout  
To the Lyconian Army, and this news  
Being posted to his ears, sure cannot choose  
But fright him into any thing, 'tis known  
His mongrel disposition dare not own  
The least misfortune, therefore we'll present  
To him (as 'twere by Lanskip) your intent:  
We will employ an Agent who shall speak  
By circumambitues, and slily break  
The Ice of your desires, by which we'll find  
Which way the bias of his tortured mind  
Does most incline: Thus having laid the ground  
Of our designs, we quickly can propound  
What fabric to erect, fear seldom's clad  
With reason to distinguish good from bad;  
Therefore, most sacred Sir, if you approve  
Of our advice, we quickly will remove  
Your now-incroaching Foes; for we'll indite  
And make Dimagoras sign to what we write,  
We therefore wait your pleasure—  
— To which the King  
Gravely replied, I fear 'twill prove a thing  
Of small effect; Lyconia does afford  
But mean respects to him, although their Lord;  
Suppose he should command them to retire  
A League, or two, they'd laugh at his desire,  
For they are now in arms, and are made bold  
By victory, and what they get, they'll hold:  
‛ When Subjects once get head, they bid farewell  
To duty, make it conscience to rebel;  
‛ The sword knows no obedience, for it makes  
‛ Disloyalty a Law, and rudly shakes  
‛ truth's Fundamentals, seldom wanting friends  
to brandish it into sinister ends;  
Therefore I well conceive that 'tis unfit  
To act by him that has not power, nor wit;  
For though it be State policy, we know  
To seem unwise, 'tis madness, to be so;  
For statesmen must, like watermen still show  
Their faces eastward, when they westward row:  
But to the purpose, 'tis our only way  
To labour, by contrivance, how to play  
Our after gain, giving them blots by flight,  
Which if they hit, they fall, we stand upright:  
You know, I sent for aid, which I expect  
Within few days, therefore I'll not neglect  
To prosecute my ends; for I intend  
If Fate permit, this very night to send  
My Carriages before, and when the Sun  
Gives them intelligence, I'll seem to run  
With these my scattered forces, but I'll leave  
This Garrison well manned, for I perceive  
That they intend a siege, and to pursue  
With their remaining force, which if they do,  
I'll fly with speed to the Olympian Plains  
And join with those recruits, which there remains  
In expectation of me, if th'event  
Prove well, thank heaven, for this is my intent:  
As for Dimagoras, I will prepare  
An Antidote, he shall not die with fear,  
I'll cure him with a Message, which shall be  
Welcome, being ballast with his liberty,  
He shall have freedom to enjoy the air  
Under a watchful eye lest he despair  
And so we lose him; for 'tis my intent  
To make Dimagoras finish the event  
Be what it will: 'Tis policy to have  
In such uncertainties, a royal Slave:  
Delay breeds danger, let's away, I long  
To be in action; Courage makes us strong.  
Reader, I crave thy favour to excuse  
My quick retreat; for know my timorous Muse  
Is not so military to withstand  
The dreadful thunderings of a Martial hand;  
For she complains that Mars was once before  
Discourteous to her, and she'll fight no more  
Except— but hark, who calls? Celania, how  
Celania call? then Reader turn thy brow  
From Mars to Venus, for Mars seldom saves,  
Nor gives he any other Crowns than Graves:  
We'll leave him for a time, and if there be  
Occasion that we must return and see  
His well fleshed shambles, we'll not fear nor run,  
'Tis better far to see, then feel what's done.  
All you whose Virgin-hearts have never known  
The painful issues of a Love sick groan,  
Draw near; and you, whose barren eyes did never  
Let fall a tear, come now, and weep for ever;  
And you, whose infant eyes could never prove  
Or speak the proper Dialects of Love,  
Approach, for here are to be taught in brief,  
Your hearts, your eyes, your tongues, the rules of grief,  
Here breathes your lively copy, you may see  
The exact portraiture of misery;  
Observe how every Linament doth speak  
Its excellency, and attempts to break  
More hearts than she has woes, whose dismal cry  
Echoes; alas, I'm grief's Anatomy,  
See how she is disected, how each part  
Of her much wounded, yet more constant heart.  
Lies open to your view, and how each vein  
U●rpt by death, lies bleeding to obtain  
That bloodstone of her Soul, I mean, her dear  
Her dearest Amoronzo, who's more near  
Unto her Soul, than all the wealth that can  
Be apprehended by the thoughts of Man,  
'Tis he must cure my pains, says she, or I  
Must laguish in his absence, pine, and die:  
These were Celania's groans, which had more  
And more enlarged, had not the fast locked door  
Received a sudden knock, which made her stay  
The current of her grief, and haste away  
To give an entrance, but her thoughts begin  
To mutiny, unwilling to let in  
Unwelcome news, so drawing back her hand,  
Her trembling hand, she made a sudden stand;  
And gazing towards the door, she said, must I  
Must I be Porter to my misery;  
No, no I will not, yet I will— but stay,  
I dare not, oh I dare not, why? I may  
And will, I will; Misfortune do thy worst,  
I may be made more blessed, not more accursed:  
With that scarce knowing what she did, she run  
Unto the door, and hastily begun  
To turn the Key, but e'er she could fulfil  
The senseless pleasure of her captived will,  
She heard a voice, a voice, that seemed to bear  
(Being made more sad, more terrible by fear)  
A dreadful horror, and it seemed to cry  
Harken Celania, harken to what I  
Shall say, fear not, for know, my Message gives  
This comfort, that your Amoronzo lives,  
He lives, but I must tell, what's sadly true,  
Void of all comforts, but the thoughts of you:  
Yet know Celania, 'tis my business hither  
To tell you that you must meet both together.  
But where, or when, or how, that must be hid  
From both, because I strictly am forbid,  
Yet this I'll say; it will be ere the Sun  
(Times painful journeyman) hath fully run  
His three days' course; but I must sadly say,  
Ye will not know each other, and that day  
Will prove unfortunate; for one whose name  
Stands now recorded in the rolls of shame,  
Will by an accident, betray and bring  
You both before the presence of the King:  
These things must happen, and you'll not do well  
T'endeavour a prevention: So farewell.  
Who ever saw a trance revived Soul  
With what a sad aspect his lips condole  
His ridged Fate, that he must live to be  
As 'twere enjoined t'embrace his misery?  
Even so Celania waking from her trance  
Craved pity by each look, and did advance  
Her drooping head, then for a time she stood  
As loathe t'acquaint herself with flesh and blood,  
But at the last, death. which did seem before  
To sojourn in her eyes, did now restore  
Life's due prerogatives, but I'll not wrong  
The real truth (though rare) to say, her tongue  
Was first in motion, for her hands, her eyes  
Did seem to descant on her miseries:  
'Tis more then strange, her sorrows wanting vent  
And grown quite lawless, had not tore and rent  
Her grappling Soul, each sigh which did depart  
Seemed (like a boisterous storm) to tear her heart  
Up by the roots, at last, her sighs made way  
For words (like Pyoneers) and without stay  
She thus proceeded—  
— Since the powers above  
Have thus resolved to contradict my Love,  
It will prove vain to strive, the Gods will do  
What their firm resolutions prompt them to:  
Ah must these eyes of mine behold and see  
My Amoronzo, and not know 'tis he,  
Impossible! for sure there cannot rise  
So great a mist before my feeble eyes:  
Lovers are eyed like Lyncius, can discover  
Though walled about, their real hearted Lover:  
But stay, what should this dark Enigma show  
(Strange kind of riddle) see, and yet not know,  
Oh miserable happiness! sad Fate!  
See, and not know, did ever wit create  
A greater mystery, well, I'm sure that I  
Shall know him, though it be by Sympathy,  
'Tis neither time nor Art can so much change  
My Amoronzo's looks as to estrange  
Or hid him from my knowledge, for my heart  
Retains his true effigies, and no art  
Can so disguise him, but even like the Sun  
(The world's great eye) that may be overrun  
And clothed with Clouds, yet sure it cannot be  
Changed in aspect, but we must know 'tis he;  
But were this all, ah then my raging grief  
Might in some sort be subject to relief,  
But ah my sorrows more and more rebel  
Against my Soul, and rings a doleful knell  
To all my comforts, nothing can prevent  
The rude incursions of my discontent:  
Judge Ladies, judge, if ever grief could be  
More acted to the life then 'tis in me,  
Observe my labyrinths, and if ye find  
The relish of a comfort in my mind,  
judge me to more extremes, if art can show  
A way to make a more exuberous woe  
Then mine, inflict it on me, let your eyes  
Weep me to death, or drown my miseries,  
I care not which; oh tell me is't not woe  
More then enough, to see, and yet not know  
My Amoronzo: here's a flaming rod,  
Here's grie●s full stop, but not her period.  
Sad consequence, I see there is no reason  
In grief, that loves to tyrannize by treason!  
Oh pevish Fate, why dost thou thus devise  
New ways, new means, new woes to tyrannize!  
But heaven prevent the traitor, may his death  
Betray the treason, or his feeble breath  
Want utterance to express it, heaven defend  
My Amoronzo from so base an end,  
But if it be decreed; The Gods are just  
In taking both, we'll marry in the dust,  
The grave shall swell with mirth, our lofty tomb  
Shall be both nuptial bed and dining room,  
The worms shall be our Guests, nay, they shall be  
Both Mask and music to our jollity;  
We'll revel in our ashes, lively death  
Shall dance for joy, then having taken breath  
Shall post away, and thus nights veil being spread,  
The Curtains drawn by time, we'll shrink to bed:  
Rest then my heart, purchase a free content,  
Observe with care, and thou shalt see th'event  
Come fluttering on the wings of time, 'tis near,  
'Tis near, and will with winged speed appear:  
With that (the Rose and lily being met)  
I mean her hand and cheek, she seemed to let  
Her eyelids slumber, but she could command  
No pleasing rest; for in her eyes did stand  
Grief's watchmen (tears) so in an angry vain  
She snatched her Lute, and thus begun to strain  
Her magic voice, I cannot well say whether  
She wept, and sung, she sung and wept together.  

CELANIA'S Song.  
COme gentle Lute, and let's relate  
In warbling Notes my ridged Fate,  
That these (now senseless) walls and stones  
Hearing my well divided groans,  
May from their dulness frightened be  
Into a sensibility,  
And hearing, say, I've reason to bewail  
That am both Ocean, Tempest, Ship, and Sail.   

2.  
I am an Ocean, and my eyes  
Send me (like rivulets) supplies  
Only in this, unlike the Main,  
I flow, but never ebb again,  
My brackish tides cannot return  
Nor drown (like that) but always burn:  
And thus my sorrows licence me to weep,  
My eyes (though narrow Seas) are very deep.   

3  
I am a Tempest, and I know  
There seldom comes a calm in woe,  
When Boreas harbours in a breast,  
'Tis fondness then to think on rest,  
And needs must they be void of peace,  
Whose tempests never, never cease:  
Then blame me not when thus my storms arise,  
To strive t'allay them with my raining eyes.   

4  
I am a Ship full fraught with fears  
Tossed in the Ocean of my tears,  
Racked in a storm of sighs I run  
Upon the Rocks, and am undone;  
My Pilot's lost, I know not where,  
And I am buried in despair.  
Thus am I brought unto deaths fatal brink,  
My Pilot being lost I needs must sink.   

5  
I am a Sail, and every hour  
Submits me to the lawless power  
Of Boreas, whose most envious breath  
Assaults, and tares me unto death.  
Needs must he have a stormy mind  
That's subject unto every wind.  
Then blame me not that thus my woes bewail,  
That am both Ocean, Tempest, Ship, and Sail.   

Thus having ended (may I say) her Song  
Her tears (like swelling Surges) grew too strong  
For her restraint, and fain she would have vented  
More vocal grief, hut that her eyes prevented  
And drowned her speech, yet she was heard to cry,  
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.  
Where now we'll leave her pickled in her tears,  
Oppressed with sighs, and buried in her fears;  
For now the Knight's returned, and in his eye  
Dwells the sad Character of misery.  
Each look imports misfortune; he inquires  
After Celania's welfare, and retires  
In private with his Lady, to relate  
His fruitless progress, and th'unhappy Fate  
Of Amoronzo, who as fame assured  
Was lost at Sea, after he had endured  
A fearful shipwreck: This unwelcome news  
Floated in tears: alas, and who can choose  
But lend a drop, poor Lady, who shall keep  
Celania company in tears, or weep  
Equivolent streams, the Knight, who having paid  
The tribute of his eyes, looked up, and said  
What's best to do, which way shall we contrive  
T'express this fatal news, and keep alive  
Our Guest, Celania; for I'm sure, that breath  
That u●●e●s his, proclaims aloud, her death:  
Come then, resolve, man's judgement must resign  
In these extremes unto the Feminine?  
What shalll we do? for if misfortune should  
Reveal Celania to the King, it would  
Be my destruction, or if I should go  
Unto the King, and utter what I know,  
He might reward me; but the horrid name  
Of traitor fills me with insulting shame,  
I dare not, oh I cannot prove a death  
To her whose virtue privileged my breath.  
To which the Lady thus replied—   

— 'tis true  
I apprehend what dangers may accrue  
By our concealment, yet I'll rather be  
A Prostitute to all extremity  
Then let my name (the jewel of my age)  
Bear treasons image, what can more enrage  
The Heavens than treason; I could well afford  
To curse each letter, of so damned a word;  
But since 'tis thus, if you (my Lord) think fit  
To trust this business to a woman's wit,  
I shall endeavour both with speed and care  
T'extenuate Celania's, and your fear,  
And thus I will contrive: First then present  
Yourself unto her, let no discontent  
Dwell on your brow, 'tis easy to descry  
Th' afflicted hearts distemper by the eye,  
Then have a care (my Lord) and let each word  
Be bitter sweet, that so you may afford  
Equal of both, for if you should declare  
His certain death, 'twould fill her with despair,  
Or if with too much joy you should relate  
The happy tidings of his prosperous Fate,  
'Twould so transport her, that no skill nor art  
Will moderate the raptures of her heart;  
‛ For 'tis well known that womens' minds are such,  
‛ That they must neither joy, nor grief too much.  
But to proceed, you having thus declared  
Your doubtful mind, there shall be soon prepared  
An ancient Pilgrim, who may by his wise  
Discourse, alleviate her miseries:  
Our house hath been (my Lord) these three days blessed  
In giving entertainment to this Guest  
He is a man, except his tongue belie  
His heart, judicious in divinity,  
He's sparing in discourse, yet kind to all,  
Gravely facetious, sweetly musical,  
Nay, and Celania wished, that she might be  
A consort in his pleasing melody,  
And he as often (noting her distress)  
Hath wished her griefs might find a quick redress;  
To which intent he told me, if his skill  
Might any way be useful to fulfil  
Or ●urther her desires, that she should find  
A readiness, crowned with a cheerful mind,  
If she intended) as he thought) to be  
Shrouded within a sacred nunnery,  
Which in my judgement very well may suit  
With her condition, and in time confute  
Her powerful adversary, grief, which now  
Usurps, and sits in triumph on her brow:  
(Poor Lady) when at last this news is spread  
That Amoronzo, her life's life is dead  
What can she do but die? 'twould be hard measure  
Only who dies for Love, sure dies for pleasure▪  
But stay, farewell, let's follow our design,  
Act you your part (my Lord) I'll warrant mine.  
Away they went, the Knight without delay  
Composed his countenance, and took his way  
To visit sad Celania, who then sat  
Disconsolate, as if she had forgot  
She lived, till at the last she heard one say  
Madam, be pleased to cast your eye this way  
Upon your Servant who hath thus made bold  
T'intrude, unlicenc'd, Madam, please to hold  
Yourself contented, let not sorrow have  
The whole dominion of your thoughts, but save  
Some room for Amoronzo—   

— Have ye seen  
The prisoner at the bar striving between  
Hope and despair, with what a piercing eye  
He views his Judges, fearing to descry  
His death, clothed in their looks: Even so did she,  
Poor Lady, strive to read her destiny  
Registered in his looks; stand still she cries,  
That I may read my ruin in your eyes,  
The Characters are legible, I know  
How to spell death itself, and construe woe:  
First in your face (my Lord) is to be read  
A tragic story: Amoronzo's dead,  
He's dead, my Lord, nor shalt be long before  
I'll follow; clasp your book, I'll read no more,  
And thus I'll finish life's accursed sum  
I come my Amoronzo— Dear— I come.  
Hold Madam, spare your life, he is not dead  
Replied the Lord, you only have misread  
And made a false construction in my looks,  
Madam, pray read again, or burn the books;  
He is not dead, the Fates have now decreed  
To make you happy: How! nay then proceed  
Replied Celania, will the Gods at last  
Take pity on a wretch that's overcast  
With black despair, what shall I wish to give  
In recompense: Does Amoronzo live?  
His name creates new life; for now I find  
A new creation in my infant mind;  
Oh how grown in comfort, every minute  
Brings me a Heaven, and Amoronzo in it;  
See where he comes, Love, lend me wings to fly  
Into his bosom, come my joy, draw nigh,  
Embrace thine own Celania, oh how blessed  
Am I, Love never found so sweet a rest.  
The Lord (Unused to Love sick raptures) knew  
Not what to say, but suddenly he flew  
Like lightning from her presence, where he met  
The Lady and the Pilgrim, who were set  
To wait her longed-for coming, that they might  
Entice her to some musical delight,  
But Fate designed it otherwise, for now  
They all complot, and jointly study how  
To wean her from her raptures, and at last  
The Pilgrim (sadly hearing what was past)  
Being filled with pity, took his Lute, and went  
Near to her Chamber, where he forthwith sent  
His airy Messengers unto her ear  
To summon all her senses to appear  
Before his melody, at last, she raised  
Her drooping head, and after she had gazed  
About the room; where is (said she) my Dear,  
What, stole away, and left Celania here?  
Or was it but a dream? but hark, that hand  
Which plays, is his, and sure I understand  
Each pleasing touch, but stay, what voice is this,  
I'll swear it is an Angels, or else his,  
'Tis his, and he is mine: I'll rest content  
To hear his Song, and then expect th'event.   

The pilgrim's Song.  
1  
SAil gentle Soul, the wind blows fair  
Despair is buried in despair;  
For wind and tide now seem to court  
And lead us to our wished-for port,  
The wanton Billows seem in state to dance  
To see our safe, our blessed deliverance.   

2  
The Pilot smiles, the Ship prevails,  
The storm submits, the swelling sails  
Puffed up with Pride, does seem to run  
More than Post-haste to kiss the Sun.  
Then cease sad heart, thou needest not to bewail,  
For thou art neither Tempest, Ship, nor Sail.   

The Song thus finished, Celania calls  
Her thoughts in question, and she forthwith falls  
Into a serious study, well, says she,  
I cannot be mistaken, sure 'tis he,  
Or I am not myself, both voice, and hand  
Invite my tortured Soul to understand  
It must be he, but oh that I could see  
That Saint, which gave this voice that liberty;  
Impatience hates delay, I must be bold  
In spite of modesty; I cannot hold  
But must attempt: Ye Fates prove not unkind,  
The eye, not ear, must satisfy the mind:  
With that, with Eagle-speed (she that before  
Could hardly creep) now flies unto the door,  
Which being open, suddenly her eye  
Surveys each corner, but could not espy  
The treasure of her heart, but having found  
Her hopes in vain, she fell upon the ground,  
Being entranced, the Pilgrim that had viewed  
Her passion (though unseen himself) pursued  
His resolutions, so with speed he takes  
His Lute, and with a willing heart he makes  
A near approach, and sent unto her ears  
(As if he had epitomised the Spheres)  
Such heaven-bred strains, that in despite of death  
He reinforced her to her former breath,  
This being done, she gently moved her head,  
Which was reposed upon too hard a bed.  
Oh that my Soul had wings, she cries, that I  
Might quit these vain delusions, and fly  
To my delight, this world affords no treasure  
To me, but base-bred joys, and spurious pleasure;  
Oh that I could— with that a sudden glance  
Betrayed the Pilgrim to her eyes, whose chance  
It was t'observe her, as the purple die  
Usurped her cheeks; she blushed, but knew not why,  
And yet the more she laboured to restrain  
Her blushes, still the more she blushed again;  
At last, with bashful modesty, she raised  
Her feeble self, stood still awhile, and gazed  
Upon the Pilgrim, who admired the grace  
And majesty united in her face,  
Whilst she, did equally admire to see  
So much of meekness, clothed in gravity;  
Resolving then, that pity needs must rest  
In such a Soul; she thus her thoughts expressed.  
Grave Sir, says she, although it disagree  
Unto my Sex to take the liberty  
Of speech, before required, yet I depend  
Upon your liberal goodness to befriend  
My errors with a pardon, that I may  
Return deserved thanks, and haste away,  
To which the Pilgrim—   

— Madam, if your haste  
Depend upon my pardon, I shall waste  
Some time before I grant it; for I have  
An humble favour, which I needs must crave;  
My hopes assure me you will not deny  
To crown my wishes; Madam pray reply.  
To which Celania: Sir, it is not best  
To grant, before I know what you request,  
Yet my assured confidence is such,  
That you will neither ask, I grant, too much;  
Therefore propose your will: Then Madam, know  
I have observed, nay copied out your woe,  
In which (excuse my boldness) I do find  
The sad extremes of a tormented mind,  
Therefore be pleased to say (for I respect  
The cause, there is no judging by th'effect)  
The reason of your grief, with once being known  
The cure is more than half perfection:  
Stand not to ruminate, but be assured  
What you relate, shall safely be secured  
Within the strong-senced bulwark of my heart,  
Not to be taken by the force of Art:  
Believe it Madam, and from that belief  
Derive to me the reason of your grief:  
I am a Pilgrim, treason cannot dwell  
More in my breast, than in a hermit's Cell,  
My calling makes me bold, and I must say  
Your Conscience ought t'inforce you to obey;  
Some days have passed since these mine aged eyes  
Have truly witnessed your extremities,  
And 'tis my Conscience bids me to require  
The reason: Madam, this is my desire;  
Or if my judgement or my Reason fail,  
I have a Conscience that will stand my Bail,  
Nay weep not Lady, lay aside those fears  
I understand your tongue, but not your tears,  
Tears are good signs, but words are understood  
More in one breath, than tears are in a flood;  
I could drop tear for tear, but to what use?  
Tears in some sense are only words excuse;  
'Tis a known truth, that Nature, which affords  
An eye for tears, has given tongue for words;  
Therefore be pleased as long as I stand by,  
To let your tongue be flowing, not your eye.  
To which Celania, after she had dried  
Her watery eyes, looked up, and thus replied.  
Grave Sir excuse me that I must deny  
At present, what you claim as courtesy;  
For my disordered thoughts cannot invent  
As yet away t'express my full intent,  
But be assured time shall not lose much sand  
Before your heart shall fully understand  
The nature of my grief; for I will throw  
My life into your hands, and then bestow  
It as you please; In the mean time consent  
To grant my pardon, and I'll rest content:  
And so all peace attend you, may your eyes,  
See as much joys, as mine have miseries.   
The end of the second Book.   

THE Third Book.  

POst on, my Muse, for hark, the Readers say  
What, is Dimagoras lost, and shrunk away?  
Or has th' unmindful Author quite forgot  
To bring him on the Stage, why comes he not?  
Reader he comes, be pleased to prepare  
To see him only come to take the air  
After his love-sick passion, which indeed  
I shall relate; And thus in short proceed:  
The King was pleased (but I know not whether  
Pity or policy, or both together  
Moved him) to give Dimagoras leave to show  
Himself abroad, confining him to go  
Guarded without regard; which news being brought  
Unto his willing ears, he forthwith thought  
Himself in heaven, for after a restraint  
Who would not think that man a happy Saint  
That brought him news of liberty: But now  
I must implore the Reader to allow  
Pardon for an omission, which in brief,  
Is this: Dimagoras being filled with grief,  
Not knowing, and worse doubting, what would be  
The issue of his sad captivity;  
But still his thoughts (inclining to despair  
More then to comfort) often would prepare  
An instrument of death; but still his heart  
Proved the worst Actor, of the chiefest part,  
And would not let him; but he oft would cry  
Were't not for fear of dying, I could die;  
Oh life! Oh death! said he, why should there be  
Between you two, such an antipathy?  
Alas 'tis nothing but this trifling breath  
That makes such difference between life and death;  
And what is breath? 'tis nothing but a blast,  
A smoke, a vapour, and it cannot last,  
Only in me it riots but to spite  
And plague me with the still approaching light,  
Or else succeeding darkness; thus am I  
The subject of cursed fortune's cruelty:  
See now the grim-looked night is come, and all  
The world's inhabitants provide, and fall  
To rest; but I (the watchman of the world)  
Am like an abject creature, tossed, and hurled  
Into obscurity; but yet I'll try  
If sleep will lend a visit to mine eye;  
With that he threw himself upon his bed,  
Reposes his much discomposed head;  
But all in vain, the flatterers of sleep,  
(I mean short slumbers) would not let him keep  
Decorum in his rest, for now, and then  
He starts, now speaks, and then lies still again;  
Sometimes his voluntary tongue would cry,  
Parthenia, ah Parthenia, why, Oh why  
Dost thou perplex— and there a sigh would part  
His words, and leave him with a throbing heart:  
At last he wakes, and yet I cannot say  
He waked, because he slept not, for he lay  
Charmed in a dream, which soon shall be expressed;  
(He that dreams most, still takes the left of rest.)  
At first he dreamed, he saw Parthenia stand  
Clothed in white, with laurel in one hand  
And Palm in th' other, at whose feet she spread  
The Palm, and placed the laurel, on his head;  
At which Dimagoras (much delighted) vented  
His joy, in tears, and seemingly lamented  
His own unworthiness, whilst she stood by,  
And with a pitying smile did seem to dry  
His blubbered cheeks; but (as he after swore)  
The more she wiped his eyes, he cried the more;  
At last she seemed to lay her gentle head  
Upon his Pillow, and retire to bed;  
With that ('tis quickly judged in what delight  
He thought to spend each minute of the night)  
He went to welcome her with an embrace,  
And found a Spirit snugging in her place:  
His warm embraces now are turned to cold  
And frosty fears; alas he cannot hold  
A joint from trembling, for his ghastly eye  
Being fixed upon that object which lay by,  
Did strive t' out stare the Devil; but at length  
Fancy retreats, and he receives new strength;  
So finding it a Dream, he turns, and then  
He falls asleep, and sleeping, dreams again,  
And dreaming, thought he saw bold Argalus  
Smiling upon him, and salute him thus:  
My Lord Dimagoras, I am come to tell  
A story, which, I'm sure, will please you well:  
The Gods have seen your sufferings, and now  
Intend to view you with a serene brow;  
As for your wrongs to me, I freely do  
Forget them, and in that, I pardon you;  
I freely pardon, and Parthenia shall  
Be my Engagement, that I pardon all  
Your vile abuses, nay, her hand shall sign  
Your gracious pardon too, as well as mine;  
But I must tell you, though the Gods now please,  
After an age of grief to send you ease;  
yet if your care contrive not to fulfil  
Each particle of their commanding will,  
Be well assured that Hell himself near knew  
A greater fall, then shall befall to you;  
And as for plagues and torments, be assured  
You shall find such as cannot be endured;  
Thus I advise you; but because th'intent  
Of this, my speech, is charitably bent  
I'll show you more, observe,—   

— With that appears  
A manly shape, more grave in looks, than years,  
Nor did he come alone, for in his hand  
He led a Lady, on whose cheeks did stand  
A shower of speaking tears, which seemed to say,  
Oh miserable, miserable day:  
These are those two, says Angalus, which you  
Would willingly betray, but if you do,  
Expect the plague of plagues, to vex thy heart,  
And reinstate thee in eternal smart;  
Observe, and weigh my words, and let not fear  
Bribe thee to so much baseness, have a care;  
And when you see them, seem to see them not,  
So shall you purchase a most happy lot;  
But one thing more: Before I disappear,  
I needs must recommend unto your ear  
A serious truth, which will be ere this night,  
Chased by th' approaching morning, takes its flight;  
'Twill foe fall out, that your distracted head  
Will sall much lower than your lofty bed;  
You shall receive a fall, which fall, indeed  
Shall cause your heart, as well as head, to bleed;  
But at which time, a Damosel shall present  
Herself unto you with a good intent  
To salve your several hurts, her virgin name  
Shall be Lutosa, whose renowned fame  
Shall echo through the world; her virtues shall  
Precede her Beauty, and her beauty, all:  
The wings of fame shall mount her to the skies,  
She's fair, she's rich; and what is best, she's wise;  
She's wise, because she's humble, and she's fair,  
Because she's wise, she's rich, because she's heir  
Unto Apollo, Venus, Croesus; Nay,  
She's more than second to Parthenia:  
This Lady, whose perfections far transcend  
Perfection, shall be proud to recommend  
Her dear affections to your constant breast,  
And so farewell: Th' event shall speak the rest,  
And there he vanished—  
— Now Dimagoras dreams  
Of Cupid, Venus, and of all th' extremes  
Of Love; his overbusy thoughts are now  
In consultation, sweetly ploting how  
To Pen an amorous Letter; first he writes,  
And then blots out, and afterwards, indites;  
And now his trembling hand begins to hold  
The Paper, where loves stories must be told;  
He sighs, and then begins; My dearest Dear,  
May these my rude unpolished Lines,— and here  
He stops, dislikes, than likes, dislikes again▪  
Throws by that Paper; then another strain  
Must be constrained, and now his matter flows;  
He smites his breast, looks up, and too't he goes:  
The Letter's finished, now it must be read;  
Hark how he sighs, see how he shakes his head,  
He reads, and cries, the matter is not good,  
The manner's nought, and 'twill be understood  
More compliment, than love; yet he is bent  
To send it; What is love but compliment?  
And now 'tis sealed, sealed with a bleeding heart  
Transfixed, and wounded with an amorous dart:  
Away 'tis sent; Oh how his spirits burn  
In expectation of a quick return:  
The almost breathless Messenger is now  
Returned again, who with a sweating brow  
Presents a Letter, which with trembling speed  
He took, and kissed; and then began to read;  
He reads, than studies, reads again, and then  
Cries out, Oh cruel women, wretched men;  
These women-Sophisters can make that sense  
That's Present, be the Preterfect-tense,  
These she Grammarians often times displace,  
And put the Verb before the Nom'native Case;  
There rhetoric kisses and their logic looks,  
Would make an Aristotl burn his Books;  
Their smiles are Tropes, & figures, & their words  
Are dark enigmas, every look affords  
Large volumes of discourse; their tears, they are  
Who can tell what, my genius, stop thou there;  
Women, like Globes, do always love to be  
In motion, still confined to liberty;  
In this they differ, That no art can find  
The perfect Centure of a woman's mind:  
But stay, methinks this Letter does express  
More than an ordinary dubiousness;  
Her tongue must be th' interpreter, for I  
Am unacquainted in love's mystery;  
I'll haste unto her, for this cannot be  
Her proper Language, no, I know that she  
Is more ingenious, yet a woman's heart  
Is always wavering,— There a sudden start  
Gave motion to his Limb, yet sleep at length  
Did captivate his brain, and gave new strength  
Unto his fancy, than his fancy brought  
Him to his Lady: Now each forward thought  
Corrects the former; so that he could find.  
No means t'express th' affections of his mind;  
Now sighs, and steadfast looks must only prove,  
The sad, and powerful Orators of love;  
They counter-look each other, for her eye  
Still thwarted his, and yet she knew not why;  
She blushed because he looked▪ and he again  
Would look, because she blushed, but all in vain,  
For on a sudden (starting from his dream)  
He wakes, and waking cries, Oh how extreme  
Unquiet, are my slumbers, yet I find  
The more I slumber, I am more confined  
To slumber; but I hope the welcome day  
Will come, and chase these falsities away:  
Till then,— and there a slumber did surprise  
The yielding Fort of his besieged eyes;  
He had not long engaged himself to sleep  
Before an other vision seemed to creep  
Into his fancy, which rejoiced his breast  
And brought more comfort to him then the rest:  
He dreamed he saw Parthenia, in whose face  
He read the pleasing characters of grace,  
He looked upon her, and her comet-eye  
Portended liberal pardon; by and by  
(Approaching nearer) she began to break  
Her lips; he seemed to hear, and she to speak  
To this effect: Know then, that I am come  
To tell you that your time of Martyrdom  
Is near at hand, nay start not, for I mean  
No harm; I'll be an Actor in this Scene:  
Mistake me not, you are not like to prove  
A Martyr, only in the flames of love;  
Be careful, that no envious fate incline  
To cross your love, as once it did do mine:  
Remember who it was, that to fulfil  
The cruel pleasure of his greedy will  
Surprised me when my busy thoughts were crowned  
With Argalus; Who dragged me on the ground?  
Reviled, and kicked me? nay, and what is worse  
Poisoned my face, and made my life a curse:  
This was the cause which made me to deny  
My Argalus, and say, It is not I;  
And yet I loved him, but my love was such  
I waved it, why? Because I loved him much:  
Ah was it fit that Argalus should be  
Matched to so much extreme deformity;  
Yet in what love-sick terms would he express  
How much he loved deformed happiness;  
How did he curse the daylight for revealing  
So foul a face, the darkness for concealing  
The treasure of his heart; Thus night nor day  
Could please him, when his dear Parthenia  
Denied her Argalus; ah can there be  
In man, so unbelieved a constancy;  
Nor was this all, for when, nor word, nor vow;  
Could tempt my stubborn heart once to allow  
A grant to his desires, away I stole,  
Unknown to any, left him to condole  
My unknown absence, for 'twas my intent  
To lose myself; I knew not where I went,  
Nor what I did; that passion of the mind,  
Which make us dumb, as well can make us blind;  
But see the will of fortune, I that strayed  
I knew not how, nor where, nay never made  
The least enquiry, was by well-pleased Fate  
Brought to my Aunts, (the Queen of Corinth's) Gate,  
Where being come, my near relations, made  
(After they knew) me welcome, where I stayed  
Till time had wrought my cure, which being done  
My well composed thoughts began to run  
Upon my Argalus, the more each part  
Was cured, the more I found, a wounded heart;  
At last I sent to see if I could find  
(There is no sickness to a love-sick mind)  
My Love; but when the Messenger returned  
I froze with fear to ask, and yet I burned  
With a desire to know; and w●● 〈◊〉 blame  
Long smothered Love, to break into a flame;  
But Fate (which then was courteous) brought about  
My wishes, for at last, I found him out:  
Nor was I than content; my zealous mind  
Began to plot, and try if I could find  
A flaw in his affections, but I found  
His heart as constant, and his love as sound  
As heart could wish; 'tis true, I laid this plot  
To see if Argalus had quite forgot  
His Dear Parthenia; but I could espy  
(And read within the volume of his eye)  
Th' affections of his heart; but he at first  
Took me for what I was, yet after burst  
Into a storm of tears, because his eye  
Cheated his thoughts, I told him 'twas not I;  
But that I came t'invite him now to take  
A heart on trust, for dead Parthenia's sake:  
But he refused; yet the more I made  
My strong attempt, and resolutely said;  
My Lord, you must accept; He shook his head,  
And cried, Oh Heavens! and is Parthenia dead?  
If she be dead, what heart have I to give?  
And how can I receive▪ that cannot live  
To make requital, Earth shall sooner move  
Than I will yield unto a second love,  
Although I must confess, says he, you are  
Parthenia's Image, and might be her heir  
In worth, and beauty; but alas, she's fled,  
And I am flying; Is Parthenia dead,  
Oh then— with that I flew into his arms,  
And so restored him with my woeful charms,  
Nay it was long before I could persuade  
His heart to credit what my tongue had said;  
Yet at the last, loves circumstances proved  
That I was once his lost, yet well-beloved  
And true Parthenia; thus by lucky art  
My face was cured before, and then, my heart:  
Thus after all this turbulent confusion  
Fate brought our wishes to a good conclusion,  
And you to punishment, which seemed to glory,  
In being author of this tragic story;  
But I forgive you, wishing you to be  
A Philalethes, not a falisy:  
And now because that you may fully know  
That you are pardoned, follow where I go;  
Be confident of what I say, and tell  
Th' enquiring world, what hath this might befell;  
So follow me: Impatient of delay  
He rises in his sleep, and hasts away;  
And being up, he ransacks all about  
To see if he could find Parthenia out;  
But she was gone, and yet he blindly gropes  
About the Room, being filled with fruitless hopes  
At last to find her; but his sleepy pace  
Brings him with speed unto the fatal place  
Of execution; down the stairs he falls,  
And falling wakes, and waking, swears, and bawls  
For Justice on Parthenia, whilst he cries,  
Revenge, revenge, my swelling injuries  
Upon that cursed hag; Oh let her be  
Confined to Hell for perpetuity;  
Oh where am I, cries he, can any tell  
Except the Devil; Am I not in Hell;  
Or do I dream; yet Dreams do seldom show  
Reality; I'm bruised and battered,— Oh—  
My head, my shoulders, nay, and every part  
Does now contrive to breed an aching heart;  
What Devil tossed me hither, must I be  
The Tennis-ball of Hell? Oh tyranny;  
What, have they drenched me in the Stygian Lake?  
For I am wet, my head, my shoulders ache;  
What streams are these, that run, and flow about  
My face, and ears▪ what are my brains beat out?  
Oh help, for pity help,; what shall I lie  
Brainless, and helpless, and unpitied dye;  
What is the world grown deaf? or do I call  
Without regard? Oh most accursed fall;  
I cannot help myself, 'tis therefore vain  
For me to strive to crawl up stairs again;  
Well then, since none will pity, farewell breath,  
I'll be content to groan myself to death:  
Thus lay Dimagoras, groaning forth a curse,  
His cries were terrible, his groans were worse.  
The trembling gaoler heard his groans, his cries;  
But had as little power to pray, as rise;  
He is all fear, no hopes can reconcile  
His thoughts to Heaven, his actions are so vile;  
He called his sins before him with intent  
To add unto them, but not to repent;  
Gaolers are hell's pawn-brokers, for they take  
Forty, per Cent▪ and do't for pity sake;  
Sometimes they'll carry (with a dexterous art)  
Heaven in their face, the Devil in their heart;  
And 'tis well known, th' oppressed prisoners cry,  
Is their delight; their groans, their melody:  
Reader, consider but a gaoler well,  
You'll find him Devil, and his prison, Hell:  
But whither run I: must Dimagoras lie  
Pickled in blood without a remedy:  
The day appears, the gaoler now begins  
To stare about him, and forget his sins,  
He now starts up; His Wife being grave & wise,  
Bids him confess his faith before he rise;  
Faith (says the gaoler) what should that thing be?  
If I keep faith, in troth 'twill not keep me:  
Tell me of faith, Hell bury thee alive;  
'Tis sweet oppression makes a gaoler thrive:  
She speaks again; why, Minion, what dost ail  
Says he; Faith will not silverlace thy tail,  
Nor feed your wants: No more; for if you do,  
Your Faith shall be your meat, and clothing too;  
The name of that bare word will make me fail,  
'Twill prove a poison, and break ope my Goal;  
'Tis much like Mercury, because 'twill eat  
Through Iron bars, nay, 'tis a thing will cheat,  
The Devil, nay, I tell thee without doubt,  
If we keep that, 'twill let our prisoners out;  
I fear, I fear, this very word portends  
Some mischief unto us, or to our friends:  
My dreams were sad this night, methoughts the great  
Lyconian Lord was grown so spruce, and neat,  
That all the world admired him, nay, his brain  
(Untuned by frenzy) was now tuned again,  
And at the last me thoughts I saw him lie  
Upon a Couch, and our Lutosa by,  
Braiding his hair; he gently seemed to play  
And toy with her,, but in a civil way;  
At last methoughts I heard a noise, that made  
My trembling-unprovided heart afraid;  
I started from my sleep, made haste, and went  
To rise, but that thy Language did prevent,  
And hinder my design; I thank my Fate  
I never heard a word did more abate  
My courage, for, indeed, I was inclined  
To rise, and run to quarrel with the wind;  
But such another word (I'll tell thee true)  
Would make me use a prisoner like a Jew:  
But now I'll rise, but prithee speak no more,  
Nor name that word which once you named before;  
But now I think on't, I must haste and go  
Unto my Lord Dimagoras, and know  
What he intends; the King hath gave him leave  
To take the air; but yet I can perceive  
No great desire he hath to leave this place;  
My paradise sure pleases well his grace;  
But e'er he stirs, I will be sure that he  
(Were he my flesh and blood) shall pay his Fee;  
I'll haste and see what his wise Lordship saith,  
Good morrow Wife; Pray not a word of faith:  
Away he goes; no sooner was he come  
Within the door of the scarce-twilight room,  
But he espies confusion; for the Bed  
Was thrown quite open, and Dimagoras fled:  
The gaoler, much affrighted, hasts away  
Unto his Wife, and thus began to say;  
I am undone, cries he, undone, Good Wife  
Be civil to me, quickly take a knife  
And cut my throat, Dimagoras is fled,  
I shall be hanged, Oh that I now were dead;  
Prithee dispatch me, for 'twill be disgrace  
To see thy husband hanged before thy face;  
Call up my servants quickly, whilst I stay  
And see if I can force myself to pray;  
Good Wife make haste, be quick; away she flies,  
And runs down stairs with lightning in her eyes;  
She calls her servants, but they could not hear,  
For sleep had barricadoed every ear;  
At last, away she runs, thinking to call  
Her Daughter; but she stumbling, catched a fall;  
They say that women stumble at a straw;  
But this I'm sure was none, because she saw  
It was Dimagoras, who begun to cry  
Torment me not Parthenia, let me die,  
I am half dead, Oh do me not the wrong  
To hinder me, I'have lived too too long  
Too long: with that up gets the gaolers wife,  
Runs to her husband, husband safe thy life,  
Dimagoras, Dimagoras— and there  
She wanting breath, was forced to gape for air;  
With that the gaoler, for a little space  
Stood still, and she stood staring in his face;  
They both were mute; the gaoler thought it vain  
To speak to her that could not speak again;  
But looking strictly on her, he espies  
Her hands, her clothes all bloody, than he cries  
Out murder, murder: and by this time, all  
The house was up, who hearing him to call,  
And cry out murder, came all armed to see  
What was the matter; but by this time, she  
Had taken breath, and told her husband, that  
Dimagoras was not fled, but to say what  
The matter was, she knew not; but her haste  
Made her to trip, and tumble cross his wast.  
The gaoler now looks big, begins to swear  
By Hercules, that all things were not fair;  
He snatched his sword into his hand, and run  
Down stairs, to see the things that had been done,  
Where being come (attended with his Guard)  
He looked about, but could not see, yet heard  
Sad groans, as could by horror be expressed;  
(But to find pity in a gaolers breast  
Is more than miracle) he hunts about,  
Yet could not find (what he expected) out;  
He calls his Wife, and says, 'tis strange that she  
Should stumble at a thing, he could not see.  
Preposterous fool, says she, suppose that men,  
Should know how oft their wives did fall; what then?  
By this I see your zealesie appears,  
Your horns, good man, are longer than your ears,  
Says she; Come follow me, I'll show you where  
Your prisoner lies, lift up your horns, look there,  
Look well upon him, judge him if you can  
To be a knowing able woman's man;  
The gaoler now provides him, to debate  
The cause, and reason, of his low estate;  
Goes nearer to him, wills him to express  
The dismal cause of this unhappiness;  
But all in vain, Dimagoras, whose eyes  
Were glued with blood, could not behold his wise▪  
And careful gaoler, neither did he find,  
Whose voice it was▪ being, deaf, as well as blind;  
With that the gaoler seeing 'twas in vain  
To question him, whose fear, more than his pain,  
Made him elingued, gave command that he  
Should be committed to his bed, and be  
Observed with care, whilst he himself, would run  
And fetch a chirurgeon, which thing being done,  
He brings him in, who presently provides  
To patch his head, and plaster up his sides;  
He washed his head, than takes his Probe, and tries  
The deepness of his wounds; Dimagoras cries,  
What you mean, ye hellhounds, are ye come  
To bring me to a second martyrdom;  
Torment me not, 'tis known that I have store  
Of plagues already, then what need I more?  
Oh that my eyes were open, that I might  
But see the day, how blessed a thing is light?  
Say, are ye men, or Devils? by and by,  
Replied the Chirurgeon, your observing eye  
Shall testify the truth, so by degrees  
Unglews his eyelids, and Dimagoras sees,  
And knows them all; he being gently dressed,  
Tells his misfortune, and so goes to rest;  
After some hours of sleep, Dimagoras wakes,  
Finding himself at ease, he gently shakes  
His slumbers off; and then begins to call  
To mind the fate of his unlucky f●ll;  
He well remembered that he dreamed he should  
Receive a sudden fall, a fall that would  
Prove prejudicial, which he found too true;  
But missed the Damosel promised to ensue,  
And dress his wounds; nay, and he calls to mind  
Her name, and cries Lutosa was unkind  
Not to appear; but yet he hoped his fate,  
Would yet prove kind, it being not too late:  
His longing soul now groans, and sighs to see  
Some good, after so much of misery;  
Alas, says he, has providence forgot  
To send thee hither, ah why com'st thou not  
In spite of Fate? be certain I will prove  
A constant lover' never to remove  
My well-fixed thoughts: Love has a secret art,  
I am already wedded in my heart;  
I hug thee in my soul; Oh do not stay  
My dear Lutosa, come, Oh come away;  
My thoughts, are by thy absence, much increased;  
And thus I take up love at interest;  
Save these extreme expenses, and command  
That I may take it at a better hand;  
Oh come: Having so said (half void of hope)  
The door being softly moved, did gently open;  
In comes a thing, whose worth is best expressed  
By saying nothing, Reader, judge the rest;  
And yet because truth may be clearly shown,  
It was the gaolers daughter, who was known,  
And called Lutosa,; this is she, whose beauty,  
As it commanded, so it proffered, duty  
Unto Dimagoras; Reader, wouldst thou hear  
Her Character; be patient, and give ear:  
‛ First, she was nature's oversight, and than  
‛ Her fathers darling, and a scorn to men:  
‛ Her mother oft would say, she was begot,  
‛ When peevish nature did, she knew not what;  
And this is she, (Dimag'ras dreamed) was fair,  
Was rich, was wise, nay, and Apollo's heir;  
But let me whisper, and I'll tell thee what,  
Believe quite contrary, and she was that:  
'Tis more then double misery to dwell  
Upon a name, whose Character, is Hell;  
She was a gaolers daughter; what need more?  
The consequence denotes her to be— W—  
Yet good enough for him, whose leprous name  
Deserves no other Wife, than lasting shame;  
She stares upon Dimagoras, who now  
Begins to view her with a wrinkled brow;  
His faith depending on his flattering dream,  
Makes him believe that she is all extreme;  
His love-sick thoughts are plotting how to praise  
And court her beauty, in an amorous phrase;  
He calls her to him, she (not being coy)  
Stradles unto him, and begins to toy  
And wanton with his hair, entreats, desires,  
To dress his wounds, and with much zeal, requires  
The reason of his raging grief; whilst he  
Is ravished with her affability;  
His trembling hand seizes her dirty paw,  
Her daring Nose still keeps her mouth in awe,  
Or else she bade, (more to complete his bliss)  
Crowned his pale lips, with a beslabbering kiss;  
He sighs, and she, as willing to requite  
His pains, endeavours with much speed and might  
To answer him, but counld not, for she knew  
Not how to sigh, but gave a grunt, or two,  
Which (to speak truth) did very much content  
Dimagoras, who thought that she had rent,  
Her heart in pieces; after that, she throws  
Her goggle-eyes about, and then bestows  
A wide-mouthed smile upon him, which expressed  
Ten thousand joys, he thinks himself as blessed  
As bliss can make him, and begins to take  
Courageous boldness, passionate to make  
Humble addresses to her; She begins  
T' admire herself, he courts her and she grins,  
Grows now a little coy; and will not stay,  
But by compulsion; strives to go away,  
Because she knows she cannot; Oh what pains  
He takes to hold her, whilst she strives and strains  
T' unscrew herself; why, let me go, says she,  
Or I will tell your incivility  
Unto my father, who will make you know  
What 'tis to use his virgin Daughter so;  
I will be gone, with that Dimagoras vents  
A shower of tears, and shows his discontents,  
By his too steadfast looks, which made her show  
An angry brow, although it were not so:  
'Tis importunity makes women prove  
Insulting tyrants over proffered love:  
Dimagoras sues, and begs, whilst she replies,  
Away with these your false, fond flatteries;  
My mother told me, that I must not yield  
At first; and they are Cowards quit the field  
At the first onset; nay, my mother told me,  
Men do not always love me, when they hold me;  
She charged me too, when men desired to know  
Whether I could affect; at first, say no:  
And here she whispered, Oh unhappy I,  
It goes against my stomach to deny;  
And though I dare not in a present sense  
Yet I may love you in the Future Tense;  
Then let me go, you shall not be withstood  
If you'll but keep in the Optative Mood:  
Away she trundles, whilst his nimble eye  
Pursues her to the last discovery.  
The door being shut, and his Lutosa fled,  
He then composed his distracted head;  
Begins to ruminate, and call to mind  
Her several graces, and with what a kind  
Aspect she looked upon him, then to say  
She had no crime, but that she went away;  
But Oh ye powers, cries he, do but befriend  
My wishes with success, and quickly send  
My soul unto me, for alas I own  
Nothing of life, when my Lutosa's gone:  
I am a Statue, nay, and what is worse,  
Her present absence makes my life a curse;  
Ah, where art thou my dearest, do not stay  
Too long but come▪ Oh quickly come away,  
Here, here, thy languishing Dimagoras lies  
Wounded, with what must cure, thy balmy eyes;  
Let thy disquiet heart permit no rest  
To crowd into thy heart, till thou hast blessed  
Thy dearest with a visit: Couldst thou see  
My heart, my dear, Oh thou wouldst pity me.  
The door (which seemed to pity) by degrees  
Was oped, but alas Dimagoras sees,  
Not what he looked for, for it proved to be  
The gaoler, and chirurgeon, come to see,  
And dress his wounds, so after he had done  
Departs; And then the gaoler thus begun.  
My Lord, I thought it fit to let you know  
If you desire to take the air, and go  
A mile or two; I shall this afternoon  
Be ready to attend you, and as soon  
As with conveniency your Lordship shall  
Give me command, I will attend your call;  
To which Dimagoras (after thanks) replied,  
Your civil kindness shall not be denied;  
Therefore this afternoon, I shall prepare  
Myself, and willingly enjoy the air;  
But being (you know a stranger) must depend  
Upon your interest, for I have no friend  
To welcome me; Thus having understood  
What I intend; do what you shall think good:  
To which the gaoler thus replied, My Lord,  
Arcadia it a Country doth afford  
Both courtesy and plenty, 'tis well known,  
That civil entertainmet's always shown,  
Especially to strangers; never doubt,  
My Lord, we'll find good entertainment out:  
There is a Knight, not two Leagues from this place  
(Whose hospitable goodness gives a grace,  
And life to fame) whose seat, is truly, called  
The palace of delight, being fenced, and walled  
About with Marble; Art and Nature, were  
A long time plotting how to make it rare;  
And many curious eyes, have often went  
To see, and judge, which was most excellent,  
Nature, or Art; but none could justly tell,  
Because they both endeavoured to excel:  
Unto this place, my Lord, if you think fit,  
We'll steer our course, but let us not omit  
Our opportunity, my Lord, time flies  
Without reclaim, conveniency bids rise,  
Whilst I, my Lord, will hasten to prepare  
Accommodations, this shall be my care.  
Away the gaoler went, who being gone,  
Dimagoras began to think upon  
His dear Lutosa, nothing could proclaim  
Him happy, but this crooked piece of shame;  
But time draws on, Dimagoras now prepares  
To take his Journey, loaded with more cares  
Then ever; Now he labours to pretend  
An indispose, as hoping to befriend  
Himself with an advantage how to speak  
With his Lutosa, or his heart must break;  
But see how all things seemingly concur  
To make complete his happiness in her;  
For in she comes, I will not now express  
Her comely carriage, or her dirty dress;  
Her graceful dopps, no, nor her sheep-like eyes,  
It is enough, Dimagoras descries  
Nothing but beauty joined with equal parts,  
Sufficient to subdue the stontest hearts;  
He strokes his Beard, and with a well-pleased look  
He step'd unto her, chringed, and after took  
Her by the hand; judge then what follows next,  
Not much of consequence from such a Text:  
He looked as if his hopeless heart were breaking,  
Nor could he speak for sighs, she sigh, for speaking  
But at the last, perpending well, how short  
The time would be, he treated in this sort:  
My dear Lutosa, wonder not, I know  
Thy name, for fancy told me it was so;  
Moreover, I was warned in a dream  
T' adore that beauty which I found extreme:  
Then blame me not (because in thee I find  
My dream fulfilled) to proffer thee my kind,  
And true affections, for by all that's good  
I love thee equal with my dearest blood;  
The world shall not exclude thee from my arms,  
I will defend, and guard thee from all harms;  
Oh that I were in Arms, that I might try;  
For love gives courage, courage victory:  
I'll plough the Ocean, rip up Mountains, make  
The knit brow'd-surly-cragged Rocks to quake  
At my appearance; nay, if Hell shall dare  
To contradict me, he shall feel a share  
Of my imposed revenge, there's nothing can  
Withstand th' attempts of a resolved man;  
I am resolved, let all the world conspire  
Against me, I will crown my blessed desire  
With good effect; If my Lutosa say  
It shall be done, 'tis done, who dare gainsay?  
If any dare oppose, let him be shown  
To me in Arms; I'll warrant thee mine own:  
If Mars should come in person, and propound  
But love to thee. I'd make him kiss the ground:  
What were Knight Errants, only arrant knaves,  
And base Impostors, nay, the very slaves  
Of time, and fortune, prating thus, and thus;  
And such an other thing was Argalus,  
Compared to me; I'm confident that fate  
Dares not to make me less than fortunate:  
Suppose (my dear affected) thou wert now  
Enclosed with Bulls, and Bears, despairing how  
To save thy life, and I by chance come by,  
And view my Dearest in such misery;  
Oh how I'd make those tyrant's fly, and run  
Like subject mists before the Princely Sun:  
What says my Love, wilt thou accept a heart  
Unconquerable, but by thee, who art  
Commandress of my soul; wilt thou incline  
To my request, and tell me thou art mine?  
Forget that female custom, do not say  
The child of Love, cannot be in one day  
Begot, nay bred, and born; for it must be  
Increased, brought forth, by times maturity;  
Believe not these fond falsities, for know  
Love is an active, sprightly thing, will grow  
Insensible; 'tis more than petty treason  
Against the God of Love, to love by reason:  
What reason was there, that there should be seen  
So much entire affection between  
Vulcan and Venus; Cupid's Arrows fly  
Not always constant, sometimes low, then high;  
For I have known, a Noble Lord, express  
Affection to an humble Shepherdess;  
How many high-born Kings did often prove  
Sad Martyrs▪ in the common flames of love;  
But this (I must confess) discretion must  
Not attribute to Love, so much as Lust;  
There may be Love, in Lust, but 'tis wall known  
To be a spurious, and a bastard one;  
Such Love, like Mother-pearl, does oft send forth  
A glorious luster, but is little worth:  
Or like that foolish fire, which men say  
Only misguides, and leads men from their way,  
And then it leaves them▪ like a sudden blast,  
Whose fierce extremes portend it cannot last;  
This is a mock-love, only fit to be  
The subject of our hatred; thus you see,  
My (Dear Lutosa) and may well infer  
From hence, that perfect Love can never err;  
For notwithstanding love may like the fire,  
Whose rapid flames, do often times aspire;  
And sometimes wanting fuel to maintain  
its strength, does seemingly go out again;  
Yet, without doubt, the fire is still the same,  
The cause being gone, th'effect must needs be lame;  
Love is the ground of Love, a thing divine,  
And truly Noble, such a Love is mine;  
My dear Lutosa come, let me enfold,  
And lock thee in mine Arms, ere time grows old.  
Let not the prime of Love be spent in toys,  
At my return I will complete my joys  
By sacred Matrimony; speak, my Dear,  
And let a speedy, free consent appear,  
Though ushered with a blush; 'tis always known  
The Rose does never blush until 'tis blown;  
Reply (my Dearest) time cannot allow  
A fitter oppo●tunity than now;  
Wilt thou complete the blessings of my life,  
And crown me with the comforts of a Wife;  
Speak, speak my Joy, or let thy silence be  
The proclamation of our unity;  
I must be gone: She stares upon his face,  
As if her looks would speak, and for a space  
She held him by the hand, with an intent  
To speak, but that the gaoler did prevent  
Her resolutions; so being heavy hearted,  
He sighs, she grunts, he sighs again, and parted:  
Away he went, scarce knowing what he did,  
And love sick passions are not easily hid:  
At last when he had made a near approach,  
He spies a Guard stand round about his Coach,  
Which unexpected object made him vent  
In whispers, his unruly discontent;  
He calls the gaoler to him, makes his ear  
The privy-Chamber of his new-bred fear;  
His fear was so extreme, that every part,  
Declared in trembles, his afflicted heart:  
The gaoler wonders at this sudden change,  
Speaking but softly, said, my Lord, 'tis strange  
To see what alteration's newly bred;  
You that but now advanced your stately head  
As high as heaven, do now abuse your birth  
Make honour blush, to see you court the earth  
With your depending crest; my Lord, advance  
Your drooping soul, fear not, nor fate, nor chance  
Shall do you wrong, this Guard is to attend,  
And wait upon your Honour, to defend  
Your noble Person; well, if good success  
Proves this a truth, says he, that you express,  
Be well assured, that thou shalt ever find  
A grateful friend; but prithee prove so kind  
To tell me truly, is it not intended  
That I shall die, because I am befriended  
With such a Guard, I fear 'tis too too true  
But you are loath to tell me, prithee do:  
Let these few Angels tutor thee to speak  
The speedy truth, or else my heart will break:  
With that the gaoler, (Oh th' effect of gold,  
What Town? What Garrison is that can hold  
Against such Batteries?) suddenly replied:  
May all the plagues of Hell, my Lord, betide  
And fall upon me, may they be increased  
To more than infinite, if in the least  
Your death's intended; now, my Lord, be free  
In your belief, enjoy your liberty;  
As for the Guard, assure yourself they are  
To wait in honour, till you take the air:  
And so my Lord, be pleased to possess  
Your Coach, and you shall see their readiness▪  
To do you honour; so away they went,  
Dimagoras being mod'rately content,  
Until he came into the Street and spied  
Such throngs of people, and how he was eyed  
By every one, who looked, but on this score  
As he supposed, never to see him more;  
Nay that which more confirmed him, was, his ear  
(Which then was much attentive) seemed to hear  
Some curse and say▪ Now may the hangman take  
And truss the villain for Parthenia's sake:  
These words were bitter Corasives; now he  
Curses the gaolers infidelity;  
He thinks to quit the Coach, but then his thoughts  
Presents before him his unequal faults;  
Resolves to stay, because he thinks the Rout  
Would have no mercy till his Brains were out:  
At last seeing himself begin t' appear  
Without the City, he begins to cheer,  
And stroke his Beard, his peaceful heart doth now  
Begin to sit in triumph on his brow:  
‛ Fear is the senses whirlwind, for it blows  
‛ The minds chief faculties away, and throws  
‛ The reason out of order, judgement must  
‛ Be whirled in to the lofty air, like dust:  
Dimagoras can witness this conclusion▪  
‛ Folly and fear are parents of confusion:  
‛ And he whose fear exceeds his reason, borrows  
'A fair advantage to increase his sorrows;  
But now Dimagoras his stormy mind  
Grows calm, and quiet; now he is inclined  
T' observe the country's pleasure, which indeed  
Does justly claim the privilege to exceed:  
She's natures eldest Daughter, wears the Crown  
Of pleasure, plenty, jeweled with Renown;  
And to speak truth, she truly can invite  
The strictest eye, to banquet with delight;  
But in respect she has been praised before  
By better Pens than mine, I'll say no more:  
Thus having brought Dimagoras, though with fear  
Yet with much safety, out of Town, I'll steer  
My course towards his Lutosa, who is now  
In labour with her thoughts, complotting how  
With most advantage, to declare her mind  
Unto her Mother; Fortune proving kind  
Just at that instant, brought her Mother in,  
Which gave Lutosa courage to begin,  
And thus proceed:— Mother, says she, I must  
Commit a secret, to your care, and trust,  
Which is as follows:—  
— Our Lyconian Lord  
Of late hath pleased in passion to afford  
Large promises of Love; but Mother, know  
Because you bid me, I still answered, No;  
But still the more that I denied, the more  
He importuned me, and would not give o'er  
His strong requests, swearing by all the powers  
Above, before th' expense of many hours,  
He would; though with the hazard of his life,  
Finish his joys, by making me his wife;  
Oh how he vowed; And there, with much ado,  
She wrings, and squeezes out, a tear or two;  
And then she cries, Mother I must confess  
I love the man more than I can express:  
Oh Mother! how his circling Arms did twine  
About my waste, he called me his Divine  
And Dear Lutosa, holding fast my hand,  
And staring in my face, whilst there did stand  
A Pearly shower within his pretty eyes,  
As Arguments of his extremities;  
Oh how he wrong my hands, and would not let  
Me go, but like an Owl catched in a Net  
I fluttered up, and down, but all in vain  
The more I strove, the more he would constrain,  
And keep me, swearing that he cared not whither  
His life, or I went first, or both together;  
So dearly does he love me, and I'm sure  
His steadfast love will constantly endure,  
It will, it will; Oh how my Spirits burn,  
I am inflamed, I long for his return;  
Mother, 'twill add unto your aged life  
A score of years, to see your daughter, wife  
Unto a Noble Lord: Ah Daughter, Daughter,  
Replied the Mother, mind what follows after;  
'Tis no such happiness to be his Spouse  
That makes (with an intent to break) his vows  
Besides, what joy, what pleasure can there be  
In this his love's extreme extremity.  
Extremes, like bubbles, swell, but cannot last,  
Nor claim more durance than a sudden blast;  
Suppose you were invited as a Guest  
To some rich Banquet, or a Marriage Feast,  
Tell me, nay quickly tell me, would you eat  
By well-cramed handfuls, such delicious meat,  
Or by degrees? Reason, and Nature are  
For moderate uses; they that eat to spare,  
Spare oft to eat; Thus consequence may prove  
There is no surfeit like a whole 〈◊〉;  
Moreover, do you think that 〈…〉 art  
Can make it good to my experienced heart,  
That he, vile man, (that never yet was true  
To any) will be constant unto you;  
Believe it not; but yet, for aught I know,  
He being mad, perhaps has made you so;  
Only in this, the match is very fit,  
Because you truly equal him in wit;  
Moreover, call to mind how he abused  
Divine Parthenia, nay, and basely used  
Our most renowned Celania, whom I wish  
The Gods defend and guard from prejudice:  
He is a traitor to the Laws of Reason,  
Begot by murder, and brought forth by treason:  
And do you think that he which was content  
To'abuse those Beauties which were excellent  
Can dote on you, that only have a beauty  
Can boast equivolency to your duty.  
Which (to speak truth) is nothing; you inherit  
Your father's baseness, with as base a spirit:  
Nature did crowd into the world a curse  
When thou wert born, and could not make thee worse;  
But now you fondly hope to change your life;  
You'll be a Lords, and I a gaolers wife;  
Your cruel Father, doubtless will be proud  
To hear this news, pray tell it him aloud;  
With that away she flung, claps to the door,  
Being tired with what she heard, would hear no more,  
Where now I'll leave them, for I am to make  
What haste, what speed I can, to overtake  
Dimagoras in his Journey; but a while  
I'll rest, not turn a pleasure to a toil.   
The end of the Third Book.   

THE Fourth Book.  

FLY gentle Pegasus, it now must cost  
Us labour, to redeem the time that's lost,  
Dimagoras has gone much ground▪ whilst we  
Loyt'ring behind, have lost the liberty  
Of hearing his discourse, which, without doubt  
Was pleasing; Come let's haste to find him out.  
My Muse has overtaken him, and now  
He's very busy in observing how  
The Country lay, whilst his observing eye  
Upon a hills assent, did soon descry  
A Stately palace, which indeed gave more  
Content, than all that he had seen before;  
It was Kalander's palace, who indeed  
(As 'twas impossible he should exceed  
His father's virtues) equally expressed  
As much of bounty, with a noble breast:  
Dimagoras (much contented) makes a stand,  
First views the house, and then surveys the Land;  
Observes each herd of cattle, how they browse  
And inter-weave themselves amongst the boughs;  
Then his obliquor eyes (with living cheer  
Banquet themselves) observes the well-fed Deer  
Crusted within a wall, that would invite  
Mere gluttony unto an appetite:  
Then with a more, then half reverted eye  
(Being greedy in his looks) he did espy  
Huge flocks of well-fleeced sheep, whose frisking Lambs  
Would (in obedience to their blating Dams,  
And their own hunger) oft kneel down, and tug  
The swelling bounty of th' exuberous dug;  
Nor did his eye alone monopolise  
These several pleasures; for his ears, likewise  
Were courted with delight; in this they got  
The upper hand, the eyes could see them not;  
Yet by the ears direction they could see  
The happy Authors of this melody:  
It was four Damosels, sitting on the ground  
Cussioned with Hillocks, labouring to confound  
Their sorrows in a Ditty; having took  
There several seats near to a neighbouring Brook,  
Whose silver streams, being proud to overflow  
Their virdent banks, stood still, as't 'twere, to show  
An admiration, seeming to express  
An humble duty to each Shepherdess;  
At last (having not Neptune's grant to stay)  
They shrunk within their bounds, & danced away:  
Dimagoras (though well-pleased) was not content  
To hear at distance, craved the free consent  
Of his attentive gaoler, to go near  
Unto the place, and undiscovered hear  
Their amorous Songs; The gaoler gave consent,  
They quit the Coach, and so away they went;  
But ere they could arrive unto the end  
Of their desires they were enforced to lend  
Their ears to new delights, a voice was sent  
Into their souls, to cause a ravishment;  
They both amazed, thought, they knew not what  
Both wondering what it was they wondered at;  
They now employ their eyes to pry about  
To see if they could find this Angel out;  
At last their heedless paces brought them nigh  
Unto a Jes'mine Grove, being thick and high;  
Yet was it not so thick, but that the ear  
strictly attending, could prevail to hear,  
And understand these words, which in regard  
They pleased him not, Dimagoras wished unheard.   

Feighn would I love, but dare not trust  
Because I know the hearts of Men  
Glory oft times to be unjust,  
Therefore I'll love I know not when.  
Happy and blessed is she that can  
Live without this thing called Man.   

Were I like fair Parthenia,  
And had an Argalus to woe me,  
Experience bids me sadly say  
A vile Dimagoras might undo me.  
Happy and blessed is she that can  
Live without this thing called Man.   

I will not love, nor will I hate,  
But constant to my vows I'll prove,  
I'll be contented in this State,  
When men prove just I'll learn to love.  
Happy and blessed is she that can  
Live without this thing called Man.   

Then farewell all those flattering toys  
Which some esteem the gr●atest pleasure,  
They are but outside painted joys,  
Virginity's the best of treasure.  
How truly blessed is she that can  
Live without this thing called Man.   

And here Dimagoras, though he did not care  
T' applaud the matter, yet he liked the air;  
But his disturbed thoughts were all this while  
Boiling with rage to hear himself called vile:  
And now he (like a bloodhound) scents about  
To see if he can find this party out.  
Who sent this pleasing, most displeasing Song  
Into his ears; he had not hunted long  
Before was represented to his sight  
(Which indeed pleased him not) an armed Knight  
Who with undaunted courage thus expressed  
Himself▪ What are ye Friends that have transgressed  
Our strict-kept Laws; go back, look up, and see  
That fair Inscription, read your destiny;  
With that Dimagoras lifting up his head,  
Observes th' juscription, stares upon't, and read  
To this effect.   

Let none presume to pass this way,  
But such as do intend to stay,  
And give Encounter to a Knight  
Who will forthwith come in sight;  
Let him that overcomes remain  
Till he be overcome again,  
Or else if he in several fights  
Can conquer two and fifty Knights   

He may, at that self same hour  
Release Corinda from this Bower;  
And to period all his strife,  
He is to take her for his Wife;  
She is a Princess, whose Renown  
Justly deserves to wear the Crown.   

Dimagoras having read this dismal story,  
Not greatly thirsting after short lived glory,  
Looks pale and wan; The gaoler thinks of flying,  
Trembles, and almost dies, for fear of dying:  
Th' impatient Knight forthwith employs his Page  
To fetch Accoutrements, whilst with a sage  
And well-composed countenance he told  
Dimagoras, that good fortune made him bold  
In these attempts; for he had often shown  
Himself a Conqueror, and overthrown  
Forty six Knights already, and before  
We part, says he, I hope to want but four,  
As now I do but six, for by that fate  
That sent you hither, I'll expire the date  
Of both your lives; the world hath truly known  
Amphialus was never overthrown,  
Nor ever was my courage fully tried,  
Or matched, except by Argalus, that died  
By my unequalled Sword: These thundering words  
(Though modestly expressed) proved two edged swords  
Unto Dimagoras his heart, who made  
(His fear permitting) this reply, and said,  
Think not (most worthy Champion) that I fear  
Because you are Amphialus, or care  
To meet you in a combat: 'tis well known  
Unto this Knight, that I have overthrown  
More than you boast of; Nay, indeed 'tis true,  
Replied the gaoler; Sir, be pleased to view  
This powerful Warrant, whose Contents will be  
A bar to your intended victory:  
This is the Lord Dimagoras, who is now  
My prisoner, being one that scorns to bow,  
Or stoop unto the hardiest Knight that lives;  
And this is he to whom that Warrant gives  
A privilege to take the air: But when  
Dimagoras heard those words, he cried, what then?  
Must my concealed, well-known valour, lie  
Dorment because I want my liberty;  
Accursed Fate, cries he, and there he swore;  
The more persuaded, still he raged the more;  
The courteous Knight desired him to surcease  
His passion, and enjoy a quiet peace;  
For know, says he, Honour will not permit  
A present combat; for, my Lord, as yet  
You are a prisoner (as I understand  
By this informing Paper in my hand)  
Therefore (my Lord) If I should boldly enter  
A combat with you, I should more than venture  
My life at once; Suppose (My Lord) that Fate  
Should Crown me Conqueror, what's my Estate,  
Or fortune's worth? I must be sure to stand  
(For boldly breaking of our King's Command)  
In danger of my life; Nor is this all,  
For this (thy Keeper) will be sure to fall  
Into the hands of Justice: Therefore now  
My Lord be sat sfyed, unknit your brow;  
Go get your Liberty, than fight, and spare not,  
For now I dare not fight, because I dare not,  
Your Warrant ties my hands; What tongue can tell  
My sorrows for this chance: My Lord farewell.  
The Knight departs, Dimagoras now would fain  
Follow, but that the gaoler does restrain,  
And keep him back; when he begun to know  
He could not, be the more desires to go;  
Oh that I had this cursed villain here,  
Says he, that I might make my worth appear  
In his disaster! Does he think his Arm  
Is able to inflict the least of harm  
Upon my body, no, I'd make him feel  
The full reward of my chastising steel;  
Oh how I'd carbonado every part  
Of his imperious, his perfidious heart;  
I'd make the wretch revoke his former vows,  
Or I would hack his body into mouths  
To plead for pity; Oh my Spirits boil  
T' obtain the triumph of so sweet a spoil:  
Audacious wretch, that told me to my face  
That he would bring us both to quick disgrace,  
If we encountered him, yet I dare say,  
The fool was glad we let him go away;  
And so were you, my friend, your looks betrayed  
The troubles of your heart, you were afraid:  
I must confess, replied the gaoler, I  
Hate fighting with a true sincerity,  
Except I am enforced, and then I show  
No mercy, for I kill at every blow;  
And had that proud, and vapouring Rascal stayed  
A little, till my fear had been allayed,  
You should have seen with what a dexterous skill  
I would have wrought the traitor to my will,  
Nor do not think my fear did wholly rise  
From cowardice, but from a quick surprise:  
Man were not Man, except he were inclined  
To feel the several passions of the mind,  
As love, and fear, which often discontents  
The mind with several obvious accidents;  
Then blame me not; he's valiant can abide,  
When danger tells him that he must be tried;  
But now he's gone, Nor will I so much strain  
My Valour, as to wish him back again:  
But now (my Lord) occasion does invite  
After this storm, to take a fresh delight:  
Let's haste away, for now our time draws on,  
My Lord, forget your passion, let's be gone;  
Away they went into the Coach, and eased  
('Tis hard to judge which was the better pleased)  
Their trembling limbs, where for a little space  
We'll leave them, and return unto the place  
From whence they came; I hope the Reader will  
Pardon a small digression; whilst my Quill  
Steps to Corinda's bower, and inquire  
Of several passages, and then retire:  
First we must know this pleasing bower, where.  
Corinda was, has for a long time binin  
A pleasant reseptacle for all such  
Distressed Ladies, that had grieved too much  
For their unconstant Lovers; There they find  
So many rare diversions of the mind,  
That fright'ned Melancholy seems to be  
A non-apparent in that liberty.  
Here lived the fair Corinda, who indeed  
In Virtue, Riches, Beauty, did exceed  
Most of her time, nay, I may boldly say  
She did exceed, all, but Celania:  
This Lady, who to safeguard her delights  
Was still attended with a hundred Knights,  
And fifty Damosels, who were still t' invent  
New Rarities to crown her with content;  
And whatsoever pastime seemed to be,  
Without the bower, she stood unseen, to see:  
It so fell out, Dimagoras was espied  
(With his plump gaoler walking by his side)  
To pass that way, who being known by most  
Of all the Knights, they soon began to boast  
Of their approaching past-time, which they knew  
(If plotted well) would presently ensue;  
And knowing that Dimagoras his ear  
Was always very courteous to hear  
Harmonious strains; they presently made choice  
Of one, whose more then ordinary voice  
Would tame a tiger, nay make sorrow glad  
Having an Art which Orpheus never had,  
She has been often times mistook to be  
An Angel in a Damosels livery;  
And first, this Lady was desired to strain  
Her magic voice, that so they might obtain,  
And bring him near the bower; that so his ear  
Might with more ease, and more distinctly hear,  
Himself reviled, and scorned; and how his name  
Was echoed to the world in lasting shame;  
Nay, that which vexed him most, was, in regard  
Th' attentive gaoler, listening, over heard  
The same expressions, which indeed enforced  
His present fury, whilst he thus discoursed:  
From whence proceeds those Philomelian airs  
Clothed in such angry words; who's that despairs  
And will not love, if Argalus should woe them  
For fear a vile Dimagoras should undo them?  
What Hellish tongue pronounced so damned a word?  
It is well known Dimagoras is a Lord,  
Of more obliging courtesy; his Arm  
Was always ready to defend from harm  
Distressed Ladies? If I speak a lie,  
Oh may some well-proved Knight appear, and try  
What I dare act;—  
— At that time did resort  
(As if that fortune meant to crown the sport  
With good success) a Clown, whose well-known name  
Was Clinias, much admired for his Fame,  
In being infamous; and this was he  
That strove t' obtain a glorious victory  
Over Demetas; But in short, the Knights  
(Being covetous to feast with new delights  
Corinda's eyes) did forthwith send away  
For Clinias, who arrived without delay;  
And being come, they presently declare  
Their minds unto him, bid him to prepare,  
And arm himself; for now it must be tried  
Whether his well-proved valour will abide  
A fierce assault: Clinias receives this news  
With an astonished breast, begins to muse;  
Nonplussed for want of words, thinks he, should I  
Show myself so unworthy to deny  
This first Command, I should for ever be  
Disrobed of honour, clothed with infamy;  
But what care I; What honour can proceed  
From blood? besides, I truly hate to bleed:  
May he, whose steely brow invented first  
This thing called fighting, ever be accursed;  
I hate it with my soul; besides, I vowed  
The last Encounter (if I was allowed  
The favour of a Conquest) I would never  
Be valiant more, but live at peace for ever;  
The very thoughts of fighting is enough  
To kill me; pish; this honour's but a puff;  
I'll tell an honourable lie, and say  
I'm troubled with an Ague, and this day  
'Twill sojorn in my bones, I'll not dissemble,  
For I have fear enough to make me tremble,  
And they shall see't, which sure will make them cease  
Their importunity, and yield me peace:  
But haste required an answer, therefore they  
Bid him resolve whether he would obey  
Corinda's pleasure; Clynias having got  
An Ague in his tongue, replied not  
So soon as was expected; but at last  
(Compounding with his fear) and having past  
The trouble of his thoughts, he soon displays  
The colours of his heart, looks up▪ and says,  
Think not (you most Renowned Knights) that I  
Have studied, by my silence, to deny  
The honour you impose for I protest  
And swear by sweet Corinda, that my breast  
Is ready to defend her; but I find  
A weakness in my body (not my mind)  
Just at this instant, I am half asleep,  
(And there he stopped) I feel a spirit creep  
Into my bones; Alas I am all frost:  
Oh how I shake, my strength, my limbs, are lost:  
Action's the best of cure for this disease  
Replied the Knight, Now therefore if you please  
To mount your Steed, you'll very much endear  
Yourself unto Corinda, and appear  
The object of our praises, for behold  
How near they come, and will, if not controlled,  
Attempt the bower; with that, sad Clinias, cast  
His eyes about, and looking, had at last  
Observed it was Dimag'ras, than he cries,  
Give me my Horse, my Armour, I despise  
This thing called cold, hereafter, I'll proclaim  
True valour turns a frost into a flame;  
Oh how I'll slice the slaves within this hour,  
And bring the villains heads into the bower,  
And lay them at Corinda's feet, that she  
May triumph in my glorious victory:  
Now Clinias strives to mount his well-known Steed  
On the wrong side, whose, almost cripple, speed  
Answers his rider's valour; being placed  
Within the saddle, seemed to make great haste:  
Away he goes, and meeting with his foes,  
He told them, they must labour to oppose  
His valour, having wilfully transgressed  
In their approach, as was before expressed:  
Corinda and the Knights were all this while  
Within the bower, and could not choose but smile,  
To hear, and see, how Clinias did behave  
Himself, observing very much his grave  
Deportment towards them, for he soon descried  
Their servile fear, which made him swell with pride;  
But yet he fearing that Dimagoras might,  
Being (as 'twere) compelled, presume to fight,  
He spoke big words; and to advance his fame,  
And quell their courage, he usurped the name  
Of bold Amphialus, which sadly made  
Dimag'ras, more than usually afraid;  
But when they saw the Page was near at hand  
With Horse and Arms, they all three jointly stand,  
Gazing upon each other; Clinias thought  
T' excuse the matter, and remit the fault,  
Because it was the first; but that proved vain,  
For than he feared, when he returned again  
Unto the bower, Corinda would command  
His speedy death; time would not let him stand  
To reason longer, neither could he stay,  
So he in short, concludes to run away;  
Which he had done, had not the gaoler shown  
His Warrant to him, which was after known  
To be an amorous Ballad, for indeed  
Clinias (though looking on it) could not read;  
But took it in his hand, and for a while  
He seems to read, and now, and then to smile  
At the Contents; the gaoler having spied  
The wrong end upwards, smiled, being satisfied  
Of his transcendent ignorance, declared  
What was before related, and prepared  
To march away, desiring first to know  
Whether that he were satisfied or no:  
I dare not now (said Clinias) but reveal  
My satisfaction, having hand, and seal  
To warrant me, and if you please, you may  
Take your own liberty, and hast away:  
At which Dimagoras (though much pleased) expressed  
Much discontent with an enraged breast;  
But at the last his seeming discontent  
Gladly abated, and away he went;  
And so did Clinias, glad withal his heart  
Of such a fair advantage to depart;  
And now he thinks each munite is an age  
Before his near arrival could engage  
Corinda to a thankfulness; for he  
Thinks he has more than got a victory;  
At last approaching near the bower, a Knight  
Came forth unto him, wished him to alight,  
And enter in, that so he might possess  
The honour due unto his worthiness;  
Who having entered, presently was brought  
Unto Corindas' presence, whilst he thought  
Himself in Heaven, and that the time drew near  
That his long, promised glory should appear;  
Corinda viewing him, was well content  
To see his clownish garb, and after sent  
The favour of a look, to let him know  
(As he supposed) her goodness to bestow  
Reward upon his merits; but at last  
More, then half ravished Clinias, having past  
The bounds of silence, opened wide, and said,  
Most odoriferous, most refulgent Maid,  
I, thy notorious friend, that stand before thee  
Will fight for thee, because I do adore thee;  
Tell me, my Pigeon, didst thou see how I  
Behaved my self, and made the Rascals fly,  
That would have done thee wrong; pish, I can make  
An Army fly before me for thy sake;  
I'll hop o'er Walls, and Mountains, nay, I'll dive  
Into the Ocean to keep thee alive;  
Me thinks the world's too small, for when I come  
To fight for thee, I groan for Elbow room;  
These narrow Confines almost make me sweart  
Myself to death, for I am grown so great  
That I must stretch the world; I here profess  
I will enlarged, or that shall make me less;  
How dost thou like me, Wench, come, prithee say  
Art thou not blessed, to see this happy day  
And me, (thy most Renowned Champion) here  
To take thy part, when danger shall appear.  
With that a noble Knight, which then stood by  
Corinda, made to Clinias this Reply,  
And said, Sir Knight, this Lady much does wonder  
She saw no lightning, when she heard it thunder;  
She saw your pastime, but she heard no blows,  
You courted them like friends (she says) not foes;  
Moreover, 'tis her pleasure you should be  
Respondent to some questions, which shall be  
Forthwith proposed unto you▪ First you are  
With speed, and freedom forthwith to declare  
Why you mis-call'd yourself, and said your name  
Was bold Amphialus, that you had slain  
So many Knights; she says this must appear  
To be untrue, Amphialus is here,  
Now looking on you, and ere you depart  
Will take revenge upon your perjured heart:  
Clinias takes courage (for it is conceit  
Makes all our actions either small or great)  
And thus replied; Sir Knight, I do conceive  
Myself much injured, for you would bereave  
And rob me of my honour, when as I  
Have dearly bought it of mine enemy;  
As for Amphialus, I must confess,  
(In the relation of his hardiness)  
I did him honour, not appropriate  
His name, but sung the glory of his fate;  
And this was all; moreover, when I saw  
The King's broad Seal, and Hand, it was a Law  
To warrant my forbearance, I protest  
My vexed soul was never more oppressed  
Then at that present; What is, to a Knight  
Of valour, more delightful than a fight?  
But being charmed by power, what could I do  
More than I did; Sir Knight, I speak to you.  
Corinda, and her Ladies (all this while  
Being in labour with a hearty smile)  
Were now delivered, which truly sent  
To Clinias his heart no small content;  
For fools love all extremes, because, sometimes  
They censure smiles to be the greatest crimes;  
But when their apter faiths persuades their breast  
That every word's a meritorious jest  
(Because it is most nonsense) than they toil  
(And he commits a fault that does not smile)  
And tug for jests; But yet in reason's School  
Who laughs because, another is a fool,  
‛ Condems himself; I therefore only shall  
‛ Say Clinias was a fool, and that is all;  
‛ How many great pretenders to the Sword  
‛ (As well as he) could never read a word?  
‛ Yet what a bluster in the world they make;  
The Sword's their Pen, their Book, with which they take  
Such large accounts, that 'twill at last be known  
They have expended more than was their own;  
But I must haste Dimagoras now draws near  
To his desires, where all things do appear  
Delightful to his wish; his greedy eyes  
(Being satiated with varieties)  
Concealed themselves, that so they might obtain  
(When reinvited to observe again)  
New strength; but at the last they were descried  
('Tis known great persons seldom go uneyed)  
By several servants, which did then attend  
Upon Kalander, who did forthwith send  
(Being then a time of war) to prove, and know  
Whether that they were enemies or no;  
But when Dimagoras was for certain told  
This real truth, his troubled heart grew cold,  
Not knowing what the matter was, for he  
Thought every bush a fatal enemy:  
By which example we may sadly find  
The strange effects of a tormented mind,  
At last 'twas known Kalander only sent  
To know for certain what was the intent  
Of their approach, which when Dimagoras knew,  
He soon looked up, endeavouring to renew  
His former courage, giving that respect  
Was due; And after, spoke to this effect:  
I well perceive (my friends) says he, ye are  
Attendants to this Lord, whose pleasant air,  
And stately palace, makes me bold to be  
His Orator, desiring liberty  
A while to be his Guest, I'll therefore stay  
To wait his favourable answer; Nay  
Replied the Servants, you may please, my Lord,  
T' approach, we know his goodness will afford  
A liberal welcome; 'tis well known, that he  
Is not a niggard of his courtesy.  
Therefore be pleased t' approach without delay,  
And we'll be bold (my Lord) to lead the way;  
Away they went; At last they drawing near  
Unto the house, Kalander did appear  
Nobly attended, which Dimagoras spied,  
And soon discoached himself, and thus aply'd  
Himself unto him; If my unhandsome Fate,  
My Lord, says he, makes me unfortunate  
In my obtaining favour from your hands  
For my presumption, here your servant stands  
To wait your will; With that, Kalander stayed  
The Current of his Language, and thus said.  
My Lord, if your offences be so great  
As you express, 'tis fit I should retreat  
From thoughts of pardon; unto which intent  
Walk in my Lord, and take your punishment;  
I must assure you that 'twill much exceed  
The merit of your crime; My Lord, you need  
Have more than usual patience: This discourse  
Had all most made Dimagoras divorce  
His thoughts, from his intents, his wit affords  
No sense to understand Kalander's words;  
These are but homely compliments, thinks he,  
Is this the effect of his lib'rality?  
Let what will happen, I am fully bent,  
Thinks he to enter, and expect th' event;  
So being led into a spacious Hall  
Whose uniformity might justly call  
Itself most Excellent, and could supply  
The ear with rare delights, as well as th' eye,  
Where being come, Kalander does address  
Himself unto him, with a cheerfulness  
Disconsonant to what Dimagoras did  
Expect, and with a graceful presence bid  
Him freely welcome, which did much repair  
His drooping spirits, and decrease his care;  
So after mutual Ceremonies past  
They both sat down, Dimagoras often cast  
His eyes upon the Pictures; but before  
His nimble senses could half look them o'er,  
His ears were courted with such melodies  
That now he's turned all ears, that was all eyes;  
He looked about, but could not apprehend  
From whence those heaven-bred Raptures should descend  
But on a sudden (just before his eyes)  
Two folding doors flies ope, and he espies  
Variety of objects; Now his ears,  
And eyes are grown at variance, and he fears  
One sense disturbs another, for the eyes,  
And ears are so antartique, that it lies  
Not in the power of nature to unite  
Or reconcile the ears unto the sight;  
Although 'tis not denied they often are  
Assistant to each other; yet I dare  
Presume to ask this question; tell me whither  
That they can see, and hear, and judge together,  
Both at one instant; but it is in part  
Answered, because Dimagoras his heart  
Did truly wish it lay within his power,  
To be or deaf, or blind, for half an hour;  
My judgement's satisfied enough to know  
Both eyes, and ears, were captivated so,  
That 'twas, nay very difficult, to tell  
Which object did most please, which most excel:  
The first thing represented to his eye,  
Was a rare Fountain, whose curiosity  
Was known by this Inscription writ thereon,  
I'M MADE FOR WONDER NOT DESCRIPTION.  
Under whose fl●●●t eyes Dame Flora lay  
Nursing her offspring for the Month of May;  
Each swelling Hillock gladly seemed to be  
Much pleased at their so near delivery;  
Whilst from the crystal Fountain there did flow  
Like April showers, fresh streams to make them grow  
Against the general midwife of the earth  
Should show the world a particoloured birth;  
Nor was this all; for there, the lofty Pine,  
The Beech, the Cedar, did as 'twere combine  
To in wilderness this Fountain; but yet so,  
That the refreshing Sun might come, and go  
To court her streams, being welcomed by a choir  
Of warbling nightingales, who would retire  
Into the Thickets, and at every note  
Ravish the Sun, and make him seem to dote  
Upon their harmony, and pry about  
(As 'twere) to find these feathered sirens out,  
Whilst Zephyrus being favourably kind,  
Would with a sober, and refreshing wind  
Move back the dangling-boughs, whose leaves concealed  
A pleasure not much fit to be revealed;  
It was Diana, and her Virgin crew,  
Going (as often times they use to do)  
To bathe themselves; but being near undressed,  
The doors clapped too, and would not let the rest  
For modesty be seen, so without stay,  
Dimagoras cursed the doors, and went away;  
By which it does most perfectly appear  
His eye, was better pleased then his ear;  
The sight, and music ending both together,  
Dimagoras knew not what to think, nor whether  
'Twere Art, or Nature that had all this while  
With sweet delusions laboured to beguile  
His ravished sense, neither did he much  
Desire to know, for his delights were such,  
That he (Inspired with an enlivening mirth)  
Believed himself in Heaven, and not on earth;  
And it had past for currant I dare swore  
Had he not spied his ill-looked gaoler there  
Kalander all this while sat still, and took  
A perfect Character of every look;  
And so perceiving that his ravished breast  
Inclined him to extremes; he thus expressed.  
My Lord, your punishment does now present  
Itself unto you, in the small extent  
Of my abilities to entertain  
Your Noble self, and your most worthy Train;  
But be assured, my Lord, if wishes could  
Create a real Feast, I quickly would  
Wish Cleopatra's dainties to delight,  
And bring refreshment to your appetite;  
But since my wishes, and my fortunes are  
Extremely different, I shall forbear  
Further discourse, my Lord, 'tis my intent  
To lead you to your further punishment,  
Therefore I crave excuse; My Lord, replied  
Dimagoras I will follow, and abide  
What you shall please t' inflict, because I know  
No danger can proceed from such a foe:  
At last (discoursing as they went) they came  
Into a stately Room, the very same  
Wherein disguised Parthenia met her dear,  
Her Dearest Argalus, after a year  
Of hopeless separation; being brought  
Into this Room, Dimagoras forthwith thought  
There was variety of Heavens, begins  
To think what he did there with all his sins;  
He turned his head, and as he looked, he spied  
His well-paunched gaoler staring by his side;  
To whom his ready lips begun t'express;  
His new-bred joy for this his happiness,  
But being soon prevented by a Train  
Of Ladies, was enforced to restrain  
His nimble tongue, and forthwith turn the stream  
Of his discourse; having so good a theme,  
He thus began:  
Most splendent Stars, says he,  
Your Beauties give my tongue the Liberty  
To call you excellent, I must confess  
I want a flood of language to express  
Those innate virtues which do truly rest  
Discovered by each eye, in every breast;  
Therefore my admiration shall supply  
My tongue's defect: My Lord, you soar too high  
In your hyperboles, replied the fair.  
And virtuous Ladies, neither do we care  
To hear such vain Encomiums; and we can  
Presume to slight the flatteries of man;  
(Dimagoras being charmed, he only took  
(Though not to speak) the privilege to look,  
And gaze about him; but at last he spied  
Parthenia's Picture, which he sadly eyed,  
And blushed at every look, his eyes expressed  
A world of passion warring in his breast,  
Which grave Kalander seeing, soon addressed  
Himself unto him, whilst he thus expressed  
Your tell-tale looks (my honoured Lord) declare  
That you are struck with death, and that you are  
Now drawing on, 'tis therefore good to be  
My Lord, prepared for such a certainty,  
Death is a speedy change, were his conclusion  
Like his exordium, what a strange confusion  
Would fall upon us; but our finite pains  
Are crowned at last, with everlasting gains;  
But since 'tis so, that death begins t'appear  
Upon your Stage of life, My Lord, draw near  
Unto yourself, for you will find that death  
(Whose entrance gives an exit to your breath)  
Will prove a rugged, an intrusive guest;  
When he's in earnest, 'tis in vain to jest;  
Therefore, My Lord, since time will not permit  
Further conveniency, if you think fit  
To make my breast the office of your will,  
I will be just, my Lord, pray stand not still,  
It is a busy time: These words being spoke  
With serious gravity, had almost broke  
Dimagoras his heart, yet after he  
(Consulting with himself) did plainly see  
There was no signs of death, although his heart  
Indeed was wounded with a sudden dart  
Shot from Parthenia's image; he replied,  
And said, my Lord, those sorrows which abide,  
And riot in me, are no signs of death,  
But the disturbers of my feeble breath;  
However, for your good advice, I do  
Return those thanks which reason says is due;  
But as for death, my Lord, were it as near  
As you suppose, i'd neither start, nor fear,  
For death is but a period to our strife,  
A noble passage to a better life;  
But I perceive, my Lord, nature does make  
It usual for the wisest to mistake;  
To which, well pleased Kalander, smiling said,  
My Lord, you are mistaken, and have made  
A false construction of my Text, 'tis true,  
I must confess, I said, I thought that you  
Were struck with death, which if it be denied,  
I'll undergo your censure, and abide  
The merit of my crime; to which intent  
I will expatiate myself, and vent  
The reason of my speech. I did descry  
When I observed my Lord, your greedy eye  
Survey Parthenia's Image, that your blood  
Re to your heart, and frightened stood  
A distance from your cheeks, by which I know  
This Image was that death which wrought your woe;  
And be assured this Image never yet  
Was viewed by any, but they would forget  
Their present reason, and would seem to be  
In love with that they could but only see:  
But if a silent, empty shadow, can  
Make such impressions on the heart of man;  
What would the substance do? Oh this was she  
Whose latter days were filled with misery;  
Yet in the flower of age, she was the flower  
Of all her Sex, nor was it in the power  
Of Nature to do more; she must excel  
That lived, and died without a Parralel;  
This, this was she, that both in life and death,  
Left an example to succeeding breath;  
This is that fair Parthenia, whose glory,  
Increased into an everlasting story;  
This, this was she whose tragicomic age  
Begun with pleasure to conclude in rage:  
Walk further on, My Lord, and you shall see  
Her clothed in her Robes of misery;  
But I must crave excu●e, because indeed  
The emblems of her sufferings far exceed  
The valour of my patience; And, my Lord,  
The Laws of consanguinity afford  
A reason for my absence; yet if I  
Entreat these Noble Ladies to supply,  
And execute my place; I hope 'twill be  
Sufficient warrant for my liberty;  
And so, my Lord, I'll leave you to behold  
The saddest story ever yet was told;  
And so they parted. Now Dimagoras grows  
Conscious unto himself, because he knows,  
Or at the least suspects, and fears th' event  
Would prove injurious; so away they went:  
At last being brought into a stately place  
Furnished with Pictures, where each lovely face,  
Did seem, as 'twere, ambitiously to strive  
In silent terms to plead themselves alive;  
But walking further, they did soon discover  
Abused Parthenia, and her raging Lover,  
Her noble Argalus, whose very look  
Expressed so much of terror, that it struck  
Dimagoras to the heart; for when his eye  
(Although unwilling) saw Parthenia lie  
Racked on a bed of horror; he began,  
Oh miserable Lady, wreathed man!  
What fury hatched this mischief? and displaced  
The Pride of nature; she that once embraced  
Perfection in her Beauty, now does lie  
Perfect in nothing but deformity;  
Alas, alas; And is it even so?  
Or is't the painter's Tyranny, to show  
His cruel skill? Oh most untimely art,  
See how death lodges in each senseless part;  
I must be gone, or else my heart will break,  
I dare not stay for fear her wrongs should speak:  
My Lord, you being unconcerned, may stay,  
Replied the Ladies, or else pass this way,  
Where shall be represented to your sight  
An object of less horror, more delight;  
Away they went; Dimagoras all the while  
Checked his own thoughts, forgetting not how vile  
He had been to Parthenia; but at last  
Coming into a Room being overcast,  
And roofed with horror, where his ghastly eye  
Observed Parthenia, and himself stand by,  
Drawn to the life; at which displeasing sight,  
His heart grew cold, his thoughts were turned to night,  
And louring with revenge, his tongue let fall  
A shower of words, he spoke unto them all,  
To this effect:  
Ladies, says he, this dismal place retains  
More shapes of horror than deserves our pains  
In staying in it, and our quick recess  
Would make our joys be more, our griefs be less,  
Therefore be pleased to let us now retire,  
And learn to pity what we now admire;  
For now, alas she's dead, let's therefore strive  
T' express our griefs that once she was alive  
T' endure such misery; 'tis always known  
Extremes are changeable, and seldom own  
An hour of certainty; for she whose heart  
Boasted itself above the power of art,  
Or fate to make her happier, was quite  
Bereaved of all; her day being turned to night:  
Even as a stately fabric, which but now  
We see insulting with a lofty brow  
Over the lesser, which would seem as fair,  
And much admired if that were not there;  
But if a tempest comes, it fails, and why?  
Things most in danger, often stand most high;  
Even so the fair Parthenia, which indeed  
(I hope I speak offenceless) did exceed  
Her Sex in beauty, and had so much store  
Of pleasure, that her heart could wish no more;  
Her joys were summed in Argalus, and he  
Comprised in her, and yet we sadly see  
Fates sudden change; her beauty soon was thrown  
And blasted into ruin, she could own  
Nothing but woe: Since thus it was decreed,  
Oh blame not him so much that did the deed;  
Not blame him, cried the Ladies, may he never  
See happy minute, but be cursed for ever,  
May plagues, and growing horror dwell about,  
His cursed heart, and keep all comfort out;  
May all his meat turn scorpions, and his drink  
Prove fiery-flames; and let all them that think  
Upon his cursed name, cry out, and say,  
Most vile Dimagoras, wronged Parthenia:  
Draw near, my Lord, said they, behold, and see  
This treacherous Monster, whose grand Tyranny  
Exceeds, almost belief, behold each part,  
How they proclaim the treason of his heart:  
Behold his dangling locks, which now appears  
Like Serpents circling round about his ears;  
Observe his megre looks, his hollow eyes,  
The silent heralds of his tyrannies;  
See how his griping hands tares off the fair  
And bounteous treasure of her flaxen hair;  
See how his fury labours to dispense  
His rage upon her youthful innocence;  
See how he makes her tender Limbs adore  
By sad compulsion, the, now happy floor;  
Happy, because Parthenia Oh sad fate!  
Did there bewail her miserable state;  
Happy, because it keeps▪ and sadly bears  
A Monument of her defused tears;  
Alas how poor are all the Indian Mines  
Compared to this, to this, which far out shines  
A Contenent of Rubies, for there lies  
Th' unvalued treasure of Parthenia's eyes;  
I mean, her tears, her tears, that truly woe  
And beg for pity from her cruel foe,  
That most accurst Dimagoras, that stands  
Darkening the Sun with his prodigious hands;  
See how he clouds her beauty with the veil  
Of horrid poison; Nothing can prevail  
To stop his fury, which resolves to run,  
And spend itself until the dregs are done;  
Observe, my Lord, would not her looks prevent  
A petty fury in a bad intent;  
But this grand Pluto, who resolves to show  
The abstract of his malice, and o'er throw  
The Idol of the world, does make her cries,  
Her groans, her tears, her sighs; his melodies:  
And thus, my Lord, because I sadly see  
You seem to sympathize in misery,  
With poor Parthenia, I will turn the stream  
Of my discourse, and choose another theme:  
It only now remains to let you know  
The punishments of her unequalled foe  
The vile Dimagoras, which if you, my Lord,  
Will please to walk a little, and afford  
A willing ear) I shall in short relate,  
And let you know the changes of his fate.  
It so fell out, that after this most vile,  
And perjured wretch, had triumphed o'er the spoil  
Of poor Parthenia's beauty, that he fled  
(Firmly supposing he had murdered  
Her body with her beauty) from that place  
Into a wood, where he a little space  
Pampered his soul with the delightful diet  
Of full revenge; Thus in a calm of quiet  
He floated for a minute; but at last  
His wounds being chiled with the impetuous blast  
Of sharp despair, his conscience, which before  
Did hardly grumble, than began to roar;  
Fear (which indeed does evermore control  
Within the confines of a guilty soul)  
Did now begin to riot in each part,  
And play the Devil in his treacherous heart:  
My Lord, pray mind this story, for indeed  
It justly claims the privilege to exceed  
All stories of this nature— Madam, said  
Dimagoras, if I humbly might persuade,  
And woe you to a silence, I should stand  
Ever obliged to your strict command;  
For at the present my distracted mind  
Is racked with thoughts, and will not be confined  
To any thing that's serious; For of late  
I have been dogged with an unlucky fate;  
Believe me Madam, I can hardly own  
A minute's rest; The story is best known  
Unto myself; It burns within my breast,  
Those griefs are greatest which are least expressed.  
Madam divert your thoughts, methinks I see  
A Cloud, which darkens our felicity,  
I mean, your Window, which does even woe  
My hand to open it, that I might know  
What pleasures are without; Excuse, that I  
Madam, am bold, to satisfy my eye;  
With that away he went, and having set  
The window open, he begun to let  
His eye survey each rariety; but he  
(The more he saw, the more desired to see)  
At last espied the Pilgrim, in whose eye  
He read the Characters of gravity;  
The serious Pilgrim often times would shed  
A tear or two, than sigh, and shake his head;  
He whispered to himself, and seemed afraid  
Himself, should hear himself, but what he said  
Dimagoras could not hear, because indeed  
Those Ladies that were with him did proceed  
In their discourse, which very much oppressed  
His troubled mind; but what they then expressed  
I will not now relate, for time invites,  
And calls us unto new, though sad delights;  
But yet I hope my Reader will suppose  
Th' effect of their discourse; for he that knows  
Dimagoras is their subject, well may guess  
Th' event, and save me labour to express.  
It so fell out, when the declining Sun  
Declared unto the world, that he had run  
Th' extremest of his labour, for that day  
That sad Celania chanced to pass that way  
Where the deep-thoughted Pilgrim sat, who minded  
Nothing but his own mind, and being blinded  
With contemplation, did not then discover  
The near approach of this distressed Lover;  
But like a sluggard, who is loath to rise  
Until the Sun entrench upon his eyes:  
Even so the Pilgrim, when Celania glanced  
Before his eyes; roused up, and soon advanced  
His drooping head; but this amazed sight  
Could not endureth' approach of so much light;  
Which she perceiving, suddenly did shroud  
Her beauty underneath a Cypress cloud;  
Which when the Pilgrim saw, he soon addressed  
Himself unto her, and his thoughts expressed  
To this effect—  
Most pensive Virgin, if my serious thoughts  
Hath made me guilty of too many faults  
In this my bold attempt, which may indeed  
Justly assure you that it did proceed  
From your own promise, which I claim as due;  
Then pardon him who lives to honour you:  
And since I see your virtues have inclined  
(If I mistake not) your perplexed mind  
To the performance of your promise made  
To me, after your sorrows had betrayed,  
And brought you to my sight, I crave to know  
The reason of your grief; Madam, bestow  
Your confidence upon me; for I vow  
By these my sacred Weeds, that I will bow  
My whole endeavours, to procure your peace,  
Though by my own disquiet; therefore cease  
Those bashful tears which I perceive distil  
Out of the limbeck of your timorous will;  
Believe me then, each word that shall depart  
Out of your lips, shall drop into my heart,  
Which now lies open, with a full intent  
To take them in when you shall give them vent;  
Therefore uncaptivate those thoughts, which lie  
Struggling within your breast for liberty:  
To which Celania, after she had made  
A short, though seeming pause, looked up, and said:  
Grave Sir, since thus your Oratorious skill,  
Hath made me yield to your inviting will;  
I shall in short, though sadly, thus relate  
The grandeur of my miserable state,  
By which relation, I shall boldly thrust  
(With an assurance that you will be just)  
My life into your hands: May, Heaven, replied  
(The Pilgrim) strike me dumb, when I divide  
Your secrets from my heart; I will forbear  
To tell them to myself, for fear the air,  
Being infected with an envious spite,  
Should bring your secrets to untimely light;  
Therefore with confidence proceed to show,  
And tell the reason of your lavish woe;  
At which Celania (all her joys being fled)  
Contemning life, because her life was dead,  
(I mean her Amoronzo) did express  
Herself as follows  
Know (grave Sir) this dress  
You see me in, is but a sad disguise  
To change my person, not my miseries:  
I had a Father, whose indulgent care,  
And careful indulgency did not spare  
For cost to educate me to the best  
Advantage of the times: I made request  
Upon a time unto him, that I might  
(Being of years sufficient) take delight  
In what I had acquired, and forthwith show  
Myself at Court; Ah there began my woe!  
But to proceed, My Father to fulfil  
The wilful humour of my eager will  
Perpending not the danger might arise  
(Parents affections often wanting eyes)  
From my request, did forthwith give consent  
For my departure, So away I went,  
Where being come, I forthwith did apply  
Myself unto the choicest company;  
My Birth and Fortune was at last declared  
Unto the Court, than every one prepared  
To do me homage; for indeed, the Court  
(That grand Idolater) did soon report,  
And idolise my worth, which made me look  
Above myself, I presently forsook  
That glorious thing called Virtue, and became  
(Having lost the honour of a virtuous Name)  
A perfect Courtier, and I soon forgot  
How to be good, because I used it not;  
And to speak truth, the Court will scarce allow,  
Or give acceptance to a modest brow;  
They that come there, must forthwith disengage  
Themselves of virtue, learn to court the rage  
Of every humour; Courtiers, all men know,  
Like butterflies, are only good in show;  
Yet I'll not blame them all, because l've seen  
Bees amongst flies, The laurel will be green  
In spite of frost, yet every one supposes  
A Wilderness yields Nettles more than Roses,  
And they that live a perfect courtier's life  
As I have done, change true content, for strife;  
Virtue at Court is like a blazing Star  
Gazed at for wonder— But I run too far  
In this discourse, I therefore will return  
Unto myself (who although green) did burn  
In flames of Love, not doubting but to find  
A sweet refreshment for my tortured mind;  
But all in vain, for my distracted breast  
(Being subject unto every thing, but rest)  
Was so tormented, that I was enforced  
To vent my thoughts, And thus in short discoursed  
With my own thoughts: Cindana, why dost thou  
(For that's my name) thus play the fool, and bow  
To every passion? tell me, canst thou show  
A reason for thy love? dost thou not know  
Extremes are dangerous; Ah cruel he  
That flattered me into this misery;  
Ah The phrastus! how hast thou betrayed—  
But here the current of her speech was stayed  
By an approaching Lady, who desired  
Some secrecy; the Pilgrim soon retired,  
And gave them opportunity; but he  
Began to muse, and wonder what would be  
The sequel of her Story, whilst indeed  
She was, herself, unwilling to proceed;  
So being glad of this advantage, took  
Her leave, and so immediately forsook  
The Garden, telling him withal, that she  
(Having begun t' unfold her misery  
Unto his ears) would take another day  
To perfect what she then begun to say,  
Away she went. The pilgrim's heart affords  
Nothing but wonder; her promiscuous words  
Torment his soul, because he could not find  
(Although he laboured with a serious mind)  
The aim of her discourse; he therefore broke  
His silence into language, and thus spoke  
Unto himself: What, are my senses grown  
So dull, so stupid, that they cannot own  
So much as common reason? sure my brain  
Is very empty, or her words are vain;  
The time has been when I could understand  
Cloudy enigmas, when I could command  
The knottiest intricacies to appear  
Before my apprehension, plain, and clear;  
But to be baffled by a woman's wit  
Is more than peevish nature can forget;  
Yet I must needs confess, and say I lie  
Under a most ingenious tyranny;  
But why was I so curious, as to know,  
And hear the reason of her stubborn woe?  
What have I gained, but wonder, doubt, & trouble?  
Inquisitive hearts are still tormented double;  
Her story was so clouded, that the eye  
Of my dull sense, cannot at all descry,  
Or guess the sequel: First she said, her life  
Was wrapped up in each word, which made a strife  
Within my thoughts, for fear that they should be  
Born into words, and make discovery  
Of her disigns; well, may she never rest  
Till I have heard, and she has spoke the rest;  
And so farewell vain thoughts, my serious mind  
Must aim at higher things, farewell, unkind  
And cruel Virgin; I will now retire  
Into myself, and never more inquire  
After thy endless story, for indeed  
I fear that thou were't fearful to proceed,  
Or, at the least, ashamed; The Court, I know  
Receives the good, but seldom keeps them so;  
But stay, my thoughts, methinks I did espy  
Something within the circuit of her eye  
That I have seen before; Me thinks her face  
Is radiated with a glorious grace;  
But being masked with sorrow, she lies hid  
From my remembrance, and I am forbid  
To make enquiry, therefore I'll surcease  
My present thoughts, and shroud myself in peace;  
And thus we'll leave them both, and now return  
Unto Dimagoras, who begins to burn,  
And flame with anger, every word they spoke  
Battered his conscience, and had almost broke  
His treacherous heart; The Ladies, did indeed  
At that time all endeavour to exceed  
Their usual passions, every one did throw  
A dagger at him, and would oft bestow,  
The name of Villain on him: Thus his ear  
(Although unwilling) was enforced to hear  
Himself reviled, but yet he durst not show  
His rage in words, for fear that they should know,  
Or at the least, mistrust, that it was he,  
That was the author of that villainy,  
And they, as being willing still to add  
To his belief, would often wish they had  
The traitor there, that they might jointly take  
Revenge in part, for wronged Parthenia's sake.  
Dimagoras being tired, does now prepare  
For his return, but scarcely could forbear  
To show his anger; Yet at last, he took  
His solime leave, returned his thanks, forsook  
Kalander's house, being not a little proud  
To think that he had passed so great a crowd  
Of difficulties; He does now begin  
To think what an unpardonable sin  
He had committed, in respect he stayed  
So long from his Lutosa, who had made  
A battery in his soul: But here 'tis best  
To take th' advantage of a breathing rest;  
Therefore (My Muse) retire, we must not play  
Too much at first, but beg another day  
From our more serious thoughts; till then, desire  
The Reader to excuse thee, and retire.   
The end of the fourth Book.